Past the Shallows

by Favel Parrett

  Harry kept running anyway, all the way to the door.

  It fell open, silent.

  He stood there out of breath, his heart beating, and the place was so still – so quiet. It felt like it had been empty for a long time, empty for years and years. And it felt like it would be empty forever. Looking into that dark quiet room Harry thought he might never see George or Jake again.

  The metal tin felt cold in his hand. He heard the wind rustle in the trees and he had a feeling in him like he wanted to run. To run and run, to keep on going until he found George and Jake. And when he did, he would beg them to take him with them, wherever they were going.

  But George’s pipe was right there on the table. And his clothes were still hanging up. His pots and pans, his billy. Jake’s blanket there on the floor. Harry was just being silly. They would come back. They were probably just out walking somewhere or fishing. And Harry bet that if he ran down to the jetty, George’s dinghy would be gone and they’d be back soon.

  Harry put the tea down by the door and headed straight for the wood shed. He found George’s axe wedged in a thick round stump, but he wouldn’t need to use it. There were high piles of dry kindling stacked neatly and lots of bigger logs, too. George was good at chopping wood. Harry was good at chopping wood if he got to use the blockbuster, but Miles hardly ever let him use the blockbuster. He said it was too heavy for Harry and that he hit the concrete more times than he hit the wood. Miles made Harry use the hatchet. The hatchet was stupid. It was small and light and you couldn’t get any momentum. You had to whack the wood so hard that it hurt your arm all the way up like lightning when it struck the log, and if you missed the grain, if the hatchet came down wrong, then the wedge got jammed and the whole bloody log would be stuck to the end of the hatchet and you couldn’t get it off. That happened nearly every time Harry cut kindling with the hatchet. Then Miles would say ‘Leave it Harry, I’ll do it’, and he’d look disappointed and Harry would just stand there, useless, and watch Miles sweat and grunt and bust logs with the blockbuster.

  Harry piled kindling in his arms, cradling as much as he could, and he took it inside and dumped it in the metal bucket next to the wood heater. He knelt down by the fire and scrunched newspaper up into tight little balls. The tighter you scrunched, the longer it lasted, but you had to leave one corner flat so that the flame would catch the paper. He built a triangle of kindling, giving it space to breathe, and he swept the floor clean with a dustpan and brush. He put the tea on the table and sat down on a chair. Then he waited.

  Anyway, it was still quite early, maybe past lunch, but not too much past. The sun was still clear and high, even though it didn’t warm anything up much. Harry had forgotten to bring his parka. He must have left it in Stuart’s mum’s car. But he’d start the fire just as soon as he heard them coming. It wouldn’t be long. Jake would come in first. He’d come running and Harry would hear his nails chip-chipping on the verandah and then feel Jake’s cold nose pressed right up against his hand. George would be way back, carrying all the gear – the lines and buckets of flathead or salmon or squid, and Harry would go to meet him as soon as he’d lit the fire and he’d help him carry the buckets or whatever was needed.

  Harry reached over and grabbed the small folded blanket from the end of George’s bed and put it over his legs. Lunch would be good – fish, if George had caught any. He pulled the bag of mixed lollies out of his pocket, fished out a bullet, a freckle and a raspberry to keep him going, then he twisted the paper bag closed and put it back in his pocket. Billy stared at him as he ate the lollies. Billy – George’s brother – the man in the framed photograph on the table standing up tall and straight and smiling in his uniform.

  George had told Harry about Billy. About how he’d gone to war and how he’d gone missing and about how he’d never come home. And Harry had thought about it quite a lot. He’d even walked into town on his own and looked at the old war memorial to see if Billy’s name was there. But he didn’t tell George about it because he didn’t know what to say.

  All those names carved in the old stone. Familiar names like Blackall and Bones, Bradley and Good. Three Donnellys all in a row. Roberts and Young and Nelson and Taylor. And there in the middle was Billy’s name: Fuller, W. W for William, but George called him Billy. He’d been lost all that time ago and he never came home.

  Harry leant his head back against the chair and thought that if Miles got lost, if Miles never came home, Harry’s insides would go wrong and they might never come right again. If Miles got lost.

  And he wished that Miles was here now.

  And he wished that George would come back.

  Then he must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes the light outside the window had changed. At first he thought that maybe it was just the clouds and perhaps it was going to rain, but when he got up and opened the door it wasn’t the clouds or a storm. It was just late.

  He had to go.

  He took one last look around the room, the tea on the table, the fire all set, and he knew that when George got home he’d know that Harry had been here and left him the tea and set the fire, and he’d be glad. Harry shut the door. He ran up the paddock, he ran through the trees, and after looking back quickly one last time, he ran towards the road with the day slipping into darkness right behind him.

  Miles was so tired in the ute. The sun was down but it wasn’t quite dark yet, and Dad had the heater on for once, blowing up on one side of Miles’s face. He put his hands in front of the vent, let them warm through.

  Joe had been right. There was something coming. Miles had felt it in the water. Seen it. Swell coming in steady, the wind right on it, pushing. It was ground swell. Brand new and full of punch – days away from its peak. Joe would be lucky if he made it across the strait in time. It had even made Miles queasy, the way the boat rocked. The way the water rolled up under it. And he never got sick.

  Hardly any boats had gone out but Dad didn’t care. He made them stay out all day.

  It was hard for Miles to focus on the road now. His eyes were so vacant that, even though they were open, it was like they were closed. He rested his head down against the cool window and his cheek and face vibrated with the buzz of the engine, the movement of the car on the road.

  It was warm in the car. It was snug, with all the bags and clothes packed in around them and Miles looked at Harry. His eyes were heavy, falling into sleep, and Mum turned in her seat.

  ‘Ready?’ she said, and Miles could just see her smiling in the dark, see the white of her face. And he wanted to stay awake and listen to the songs on the radio, to be awake when they drove over the mountain so he could see the city, because Mum said the lights of Hobart were really something. She said you could see all the lights of the wharf and all the big tankers and ships. Ships that sailed to Antarctica and to Argentina and Scandinavia. Ships that were as big as factories.

  But the road was windy and the headlights were soft and it was so warm. And he wanted to say, Wake me when we get there, but he forgot. And something pulled tight around his neck, around his chest, and all the bags were falling. All the bags were pushing him down.

  There was a blast from a horn and Miles sat up.

  It was Harry on the road. Harry standing there frozen, his arms out like he would be able to stop the ute. He’d just run straight out of the scrub. He’d just run out from George’s place.

  Miles wanted to scream but his body was flung against the door as the ute swung out and skidded on the loose gravel. He felt the brakes lock and his head flew forward, almost hit the dash. But they stopped. The ute stopped and stones rained down on the windscreen and tray like bullets.

  Miles looked out the window but he couldn’t see Harry. There was too much dust.

  Dad got out of the ute and slammed the door.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he yelled.

  Miles got his seatbelt off, opened the door. Dad had Harry by the front of his jumper and had lifted him up off th
e ground.

  ‘Well?’ he said, and he held Harry in so close that their faces were almost touching.

  Harry didn’t answer. He looked at Miles out of the corner of his eye.

  Dad started shaking him.

  ‘What were you doing on that man’s land? What the fuck were you doing?’

  ‘There’s a dog and I … I went to see if I could play with it.’

  Harry squeezed his eyes shut like he was waiting to be hit, but Dad didn’t move. He just kept staring into Harry’s face.

  Everything went quiet then. Dad went quiet and the whole place went quiet like there was nothing. No wind, no rustling trees, no sound from the river. Just Dad holding Harry up off the ground. And his face was dead and his eyes were dead and Miles felt sick.

  But then he let Harry go. He just put Harry down and he walked away. He walked away and got in the ute.

  Miles rushed over.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked quietly, but Harry didn’t say anything. He just sniffed and grabbed hold of Miles’s arm. And both of them jumped when the sound of the engine cut through the air.

  On the way home Miles sat in the middle and Harry pushed his body close to the door. Dad just drove. Silent. His face was still blank.

  At home he made them eggs on toast and Harry and Miles sat at the kitchen bench while Dad watched TV. And even when Miles took Dad’s plate so that he could do the washing up, Dad didn’t say anything.

  Harry looked out the bedroom window but it was too dark to see anything. He could only see the reflection of the room and the reflection of him standing there.

  The curtains had fallen down a long time ago. He couldn’t say exactly when they had fallen down, but nobody had ever bothered to put them back up. Harry didn’t even know where they were now, whether they even existed at all anymore. And every time Aunty Jean came to get the washing she said that somebody had to do something about those curtains – somebody had to do something. But nobody ever did anything.

  It was all right, though. Harry liked to be able to see outside as soon as he woke up. To see the sky.

  Miles was taking ages washing the dishes and when he finally came in and closed the door he didn’t look at Harry. He just walked over and sat on his bed.

  Harry moved closer.

  ‘He wasn’t there,’ he said. ‘George wasn’t there and I think he’s been away since we stayed. The dishes were still in the sink. Maybe something has happened?’

  ‘Why didn’t you stay at Stuart’s? I told you to stay there.’

  Harry sat down on the bed next to Miles.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  He looked down at his feet. The hole in his right sneaker was so large now he could fit his big toe all the way through. He wiggled it and it poked out. Miles seemed to be looking at it as well.

  ‘It was really rough today,’ he said. ‘I think it will be too rough to go out tomorrow.’

  Harry jumped up off the bed. ‘Maybe we can go and see if George is back,’ he said.

  Miles stared at him. He shook his head.

  ‘You’re lucky Dad didn’t go crazy, Harry. You’re lucky he doesn’t know everything and that he believed you about the dog. You shouldn’t be going down there, OK? You’ve just got to stay home.’

  ‘But George is all right. You know him.’

  ‘Harry …’

  But Miles didn’t say any more. Harry sat back down. He kicked off his sneakers and they bounced on the floor.

  ‘Do you think George is OK?’ he said after a while.

  Miles nodded. ‘Probably fishing down the coast, or Bruny or something,’ he said.

  Harry hadn’t thought about that. There were heaps of fishing huts at Bruny and around the place and George was probably just at one of them for a few days. He probably did that all the time to get all the fish that he dried and smoked.

  Harry looked up at Miles.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay home.’

  It was close tonight.

  The thick black coming down as Harry lay tight in his bed afraid to move.

  He blinked his eyes. He tried to find something there in the darkness.

  The window.

  The sky.

  The dark blue that comes before the dawn.

  Like a dream, the darkness rolled away. Soft light from the stars filled the room more and more. Stars clustered together like jewels in the sky.

  And the world opened up. The colours came.

  He hadn’t seen them since he was young, since Mum, and he had forgotten about the lights in the sky. The coloured lights that pulsed and shone and breathed life across the dark plains. Endless. Close but nowhere. The green and yellow ripples of light. The Southern Lights.

  And they stayed until he fell asleep.

  Miles opened his eyes.

  It was dark in the room. It felt like it was the middle of the night and that maybe he was just dreaming because there was a figure sitting at the end of Harry’s bed.

  ‘Get up,’ it said.

  It was Dad.

  Miles got up, got dressed quickly, and Harry didn’t wake. Miles turned the bedroom light off and closed the door and Dad was sitting in the lounge waiting for him. He asked where Harry was. Miles said he was asleep and Dad stood up and marched into the bedroom. He turned the light on, pulled the doona off the bed onto the floor and told Harry to get up.

  Harry rubbed at his eyes. He looked around and squinted as Dad left the room.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he said.

  Miles didn’t know. He didn’t know what was happening.

  ‘I think you have to come out with us today,’ he said, and pulled some clothes out of the drawer. Some pants and a woollen jumper. A pair of socks. He told Harry to put them on quickly, to get his boots.

  Harry’s eyes were huge.

  ‘I can’t go on the boat,’ he said. ‘I can’t. Please, Miles, go and tell him? Tell Dad?’

  Miles heard the front door slam.

  ‘Quick, Harry, just get dressed. It’ll be OK. Make sure you put this jumper on and your parka. Bring a beanie.’ He started walking to the kitchen to get something for them to eat in the car. He heard Harry start to cry.

  ‘I left my parka at Stuart’s,’ he said.

  Miles turned around. He took off his jacket and handed it to Harry.

  ‘I think we’d better do what Dad says, Harry. I think we better go. It’s because you were out on the road in the dark.’

  ‘But you said it was going to be rough today. You said you didn’t think the boat would be able to go out today.’

  It was true. Miles could even hear the swell from here. He could hear the ocean.

  ‘It’ll be OK, Harry. You’ll be with me, and if you stay out on the deck you won’t get sick, I promise.’ Miles reached into his jumper and took off the string hanging around his neck.

  ‘You can wear this, OK?’ Miles put the tooth in Harry’s hands. ‘You can keep it if you like. Now get dressed, quick.’

  Harry stood there looking at the tooth in his hands, and he looked so young and small like no time had ever passed by since he was the baby in the room and Joe had told Miles to be nice to him and help Mum out. And Miles had thought he wouldn’t like it. But Harry had a way about him. A way that made you promise to take care of him.

  Outside it had started to rain and the wind was making the rain slice down through the air at a sharp angle so that the drops hit your skin like cold bits of gravel. Miles walked out to the ute and Harry lagged behind. He opened the door and got in, but Harry just stood at the door.

  ‘Maybe I’ll stay here, Dad,’ he said and he poked his head inside the cabin.

  Dad turned and stared at him and told him to get in the bloody car.

  Harry got in quickly and shut the door.

  They crossed the river and started out on the main road. It was still dark. Miles wondered how long Dad had been sitting there at the end of Harry’s bed, how long he had been in the room.

  Harry suddenl
y let out a loud hiccup. He covered his mouth with his hands and looked at Miles, but another hiccup escaped. Dad smashed the horn with his fist, a sudden high-pitched blast, and Harry let out a squeal.

  ‘This is what happens when you don’t do what you’re told,’ he said.

  Miles felt Harry squeeze into him. Felt Harry’s body tuck right in and he didn’t make another sound.

  Mr Roberts was on the wharf standing under one of the lights. It looked like he was staring right at Miles and Miles wanted to wave but he couldn’t. Dad was right next to him. Jeff appeared out of the darkness.

  ‘It’s wild,’ he said, maybe to Dad, but Dad didn’t say anything back to him.

  Miles helped Harry into the dinghy and held onto him on the way out to the boat. It was rough. After they’d passed the heads the boat was really moving. Invisible swell pushing in. And the wind was stronger, coming up from the south, full of ice.

  They were inside a bubble of fluoro light slipping out into the darkness. Miles held Harry by the shoulders, made him sit down outside even though there was so much spray hitting the deck. And he sat next to him, told him to hold on to the pole and look out to the horizon as soon as it was light.

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea when we stop, OK?’ he said.

  The fluoro light that bounced off the deck made the skin on Harry’s face glow ghostly blue. He nodded and Jeff must have been listening to them because he told Harry that if he got sick, he’d have to be tied up on the outside of the railings. He told Harry that he’d better hold on tight or he’d fall off and they’d never ever find him.

  Miles squeezed Harry’s arm and told him to look at the stars to take his mind off things, because out here, away from the land, it wasn’t raining and there were no clouds. The moon was out, a tiny slither, and some of the brighter stars were still shining, but they were becoming translucent and starting to hide. It would be light soon.