Underdogs

by Markus Zusak

  Days and nights collected up and slipped by, and Rube continued his routine of answering the empty phone calls and blasting the bag in the basement. In a way, I could only feel sorry for someone who wanted to take him on. Even if there were more than one, at least a few of them would get hurt, because Rube had ed and strength and no hesitation.

  One night when the phone rang I answered it and asked the guy on the other end to hang on. "My brother wants to talk to you," I said. "I mean, this is getting ridiculous. You call three times a week. You say nothing. I'm starting to think you actually like my brother rather than want to kill him -- otherwise you'd just beat him up and be done with it. So hang on. Just a minute."

  I went down to the basement.

  "What is it?"

  Rube didn't usually sweat much, but after a good hour on the bag, he was drenched. "It's him," I said.

  He walked up the cold cement steps and practically mauled the phone when he picked it up.

  "Now listen," he growled. "I'll be waiting down near the old train yard at eight o'clock tomorrow night. You know where that is? ... Yeah, that's the one. If you want, come and get me. If not, stop ringin' me -- you're a pain in the arse." There was a longer silence. Rube was listening. "Good," he spoke again. "Just you and me, alone." Again, he listened. "That's right -- no help, no tricks, and then it's over. Good-bye." He slammed the phone down and I could see he was already fighting in his mind.

  "So it's on?" I asked.

  "Apparently so," and he went to shut the basement door. "Thank Christ for that."

  Then the phone rang. Again.

  Rube picked it up, and immediately, I could tell it was his mate again. Rube wasn't happy.

  "What is it this time?" He shot the words through the phone. "You can't!?" He was getting more irritated by the second. "Now listen, mate -- you're the one who wants to kill me, so make up your mind about when you feel like doin' it. What about tonight, or right now? No? Well how about Friday? Could you check your calendar and make sure you've got nothing else on?" He waited. "Y' sure now? Positive? You won't be ringin' in a minute or two attempting to reschedule? No? So Friday night sounds like a good time to kill me? Good. Same place, same time. Friday. Good."

  Again, he hung up, forcefully. He shook his head but laughed. "It's an absolute circus with this bloke."

  He started eating some bread and got ready to go out. I guess with Julia gone, there were more girls on the horizon. For a moment, I nearly asked if he wanted me to come along on Friday, but I guess he would have viewed that as scraps behavior -- following him around.

  Anyway, I thought. He got himself into this. He'd finally stumbled onto the wrong girl, and maybe he was going to pay. Sure, I also told myself that I'd been wrong in the past, because Rube had often escaped dangerous situations for no other reason than the ct that he was Ruben Wolfe and Ruben Wolfe could handle anything.

  With his fists.

  With his wayward charm.

  Any way he could.

  This time, though, I couldn't be sure. It was different. I guess we'd discover the outcome on Friday night.

  There were a few days till then, and I spent most of my time thinking about the confrontation, and Octavia. Always Octavia. I considered writing her a letter or calling her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Sarah said I should keep trying.

  "You haven't cut my hands off in that picture, have you?" I asked her on Thursday night.

  She only shook her head, almost forlornly. "No, Cam -- I think you've fought hard enough. At least for the time being."

  All that was left was Friday night.

  Rube got ready in our room at about seven-thirty, putting on his oldest jeans, his work flanno, and boots, which he did up nice and tight. He stared into the mirror, telling himself what to do. Eyeing himself off.

  Just before he left, we looked at each other.

  What was there to say? Good luck? I hope you get the crap beaten out of you? You want me to come?

  No.

  It was all silence, and he left.

  On his way out, he announced that he was going to a friend's place, shut the door hard, and went out onto the street. Even from the kitchen window, I could tell he was hyped up and hardened. The cold night air seemed to get out of his way as he walked through it.

  Now it was decision time.

  Was I going after him or not?

  The minutes passed and finally I resolved to go. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help it, even after everything that had happened. The kitchen. Losing Octavia. I still couldn't get past the fact that Rube was my brother and that trouble was looming in his direction. I moved quickly back to our room, threw on my boots and spray jacket, and headed out.

  It was close to eight when I got there, to the old train yard. I could see Rube waiting down by the fence, and I took a different street and a side alley. That way, I doubled back and stood closer, waiting. From near the edge of the alley, I could still see him standing there, but he couldn't really see me. All I could do now was wait.

  The yard was full of wrecked train carriages, standing around in the dark. Their windows were smashed, and stolen words were written across them like scars. The fence was tall and made of wire, cordoning off the yard from the street. Rube was leaning against it with his back.

  For a moment, I wondered why he didn't bring friends, just in case. There were plenty of people around here who would glad fight for him and could fight well. Maybe Rube decided this was his own doing and he would face it alone.

  Thoughts passed.

  Minutes passed.

  Some voices started loitering around the street and soon their shadows turned into humans. There were three of them. I could see Rube straighten up as they went past me, not even noticing I was there.

  They moved closer and adrenaline shot me down. This was it.

  DEEP BREATHS

  My breath is made of smoke.

  It crouches down.

  Right after it comes from my mouth.

  It crouches down, holds on a moment, and is swallowed by the air.

  I stand in the darkness, in the perpetual shadow. My eyes feel like they glow. My furry, furious hair knots upward for the stars. Thoughts scratch me. My life itches me, and I prepare.

  To step out.

  To rip the shadows from the ground and hoist the darkness from the air.

  I look at my hands, my feet.

  Deep breaths.

  Breathe depths.

  Solemnly, I nod, to myself.

  Make a step.

  Take a threat.

  Not far away, there's one last fight, one last struggle.

  There's something here, in this place -- a smell. It's all that's awful, all that's precious, raw, and real.

  When I walk out and face it, I notice what it is.

  This place smells.

  Like brothers.

  CHAPTER 18

  I waited for the sound of it.

  The jabs of words and the left hook of the fight's beginning.

  But nothing came.

  The footsteps of the three figures turned into another small alley, and again, Rube was alone down at the fence. He leaned backward again, moving back and forth into the wire.

  He's late, I could see him thinking. He looked at his wrist, even though he never wears a watch.

  By half-past eigh decided I should get going. As I moved away, I scuffed the ground and Rube looked up and saw me, or at least an edge of me.

  "Oi!" he called, and he came toward me. I froze. "What are y' doin' here, Cam?"

  I shoved my hands in my pockets. "I don't know."

  We met under a streetlight that poured over the street. It was the only light on it.

  "He's late," my brother said. A long time elapsed before I answered.

  "Maybe we should have it ou

  t instead."

  "What?"

  "You heard me."

  Rube scanned the street for any more people but it was still deserted. He looked back at
me and said, "Have what out?"

  "You and me and Octavia and the kitchen and Scraps -- how's that for a start?" I said the words quickly. Instantly.

  "I don't have time for that tonight, Cam."

  "Fair enough," and I started walking off. My feet scraped the road. "When you and me are important enough, let me know."

  A fair way up the street, I heard him call out.

  "Cameron!"

  I turned. "What?"

  "Get back here."

  And I walked back to my brother and said it all. We stood under the streetlight that showered over us. My words were fists and I threw them at my brother. There was no hesitation. "Why'd y' have to do it, Rube? Tell me. Why did you have to ruin my first chance -- my first chance ever?" The combination of words lunged at my brother, hitting him in the face.

  He took them well and came back. "I don't know, okay!"

  "Yes you do."

  The light seemed even brighter now. No place to hide.

  "All right," he said angrily, conceding. He looked at the ground, as though he were reading it, checking the sentences over before he said them. "I just -- bloody hell, Cam -- I didn't want you to have her."

  "That's it?" I was incensed. "Why the hell not!?"

  "Because ..." He shifted feet. "You'd treat her so sickeningly bloody good, Cam, and I'd have to look at her as she compared us and thought about what a bastard I am. Okay?" My brother's eyes sank into mine. "That good enough for I let the realization of that kick in. It took a while. Eventually, when I went to speak, Rube beat me to it. He said, "I didn't know she'd get the hell out of there so fast either. How could I know that, Cam? ... Do you think I haven't been walkin' round hating myself? Of course I have."

  We stood there.

  Should I have pitied him, or hated him?

  So long went by and finally, I realized it was me who had to break the silence. Everything was changing, on a quiet back street, with no one but ourselves to watch.

  I said, "You were always the one, Rube. You always got the girls." I looked him flatly in the face. "But not one of those girls ever got you. They got your filthy good looks, your hands, and everything else you wear, but they never got you. You're too busy taking to give anything...."

  An even more penetrating silence arrived then, and I knew it was time to leave.

  Rube remained a few paces away from me, shocked by what he'd heard, or actually, not that he'd heard it, but that someone else had told him exactly what he'd been trying to tell himself for a long time but refused to hear.

  Just before I left, I said, "You weren't only my brother, Rube -- you were my best friend."

  He nodded then, and I could see emotion welling in his eyes.

  "I'll see y' then."

  "Yeah," he spoke quietly. "I'll see y' later," and I walked off. Not triumphant or successful. Just satisfied that what needed to be done was finished.

  At the top of the street, I called back one last time.

  "Y' comin' home?"

  Rube shook his head. "No, I'm waitin' a bit longer."

  With that, I turned back onto the street that belonged to the world -- the one leading to the train yard seemed removed, like it was its own entity. As I walked, I imagined the shadow of Rube, still leaning against the fence, waiting. One of his feet would be up against the wire and his breath would be going smoky in the winter air.

  When I made it home, I didn't do too much at all. I thought about our conversation and started reading a book for school. Not one word made it inside me.

  The night went on and I resolved to wait up for Rube. I fell asleep on the couch a few times, and when everyone else went to bed they woke me and told me to go as well. I wanted to keep hating him, but as the hours went by, a strange determination kept growing inside. No matter how much I hated him, I was determined to see Rube come walking through the front door. Don't ask me why, but I needed to see it.

  I wanted to see

  Unmarked.

  Unbruised.

  I wanted to hear his voice tell me to get up as he went past.

  But that night, my brother Rube didn't come home.

  It was just past midnight when I woke up with a silent start. My eyes opened and the yellow light from the lounge room sliced me through the eyes.

  I was hit twice by one thought.

  Rube.

  Rube.

  His name was repeated in me as I scissored off the couch and walked slowly into our room. I was hoping against hope that he would be in there, sprawled out across his bed. The darkness of the hall captured me. The creaking floorboards gave me away. Then, as the door crept open, I sent my eyes into the room, ahead of me. It was empty.

  I turned the light on and shivered. It blinded me and I realized. I was going back out, to the night.

  In the lounge room, I pulled my shoes on as quietly as possible, slipped my jacket back on, and headed for the kitchen, toward the front door. A pale light from the moon was numb in the sky. I was out in the uncertain coldness of the street.

  A bad feeling intensified in my stomach.

  It made its way to my throat.

  Soon, as I walked fast to the old train yard, I could feel it gathering on its way through me. There were drunk people who made me edge out onto the road. Cars sped toward me with the brightness of their lights, then passed and faded away.

  My hands sweated inside my jacket pockets. My feet were cold inside the warmth of my shoes.

  "Hey boy," a voice slung out to me. I avoided it. I pushed past the guy who said it and broke into a run and had the street leading to the train yard in sight.

  When I made it there, I could feel my heartbeat's hands, ripping me open.

  The street.

  Was empty.

  It was empty and dark except for the widening light of the moon that seemed to spray down on each forgotten corner of the city. I could smell something. Fear.

  I could taste it now.

  It tasted like blood in my mouth, and I could feel it slide through me and open me up when I saw him....

  There was a figure sitting down, crooked, against the fence.

  Something told me Rube didn't sit like that.

  I called his name, but I could barely hear it. There was a giant pounding in my ears that kept everything else ou Again, I called, "Rube!?"

  The closer I got, the more I knew it was him. My brother was slumped against the fence and I could see the blood flooding his jacket, his jeans, and the front of his old flanno.

  His hands gripped the fence.

  The look on his face was something I'd never seen on him before.

  I knew what it was because I was feeling it myself.

  It was the fear.

  It was fear, and Ruben Wolfe had never been afraid of anything or anyone in his life, until now. Now he was sitting alone in the city and I knew that one person alone couldn't have done this to him. I imagined them holding him down and taking turns. His face almost made its way into a smile when he saw me, and like a breeze through the silence, he said to me blankly: "Hey Cam. Thanks for comin'."

  The pulse in my ears subsided and I crouched down to my brother.

  I could tell he'd dragged himself to this position on the fence. There was a small trail of blood smeared to a rusty color on the cement. It looked like he'd climbed two yards when it was too much and he couldn't go on. I had never seen Ruben Wolfe defeated.

  "Well," he shuddered, "I guess they got me good, huh? You must be glad...."

  I ignored his comment. I had to get him home. He was shivering uncontrollably. "Can you get up?"

  He smiled again. "Of course."

  Rube still had that smile perched on his lips when he staggered up the fence and collapsed. I caught him and held him up. He slipped through me and fell facedown, holding on to the road.

  The city was swollen. The sky was still numb.

  Ruben Wolfe was facedown on the road with his brother standing there, helpless and afraid, next to him.

  "You've go
tta help me, Cam," he said. "I can't move." He pleaded with me. "I can't move."

  I turned him over and saw the concussion that surrounded him. There wasn't as much blood as I'd originally thought, but his face was brutalized by the night sky that fell on him and made him real.

  I dragged him back to the fence, propped him up, and lifted him. Again, he nearly collapsed, and when we started walking, I knew he wasn't going to make it.

  "I'm sorry, Cam," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

  "We'll just get y' home, ay."

  "No," he said, hanging on to me. "Not sorry for this -- sorry for everything." His expression swallowed me.

  "Okay," I said. "We're okay."

  That was when relief seemed to wash over him and he fell to the ground. Maybe that was the sweetest punch -- and the final defeat. "We're okay, huh?" I had never heard a person so happy in this condition.

  We'd traveled only about five yards from the fence.

  I rested for a minute as my brother continued lying on his back....

  As the moon was smothered by a cloud, I slid my arms beneath my brother's back and legs and picked him up. I was holding Rube in my arms and carried him up the deserted street.

  On the way home, my arms ached and I think Rube fell unconscious, but I couldn't rest. I couldn't put him down. I had to make it home.

  People watched us.

  Rube's tough curly hair hung down toward the ground.

  Some extra blood landed on the footpath. It dripped from Rube onto me and then onto the path. It was Rube's blood. It was my blood. Wolfes' blood.

  There was a hurt somewhere far down inside me, but I walked on. I had to. I knew that if I stopped carrying him it would be harder to keep going.

  "Is he all right?" a young party-going sort of guy asked. I could only nod and continue walking. I wouldn't stop until Rube was in his bed and I was standing over him, protecting him from the night, and from the dreams that would wake him in the hours until morning.

  The last turn onto our street finally came and I lifted him in one last effort. He moaned.

  "Come on, Rube," I said. "We're gonna make it," and when I think about it now, I don't understand how I made it that far. He was my brother. Yes, that was it. He was my brother.

  At our gate, I used one of Rube's feet to free the latch and walked up the porch steps.

  "The door," I said, louder than I'd wanted to, and after putting him down on the porch, I opened the flyscreen, got my key in, and turned back to face him. My brother. My brother Rube, I thought, and my eyes ached.