Home Boys

by Beckett, Bernard

It was a stupid argument. More stupid even than the arguments he had with Dougal, that happened without thinking. He didn’t like Gino at all. Not right now. But he liked the feel of it, of telling her she was wrong.

  ‘I know him better.’

  ‘Not any more. I saw you remember. I know too.’

  ‘But you don’t understand it. There’s things you don’t understand.’

  ‘People always say that. It’s not right though. I understand enough.’ Colin felt the anger coming back, rushing his words and burning up his cheeks. ‘I know what you’re like. I understand you.’

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘I do. You’re like everybody here. Everybody in this country. You don’t care.’

  She didn’t reply, and although Colin tried to hold on to the fury, in the quiet there was nothing for it to cling to and again it slipped away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t understand Colin,’ she repeated, just as quiet, just as certain. ‘That’s why I like you.’

  She put her arm around him and pulled him even closer, and then he felt her lips on his cheek. A warm, gentle moment that pulled at a memory so deep Colin couldn’t name it. A tear slid down to the place where her lips had been. And that one loosened another, and then he was crying, and she held him and waited and didn’t say a thing, not until he was ready.

  ‘You didn’t grow up here. I have to get out Colin. You can’t just stay in a place like this. It’s like, well it’s like what they did to you, at the church on Sunday. Why would you stay after that? Mum’s not right in the head. She gets ideas, ideas that aren’t right. Like with you. She thinks you were sent here. She thinks you’ve come for me. That’s why she took you to Father McBride, to make sure you were clean, so we could be together. And Dad’s worse. At least Mum believes in her dreams. At least she believes in something. All he believes in is this place. Just staying here, forever, telling other people what to do and pulling fish out of the water. I get to marry someone in the village, and end up like Mum. I don’t think she was always like this. I think it was imaginings at first, the sort you have when all you can see is cliffs and ocean. I think maybe she just got too good at it. And then there’ll be children, and they’ll stay here too, and work the boats and tell stories, and call anybody who grew up out of sight of the lighthouse an outsider. And Dad thinks he can find it all for me. A husband, a house, a way of talking. And if that’s true, what’s the point in being born at all? They don’t even try to be nice to me. They just try to impress him, because they know it’s him who’ll say yes, not me. I hate them Colin. I hate them all. Being stuck in a place like this, that’s what hell’s going to be like.’

  She leaned her face against his shoulder and the last of her words vibrated up Colin’s neck. But she was wrong. This place wasn’t hell. Hell wasn’t a place. Hell was not having a place. He wanted to say it, and he wanted to ask her why she did it, if she hated them, and what it meant when she said she liked him. But he couldn’t order the words, or give them sound. So he sat quiet, beneath the lighthouse, with her beside him. This was somewhere. It was a place. It would do.

  ‘It’s starting to rain.’

  The drops were already large enough to make a sound as they hit the concrete.

  ‘Yeah, we’d better get back, before we’re soaked.’

  She squeezed his shoulder and stood. By the time they had reached the bottom of the path, even harder climbing down with the moon hidden behind clouds, they were wet to the skin. They ran on, without talking, not stopping until they were close enough to make out the features of the first bach. Veronica turned to face Colin.

  ‘Sorry.’

  She kissed him, on the lips this time. Perhaps it didn’t mean anything, or perhaps it was just the start; Ron’s voice stopped it before there was any knowing.

  ‘Veronica!’

  Far enough off that Colin had a chance of escaping. He saw the look of fear on Veronica’s face, fear for him.

  ‘Run,’ she hissed. ‘Run. Don’t let him know it’s you.’

  Colin ran inland and found a rock big enough to afford some shelter. He waited there a full ten minutes before creeping back to the bach, sticking to the shadows of the cliff just to be safe. He peeled his sodden clothes off outside the door before entering. He knew they’d still be awake, both of them, but they didn’t say anything and neither did he.

  NINE

  Moving On

  IT wasn’t mentioned. No more than ‘are you okay?’ from Dougal, whispered the next morning, when Gino was out at the toilet.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry I shouted out.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘Does Gino know you were there?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I beat him back.’

  ‘Good.’

  That was all. Gino didn’t say a thing, or even behave as if something unusual had happened. And although the next time Colin saw Ron he felt his whole body shrinking away, as if preparing to be hit, Ron didn’t seem to notice; just nodded to Colin’s ‘hello’ and moved on. Veronica too seemed untouched by the night. She smiled when she saw him, and stopped to talk as she normally would, even though it was plain to Colin that normal had left the village. The not saying did not speak of not knowing. They were pretending, or they were waiting. It wasn’t like the dreams this time, Colin didn’t see anything exactly, but he felt it. He knew it was coming.

  Three mornings later Colin was invited to join the others out on the boat. It meant going early, while it was still dark, so they could bring the nets up before the tide turned. No explanation was given as to why Colin was suddenly needed, but that wasn’t unusual. Along with Ron, whose job as far as Colin could tell was to shout at them while they worked, there was Gino, Dougal and Bob, an older man who was short and thin, and had creased skin which made it appear as if the body beneath it was in the process of shrinking away.

  Dougal stayed close to Colin and told him what to do. They were given the simple jobs. Standing to their waists in freezing water holding the boat steady while the trailer was pulled out beneath it, holding Gino’s legs while he leaned out over the side with a grappling hook and pulled up the float at the end of the net, lending their weight to the dragging and stowing while Ron stood at the wheel and swore loudly and the other two expertly loosened and sorted those fish that were large enough to keep. It was hard work. Colin’s hands bled where the weight of the net cut into them, and his legs ached from constantly bracing against the pitching of the small boat, but he liked it better than the work he did back on shore. He liked working as one of five, as if part of a machine.

  Once both nets were on board Ron swung the boat to the north and ploughed into the oncoming swell.

  ‘We’re going to bring in the crayfish pots,’ Dougal shouted into Colin’s ear, struggling to be heard above the engine and the screeching of hopeful gulls overhead. He had taken to providing a commentary on every task, as if to show how much he knew, and Colin didn’t mind. He could see how it was that Dougal had come to be happy here.

  And that was part of why Colin didn’t see it coming. The other part was Ron. It was done with the easy hand of an expert. Colin was at the side of the boat and Ron had come down beside him. Gino was at the controls, keeping the position steady, and Bob was nearer the back, where Ron had sent him and Dougal, to begin filleting. Colin concentrated on the task he had been assigned, staring at the rope as it exited the water, waiting for sight of the pot, ready to lean out and lift it over the side of the boat. He concentrated too on keeping his balance. They had pulled in close to a steep rocky shore, and the swell washed back off the land, making the boat’s movement messy and unpredictable. So he wasn’t watching Ron, who was just behind him, pulling in the rope. It must have been easy enough for the experienced seaman, taking the slack of the coiled rope from the deck and expertly twisting it around Colin’s ankle.

  ‘Shit!’ Ron swore as he let go of the rope, just as the boat pitched towards the cliffs. Colin reached out wit
h his hand to steady himself, but as the boat lurched back, the rope, yanked into the sea by the weight of the pots, tightened around his ankle. That was enough to topple him over into the icy ocean. A simple accident, to anyone watching. An old hand’s grip slipping, a new boy not being careful about where he stood.

  The intial shock lasted only a second or two, although it felt much longer. As Colin thrashed about, trying to find which way was up, he realised the rope was still tight about the bottom of his leg, dragging him down into the darkness. Every instinct was to fight for the surface, but the harder he swam the more the rope’s grip tightened, tight like the pressure beneath his chest; one last rushed gasp as he fell. Panic pressed in at the edge of fear, but in Colin’s slowed-down mind another cry took hold. Don’t die, it instructed, in his own voice. Swim down, don’t panic. Don’t die.

  Colin listened, even though his lungs now were screaming their protest. His heart beat slow and loud, thudding in time to the dull rhythm of the boat’s engine above him. He twisted in the water and grabbed at the rope beneath his foot, then pulled himself further down into the cloudy water. He took hold of it with his other hand and pulled again, and having created slack in the rope, desperately thrashed about with his tangled leg. The trap loosened. Luck, panic and his deepest instincts had conspired to give him another chance. In the elation of it he let half his air go and saw it bubble up in front of his face. He swallowed hard, to keep what was left, and tasted the sick sting of saltwater, choking him further. He swam up toward the surface and even then there was a part of him that needed to be talked away from the darkness. Don’t let go. Don’t die.

  He let his last air go just as he hit the surface, and greedily sucked in its replacement.

  ‘Over there. There he is!’ It was Dougal’s voice, behind him. He turned and saw the boat swinging around and closing the gap of fifteen yards between them. The air was intoxicating and he was all but unconscious when the grappling hook pulled his collar tight around his neck. It was Ron who held its handle, and hauled him over the edge of the boat with his massive arms. Colin lay on his back, not understanding, smiling at his rescuer.

  ‘Is he all right?’ Dougal again, standing over Ron’s shoulder.

  ‘He’s fine. Just slipped didn’t you? You can get back to your work now Dougal.’

  Dougal caught Colin’s eye and gave a weak smile, his face still ashen with shock, then did as he was told. Ron leaned forward then, so his sweating face hovered just above Colin’s. He spoke slowly, so the meaning of it could not be lost, and Colin could smell every word.

  ‘Dying out here is easy. I don’t think you should ever forget that. You’re never to speak to Veronica again. Do you understand?’

  Colin nodded once, just before he passed out.

  * * *

  ‘Then we have to leave,’ Dougal said, just like that.

  He didn’t challenge the story, or try to explain that it might have all been a mistake, just an accident. He walked quietly beside his friend and he listened, and then he said it, and Colin could hear how much it hurt Dougal to use those words. Colin wished there was something he could say or do, to show his friend how much that mattered to him.

  It was that same day, evening. Dinner was eaten and darkness had come and the boys were walking on the beach. Gino, who had been on the water and had seen it all unfold, hadn’t said so much. Just a hand on the back and, ‘Are you all right Colin? You have to be careful you know,’ when they finished getting the boat back on to the trailer. Said like he might have known, and if he did he didn’t care, not like he should have. Not like Dougal cared as soon as he heard. And that made it easier.

  ‘Where would we go?’

  ‘Back across the hills. Then we can catch a ride somewhere.’

  ‘We could go across the sea,’ Colin said. ‘To the South Island.’

  ‘If you want.’

  ‘I’m sorry Dougal. I know you liked it here.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘When do you think we should do it?’

  ‘Soon as we can,’ Dougal told him, stopping to pick a stone up and heave it into the water. ‘We’ll need to take some things, clothes and food and stuff.’

  ‘Do you think we should tell anyone?’

  ‘Gino.’

  ‘Yeah, we should.’

  ‘Come on, let’s do it now.’

  Dougal said it like it didn’t mean so much, but Colin was glad it was too dark to properly see his friend’s face.

  ‘I’ll pay you back one day. I’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I still will.’

  And that’s the way it might have been. They might have told Gino and he might have been sad to hear it, and angry at Ron, and maybe he would have had a plan of his own or asked if he could come along. Then they might have quietly collected the provisions they needed, and before the arranged night, when they all slipped away, Colin might have had one last chance to see Veronica, and explain and say goodbye. And she might even have cried, and pleaded for him to stay, the way Colin’s imagination saw it, as they walked back to the baches.

  But the door opened before they reached it; Gino dressed for the night, and looking to the ground as soon as he saw them, because it was obvious enough where he was going. Colin felt his stomach tighten until the weight of it got too much and sent spasms as deep as his feet.

  ‘Where are you going Gino?’ Dougal asked, a voice sharp with accusation, taking sides straight away, without having to think about it.

  ‘Ah, I just, look, you are young. It is hard to explain. I will see you in the morning.’

  ‘There’s something we need to tell you Gino,’ Colin tried, not letting the picture form inside his head.

  ‘Not now Colin, I have to hurry.’ Gino put his head down and walked past them both, as if they were nothing more than shadows, while something more pressing, more solid, awaited him. ‘You can tell me tomorrow. I’m sorry.’

  The boys turned to watch him fade into the night, and neither tried to explain or stop him leaving.

  Colin realised Dougal’s hand was resting on his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Dougal told him. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘You know what I think? I think we should go now.’

  ‘So do I. Come on. There’s plenty of Gino’s things we could take.’

  * * *

  They headed north, staying with the coastline as far as the sheep station then turning once more into the hills, following a narrow stream. It was different this time, with less reason to hurry. Gino wouldn’t follow them, Colin was sure of that, and the others wouldn’t find out until the morning. And they were well stocked. Each of the boys carried a sack swung over their shoulder, and both bulged with supplies. Tins of food, matches, rope, a second knife, some candles, a blanket each, and coats. The load was heavy on Colin’s shoulder as they began the climb but he liked the feel of it. It was solid there, and although most of it he had stolen, it was his. Dougal must have been thinking the same thing.

  ‘We’re coming up in the world,’ he grinned.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well this time we’ve got a lot more to take with us haven’t we? It’s an improvement.’

  ‘We’re missing the sheep.’

  ‘You might be. Myself I don’t miss it at all.’

  ‘It was disgusting wasn’t it?’

  ‘You know I saw maggots in it, the last day.’

  ‘You did not.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘So why didn’t you say?’

  ‘Didn’t want to put you off.’

  ‘Which way now?’

  ‘Here. We’ll go up this way and camp near the top.’

  ‘You know where you’re going?’

  ‘Course I do.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Away from those bastards down there.’

  ‘You think they’ll follow us?’

  ‘Course they won’t. They d
on’t have the time.’

  They found a place to camp after an hour of climbing. Dougal had taken the tarpaulin which was tied down over the roof of the longdrop, and although it was heavy to carry it made a good fly. They decided against a fire, just in case somebody was looking for them, and lay close together with both blankets over them.

  ‘Better’n last time isn’t it?’ Dougal said.

  Better’n most things, Colin would have replied, but there were still things you didn’t say, secrets worth having.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘You tired?’

  ‘Not really,’ Colin lied. He already knew. It was in the smell of the leaves and the feel of the stones beneath his hips and shoulders, that they hadn’t been able to dig out. It was on the breeze that attacked any gap between blanket and ground, it was in the way Dougal had rolled closer, the way the past had come back to wrap itself around them. The dreams would return. Maybe not tonight, but soon. So staying awake was better.

  ‘We could go back down you know, one day,’ Dougal said. ‘We could watch them, make sure Ron and Mary aren’t there.’

  ‘Why would we want to do that?’

  ‘You could talk to Veronica. You could ask her to come with us.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to do that,’ Colin told him, but the hollowness of his words mocked him.

  ‘Doesn’t matter anyway,’ Dougal replied. ‘I’m not going back there. Not unless you want to.’

  ‘Nah, I don’t.’

  ‘I don’t either then.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘You know what I think should happen?’ Dougal said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think God should send a tidal wave, and wash the whole village out to sea. That would be good.’

  Colin saw it happen inside his head, the startled look on Veronica’s face as the water crashed down over her, and then later, the same face, out to sea, bobbing up and down, counting out the time to sleepy death.

  ‘Maybe not all of them. Some of them don’t deserve it.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’

  ‘Mary. It’s not her fault she’s crazy.’