Champion

by Gee, Maurice

  It looked horrible. It looked like sausage meat in beetroot juice. ‘Dogs won’t eat that.’

  ‘You wait and see.’

  We arranged to meet at dusk by the culvert on the town side of Stewarts’ farm. I told my parents I was going out. Dad said jokily, ‘Got yourself a girlfriend, eh?’ I mumbled that I was going to help Grandpa on the amphib. Mum looked at me sadly – because I was lying or because of Jack, I could not tell.

  Leo was waiting. He was doing giant swings with the billy, not spilling a drop. I thought it would serve him right if the handle came off. We left my bike hidden and cut across the farm, and suddenly it was dark not dusk. We walked into thistles and banged into fences, but found our way more easily when we came to the drive. The dust caught light from somewhere and made a ghostly glimmer in the dark. It dampened the sounds of our feet so we were able to approach the farmhouse silently.

  A light was on in the cowshed but it flicked off as we got close. Mrs Stewart crossed the yard, passing through the dim little puddle of light by the kitchen window. She opened the door and was framed there for a moment as she kicked her gumboots off. What a skinny tough manlike figure she was.

  The door closed.

  Leo and I were crouched at the back of a water trough. My hands were hot and sweaty and I dipped them in to make them cold. The float on the stopcock made a little bong as my knuckles touched it. A chain dragged and rattled on the far side of the shed.

  ‘Jeez, you’re a noisy bugger,’ Leo whispered.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Come on. Do it soft.’

  Our eyes were used to the dark now. The stars were glittery. The shed stood out against the river. Leo ran to the corner. He peered round, I looked over his head. The dogs were lying outside their kennels, in that hopeless way dogs have, with their heads between their paws. We eased back.

  ‘Okay,’ Leo whispered. He put his hand in the mess of Spam and port wine and drew out a piece. I did the same, shivering at the slimy touch.

  ‘Right.’

  We leaned round again and lobbed together, aiming for a spot in front of the dogs. One went, ‘Woof!’ Not loud. He had no time. The smell of meat and wine overcame his instinct to bark. They wolfed down the Spam, and Leo, unafraid, darted round the corner.

  ‘Come on. Quick.’ He slopped our stew into a cut-down kerosene tin that served one of the dogs as a dish. I found the other and held it as he poured. The dog was slurping at it before I could put it on the ground.

  ‘Let’s get out before they finish.’ We ran back to the corner of the shed and watched from there as the dogs emptied the containers and licked them clean. Then they stood looking at us, wagging their tails.

  ‘They’ll be out cold in ten minutes,’ Leo whispered.

  ‘Where do you reckon Jack is?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s hide and watch.’

  We crossed the drive and wriggled under a fence and found a blackberry patch twenty yards back in the paddock. ‘This’ll do.’ We settled down to wait.

  Jack left the launch half an hour after dark. He reasoned that movements in the house would cover any noises he might make. And if someone was awake and lights were on he’d have a better chance of not exciting the dogs. He need not have worried about that.

  Jack was afraid of the dark. He’d never been afraid in the city, but out here, with all those empty paddocks, the mangrove swamps, the silent water, and no one to talk to, no voices in other rooms, no cars, no shouts, no laughter outside, he began to imagine ghostly things were creeping up on him. For this reason too he set off early. He wanted to get back inside the deckhouse and close the door.

  He came through the paddocks soundlessly. When fences blocked him he’d find a firm post and put his hand on top and vault over as easily as stepping off a kerb. The kitchen light was a beacon. When he reached the cowshed he stopped and listened for the dogs. He meant to spend a moment or two persuading them that they need not bark. And they would be company for a while.

  He crept along the side of the shed. A strange noise stopped him. He thought it was the croaking of frogs. There had been frogs in the Solomons. He didn’t like the sound. Jack crept closer. No, he thought, it wasn’t frogs, it was someone breathing heavily. He looked round the corner. The dogs lay in drunken sleep outside their kennels. They wheezed and snored and sighed and licked their chops, dreaming of food, and made no sign of waking as Jack approached.

  ‘Hey boy, hey boy,’ he whispered. He touched their heads; then wrinkled his nose. Jack knew a drunk when he smelled one. He picked up the dishes and sniffed them – and, he said, worked it out pretty quick. He peered round in the dark, knowing Leo and I would be somewhere close. Then he made up his mind to get the plugs and move out fast. His aim now was to get away from Kettle Creek and not land us in trouble.

  Dawn was having a nervous time in the house. She was doing homework at the kitchen table while her grandmother sat opposite working on farm accounts. She seemed confused by them and Dawn felt sorry for her. Being guilty about the spark plugs and the launch did not help. The only sound was the scratching of pencils. Everything was silent outside. Any little disturbance would be heard.

  ‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’ She wanted to make some noise and activity in the house but wanted to do something for her grandmother too.

  ‘It’s rationed, miss. Drink water.’ Mrs Stewart looked back at her figures. They seemed to puzzle her. It was as if something in her brain had stopped working and the numbers on the paper didn’t have a meaning any more.

  ‘Have you got a rubber?’

  Dawn handed it over. ‘Would you like me to help?’

  ‘I can add. I went to school.’ But Dawn’s offer pleased her and she smiled. ‘Time you were in bed.’

  ‘Yes, soon.’

  ‘Cleaned your teeth?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Well, it’s late, better do it now.’

  Dawn stood up. Then she froze. A faint tinny sound came from outside.

  We saw Jack come round the side of the storage shed.

  ‘There.’

  ‘He must have found the dogs. Shickered, eh?’ Leo grinned.

  I didn’t like the light from the kitchen window. It touched Jack and made his eyes gleam.

  ‘She should have her blackout curtains closed. We should report her.’

  ‘In he goes.’

  Jack had reached the shed door. He opened it without a sound and went inside. A little flare of soft light showed before a hand came back and shut the door.

  ‘He’s struck a match.’

  ‘He’s got to see.’

  I tried imagining the inside of the shed: junk piled high, narrow paths between.

  ‘Dawn should have put them near the door.’

  ‘He’ll be okay. Hey! Shsh.’ We heard a faint sound – Jack’s foot striking an empty can. Our eyes swung to the house. Mrs Stewart appeared in the kitchen window. The frame squeaked as she pushed it up. She put her head into the night and peered round. It must have puzzled her that the dogs were not barking.

  ‘Dave! Dot!’ she called. The dogs were silent.

  ‘Dave!’

  She would probably have come outside to investigate and not thought of looking in the shed. But a sound – a clatter, a crash, a bucket symphony – came from in there. Mrs Stewart sprang back from the window, disappeared.

  Jack’s match went out as he saw the baking powder tin. He risked a step in the dark and reached for it. That is when the toe of his sandshoe hit an empty can – the first of the sounds. But he had the tin, and twisted off the top and felt the two spark plugs inside. Then he heard the kitchen window squeak and he stood very still. Mrs Stewart called the dogs. That alarmed Jack. He knew she would come outside to see what was wrong and it seemed to him she would surely look in the shed. He had to get out of there fast and get far away. He took a step, then realised he would have to strike a match to find the door.

  As he fumbled with the folder his elbow nudge
d something – he never knew what – and that began a domino collapse. Things came down from everywhere. The shed was like a room with a jazz band playing, Jack said. He lost the matches but held on to the Edmonds tin and managed to work his way to the door. That was as far as he got.

  We saw Mrs Stewart leave the window, saw Dawn look out, then chase after her. The back door opened and Mrs Stewart stood on the step.

  ‘Who’s there?’ She reached sideways and picked up a walking stick that must have been leaning on the wall by the door. It had a heavy knob instead of a curved handle.

  ‘You’d better come out, I’ve got a gun.’

  Liar! I wanted to yell. She came down the steps and Dawn appeared in the doorway. ‘Grandma,’ she cried.

  ‘Go back inside.’

  ‘She’s going to find him,’ I said to Leo.

  ‘No she’s not.’ He stood up. He still had the billy in his hand and he sent it sailing with an easy heave into the yard. It bounced and clattered across Mrs Stewart’s path. She swung round.

  ‘Hey, Ma Stewart,’ Leo called.

  I got the idea and jumped up. ‘What do you put water in your milk for, Ma Stewart?’

  We were too far back in the dark for her to see but she must have caught the flash of our faces.

  ‘Who are you?’ She ran at us, and stopped, and ran again.

  ‘Over here. You’re blind.’

  ‘Why don’t you wake your dogs up?’

  ‘Why don’t you shoot your gun, ha ha.’

  So we led her away, keeping too far ahead for her to make out who we were. And Dawn ran down the steps and crossed the yard. We saw her open the door, saw Jack come out and talk with her a moment and slip away into the dark.

  Then Dawn stood in the yard and called, ‘Grandma. Grandma, come back.’

  We ran then and easily got away. We reached the road, got the bike, went our different ways. We were very proud of ourselves. If it hadn’t been for us Jack would have been caught.

  But today I’m not pleased with it any more. Mrs Stewart had too many troubles and was close to her breaking point. We upset her very badly that night and we have to take our share of blame for the things that happened after that.

  Chapter 16

  Gifts

  Jack was angry with us when we went down to the launch in the morning. Better he got caught, he said, than we upset an old lady like that.

  He was working on the engine. The thing he wanted most was to get away up the coast. Then if he was caught none of us would get dragged in. He meant to get the engine going in the next two days, or ready to go, and he told us not to come after school because he’d be busy. This, we realised, was his way of keeping us out of trouble.

  ‘Can we come tomorrow, Jack?’

  ‘Yeah. Early, eh. So no one sees. You tell Dawn.’

  But Dawn was not at school. We didn’t see her until the following morning, the Saturday, at the launch. She’d been there half an hour when we arrived. By this time we had a signal, a shout broken into bits by a hand on the mouth, wa-wa-wa, to let Jack know it was only us.

  He was eating cold beans from a can when he heard Dawn. He made a soft clear whistle in reply. A moment later she stepped along the jetty and climbed on board. He had not seen her since their brief meeting at the shed. Now he sensed a kind of hurt in her.

  Softly he said, ‘How’s your grandma?’

  ‘She stays up all night. She won’t talk. She talks to herself. She’s got my grandpa’s old shotgun out.’

  He did not know what to say. He got a spoon and offered her some beans.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘The dogs all right?’

  ‘They woke up. Rex and Leo shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘It’s my fault.’

  ‘No it isn’t. Anyway, do the spark plugs work?’

  He showed her the engine with the plugs in place. ‘I think she’ll go. Can’t try it out in case someone hears. I just got a few things left to check. Rudder and propeller and so on. But it looks okay.’

  ‘I drew a map.’ She took it from her shirt and opened it out on the deck. They knelt and studied it.

  ‘You go out through the bar. It’s safe at high tide. Then you go up here, as far as this headland. It’s got big yellow cliffs, so you can see. There’s creeks and bush on the other side. You can go right up the creeks and anchor there.’

  ‘Thanks, Dawn. I won’t get lost now.’ He tried a joke. ‘Can’t find Chicago on that big map at school but I guess I can find me a little creek. Hey, Dawn, I got something for you.’

  He went into the deckhouse and came out with his mouth organ. Dawn was overwhelmed.

  ‘I can’t play,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’ll learn.’

  ‘I’ll practise. I promise I will.’

  ‘When I come back I want to hear “Chattanooga choo-choo”.’

  Leo and I signalled from the fence. Dawn put the mouth organ in her shirt. She went into the deckhouse and started tidying up, although there was little that needed doing. Jack still kept his gear in the canoe, which was tied alongside.

  We came on board. Leo had a bottle in his hand.

  ‘What’s that, petrol?’ Jack joked.

  ‘It’s wine. For you.’ For once he was shy. ‘It’s some of Dad’s best.’

  ‘I’m surprised you got any left.’ That was a reference to our escapade of two nights before. It reminded Dawn of what we had done. She came bursting out of the deckhouse.

  ‘You leave our dogs alone.’

  ‘Okay,’ we said.

  ‘I don’t like my grandma being upset.’

  ‘It worked.’

  ‘She would’ve caught Jack if we hadn’t yelled,’ Leo said.

  ‘You stay off our farm from now on.’

  ‘Who wants to go on your mouldy farm?’

  ‘Hey, hey,’ Jack said. He calmed us down and thanked Leo for the wine. Dawn moved to the rail. She touched her shirt. ‘Thanks, Jack.’

  ‘Wait on, don’t go.’

  ‘I’ve got some jobs for Grandma.’

  ‘I’ll show them your map first, eh?’ He was trying to bind us together. We knelt on the deck and looked at the map.

  ‘Not bad,’ I said to Dawn. In fact it was very good. She had everything marked and everything in scale. The bar was there, the reefs were there, the creeks and hills and bush were there. I had not realised she knew the coast so well.

  ‘This is the dangerous part. There’s houses here,’ Leo said.

  ‘Will you go tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ll have to sail blind. They’ll think you’re the Japs if they see any lights.’

  ‘Can we come down and see you go?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’ Jack swallowed. ‘Fact is, I don’t want you coming down again.’

  We protested. Dawn joined in. But Jack had made up his mind. ‘It’s too dangerous. You kids done too much already. You’ll be in real trouble if they catch you.’ He would not be swayed. We stood and looked at him, knowing that when we left we would never see him again. This was goodbye. There had been no time to get ready. It was like getting a bad fright. My stomach seemed to shrink to the size of a green apple.

  Dawn went first. She put her leg over the rail. Again she touched her shirt. ‘ “Chattanooga choo-choo.” I promise.’ A comment that Leo and I could not understand.

  ‘Sure,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll come back ridin’ on it, you wait and see.’

  She went on to the jetty.

  ‘Dawn.’

  She turned.

  ‘Keep on smilin’ that old smile.’

  She gave a small nod. Then she was gone into the mangroves. We stood silent.

  Leo moved. ‘I’ve got to go too.’

  ‘Here,’ Jack said. He slipped out of his pea jacket and fitted it on Leo’s shoulders.

  ‘For me?’ Leo was delighted.

  ‘Yup, for you.’

  ‘It’s still warm from your arms. Won’t you need it?’
/>
  ‘I’ve got a spare one.’

  I was jealous. ‘It’s too big.’

  ‘He’ll grow. If you grow as big as your daddy,’ he said to Leo, ‘it won’t last long.’

  ‘I’ll always keep it.’

  Jack shook hands with him. ‘I’ll leave the canoe. She’ll be tied up at the jetty here. So long, Leo. Without you kids, without my mates, eh, I get caught.’

  Leo climbed the rail, went sure-footed along the jetty, into the trees. That left me. All this time I’d been holding a gift for Jack in my hand. Now I gave it.

  ‘I brought you something to read.’

  Jack untied the string and let the paper open out. He smiled with pleasure. He knew how important the Champion was to me.

  ‘Rockfist Rogan. Hey, thanks. I’ve still got your drawing.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. I turned to leave.

  ‘Wait on, Rex.’

  He felt in his shirt pocket. Pulled out the Purple Heart. Jack had worked his gifts out carefully.

  ‘You keep this.’

  ‘No…’

  He took my hand and put the medal in.

  ‘I don’t need it any more.’

  But I could not close my hand on it. It seemed too important, and seemed to mark an ending too much.

  ‘Kettle Creek’s the best thing that ever happened to me,’ Jack said.

  So I took it. My fingers closed. I opened my mouth to speak, but could not speak. All I could do was nod my head once, as Dawn had done.

  I climbed the rail, trod the rotten jetty for the last time, went into the mangroves. I looked back from there and raised my hand, and Jack raised his and grinned at me. Then I went on and Jack was gone.

  Chapter 17

  Meanwhile…

  The last part is very hard to write. I think about it often these days; and think that if I’d behaved sensibly, not gone to Stewarts’ farm that night, shown Jack sooner that I liked him, then it would have ended the way we planned, Jack would have sailed out on the tide, over the bar, and got away. But that’s unreal. You can’t change the past. And it didn’t just depend on me anyway. All sorts of people got mixed up in the story of Jackson Coop.

  For that reason too it’s hard to write. Everything went crazy on that day. People were running everywhere, doing this and that, and then it all came to a point and Jack was the focus of it all.