Brown Skin Blue

by Belinda Jeffrey

Tyson’s father answers. ‘Just down the road from the Humpty Doo pub.’

  And then I realise that Tyson is the kid who hypnotised the chook at the back of the hotel the day I arrived.

  ‘Yeah,’ I find myself saying, ‘I think I’ve seen you around. You’re the kid that did that trick with the chook, right?’

  Tyson’s eyes light up. His smile spreads out like a fan across his face and his hair, which has dried in the sun, falls in thick curls across his eyes.

  ‘Thought I recognised you,’ I add.

  ‘So that’s where you got it from,’ Sally pipes up, throwing a twist of bread at me. ‘And here I was thinking it was magic only you could do.’ She turns to the girl sitting on the grass beside her, ‘You’ve got to be real careful of boys, you know. They’re full of tricks to make you like them,’ she says. She’s smiling at me and her body moves in little jerks, like she’s saying something only to me.

  ‘A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,’ I say, holding my hands out like I had no choice about the matter. Everyone laughs. I suddenly realise I’ve said exactly the right thing and it feels good.

  There’s something thawing out inside me today. Like I was a whole block of solid ice and I don’t know if it was the cold water or the hot sun, or just the warmth I feel when Sally’s around, but today, I feel like I just might belong here.

  Atomic Kitten plays all the way home but Sally doesn’t sing along. I’ve got my head resting against the back of the seat and I’m thinking about Mum and how I haven’t seen her for a long time. I let her know I was staying at the hotel, but other than that we keep our distance. I can see her again. Sitting in the van, listening to ‘Sea of Heartbreak’, crying through every bit of it. You don’t get no second chances, Barry. Just gotta hold on to what you can while you can. There’s memories like that coming back to me in little flashes now. Mostly when I’m thinkin’ about something else.

  When I was about ten or so, just out of the blue, she said to me, you know, in South Australia, if you collect enough empty cans, you can make enough money to buy an ice-cream or, if you’re lucky, see a movie. But they wouldn’t give me five cents for this whole body of mine. Seems you’re only worth what you can make for someone else. An’ if you just plain stop breathin’, you worth less than a tin can.

  Sally keeps the car running when we get back to the hotel. She says she doesn’t feel well and wants to get home. She does look a little pale and I believe her. I’d rather that than believe she doesn’t want to be with me again.

  For what it’s worth:

  Crocodile skin, A grade – $7.40 per centimetre

  Barramundi – $10 per kilo

  Barramundi all begin their lives as males. After five years they change to being female.

  15

  It’s Friday night and Boof and I are sitting in the pub having a drink. He insisted on buying me a beer and having a chat now that another working week was over. He said he wanted to rest his feet and wet his whistle before going back to get Cassie.

  Boof is easy to be around and I’m glad of the company, if the truth be told. Sally didn’t come to work today. Called in sick. She hadn’t been lookin’ real good all week, either. I thought about tracking down her phone number and ringing to see if she was alright, but I didn’t want Boof and Cassie asking questions or not asking questions but forming answers in their mind anyway. I’ve got an edgy feeling prickling underneath my skin and a ball of steel wool in my guts. I don’t want to admit how much I wanted her to come back to my room tonight. I don’t want to have to think about spending a whole weekend without her around.

  ‘Got plans for the weekend, Barramundy?’

  ‘Na. Not really. Bit of shopping tomorrow, maybe.’

  ‘Cassie and I are going fishing. Hook the boat up to the car when I get home and we’ll be off first thing in the morning.’

  Our beers arrive and Boof nods his gratitude to the bar girl.

  ‘Ah,’ he says after his first gulp, ‘that’s better.’ He runs a greasy hand through his hair and stretches his arms over his head. ‘You go fishin’ much?’ he asks.

  ‘Not really. A bit when I was a little tacker.’

  ‘Ah, you don’t know how to live, boy,’ Boof says, wiping beer foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘There ain’t nothin’ better than the feelin’ of sitting pretty in the boat, rockin’ on the water, sun up overhead and nothin’ but the sound of the bush around and the feelin’ of the fish about to bite.’ He turns on his chair to look at me.

  ‘What do you catch?’ I’m actually interested.

  ‘Ah, depends where we go. Jewfish are pretty good. Mind you,’ he shakes his head as if something painful has just jabbed him under his skin, ‘fishin’ ain’t what it used to be. Whole place is nearly fished out. Used to be, once, you could go anywhere and reel in somethin’ impressive. The way my old fella tells it, fish were a man’s right once. Now some of the poor buggers who make their livin’ by it are packing it in. Too bloody hard.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. Too many people going out in their tinnies catching more than they need. Soon the only fish we’ll be eatin’ are the ones they grow in farms. They’ll do the same thing to fish what they’ve done to every other animal. Cows, sheep. Rein ’em in, fence ’em off and milk their bodies for every bit of meat they can.’

  Boof finishes his beer and covers his mouth as he belches. ‘Better out than in,’ he says.

  I’m starting to like the taste of beer. Sure is good after a hot day, that’s for sure. Cold and wet.

  ‘But I mean to enjoy it while it still lasts.’ He’s quiet for a minute, his hands are folded across his chest, and he’s not lookin’ at anything much in particular. ‘You should come with us sometime.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘But what about the crocs?’

  ‘What crocs?’

  ‘You know, when you’re fishing.’

  ‘There’s plenty of places to fish where there’s no crocs. And anyway, you just have to stay out of their territory. Bit of respect is all you need.’

  ‘You hungry?’ I ask because I’m thinking a steak sandwich would go down well for tea.

  ‘Na, but you go ahead.’

  Boof could do with an extra meal, but I call the bar girl over and order my sandwich with a serve of chips.

  ‘So, you doin’ okay?’ Boof asks suddenly.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I was just askin’, after what happened the other day in the car. We just want to make sure everything’s alright.’

  I shrug my shoulders and drink my beer. Boof orders another one for himself.

  ‘There’s a lot of shit that happens in this world, Barra.’

  I’m feeling uncomfortable.

  ‘You like music?’ I ask suddenly, standing up and rummaging through my pockets for change. I don’t wait for him to answer, I just walk over to the jukebox and slot the coins in one after the other. I don’t much think about the selection, I just hunt for a few Johnny Cash songs and leave it at that. ‘Ring of Fire’ comes on as I walk back to my stool.

  ‘A reporter came lookin’ for you at work the other day, Barramundy,’ Boof says before I sit down. My body freezes up and I can’t swallow at all.

  ‘Said he was investigating what’s happening in small towns like what happened with that Blue character. Asked for you specifically.’

  Shit. I can suddenly see all the muddy fingers rifling through the paper trail from the cop station and Sergeant Jones with my name through it. Every single fact.

  ‘I told him you worked here for a bit and took off,’ Boof says quickly. ‘Somehow I didn’t think you’d want him askin’ you questions. Shit, you don’t like me askin’ you questions.’ Boof is laughing but it sounds forced.

  I suddenly realise what he’s telling m
e.

  ‘He won’t come back,’ Boof adds. ‘But I reckon if you wanted to talk to him it wouldn’t be hard to track him down.’

  I can’t bring myself to look at Boof but I’m aware what he’s just done for me.

  ‘You ever need a mate, Barra...’

  I’m silent. I don’t bloody know what to say. I’ve never had a real mate. Not since Blue, and I’ve got no need for any more mates like that. Here’s another thing I know but I don’t know. I know Boof isn’t like that – as much as I can tell – but neither was Blue, till it happened. I’m never gonna pull my pants down and show another bloke my wounds ever again. No matter how much I might need a mate.

  ‘Na. I’m good. Honest, Boof. I ’preciate everythin’,’ I add and that’s about as close as I can come to anything I might want to say. ‘Thanks,’ I say and it sounds pointless.

  ‘Not a problem, mate.’ Boof stands up and hoists his pants up over his hips. He slaps me gently on the back. ‘I’ll be seein’ you Monday morning, Barramundy. And if you’re lucky I’ll bring you some fish.’

  I manage a smile, but I stay hunched over my beer. I know he means well but I don’t eat fish.

  I’m sitting in the movies with popcorn and a coke trying to forget about Sally and the fact that people want to track me down and take me in for questioning. I feel like I’m on the run from something I did and I sure as hell don’t want to be involved.

  The lights dim and the first scene of Pitch Black opens with the image of a criminal, wearing black tailored goggle-cum-glasses (Riddick), chained up in a spaceship. Around him are a variety of characters, asleep, upright, in cryogenic chambers. He says something about brains shutting down during cryo-sleep, except for the animal side. Reckons that’s why he’s the only one not asleep on the ship.

  Riddick’s opening line could have been written for me.

  I keep thinkin’ of what Boof did for me by sending the reporter away. I can’t remember anyone doing anything like that for me in my life. My brain knows that what he did means he’s a real mate. The kind I could trust. But inside I don’t feel anything. That part of me is numb.

  There’s a couple sitting right in front of me, the guy is tall and every time he leans over towards his girlfriend, his head blocks a thumbnail of the screen. Her hair is frizzy and she seems to take up twice the space she should. Despite the fact that the film is horror, and every few minutes you jump in your seat, she makes squeaking little giggling sounds constantly and she’s more interested in kissing his neck than watching the movie.

  Riddick is being transported to some other planet by this cop, Johns. Except the ship crashes and the crew that survive are trapped on this deserted planet where beasts are hiding under the ground. The beasts can’t stand light and, given that the planet has three suns that never set, they’re no great problem, except there’s an eclipse coming. The beasts are about to come out.

  The woman in front of me stops squirming and she’s suddenly interested in what’s happening.

  ‘What’s wrong with his eyes?’ she says to her boyfriend. She doesn’t whisper.

  ‘Riddick’s had this eye job done in prison so he can see in the dark, but it means he can’t stand the light. Hence the goggles.’

  ‘Why?’

  Shut up!

  ‘Honey, would you want men sneaking up on you in prison?’

  Everything about being the kind of man I want to be I learnt from the movies. I can’t remember one man I knew in real life that I thought I’d want to be like when I was grown myself. There were plenty I didn’t want to be like, and even more that made me fear being a man at all. But in the movies, even the criminal men have something to redeem them. They know what to do; they’ve trained for any given moment. They know about women and, if they don’t, they’re strong enough to fight for what they want.

  Riddick’s the kind of man I want to be. He’s broken, he’s done things he’s not proud of, but he’s had the guts to conquer everything. He survived. It’s like he’s been waiting for these beasts to come for him. To meet them on his terms, and I know exactly what that’s like.

  The beasts come up out of the ground and they’re flying and swooping down, grabbing people, even eating each other. There’s thousands of them. Black, frightening, shrieking beasts and it’s only Riddick that can really see them in the darkness with his animal-eyes, and there he is standing face to face with the largest beast, staring it down.

  My heart is pounding in my chest and something tightens around my neck. There are flashes of light across the screen and I see it. The blood. The beasts have blue blood. It’s like the screen suddenly expands and I’m there inside it. I’m in Riddick’s place and I’ve got blue blood on my hands and I’m covered with it and I’m staring at the beast, but there’s not enough light and I don’t have Riddick’s eyes for the dark. I can hear it breathing and snarling, but I can’t see it.

  ‘Would you kill a beast for me, babe?’ the woman in front of me says.

  Sally knocks on my door well after midnight. She slips into bed beside me and goes to sleep without saying anything.

  I fall back into a restless sleep not long before dawn. Just before the sun appears, orange and streaking through my window, Blue is flying above me, his skin like the black beasts on the planet. Poachers on hover-bikes are tearing at his scales and shouting out how much money they’ll make. I’m underneath; looking up to the sky that should be white, but it is black. Blue’s blood spills over my head and it isn’t any colour at all. I can feel it, sticky and warm, but there’s not a mark on my skin at all. And then I realise there’s someone standing next to me with his hand on my back. Boof.

  Sally rolls over and stretches. She kisses me...

  16

  Sally sits up and runs to the loo. I open my eyes and heaven is bathed in orange light, the walls are a jumbled, scrambled set of picture frames and it’s simple and familiar. Life could stop right here.

  Sally comes back and sits on the end of the bed. ‘Get your clothes on, Barra. We’re going to find Teabag.’

  ‘Wha—’

  She runs back to the toilet and closes the door. I can’t move. The toilet door opens and her head’s around the doorframe. ‘Come on, Barra. Get movin’.’

  It occurs to me in the car on the way to find Teabag that we’ve just had sex and there’s the problem of babies and I should have taken precautions or somethin’, but I’m such a bloody lug I didn’t stop to think. I didn’t even know it was gonna happen. I feel myself sinking down on the seat. I have no idea how relationships are supposed to work.

  ‘He’s an Aboriginal, you know,’ Sally says. ‘You could be an Abo after all.’

  I murmur something even I don’t understand. ‘Look,’ I try to say in an audible voice. ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna say, I mean how do I even know, you know. I mean, there’s no way you can tell these things, I mean...’ I sound like an idiot.

  ‘You’re a real worrier, Barra. You should lighten up. Take life as it comes. Live for the moment. That’s what I do. You don’t have to put lines around things. You know, not everything has a place that fits neatly. We’re not bloody crocs who stick to one part of a river system. We’ve got the whole friggin’ world, Barra.’

  ‘I should have used a, you know, a con—’

  ‘Jesus, anyone’d think you were the girl. Leave it alone.’

  ‘Why are you doin’ this?’ I say.

  ‘What?’ She’s edgy.

  ‘Teabag. Why are you so interested in my father?’

  Sally stops the car and pulls on the handbrake. She turns in her seat and looks at me. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I dunno. I suppose. I mean, I don’t get it.’

  ‘Who says everything has to make sense. Most things don’t.’

  She’s right there.

  ‘Look. We’re here.’ She gives me the napkin wi
th bacon grease smudge on the corner and Bessy’s pencil markings. ‘Come on. What have you got to lose?’

  I’m sure there’s a lot I could answer to that question, but she’s got me for the moment. I can’t think of anything straightaway.

  Sally opens her door and gets out. She’s wearing a denim skirt. Her earrings bounce around her face. She stops at my door. ‘You gonna be a chicken? I stroked your dick, not your neck, Barra. You look like you’ve been hypnotised.’

  I open the door and get out. I try reminding myself that I’ve held a baby croc and I’ve helped feed a heap of adult crocs and made them dance for it. I’ve screwed a goodlooking girl. Twice. It’s the only evidence I can come up with that I’m a man and should stop being afraid. Truth is I’d rather have my own story of him than the real thing.

  The door opens. ‘What-ya-want?’

  ‘I, ah, we, ah, we’re—’ I splutter.

  ‘Are you Teabag Jones?’ Sally says, moving up to the top step.

  ‘Yeah. Who wants to know?’

  The old guy’s behind the screen door. He’s got a beard. He’s dark. That’s about all I can see.

  ‘Bessy at the Humpty Doo Hotel gave us your address,’ Sally continues.

  ‘What-the-hell-for?’

  ‘We’re lookin’ for someone,’ Sally hesitates. She looks at me. ‘Do you think we could come in for a minute?’

  ‘You tryin’ to sell me somethin’?’ he says. ‘’Cause you can just piss off. I don’t want nothin’.’

  ‘You could be my father,’ I blurt out. I feel stupid. No one says anything.

  ‘You shittin’ me?’ he says.

  ‘Na. You could be,’ Sally says.

  Teabag thinks for a minute. He huffs, sighs, scratches his balls. Then he opens the door.

  Sally walks in and I follow.

  It’s a small unit. Kitchenette in the corner. One twoseater sofa. Four-person square table and chairs. Small television with rabbit ears. A faded rug in front of the sofa. Above the television is a large black velvet wall hanging of a bearded man. Aboriginal by the looks. It’s a head swimming in a black-velvet sea of animals and swirls. It seems to take up most of the wall. ‘Sitdown,’ he says in one word.