Storyland

by Catherine McKinnon

  When we get to the bit of the creek where Isha and Tarak usually leave their raft we jump onto a rock ledge. It’s shaped like a fish. Isha says it might have been carved by Aborigines or might be an accident of the weather. We walk along to the grassy bit and check the ground for footprints. The horse girls haven’t showed yet. We can tell because when we look at the ground there is no fresh horse poo, only some wombat poo on a rock. The wombat poo is a cube and a cube is extremely hard to poo. We get back on the raft and row downstream to the reeds because the reeds are the best place for us to ambush the horse girls from.

  I see two more dragonflies mating, which makes fourteen or ten this week. Dragonflies live in their nymph state underneath the water. When the time comes for them to transform to a grown-up dragonfly they climb up a reed or across rocks, moult one last time, which is like taking all their clothes off, begin to breath in oxygen breathe breathe and when their wings have dried, fly. I read that in Fascinating Science but I want to see it in real life. If I do then something magic could happen although I don’t know what. Like I could change into a different person who could fly or a person who has blonde hair instead of black. Because once upon a time according to Fascinating Science human beings were underwater sea creatures and the journey to walking on two legs or even having two legs was aeons and aeons of time so it’s not like impossible that one day we might fly.

  Isha and Tarak help me search the reeds for nymphs. There’s a loud buzzing by my ear. Isha grins so I see the gap between his side teeth. He rolls up his sleeve and shows me the black watch strapped above his elbow. It looks like a good watch. I don’t tell them about my numbers problem because I usually don’t tell anyone. Everyone in my class knows but they are the only ones. Isha switches off the watch alarm.

  ‘It was Mum’s,’ Tarak says. ‘From when she was skindiving but she gave that up when I got pneumonia because Dad said she was too busy with her hobbies to be a proper mum and she said she wasn’t.’

  The watch alarm is their reminder to go home for lunch. Their dad makes them peanut butter sandwiches every day as he hasn’t got a doctor’s job yet but when their aunt comes over they have dhal and rice. My favourite Indian food is poppadoms. My second favourite is butter chicken.

  Isha and Tarak raft me back to my place and I say yes to going with them again to scare the horse girls and rafting around the lake to look for treasure. I wave goodbye and see Nada and Sara from down the road walking along the shore with their mother. I run up and say hello and ask Mrs Haddad if Nada and Sara can have a ride on the raft tomorrow but Mrs Haddad says no. Nada is six and old enough but Sara is only four. Nada holds onto her mother’s hand and smiles but Sara hides behind Mrs Haddad’s dress and peeks her head out only once. I race inside leaving wet footprints on the floor so I don’t start off well telling Aiko about my new friends Isha and Tarak because she is just home from her summer tutoring job at the university and not in the mood for doing housework.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Aiko asks Jonathan in her cross voice because he is meant to be in charge of me when she goes to work only he doesn’t have as many rules as she does and that gets on her goat.

  ‘Didn’t you say a few adventures would be good for her?’

  Ha! Jonathan is like Isha, answering a question with a question. I can’t believe I haven’t ever noticed before. Now I am going to notice it all the time.

  ‘Besides, Bel can swim,’ he says.

  ‘You said this year I could be more mature,’ I say to Aiko.

  ‘Rafting with two violent boys is not in my definition of maturity,’ Aiko says.

  I wish, I wish I hadn’t told her about our plans to attack the horse girls.

  ‘What is in your definition?’ I ask.

  ‘No smart talk, okay?’ she says.

  Aiko is quite serious for a mum. What happens next is I ask if we can negotiate and Aiko goes, I said I said, but then she can’t speak, and she throws the Chux at the sink, and Jonathan says, Let’s all cool down, and Aiko says, As parents we should be on the same team, and Jonathan says, We are on the same team, and Aiko says, No we are not, Jonathan, and Jonathan says, We should talk about it calmly, and he makes us all sit down on the sofa. He says the question on the table, not the coffee table, but the metaphorical table, is – Can Bel go rafting with Isha and Tarak?

  I tell them how no one is allowed to say no in Isha and Tarak’s house and explain how the rule works.

  ‘Dumb rule,’ Aiko says.

  ‘It has some merit,’ Jonathan says.

  ‘See! Not. On. Same. Team,’ Aiko says.

  Jonathan sometimes uses words like merit, which are not old words but more formal than if he just said, It’s a good idea.

  ‘I need to be able to rely on you,’ Aiko says to Jonathan and her eyebrows come together like two swords, swish swish.

  ‘Dad is unreliable,’ I say and laugh, because Jonathan’s PhD is on people in stories who tell stories you don’t believe so they can’t be relied on so they are unreliable. So what what what happens when you read one of those unreliable storytelling people is you make up your own story alongside their story and get two for the price of one.

  Jonathan laughs when I say he is unreliable but not Aiko. They keep talking and talking in their serious voices. Jonathan finally gets Aiko to agree to a trial period of me rafting with Tarak and Isha by saying he’ll personally get us kids to comply with a rafting agreement, which is a contract.

  When Jonathan speaks his voice is deep but not deep in a bad way, deep in a good way like when you’re in a cave and you go deeper and deeper and everything around you is solid. Aiko’s voice is around me too but then inside me also but Jonathan’s voice is over and around and stays outside. He doesn’t look happy when I say that but then he tells me he isn’t not happy just thinking thinking because the human species knows words because of what is around a word, like not other words around the word, but the mood or something. Like spook has a mood and jolly has a different mood and so so so even if you’re an alien down from Mars and only speak Martian you can maybe hear moods and get the meaning that way.

  Jonathan and I go to the lake to meet Isha and Tarak. Our raft agreement is a lot of nots. Not knots but nots although Jonathan says knots could be a good metaphor for our raft agreement.

  These are the nots we agree to: a) not to raft further than four metres from the shoreline (four metres is like four of Isha and four is one more than the three of us); b) not to get into strange boats; c) not to talk to strangers. We also agree to some yes things like: a) yes, we will check in with Jonathan regularly; b) yes, we will tell Jonathan exactly where we’ve been and exactly what we’ve done.

  Every day, for the first week of January, Tarak, Isha and Zeus pick me up in the mornings and off we go. Sometimes we pretend to be explorers or stranded sailors or aliens or people from the future or pirates. Zeus has roles too, as a packhorse, a wild animal and a flying wolf. The flying wolf is his least favourite role as that is when all three of us climb on his back and pretend to fly. We like best to row along the foreshore, pull our raft up on land and hunt for treasure. By the end of that first week we have a huge stash: shells; animal bones; bird feathers, one white one from a white-bellied sea eagle; two street signs that someone has pulled from the signpost and thrown away; an old bike handlebar; an old tobacco tin; a brooch with a blue bird in the middle of it; and a tee shirt with Never Buy Retail printed on the front. We store our treasures in a tree hideaway that is just spiky trees growing close together around a rock, and is down a dirt path back in from the creek.

  On Saturday, we crawl out of our hideaway and run along the path to the creek and there are the horse girls, five of them, walking their horses down to the water’s edge.

  Isha counts one, two, three and it’s war.

  We run towards them, half-lion, half-zombie. ‘Raaah! Raaah!’

  The horses neigh and rear up like in cowboy movies.

  The girls scream.

  T
he bossiest girl shouts, ‘Don’t be juveniles.’

  Isha gives Zeus the ‘Attack!’ command.

  Zeus flops down panting.

  Even when we all yell, ‘Go wolf, go!’ Zeus won’t budge.

  The bossiest girl points at us. ‘Grow up.’

  It’s an impasse, which means it’s a deadlock, which means no one won the war. We take off on our raft and Tarak waves goodbye to the girls like they might have thought it was fun too, which they didn’t. We know because all of them give us the finger.

  We row to Swamp Park. Swamp Park isn’t an official park. It’s floodland that can’t be built on because it floods. There’s a stream that comes off from Mullet Creek and loops through the park but it’s not very deep and we can just jump stones to cross it. There are groves, which is trees growing together but leaving a space in the middle that is all dark and gloomy, and the groves have the biggest spider webs I’ve ever seen. Some groves have smelly ponds in them and fat frogs croaking and swarming mosquitoes. All the pathways are covered with leaves and pine needles and beer bottles and paper rubbish. Away from the main path is a patch of dead spindly trees that look like burnt people with their arms out. We name it Burnt Tree Patch. Greeny twisted vines and smelly lantana loop through the branches and it could be like loops of beads on a burnt skeleton or something. Off the path and through Burnt Tree Patch, where the land goes up to a big bump, is the fig tree. It’s a great tree because the roots are above ground. They look like elephant hide. Actually, it looks like lots of different trees plaited together but it’s not, it’s one tree. And when you sit underneath, it’s like being in a huge huge tent that has all the flaps open. The branches twist all different ways and it’s a really good tree for climbing. There’s a big hole in the trunk that you can sit in, or hide stuff in, or you could live in it.

  Isha and me and Tarak spit in our hands and squash our palms against each other and swear to do everything together no matter what. It’s a really really good thing to do because I haven’t really ever had best friends that I spit on my hands and make a pact with. Isha and I climb up to the third branch of the fig and wait for Tarak, who only makes it to the first branch because he looks down which is what you don’t do.

  ‘I can’t climb up,’ Tarak shouts.

  We call down to him, ‘Stop acting like a six year old.’

  Tarak cries and cries because he is nearly eight so he hates being called a six year old but we only call him that to encourage him. We have to abandon the climb because someone might hear Tarak screaming and that could bring big problems because we haven’t yet told Jonathan about our trips to Swamp Park. We haven’t lied, we just haven’t said, which is what some lawyers do, so it’s legal. Why we don’t tell is because Jonathan and Aiko would probably worry I’d fall into a swamp pond, especially Aiko because she’s a worrywart. Swamp Park is like a secret and it’s the first time I’ve been able to keep a secret.

  We abandon our climb and go home and it’s Monday before we can raft again. By then Isha has come up with the idea of a rope harness to help with Tarak’s climbing terror and we raft to Swamp Park to make a second climb attempt. According to Isha you have to say attempt if you haven’t climbed something yet.

  After we’ve hauled the raft onto shore we trek along the path and through Burnt Tree Patch. Zeus is in the lead, followed by Isha, then Tarak, then me. Isha has the climbing rope looped over his shoulder which he says is what a mountain climber would do. When we come to the fig tree we stop, still as stone statues, because there on the ground, lying between the tree roots, is a girl. Her body is twisted, her legs scissored, one arm flung above her head, the other curled beneath her.

  ‘She’s dead,’ Tarak whispers.

  We creep closer to look at the dead girl. She has jeans on and a midriff tee shirt that’s all faded and red but not tie-dye. There’s a bird tattooed onto the outside of her ankle and three silver rings pierce her belly button. I see her stomach move.

  ‘She’s not dead,’ I say, ‘she’s sleeping.’

  We watch her but she doesn’t wake up, not even when I fake cough. I see a wheelie suitcase shoved into the big hole in the tree trunk. It has yellow stitching on the handle and two zipper pockets at the front. We pull it out. It’s heavy, heavy. Zeus sniffs at it.

  ‘What if there’s a dead body inside?’ Isha whispers.

  Isha is obsessed with dead things. All morning he has been trying to terrify Tarak and me with mutilated body stories.

  ‘There won’t be a dead body in there,’ I whisper back.

  ‘If there is, we don’t mess up the crime scene,’ Isha says.

  Isha is the only one of us three allowed to stay up and watch crime movies so he thinks he is an expert on crime scenes.

  We study the suitcase. Isha kneels to unzip it.

  Tarak makes a scream face but doesn’t scream.

  ‘Tarak, it won’t have a body in it,’ I whisper. ‘A body wouldn’t fit in there.’

  ‘Cut up it could,’ Isha says.

  We talk in hush hush voices so we don’t wake up the sleeping girl.

  ‘Don’t open it,’ I say.

  ‘Bel, stop being a girl girl,’ Isha says.

  ‘I’m not being a girl girl.’

  ‘You’re acting like one,’ Isha says.

  ‘You’re acting like one,’ I say.

  ‘Why does Zeus keep sniffing at it, if there’s not a body in it?’ Tarak asks.

  Isha wants to open the suitcase but we all have to agree on account of our spit. The thing is I’m not a girl girl as in a frightened one so I have to agree to open the suitcase to prove it, only Tarak doesn’t want to.

  I squeeze his hand and say, ‘Tarak, if there is a body in it, or even just body bits, like a finger, or a leg, we’ll go back and tell Jonathan.’

  ‘Okay,’ Tarak says. ‘Open.’

  Isha counts one, two, three, then slowly unzips the bag and lifts the lid, but all we see is a roll of canvas and some clothes. Isha lifts the canvas from the bag and spreads it on the ground. Out roll lots of other canvases, all with paintings on them.

  ‘It’s like Aboriginal art,’ I say.

  ‘Is it?’ Isha asks.

  Zeus pads off. All his sniffing was for nothing.

  We squat by the case and inspect what else is inside – a skimpy top, a bag of makeup, and a jumper. Underneath the jumper, there is a heavy thing, wrapped in a pillow case. Isha opens the pillowcase and pulls the heavy thing out.

  ‘Wow,’ he whispers.

  ‘Wow and double wow,’ I say.

  It’s a big big stone, twice as big as Jonathan’s fist. It has a wooden stick that bends around it and is tied with twisty rope.

  ‘What is it?’ Tarak whispers.

  ‘It’s a stone thing,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Isha.

  ‘Like an old ancient stone thing from a museum,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, like a stone axe,’ says Isha.

  ‘It’s not sharp enough,’ says Tarak.

  ‘But it’s hard,’ says Isha.

  Zeus pads over to the sleeping girl and barks.

  The girl moves her legs and moans.

  Isha quickly puts the axe back in the pillow case and shoves it in the suitcase, under the jumper.

  Zeus barks again.

  The girl snaps open her eyes, like in the movies.

  She sits up, a scared look on her face. It’s like we spook each other. She screams and we scream and Zeus barks.

  Tarak runs over and pulls Zeus away from the girl.

  She looks over at her suitcase and at the rolled out canvases and jumbled belongings, even more jumbled after our fossicking.

  ‘Hey, that’s my stuff,’ she says.

  There is a big long silence.

  Silences can be very uncomfortable, depending.

  This one is uncomfortable.

  The girl has a bruise on her cheek. It’s a purple-blue lump and split in two by a line of dried blood.

  ‘We thought ther
e was a dead body inside,’ Isha says.

  The girl looks at him and her eyes roll like she doesn’t believe him.

  ‘Cut up, a body could fit in there,’ he says.

  Tarak and I nod our heads in agreement.

  That makes her laugh. She has a really loud laugh. She twists around and crawls over to the bag and begins to roll up the canvases and put them back in the suitcase.

  ‘Are they your paintings?’ Isha asks.

  ‘Good question,’ the girl says.

  The girl tells us her name is Kristie and her boyfriend’s name is Ned and last night Ned had his boring friend over, called The Creep, not his real name but Kristie’s name for him, and Kristie decided she was going to break up with Ned, because he is too old for her, but when she got out onto the street she had nowhere to go so she came to Swamp Park because it was a warm night and because this is where she comes a lot because no one comes here much.

  ‘This is my secret place,’ she says.

  ‘It’s our secret place too,’ Tarak says.

  Tarak sits down cross-legged beside Kristie.

  ‘My dog’s name is Zeus,’ he says.

  Kristie zips up her suitcase then leans across and pats Zeus.

  ‘My other dog in England was called Tingle and I loved that dog,’ Tarak says. ‘I want to call Zeus, Tingle, but my dad says Zeus is already his name and he most probably doesn’t want it changed.’

  ‘Zeus is a good name,’ Kristie says.

  Isha and I squat down next to her. Although her clothes are smeared with dirt, she smells like rain.

  ‘Zeus is a god,’ Kristie says, running her hands through Zeus’s fur.

  ‘A dog,’ Tarak says, correcting her.

  Kristie laughs. ‘Your dog has been named after a god, follow me? Hey, how long you guys been here?’

  ‘Not long,’ Isha says.

  ‘Oh boy, I’ve got a whopping hangover,’ Kristie says, yawning. ‘I’m starving. Anyone got anything to eat?’

  ‘I have, I have,’ Tarak cries out.

  He slides his backpack to the ground, unzips the front pocket and pulls out a pear. It’s a bit squashed but he gives it to Kristie and she eats it quickly. She licks the juice from her fingers like it’s the best pear she’s ever tasted.