Bleakboy and Hunter Stand Out in the Rain

by Herrick, Steven

  His mother clanks the cup back on the saucer. ‘Let’s forget I said anything.’ She picks up a chocolate eclair, but doesn’t take a bite. She puts it back into the paper bag and carries it to the bench. She looks out the window and sighs.

  Hunter looks at the single eclair, lonely on the plate. He takes a deep breath. ‘It’s okay, Mum. I understand.’ Maybe it’s like getting a new teacher every year at school. It takes a while to get used to them, but eventually everyone learns to cope. The teacher does what they do and Hunter spends lots of time asking if he can go to Walter.

  Mrs Riley turns and walks toward Hunter. She reaches for him and he presses his cheek against her stomach, closing his eyes. Her arms wrap around his shoulders. She strokes his hair and laughs. ‘Why would I need anyone else but you, Hunter?’

  Hunter keeps his eyes closed and repeats, ‘It’s okay, Mum. You can have …’ He forces the words out, ‘Just not like Dad.’ He turns his face toward her dress and starts to cry.

  28

  jesse

  Dinner is a bowl of plain rice, two yams each and a glass of rainwater, direct from our tank. Mum carries a jug of gravy to the table and places it beside the salt and pepper shakers. ‘I thought we might need something to …’ She glances at Dad.

  ‘Make it edible?’ says Beth.

  ‘Enhance the flavour,’ answers Mum.

  Dad coughs and looks from Mum to me. ‘Jesse,’ he reaches for a glass of water and takes a sip, ‘we’ve decided that this month is the last. We don’t think—’

  ‘We can’t keep donating to your friend, Jesse,’ Mum interrupts.

  ‘Great, no more of this food!’ says Beth.

  ‘Beth,’ says Mum, ‘could you try to be a little more sensitive, please.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say.

  ‘Really, Jesse?’

  I nod. Poor Kelifa. Now he’s stuck with four sisters, no mother and no money. I don’t really feel hungry any longer. Dad reaches across the table and touches my arm. ‘We’re sorry, son, but with your mum having her hours cut back and excursion fees and—’

  Mum sighs. ‘If I get more work, we’ll think about it again, okay Jesse?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Kate and I were talking about taking up a collection at school, but we’ve been too busy with the whales.’

  We all concentrate on eating our yams and rice. Beth tips half the jug of gravy on her rice and spoons it through. ‘Mmm, salt and starch, what more could a young girl need,’ she winks at me, ‘other than a bucket to vo—’

  ‘Beth!’

  ‘Sorry, Mum, it’s delicious.’

  I finish my yams and rice and ask to be excused.

  ‘Of course, Jesse. Beth’s happy to stack the dishwasher tonight.’ Mum looks meaningfully at Beth.

  ‘How could I say no, after such a meal,’ answers Beth.

  In my bedroom, I sit on the floor looking up at Trevor. He appears to be offering sympathy, his arms spread wide.

  ‘Kelifa needs food, not …’ I sigh. Beth’s right. I should stop talking to myself. It’s my fault. I should never have stolen Dad’s credit card, or made my parents feel guilty, forcing them to spend more than they can afford. Some things are too big for a boy to solve. Like feeding the starving poor or stopping the Japanese killing all those whales. I close my eyes. The vision of a harpoon firing and exploding into the shiny skin of a minke whale makes me shiver. I feel like crying.

  I wonder what Kelifa does when he feels things are too big for him. Does he talk to his dad? Or his sisters? He can’t sit alone in his room, because he doesn’t have a room. Maybe he has a favourite tree he sits in.

  I stand and step carefully onto my bed, reaching up to Trevor.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, averting my eyes from his gaze. With shaking hands I remove the Blu Tack from the wall, careful not to tear the poster. Maybe I can give him to the Salvos. They could put him on the wall of their shop on Beaumont Terrace. I flop down on my bed and roll the poster before putting it into the top drawer of my desk. I shape the Blu Tack into a huge ball and throw it against the wardrobe door, time and time again. Not once does it stick. I turn off the light, climb into bed and pull the sheets up high. A stream of streetlight shines on the wall where Trevor once hung.

  I whisper to myself, ‘Dear Kelifa, I hope you and your sisters don’t go hungry. I hope another family, somewhere in the world, has enough money to spare. Maybe your dad will grow a huge crop of yams. I could send you the recipe for gravy.’

  ‘Dear whales, I hope the Japanese stopping hurting you. I hope all the other countries tell them it isn’t fair to hunt you in Antarctica.’

  I sigh.

  I close my eyes.

  And fall asleep.

  29

  jesse

  ‘We should have stormed the embassy,’ says a voice from behind me.

  I’m standing at the end of the track, looking at the ‘Thought for the Day’. It reads:

  Help others, before yourself.

  Hunter steps forward and reads the sign. He spits beside his feet. ‘We should have smashed a few windows,’ he says. ‘It would have made the news and everyone would know about what they do to whales.’

  ‘Maybe if they read our leaflet, they’ll understand,’ I suggest.

  ‘Ha!’

  I don’t know how to answer that, so I shuffle my feet and try not to think of the leaflets piling up in the rubbish bin outside the embassy. Hunter and I stand together, not speaking. A storm bird starts calling from the swamp gum beside Edith. A dark cloud lurks over the trees. It’s going to rain before the bell goes for the start of class.

  ‘Ha!’ says Hunter again, before walking away.

  The first drop lands at my feet, kicking up the dirt. I start walking toward Doris. The rain begins pelting down. Hunter stops walking and looks up at the clouds. I rush past him and reach the verandah of Doris where a few parents are sheltering.

  Hunter stands in the courtyard, rain splashing on his forehead. His eyes are closed, his mouth open, drinking the rainwater. I look at the two parents beside me, hoping they’ll call out to Hunter. One mother buttons up her jacket, while the other explains that her son, Willow, shouldn’t be forced to partner just any child during sports afternoon.

  Hunter drops his bag at his feet and shakes the rainwater from his stubbly hair. Suddenly a huge clap of thunder bursts from the sky and both parents beside me jump.

  ‘What’s that boy doing?’ one mother asks.

  ‘Someone should tell him to move,’ the other replies.

  Then they go back to talking about Willow.

  I unstrap the bag from my back and toss it next to the front door of Doris.

  ‘Hunter,’ I call.

  He doesn’t answer, just leans his head back further to catch more raindrops. Lots of students are arriving at school now, their parents escorting them past Hunter. Everyone is carrying an umbrella. A man holding the hand of his young daughter stops beside Hunter and says, ‘You better get out of the rain, buddy’. Hunter ignores him and the daughter leads her father to Edith.

  The clouds rumble and in the distance, lightning graffitis the sky. Water rushes down the track. The noise on the tin roof of Doris makes it hard for me to hear what the parents are saying anymore. Probably still talking about Willow.

  I can’t stand it any longer. I rush out into the storm yelling, ‘Hunter!’

  He ignores me, his eyes still closed, his face pointing upward. Rainwater trickles down my back, making me shiver. I reach out a hand and grab Hunter’s arm. ‘Come on, Hunter,’ I say. He opens his eyes as if awakening from a dream.

  ‘The storm!’ I shout.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘it’s great, isn’t it?’ He looks at my hand locked around his arm. ‘Are you scared?’ he says.

  The thunder rumbles again, getting closer.

  ‘It’s just water,’ adds Hunter.

  The thunder claps overhead in a mighty burst. I dig my fingers into Hunter’s arm.

  ‘Hey!
’ he cries out.

  I let go of his arm.

  ‘It’s only thunder,’ he says.

  My hair and clothes are soaked. I can feel my teeth shaking with the cold.

  Hunter says, ‘Were you born scared?’

  ‘Were you born stupid,’ I answer, without thinking.

  I’m expecting Hunter to jump on me and start punching, but all he does is smile.

  ‘Ha! Good answer, Bleakboy.’ He looks up to the sky. ‘It’s like having a shower outdoors!’

  I can feel the water sloshing into my Volleys. It’ll be hours before I’m dry. Sarah will call Mum and ask her to bring a change of clothes to school. Mum will miss her yoga class.

  ‘You two boys, out of the rain now!’ yells Larry, standing under Doris’s verandah.

  I turn back to Doris. Hunter doesn’t move.

  ‘What’s with you, Hunter?’ I ask.

  ‘Ha!’ he says.

  ‘That’s not an answer,’ I shout. ‘You’re just—’ I bite my tongue, afraid of saying something I’ll regret.

  ‘What, Rainman?’

  ‘You’re just trying to act tough because you’re weak!’ I swallow hard. The rain drips into my eyes and I rub it away.

  ‘What did you say?’ Hunter’s voice is quiet.

  If I repeat it, he’ll jump on me.

  The music sounds for the start of class. It’s an old disco song, a woman singing, ‘I can’t stand the rain’, over and over. I can’t help but laugh.

  Hunter opens his mouth to catch the raindrops again. He looks up once more to the sky and starts moving in time with the music: a rain dance!

  Larry steps into Doris and grabs an umbrella, opens it under the verandah and starts walking toward us. Hunter sees him, picks up his bag and starts walking away toward Arnold. I scurry to the shelter of Doris. Larry follows Hunter until they’re both out of the downpour. I’m too far away to hear what Larry is saying but Hunter appears to be listening. The rainwater drips from my clothes and makes a puddle at my feet. I’m shivering, but not from the cold. I’ve never said anything like that to another person. I’m not sure if I should apologise. Or should I be proud of myself for fighting back?

  One of the mothers looks at me and says, ‘You should get a towel and dry your hair’.

  30

  jesse

  I finish my vegemite sandwich, toss the wrapping paper into the bin and trudge to Arnold. Sarah is waiting in our room, sitting at her desk and writing in a notebook. I knock. She beckons me inside.

  I sit on my chair and sigh.

  Sarah attempts a smile. ‘Two detentions in a term. Not a good start, Jesse.’

  Detention. For getting soaked to the skin trying to save my worst enemy. According to Larry it’s ‘for putting yourself in danger’. It’s Larry who’s putting me in danger, leaving me in detention with Hunter!

  As if on cue, Hunter walks into the room without knocking. He shuffles to his chair near the window, flops down and stares outside toward freedom.

  Sarah checks her watch. ‘Hunter, good of you to join us.’

  Hunter doesn’t answer.

  Sarah closes her notebook and stands. ‘I trust I can leave you two together while I go to Doris.’

  I raise my hand.

  ‘Yes, Jesse?’

  ‘May I get a book?’

  Sarah points to the bookcase along the side wall. She looks meaningfully at Hunter. ‘Please don’t make me have to return early.’ She closes the door and walks along the verandah.

  I glance toward Hunter. He’s still staring out the window. I get up from my chair and walk to the bookcase. I don’t really want to read, but if I have my head buried in a book maybe Hunter will ignore me. As if a book can save me. Standing close to the bookshelf, I close my eyes and reach out. Wherever my hand lands, I’ll read that book. I open my eyes. A novel titled Stormchaser. Without thinking, I laugh, remembering why Hunter and I are on detention. The perfect book!

  ‘What’s so funny, Badboy?’ says Hunter.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say. I should have remembered where I was. I take the book back to my chair and open it, pretending to read. Hunter gets up and walks toward the front of the room. I slink down further in my chair. He casually picks up a marker and stands in front of the whiteboard. He starts writing, in a clear large text:

  STEALING

  TRIPPING KENDRICK NORRIS

  THREATENING TO PUNCH HARRY WILSON-HOLMES

  Hunter steps back from the whiteboard, considering what he’s written.

  ‘What … What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘What does it look like?’ Hunter turns to face me, looking at the book in my hands. ‘It’s better than reading,’ he says.

  ‘I mean, what are you writing?’

  ‘Words,’ he says.

  We both smile. I can’t help myself. ‘Very funny,’ I decide to risk it, ‘Jokeboy!’

  Hunter laughs, pointing his finger at me, as if he were firing a gun. I duck, dropping my book on the floor. Hunter walks toward me and leans down to pick up the book. He carries it back to the shelf. He adopts the voice of a teacher, ‘Now Jesse, the book will remain here until you learn how to treat school property properly!’

  He repeats, ‘Property properly!’

  Hunter walks back to the whiteboard and points at the word, STEALING.

  ‘One week’s detention for stealing Harley Rae’s iPod. No-one believed I found it over by the wattle trees where stupid Harley dropped it.’

  Hunter points at the next sentence. ‘Kendrick just fell over my foot. It’s not my fault he’s clumsy.’

  He writes the word, SMOKING on the board. ‘Oh yeah, it wasn’t me that got caught for that was it Mr Jones?’ He draws a line through the word.

  He points to the last sentence. ‘Threatening.’ He scoffs. ‘Not actually hitting anyone, just threatening. Pretending. Ha! Detention for doing nothing. I’d have been better off actually hitting hyphen-Harry.’ Hunter flops down in Sarah’s chair and puts his feet up on her desk. I look toward the door, expecting Sarah to walk in at any moment.

  ‘Come on,’ says Hunter. ‘Relax.’

  I check my watch. We have another twenty minutes of detention.

  ‘Why were you threatening Harry?’ I ask.

  Hunter shrugs. ‘Some people just ask to be annoyed.’

  ‘And some people are just annoying,’ I counter.

  Hunter looks up. ‘You’re pretty smart …’ He’s trying to think of a new name.

  I suggest, ‘Brainboy?’

  Hunter looks back at the whiteboard, without answering. He gets up and writes, in large letters:

  CALLING PEOPLE NAMES

  He laughs to himself, then adds two exclamation marks in bold type.

  Satisfied, he sits down again at Sarah’s desk.

  ‘It’s called bullying,’ I say.

  ‘Ha!’

  ‘Haboy!’ I respond.

  ‘You see,’ says Hunter, ‘that doesn’t hurt me!’

  ‘But … But for some kids, it does,’ I say.

  Hunter rolls his eyes, as if he’s heard it all before. Which he probably has.

  ‘What do your parents say,’ my voice is a little shaky, ‘when you get in trouble?’

  Hunter stares at his shoes on Sarah’s table. He doesn’t answer.

  ‘If Mum and Dad found out I got detention, they’d—’

  ‘That’s your parents, not mine,’ says Hunter.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I guess they’ve got other things—’

  ‘Don’t talk about my parents!’ Hunter smacks the desk hard with his hand.

  I shake my head, too scared to speak.

  Hunter pushes back Sarah’s chair and stares out the window. I notice his hands are shaking. All of a sudden, he doesn’t look so tough, just sad.

  We sit in silence.

  I lean back on my chair and clumsily put my feet on the desk.

  Hunter looks at me and almost smiles.

  I whistle, trying to appear more relax
ed than I feel. I tilt back my chair until it’s balancing on two legs.

  ‘My dad lives in New Zealand,’ Hunter says.

  I stop whistling.

  ‘Do you visit?’ I ask, nervously.

  ‘He hasn’t asked me.’ Hunter shakes his head. ‘He’s never coming back.’

  I picture waiting in my bedroom every afternoon for Dad to arrive home and give me a hug. How I’d feel if that suddenly stopped. I imagine Mum and Beth and me at dinner, all of us eating in silence, remembering Dad’s bad jokes. How quiet it’d be around home, as if all the life was sucked out the front door one morning, never to return.

  ‘Jesse, tell me what’s bad?’ Hunter asks.

  ‘Pardon?’ I don’t understand.

  Hunter gets out of the chair and picks up Sarah’s ruler. He points it toward the whiteboard and calls out, in a teacher’s voice, ‘Stealing, bad’. He taps the whiteboard with the ruler. ‘Tripping people, very bad.’ He waves the ruler over the next word. ‘Smoking! Very, very bad.’ He points down the list. ‘Calling people names!’ He turns to look at me. ‘A week’s detention and a note home to your parents, Hunter Riley.’

  He taps the ruler against his leg. ‘You are a misguided boy, Hunter. You are disruptive in class and rude and—’

  Suddenly he throws the ruler, with every ounce of his strength, toward the window. It sails through the air, making a weird whirring sound before clattering against the pane and landing on the floor. Hunter is flushed with anger. ‘Tell me what’s worse.’ He points at the board. ‘All of these things,’ he takes a deep breath and flops down on Sarah’s chair, his fists clenched on the desk, ‘or a father who runs away.’

  We sit in silence for a few moments.

  ‘Maybe my dad should be on detention, not me,’ Hunter says, bitterly.

  Suddenly, all his actions make sense.

  I understand. But, there’s no way I can tell him that. So, I do the next best thing.

  I say, ‘Your dad’s a …’ I swear, a rude word I never say. I’m shaking, not sure how Hunter will react.

  Hunter looks surprised, even a little shocked.

  I blush and say it again.