Path to the Night Sea

by Gilmore, Alicia;

  ‘What the…?’ The dog lunged at Ellie and tried to sniff her. It’s going to get me. Panic flooded her as warm urine ran down her legs.

  ‘He’s pretty friendly, wouldn’t hurt a fly…’ the stranger began, then stopped as he took in the pale, shaking features beyond the hood. Perhaps he saw the dark stain on her pants or smelt her shame because his voice and expression changed. The dog whined, straining forward, its tail wagging feverishly from side to side. Ellie whimpered.

  ‘Hey, I… C’mon here, Oscar… He… Sorry,’ the man stuttered as he jerked the dog back abruptly. ‘Shush, Oscar. Hey, do you need help?’

  ‘No, no.’ The words were barely audible as Ellie shook her head and pushed her hands outwards, willing the man and dog away. She took in a shaky breath as the man appeared to hesitate.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Why was he being kind, speaking to her like this? Was he trying to trick her? Why wouldn’t he just go? Ellie gestured again.

  ‘Let me help you.’ He reached out a hand.

  ‘No!’ It was more tortured squeak than scream, but he heard her. Concern shadowed his face.

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure…’ Looking doubtful, the man pulled on the dog’s lead, with a brusque ‘Oscar,’ then continued down the path, the dog an enthusiastic accomplice at his side. Ellie forced her legs to move and began her stilted walk back home. A lurching pitiful figure huddled beneath an oversized jacket with wet, stinking pants.

  She stumbled down the pathway between the house and the side fence, reaching the back door and pushing at it, but it didn’t budge.

  ‘No.’ She slapped the door with trembling hands. Panic threatened to swamp her before she remembered that she’d locked it when she’d left, determined to keep her father and her treasures safe. What good was it if she weren’t safe, if she were exposed out here in the dark, the outside world pressing against her? Ellie fumbled in the pocket for the keys and tried to fit the right one in the lock.

  ‘Please, please, please… Let me in.’

  Once inside she wrenched off her father’s coat and flung it to the floor. Her heart was racing and her breath came in ragged bursts. A dog. Of course there were dogs outside. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Stupid girl. The dog had been on a leash, but that was no protection. Dash and Spencer had spent most of their lives in a cage and that hadn’t kept her safe. Ellie staggered into the lounge room. Her father’s chair was empty. He was gone.

  ‘Stupid, stupid girl.’ She couldn’t even tell him that he’d been right, that she wasn’t safe without him, that the world outside was dangerous and not for her. The scent of urine reached her nose, and she realised her pants were sticking to her legs. She had to get clean, wash off her disgrace. Only clean and inside was she safe.

  In the bathroom, Ellie let her clothes drop to the floor and, shivering, stepped beneath the showerhead. She turned on the taps and stepped back. It took a while for the water to heat up. The old pipes shuddered and squeaked and she couldn’t stop trembling as she stood just outside the reach of the spray. When needles of warmth started to prick her skin, she lathered soap onto the flannel washcloth and rubbed it across her chest, her belly, and down between her legs. Her hands and legs were still shaking as she let the water wash away the stickiness and smell of piss before soaping over her thighs and lower legs. The water trickled down her back, through her hair, tickling her ears, her face. She let it fall over the scar tissue, and the damaged nerves made her feel as though she were watching water fall over someone else’s skin, sensation appearing, then vanishing, to reappear again.

  ‘Unappear.’ What if it had all happened to someone else, not her? Not Ellie. If she had stayed safely locked inside, not gone out in the world with strange men and dogs. Ellie touched her face, but all sensation was in her fingers, not her cheek. The ridges felt huge. She imagined the scars as sponges, absorbing the water and swelling to a grotesque size. No one will ever see you. It was Daddy’s voice. You’re one ugly bitch. Ellie wrenched the cold tap off and let the hot water burn her skin. She wished she could unappear. Never exist. She wished she’d died years ago. She’d long since lost the sense of being whole. She was only pieces: two eyes, hair, hands, arms, legs. But there was no whole face, no whole body. Only fragments. There hadn’t been a whole Ellie since the dogs. She thought there had to be a real girl, a complete Ellie, somewhere. She could feel pieces of her with her hands, knew that Daddy had felt and taken pieces of her too. She had never told anyone that she wasn’t whole, not Daddy, not Grandmother, not Maisie. How could she possibly put into words what didn’t exist? Reaching through the scalding water with a reddened arm, Ellie turned the tap off.

  ‘Idiot. Dumb, fucking bitch.’ She was just what Daddy said she was—ugly, stupid, freakish. Nothing else was true, only Daddy’s words. No other girl had gone out into the night; no other girl was as brainless as she. She stepped out of the bathtub that doubled as the base of the shower and reached for a towel. Her body was pink where the beads of water had struck. Ellie looked down at her legs. Blue veins mapped trails down the expanse of her pallid thighs; the lack of sunshine had left her skin almost translucent. Hairs sprouted out between her legs. She had stopped shaving: another act of rebellion. She rubbed herself briskly with the towel. Daddy never liked her spending too long in the bathroom.

  ‘No good you trying to make yourself beautiful. It’s a waste of time for you, girl.’

  ‘I know.’ She spoke the words aloud to the empty bathroom and felt like crying.

  

  Ellie twirled a strand of hair through her fingers, toying with it. She tossed her head, flicking her hair back over her shoulders and smiled. Her hair was the longest it had ever been, almost down to her waist.

  ‘Ellie!’ She spun around, dropping her hand to her side as she heard his voice. Her father strode into the room. ‘Look at me.’ With bruising fingers he grabbed her by the jaw and forced her head upwards. He repeated the command and glared down at her. She tried to look away past his shoulder, but he shook and slapped her. Slapped her good cheek; he rarely touched the scarred side. Tears welled in her eyes. Daddy looked down into their depths as if he were trying to interpret the darkness.

  ‘What do you think you were doing?’

  ‘I was just…’

  ‘Humming. Singing. Preening.’

  ‘I was making the beds.’

  ‘I was watching you. You took your sweet time.’ Slap. ‘And you were singing. Making noise.’

  ‘I was trying to get the blankets pulled tight.’

  Slap. ‘You were sloppy.’

  ‘I…’

  Slap. ‘What? Did you think someone would hear you? Come see you?’

  ‘No, no.’ She expected another slap, but his hand blurred past her eyes as he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to kitchen. He tugged open one of the drawers and rummaged around until he found the pair of heavy silver scissors. He tightened his grip on her hair, pulled, then snipped. Ellie lost her balance and fell to the floor. Daddy remained standing, a tail of long red hair hanging from his hand.

  ‘There’s no point you acting vain. No one is ever going to see you, no one is ever going to hear you, understand?’

  Her lip started to bleed where she had bitten down on it as she’d fallen and she stared mutely, too scared to voice a reply. He dropped the hair on the linoleum and with one hand clamped to her shoulder, shook her once more.

  ‘You’re too fucking ugly. No one will ever have you except me.’

  Ellie nodded, swallowing warm, metallic blood. She picked up the hair and placed it into the bin. No one but him. Never anyone but him.

  

  The puff of smoke that spiralled into the air alerted Arthur to Jack’s presence before he heard the low whistle. The older boy leant against one of the boulders that lay alongside the rock wall, battered and carved by high tides and storms
. On days like today, when the ocean seemed unnaturally still and calm, the rocks resembled giant misshapen marbles that had rolled down the cliff in some ancient game and been forgotten.

  ‘Artie, me mate.’ Jack wiped his face on his sleeve, his eyes red and swollen. Arthur pretended not to notice. He just nodded in greeting, sat himself down beside Jack, and looked questioningly at the tobacco pouch.

  ‘Help yourself,’ Jack said, pulling a small packet of papers from his pocket. His eyes locked briefly with Arthur’s before his gaze flickered away out to sea. Arthur rubbed the paper between his fingertips before reaching into the pouch and pulling out the loose leaves. He kept his eyes on the paper and his fingers as he spoke.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Arthur placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder and gave him a gentle slap before dropping his hand back down. Neither boy made eye contact, just sat and smoked, looking out at the leaden water.

  Jack shifted closer on the sand, his voice low. ‘My dad found out about the church thing.’ Arthur waited. Jack had always boasted that his dad never hit him, so he didn’t see why Jack should look so upset. Arthur reckoned a telling-off would have been better than wasting the three afternoons it had taken him to weed and mow the cemetery to the minister’s standard. Though his dad had even taken him shooting yesterday, so he figured all had been forgiven.

  ‘I have to clean out the bloody bird cages for him, feed the stupid things, every day.’

  Arthur grunted. It didn’t sound like such a big deal, nothing to cry about. Maybe Jack wasn’t as tough as he acted. ‘So?’

  Jack shrugged and took another few drags on his cigarette before he spoke. ‘He caught me doing me hair…’

  ‘What?’

  Jack looked at him with earnest eyes. ‘Remember that movie, where the guy was in that fancy suit and he had his hair slicked back and he looked so sharp?’

  ‘Yeah…’ Arthur let his voice trail off. He gazed out at a flock of gulls wheeling in the distance above the waves. They must have seen a shoal of fish. He wished for a shark fin to rise out of the waves, but it didn’t happen. He’d love to see a shark in action. He turned his attention back to Jack. He didn’t understand. ‘What? Did he tell you off for seeing a movie?’

  ‘He said,’ Jack took a long inhalation and let the rest of his words come out in a rush, ‘He said I was being camp, that I’d be better off dead, that he’d rather I was dead then one of them.’

  ‘Them what?’

  ‘A queer.’ Jack took another shaky inhalation. ‘He said he wouldn’t be able to show his face down the wharf if the other blokes found out.’

  Arthur snorted. ‘Your dad and his fucking birds. Why don’t the other wharfies think that’s queer?’

  ‘He’s made money off them birds, that’s why.’

  Arthur stared back out at sea. Jack sighed, muttering something that was lost to waves.

  ‘What’d you say?’ Arthur was getting sick of this.

  ‘I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t fucking tell anyone.’

  ‘Tell what? Tell me?’

  Jack paused, eyeing Arthur warily. ‘You have to promise not to tell anyone.’

  Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Promise.’

  ‘I promise already.’

  ‘I…I, um…’ Jack swallowed, his voice low and unsteady. ‘You can’t judge me. You can’t hate me if I tell you.’

  Arthur shrugged and waited.

  Jack sighed once more. ‘Oh, fuck,’ he said softly.

  ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘I, um,’ he paused again and shuffled his feet nervously in the sand, ‘I like hanging out with you, like at the movies and stuff, and…’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘And it’s because, I, umm… I want…well, I like you.’ He leaned close and pressed his lips to Arthur’s. Arthur gasped and Jack pressed his lips harder. Arthur’s stomach lurched as he tasted the cigarette smoke mingled with the scent of Jack. He jerked backwards and pushed Jack away, disgust roiling in his gut.

  ‘Fuck off. No. No way!’

  ‘I meant, I just…you’re my friend and…’ Jack’s face and neck had reddened and his voice came in short bursts. He leaned forward again as Arthur swung back with his fist and connected with the already tender flesh.

  ‘No.’ Jack’s hands clutched wildly at Arthur’s jacket. If he wasn’t so repulsed, Arthur would have laughed at the look on Jack’s face. Embarrassed, almost incredulous, as if Jack couldn’t believe Arthur would reject him like this.

  ‘Fucking faggot. Bloody poof!’ Arthur swung again, forcing Jack to release his grip and shield his face. Arthur scrambled to his feet and turned away, leaving a sobbing Jack kneeling and heaving into the sand. Arthur broke into a run, his legs heavy in the loose sand, his stride uneven and uncoordinated. Poofter! All those times he’d spent the afternoon and weekends with Jack, hung out with him on Sundays, after school, shared smokes, and after all this…? He’d run on, his breath exploding out of his chest.

  ‘Fuck!’ Was this why his father had been so determined to teach him to be a man? To teach him to kill? Had his father known what Jack was, before Arthur had? His legs felt as if they were burning and he slowed his pace, even though he wanted nothing more than distance between him and what had just happened. His best mate. His best friend. And he had to go and do something like that.

  On Sunday, Arthur sat between his father and Miriam at Church, determined not to look in Jack’s direction. When Mrs Fordham rose to take the younger children out for Sunday school, Arthur remained stubbornly in his seat.

  ‘Aren’t you coming?’ Miriam looked confused. Arthur shook his head, staring resolutely at the pulpit. ‘But…’

  ‘Shhh.’ A quick glare from their father and Miriam headed off without her brother. Arthur sat rigid in the pew and kept his head forward for the remainder of the service, fighting not to fidget or fall asleep.

  ‘Where’s your brother?’ Jack asked, as he watched Miriam mix up the weak cordial for the smaller kids.

  ‘In there.’ She pointed towards the main hall.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  Jack started placing the tumblers on the tray. He drew close to her and spoke softly. ‘Tell Artie I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Didn’t mean what?’

  ‘Just tell him I didn’t mean it and that I’ll be down the beach this arvo.’

  ‘Tell him yourself.’

  ‘No. You tell him, all right?’ Jack held her arm until she nodded.

  Mrs Fordham poked her head in the doorway. ‘Stop talking and hurry up, Miriam.’ She smiled at her son as he lifted the tray. ‘Oh, thank you, Jack.’

  Both Miriam and Arthur made the journey down the beach that afternoon. It was early spring, too cold to swim, but nice enough to walk along the sand while the sun was out.

  ‘There’s Jack.’

  Arthur looked to where Miriam was pointing.

  ‘Hey, hi!’ She waved and started to walk towards the older boy.

  ‘Wait.’ Arthur stopped her and she turned, confused.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just go play somewhere else, by yourself.’

  ‘I wanna play with you guys.’

  ‘No.’ He’d planned on never speaking to Jack again—he’d pictured beating the shit out of him—but when Miriam had told him Jack would be here, Arthur had wondered if there wasn’t another way to play this. Jack needed his friendship, especially if he wanted his secret kept. Secrets were worth something. Arthur hadn’t quite worked out what he was going to say, but whatever it was, he didn’t want Miriam around to hear it. ‘Not today.’

  ‘Why not? Mum said I could come down the beach with you. Anyways, I was the one who told you Jack would be here.’ Her voice had taken on the whiny quality he
hated.

  ‘Go find your own friends. Just piss off and play somewhere else.’ He flicked a hand in the opposite direction, ignoring the look of hurt on her face.

  ‘Mum said I had to stay with you.’

  ‘Mum said, Mum said. Grow up. Mum won’t know; just don’t go in the water.’ He pushed her gently on the shoulder. ‘Go play on the rocks or something.’

  ‘You never let me go on the rocks, it’s too dane-ger-ous’ She let the last word stretch before them.

  ‘I won’t tell if you won’t tell.’

  ‘Why? What are you and Jack going to do?’

  ‘Nothin.’

  ‘You worried I’ll dob on you and tell Mum you’re smoking or something?’ She smirked at him, sensing opportunity. ‘Are you worried I’ll steal your only friend?’ Arthur’s face flashed rage and this time the push was not gentle.

  ‘Piss off.’ She backed away, not knowing why he’d gotten so mad so quickly, but knowing enough to walk away.

  ‘I am going to tell Mum and Dad on you,’ she hurled one last taunt before skipping out of his reach. Arthur rolled his eyes and watched her walk away from him, south along the sand. When she had moved far enough away, he straightened and headed toward Jack.

  

  Ellie had redressed, her urine-soaked underwear and pants thrown into the washing machine. Her hands had almost stopped shaking. Her breath had calmed but was still uneven. It had been on a lead; she had been safe, she told herself, but the fear remained. It was a dog. A dog with sharp teeth that could be bared and pierce skin, able to tear and rip a life apart in seconds. The world out there, the world that Daddy had warned her about for all of these years, was too hard, too much for her. She had been so stupid. She was only suited for life inside this cage.

  Ellie cringed at a noise outside. It sounded close. Something, someone, at the side of the house or in the yard, somebody was out there. Had the man with the dog followed her home? Someone else? Daddy’s so-called brat? Maybe he had seen her yesterday in the yard. She’d been so afraid when she got home that she hadn’t even noticed if the neighbour’s car was in the drive. Stupid girl. Had she forgotten all of her father’s lessons so quickly?