Home Boys

by Beckett, Bernard

  ‘That’s stupid. Of course there will.’

  ‘It’s my birthday.’

  Veronica removed herself from Colin’s hold and embraced Dougal. ‘Happy birthday Dougal. I can just sleep under a log or something if you want.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I was only joking. Come on.’

  Veronica lay in the middle with the two boys close on either side. Wet layers were removed cautiously, wrapped in giggles and apologies. Then they were still and the warmth built quickly beneath the blankets. Colin waited for the conversation to start but nothing happened. No talk of why she had followed them, or how all three would stay together. No easy laughter and telling of stories. He knew he couldn’t start it himself. It would come or it wouldn’t. He would have to wait. On the other side of their makeshift home Dougal found his own reasons to stay quiet. So it was down to Veronica, and all she said was, ‘It’s so good to be warm. I’m tired. I’ll see you both in the morning.’

  ‘It would be hard not to,’ Dougal replied, and she laughed and Colin wished it was him who had said it.

  And that was all, before she was asleep. Colin forced himself to stay awake a little longer. There was nothing waiting inside his head worth giving up this moment for. She was right there, next to him. Not close, touching. He could feel the sticky warmth of rain and sweat where their legs met. He could smell her hair and move in time to the rise and fall of her breathing. He remembered the dream that had brought her here, but even that couldn’t take his smile from him. The last thing he thought on purpose, before sleep took hold, was how this might be perfect, if Dougal wasn’t there.

  * * *

  ‘So, how come you followed us?’ The question Colin wanted to ask too, that had taken so long in coming. The weather had cleared and they were sat round their small fire, more smoke than heat because that morning dry wood was impossible to find. They had already shared out some breakfast and set up their wet clothes to dry on sticks dug into the ground around the fire. It had been decided, with no more discussion than ‘let’s’ and ‘okay,’ that they would stay here another day, rather than try to carry wet gear. And now the winter sun was doing its best to help with the drying and Colin and Dougal were both watching Veronica, waiting for her answer.

  ‘I don’t know really.’

  ‘Your dad will be angry,’ Dougal said.

  Colin hadn’t thought about that. He should have. A man who would follow his son all the way to Auckland would surely think nothing of pursuing them into the bush. And when he found them, he would have little need to manufacture any accident.

  ‘He’ll come for you won’t he?’

  ‘He’ll think I’ve caught a ride into town, that I’m headed for the city. He’ll never think to look here.’

  ‘You did,’ Colin pointed out. ‘How did you find us?’

  ‘It was easy. I saw you, on the first morning, up on the ridge. I went out early, to collect wood. Gino told me you’d gone. I was looking.’

  ‘So why did it take so long to find us? We haven’t been going that fast.’

  ‘I had to get some gear, without being noticed, and then wait for night until I could slip away. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t find you at all. But I was sure this was the way you’d come.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s the way you have to come, when you’re up here. You can’t help it. It’s part of the reason I followed you.’

  And just for a moment an expression took hold of her face that made her look like Mary, or maybe the way Mary once looked, before another person grew up around her.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dougal asked her.

  ‘It’ll sound crazy to you. But it isn’t. Look,’ she checked both boys’ faces, as if having trouble deciding. ‘Maybe just pretend I never said it. Where do you want to go? I know this place. I can get you out of here, take you by the shortest way.’

  ‘That’s sounds good, we should do that,’ Colin said, too quickly. ‘We were going back to the valley, but just to get to a road. We’re going to get a ride across to the South Island. We’ll find work on a farm, where they pay you money, and we’ll save it all until we have enough to go back home. That’s what we’re doing isn’t it Dougal? That’s what we said. You should come too. I’ll show you London. You’ll like it.’

  It was more than Colin was used to saying in one breath and he blushed at how obvious it sounded. Veronica smiled at him and he was wondering what that might mean when Dougal interrupted.

  ‘No, tell us what you meant. I want to know what you were talking about. Where do you think we’re headed?’

  ‘Well …’ the wind shifted and blanketed her in smoke. She stood, coughing and waving it away with her hand. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s better over here,’ Colin told her, making room so she could sit down beside him. He noticed things he hadn’t seen before. The dryness of her bottom lip, the way it was beginning to crack; creases at the sides of her eyes when she smiled, which pointed the way to her life ahead; a red mark, the beginning of a pimple perhaps, above her eyebrow. These blemishes gave him hope. Dougal, who sat to the side of them, watched intently too, leaning forward as if to make sure none of her words could slip past.

  ‘It’s just a story.’

  ‘So tell it.’

  ‘It’s not mine.’

  ‘You brought it up though.’

  ‘Well, okay, but it’s just a story okay. I’m not saying I believe it all right?’ She stopped and looked at them both, as if it was impossible to proceed past this point without their understanding. Colin nodded and saw Dougal do the same. She had them. For all the differences, she was still Ron’s daughter.

  ‘I heard it first from a man who came to the village. Matt, he called himself, but that was only one of his names. He only stayed a few weeks. He was looking for work he said, but later Mary told me he was a drinker, who she had met at the church, and he was trying to recover. He worked the boats and on nights when the drinking started Mary would stay back in the house with him and me, so he’d have company and not be tempted. He used to tell stories. Old stories, about the area, from hundreds of years ago. They were the best stories I ever heard, and although even then I knew they weren’t real exactly, they weren’t made up either. Do you know what I mean?’

  Colin nodded.

  ‘There was one, my favourite, about a man who made a huge kite, and tied himself to it, so he could soar high up above an enemy stronghold and spy, but the old man who showed him how to make it told him he could not look at the building where the chief lived. But of course he did, because he was desperate to find what it was he shouldn’t see, and as soon as he did the wind changed and carried him out to sea.’

  ‘And what was it, that he saw?’ Colin asked.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Veronica replied, turning to him and smiling, as if the question was expected. ‘He drowned before he could tell anyone.’

  ‘So how did they know he looked down then?’ Dougal objected.

  ‘It’s a story,’ she replied, impatient with interruptions now that she was underway.

  ‘Then one night there was some special celebration, a good catch probably; we could hear loud singing, louder than normal, and Ron came in, half drunk already, and dragged Mary out with him. I don’t know where David was, out with them too I suppose, some nights he was allowed. So it was just me and Matt and maybe that’s why I remember this story most clearly. I always thought of it as my story. He told me of a cave, in the hills not far from here, that called out every night, and drew people towards it. He said it had been known as long as people had lived here and told their stories.

  ‘He said there was a river then, that ran past the old village, and provided it with its water, for drinking and cooking and cleaning, and that once every year, without fail, a great rain would come and swell the river to an angry rush of water, and it would rip through the village, damaging the buildings and washing possessions away. The young people questioned their elders, and asked why they built thei
r village so close to the water, when each year it suffered this fate, but always they replied it was the price they paid for the service of the river, that all it asked in return was that they should never forget the might of the earth. But what about all the things you lose? the young people would ask, and the elders would reply, It is the earth reminding us not to take more than we can enjoy.

  ‘Now for generations this explanation was good enough, but a fiery young man came along who had different ideas. I can move the river, he boasted, and with the help of the other young men of the village, he dug a great channel and diverted the river, so that while it still came close enough to be of use, even when it flooded it did not touch them. Now the young people celebrated their mastery of the earth and quickly named the young man their new leader, but the elders were worried.

  ‘And then one night they heard it, like a deep breathing all along the coast, and if you listened carefully it was a voice, as deep and as rich as any voice you would ever hear, and it was calling the young leader by name. At first the young man denied hearing such a thing. It’s just the wind, he said, but everyone knew it was not. And soon rumours started, that he was afraid, and so to show he wasn’t, he set off with two of his closest friends, to find the source of the calling.

  ‘They tramped up here, this very way, until they found a cave. And at its mouth the voice was at its loudest and the young man was forced to venture inside, to find out why he was called. His friends stayed outside and waited. They waited one day, then two, then three. On the fourth day they realised the voice had stopped its calling, and their rash young leader was never seen again.’

  ‘So?’ Dougal challenged, before Veronica could even draw breath, or see the look of magic reflected back in Colin’s eyes. ‘That’s just a story. You’d have to be daft to believe that.’

  ‘I know,’ Veronica replied. ‘But I was ten and I loved that story. Matt told me straight away it was just a story, but then he said something else. He said, but the cave, the cave is real enough. I asked what he meant, and he said that the cave exists, up in these hills, and although nobody understands it, there is something that draws wanderers towards it. Not everyone can hear it calling, but those who do always find it, and no one who’s entered the cave has ever left it, well, not alive. I asked him what killed them and Matt told me it was probably their fear. There’s a certain sort who is drawn to confront their fear he said, and you never should, because the only thing you are truly afraid of is the thing that will kill you.

  ‘These hills, they have spirits in them. Everybody knows that. I know it sounds silly but you ask anybody in the village, even the biggest unbeliever, and they’ll tell you.’

  She looked at them both, as if daring them to challenge her, but even Dougal kept his thoughts to himself.

  ‘Two days after he told me that story, in the middle of the night, I heard Matt get up and put on all his clothes and walk out of the bach. I followed him, as far as the place where you climbed up, to get here, and when I saw he was heading into the hills I called out, and asked where he was going, but he wouldn’t answer me. He just turned and waved, and motioned for me to go back. And no one ever saw him again.’

  ‘And you think the cave got him?’ Dougal asked. ‘No wonder Colin likes you so much. You’re as daft as one another.’

  ‘But it isn’t just him,’ Veronica replied. ‘That’s the thing. Since then three young men have disappeared, without a word, and all of them, well,’ she hesitated, as if the right words were important here, ‘well I knew them. And you don’t have to believe it if you don’t want, but I know what I’ve seen, and I’m scared it might be something to do with me. I don’t know, there was something about Matt, you’d know if you’d seen him, and I think it’s got something to do with me. So when I saw you two leaving, heading this way, I was frightened. I thought you might be … well, I just wanted to warn you, that’s all. And it’s how I found you. Because it’s where you’re headed, straight towards the cave.’

  ‘So you’ve been there?’

  ‘No, but I know where it is. I can feel it. You have to let me lead you tomorrow, away from it.’

  ‘How can you lead us away from it, if you don’t know where it is?’ Dougal reasoned.

  ‘I know the way out of here. I’ve been up here before,’ Veronica replied. ‘And you don’t have to believe me, but I know where the cave is too.’

  Colin looked to Dougal. It didn’t sound real, or even possible, but up in the bush such things didn’t mean so much. Dougal’s face was set in resolute disbelief and Colin saw it for what it was, a look of trouble.

  ‘You should talk about it,’ Veronica said, standing and walking away from the fire. ‘I’m going down to the stream. I’ll be back in a little while. Tell me then what you want me to do.’

  ‘She’s as loopy as her mother,’ Dougal said, when he judged her to be out of earshot.

  ‘She just believes it, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I believe then shall I? I believe that if three young men have all gone missing, three young men she knew, then we don’t need some wandering story teller to tell us what happened to them. I believe we’d be better off asking Ron, don’t you? It’s not the monster in the cave we want to be worrying about. It’s the one we’ve run away from. And I don’t care what she thinks, he’s going to be following us.’

  ‘So you think …’ Colin hadn’t considered the possibility. But there was an awful sense to it.

  ‘It’s better than some silly story about a cave isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Right then.’

  Dougal looked at Colin and Colin looked back, trying to read his friend’s face. He knew he should say it himself, save his friend the job of breaking the news, on his birthday.

  ‘We could still let her come with us though,’ he tried, not believing it, but not wanting to let go, not without fighting.

  ‘As long as she’s with us, he’ll be following.’

  ‘We don’t know that.’

  ‘And we don’t want to find out for sure either do we? We have to explain, and send her back.’

  ‘She won’t go back,’ Colin told him. ‘She’s said so to me. She was going to run away anyway.’

  ‘And what do you think she tells Gino? Never mind this Matt, she’s the one’s got a story for everyone.’ He spat the words clear and looked to the ground where they landed. Colin felt angry at him, not for thinking it, but for saying. He didn’t always know. He wasn’t always right, not even on his birthday.

  ‘What about if she can show us the quickest way out? If we get out of here tomorrow, that’d still be all right. We can pack up now, there’s still time left for walking. And we’ll make sure we’re hidden tonight, so no one can find us. We don’t have to put the fly up.’

  ‘No.’

  Colin looked down, ashamed of the tears that were blurring his world.

  ‘Sorry, it’s just the smoke, gets in my eyes.’

  ‘I’m sorry Colin, but you can’t be thick about it.’

  ‘know. I know. Can I go and find her? I want to …’ What? He had no idea. See her, that was all. Be close to her. Just stand there, alone with her. Nothing and everything. ‘I want to tell her myself. And maybe that way she’ll listen, and she’ll go back.’

  All right then. Not too long though.’

  ‘Scared of ghosts?’ Colin managed a smile.

  ‘No,’ Dougal replied. ‘People. People’s more dangerous than ghosts. You’re the one should be careful.’

  ‘How old are you anyway?’

  ‘Older’n yesterday.’ Dougal turned to prod at the fire and Colin walked away, wondering what it was he’d say when he found her.

  They were in a small valley, near the head where the land rose up on every side. It was only a few minutes back to the stream. Colin remembered it from the previous afternoon, when it had raged thick and brown in the downpour. He was too nervous to run, and too excited to stick with walking, so his prog
ress through the bush was marked by a broken rhythm of dread and anticipation. He made himself look down, concentrate on where his feet were, so he wouldn’t see her until he was close, too late to change his mind. He soon arrived at the water, lower than yesterday but still not running clear. He looked up, already feeling the hollowness in his stomach, the reminder of a new goodbye. Veronica wasn’t there. He thought of calling her name but didn’t, for fear that Dougal might come running, and ruin forever something already close to broken. Colin sat on a large boulder half grown round with grass, the other half set in water, reaching out from the eroding bank and squeezing the stream into an angry rush. He wanted to cry, but couldn’t. He could think of every sadness there was, but it was a like a stone skimming across the water, refusing to go any deeper.

  ‘Bugger it,’ he said, to himself and to the water flowing beneath. ‘Shit and damn and bugger it.’

  But his tiny voice wasn’t enough to take the attention of the stream, and all around him the vast, empty air remained undisturbed. Like it was telling him all his worries didn’t amount to much; but if that was true, then neither did he. It wasn’t so comforting.

  Either she had lied to him, for some reason Colin couldn’t guess at, or she had gone to some other part of the stream. He tried upstream first, because that way looked easier. The first two bends yielded only more bush and shadows that mocked his desperate searching. Then the stream curled to the right, turning hard against a rocky bluff. Rather than trying to find a higher path through prickly, tight-packed bush Colin rolled up his trousers and waded out through the knee deep water. He knew it was stupid, believing Veronica would have come this way, but he wasn’t ready to turn back. He wasn’t ready to let her go.

  Beyond the bend the stream narrowed, no more than a couple of yards in width, and rushed across a bed of shingle, causing it to splash and gurgle and hide the sound of Colin’s approach. Veronica was another ten yards on, crouched at a point where the water opened out into a wide smooth-topped pool. She was scooping it in her hands and splashing her face and upper body. She still wore the thick dark trousers that had belonged to her brother, but her jersey sat on the stones behind her, next to her discarded shirt. Colin stopped, oblivious to the cold of the water passing around his legs. His heart held on to each beat, as if trying to stretch out the moments. From where he stood he could see the pale skin of her back, the dark tangle of her wet hair and the curve of a breast each time she raised her arm. It was such a strange feeling, different from anything he had felt before. Perhaps this was what Gino meant, when he said ‘You’re young. You wouldn’t understand.’