Rainfish

by Andrew Paterson

  ‘I think he wants one more,’ said Stevie, and he dunked him again.

  When he came up, Connor was gasping and splashing and fighting, but Stevie was a lot bigger, and he just laughed.

  Connor said something, I think it was Piss off, or it might have been an attempt at some French, which, of course, he couldn’t speak.

  I yelled out, ‘Let him go.’

  ‘Want a go, Damon?’ Stevie said to Damon.

  ‘Nah,’ yawned Damon.

  ‘I won’t have a go either just yet,’ said Coldy with a guffaw, and at that moment I hated him more than any of them.

  With his free arm, Stevie pretended to punch Connor in the head, three big punches, and he yelled ‘Bam’ with each fake punch: ‘Bam! Bam! Bam!’ Then he dunked Connor one more time and as he did he pushed him away.

  ‘Go put on ya necklace, ya little girl,’ he sneered.

  Connor surfaced and swam slowly back to the stairs. His eyes were red and he was coughing. I tried to help him up but he shrugged me off. Once he was firmly on the stairs he turned and kicked water at Stevie but it hardly even reached him.

  Damon and Stevie and Coldy all laughed.

  ‘Off ya go, Frenchie,’ said Stevie.

  ‘Back to France,’ added Damon. They laughed again.

  ‘I’m gunna see if I can touch out the back,’ said Stevie, and he and Coldy swam towards the back fence. But Damon didn’t—he stayed standing chest-deep in the dirty water. He’d seen the look I’d given him, and had stopped laughing.

  He said, ‘What are you looking at?’ bristling like we were two cowboys at high noon, like the way Graham Boon had just before he threw the punch that had started the only fight I’d ever been in.

  Connor said, ‘Ignore him,’ and he began to climb off the stairs, turning his back. And at that instant Damon’s bully-boy expression switched off, and he mouthed ‘Come back later.’

  It happened so quickly and was so unexpected that I couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

  ‘Go on, piss off,’ he said. Connor was looking again; bully-boy Damon was back.

  ‘Get stuffed,’ said Connor, but Damon had begun swimming towards the others, who were duck-diving for the bottom like they’d already forgotten we were there. Come back later—he meant when Connor had gone. ‘Don’t count on it,’ I said under my breath. ‘You two-faced bastard, you piece of shit.’ And then I followed Connor back around to the front of the house.

  16

  MURKY WATER

  CONNOR AND I stood in Damon’s front yard contemplating Shoe Street. In the time we’d been at Damon’s the water at the T-intersection had risen. It had been still before, but now it seemed to be moving, flowing past Damon’s place towards the swamp.

  Connor hadn’t said anything since we left Damon’s.

  ‘Stevie’s a dickhead,’ I tried, but he didn’t reply. His breathing sounded wheezy, which I knew was a sign an asthma attack might be coming on. He was limping for some reason, and his back was bent like an old man, as he made his way slowly into the water.

  ‘You should’ve punched him,’ I said.

  ‘Like to see you,’ he replied quietly.

  The water began to deepen. I brushed against something soft and heavy and a wave of panic pulsed through me—but it was only a plastic bag full of sopping baby clothes. I threw it as far as I could.

  ‘Are you okay to swim?’ I asked.

  ‘Are you?’ he snapped back.

  I started to swim, and when the water was up to his chest Connor did too. We were side by side, going slow, the current gently pushing us sideways.

  We swam harder. Connor was struggling, breathing hard.

  There was something down there. I knew it. It was the whatever-it-was. It swam under us and off, quick as a shark, towards the swamp. But just as quickly it was back, hovering below me. I looked down but I couldn’t see the bottom, couldn’t see anything, couldn’t see its shape, just bony hands that snatched at me.

  ‘Holy shit!’ I screamed out. ‘It’s under me!’

  ‘What? Shut up, Aaron. You’re freaking out,’ said Connor between panting breaths.

  ‘There’s something there. It’s grabbing me.’

  Don’t look down into the water, just keep your head up, I was telling myself. The grey sky and the street spun around me. An old man wearing nothing but a pair of droopy white Y-fronts was standing on the porch of one of the houses, his jaw working like a cow chewing cud. He hardly looked capable of walking let alone swimming out to save us.

  I felt something touch my ankles, and that was when I completely panicked, when I stopped swimming and my arms just started thrashing at the water like I thought I could fly out of it.

  And I was grabbing Connor and he was shouting, ‘Shit Aaron, stop it. Get off me.’ But I wasn’t doing any of it on purpose.

  ‘You’re drowning me, dickhead.’

  Anyone watching must have thought we were fighting. Connor was shaking me. He said, ‘You’re okay,’ between breaths. ‘Calm down. Okay? Calm down.’

  My feet were kind of tingling, but I couldn’t feel anything swimming under me anymore. Just stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about anything. I wanted to slap myself in the face to calm me down, like they do in old movies.

  Just keep breathing, I told myself. I took some deep breaths. Felt myself getting calmer.

  By that time Connor had let me go and was treading water. ‘You good?’ he said.

  ‘Yep,’ I managed to say. ‘I’m fine.’

  My arms were getting tired but we were halfway down the street now, and out of the current, and I sensed the road looming underneath us. Connor kept stopping and trying for the bottom with his feet. Then he could stand, though he had to swim a while more before it was shallow enough for him to walk. I kept swimming, then tried for the bottom and found it too, and I was so relieved I thought I’d cry. Soon we were sloshing through the hip-deep water.

  At the corner the whirlpool over the stormwater drain had disappeared and there was no sucking sound. Which meant it was blocked. I knew then that the flood was going to get worse.

  ‘Hey, don’t come in here all wet,’ said Pete as we walked into the lounge room.

  Connor chose that moment to have a violent coughing fit. With each cough his whole body shook, spraying water all over the floor, couch and coffee table. And Mum chose that same moment to appear at the front door.

  ‘Okay, Connor, it’s all right, just calm down,’ she said as she rushed over to him.

  Connor tried to stop coughing and then coughed worse, and Mum hugged him, flattening his face against her chest.

  ‘Jesus, tell me you haven’t been swimming in the street. Pete, you didn’t let them go swimming out in the street, did you?’ Her eyes were piercing angry.

  ‘Well—’ Pete started.

  ‘Did you not know he has severe asthma? Connor, go and have a shower. Aaron, you go wait for him then have one too. Now.’

  Connor had his shower while I stood outside the bathroom. Mum started in on Pete again: ‘Tell me you didn’t let Connor go swimming in the floodwater. With raw sewage, with shit floating in it. And what about crocodiles and snakes? It’s dangerous, Peter. Or don’t you think at all?’

  I couldn’t hear Pete’s reply.

  ‘So you didn’t know he’s got asthma, is that what you’re saying? That I never told you that?’

  Nothing from Pete.

  ‘You’re an adult,’ she shouted.

  The bedroom door slammed. The bathroom door opened and Connor brushed past me.

  After my shower I went to my room and found Connor curled up on the top bunk with his back to me and not saying anything. Mum was in her room with the door closed, and Pete was in the kitchen playing with the generator, which for some reason had cut out twice already. So I went out onto the front veranda. The stereo on the veranda of the house across the road was still playing but the couch was empty. And the rain had built up again. It greyed out the houses and slapped in
to Pete’s coffee cup on the gatepost which was in danger of being carried away by the rising water. And now our street was flowing as well, past our place towards Mrs Melchiori’s on the corner and down Shoe Street. It felt like it had always been like that, a river slow-flowing and grey-brown, with houses along its banks.

  Pete’s truck was in it. The water was nearly up to the passenger window. There was water in the cabin. Poor old truck.

  I was being punished by the universe. Because of the rosary beads, or because of the rainfish, I didn’t know which, but I was definitely being punished. That was why everything was going so disastrously. I couldn’t really complain, I deserved it. The question was how much more did I deserve, how much worse were things going to get?

  Connor looked pale at dinnertime and he hardly ate anything. No one said much, just ‘pass this’ or ‘pass that’. Mum’s face was set in a grim disappointed look, like the world was dark and bad and she’d known it all along and was only now remembering. Pete kept tapping at things. He hit his fork on the edge of the table till Mum asked him to stop.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Sounds like it’s gunna keep this up all night again.’

  ‘Connor, maybe you should go to bed,’ said Mum, and Connor didn’t argue. Pete tried to take the plates but Mum pulled them out of his hands and washed them herself and then went to her room, leaving Pete and me at the table.

  ‘So what did you two get up to today?’ Pete asked with a rueful smile.

  ‘Just went to a friend’s house.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘His dad caught a fish off the back veranda.’

  ‘Fair dinkum?’ said Pete, looking genuinely impressed.

  ‘Sorry we went so far.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Pete. ‘Don’t worry about it. You can’t keep kids in cottonwool. Anyway, you better get to bed too, I s’pose.’

  ‘All right. Night, Pete,’ I said.

  ‘Night, mate.’

  The light was off when I crept into my bedroom. I got into bed carefully to avoid making it squeak, but then I heard Connor roll over and I knew he was awake.

  Mum was shouting again. Pete shouted something back.

  ‘Connor?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  I heard something smash. ‘I can’t sleep.’

  ‘Don’t worry. They’ll stop soon.’

  ‘Did you ever hear Mum and Dad fight like that?’

  ‘They were worse than this. This is nothing. One time Dad chucked his dinner at the window over the sink and broke it. That’s how come the glass in that window’s different. You were just a baby. And one time he put his fist through the wall. This is nothing.’

  ‘Do you remember much about him?’ I asked.

  He took a while before answering. ‘He used to do chin-ups all the time. He was gunna teach me how to box.’ Connor’s voice sounded thin through the mattress. ‘He knew how to play chess. He used to go fishing too but I never went with him. He used to fish off the beach somewhere. He got a big one one time. Think it was a sand shark. It was huge. He brought it home. Don’t think we ate it though. Think we chucked it out.’

  ‘Mum would probably remember about it.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Hey, Connor?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I forgot to tell you. I found The Lord of the Rings the other day. I’ve got it here if you want. You can put my reading light on and read it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  I got up and got the book out of the cupboard and gave him the lamp, and he read. And after a while the sound of fighting stopped and I went to sleep and dreamed about spiders and crocodiles, fish that could bring the rain to help them escape, and the bunyip from the rainfish story. In my dream it was a skeleton monster with skeleton hands. And I dreamt of being dragged under the water, and not being able to breathe.

  17

  THE MONSTER

  CONNOR WAS COUGHING in the bunk above me. The noise woke me up, and the fact that each cough made the bunk shake and was followed by a wheezy, strained in-breath. It was still dark. The rain was still pounding on the roof.

  ‘Connor. Connor, are you awake?’

  He answered with another wave of coughing. After the coughing his breathing sounded urgent.

  I got up and stumbled into the hall to get Mum. She met me halfway, and I held onto her nightie as I followed her back to our room.

  She turned on the light, which made me wince.

  ‘It’s all right, Connor. It’s okay,’ she cooed, and she kissed him on the ear before lifting him off the bed like he was a baby. She carried him to the lounge room and lowered him onto the couch. Pete stood in the hall in his boxers watching as Mum disappeared into their bedroom and emerged with a blanket which she draped over Connor. She also had both his puffers; she held them up in turn and helped him suck in the medicine. Then she began talking quietly to Pete. I heard him say, ‘We could get a boat,’ and her reply, ‘There’s no time.’ Then she called to me, ‘Aaron, can you find the torches?’

  Pete pulled on a shirt while Mum rang the ambulance. I stood on a chair in the hall to reach the top of the broom cupboard where our torches were kept. Only one of them worked. I put it on the coffee table and then stepped back and watched Connor. He was sweaty. He was breathing fast, making a high-pitched sound with each breath. Mum came back and said to Pete, ‘They told me to wait.’ She stood with me, watching Connor.

  Then she said, ‘Aaron, I want you to stay here while me and Peter take Connor up to the hospital. Okay? You can watch TV if you want.’

  I said, ‘Okay.’ Then I burst into tears.

  Mum hugged me.

  ‘It’s all right, mate,’ said Pete. Then he bent down. ‘Come on, Connor,’ he said and he picked him up. Mum switched the torch on and I followed them out onto the veranda. The rain was hammering on the roof, driving into the water. There was no moon or streetlights, no houses had their lights on except for ours, but I could see the water was higher than before, much higher. If it kept rising, soon it would be all the way up the stairs and coming in our front door. And it was flowing much faster. I could hear it moving: a rustle, a murmur.

  Connor’s head was slumped against Pete’s chest. His body was shaking. I wanted to say something to him, but then I lost sight of him as Pete turned towards the stairs. They sloshed down the front stairs. The water was above their hips already.

  ‘Go inside, Aaron,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll be right.’

  But I stayed watching. Pete was in up to his chest at the front gate. Soon I couldn’t see them, only the beam of the torch inching forwards above the swirling, eddying water. Suddenly I couldn’t see it either.

  ‘Mum?’ I called. ‘Pete?’

  They couldn’t hear me over the rain and the rustle of the torrent hurrying past. It was a mocking sound, and within it I heard a dripping, hushing voice, coming from out there somewhere, soft as a gust of wind, that I recognised well. ‘Why don’t you come in and save them?’ It was the thing. ‘Come in,’ it called. ‘They’ll put you in the paper. They’ll say, “He went into the flood at night and saved his family. So brave. Such a brave little boy.”’

  I went inside. I turned the TV on and flicked through the channels: white noise, test patterns, an old cowboys-and-Indians movie, a woman with bright orange hair and an American accent in front of painted meadows and mountains. I turned up the volume to hear her over the rain: ‘Now I’m gunna be talking about sin and forgiveness of sin. Verse thirteen. Is anyone among you afflicted? Ill-treated, suffering evil?’ She was reading from a big Bible open on a lectern.

  ‘Don’t you want to come swimming with me again? We had fun didn’t we?’ The thing rose from the gutter and began to circle the house, just beneath the surface, its tail making a bow wave in the black water. ‘Stevie Harmison would have gone in to save his family. Maybe even Coldy would have.’ The thing was looking in at the light from the lounge-room window, and the light caught on its teeth and on the black dripping-wet skin of
its head.

  I changed the channel back to the cowboys and Indians. They were all on horses galloping over a flat desert. I couldn’t tell who was chasing who.

  The thing was on the front stairs now, with its long tail trailing in the current. ‘Have you guessed what I am yet? Why I’m here? I’ve come here for you. Because of what you’ve done. I am the consequence.’ I tried not to look over at the door. I tried to ignore it. But it kept calling me: ‘Aaron. You’re the one I want. Come into the water. I want to talk to the great Aaron Aaronson. Man of the Match. The smartest. The bravest.’

  From the corner of my eye I saw long thin fingers at the open doorway. I saw them grip the floor and push further into the room. ‘Come into the water. Or perhaps I’ll come in there with you.’ A face was emerging from the darkness, with teeth like a deep-sea fish and staring human eyes.

  Don’t look at it. Ignore it, I tried to tell myself. I dragged my eyes back to the TV just as a gun fired and the chief Indian fell from his horse. And that was when the power went off. The TV was dead. I was sitting rigid on the couch, the darkness swirling all around me.

  It’s here. It’s here with me.

  I thought about Mum and Pete, straining, hand in hand, the water up to their necks, the current prising them apart. Connor’s lungs closing. Connor rolling helplessly along under the water, Mum calling, diving, calling again. The thing said, ‘I see them,’ and it turned and with a powerful flick of its crocodile’s tail it launched into the water and dived, and then crawled along the submerged road, making its way towards them.

  The lights came back on.

  The Indians were charging through a canyon, the cowboys were hiding among the rocks blazing away with their guns. I looked to the door—no monster, of course. But still I couldn’t move from the couch. You arsehole. You coward, I thought. But what else could I have done? There was nothing.

  I tried to empty my mind. I took everything from my mind and scrumpled it up like a piece of paper and threw it in the rubbish bin. Replaced it with nothingness. A dark void.

  But thoughts kept inching back from the darkness, from the edges of my mind. An ice cream on a sunny day. Soccer in the backyard. The lemon tree. Where do spiders go when it rains? They go inside. They hide in corners and under the couch. No! Empty your mind. Focus on the movie. The cowboys were still shooting. There was only one Indian left. I thought, There’s nothing inside me. The Indian clutched his chest, he fell backwards off his horse. I shut my eyes tight. Then opened them.