by Markus Zusak
“Hello, Simon. Ruben here.” “Ruben. How are you?” “I’m well. Y’ comin’ over?”
“Why not indeed. That sounds convenient enough.” “Get Cheese an’ Jeff.”
“Right.”
“Good-bye.” “Good-bye.”
When they made it to our place, we got a fully fledged game going.
Over and ov, we hammered the ball into the fence, making the most of the time we had before Mum and Dad got home. You should have heard it. Smash. Smash. The ball at both ends was killing it and the sound echoed around everywhere, followed by the shrieks and the swearing.
My team was Jeff, Greg, and myself and we were actually winning, even though we were smaller and weaker than Rube’s team. It was our hunger.
Four–two it was when next-door’s dog stopped barking.
“Stop, stop!” I shouted when I noticed. “You hear that?”
“What?”
“The dog.”
“Hey, yeah. It’s stopped barkin’.” I climbed up the fence and peeked over, and you won’t believe what I saw. The dog was dead.
“Geez, I think it’s dead,” I said, looking back at everyone else.
“What!?”
“I’m tellin’ y’s. Come have a look.”
Rube climbed up next to me and could only agree.
“Bloody ‘ell, I think he’s right,” he laughed back down to the others. “I think we’ve given the poor bloody thing a heart attack.”
“Y’ sure?”
“Or a stroke.”
“Oh no,” I said. “What have we done?” “What sort of dog is it?” Rube had had enough.
“I don’t bloody know!” he yelled down at Cheese. “I think it’s a, a —”
“Pomeranian,” I answered for him.
“What the hell’s a Pomeranian?”
“You know,” Cheese explained to the others, “one of those fluffy rodent-lookin’ things … I guess he just barked till he couldn’t take it anymore.”
Even the parrots over in the cage were looking morosely down at the dog.
“We’ve gotta do somethin’,” I said to Rube. “Like what? Give it mouth to mouth?” “Look, it’s shakin’.” “Oh, this is lovely, ay.”
I jumped over and took off my flanno shirt and wrapped up the dog. Rube came over and the rest of the fellas looked over the fence as we stroked the fluffy rodent-looking dog, wondering if it really was about to die.
After about fifteen minutes, our next-door neighbor came home — a fifty-year-old fella with a mouth fouler than all of us put together. He showed a lot of restraint, to tell you the truth as he raced out back, called us a few names, picked up the Pomeranian — whose name was Miffy by the way — and took it to the vet.
“Y’ think it’ll live?” we asked each other, back at our place.
“Mate, I d’know.”
Gradually, everyone left. Greg was last. “Man.” He shook his head on his way out. “I’d forgotten what it’s like round here.” “Old times, ay?” “Yeah,” he nodded. “Chaos.” “Absolutely.”
It really had been like old times, but I knew it was fruitless to think it would go on. We both knew that the next time he came over would be to pay either some or all of my money back. It was just the way things were.
In the evening, something I knew was coming came. The neighbor.
He came over telling Mum and Dad that they couldn’t control Rube and me, and because Rube was the only one out of us with any money left, he was the one who paid the man’s vet bill.
Miffy the Pomeranian, by the way, was okay. It was just a very mild heart attack. Poor rodent midget dog.
It was all pretty much the last straw for our mother, though.
She had us sitting at the kitchen table and she circled us, shouting and telling us off like you wouldn’t believe. She even held the wooden spoon under our noses, even though she hadn’t hit us with it since I was ten. I tell you, she looked ready to wrap it around our heads.
“Why do you keep doing this!?” she screamed at us. “Giving each other black eyes, giving bloody neighbors’ dogs heart attacks. It’s a disgrace…. I’m ashamed of you both. Again!”
Even Dad could only sit in the corner, completely silent. He didn’t dare to speak himself for fear of being the next to be set upon.
At the end, she really went crazy, getting the compost off the kitchen sink, and instead of taking it outside to put it in her compost bin, she threw it to the floor, picked it up, and threw it down again, this time at my feet.
“You’re like animals!” she shouted with even more volume than earlier. Then she said the thing that always seems to hurt the most: “Grow up!”
Needless to say, Rube and I cleaned up the mess and took it outside and stayed out there. We didn’t dare to go back in.
From her bedroom window, Sarah looked out at us and smiled, shaking her head through her suffering. She was laughing, which made us laugh a bit ourselves. It made Rube find his resolve again and say, “We’re still gettin’ Patterson. Make no mistake about that.” “We’ve gotta,” I agreed.
After a longer while, I reflected on the day’s proceedings, because now I owed Rube half the vet’s bill as well. Things had really gone downhill, I promise you“Damn that Pomeranian,” I suggested. “Huh,” Rube snorted. “Pomeranian with a weak heart. It could only happen to us, ay.”
There’s a guy in front of me on a dirt road at sunrise. He looks at me. I look at him.
We stand, maybe ten meters apart, until finally I decide to break the silence. I say, “So?”
“So what?” comes his reply. He’s wearing a robe and scratches his beard and tries to get a stone out of one of his sandals.
“Well, I don’t know,” I think to say. “Who the hell are you, for starters?” He smiles. Laughs. Stands.
When he’s ready, he repeats the question and answers it: “Who the hell am I?” A brief laugh. “I’m Christ.” “Christ? You actually exist?” “Of course I bloody do.” I decide to test Him. “So who am I, then?”
“I’m not interested in who you are,” and He walks toward me along the road, still trying to get that pebble out of His sandal. “Bloody sandals.” He scuffs, then continues. “Actually, I’m interested in what you are.”
“Which is?”
“Miserable.”
“Yeah.” I shrug in agreement.
“I can help,” He goes on, and I’m expecting Him now to give me the usual line all those scripture teachers give us on their annual pilgrimage to our school. He doesn’t.
Instead, He hands me a bottle with red liquid in it and motions with hands saying, “Bottoms up” for me to drink it.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Wine.” “Yeah?”
“Actually, no, it’s red cordial — you’re too young to be drinking.”
“Aah, y’ wet blanket.”
“Hey, don’t blame me. It’s not my fault, I’m telling you. It was me old man who wouldn’t let me give you the real thing. So you can blame Him.”
“Okay, okay … What’s up with Him anyway?”
“Ah, He’s been under a lot of pressure lately.”
“The Middle East?”
“Yeah, they’re at it again.” He comes closer and whispers, “Just between you and me, He was close to calling the whole thing off last week.
“What? The world?” “Yep.”
“Christ almighty!”
Christ’s face looks disappointed at my words. “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” I say. “That sort of talk’s no good, ay.”
“No worries. Look.” Jesus has decided it’s time to get down to business. “I really came to give you this.”
He pulls something out of a robe pocket and I ask,
“What’s that?”
“Oh, it’s just some ointment.” He hands it to me. “For the bleeding nose.”
“Oh, great. Thanks very much.”
CHAPTER 12
If you’re wondering if we ever did get our mate Bruce Patterson, well, we didn’t
. We planned it out and everything, but we just never went through with it. There were more important issues at hand at home, like the frostiness that was afforded to Rube and me by Mum and Dad. They were obviously pretty unhappy about the kind of lives we were leading, and the way we had this knack of em
barrassing them. You might also think that this frostiness may have dampened our enthusiasm for somehow getting back at Bruce for Sarah, but it didn’t. Not really. Steve told us to let it go as well. He was back to his “I’m better than you people” routine and he told us we were idiots. It all intimidated me just a little, but not Rube. He was as keen as ever, and he truly believed that we weren’t responsible for next-door’s dog having a heart attack. He explained to me that we couldn’t help it if the stupid mutt was weak as water.
“Hell, it’s not illegal to play soccer in your own backyard, is it?” he asked me. “I guess not.” “You know not.”
“I s’pose.”
Stewing over it for a few days, Rube finally came into our room and told me what the plan was and what it all meant. He said, “Cam, this is gonna be my last job.” You’d think the guy was Al Capone or something. “See, after this last effort, I’m retiring from the robbery, thieving, vandalism game.”
“How can you retire if you never even had a career?”
“Ah, shut up, will y’. I admit I’ve had my ups and downs, but it’s gotta stop right here. I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but I’ve gotta grow up.”
I thought for a while, in disbelief, then asked, “So what are we doin’?”
“Simple” was the answer. “Eggs.”
“Ah, come on.” I turned away. can do a lot better than lousy eggs.”
“No, we can’t,” and this was the first time I’d heard Rube speak on this subject with reality in his voice. “The truth, mate, is that we’re hopeless.”
To this I could only nod. I then said, “All right,” and it was decided that we would go to Bruce Patterson’s house on Friday night and egg that beautiful red car of his. Maybe his front door and windows too. I was truly glad as well that this was the last time because I was getting sick of it.
Another unavoidable fact also made this whole thing harder than it should have been. It was the fact that I still couldn’t get my mind off Rebecca Conlon. I just couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. I thought of her and wondered if she would be there this week, or if she would be off again, having a life without me. It hurt sometimes, while at others I convinced myself that it was all far too risky. Just look at Bruce and Sarah, I told myself. I bet that guy was as obsessed with Sarah as I am with this other girl, and I bet he promised himself never to hurt her, just like I’ve been doin’ — and look what he’s done to her. He’s left her a crumpled mess, lyin’ on her bed all the time.
When Friday evening came, I think Rube and I were too tired to go through with it. We were sick of ourselves, and with two cartons of eggs sitting in our room, we decided not to go.
“Ah, well, that’s it, then.” Rube said it. “If you have to think about it so long, it isn’t worth doin’.”
“Well, what are we gonna do with all these eggs?” I asked.
“Eat‘em, I s’pose.”
“What? Twelve each?”
“I guess.”
For the time being, we left the eggs under Rube’s bed, but I myself still took a trip out to Bruce’s place.
I went down there after dinner and walked past his car and imagined myself throwing eggs at it. The thought was ridiculous, to say the least.
It made me laugh as I knocked on the door, though the smile was wiped off my face when a girl I assumed was Sarah’s replacement answered. She opened up and stared at me through the flyscreen.
“Bruce around?” I asked her.
She nodded. “You wanna come in?”
“Nah, I’ll be right.” I waited out on the porch.
When Bruce saw me, he looked pretty confused. It wasn’t like he and I had been good mates or anything. It wasn’t like we had a pool and he’d thrown me around in it or as if we’d kicked footballs around together. No, we’d barely even talked, and I could see he was afraid that I might be here to give him a serve. I wasn’t.
All I did was wa for him to come out of the house so we could talk. Just one question. That was all I had, as we leaned on his front railing, looking onto the street.
I asked it.
“When you first met my sister … did you promise yourself never to hurt her?”
There was silence for a while, but then he answered. He said, “Yeah, I did,” and after a few more seconds, I left.
He called out, “Hey, Cameron.” I turned around. “How is she?”
I smiled, raising my head, resolute. “She’s okay. She’s good.”
He nodded and I told him, “See y’ later.” “Yeah, see y’ later, mate.”
At home, the night wasn’t finished. An act not of vandalism but of symbolism was to occur.
At around eight-thirty, Rube walked into our room and something was different. What was it? His beard was gone.
When he presented his post-animal face to the rest of the family, there were claps and sighs of relief. No more animalistic face. No more animalistic behavior.
I myself kept hearing Bruce Patterson telling me that he had promised to never hurt my sister. It hunted me, even as I sat through an extremely violent movie on TV. I kept hearing his voice, and I wondered if I would ever hurt Rebecca Conlon if she would let me get near her in the first place. I was hunted all night.
It’s jungle and I’m with her. I can’t see her face, but I know I’m with Rebecca Conlon. I lead her by the hand and we are moving very fast, ducking around twisted trees whose fingers are branches spread like cracked ceiling under gray sky.
“Faster,” I tell her.
“Why?” is her reply.
“Because he’s coming.”
“Who’s coming?”
I don’t answer her because I don’t know. The only thing I am completely sure of is that I can hear footsteps behind us through the jungle. I can hear a hunching forward, coming after us.
“Come on,” I say to her again.
We come to a river and plunge in, wading hurriedly across the freezing cold water.
On the other side, I see something upriver and I lead her there. It’s a cave that crouches down amongst some heavy trees above the water.
We go in. No words. No “In here.”
She smiles, relieved.
I don’t see
I know it.
We sit down right in the back corner of the cave, and we hear the meditative water of the river outside, climbing down, down. Slow. Real. Knowing.
She falls.
Asleep.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, and I feel her in my arms. My own eyes try to sleep as well, but they don’t. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought. I can’t even hear the river anymore.
When.
The figure enters the cave. He walks in and pauses. He sees. Us.
He has a weapon. He looks. Smiles.
Even though I can’t see his face, I know he smiles. “What do you want?” I ask, afraid but quiet so I won’t wake the girl in my arms.
The figure says nothing. He keeps stepping forward. Slow. Reeling. No.
There’s a sound, like a slit, and smoke rises from the weapon the figure is holding. It rises up to his face and wraps itself around it. It tells me that something terrible has happened, and Rebecca Conlon stirs slightly on my lap.
A match is struck.
Light.
I look at her.
Know!
This.
She’s hurt, for sure, because I see blood dripping from her heart. Slow. Real.
I look up. The figure holds the lit match and I see his face. His eyes and lips and expression belong to me.
“But you promised,” I tell him, and I scream, to try and wake up. I need to wake up and know that I woul
d never ever hurt her.
CHAPTER 13
As usual, Dad and I went to work on Saturday, at the Conlon place.
Rather than keep you in suspense (if you even still care by now), I might as well let you know that this time she was there, and she was as brilliant as ever.
I was still working under the house when she came
to me.
“Hey, I missed you last week,” I said when she showed, and immediately chastised myself in my head — the statement was so ambiguous. I mean, did it mean I missed you as in I just didn’t see you (which was the intended message), or did it mean I was really heartbroken that you weren’t here, y’ stupid bitch? I wasn’t sure what me I was sending out. Overall, I could only hope she thought I was saying we just didn’t see each other. You can’t seem too desperate in a situation like that, even if your heart is annihilating you from the inside.
She said, “Well …” God, she said it with that voice that made her real. “I wasn’t here on purpose.” What the hell was this? “What?” I dared to ask. “You heard.” She grinned. “I wasn’t here …”
“Because of me?”
She nodded.
Was this bad or good?
It sounded bad. Very bad.
But then, it also sounded good, in some sick, twisted way. Was she having me on? No.
“I didn’t wanna be here because I was” — she swallowed — “scared to make a fool out of myself — like last time.”
“Last time?” I asked, confused. “Wasn’t it me who said something stupid?” It was me all right, who said, “I like workin’ here.” I remembered it and cringed.
We were both crouched down under the house and these wooden beams hovered over us, warning us that one loss of concentration would leave our heads nice and bruised. I made sure not to stand up straight.
“At least you said something.” She pushed her argument.
Suddenly, something poured out of me.
I said, “I wouldn’t hurt you. Well, at least I’d try like hell not to. I promise.”
“Pardon?” She stepped away a bit. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if … Did you have an okay weekend last week?” Drivel. Drivel talk.