by Mark Brandi
At home, the days and weeks seemed to stretch on without end. He could daydream for hours, building imaginary worlds at the back of the yard, up near the shed. Whole civilisations rose and fell in the black soil of the vegie garden. Epic wars were won and lost.
He had all day to play with his dog, Sunny. Then, at night, he could lie in his bed til late, close his eyes and imagine colours and shapes and worlds more vivid than in any book he ever saw.
And he had yabbying. He loved yabbying and he couldn’t go if they went on holidays. He’d always ask Fab to come because it wasn’t as good on your own. If Fab couldn’t come, he’d ask Shane, but Shane was a sook and always wanted to go home early. They were only really friends with Shane because his house had an in-ground pool and his mum cooked steak sandwiches for lunch. His dad had a red Porsche too, but you were never allowed inside it, or even close to it.
If he was desperate he might ask Johnno, but everyone knew that Johnno was a first-class dick.
He rang Fab first.
‘Whatcha doin?’
‘Nuthin. You?’
‘Nuthin. What about tomorrow?’
‘Dunno. You?’
‘Dunno. Gonna be hot, but.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Wanna go yabbying?’
‘Yeah, all right.’
‘Near the Leviathan. S’posed to be a good spot.’
The only thing Ben and Fab ever disagreed on was bait. Ben preferred lamb’s liver, left in the sun for a bit so it would get stinky. He reckoned yabbies could smell it. Fab reckoned yabbies couldn’t smell anything underwater. He reckoned they preferred dog food because it had guts and organs and stuff in it. Pal dog food. He’d steal his mum’s pantyhose and put chunks of Pal inside, then tie them to the bottom of the nets. The Pal was no good for handlines, but. It was way too soft.
Ben liked that Fab used different bait. He liked it because it meant he’d usually get more yabbies than Fab – it was one of the few things he was better at. He also liked it because it meant Fab brought the pantyhose. The soft, silky fabric and that dark patch in the middle part made him a bit horny. Fab’s mum looked a bit like Ita Buttrose, but with darker hair.
Ben liked Ita Buttrose, even though she was a bit older. There was a photo of her in an old Women’s Weekly he liked to look at sometimes. Fab reckoned that Wilbur Wilde was Ita Buttrose’s boyfriend, that Marco had told him, but Ben reckoned that was bullshit. Wilbur Wilde played the saxophone on Hey Hey It’s Saturday and wore sunglasses, even at night. He was pretty ugly.
Once, Ben stole a pair of pantyhose from Fab, took them home and hid them under his bed. He’d get them out at night sometimes, rub them against his bare thighs and imagine what they would feel like with a girl wearing them, a girl in his bed. Maybe Ita Buttrose. Or even Fab’s mum.
It was a thought he nervously explored, his breath hot and fast, as he lifted the sheets and wanked as quietly as he could.
But he’d promised himself he’d stop doing that soon. Maybe once they started grade six.
* * *
They rode their bikes to the dam. Fab’s bike had a buckled front wheel that rubbed against the brake pads, so it took ages. It was a pretty shit ride because it was hot and there were a lot of hills on the way there. It meant they couldn’t take all the nets, so Fab was already pissed off that he’d have to use handlines. Plus, his buckled wheel was squeaking like crazy.
They’d have to walk home too, because they couldn’t carry the yabbies on their bikes. Ben liked to use a bucket for his, with some water to keep them going til he got home. They would sometimes fight in the bucket and once you got them home, you’d find loose claws at the bottom that had been cleaved right off.
Ben’s mum usually boiled the yabbies in a big pot. Ben thought he could hear them scream as she dropped them in, but Fab reckoned it was just the gas inside their shells.
Fab used a wet hessian sack to carry his haul. Ben thought this was crazy because it was much harder to get them out, their claws would catch in the weave and, once loose, they’d snap angrily at your fingers. Fab agreed with Ben, but he said his dad told him to do it that way. And you didn’t argue with Fab’s dad.
Fab’s dad worked at the timber mill. He did shift work, which means you sleep during the day and work at night. He once told Ben that he would take a shortcut through the cemetery if it was a full moon, to get home quicker. Ben couldn’t imagine anything scarier than the cemetery at night. Except maybe for seeing Fab’s dad in there.
Sometimes they got a lift home from yabbying if Fab’s mum had the Pacer.
This was always better, because walking home when it was nearly dark was pretty scary. Not because they were worried about anything stupid like vampires, werewolves or stuff like that, but because of Jimmy Shine.
Jimmy Shine always seemed to somehow know where they were. He would drive up in his old cream ute and slow right down beside them. Jimmy Shine had a rotten face and wide straw hat. Jimmy Shine had bib-overalls and old-fashioned white cotton shirts with no collar. He was weird. They scared each other just talking about him. And the sight of any ute was enough to make them freeze. But lately, other things had been scaring Ben too.
Ben unpacked his gear on the dam bank. ‘Are you gonna use the handlines?’ he said. The dam was small with steep banks, which probably meant it was deep. And there wasn’t much shade, just one stunted old gum tree near the fence, its leaves already drooping in the morning sun.
‘Nah, just the nets first.’
Ben could tell from the look on Fab’s face that he was pissed off about having only two nets, not to mention the long ride with a buckled wheel.
‘What do ya reckon?’ Ben said. ‘Many yabbies?’
‘Maybe.’ Fab said. ‘Could be poisoned, but.’ He nodded to the round concrete vats buried deep within the soil beside the dam. You could only see the top of them, just a couple of feet of thick concrete poking up through the dirt. Fab reckoned they had something to do with the goldmine.
Fab pulled the pantyhose from his pocket and Ben felt a tingle in the tip of his dick. He turned away from Fab and focused on the sweaty liver, where flies were already gathering. The ants had noticed it too, marching fast in orderly lines from their holes. He looked down at his shorts and his dick bulged sideways, like someone had stuffed a banana down there. Not a big banana though, just one of those ladyfinger ones.
Ladyfingers. Ladies with soft fingers. Soft fingers for touching dicks.
He took a deep breath and started cutting the lengths of string for his handlines. ‘Had a nightmare last night,’ he said.
Fab cut a section of pantyhose and tied a knot in one end. ‘Yeah, what happened?’
‘Can’t remember it all.’ Ben scratched his head and looked down at his shorts. It had gone smaller, but was still visible. ‘Had Daisy in it. She was in my room.’ He pushed his dick down straight and turned back around.
Fab’s eyes lit up. He put down his knife. ‘No shit? What did she look like? Was she rotten or anything?’
‘Nah, just really white. I was trying to get away from her.’
‘Probably her ghost,’ Fab said. He smiled at Ben. ‘Are you sure it was a dream?’
‘Piss off, will ya?’ Ben checked the lengths of his lines. ‘It’s a bit creepy though. After what she did and all that.’
Fab returned to his bait, eyes downcast. He took a can-opener out of his hessian sack. ‘Yeah, feel sorry for Joe.’
Ben still felt guilty about the cubbyhouse. He reckoned Fab did too.
‘Why do you reckon she did it?’ he said.
Fab shrugged as he worked around the lid of a can. ‘Dunno. I heard Johnno saying she was giving gobbies to some of the year twelve boys.’
‘Gobbies?’
Fab scooped some dog food into the pantyhose with his fingers. ‘A gobbie. A gob job.’
‘A what?’ Ben got a whiff of the dog food. It was rank.
‘That’s what they call it in Melbourne. Marco told me. S
ame as a head job. Like when a girl sucks on your dick. Or licks it.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘Nah, it is,’ Fab said.
‘Nah, I mean Johnno is full of shit. Daisy wouldn’t do that.’
Fab shook his head. ‘Johnno reckons his brother was getting them regular after school. Reckons they’re all disappointed she’s dead. That she was really good at it.’
‘It’s bullshit. No way would she have done that.’
Ben watched the ants gather at the edge of the liver, unsure about their next move. It was too big for them to carry and they seemed confused, breaking their orderly lines and walking into one another. He was trying very hard not to think about Daisy sucking his dick. Or licking it. Or what the difference was between the two.
‘They’ve moved town now,’ he said.
‘Who?’ Fab stood up, holding the net in his hands.
‘The Wolfes.’
‘Yeah, heard me mum say.’ Fab widened his stance, ready to cast.
‘Someone else living there now. Some bloke. Got a nice car.’ Ben remembered what his dad had said. He liked talking about cars, especially to Fab who seemed to know about that sort of stuff. It made him feel like less of a kid. ‘A Statesman De Ville. Blue. Really nice.’ He didn’t actually know what a Statesman De Ville was, so he hoped like anything that Fab wouldn’t ask.
With the string line of the net in his left hand, Fab flung it like a frisbee with his right. It splashed just a few metres out and sunk fast into the muddy water. The black plastic float popped to the surface and Fab tied the string to a stick, before poking it into the dam bank. ‘Ah well,’ he said, rubbing his hands, ‘maybe her ghost will be on to him then. Once she’s done with you, of course.’ He laughed. ‘Might even give you a gobbie.’
‘Rack off!’
Fab picked up another net. ‘A ghost gobbie. That’s pretty special. She’d like your stiffy for sure.’ He pointed at Ben’s shorts and laughed.
‘Get stuffed, will ya!’ Ben turned back around and checked. ‘It’s gone anyway.’
Ben still wondered why Daisy had hanged herself, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with Johnno’s story about head jobs. Either way, he didn’t want to think about her for a while. Not if it meant more bad dreams.
He picked up the slimy liver just as a few ants climbed on board. The remaining army continued to trace the perimeter of where it had been, in blind disbelief.
He looked up to the sky where the sun was getting higher and hotter. They had a long day ahead and plenty of time. But he’d try to get Fab to finish a bit early, so maybe they could walk home in the daylight.
Three
Fab reckoned Ben’s new neighbour was a secret agent. He said the blue car was like the James Bond one and it might change into a boat or something. He reckoned they should try to follow him, to see what he was up to.
Fab knew a fair bit about spies and secret agents because he’d seen a lot of videos about it, he reckoned. And he had this book called Spycatcher that he nicked from the newsagent. It had a cool black cover and he kept it in his desk at school. He said that he’d read it, but Ben didn’t believe him. It was really thick and Fab wasn’t even that good at reading. He wasn’t that good at school in general, really. When Ben asked him what the book was about, he’d just say that it was top secret.
They kept an eye on the house for a couple of days, riding their bikes or walking past casually, or sometimes watching from behind the cars parked across the road. Nothing seemed to happen and they both got bored. On the third day, they snuck up the driveway to get a closer look at the car – it was clean and shiny, all chrome and blue steel. But they couldn’t see inside because it had dark windows.
‘Tinted,’ Fab whispered. He nodded at Ben like this confirmed his theory. Then there was a heavy clunk inside the house. They stared at each other with wide eyes before running back down the driveway as fast as they could.
After, Fab called Ben a wuss for running, even though Ben thought Fab ran first. But he didn’t say anything.
The car never seemed to go anywhere and the curtains of the house were always shut. Fab reckoned the neighbour was probably doing interrogations inside. He said there was stuff about that in the book, that they’d usually do it in the dark with a bright lamp shining in your eyes. Fab nicked his dad’s binoculars and they climbed the plum tree in Ben’s backyard to try to see in through the back, but Ben’s dad caught them.
‘He’s on to us for sure,’ Fab said.
‘My dad?’
‘Nah, the spy. Maybe we should back off a little. Get out of town. Let him think no one is watching.’ Ben thought he could hear the edge of an American accent in Fab’s voice, like he was pretending to be Harrison Ford or something. ‘Maybe we should go camping.’
Ben was happy to go camping. They hadn’t been in ages and the holidays were almost over. It’d be good to do something before they went back to school. But he didn’t really care that much about the neighbour anymore.
* * *
Ben invited Johnno camping because he reckoned just the two of them alone was too weird. Ben knew Fab didn’t like Johnno, no one really did, but he couldn’t think of anyone else to ask apart from Shane, and he knew Shane got too homesick.
They camped where Fab’s old house used to be, which was on a block of land near the Black Ranges, about five kilometres out of town. It was a good spot. The house had burnt down from an electrical fault, but Ben’s dad said it was an insurance job. Ben didn’t know what that meant. And when he asked, he still didn’t get it. It just didn’t make any sense that anyone would burn down their own house deliberately.
All that was left of the house was the concrete floor where the veranda used to be. It made a great cricket pitch. There was a large, steel hay shed still standing out the back where they could sleep, and a dam a bit further back for yabbying.
It wasn’t til his mum had driven off up the highway that Fab showed Ben and Johnno what he’d brought. Hidden in the bottom of his backpack were four cans of Victoria Bitter that he’d nicked from his dad’s beer fridge.
* * *
They didn’t end up doing much yabbying on the first day. They played cricket the whole time. Ben had brought electrical tape and he wound it over one side of the ball, which made it swing through the air like crazy and sting like anything. Johnno cracked the shits after he kept getting out, so Fab and Ben kept playing without him.
Ben had a better batting technique than Fab, honed and refined in his backyard as he watched his reflection in the lounge room window. He modelled himself on Dean Jones, fast footwork and nimble. Quick singles.
Fab made up for his lack of style with a sharp eye and uncanny strength. He was wiry like a rabbit – and though his arms were skinny, and he was smaller than most, he bowled fast and hit hard. A bit of a slogger. And he always wanted to win, no matter what.
Though Ben hated to admit it, Fab was better at most physical things, like cricket or climbing or running, even though he never really looked the part. Fab never learned how to do things properly and he hardly ever went to training, but just picked things up really quickly. Ben couldn’t quite match him, even though he was bigger and stronger. It annoyed him a bit.
In cricket, at least, Ben was a better fielder. He could hit the stumps from pretty much anywhere. The best arm in the district, his coach reckoned.
* * *
They played until the sun started to sink behind the ranges and it was too hard to see. That’s when the wind picked up and the air turned cold. It got dark fast, so Fab yelled out to Johnno, who was sooking in the hay shed, to light the fire so they could cook some dinner.
They hadn’t caught any yabbies, so it was just baked beans on burnt toast. Ben forgot to bring the toaster thing for the fire, so they did them on sticks and they went all black and tasted like shit. Fab ate quickly. He was keen to start on the cans of beer, still hidden in the bottom of his backpack.
‘Maybe I should put them
in the dam, to cool them down.’ He mopped up the sweet, baked bean sauce with his fingers.
‘I’m not havin any,’ Johnno said, between mouthfuls of beans.
‘You’re such a sook.’ Fab shook his head. ‘Just eat your beans and keep quiet.’
Ben wasn’t that keen on the booze either. He’d once had a sip of his dad’s beer and it tasted sour. He’d hoped it would be like ginger beer, but it wasn’t sweet at all and his dad had laughed at the face he pulled.
Still, Ben tried his best to sound excited. ‘Don’t worry about cooling them down, they’ll be right.’
Fab put his plate down and went to his bag. Johnno poked Ben in the arm.
‘Did ya hear about Daisy?’ he said.
‘About what?’
‘About the head jobs? That she was mad for dick?’ Johnno grinned. ‘Did she ever suck on yours?’
‘Piss off. It’s bullshit anyway.’
‘Nah, it’s definitely not. My brother told me.’
‘Your brother’s full of shit too, then.’
Fab returned to the fire with two cans and glared at Johnno. ‘Why dontcha go to bed,’ he said.
Johnno stood up. ‘I was goin anyway. Where’s ya spare sleeping bag?’
‘Near the back of the shed. Bring your own next time. And don’t wank in my one.’
Fab passed Ben a can. They cracked the tops and knocked the cans together, like they’d seen on telly. They decided to both take a sip at the same time.
‘One... two... three.’ Fab slitted his eyes, but Ben could tell he was watching him, like he was making sure he had a drink. Like he knew.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ Fab said, licking his lips.
Ben wondered if he’d be able to tip out some of the can without Fab seeing.
‘I really like it,’ he said.
* * *
Ben and Fab stayed up by the fire, sipping slowly at their cans. It seemed like Fab definitely knew what Ben was planning and he watched him like a hawk.
The air had gotten colder and Johnno was snoring, lying up on two hay bales he’d pushed together like a mattress. As the wind swept the heat of the fire away, Fab fetched his sleeping bag. Ben seized the moment and tipped some of his can out. Fab unrolled the sleeping bag, sat back down and covered both their legs.