Tomorrow 4 - Darkness, Be My Friend

by John Marsden

  So that’s why I felt a bit shaken. I’d realised lately how strong my feelings for Lee still were. His story had held me in total fascination. I felt such an agony of grief, not just for him but for his parents, and for people I’d never met, like his Vietnamese grand­parents. I felt it for every refugee, every orphan, every victim of war and cruelty. When I went to kiss him it was because of all those feelings. But to him, I don’t know what it seemed like, just some immature reac­tion, I guess.

  That’s why I couldn’t concentrate oh what Fi and I were meant to be doing. Of course I knew that she was holding a wheelbarrow. It’d be strange if I didn’t, seeing we’d gone and got it ourselves.

  We’d said goodbye to the boys. One of our usual sentimental scenes where we made weak jokes and said moving things like, ‘See you’, ‘Good luck’, and romantic stuff like that. I’d thought I wouldn’t be able to look at Lee, but he gazed at me calmly, with his grave eyes, and even kissed me on the cheek.

  Sometimes, especially since we’d met up again, I felt like he was about twenty years older than me, which was very annoying. This had been one of those moments. Maybe people suddenly grow older when their parents die.

  Getting the wheelbarrow had been so nerve-racking that I wondered how I’d go when it came to the tough moments, like breaking into Tozer’s or wheeling bags of sugar through the streets of Wirrawee, or sneaking into the fuel depot. At least three o’clock in the morning should be pretty quiet. But still in my mind was the knowledge of how I’d cracked up when I’d been with the New Zealanders and seen the enemy soldier. I was sure it wouldn’t happen again, but it did take the edge off my confi­dence sometimes.

  We went from backyard to backyard looking for a wheelbarrow and found one in the fourth place. Well, that’s not totally accurate. We found one in the sec­ond place and another in the third place, but the first was too small and the second had flat tyres. The one we chose was good. Big deep tray and well pumped up. The thing that worried me though was how ner­vous I’d been getting. The risks were fairly small, after all. We only went into the yards that were easy, with houses a good distance away from each other and no big fences to get over. We took our time and moved quietly. So why did I have the shakes?

  We moved the barrow to Jubilee Park and hid it in the bushes. There was still plenty of time. We’d delib­erately left early so as not to put more pressure on ourselves. This whole operation was relying heavily on times being right. The boys had to light their fire when we were ready to break into Curr’s so the sol­diers at the depot would be distracted. We’d then have to move fast to meet up with the boys and get out of town. We needed to be well away by dawn. The plan was to go back to Hell, call Colonel Finley, and arrange the pickup.

  From Jubilee Park, Tozer’s was within view. We climbed a big old oak tree and sat in the lower branches looking at Wirrawee. The tree was beauti­ful. I love people who plant trees that take centuries to grow. It means they’re thinking of others: not being selfish, but thinking about people in future generations who might enjoy their work. Farming, good farming, is a bit like that, I suppose. ‘Live as though you’ll die tomorrow but farm as though you’ll live forever.’ Dad was always quoting that.

  This tree must have been planted when the British settlers arrived in the district. It would have stood here all its life, coping with what came along. It didn’t show fear. It didn’t hide or run away. It didn’t call for help when things went wrong.

  ‘Ellie, are you still thinking about when you screamed at that man in Warrigle Road?’ Fi suddenly asked me.

  I nearly fell straight out of the tree. How did she know?

  I waited a long time before answering.

  ‘Yes,’ I finally admitted.

  I thought she’d launch into a big speech about how I shouldn’t blame myself and so on, but she surprised me yet again. She didn’t say anything. Then I started panicking that maybe she thought I should blame myself; maybe she was wishing she wasn’t with someone so unreliable. So I blurted out:

  ‘Do you think I’ve lost it?’

  Again she wouldn’t follow the script that I kept writing for her in my mind.

  ‘I guess you won’t know until you get tested again.’ She paused. ‘You were good when you were waiting at the tech with me, but that wasn’t so dan­gerous. Out there in the bush, and at the lookout, you were fantastic, but it was different there too, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Because it was in the bush, and because we didn’t have a choice, and because it was a matter of survival ...’

  ‘It was in hot blood,’ Fi said, ‘and this is in cold blood.’

  She’d said it. That was the big difference.

  ‘Are you getting more scared or less scared?’ I asked her.

  ‘You mean each time we do something like this?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Oh more, of course.’

  ‘But shouldn’t we get less scared? Because we’re getting more experienced all the time. It should get easier.’

  Fi shivered. We were very close together and I could almost feel the goosebumps on her skin.

  ‘Stratton Prison,’ she whispered. ‘I have night­mares about that, thousands of them. I can’t get it out of my head. Every time we start doing things like this, it’s all I can think of. Robyn’s face …’

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ I said, quite brutally. Suddenly I had to be the strong one again. ‘Don’t think about it. If you do you’ll paralyse yourself. Think about it afterwards if you want, but not now.’

  She bowed her head. ‘Yes, I know you’re right.’

  I thought I’d better change the subject, fast. But for a full minute I couldn’t think of a single topic that wasn’t painful. Corrie, Fi’s parents, Lee’s parents, everyone’s parents, the New Zealand soldier who Fi had a crush on, everything in our lives now was related to war. In desperation I searched the past for something safe.

  ‘I wonder how Courtney’s going at the Showground.’

  She knew what I was doing, of course – I wasn’t being very subtle – but she played along. Courtney was the ultimate airhead of Wirrawee High School. Without her makeup, accessories, CD player, she’d be lost.

  ‘Shell be cruising round to all the soldiers, going, “Oh hi, my name’s Courtney, what’s yours?” Every time we got a new student she said that. It drove me crazy.’

  ‘Homer always said she took an hour and a half to watch “Sixty Minutes”.’

  Fi giggled. ‘Her bra size matches her IQ. Do you remember what she said when her mother messed up her date with Ryan by getting the times wrong?’

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘She said, “My mum blew my date.”’

  We both nearly fell out of the tree. ‘Shh,’ I said, ‘we’ve got to be quieter.’ I was starting to enjoy myself at last, though. We hadn’t had a good goss for ages. Well, it felt like ages. I think it was actually the first night hiding in the high school.

  ‘You know who else I can’t stand?’ I said. ‘Celia Smith.’

  ‘Oh, she’s nice. Why don’t you like her?’

  ‘She’s such a liar. Everything she tells you, you have to halve it, halve it again, take away the number you first thought of, then you might be getting close to the truth.’

  ‘She was so popular in Year 8. You remember how we all flocked around her?’

  ‘Well, she’s funny, I guess. But she’ll say anything to make herself sound cool. You know Bernard’s party? She told me she was invited to it, and half an hour before that Bernard told me she was the last person in the world he’d invite. He said if it came to a choice between her and Mrs Gilchrist he’d invite Mrs Gilchrist. And then remember that time when Mrs Kawolski asked her if she’d copied off me in the English assignment, and she just stood there and lied through her teeth? She was the same in primary school. I wouldn’t trust her one iota.’

  We suddenly had to stop talking as the rumble of a vehicle in the distance frightened us into silence. We peer
ed anxiously from the tree. It was a four-wheel drive – I’m not sure what type – and it went slowly along Barker Street, slowing even more at the main buildings. A spotlight on the roof swept the front of each building, looking for trouble. Then it turned the corner and was gone. We both sighed and settled back into our positions.

  ‘What’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?’ Fi asked me.

  I laughed. ‘Telling my parents that I didn’t put a ding in the Landie. I wasn’t meant to drive it when they weren’t home, but I took it down to the river to meet Homer for a swim. And I backed it into a tree. I told Mum and Dad it wasn’t me, but I confessed half an hour later. They knew it had to be me, of course. There weren’t many other suspects.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever lied to my parents,’ Fi said. ‘But in Grade 3 I owned up to something I hadn’t done, so that was a lie.’

  ‘Why on earth did you do that?’

  ‘Well, she was putting so much pressure on us. Someone had gone into the classroom during lunchtime and written rude words on Jodie’s folder. Cos everyone hated her. And Miss Edelstein was giv­ing us such a hard time, saying we wouldn’t be allowed to go home after school until the person owned up. We had to sit there in silence, no moving, nothing. And eventually it got to me, I just couldn’t take the pressure any more, so I put my hand up and said I’d done it.’

  ‘God,’ I said in awe, ‘I’d never do that.’

  ‘My parents were so mad at me when I told them.’

  ‘What, mad that you’d written on Jodie’s folder? But you hadn’t.’

  ‘No, mad that I’d confessed to something I hadn’t done. My father went to the school the next day and yelled at Miss Edelstein. So then the inquiry had to be opened again, of course, and it was even worse than the day before. But no one ever owned up.’

  ‘I think I remember it, vaguely,’ I said. ‘But I was in the combined 2/3 that year. It’s the only time we weren’t in the same class in primary school.’ I pulled a leaf off the tree and picked at it with my fingernail. ‘Your parents are so different to mine,’ I said. ‘My father never came to any school stuff. I think he thought education was women’s business.’ I sighed. ‘Was it good seeing them today?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. It was ... I don’t know, every­thing. I felt guilty that you guys couldn’t be in the same position. It seemed so unfair. And I thought my parents might be angry at some of the stuff we’ve done. I mean, I go along with all the things we’ve done, of course, but sometimes you think, “Oh, I wish adults were here to tell us what to do.” It’s very confusing. And I knew my mother would be upset about my scar.’ She felt it as she talked. ‘She was too. Did you hear her?’

  ‘Only the first bit.’ I was uncomfortable with this conversation.

  ‘Well, I’m stuck with it now. I don’t mind it, really. I’m heaps better off than a lot of people. It was just a shock to my mother, that was all.’

  It struck me for the first time that Fi often said ‘my mother’ instead of ‘Mum’.

  But there was no time to think about all this. We heard another vehicle coming, and we stopped talk­ing. The same four-wheel drive went slowly past again. As soon as it had gone I put my hand on Fi’s knee, gently.

  ‘Time to go.’

  ‘Oh yes. OK.’

  We got down and dragged out the wheelbarrow. Fi pushed it to the edge of the park then hid it in the shadows again. We’d worked out a rough plan. I’d go over to Tozer’s and get in through a window. If I could open a door from the inside I’d do that and Fi would bring the barrow in. If I couldn’t, I’d wave a piece of cloth and Fi would bring the barrow there while I lifted the sacks of sugar out through the win­dow. Speed was the main thing. I assumed the sol­diers in the four-wheel drive wouldn’t be stupid enough to come past at the same intervals all through the night. On the other hand they might be very stu­pid. It probably didn’t matter much. A stupid soldier with a gun was as dangerous as an intelligent soldier with a gun.

  I ran across the road and down to Tozer’s. There was a small side window we’d agreed to try. With my heart thumping I held the towel to it and hit it with the hammer. But I was too scared to hit it properly, so nothing happened. ‘Come on, Ellie,’ I urged myself, and hit it again. There was a satisfying crack and my hands felt the weakness of the broken glass. It seemed like two or three big pieces. I pushed them into the dark interior of the shop and heard them crash and break on the floor.

  I’d heard no burglar alarms, so I kept going. I glanced around at Fi and she gave me a wave. Our agreement was that if she was out of sight when I looked for her, it meant something was wrong. I put my fist in the towel and hit out all the fragments of glass left in the window. Again I checked with Fi, again she waved, so I made my dive through the win­dow, hoping I wouldn’t get more than superficial lacerations.

  The window was only two metres from the ground, so I was able to land quite gracefully. There was glass everywhere, and a few bits of it stuck to my hands, but they didn’t cut me and I was able to brush them off.

  Then I went prowling through the darkened shop.

  When I was a little tacker I’d dreamed of being accidentally locked in Tozer’s for the night. I had fan­tasies of getting into the toy department, the sweet department, the pet shop, and spending the whole night doing whatever I wanted, without adults saying ‘Don’t touch’, ‘Come away from there’, ‘No, you can’t, you’ve had enough already’.

  Well, the dream had come to life, but too late, like most dreams. I thought of it, though, as I groped through the different departments, and gave a little smile, a smile that no one saw, not even me.

  It was so dark in the middle of Tozer’s, where the streetlights couldn’t reach, but gradually I got some night sight. Everything was very different. The coun­ters were mostly bare and there were vast empty spaces that in the old days would have been filled with heaps of clothes and electrical goods and shop dummies. I think it was still being used as a shop, though, which would fit with what Lee had seen through the door of the loading dock. There were lit­tle piles of stuff here and there, with rough signs on them that looked like price tags. Just handwritten scraps of paper. For instance, in the old menswear section there were big stacks of garden tools: hoes and rakes and spades.

  I knew where I wanted to go. We didn’t come into town too often for shopping, and when we did we bought up big. I’m talking four trolleys full. Mum didn’t like shopping, so she did as much as she could in one hit. To pick it all up we’d drive the car into the loading dock. So I knew my way around there quite well. It was the invisible side of Tozer’s, where the bulk stuff was kept on pallets, and where Lee was sure he’d seen the sacks of sugar.

  That’s where I went. And that’s where they were. Pallet after pallet. There seemed to be nothing but sugar in the place. If there’d been time I would have torn a bag open and shouted myself to a spoonful or two. But I was worried about how long I’d taken already.

  I had no idea how many bags we’d need, but I fig­ured the wheelbarrow would only hold half-a-dozen. And that should be enough. I was beginning to get a little excited. If we could do this, then tell Colonel Finley about it, the Kiwis might be able to bomb any targets in this district without aerial opposition. It’d be a great break for them.

  But that was still a long way in the future. A lot of stuff had to happen first. I got a shopping trolley from the main part of the store and quickly filled it. The bags I took hardly made a dent in the pallet. With a bit of luck they’d never miss them. The trolley groaned under the weight, though, and wanted to steer sideways all the time. But I forced it back to the door that we’d agreed was our first choice. It had bolts top and bottom, a Yale lock, and a bar across it, but none of those looked a problem. When I tried them the only one that proved difficult was the bot­tom bolt, which was stiff and squeaky. I moaned a lit­tle in frustration as I wrestled with it. Things like this always infuriated me. And, of course, I was scared of the noise. At last, thoug
h, it came up, with a quick slide that cost me a bit of skin from my knuckle.

  I eased the door open. The street seemed quiet. I looked at once for Fi and saw her watching anxiously from the trees. I waved; she grabbed the wheelbar­row and rushed it across the street.

  ‘You took so long!’ she gasped.

  I didn’t answer, just grabbed the barrow and brought it in, then shut the door.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked Fi. ‘Should we wait for the patrol to go past? Or take the risk and go now?’

  I was loading the bags as I asked her.

  She gaped at me. ‘I don’t know. Oh golly, what a choice.’

  I felt stronger with every passing minute. ‘Let’s go for it,’ I said. ‘We’ve been able to hear them coming each time. If we wait for them we might be waiting an hour, and we can’t afford that.’

  The wheelbarrow was full. I grabbed the handles. ‘Sneak out and have a listen,’ I said to Fi. ‘If there’s nothing coming, give me a holler.’

  I watched her as she slipped through the door. She crossed the footpath and stood beside a tele­graph pole. I realised it was not much wider than her. Was she eating enough? Our meals sure were getting irregular. Fi had always been slim but now she was thinner than slim. I sighed. We’d all lost weight. Robyn used to make jokes about having anorexia. There were just too many things to worry about. I couldn’t stand here in the middle of a war zone try­ing to decide if Fi was eating properly.

  She gave me a little wave. I took a deep breath, lifted the handles of the barrow, and started to follow her across the road. It was heavy, but once I got it going and balanced it wasn’t too bad.

  Until I heard a vehicle coming. And trust my luck, it came at the worst time. I was in the halfway zone. Too far across the street to turn back, too far to go to reach safety. The point of no return. Suddenly the park looked a million k’s away. I forgot about being strong and in control. I looked at Fi frantically, help­lessly. I didn’t want to abandon the barrow, because that would mean we had failed already, so early in the trip. But I sure didn’t want to die for a barrow full of sugar. Fi was no help. Just looked back at me as wildly as I was looking at her. I swivelled around to see if there was anything behind me that would save us. But the street was bare. The only tiny bit of cover was a telephone box side by side with a mailbox. It would have to do. I swerved the handles of the bar­row around, and with my little legs pumping away ran hard straight at it. Fi followed, which wasn’t very clever of her because she would have been much safer in the park. I skidded the barrow in beside the phone box just as the headlights came round the cor­ner. I was crouched between the handles of the. bar­row and Fi was on top of me. I felt every tremble in her body, and there were plenty of them. The car came along slowly. I could see the dark getting driven back by the headlights.