Honeybee

by Craig Silvey;

  I walked towards the city. I passed people doing tai chi and exercise boot camps. I stopped to pat a dog that sniffed my feet. The owner didn’t notice me, she just tugged the lead and kept walking.

  At the station, I hopped a train. The carriage was full of schoolkids in uniform. I pulled my hood over and put my head down. Every time I heard them laugh I worried that it was about me.

  I got off at Cottesloe. I walked past big houses and across a golf course to the beach. I took my shoes off and walked along the sand until I found a quiet spot where nobody could see me. I took off my clothes down to my underwear and wrapped the watch and my phone inside my hoodie. Then I dived into the ocean. It was cold and rough. My cuts stung in the salty water. I grabbed handfuls of sand and scrubbed my body and face.

  I looked at the horizon and thought about swimming towards it as far as I could go, until I was too tired to swim back.

  I floated around for a while, then I got out and put on my clothes and walked up to a grassy bank. I lay down on a patch of grass and slept with the sun on my back.

  When I woke up it was afternoon and there were more people around. Someone was cooking on a barbecue nearby and the smell made me hungry. I saw a woman sunbaking on the beach in a white bikini and big sunglasses. She stood up and walked towards the water. She moved so confidently. I stared at her breasts and her hips and her thick legs and her oily brown skin. Then I got up and left.

  I took the train to Fremantle. The markets were open, and I stole a red apple from a grocer while he was bagging nectarines for an old lady. I ate it under a tree in the park, and I threw the core to a bunch of seagulls and watched them fight for it.

  Time always went slow with no money or anywhere to go. Sometimes I went to the library because it was a quiet place where nobody paid any attention to you. My favourite thing was to sneak into the movies. There were a few ways to get in without paying for a ticket. One was to find a ripped stub from the bins outside, then sneak into the bathroom. When I came out, I would hold up the ticket and walk straight towards the usher and pretend I was in a rush to get back to the movie. Or, if it was busy, I would slip in behind a big group.

  Today there wasn’t even anyone attending, so I walked straight through. The movie was just starting. It was a remake of Beauty and the Beast. The costumes were really nice. I felt bad for the Beast, who was lonely and trapped inside a hideous body. I was happy for him when the curse got lifted.

  When it was over, I slipped across to another cinema and watched a sci-fi film that was halfway through. The best thing about that movie was the tub of popcorn I found in the back row.

  The next movie was a historical romance. It was really boring, so I stopped paying attention. Instead, I thought about Vic. I pictured him back at the overpass, standing in the same place, having his last cigarette again, all on his own. I imagined him falling and hitting the road below, and the thought upset me so much that I gasped.

  A lady sitting a couple of seats along gave me a sympathetic look. She thought I was reacting to the movie. She reached across and put her hand over mine, but I got up and left.

  It was dark outside. I couldn’t stop worrying about Vic. There was a bike rack around the side of the cinema entrance. I found a bike that was secured with a cable lock. I pulled my hood over my head and crouched down. The lock was old, and I worked it open in less than a minute.

  I rode off fast. I went south along the coast, and then turned left and went through an industrial area where there weren’t many cars. At one point a truck flashed its lights behind me because I was in the middle of the lane, and I cut back to the kerb. The driver yelled at me, but all I could think about was Vic.

  I made it to the overpass. I dumped the bike and ran halfway across. First I checked the rails, and then I looked down. I couldn’t see anything. My legs were burning and my heart was beating fast. I sat down with my back against the rails.

  I was relieved Vic wasn’t here, but part of me had wanted to see him again. I held the watch up close to my face and squinted. I decided to wait until midnight, and if Vic hadn’t turned up by then, I would climb over to where I had been last night and fall.

  Somebody was shaking my shoulder. I panicked and pushed back, but the person held onto me.

  ‘Hey, hey, ease up. Easy, it’s alright.’

  I opened my eyes. It was Vic. At first I thought I was dreaming, but it was really him.

  ‘You’re not going to do it, are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Eh? No, no. That’s not why I’m here.’

  I looked at my watch. It was half past twelve. I was upset with myself.

  ‘Listen,’ Vic said, ‘you want to go for a drive?’

  I did, but suddenly I felt wary about getting into his car.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Vic didn’t mind. He sat next to me. His knees cracked when he lowered himself. We sat without talking for a really long time. I listened to him breathing. He had a really strong chemical smell, like burnt oil.

  A ute came over the overpass and stopped halfway. The driver wound his window down.

  ‘You two alright?’

  ‘All good, thanks mate.’

  The driver gave Vic a suspicious look before he drove away.

  ‘How come you came back then?’ I asked.

  I had an idea why, I just wanted to hear him say it.

  ‘Couldn’t get to sleep,’ Vic said. ‘I was sitting in the car earlier and you came to mind. I thought about what my wife would have said about you. She would have given me an earful.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I didn’t do enough to help. I didn’t get you home safe. A man wants to pass with a peaceful mind.’

  ‘My home isn’t safe.’

  Vic nodded slowly.

  ‘Is your wife dead?’ I asked.

  Vic nodded again.

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Edie. Edith.’

  ‘You must have loved her a lot.’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  Vic didn’t answer, so we sat in silence again. I liked that he didn’t ask me any questions.

  ‘Vic?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’d like to go for that drive.’

  Vic’s Kingswood was parked in the same place as the night before. All the windows were partly open, but the doors were locked this time.

  When I got in the car, it had that same strong oil smell.

  Vic started the engine.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘I don’t know. Anywhere.’

  Vic pulled out and drove. There were no cars around.

  ‘Why does it smell so bad in here?’ I asked.

  Vic didn’t answer that question either.

  I wound the window right down. Maybe he had spilled something. I looked around. On the back seat I saw a few metres of garden hose. One end had a big wad of electrical tape wrapped around it. I looked at Vic. I understood what he meant earlier when he said he was sitting in his car trying to get to sleep.

  Vic didn’t have much of an expression, but I knew he was sad and tired. My throat got tight.

  ‘I’m sorry, Vic.’

  Vic kept looking straight ahead.

  ‘Me too mate.’

  I brought my knees up to my chest and leaned against the door. I closed my eyes and felt the wind on my face.

  Last Meal

  I woke up in a strange place.

  The first thing I noticed was how stale the room smelled. I sat up. I was in a big bed under a heavy homemade quilt. I looked around. One wall was taken up with a big wooden wardrobe. In the corner was a vanity table. I could see myself in the mirror. I was still wearing my clothes, but my shoes were on the floor next to the bed.

  I got up and sat at the vanity table. There was perfume, make-up, a foundation brush, a bottle of Oil of Olay, a hairbrush and a jewellery box. Everything had dust on it. There was a wedding photo in a silver frame. I recognised Vic. H
e had big bushy sideburns and a nice smile. He wore a dark green suit. I guessed that it was Edie next to him. She was really pretty. She had rosy cheeks and thick curly hair, and she was a lot shorter than Vic.

  I put on my shoes and slowly opened the door. It was quiet. I crept down the carpeted hallway. I had an awful thought that Vic had left me there all alone and I would find his body.

  ‘Vic? Vic?’

  I didn’t hear anything back. There was no answer.

  I checked the bathroom but he wasn’t there. I looked inside the next room along, but there was only a small single bed and a pile of folded clothes.

  I found my way to a little kitchen. It was empty. I called out again.

  I found Vic standing outside in his backyard. He was wearing a pair of black shorts with dried paint all over them and a faded yellow polo shirt that was ripped at the hem.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said.

  He turned around.

  ‘Afternoon.’

  ‘Really?’

  He nodded.

  I squinted in the sun. The garden was really nice. There were rosebushes and bottlebrush and grevilleas and potted chrysanthemums. The lawn was spongy and trimmed. I saw that Vic was standing over a neat square of dirt in the grass. He caught me looking at it.

  ‘Quiet here without the cranky little bastard. Yapped at everything.’

  ‘What was its name?’

  ‘Misty.’

  Vic rolled his eyes and smiled. I walked over to the grave, then I realised.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘It was your wife’s dog.’

  Vic nodded.

  I was thirsty so Vic took me inside for some water. The tap made a groaning sound. The glass he handed me was tinted yellow and looked like it cost thirty dollars at a vintage store. I drank the whole thing.

  ‘You don’t have an Android charger, do you?’

  Vic just gave me a confused look and shook his head.

  I glanced around the kitchen. It didn’t look like he used it very often.

  ‘Do you have any bread or something?’

  Vic opened some cupboards. All his food was tinned.

  ‘Out of bread. I can do you some beans. Or … corned beef. Steak and onion stew. Spaghetti.’

  ‘What do you usually eat?’

  Vic shrugged and held up the can of beans.

  ‘You don’t really cook much, do you?’

  ‘I heat the tin up on the stove here.’

  ‘You cook them still in the can?’

  ‘Yeah. I take the lid off first, otherwise they go bang. Only made that mistake once.’

  I knew what I was going to do.

  ‘What food do you like?’ I asked.

  ‘Not fussy.’

  ‘But you must have a favourite.’

  Vic shrugged, but I didn’t want to give up.

  ‘What if you were on death row and the guard came to ask what you wanted for your last meal,’ I said. ‘You could have anything. They could re-create any meal you’d ever had in your life.’

  Vic thought about it.

  ‘Any meal?’

  ‘Any meal, exactly as it was.’

  Vic put the can down.

  ‘Edie’s lamb roast. Do I get dessert?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then my mother’s Christmas trifle for afters.’

  Vic had a small smile, like he was remembering those meals.

  I told Vic I was going for a walk.

  He lived in a cul-de-sac that was all brick houses with neat front gardens. A couple of places had tall palm trees. One driveway had a boat that said Liquid Asset on the side.

  A woman two houses down was standing at her letterbox and staring at me. She had big blonde hair which was dark at the roots. I put my head down and kept walking, but I could still feel her watching me.

  ‘Why are you coming out of that house?’ she asked.

  I pulled my hood over and ignored her, which only made her more aggressive.

  ‘Excuse me! Answer me when I talk to you, please! Who are you and why are you coming out of that house?’

  She followed me for a couple of steps.

  ‘What’s your name young man?’

  She stopped walking and I kept going. A few houses further down, there was a girl around my age walking home from school. She had thick shoulder-length curly black hair. She was short with brown skin and big dark eyes and a backpack that looked really big on her. She must have seen the woman harassing me, because she stopped and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry about her, she’s, like, pathologically rude.’

  I looked over my shoulder. The woman was still watching me.

  ‘I don’t think she likes me.’

  ‘She doesn’t like anybody. Like, she’s always been a bit frosty, but ever since her husband went to prison she’s been fucking tyrannical.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Oh my goodness, it’s the craziest story. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘Are there any shops around here?’

  She gave me directions and I thanked her. The girl seemed friendly. She said goodbye and went inside a red-brick house.

  Fifteen minutes later I reached a shopping strip with a hairdresser, newsagent, chemist and a Foodland. I went into the supermarket and picked up a plastic basket. I looked around to get my bearings.

  I saw a mother pushing a trolley with her daughter in the child seat. I thought about shopping with my mum, how each time was like a secret adventure. I gave the little girl a smile, and she waved back at me. Her mum gave me a dirty look and pushed the trolley away, and I remembered the mess I had left behind.

  My mum was nineteen when I was born.

  She didn’t realise she was pregnant because she was living in her college dormitory and going out every night, so she just thought she was hungover a lot. It was a few months in before she knew. By then she had dropped out of all her classes. Her parents were strict and had high expectations, so she didn’t tell them anything. When they found out, they were really angry.

  They told her to get rid of me, but it was too late to do it legally. Her dad wanted to go to court and get permission, but my mum wouldn’t do it. They told her she was throwing her life away. My mum cut off all contact with her family and never allowed any of them to meet me.

  After that she was on her own. She didn’t know who my dad was. She admitted to me that she didn’t remember much about that time. I used to invent stories about who he might be and why he couldn’t be with us. Sometimes I imagined him as a soldier or a musician or a pilot.

  When I grew into my face a little more, my mum thought she recognised who he might be. She had met a man at a pool hall next to the Aberdeen Street Backpackers whose eyes had looked a bit like mine. She never knew his name, but she remembered he had an Irish accent. She only met him once and never saw him again. Sometimes I wished she hadn’t told me, because I never thought about him being a pilot or a soldier again.

  For a long time, it was just me and my mum. We moved a lot. It always seemed to be the same one-bedroom apartment, just in a different suburb. A few times the landlord changed the locks with all our things inside. My mum would call her friend Dave, who was a locksmith, and he would get us back in. Then she sent me outside to play for an hour while she said thank you to Dave.

  We never had any money. One of my earliest memories was sitting in the child seat of a trolley, watching my mum slipping food into her handbag. I didn’t understand what she was doing at the time, I just remember how tense she was.

  When I got older, it became a game we played.

  Sometimes I wore my empty school backpack. She would put some things in the trolley, and fill my bag up too. When we got near the cashier, I would have a big tantrum, screaming and kicking and knocking things off the shelves, then she scolded me and yanked me out of the store, apologising to everyone and leaving the trolley behind.

  Sometimes it went the other way.
She would fill my bag up, and put a couple of cheap items in the shopping basket. At the checkout, I would politely ask if I could have a chocolate bar, and she would count out her coins and say only if I gave the lady behind the counter a nice smile, which I did. Nobody ever suspected us. We never once got caught. In the car, she would tell me what a good job I’d done and I would feel proud.

  Our gas or electricity got disconnected a lot. Once when we had no power, my mum pretended we were on a camping trip. We made a tent out of a bedsheet and we lit candles to be our campfire. We toasted bits of bread on the end of forks and imagined they were marshmallows. When it got late, my mum blew out the candles and howled like a wolf to scare me. I acted afraid because I wanted her to comfort me and tell me they weren’t real.

  She left me on my own all the time. After dinner she would get dressed up. My mum loved clothes and she owned lots of them. I would help her select an outfit. We went through her wardrobe together and laid out the ones we liked on the bed. She narrowed them down to the last two, then she held them both up and let me choose.

  ‘Okay. The A-line or the slip dress?’

  ‘The slip dress. With your black heels.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Thank you, Honeybee.’

  Then she would put on make-up in the bathroom. I sat on the counter or the side of the bath and watched. I knew all the little rituals. The way she turned her face from side to side to check her bronzer, or how her tongue always touched the corner of her lips when she was concentrating on her eyeshadow highlights. She put her lipstick on last, then she rolled her lips together and pouted and put a tissue between them and pressed down. She gave the tissue to me because I thought they were pretty and I liked to collect them. I had a whole shoebox full of her kisses.

  I always noticed the way she looked at herself when she was done. Sometimes she was proud, sometimes she was disappointed, but she winked at the mirror and said the same thing every time.

  ‘That’ll have to do, kid.’