Sign

by Colin Dray

  Dettie had dabbed a tissue to her nose. She turned in her chair, glancing back at Sam—who scrunched his eyes shut, burying his head.

  ‘Well, you can tell yourself that, Joanne,’ she said, ‘but I don’t believe it. For him to just skulk off—pack his bags and flee. Like some criminal. To not tell me. His sister. His children even! I mean, to not even wait for them to get home? To give them some idea of what it’s all about?’

  His mother shook her head quickly, blinking her eyes. ‘He left them a letter.’

  ‘A letter?’ Dettie squeaked. ‘Oh, how very managerial of him.’

  ‘He said he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t bear to see their faces.’

  ‘Oh, what a load of rot. “Couldn’t stand it”? Too ashamed of himself, more like.’ She was sputtering. ‘No. I don’t care what he could stand, Joanne. There are children involved. In his entire life he has never—not once—’

  ‘I know. I know, Dettie. And I agree. And I’ll be angry. I will. I’m just—I’m just not there yet. For now I can’t even…’ Her voice quavered, rising. She picked at her coaster. ‘Look, what he’s done,’ she said, ‘how he’s done it, it’s awful. It’s wrong. God help me, there would have been better ways. But it’s for the best.’

  Dettie had straightened in her chair as if to speak, shaking her head, but she didn’t. Instead, she watched the way his mother ran her fingers through her hair and sighed.

  ‘You’ll be all right, Joanne.’ She leant over to his mother, touching her arm. ‘I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you will. I’m here. The kids are safe. Everyone’s healthy. Maybe we all just need some time to calm down. To rethink. Us. Donald. Nothing’s set in stone.’

  ‘I’m just breathing, Dettie.’

  ‘You know I’ll help. If I can. In any way I can. I’m only a phone call away. Since Ted passed on I’ve got all this free time. And another set of hands. In fact, if you need to go and lie down…’

  His mother had laughed like a hiccough as Dettie spoke. She sighed. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘I just need to breathe.’

  And so they sat, breathing softly, until his mother’s tea was cold and Dettie had drained the last of hers from her cup.

  23

  The sunburn on Sam’s arms and neck had just started to blister. Beneath his singlet he felt the weight of the sun pressing on his flesh. Flickers of shadow cooled his skin like sprinkles of water whenever a tree passed overhead. The fabric was itchy and clung to the aloe vera Dettie had rubbed over him. It made him sweat even more and he had to peel it away from his body whenever he moved. Katie stared out the window. The radio was off and she had stopped asking why. Dettie chewed on a straw, biting it flat and dragging it between her teeth. She had opened the air vents as far as they would go.

  Sam had read his comic through so many times he almost knew each page by heart: when Pamela and Tim hide in the rest stop cabin; where Tim goes outside to restart the generator; the glint of the zombie’s eyes from out of the tree line. Sam wasn’t sure why it filled him with such a peculiar thrill. All that anger. All the violence. The zombies revolted him, but there was something exciting about them too. Something primal. Hunger and aggression. And no fear. No nervousness, no awkwardness. No jobs or school or family.

  No voices.

  He knew what they reminded him of. Angry. Silent. Changed from what they were. As he sat there picturing their rotting flesh—his own skin stinging, bubbled and red—it made him feel sick, but that twisted nausea in his belly was somehow better than what he’d been feeling for months. Less hollow. Less unfamiliar and lost. The zombies, rotting and shredded as they were, had taken all that rage and loss and self-loathing and run with it. Used it to tear up whatever got in the way. It made them strong. Something to fear, not something afraid.

  ‘Did you see that flock of birds back there?’ Dettie called over the noise of the fan.

  Sam’s eyes were heavy. She was looking at him, so he nodded, his neck feeling thin and rubbery.

  ‘Katie, did you see them? That big flock of cockatoos?’

  Katie crossed her arms. She closed her eyes as warm air blew in her face.

  Sam looked out at fields of dry grass passing by. Sheep ambled slowly towards a shrunken dam. His skin throbbed.

  ‘Did you know that most times, Sammy,’ Dettie called, ‘in a flock of cockatoos, they have galahs travelling with them too? Two of them.’

  Way off in the distance he thought he could see birds, two grey figures in a patch of speckled white, but his vision was blurred and it could have been dust on the window.

  ‘I don’t know why they do,’ she said. ‘But they’re pretty easy to spot because they stick together. Have you kids spotted any?’

  Katie still didn’t answer. Sam was tired and pressed back in his seat. He let the motion of the car shake his head.

  ‘I want my other clothes,’ Katie said.

  Dettie took a breath. ‘Katie, we’ve talked about this. There wasn’t time—’

  ‘Sam got a new singlet.’

  ‘Sam needed a new one because his T-shirt was ruined.’

  Katie tugged at the juice stain on her dress. ‘This one smells like petrol.’

  ‘Well, if you want new clothes maybe you should stop sulking and start behaving like a member of this family.’

  Katie thumped her body against the door. ‘I want to go with Mum.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl.’ Dettie stepped on the accelerator and the car roared. ‘You don’t hear your brother complaining, do you?’

  ‘Yeah, but Sam…’

  She stopped. The car faded back to a hum. Katie kept staring out the window with her arms crossed, but slowly she let go and laid her hands by her legs. Sam tasted a bead of sweat as it rolled down his lips. Angry. Silent. Outside, two birds, grey with a spot of pink on their bellies, bobbed in a hazy sea of white.

  24

  It was an old department store, lined with cream wallpaper that had faded brown in places, but still glittering with gaudy, drooping chandeliers. They passed glass cabinets filled with bottles of perfume and jewellery that glowed yellow. The countertops were trimmed with strips of gold.

  ‘Keep up, come on,’ Dettie said. ‘We don’t have all day.’

  She found the children’s section—girls and boys—and began snatching up a few items. Shirts, shorts, some packets of children’s underwear. Katie ran over to a stand of bright skirts and flicked through them, the sound of each plastic hanger snapping against the next as she went.

  Before long the two of them were bickering over a pair of shorts, so Sam sat down on a cushioned vinyl bench beside the fitting rooms, holding whatever new clothes Dettie handed to him, feeling his skin pulse. Around him stiff pink mannequins stared dead-eyed beneath coarse black wigs, and he joined them, peering straight ahead at the maroon carpet, hearing soft electronic piano music drift from somewhere, and realising, with a curiously detached calm, that he had absolutely no idea what town he was in.

  Half an hour later a bubbly young shop assistant was ringing up their purchases, folding them into a plastic bag as she chewed a piece of bright green gum in the corner of her smile. The summer dress printed with flowers that Katie and Dettie had finally agreed upon. The ugly skateboarding T-shirt Dettie had picked for Sam that he was too sore and exhausted to argue against. Socks, underwear, thongs. The register sputtered out a receipt.

  ‘And will you be paying by cheque or—?’

  ‘Cash,’ Dettie said swiftly, drawing a note from the thick bundle in her purse and pressing it into the woman’s hand, waving away a receipt.

  25

  Near the seesaw and the roundabout children ran squealing. They played tag and tossed pieces of bark at one another. It looked sweaty and dusty and free. It reminded Sam of the prickling sensation he used to feel across his skin whenever he ran on the soccer field, his fingers dirty, his knees scuffed. He could imagine the itch of the grass in their hair and the metallic smell on their hands from the cha
ins of the swing. He was sitting under the tallest tree in the park, bathed in shadow. Dettie had him swaddled in a blanket, hidden beneath her large pair of sunglasses and a straw hat. Watching the children, he was heavy and hot, and as he tugged handfuls of grass from the ground he rubbed the coarse sensation of each blade into his palm, enjoyed the lush stain it left on his fingertips.

  Katie picked at her potato and gravy with a fork. Her shoes and socks lay beside her and she stretched her toes out in the sun. Dettie shooed the flies away from their plates and wrapped the last of the roast chicken back into its bag.

  ‘Are you kids done with this?’ she asked, standing up with the rubbish.

  Katie nodded slowly. Sam was full and still had the taste of salad vinegar around his mouth.

  Dettie crossed the park to the bins. She stretched and dusted the crumbs off herself. When Katie and Sam were looking in her direction she waved and pointed to the toilets.

  Katie watched her go, and when Dettie was out of sight she exhaled and put her plate aside. ‘Is Aunty Dettie angry with me?’

  Sam shook his head, shrugged and picked again at the ground.

  ‘She keeps yelling at me,’ Katie said. ‘All the time.’

  The sounds of the other children playing swam in the air.

  ‘I wish we could have gone with Mummy.’ Katie’s eyes watered. There was a wobble in her voice. She whispered, ‘I don’t want to go to Perth.’

  Sam wanted to agree. He wanted to say, Me neither. So he squeezed her arm and nodded.

  He was surprised Katie hadn’t yet mentioned all the friends she was leaving behind. The girl in their street she would always go with to the swimming pool. The two blonde girls from her gymnastics class. Or her schoolfriend Sarah who had the same birthday. Sam hadn’t had as many close friends since he was diagnosed, but even he wondered when, or if, he would see his friend Paul again. He wouldn’t be able to call him on the phone, but he could write a letter saying goodbye when they got to Perth. In all the shock of the move, with the speed at which it was happening, the reality didn’t seem to have hit Katie yet.

  The last two days had certainly been a rush, which had made it hard to think of much beyond the journey ahead. Between the giddy surprise of their mother’s phone call, and the flurry to get packed into the car; with the thought of their father, longing to see them after a year away, and the mysterious promise of Perth waiting on the horizon, there’d been little room for anything else. Sam had barely given a thought to how much work their mother must have to do back at home, packing everything up. Indeed, he realised suddenly, they had been in such a rush that he wasn’t even sure if they’d locked the back door of the house when they left. But now, finally on motionless ground, the chatter and squawk of other children scrambling over each other in the fresh air, the enormity of the move started to press in.

  They were in Mildura now, as the nearby railway station informed him. According to a sign advertising the local Lions and Apex clubs, the play area was called Jaycee Park. In one direction, lime green trees puffed up like towering mushrooms, in the other, willows almost kissed the grass, and in the midst of both, children, squealing with joy, were climbing all over a black steam engine, now inert on a block of concrete.

  There was a whip of laughter. Somebody called out, ‘Jump!’ There was a squeal, then a soft thud emptied the air of noise. Sam turned to look across the lawn. Children were gathered by the biggest wheel of the train. A choked moan sounded from somewhere in the group, and two girls who’d been standing back watching started to scream.

  Katie stood and wiped her eyes. ‘What happened?’

  Sam took Dettie’s sunglasses off and sat up.

  The crowd was milling around, pushing in tighter. They only parted when Dettie ran over, pushing through, to kneel at the edge of the concrete. Sam hadn’t noticed her returning from the bins, but as the group moved in closer he unwrapped himself from the blanket, pushed their things into a pile, and together he and Katie ran over.

  The other children were gathered around a thin boy with freckles. He was bleeding from a gash over his top lip and Dettie was cradling him, rocking his body, with a handkerchief in her hand. She hushed him and stroked his red hair.

  ‘You’re okay. Shhh…You’re being very brave.’

  The boy hiccoughed and rolled around in her arms. Dettie held him and caught his hands so he wouldn’t touch his mouth. She noticed Katie and Sam standing quietly behind the others, staring.

  ‘Katie, darling, can you do me a favour?’ she said. ‘Can you be a big strong girl and run to the car? On the floor in the back there’s a little red box. A first-aid kit. Could you go and get that for me?’

  Katie nodded, and when Dettie smiled at her, she ran off.

  ‘And Sammy?’ Dettie said. ‘Can you go get a cup and pour some water into it from the tap? Then bring it over here for us, please.’

  The blood was shiny as it slid down the boy’s chin, a rich, wet red with tiny bubbles winking at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t like in the comic; it wasn’t spurting. And it hadn’t yet dried into the dark brown colour that had stained the kangaroo.

  ‘Sammy?’ Dettie called.

  He nodded and hurried back over to their plates, holding the hat to his head. He pulled a plastic cup from a bag and filled it under the tap. When he returned, the injured boy was clutching Dettie’s hand close to his chest. His lip had swollen, and Sam could see through the blood that his two front teeth were chipped, one almost a triangle.

  Dettie saw Sam and waved him closer. Thanking him, she dipped her handkerchief in the water.

  ‘Now, honey,’ she whispered in the boy’s ear, ‘I know you’re hurt, but I’m just going to clean you up. I promise I’ll be very careful.’

  The boy whined and twisted away, but as she held him closer she touched the cloth so lightly to his face that he settled down. The blood was almost cleaned from his chin by the time Katie returned with the kit, and children had started pushing closer to see his broken teeth. They whispered to each other as Dettie disinfected the wound and dried the cut.

  When the boy’s parents finally appeared, a parcel of fish and chips tucked under the father’s arm, they crouched beside her, leaving their son in Dettie’s lap and thanking her again and again. While she spoke to them, calming down the boy’s mother who had started to cry, Dettie sent Sam and Katie to clean up the rest of the food and wait by the car. They nodded, and wandered back to the tree, Sam rolling up their blanket, and Katie throwing the plastic plates and spoons into the bin.

  Beside the car Katie sat down and pulled her socks on slowly. She was staring through the crowd to where Dettie was still rocking the boy and comforting his parents. Slowly, the other children were gathered up by their families and led away, and eventually Dettie helped carry the boy to his family’s van. He held on to her hand, scarcely breaking eye contact until the door slid shut. The boy’s mother kept pushing her hair nervously from her face as she talked, and leant over to give Dettie a hug. It was impossible to hear what they said, but the woman smiled and Dettie nodded, and as they drove off, she waved them all goodbye.

  ‘How are we, kids? Are you all right?’ Dettie asked when she returned to the car. Adjusting the bandaid on her ring finger, she reached into the glove box and pulled out a cigarette.

  Katie rocked on her feet. ‘How is the boy?’

  ‘Oh, he’s fine, sweetie.’ Dettie sparked the lighter. ‘Thank you for your help.’

  Katie rubbed the hem of her new floral dress.

  Dettie blew smoke straight up in the air and checked her watch. ‘I’m going to wash off,’ she said. ‘You kids be ready to go when I get back.’

  26

  Tiny dots of sun glowed through the weave in Sam’s straw hat. When he moved his head they rippled and sparked. He forgot the burns on his arms for a moment and enjoyed the swirl of reds and yellows across his eyes. His chest felt warm. It felt puffed out and spongy, like the muffins Dettie would usually make for the
m on weekends. They always tasted chalky and never had enough sugar, but Sam liked to hold them to his nose when they were still hot from the oven and breathe in the smell. And his chest felt like that now, he thought. Baked all through.

  Dettie had been gone a long while and he needed to use the toilet. He knocked on the car window and gestured to Katie. She was hunting through the first-aid kit and reading what she could of the labels.

  There were toilet blocks over in the park, just beyond the play equipment, but Dettie had headed in the direction of the train station, so Sam crossed the car park and found the doorway into its darkened men’s toilet. The only light came through holes cut into the bricks around the ceiling, and there was a musty funk of wet concrete and stale pee. He used the urinal, washed his hands, and because there were no towels or fans, wiped them dry on his singlet.

  On the way back to the door a hollow chirping sound near the stalls surprised him. He stopped. When he listened it seemed to be coming from beneath him, underground. When he bent over, his elbows on his knees, he could make out the soft echo of wings fluttering on dirt. It was a bird, but it wasn’t singing. It sounded like it was caught on something, injured, squawking and twisting in place. He followed the chirping noise down to a drain by the sink, but after a minute of peering through the rusted grate into the darkness, he decided there was nothing to see. If the bird was in there it was too far back. He tried to round his lips and whistle, but, of course, that was not how his throat worked anymore. He puffed, and made popping sounds with his cheeks, tried sucking in air and burping, but he’d never learnt to make the sound come out properly. He felt light-headed, and the bird, if it was even trapped at all, had already gone quiet.