by Markus Zusak
"You have to."
"There are plenty of ways to do it," he says.
"But only one," I reply.
Marv nods.
When he drops me back home, the night has turned cold.
"Hey, Marv," I say just before I get out.
He looks into me.
"I'll come with you."
His eyes close.
He goes to speak but can't. It's better unsaid.
Tomorrow is the day.
After I've walked in, I retire to the lounge room and sit there, completely exhausted, on the couch. Close to five minutes later, Marv calls and tells me. He doesn't say hello.
"We'll go tomorrow."
"About six?"
"I'll pick you up."
"No," I say. "I'll drive you in the cab."
"Good idea. If I get the crap beaten out of me, we might want a car that starts first go."
The time arrives and we leave my place at six, making it to Auburn by nearly seven. Traffic's heavy.
"I hope the bloody kid's still up," I wonder out loud.
Marv doesn't answer.
Pulling up at 17 Cabramatta Road, I can't help but notice it's exactly the same sort of fibro shithole the Boyds used to live in back home. We're on the other side of the road, in typical messenger style.
Marv looks at the clock.
"I'll go in at seven-oh-five."
7:05 comes and goes.
"Okay. Seven-ten."
"No worries, Marv."
At 7:46, Marv gets out of the car and stands there.
"Good luck," I say. God, I can hear his heart from inside the cab. It's a wonder it isn't bludgeoning the poor guy to death.
He stands there. Three minutes.
He crosses the road. Two attempts.
The yard is different. First go--a surprise.
Then, the big one.
Fourteen attempts at knocking on the door. When I finally hear his knuckles hit the wood, it sounds like bruises.
The door is answered, and Marv is there in jeans, nice shirt, boots. Words are spoken but I don't hear them, of course. I'm clogged with the memory of Marv's heartbeat and the knocking on the door.
He walks in, and now it's my heart I can hear. This could be the longest wait of my life, I think. I'm wrong.
About thirty seconds later, Marv comes rushing backward out the door. He hurtles. Through the doorway and onto the yard. Henry Boyd, Suzanne's father, is giving Marv a hiding he won't soon forget. A small trace of blood flows from Marv to the grass. I get out of the cab.
To give you an idea, Henry Boyd is not a big man, but he's powerful.
He's short but heavy.
And he has the will. He's a kind of pocket-size version of my Edgar Street message. Also, he's sober, and I don't have a gun.
As I cross the street, Marv is splayed on the front yard like a frozen starjump.
He gets kicked.
By words.
He gets shot.
By Henry Boyd's pointing finger.
"Now get the hell out of here!"
The small, steak-tough man is standing over Marv, beginning now to rub his hands together.
"Sir," I hear Marv plead. Only his lips move. Nothing else. He speaks to the sky. "I've got nearly fifty thousand--"
But Henry Boyd isn't interested. He moves closer to stand directly over him.
There's a kid crying. Neighbors are collecting on the street. They've come out to take in the show. Henry turns on them and tells them all to get their big Turkish arses back inside. His words, not mine.
"And you!" He punishes Marv with his voice again. "Never, ever come back here again, you hear?"
I arrive and crouch next to Marv. His top lip is extremely large and dipped with blood. He isn't particularly conscious.
"And who the hell are you?"
Shit, I think, very nervously indeed, I think that's me. I answer quickly. Respectfully. "I'm just picking up my friend here from your lawn."
"Good idea."
Now I see Suzanne. She holds a small kid's hand at the door. A girl. You've got a little girl! I want to shout to Marv, but I think very much the better of it.
I nod at her, at Suzanne.
"Get inside, Suzie!"
She nods back.
"Now!"
The kid cries again.
She's gone, and I help Marv to his feet. There's a stray drop of blood on his shirt.
Henry Boyd has tears of rage on him now. They puncture his eyes. "That bastard put shame on my family."
"So did your daughter." I can't believe the words I'm hearing from my own mouth.
"You better get moving, boy, or you two'll go home like twins."
Nice.
That's when I ask Marv if he can stand on his own. He can, and I walk closer to Henry Boyd. I'm not sure that's happened to him a lot. He's short but even more powerful the closer you get. At this point, he's stunned.
I look at him respectfully.
"That looks like a beautiful kid in there," I say. There are no shivers in my voice. This comes as a surprise, giving me the courage to continue. "Well, is she, sir?"
He struggles. I know what he's debating in his mind. He wants to strangle me but can smell the strange confidence that dresses everything I say. Eventually, he answers. He has sideburns. They move slightly before he speaks. "Damn right she's beautiful."
Now I point to Marv as I stand as straight as I can in front of Mr. Boyd. His arms hang. They're short and muscular. I say, "He may have brought you shame, and I know you left town for it." Again, I look at the slightly bloodied figure that is Marv. "But what he just did in facing you--that was respect. You don't get any more decent or proud than that." Marv shivers and takes a slight sip of his blood. "He knew this would happen, but here he is." Now I get my eyes to step into his. "If you were him, would you have been able to do the same? Would you have faced you?"
The man's voice is quiet now.
"Please," he pleads. I realize a giant sorrow has arrived in me for this man. He's suffered. "Go on. Leave."
I don't.
I remain in him a few moments longer, saying, Think that over.
At the car, I realize I'm alone.
I'm alone because there's a young man with blood across his mouth who has taken a few extra steps. He's walked forward, toward the house. The girl he used to meet in the field and make love to till dawn is on the porch.
They're staring, each to each.
A week treads past.
In the cab of that night, from Cabramatta Road, Auburn, Marv had just sat there, bleeding onto my passenger seat. He touched his mouth and his lip opened up, and the blood came sliding out, seeping. When it stained the seat, I told him off, of course.
He said one thing to that.
"Thanks, Ed."
I think he was glad to still be treated the same--even though he and I would never be friends like we once were. We had this in our memories now.
As I pull out of the Vacant Taxis lot one morning, I'm stopped by Marge. She comes hurrying out, waving me down. Once I've stopped and wound the window down, she hauls in her breath and says, "Glad I caught you--there's a job got called in for you last night, Ed. It sounded personal." I notice today that Marge has a lot of wrinkles. Somehow, they add to her friendliness. "I didn't want to broadcast it on the radio later on...."
"Where is it?" I ask.
"It was a woman, Ed, or a girl, and she requested you specifically. Twelve o'clock today."
I feel and know it.
"Cabramatta Road?" I ask. "Auburn?"
Marge nods.
I thank her and Marge gives me a "No worries, love," and my first instinct is to call Marv straightaway and tell him. I don't. The customer has to come first. I am a professional, after all. No, instead I drive past where he's been working lately, at a new subdivision out close to Glory Road. His father's truck's there, and that's all I need to know. I drive on.
At noon, I pull up outside Suzanne Boyd's abode in A
uburn. She comes out promptly with her daughter and a special car seat.
We pause a moment.
Suzanne has long hair like honey and coffee eyes, though much darker than mine. No milk in them. She's skinny. Her daughter's got the same color hair but still fairly short. It curls around her ears, and she smiles at me.
"This is Ed Kennedy," her mother says to her. "Say hello, sweetheart."
"Hello, Ed Kennedy," the girl says.
I crouch down. "And what's your name?" It was Marv who got her in the eyes.
"Melinda Boyd." The kid has a prize smile.
"She's great," I tell Suzanne.
"Thanks."
She opens the back door and straps her in. It hits me hard that Suzanne really is a mother. I look on as her hands make sure Melinda's safely in the seat. She's as pretty as she always was.
Suzanne works part-time. She hates her father. She hates herself for never fighting. She regrets everything.
"But I love Melinda," she says. "She's the one piece of beauty among all this ugly." Suzanne sits next to her daughter and catches me in the mirror. "She makes me worth it, you know?"
I start the car and drive.
Only the engine sound fills the car while Melinda Boyd sleeps, but when she wakes up, she plays and talks and dances with her hands.
"Do you hate me, Ed?" Suzanne asks as we approach town. I recall Audrey asking me the same question.
I only look back in the mirror and say, "Why should I?"
"For what I've done to Marv."
The words that come to me are actually quite succinct. Maybe I'd rehearsed them subconsciously. I simply say, "You were a kid, Suzie. Marv was a kid.... And your father was your father.... In a way," I tell her, "I feel for him. He's pretty hurt."
"Yes, but what I did to Marv was unforgivable."
"You're in this cab, aren't you?" I look at her in back again.
After some thought, Suzanne Boyd gives me an acknowledging look and says, "You know, Ed?" Her head shakes. "No one's ever spoken to my father the way you did."
"Or faced him like Marv."
She nods her agreement.
I tell her I can take her to where Marv's working, but she asks me to stop at a nearby playground.
"Good thinking," I reply, and she waits.
There's a gap in Marv's hammering at the site. He's up high, with a few nails in his mouth. I take the chance, calling up. "I think you'd better come with me, Marv."
He sees the intent in my expression, pauses, spits the nails, drops his tool belt, and comes toward me. In the car, I think he's more nervous than the other night.
When we make it to the playground, we both get out. "They're waiting," I tell him, but I don't think he hears. I sit on the hood of my cab, and Marv walks hesitantly on.
The grass is dry and yellow and not maintained. It's an old playground. A nice old one, with a big iron slippery dip, swings with chains, and a splinter-arse seesaw--just as it should be. No plastic vomit anywhere.
A slight wind taps the grass.
When Marv turns to look at me, I see the fear crouch down in his eyes. He walks slowly to the play equipment, where Suzanne Boyd waits. Melinda sits on one of the swings.
Marv looks so big.
His walk and hands and his worry.
I hear nothing, but I can see they're talking, and Marv's giant-looking hand shakes that of his daughter. I can see he wants to hold her, hug her, squeeze her, but he doesn't.
Melinda jumps back on the swing, and after looking at Suzanne for permission, Marv gently, gently pushes his daughter into the air.
After a few minutes, Suzanne quietly escapes and comes back to stand with me.
"He's good with her," she softly says.
"He is." I smile for my friend.
We hear Melinda's shrill voice now. "Higher, Marvin Harris! Higher, please!"
He gradually pushes harder. He touches his daughter's back with both hands, and she laughs loud and pure into the sky.
When she's had enough, Marv stops the swing. The girl climbs off and grabs his hand and walks her father back toward us. Even from far away, I can see that Marv has tears on his face as clear as glass.
Marv's smile and the giant glass tears on his face are two of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
I don't sleep that night--the day of the swings.
With each passing moment, I see Marv pushing that girl into the air, or I see him walking back with her, hand in hand. Close to midnight, I hear Marv's voice at the door. When I open it, he stands there, looking exactly how he feels.
"Come out," he says, and when I do, my friend Marvin Harris hugs me. He hugs me so hard that I can smell him and taste the joy that leaks from inside him.
So Ritchie and Marv are done. I've delivered those messages as best I can.
Now there's only one left.
Audrey.
I don't want to waste time. I've come so far since the holdup. I've plowed through eleven messages, and this is the last of them. The most important one.
The next night I go straight to Audrey's place and watch. For a while, I expect Daryl and Keith to show up again, but they don't. I know what I'm doing, and whenever that's the case, I seem to be left alone.
I don't sit exactly across from Audrey's place, but in a small park a bit further down her street. It's a new playground. All plastic and small. The grass is trimmed and neat.
Her town house is in one of those complexes with about eight or nine other places. They all seem stapled together. The cars are parked out front in rows.
I go there three nights. Each time, Simon shows up, but he never sees me camped out in the park. He has his mind firmly on Audrey and what they're going to do. Even from the distance of the park, I can see the desire on him as he drives in.
Once he's inside, I walk closer, to the letter boxes, and look.
They eat.
They have sex.
They drink.
They have more sex.
The sound of it slides under the door as I stand there, remembering the conversation I had with Simon at Christmas when he picked me up at Milla's.
I know what I have to give to Audrey.
Audrey doesn't love anyone.
She refuses.
But she loves me.
She loves me, and for one moment in time, she needs to allow it. She needs to hold it. Know it completely. Just once.
All three nights, I stay till morning. Simon leaves before the sun comes up. He must be rostered on for early morning in the city.
On the third night, I think it.
Tomorrow.
Yes.
I'll do it tomorrow.
Just before I head over to Audrey's place the next night, Marv's at my front door again, this time with a question.
I walk out, and he refuses to follow me.
From the porch, he says, "Do you still need that money, Ed?" He looks at me, concerned. "I'm sorry--I forgot all about it."
"Don't worry," I tell him. "I don't think I'll be needing it after all."
I've got an old derelict cassette player under my arm with a tape inside it.
As I walk, Marv throws his voice out and ropes me back to face him.
He looks at me thoughtfully and says, "Did you ever need it?"
I walk closer.
"No." I shake my head. "No, Marv, I didn't."
"Then why"--he comes down the steps to face me properly--"then why did you say--"
"I kept that card I got in the mail, Marv." If Ritchie deserved the truth, so does Marv. I explain it to him. All of it. "Marv, I've been through diamonds, clubs, spades, and I've got one more heart to go."
"Was that where I--"
"Yes, Marv," I answer. "You were in hearts."
Quiet.
Perplexed.
Marv stands on my front lawn and has no idea what to say--but he looks happy.
When I'm nearly gone, he calls out, "Is the last one Audrey?"
I turn and look at hi
m, walking backward.
"Well, good luck!" he answers.
This time I smile and wave.
It all happens as usual, except tonight the radio I've brought sweats next to me as the moon rises, falls, and fades when morning finally approaches. I wonder for a moment why I didn't just set my alarm at home and come over at dawn, but I know I have to do this right. I had to suffer the night to do this properly.
My legs stretch out, but the night stretches further. First light frightens me.
I'm swaying toward sleep in the park when I hear a door slam and Simon's car start up. He exits the town house complex with a quiet, clumsy turn onto the street. A minute passes, but I realize that now is the time. It all feels right.
The radio. The light.
And now, my footsteps toward Audrey's front door.
I knock.
No answer.
Again, I clench my fist, but just as I'm about to hit the wood again, a crack appears in the doorway and Audrey's tired voice edges through it. "Did you forget some--" Her voice props.
"It's me," I say.
"Ed?"
"Yes."
"What are you--"
My shirt feels like cement. I wear wooden jeans, sandpaper socks, and anvil shoes.
"I'm here," I whisper, "for you."
Audrey, the girl, the woman, is in a pink nightie.
She opens the door and stands barefoot, removing some sleep from her eye with her fist. She reminds me of the little girl Angelina.
Slowly, I take her hand and bring her out onto the path. The heaviness has left me now, and it's just her and me. I place the radio in the bark-spattered garden, crouch down, and press play.
At first, a moderate static rustles through the air. Then the music begins and we can both hear the slow, quiet, sweet desperation of a song I won't mention. Imagine the softest, toughest, most beautiful song you know, and you've got it. We breathe it in and my eyes hook with Audrey's.
I walk closer and hold her hands.
"Ed, what--"
"Shh."
I hold her close now around her hips and she holds me back.
She places her hands around my neck and rests her head on my shoulder. I can smell the sex on her, and my only hope is that she can smell the love on me.
The music hits low.
The voice reaches high.
It's the music of hearts again--but much better this time--and we move and turn, and Audrey's breath places itself on my neck. "Mmm," she moans gently, and we dance on the path. We hold each other. At one point, I let go and twirl her slowly. She comes back and it's a small, small kiss she gives me on the neck when she returns.