On the Shores of Darkness, There is Light

by Cordelia Strube

  She doesn’t understand that physical pain doesn’t frighten him anymore. “I’m fine, Mum. You look tired. You should go home and rest. I’ll wait for the tests. You don’t need to be here.”

  “Of course I need to be here.”

  “No you don’t. I don’t want you here.” He immediately regrets saying this because her face collapses and she covers her eyes with her hand. “I know you’re crying,” he says. “It’s okay to cry. Just please leave now. I want to be alone.”

  “You never want to be alone in hospital.”

  “I want to be alone now. Please go. I’ll call you when they’ve done the tests. You should get to the bank.”

  Lynne looks at her phone. “You’re right. I should.”

  “Go home and change.”

  “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Sure. I’m in good hands here.”

  “That’s right.” She nods as though trying to convince herself. “You’re in good hands.”

  He wants her gone. It’s become hard to look at her. He has to squint as though staring into sun.

  “I love you, peanut.”

  He knows she’s waiting for him to say I love you too, but he can’t. She hovers by the bed. He rolls onto his side, away from her.

  “I’m so sorry I hit you,” she says.

  “I know. I’ll call you later.”

  She kisses the back of his head and he can’t understand how her caresses meant everything to him once and mean nothing to him now. When he hears the slide of the curtain rings, he flips back onto his other side to make the wall vibrate again. The doctors are doing something to the boy behind the curtain who was gaming and making explosive killing sounds. Gulping sobs, the boy begs them to stop, but they tell him it’s almost over and that he’s being very brave. Irwin’s heard it all before and knows it’s all lies.

  He arrives early at the community centre and waits by the chain-link fence. Parents in SUVs, and nannies on foot, arrive to pick up the children swarming out of the building. Irwin shifts his weight from one foot to the other, watching the doors swing open as more children exit. When the doors no longer swing open, and all the children are gone, Irwin continues to wait. He tried calling Heike from the hospital, but he suspects her phone is dead. She doesn’t charge it unless he reminds her. He called Uma but the service was on. That Heike is not here can only mean she is sick. Otherwise Uma wouldn’t let her stay home because Heike interferes with her thesis work.

  The drugs the doctors gave him have made him clumsy and worsened his tremor. He decides to stop taking drugs to please people. Not taking drugs upsets the nurses. During one of his hospital stays a pale boy insisted they were poisoning him and refused to take drugs. He called one of the nurses the spawn of Satan and made her cry. Irwin doesn’t want to make anyone cry, but he will no longer take drugs for fear of upsetting them. It will be hours before they notice he is gone.

  On the crowded bus, no one sits next to him. Behind him a woman with a gravelly voice says, “I bought some lunch and a pack of smokes and now I don’t have enough to buy a phone card. What’s so fucking difficult to understand?”

  Outside Uma’s, he waits behind the tree, staking out the house. It’s still daylight and no lights are on. Burger King wrappers cling to Uma’s rocks. Irwin tries to peer through the living room window to the kitchen, hoping to see them sitting around the granite island, but sunlight glints off the panes. He looks up at Heike’s open window. He could try calling to her, although Uma is bound to hear and tell him to go away; she has no use for Irwin when Heike is sick. She only tolerates him, he knows, for the free babysitting. When Heike is sick, Uma pampers her, letting her eat ice cream instead of frozen yogourt, and drink ginger ale instead of unsweetened fruit juice. Heike occasionally pretends to be sick in order to eat what she wants. Maybe Heike is pretending to be sick now, except there’s no school to avoid, just camp and Irwin. Is she avoiding him? Is she mad because he let the dog bite her? He was supposed to be on the lookout for erupting situations.

  He climbs the wooden steps, startled by their creaking, and peeps in the small window on the door but can see only the coat rack. He rings the bell and waits. A squirrel squats on the porch railing and watches him. “I have no food,” Irwin tells it, knowing that Heike feeds them. The squirrel twitches its tail. Irwin rings the bell again, leaning hard on the buzzer. Another squirrel sits on the railing, and Irwin feels they know something he doesn’t, that they are conspiring against him. “Shoo,” he tells them, waving his hand. The squirrels leap onto Uma’s rocks. The door opens.

  “What is it, Irwin?” Uma’s hair, normally cinched into a bun, hangs messily around her shoulders.

  “Heike wasn’t at camp.”

  “She’s not well. I’m sorry, I should have called you but it’s been an intense twenty-four hours.”

  “Intense?” He wishes she’d let him in.

  “Heike’s had a reaction to the rabies shot.”

  “What kind of reaction?” Irwin has had many reactions to medications and knows this could mean anything: vomiting, diarrhea, rashes, headaches, weakness, difficulty swallowing, numbness or tingling—pain. More than anything, pain. The thought of Heike in pain sends cutting winds through him. “Why did you give her a shot? She didn’t need a shot.”

  “She’s going to need five in total over the next month.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. Thanks to you, Irwin, she requires rabies shots. Unfortunately, side effects are common.”

  “What kind of side effects?”

  “Is that Irwin?” Heike calls weakly from upstairs.

  “Honeybun, stay in bed. You don’t want any more swelling.”

  “Irwin won’t make me swell.” She clambers down the stairs, gripping the bannister, wheezing from the exertion. Her face is red and swollen.

  “Why won’t you ever do what I say?” Uma demands. “Get back into bed.”

  “I want to see Irwin.” She stands shivering in her Super Girl nightie even though it’s warm. “I want to tell him a joke.” She scratches her upper arm.

  “Don’t scratch the injection site, honeybun. How many times have I told you that?”

  Heike makes a break for Irwin, grabbing him around his waist, but her hold is weak and her mother pulls her away easily, throwing Heike off balance. She stumbles. Irwin has never seen her stumble. She hangs limp and graceless in her mother’s grip. “Are you dizzy again, sweetie?” Uma asks, feeling her forehead. “You’re hot. This is ridiculous. Is your stomach hurting? Did you have more diarrhea?” Heike doesn’t reply. Her swollen lids slide over her eyes. Uma lifts her into her arms.

  “She doesn’t need shots,” Irwin protests. “The dog didn’t have rabies.”

  “Yes, of course, this mysterious, untraceable dog in the park. You don’t know anything about that dog, Irwin. Rabies kills. I’m not willing to take that chance with my daughter. Don’t come here again. Close the door behind you.”

  Irwin’s feet feel bolted to the floor. “We’re supposed to go to the comics convention. She’s been looking forward to it for months.”

  “Mummy, please let me go to Comic Con. I want to see people dressed up as superheroes. I want to meet the man who draws Daredevil. Please please please?”

  Uma carries her upstairs. “Irwin, close the door behind you.”

  “I want Irwin,” Heike whimpers.

  Desolation strikes him behind the knees, forcing him to cling to the coat rack. He can’t desert her. She needs him. He tries to take a step forward but his legs tremble. He grabs at the handles on the glass doors to the living room and manages to stand, balancing between them, staring at the German ghosts. They stare back. The old man smokes his pipe. “Get out,” Irwin tells them. “You’re dead. This is Heike’s house now. You don’t belong here.” His legs buckle and he lunges for the only mahogany chair unoccupie
d by the Germans. He knows he has no choice but to wait for the seizure to pass.

  He doesn’t open his eyes when he hears his father. “Wow. Oom, why didn’t you call an ambulance?”

  “He’s your son. What am I supposed to do with him? Maybe one of your girlfriends can look after him.”

  “Do you really need to do this now?”

  “I need you to get him out of here so I can take care of my daughter.”

  “Are the anti-whatever-they-are drugs kicking in yet?”

  “Antipyretics and anti-inflammatories. He’s awake.”

  “Irwin,” Trent says. “What’s up, kiddo? You’re supposed to be at the hospital.”

  “I’m fine. I just fell asleep.”

  “I see that. Your mom said you had a seizure last night. They want to run some tests on you.”

  “I’m not doing any of that. I’d rather die.” He knows his father hates hospitals as much as he does. When Irwin was little and asked Lynne why Trent never visited him, she said he’d had a bad experience in a hospital.

  “Who has a good experience in a hospital?” Irwin asked. “I mean, everybody’s sick in hospitals.”

  “Yes, peanut, but usually they get better. Your daddy had a friend who didn’t.”

  “What kind of friend?”

  “His best friend.”

  Irwin had never had a best friend but yearned for one. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have one die in the hospital. As much as he felt sad for his father, he envied him for having a best friend once. He knew that he, a sick and freaky son, could never fill the void left behind by the best friend. He stopped asking why his father didn’t visit.

  “Okay, kiddo, let’s get you home.”

  “I’m not leaving till I see Heike.”

  “Oh for god’s sake,” Uma says. “What is it with these two?”

  “They love each other. Just let him say goodbye.”

  “Make it quick. She’s exhausted.”

  Trent steadies Irwin as he climbs the stairs. Irwin can’t remember the last time his father touched him. The grip on his elbow is limp, and he knows Trent doesn’t want to touch him. Irwin pulls his arm away and grabs the bannister.

  Heike looks even more red and puffy against the yellow-striped pillow­case. Irwin sits on the edge of her bed the way his mother sits on his. He strokes Heike’s forehead just as his mother strokes his. “You’re going to get better and we’re going to go to the comic con, and you’re going to meet Daredevil ’s artist and score lots of Daredevil comics.”

  She nods, looking unconvinced.

  “You are,” he says. “Daredevil got blinded and nobody thought he could do anything, but he became a superhero to make sure justice was served. You’re going to get better and do amazing things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Become prime minister and give everybody toilets.”

  “Can I tell you my joke?” Her swollen tongue slows her speech.

  “Of course.”

  “Why didn’t the cannibal eat the clown?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Because it tasted funny.”

  Irwin tries to chuckle but feels he is losing her. She is drifting farther and farther away from him, beyond rescue.

  “Can you stay with me, big brother?”

  “Heike,” Uma says, standing behind him, “you are very sick and need rest. This isn’t the time for jokes.”

  “He could read to me.”

  Irwin hates reading out loud because it makes him stutter.

  “I can read to you, honeybun. We’ll have a nice read and a nap. Is there anything else you want to say to Irwin before he goes?”

  Heike clutches his hands and holds them against her face. She feels hot, and her burning tears sting his fingers.

  “Oh for god’s sake, Heike,” Uma says, “why this performance? He’s not going far.”

  “Wow, Oom.” Trent leans against the bedstead. “Take it down a notch.”

  “Don’t tell me to take it down a notch, you idiot.”

  “I should go,” Irwin says to stop them fighting. “Charge your phone and I’ll call you.” Heike has closed her puffy eyes and her hands have slid from his.

  “Does it look like she can charge a phone?” Uma demands. “I’ve had it with this nonsense. Time to go. We’ll call you.”

  In the Rover, a deadly electric current runs between Irwin and Trent that only Irwin is aware of. Trent is on what Lynne calls Planet Trent. That his son and daughter are dangerously ill doesn’t register on his planet where people love bikes more than each other. Irwin looks out the window at earthlings doing normal things, and he hates them. When he was little he enjoyed watching normal people because he believed he would be like them one day.

  Trent phones Lynne while he’s driving even though it’s against the law. “I’m bringing him home right now . . . he seems fine, a little dopey but no seizures.” It pleases Irwin that his father couldn’t detect he’d just had a seizure. But it also reminds him that his father doesn’t know him at all. “No worries, we’ll be there in twenty.” Trent pockets his cell.

  “What did your best friend die of?” Irwin asks.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your best friend who died. What did he die of?”

  “What best friend?”

  “When you were little you had a best friend who died in the hospital, and that’s why you hate going to hospitals.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Mum.”

  Trent stares straight ahead. A traffic light isn’t working and a beefy cop stands in the intersection directing cars.

  “Mum said that’s why you couldn’t visit me in the hospital. Because your best friend died there.” Irwin waits for comprehension to brighten his father’s expression, but Trent only frowns at the traffic. Irwin has never dared mention the dead best friend before, and is already regretting bringing it up. Mr. Shotlander says some stones are better left unturned. Irwin suspects this is one of them. “It doesn’t matter,” he says.

  “I’ve been a lousy father to you, Irwin, and I’m sorry.”

  How did they get to talking about Trent? They’re supposed to be talking about the best friend.

  “I . . .” Trent scratches his leg under his bike shorts, “I didn’t handle your condition very well. I think . . . I think maybe I was too young. It all happened so fast, and then it kept happening. It never stopped. I kept hoping it would stop.”

  “Me too. I’m really sorry your best friend died, but I wish you’d visited me in the hospital. I really wanted to see you. Sometimes I thought you hated me and that’s why you didn’t come, but Mum said it was because of your friend. Which makes sense. I mean, I’ve never had a best friend, but if I did, and they died in the hospital, I wouldn’t want to go there anymore either.”

  Sweat drips from his father’s temples even though the air con is on.

  “What was he like?” Irwin asks.

  “Who?”

  “Your best friend.”

  “Oh. Wow. Umm, great, he was great.”

  “Did you play sports together?”

  Trent scratches his leg again. “We totally did.”

  “Which sports?”

  “Basketball. He was . . . he could sink those baskets like nobody’s biz. An awesome player.”

  “I’ve always wished I could play sports.”

  “Oh, sports are overrated, kiddo. You do all kinds of other great stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “The stuff you do.”

  “I don’t do anything.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “I don’t. There’s so much I’m not supposed to do, I don’t do anything.”

  “Well, you’re one top-notch babysitter, I’ll tell you that.”

&
nbsp; “Do you think so? Even though she got bit?”

  “These things happen, Irwin. You did the right thing getting your nurse friend to fix her up. How was anyone supposed to know she’d react to the shot?” Lynne has often complained that not only does Trent have the emotional maturity of a five-year-old, but that he sees himself as blameless in all things. Irwin envies this ability. He blames himself for almost everything.

  “Do you think Heike will be okay?” he asks.

  “Of course she will. That kid’s a fighter. Just like Hal.” Her nickname hangs in the air. Irwin hasn’t heard his father say it since she fell.

  “But Hal’s dead,” Irwin says. “I think maybe because she didn’t want to fight anymore. I think maybe she was tired of fighting. I think she wanted to fly.”

  “Whatever she did, she was a fighter.” Trent’s voice sounds hoarse, and his Adam’s apple bobs.

  “I’m scared Heike will try to fly too,” Irwin says. “She climbs crazy places. Like, not just trees but statues and stuff.”

  “Heike loves life too much, kiddo. Zest is that kid’s middle name.”

  Irwin isn’t sure what zest is, other than a soap bar in Nina’s bathroom, but asking what it means would make him look stupid. “She really wants to go to the comic con at the convention centre. Will you take us? Uma might let us go if you take us.”

  “When is it?”

  “Next week.”

  “I’ve got rides planned, weather permitting.”

  The hateful deep-sea monster inside Irwin rumbles, forcing words out of him. “You just said you were sorry that you’ve been a lousy father. Why don’t you be a good father for once and take us to the comic con?”

  Trent stares at some bicycles strapped to the back of a minivan. Irwin reaches through the deadly electric current and shakes his father’s shoulder the way his mother shook his earlier. “Be a good father for once.”

  “Whoa, can we start over here for a second?”

  “Yes. You can take us to the convention centre. Tell Uma you’ll look after us. You won’t have to—we can look after ourselves—but tell her that.”