Eyrie

by Tim Winton

  The boy shook his head.

  I try and see it. But I can’t.

  Well, I spose it takes a lot of imagination.

  I have a lot of imagination. Mrs Crumb said. Father Crean said.

  That’s good. That’s a big compliment. You want to sit here a moment? he said, patting the cushion.

  But it’s not there, said the boy, ignoring him. Still standing. Looking past him.

  Sorry? What’s not there?

  Old.

  Keely peered into the boy’s face.

  Kai?

  It won’t happen to me.

  Getting old? Happens to all of us, mate.

  No, he said sadly. Not me.

  Keely reached for the boy’s arm but Kai eluded him.

  Kai, listen. You don’t have to worry about things like that.

  Are you like your dad?

  Mate, what’s bothering you?

  Keely struggled to his feet and the boy made room for him. At the sink he found a glass and filled it with water. He drank it off and filled it again.

  I’m not like my dad, said Kai, resting his chin on the counter between them.

  My dad’s dead, said Keely.

  I know. But maybe you’re like him. When he was alive.

  And what makes you say that?

  Nan said.

  Well, said Keely. I’d like to be. But I don’t think I am. Sadly. I’m older than him, now. Isn’t that weird. Listen, what did she tell you?

  Are you going to be my dad then?

  She said that?

  Kai shook his head.

  Oh. Well, no. You already have a dad.

  Yes.

  But I’m your mate, okay?

  Okay.

  Really. I’m your friend. You can tell me anything.

  Kai considered this.

  I know things, the boy said, spreading his hands across the laminated counter.

  I believe you.

  He saved people.

  Who?

  Nan said.

  Who saved people?

  Your dad.

  At this, Keely felt a peculiar flush of grief. Hotter, fresher, harder than he’d felt for years.

  Is it true?

  Well, if your nan says.

  But sometimes she says stuff. To be nice. He’s not just a story?

  Keely set the glass down and looked at Kai’s hands. He felt ensnared.

  Listen, why don’t we go in and lie down, eh?

  Is it true? Like, he saved people? They called out in the night and he came?

  Well, yeah. I guess.

  There’s this bad dad, said Kai. It’s dark in the street. He’s real mean, he does all the baddest things. And the kids are crying. They hide in the toilet. Run in the shed. They go in the garden, and call out for help. But no one comes cause they’re scared of him. Nobody ’cept your dad.

  Well, yeah. I think that’s true.

  And he saves them.

  He tries.

  He fights him, said the boy, warmed to his own telling. He saves the kids. He’s big and he’s got a motorbike. And big hands.

  Let’s talk about it in there, Keely said, pointing to the bedroom.

  He’s real big, said the boy, allowing himself to be steered. Like a ogre. Like Shrek.

  Maybe, said Keely, thinking on it. Maybe a little bit.

  He got the boy into bed. The easterly was moaning in the balustrades and window sashes already. The sheets were cool. They smelt of woman and child. Kai’s hair fanned back against his pillow. He steepled his fingers on his pale chest.

  I wish he wasn’t dead.

  Yeah, said Keely, lying back on Gemma’s pillow. Me too.

  He would come. He would save me.

  Keely searched the kid’s face.

  This nightmare. I think it’s really bothering you.

  The people aren’t bad, Kai said quietly. There’s eyes and no faces. But they aren’t bad.

  So there’s no one hurting you?

  No. The hurting gets smaller. It’s kind of sad. Like … Like everything goes away, turning off. But I don’t want it to. Everything goes off like the end of the day.

  Like going to sleep?

  He shrugged.

  And can you see yourself?

  Sometimes I’m smaller. I can see from here.

  And that’s what you draw?

  The boy yawned.

  Kai, have you told your nan about this dream?

  The boy wheezed a little.

  Kai?

  He didn’t get very old either. Your dad.

  You’ll get old, mate.

  And a beard, said the boy sleepily. And big hands.

  There was a long silence, as if Kai were picturing the big man of legend and savouring some detail before offering it up. Keely felt the little hand on his arm, the moment’s panic, and then the boy was off, overtaken by fatigue.

  * * *

  They were still there, side by side, the boy asleep, the man awake, when Gemma’s key scratched into the lock at dawn.

  At midday the hot streets were crammed and the Strip was a freakshow. He angled his way off the main drag but even Bub’s was full. The place reeked of bacon, coffee, garlic, but beneath that comely fug were the contesting deodorants, unguents and perfumes of Sunday.

  Gawd, he muttered at the door. Spare me days.

  By the looks of you, said Bub, bussing his own tables, it’s breakfast rather than lunch.

  Keely nodded bleakly and looked about for somewhere to settle but there was nothing.

  I had the Minister in here an hour ago, said Bub.

  Which one?

  You know which one.

  Shoulda poisoned him.

  Clowns I’m hiring, I probably did. Pig and bumnuts do you?

  Perfect.

  The sheeny-domed proprietor set him up at a stool beside the servery and his tall apple juice and double-shot appeared soon after.

  You’re limping, Tommy.

  Crook back.

  Shagger’s back.

  Not likely.

  Keely picked up a pre-loved paper despite himself. Flopped it on its ugly face to see what fresh recruiting disasters the Dockers had gotten themselves into in the pre-season. But it was all cricket. He threw it down as his breakfast arrived in the arms of a lovely goth in a kilt and fishnet singlet.

  Cricket, he said. What’s that about?

  Money, I guess. And blondes. Who could resist, eh?

  Keely smiled and she set his plate down with an ironic flourish. As she sashayed away he caught a glimpse of the dish station through the swing door where a buzzcut kid wrestled the gooseneck amidst a pile of trays and pans. His acned face was flushed and miserable and their eyes met for a moment before the door swung to.

  Bub’s had always been their morning joint. Him and the WildForce crew. It was a modest place, decent but unfussy. During the week it was a haunt for seedy locals, policy wonks, coppers and fishermen. Once upon a time half the NGOs in town began their day here, back when a coffee and a good bitch session passed for a briefing. Since his messy exit old comrades and rivals seemed to have moved on to other establishments. Which left a few dejected humanitarians who ignored him from either pity or fear of contagion.

  Bub never mentioned his public blow-up. He had the discretion or perhaps the indifference of a bloke who’d torched a few bridges himself. Today he seemed particularly harassed. The Sunday crowd required a different level of energy – a lot of fluffy milk to make, for one – and he looked short-handed.

  I know what you’re thinking, said Bub, passing him with plates of pasta. You’re transparent.

  Keely worked at his eggs and bacon and as Bub returned he raised his head.

  Actually I was thinking about you, you poor bugger. You want some help?

  Piss off, Bub said good-naturedly.

  I’m serious.

  You look like a bent nail.

  I’ll be right.

  Eat your breakfast, said Bub, heading for the kitchen.

/>   Keely watched him and the girl in the kilt blow to and fro, sweating and harried.

  Really, he said, catching him on the next pass. I could help out. You need another dishpig?

  Bub took his plate and wiped the counter.

  You actually serious?

  I’m broke, mate. Today I’ll work for love. Any other day I’ll do it for money.

  Fuck me.

  Is that compulsory?

  Bub looked across his shoulder towards the kitchen. It’s settling now anyway. But thanks. You need a few bucks?

  Only if I can work for it. Without actually having to, you know, deal with the general public.

  Well, it’ll be weird. But I could do with the hands. Every other prick’s at the mines and the backpackers are all heading home to save what’s left of Europe.

  I’m serious.

  Thursday. Come by at seven.

  Hey, thanks.

  That’s a.m. And don’t be late.

  Stepping into the lobby after the white heat of the streets, Keely was momentarily blinded. He hesitated. The doors slid to behind him and he took a second or two to get his bearings in the much weaker light. As he turned the corner for the lifts, he clashed shoulders with someone he hadn’t seen coming.

  Look out, ya dumb cunt, the bloke said hoarsely, pushing past without a pause.

  Geez, mate, said Keely, flattened hard against the wall. What’s your problem?

  You, said the bloke over his shoulder. Fuckwits like you.

  Listen, sport —

  But the doors rolled back and the little oaf was gone, lost in the welding flare of afternoon. Nobody he recognized. Not that he got a proper look at him. Just the impression of somebody small and dark-haired with a whiff of sweat about him. Keely hoped he wasn’t a resident; his heart sank at the prospect of regular encounters. What a charmless turd. The Mirador wasn’t exactly genteel – there were all sorts of characters pressed in floor upon floor, some of them less than lovely – but people mostly managed a kind of strained civility. This sort of default-setting aggro was not promising.

  A lift opened. Keely stepped in, rubbing his shoulder. On the ride up he let himself reclaim some satisfaction about the job. It wasn’t much. In fact it was work for teenagers and halfwits. But he’d come away from Bub’s with a little buzz on, just a faint glow of self-respect at the idea of having made a start. It didn’t matter that Bub was embarrassed. Keely had to work. And he’d made something happen. This was a good thing.

  Up on the gallery he pulled out his key but hesitated at the door. It was silly – mortifying really – that he should want so badly and suddenly to share his news. Maybe Gemma wouldn’t see the funny side or even the flicker of hope it gave him, but he had to tell someone. He rapped on her kitchen window and something crashed in the sink.

  I’ve got a knife! she bellowed. She was muffled by the glass and obscured by the curtain. Get the fuck away!

  Keely recoiled.

  You hear me? I said a week.

  Gemma?

  Come near me I’ll use it, I swear.

  Gem, it’s me – Tom.

  The nylon curtain lurched askew. A flash of face, hair. She looked raddled, mad even. And she wasn’t bluffing about the knife; it was an evil steeled-out boning piece.

  Just me, he said.

  The curtain fell to and he heard the door-chain in its slot. His skin tightened with apprehension. As the door heeled open he retreated instinctively and felt the rails against his spine.

  Gemma’s face was flushed, her skin mottled. There was snot on her lip and tears clinging to her chin. She held the knife at her side.

  Gem, what’re you doing? Is everything alright? Where’s Kai?

  In the bathroom.

  Something in Keely’s gut turned over. He stepped up and peered in through the screen. She was shaking.

  Is he okay?

  Hidin.

  The knife, he said carefully. How about we put that down. You’re freaking me out here.

  Oh, she said, looking at it.

  Is that alright?

  She turned aside and set it on top of the fridge.

  Can I come in?

  She nodded.

  As he slipped past he felt the heat coming off her. She closed the door behind him and he nabbed the knife while she had her back turned. He headed for the bathroom, calling the boy as he went.

  Only me, he said to the locked door. It’s just Tom, Kai. Are you okay in there, mate?

  The handle rattled and the door opened a crack. The boy’s face was white but he looked unharmed.

  Kai?

  Did you get him? said the kid. With that?

  What? Keely saw it was the knife he was referring to. No, I didn’t get anyone. Who are we talking about? What’s happening?

  Keely stared at the boy a moment. The kid looked confused. Keely took the knife back through to the kitchen and tossed it onto the bench. Perched on an arm of the couch, Gemma flinched at the clatter.

  Just tell me what’s going on.

  The flat smelt of grilled cheese and burnt toast. The TV lay on its back, flickering away. Things were in disarray everywhere he looked. Gemma tried to light a smoke but her hands were shaking badly. He strode over and lit it for her.

  What’s happening?

  He hauled the TV back onto its stubby base. Judge Judy soundlessly dishing out rough justice.

  Gemma?

  I can’t talk with him here, she said in barely more than a whisper.

  I told you he’d come, said Kai.

  Well, he came too late, didn’t he?

  Hey, Kai, said Keely as sunnily as he could manage. How about you set up a game for us?

  The Scrabble’s at yours.

  Well, here’s the key.

  He’s not goin anywhere, said Gemma. He’s not leavin this flat.

  Well, maybe we could step outside?

  She shook her head.

  The balcony?

  She sucked in a chestful of smoke, raked her hair angrily, got to her feet. Keely grabbed the TV remote and cranked up the sound. There was cricket, soccer, a fat-person show. Judge Judy would have to do. He turned to Kai.

  Mate, I think there’s still some ice cream in the freezer. Get yourself a big bowl, much as you like. Here, I’ll do it for you.

  He dragged out the tub and scooped ice cream into an inviting mound. Put the bowl in the boy’s unsteady hands. Kai glanced at it, then looked to his grandmother. She nodded, tried a washed-out smile of reassurance but it didn’t carry.

  We’ll just have a chat out there, your nan and me. We’ll be right here.

  The boy blinked and chewed his lip. Keely followed Gemma out onto the sun-blasted balcony and slid the glass door to. They stood at the rail in the roar of traffic and cooling stacks. The broiling updraughts tugged at his hair, his shirt.

  Tell me, he said.

  She pulled hard on the fag, squinting in the gritty wind. Her tank top was soaked with sweat. She wiped her face on the hem and sighed.

  First of all, what’s the knife about?

  He wants five grand, she said.

  Who wants five grand? Five grand for what?

  The car.

  This is the father? He called you?

  Didn’t even have the guts to show up himself. Sent some filthy-faced prick around to do it for him.

  Just now?

  Christ, I shouldn’t have even opened the door – I thought it was you. How bloody stupid is that? Before you come along I had it together. I wouldn’t have just opened the door like an airhead, would I?

  So it’s my fault?

  What? Have I hurt your feelings? she said scornfully.

  Gemma, just tell me. Someone was here. Who was here?

  Christ, I dunno. Stewie’s dopey little ferret. I can’t remember his name. They’ve found out where we are. Fuck, I told the Welfare this was too close, I said it in court, I begged em. The judge, the cops, the suits – no one listened. I’m just another dumb bitch with a junkie dau
ghter, what would I know?

  But it’s supposed to be secure here, he said. There’s a swipe card.

  People follow you through the lobby every day, Tom – wake up.

  And he’s come to the door? Here?

  And like a dill I’ve left the chain off and his foot’s in the door and the little shit’s up in my face, pushin me back inside.

  Did he touch you?

  Of course he fuckin touched me – what are you, dense or somethin?

  And where was Kai?

  Right there. At the table.

  He saw all this?

  Saw enough.

  Shit.

  He’s just standin there, this little turd, grindin his teeth, stinkin the kitchen up. They want money. Otherwise they’ll fuck us up.

  What is this, television? What does that even mean?

  Gemma ditched the fag, didn’t look at him. You were a woman, she said, you’d know what it means.

  Okay, he said, chastened.

  You never seen a meth-head off his chops?

  He shrugged.

  He says his piece and then he’s just hangin there, givin off the fuck-yous, like sayin nothin for a bit, thinkin he’s standin still. But he’s fidgetin, bouncin like – I dunno, like a boxer. Eyes on him like he’s not even human anymore. And then he looks out the window, out here. And I could see it straight away. I’m thinkin, Look here, you little shit, look at this, think of me, not him, not Kai.

  Oh, Gemma, this is insane.

  Cause you could see the little shit – the idea arrivin in his head. You know – Kai, the balcony. He’s smilin. Like it’s brilliant. His big idea to get me to pay. And he sees me knowin it, you know, watchin it sink in. And it’s like he’s just won Lotto. All’s he had to do was look out the fuckin window and we both knew.

  And Kai?

  Jesus, I dunno. But he knows what trouble smells like.

  Gem, this is just bravado, it has to be. Kai’s father isn’t going to have someone kill his own child.

  You know what Stewie calls him? Gump. The retard. The girly-boy.

  But he’s not going to kill him.

  You still wanna know what he said to me the other day?

  Not sure I do.

  Said all he needed was five minutes, said he’d been thinkin about it for years, even when he was with Carly.