Remember Me

by Derek Hansen

  I normally raced home for lunch. If I ate quickly it meant I’d be able to get back to school before the bell that signalled we were allowed out onto the playing field. On this day the bell beat me but I found Eric and my closest school pals still sitting on the bench outside our classroom. Someone had come up with an idea that would test our courage to the full.

  The drain lay beneath a bushy easement, which followed a natural valley all the way down to the harbour. Clarry, who lived at the bottom of Cockburn Street near the easement, claimed he and some pals had managed to lift the cover on a shaft about two hundred yards further along the easement. We all knew about the existence of this shaft. It was one the Water Board workmen rarely accessed and we’d never had any luck lifting off the cover. The possibility that we could get both covers off and explore two hundred yards of the tunnel was electrifying.

  If ever I was tempted to blurt out Mack’s story it was right then. Just imagine how that could’ve added to the excitement. It would have been perfect fuel for our fantasies. But just in the nick of time a warning bell went off reminding me of the last occasion we’d gone down to the drain. It had been raining heavily for days when we got word that the force of water pouring through the drains had blown our manhole cover off, and a six-foot fountain of water was spewing up out of the shaft.

  We raced down on our bikes and looked on in awe. We’d previously discussed what we’d do if a surge of water ever came through while we were underground. This involved scampering up the nearest shaft and hanging on tightly until the danger had passed. That storm not only blew water out of the shaft, it blew away our fanciful escape plans. There was no escape. Nothing focuses the mind quite like fear and the memory was so overwhelming there was no space left for Mack’s story. For the first time since I read my essay to Mack, his story took a back seat.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Richmond Road School is not the best school in Auckland, although we wouldn’t swap it for any other. It only has one playing field where other schools have two or even three. Every lunchtime three games are played simultaneously on the same patch of ground. Some kids play rugby, some league and some play soccer. Sometimes players from different games crash into each other. The girls have four basketball courts covered in asphalt.

  AN EXTRACT FROM ‘MY SCHOOL’

  Eight of us made it to the easement after school. In addition to the core group of Eric, Maxie, Nigel, Gary and me, there were the two regulars from our scratch soccer games, Ken and Clarry, who’d discovered the top could be levered off the other shaft, and Ryan who was the biggest and strongest kid in our class. Ryan was the same age as Nigel and had been held back because he failed the end-of-year exams. He wasn’t smart but he was tough and we all liked him because he slicked his hair back like Elvis Presley and was the closest any of us came to being a rebel.

  Once, when a young and very pretty student teacher took us for art, Ryan became a legend. Told we could paint anything we liked, Ryan unbuttoned and painted his dick then proudly displayed his handiwork to the teacher. She ran screaming from the room. Moments later just about every male teacher in the school came thundering down on Ryan. He copped six of the best and a suspension but reckoned it was worth it. Even Ryan was scared about venturing so far underground, but we covered up our nervousness with exuberance.

  The plan was to explore the tunnel in pairs in a sort of relay. Nigel and Maxie claimed the right to go first. The idea was for them to lever the cover off the second shaft and make their way back to Eric and me waiting by the first shaft. We’d then do the run and hand over to Gary and Clarry, who in turn would hand over to Big Ryan and Ken. Eric and I were left to guard the first shaft once the manhole had been prised off, while the others went off to work on the second manhole cover.

  After waiting about ten minutes Eric and I became convinced (and secretly relieved) that they’d failed to lift the cover off the second shaft. Eric climbed down into the drain to make sure no one was coming.

  ‘Can you hear anything?’ I asked. There was no point in asking if he could see anything because the curve in the drain meant we couldn’t see the light from the second shaft. Without a light source to look at it was hard to tell whether your eyes were open or shut.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Eric. His voice sounded hollow but also had a deadness to it. The drain seemed to funnel sound away. I was thinking about heading down through the bush to join the others when Eric called out.

  ‘Hang on. I can hear someone laughing. They’re coming.’

  I was glad Eric was down in the drain so he didn’t see my face drop. Now there was no way out. I had no choice but to make the return trip. Chickening out was unthinkable, the sort of gutless thing a Pommy would do. Eric stayed down in the drain while Nigel and Maxie climbed out.

  ‘Your turn,’ said Maxie.‘We’ve done it so you have to.’

  ‘Watch out for the rats,’ said Nigel. ‘You don’t know they’re there until they jump onto you.’

  ‘They’re as big as cats,’ said Maxie.

  Their faces were flushed bright red so I knew they’d run most of the way. But they were laughing and if they were laughing it obviously couldn’t be as scary down there as I feared. I climbed into the shaft.

  ‘Run your hand along the wall,’ said Maxie, suddenly serious. ‘It’s the only way. You can’t see a bloody thing.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. I preferred it when they were laughing. Eric stepped back as I reached the bottom rung.

  ‘You go first,’ he said.

  The tunnel had never been so scary. The blackness seemed to swallow everything: light, sound and even life itself. The prospect of going down the tunnel where I couldn’t see any light at all was terrifying.

  ‘No, you,’ I said. ‘You go first.’ Following Eric didn’t seem quite so bad.

  ‘I already bagsed going second,’ said Eric, and he had.

  ‘Just stay close behind, OK?’

  ‘You bet.’

  ‘No chickening out, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘We’re going to jog, OK? Jog quickly.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  I took a deep breath. At least I had Eric with me. I don’t think I would even have climbed down the shaft if I’d had to do it with anyone else—except maybe Gary. I had thought about going through the drain with Gary. His dad had avoided being drowned when his ship went down and I thought maybe the ability to escape drowning ran in the family.

  ‘OK?’ I said again, just to make sure.

  ‘Yeah, let’s go.’ Eric sounded keen to start.

  I started jogging with my left hand out in front of me, sliding along the wall. Part of me wanted to turn back but I knew I’d never live it down if I did. The other part of me wanted to break into a run. The trouble was I couldn’t see a thing in front of my face, and the path, as I said earlier, sloped inwards and downwards towards the half-pipe. Running was out of the question. It was hard enough jogging. I tried to listen for any sound that might suggest a flood of water was on its way but I could hardly hear the sound of my own feet over the pounding in my ears. I couldn’t even hear Eric.

  Couldn’t hear Eric?

  ‘I’m stopping for a breather,’ I said. There was no reply. My heart leaped into my mouth. I’d gone far enough around the bend that I couldn’t see back to the light from the shaft but, even so, I knew Eric wasn’t behind me. I once picked up an electric kettle that was shorting and was blown across the room. Eric’s absence had the same stunning, paralysing effect. He had to be there! I spun around and tentatively started jogging back, scared for me and scared for him, scared he might have fallen and hurt himself, scared of bumping into him or tripping over him, scared of the dark. But then the light from the shaft came into view along with the unmistakable figure of my best pal scampering up the rungs. He was laughing.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I screamed. I heard someone laugh and Eric laugh back. Then I heard another sound. I couldn’t believe it. My mind refused to accept it.

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p; ‘What are you doing?’ This time I didn’t scream. I shrieked. There was no mistaking what I’d heard. The light from the shaft narrowed and disappeared. Unbelievably they’d shut me in the drain. I’d been scared before but at that moment I understood exactly what blind panic was.

  I turned and jogged towards the second shaft. It dawned on me that I had to get there before anyone up top did in case they closed that shaft as well. Panic wanted me to ignore everything and just run. But it was impossible. It’s impossible to run hard when you can’t see where you’re going and you’re scared of running into something. And it’s impossible to run when fear has you holding your breath. When I was finally forced to suck air into my lungs it was hard to know whether I was gasping or sobbing. I kept my hand against the wall and tentatively upped the speed, hoping at any moment to see the light from the second shaft. Every fraction of a second I couldn’t convinced me the others had got there first. Suddenly I could see it. When you’ve been staring into total darkness it’s amazing how bright a weak shaft of light can appear and how welcome. Relief flooded over me. It was over. I’d made it. Solo. I’d passed the test. I almost smiled. Then, as I closed to within ten yards of the rungs I heard that dreaded sound again.

  ‘No!’ I screamed.

  If anyone heard me they took no notice. The scraping of iron on concrete ceased just as I reached the rungs. Once again I was in pitch darkness. I clawed my way up the rungs faster than I’d ever climbed before and punched my fist against the manhole cover. I could’ve fired a cannon at it and no one would’ve heard a thing through the five inches of cast iron. This time there was no holding back the tears. I sobbed uncontrollably like the weak, lily-livered Pommy that I was. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to die.

  I climbed back down the rungs. I knew they’d expect me to run all the way back to the first shaft. My only hope was they’d had enough fun and this time they’d let me out. I’d only just turned back when I noticed things had changed. The air in the tunnel felt different, sort of colder and damper. My first thought was that it was because I was running in the opposite direction. But then I felt a slight breeze and my fear ratcheted up to a level I never thought possible. We’d talked about it and we’d all agreed. If a flood of water were to come down the tunnel it would push air in front of it. We all reckoned you’d feel it coming before you heard it. In that instant I reckoned I’d felt it.

  My mind filled with movie images of sea water rushing into stricken submarines and the screams of sailors. I knew with blinding clarity exactly what would happen. If I was wary about running flat out before I wasn’t any more. I knew there was nothing to bump into and my feet had got used to the sloped walkway. I bolted. I ran for my life. Captain Biggs had always encouraged us to say silent prayers when we were in danger and to ask for God’s help to get out of whatever trouble we’d got ourselves into. Of course implicit with the calls for His Divine Assistance were the trade-offs that went with them. For example, I promise to go to church every Sunday for a full year if only I get saved. I promise to put out the hymnbooks and kneeling pads every Sunday, and put them away after the service. I promise to put half of my pocket money into the collection plate. I promise I’ll never again sneak under the girls’ dressing sheds for a peep. I promise not to dream of Sister Glorious in the nude ever again. I ran, cried, prayed and promised with all of my might, my head filled with visions of fountains of water erupting from the shaft, of my lifeless body being swept along the drain at one hundred miles an hour, of my pals all standing around my muddy body feeling mightily sorry for what they’d done.

  I’d run hard but there was still no pool of light in front of me. I had no real idea how far I’d come but I thought I’d run far enough. At that moment my hand collided with steel. I knew immediately where I was and grabbed hold of a rung with a mixture of desperation and despair. My feet slipped from under me and into the half-pipe. There wasn’t the slightest doubt. The flow of water had increased. I couldn’t believe it! The water was rising and the manhole cover was still in place. My only chance for salvation was blocked by five inches of solid iron.

  It suddenly occurred to me that my pals might have got bored, gone home and left me there, or gone to play on the rope swing nearby. I was doomed. I was going to end up in Coxs Creek. I was never going to see Mum and Dad again. I don’t know what it was that came up out of my throat next; a wail of despair or a shriek of sheer terror. I was as good as dead. I started climbing up the rungs, clinging to whatever hopes I could muster. Maybe the water level wouldn’t rise all the way to the top of the tunnel. Maybe my pals would come back for me. I still couldn’t believe Nigel had left me there. What would he tell Mum? He’d never get away with it. Dad would kill him. I couldn’t believe Eric would leave me there, either. But my brother and my best pal had been in on it from the start. My hand touched the manhole cover. I’d climbed as high as I could go. There was nothing more I could do except wait for the water to come and take me. And add to the flood with my tears.

  Even when I heard the grate of iron on concrete I couldn’t stop crying. I tried, God help me. The manhole cover slipped back in place twice as they tried to lever it off. That wasn’t all that unusual, but in that brief delay the wave of relief that had engulfed me was matched by an equally large surge of anger. For once I didn’t care that my pals could see me crying. For once I didn’t care about their taunts. I was going to get even. And this Pommy kid knew how.

  ‘You bastards,’ I screamed as I climbed out of the manhole. ‘The water’s rising!’

  That stopped them. I knew it would. It was bad enough that they’d trapped me down there. That went against all the rules. But to trap me while the water was rising was unthinkable. And unforgivable. Guilt and fear hit them in equal measure because each of them knew exactly what I’d say next. And I said it.

  ‘I’m going to tell Dad on you.’

  There was nothing they could say to stop me. They all knew they’d gone way too far. They all knew the consequences. I’d told on them before.

  ‘I’m going to check,’ said Maxie. I could hear the fear in his voice, we all could, but I was the only one who felt good about it. He climbed down into the shaft. The others immediately recognised the thin thread of hope and clung to it. They clustered around the hole anxiously. I started walking home. My crying calmed to intermittent sobs and I used my sleeves to dry my eyes. Now that I was out of danger I was more intent on getting even. Dad wouldn’t just belt the daylights out of Nigel, in his no-nonsense north-country way he’d go to see each of the boys’ fathers and make sure they got a belting as well. My pals had every right to be scared. I guess I’d got a hundred-yard start before they came after me. They circled me like scared dogs; they didn’t want to let me go home but were unwilling to stop me in case it made matters worse.

  ‘The water’s only come up as far as the walkway,’ said Maxie. ‘You weren’t in any danger.’

  ‘The walkway,’ echoed the others. ‘You weren’t in any trouble.’

  I ignored them.

  ‘We’re sorry,’ said Ken. ‘Please don’t tell your dad. It was just a joke.’

  Some joke.

  ‘I wasn’t in on it,’ said Gary. ‘I was the one who made them take the cover off.’

  I believed him but was in no mood to be charitable.

  ‘Dad’ll belt you, too,’ said Nigel. ‘It stands to reason. He’ll belt you for going down the drain in the first place.’ His voice always seemed to jump an octave when he was scared.

  ‘We were only teasing,’ said Eric. His father had a big leather strop he threatened Maxie and him with. No wonder he was worried. ‘We wouldn’t have tricked you if you’d let us have the soccer ball the other day. We were just getting even.’

  I knew immediately what day he was referring to—the day I’d stayed home to work on ‘The Burden of Responsibility’. When they’d asked for the ball I’d refused to hand it over because I didn’t want it to get all wet and soggy. I figured they’d tha
nk me for it later. A fair part of my acceptance hinged around my soccer ball. The boy with the bat or ball is always popular so I’d begged and pleaded until my parents gave me one for Christmas. It pushed their budget to the limit and came with the stern admonition to ‘look after it’. I looked after it as though it were a holy relic because I knew with absolute certainty that if I lost it there’d be no replacement. I was the only one who looked after things. Give Nigel a soccer ball and you’d be lucky if it lasted a year. The stitching split on the last one he’d had after just six months. And Maxie lost the footy he got for his birthday after just three months. He left it down the park one day and that was that. If I didn’t look after my ball we’d have nothing at all to play with. I stopped walking and stared at Eric incredulously. They’d trapped me down in the drain for doing the right thing and looking after my ball? Clearly they’d been looking for ways to get even ever since. To say I was staggered was the understatement of the year. I decided right then that I’d never let them play with my ball again. Never. That would show them.

  By then I was nearing the top of Cockburn Street and I still hadn’t said a word since leaving the easement. Clarry, Ken, Gary and even Big Ryan had dropped off and slunk home, all hoping the others would somehow talk me out of telling Dad. Ryan’s dad had been to gaol and we all reckoned he’d get hit harder than any of us. As tough as he was, Ryan was almost in tears when he sloped off.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Eric. I could see he was. ‘We didn’t know the water would rise. We didn’t think of that. We wouldn’t have done it if we’d known that.’

  So it was OK to trap me down there alone in the darkness so long as the water didn’t rise? What if there’d been hoary, great rats or giant eels or, worse, some kind of prehistoric monster? Eric’s role hurt me most of all. We were supposed to be inseparable, pals for life.