by Tim Winton
‘Oh, don’t listen to Nan and Pop. That’s crap, Sarge.’
‘You heard all that then? I thought you were asleep. Oh, gawd.’
‘Anyway,’ said Lockie, pulling the plug, ‘can I see her?’
The Sarge sniffed at his ragged teatowel, thinking it over.
‘We’ll go in tomorrow.’
‘Really?’
‘What do you want me to say, “We’ll see”?’
ext day, while Lockie was feeding Phillip and Blob soggy pikelets, the Sarge pulled up in the paddywagon and came inside with an armful of paperwork. He had a young constable with him, a bloke who looked like he should still be in high school. The Sarge beckoned Lockie toward the bedroom.
‘Okay,’ said the Sarge with the door closed, ‘I’ve got it teed up with the hospital. They’re not thrilled but they’ll let you go in and see your mum for a little while. Wingnut out there will run you round in the van and bring you back. I’ll stay here and hold the fort. But don’t be long, though, mate. I’m stretched as it is.’
‘Thanks, Sarge. I really—’
‘Go on, git!’ Lockie was halfway out the door when the Sarge caught his arm. ‘And Lockie, just remember’
‘What?’
The Sarge chewed his lower lip. It looked about as appetising as one of Lockie’s pikelets.
‘Doesn’t matter. Hop to it.’
It wasn’t far to the hospital but to Lockie it seemed like a drive across the Nullarbor Plain. Constable Wingnut didn’t say a word. Lockie looked out through the shiny new windscreen and tried to convince himself that he didn’t desperately need to go to the toilet. He told himself he was sweating because it was hot in the cop car. He wasn’t packing death at all.
When they pulled into the hospital carpark Lockie had a sudden urge not to get out of the car. Maybe I could sit here for a bit and chew the ole fat with Wingnut, he thought. Play a long game of Monopoly, perhaps. Practise my multiplication tables backwards. Anything.
‘In you go,’ said Wingnut, doing his best to sound like a grown-up and a policeman.
‘Yeah, right,’ murmured Lockie. ‘Okay.’
‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’
‘Great.’
‘That silver thing there is the door handle.’
‘Ah’, said Lockie, quickly deciding that Wingnut was a butthead.
Lockie got out and walked up to the auto doors. He saw his face in the glass and it wasn’t a pretty sight. He looked crook and pale and his single lonely pimple stood out like a streaker at the footy.
The doors opened. A gust of antiseptic air blew in his face and he felt six years old again, six years old and not quite understanding what was going on around him, puzzled by so much sadness.
Lockie shuffled up to a huge glassed-in desk that looked like a sentry post. A woman with wide-screen specs looked down at him. Her eyes swam like goldfsh.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Urn, I’m here to see me mum?’
‘Oh. You must be Lockie.’
‘I must be.’
‘Well, are you?’
Lockie’s mind went blank. ‘Can you repeat the question?’ Man, he was nervous. He didn’t know whether to throw up or faint.
The woman behind the specs smiled at him kindly. ‘Don’t worry. You’re thinking it’s going to be like One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, right?’
Lockie stood there open-mouthed.
‘You know? The movie with Jack Nicholson.’
‘Sorry. Never heard of it.’
‘Maybe you’re too young. Anyway, just relax. A nurse from D-block is coming down to get you.’
A huge bloke the size of a fullback came into the lobby.
‘Lockie, is it?’
Lockie nodded.
‘I’m Bob.’
‘Oh,’ said Lockie. ‘They said there was a nurse coming.’
‘I am the nurse.’
‘Oh.’ Aaaarggghhh! Death and untold embarrassment!
‘We’re heading out this way,’ said Nurse Bob, pointing down a corridor.
‘Right.’
Lockie followed down the long, lifeless corridor.
‘Your mum’s down here in Room 5. She’s terrific, isn’t she?’
‘Yes,’ said Lockie with feeling. ‘She is.’
Suddenly, a wheelchair lurched out of a doorway into their path.
‘Archie! Bob, it’s Archie!’
The guy in the wheelchair was grey and skinny. He had a ratty beard. His wiry arms were covered in tattoos and he had a pirate patch over one eye. He laughed madly and Lockie saw there were three teeth left in his head. And bad breath you only dream about.
‘Alright, Monster,’ said Bob the nurse. ‘We’ll be back in a minute.’
They worked their way round him and headed on down the hall.
‘Who was that?’ said Lockie.
‘Monster? Oh, he’s a bit of a regular. Used to be a big biker. He’s kind of fried his brains with drugs and booze.’
‘And who’s Archie?’
‘Whoever he is, Monster’s always real glad to see him. He’s harmless, Lockie. Just lonely.’
They came to Room 5. The door was open. Inside there were two beds. In the bed closest to the door was a girl sleeping with a tube going into her arm. She was a skeleton. Her face was all bones. She looked dead. Beside the second bed, in a chair by the window, was his mum, Joy Leonard. She wore a pink robe and a pair of sheepskin boots. Her hair was neatly brushed and when she turned from the window and saw him her face lit up like a pinball machine.
‘Lockie.’
Lockie stood there. His heart did a drum solo in his throat. He didn’t move.
‘Well, Joy,’ said Bob. ‘He’s something, isn’t he?’
‘He’s something alright.’
‘I’ll be back in a while,’ said Bob slipping away.
Lockie stood there like a one-legged seagull. His mum looked a little puffy in the face but she seemed normal enough. But what was he expecting, a lunatic in a straitjacket? He’d been wanting to see her so long and now he was absolutely stuck for words.
‘Come over here,’ she said, smiling a little. ‘Sit here by the window. Look, you can just see the ocean.’
Lockie went over to the window. A wedge of green sea showed between rooftops and trees and hills.
‘It helps, you know. Being able to see it.’
Lockie understood how it would help. Just the sight of the ocean could calm his nerves. But right now he felt totally weird. He was scared of his own mother. When she took him by the hand he flinched.
‘It’s okay, Lockie. I’m still me.’
Lockie blushed like a stoplight. ‘I’m just scared of saying the wrong thing,’ he blurted. Then he grabbed her and hugged her and did his best not to bawl all over her dressing gown. After a while he pulled back, wiped his eyes and laughed at himself.
‘Geez, what a dork I am.’
‘Is everyone alright at home?’
‘Yeah, yeah we’re fine. Well, actually it’s a real battle you know . . . well of course you know because you’ve had all that practice and . . . and I’m just crapping on, aren’t I?’
Lockie’s mum held his hand and squeezed it.
‘I . . . I just wanted to see you, Mum.’
She nodded.
‘I was just so ashamed of myself for yelling at you that time. I was an absolute buttbrain and I sort of had to tell you I was sorry. I just didn’t know. Not that it should make any difference. Anyway, you just take your time and get some rest, okay?’
‘Okay.’
They sat there with the light of the outside world on their faces.
‘What’s it like?’ asked Lockie. ‘How you feel.’
She looked toward that tiny slice of sea and sighed. ‘It’s like a bad dream you can’t seem to wake up from. You know it’s a dream, you know the things you feel aren’t quite real, and you want to wake up from the dream but you can’t.’
‘Sounds like my lov
e life.’
‘No, I’m not that crazy.’
They laughed quietly, hugging for a moment.
‘Today’s a good day,’ she murmured. ‘It goes up and down. The drugs make me all woozy—I hate it—but it’s been a lot worse.’
Bob reappeared at the door. Lockie’s heart sank. There were so many things he wanted to say, things to ask.
‘Maybe I could come again?’
‘Come every day. And twice on Tuesdays.’
‘Why Tuesdays?’ he said, puzzled.
She smiled. ‘Why not Tuesdays?’
‘Yeah,’ he grinned. ‘Why not?’
‘I’ll take you down, Lockie,’ said Bob.
‘What’s wrong with that girl in Mum’s room?’ said Lockie to Bob as they walked back through the ward.
‘Anorexia. Poor kid’s starving herself to death.’
‘But why?’
‘Ah, now there’s a question.’
Out into the corridor came the hurtling wheelchair.
‘Archie! I knew you’d come.’
‘Come on, Monster,’ said Bob. ‘Leave us some room.’
‘Good ole Archie, eh?’
Lockie tried to smile but it was a sad effort.
‘Archie’s gotta go now, Monster. He’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘Bring the boys, Arch! We’ll tear the place up. Rock and ROLL!’
‘No worries,’ said Lockie uncertainly. ‘See ya.’
Bob took Lockie back to the reception area.
‘What’s wrong with Monster’s legs?’ asked Lockie.
‘Nothing.’
‘Well, how come the wheelchair?’
‘Reckons he needs to be on two wheels. It’s not exactly Easy Rider, but it makes him happy.’
Lockie looked out through the glass doors to where Constable Wingnut was waiting. ‘Life’s weird, eh.’
‘My oath it is,’ said Bob.
ll afternoon Phillip sulked about Lockie’s visit to the hospital. He wouldn’t come out of his room, refused to help with Blob and played ‘Three Blind Mice’ on his recorder until Lockie was ready to nail up the bedroom door and leave him there for archaeologists to find in a thousand years. See how they run, see how they run . . . Aaarghh!
You couldn’t blame poor Phillip, though. It was a major bummer being a younger brother and getting left out of things, but Phillip made such a bodacious bottom-head of himself about it that Lockie just ran out of sympathy.
By four o’clock Lockie just couldn’t stand it any longer. The endless ‘Three Blind Mice’ sent him out onto the verandah with Blob on his hip. It was time for a walk. Let Phillip blow himself blue. As he stepped out, he nearly tripped over a big silver pot on the doorstep. He bent down and lifted the lid. A gust of sweet, garlicky richness rose in his face. Spaghetti Bolognese.
‘Ah, spag bog! Blob, it’s me absolute fave. We got ourselves a guardian angel.’
Lockie looked out over the hideously depressing swamp that was their front yard and wondered who it could be. He felt Blob drooling down his arm. She bucked and wrassled and wriggled to get at the steaming spag but Lockie clamped the lid shut.
‘Not now, Blob, We’ll wait for dinner. This’ll smoke the Pied Piper out.’
Lockie hid the food in the shed and took Blob for a walk around the gorgeous wetlands of the yard. The fresh air and the swamp gas did him some good.
When Lockie put the pot on the stove that night, Phillip came shooting out of his room like a rat from a waterpipe.
‘Hmm,’ said the Sarge with bolognese sauce all over his uniform. ‘The mystery continues.’
‘It’s probably those Meals-on-Wheels people,’ said Phillip. ‘Now that we’re a charity case.’
‘Phillip’s been cracking a sad,’ said Lockie. ‘Don’t pay any attention.’
Blob sneezed and an oily strand of spaghetti shot out of her nose. Lockie, Phillip and the Sarge stopped and stared in amazement. She really was a wonder, that kid.
‘So, how was she?’ the Sarge asked when Lockie and he were alone.
Lockie pulled his fingers through his hair. ‘Okay, I guess.’
‘She’s heaps better. Take it from me.’
‘Anyway, it was great to see her. I feel kind of better about it. Can I go back?’
‘The staff said it was okay. I’ll send Wingnut around again at lunchtime.’
‘Cool.’
‘It’s a strange thing, life. All you want is some simple answers, but they don’t always turn up.’
Lockie looked at him. The Sarge looked so much older these days. It hurt to watch.
he rest of that week before school was complete chaos. Life at the Leonard place was utterly shambolic. Lockie ran from stove to nappy bucket to washing machine while Blob bawled and Phillip whined. Just to make things perfect, the rain fell day and night. Ah, the sultry southern summer!
‘Archie!’ yelled Monster from his wheelchair. ‘Me ole china plate, I knew you’d come!’
Lockie bolted down the corridor nearly cleaning up the lunch trolley in his haste.
His mum cried for half an hour and didn’t talk at all.
Blob got her head stuck between the bars of her cot and she screamed so hard Lockie and Phillip had to use a hacksaw to get her out. Blob was delighted by the new gap. Her own private escape hatch. After that there was no way of keeping her in. Serious bummer.
‘I think I’ll be home tomorrow,’ said Lockie’s mum next day. ‘I feel good today. Like the cloud has passed.’
Outside it was raining endlessly.
Lockie grinned. ‘That’s great, Mum! Can’t wait to tell the others.’
But Mrs Leonard’s cloud came back and she stayed in the hospital and the fog of the pills.
Phillip brought home a stray dog with one eye and horrible BO. Lockie wasn’t keen but Phillip really took to the mutt so he let him keep it. Phillip washed the filthy black mange-mound in the bathtub and the whole bathroom was splattered with foul hound-pubes. Then, when he was trying to rub the pooch down with his own bath-towel, the dog bolted out of the bathroom, tore through the house, ate the lounge curtains and hacked a hole through the screen door, never to be seen again.
‘What a mongrel of a thing to happen,’ said Lockie.
Phillip was not amused.
Lockie gave up pretending that he wasn’t Archie. Monster and he had little talks about the intricate workings of the Harley Davidson organism and about the bad ole days when the two of them had cruised on down the highway, trashing everything in their path.
‘Remember Pig, Arch?’
Lockie leaned against Monster’s doorframe. ‘Uh, oh yeah. Pig. What an animal.’
‘Hundred and eighty kilos. Complete animal. But one of nature’s gentlemen.’
Whatever you say, Monster, thought Lockie.
‘And that time we rode into Bunbury?’
‘Sure,’ said Lockie, making it up as he went along. ‘I . . . uh, I stacked my hog.’
‘Did you?’
‘Uh, didn’t I?’
‘What a time.’
‘Yeah, what a time. Listen, Monster, I gotta go and pick up some . . . uh, spare parts. You know . . . grease nipples and stuff.’
‘No problem. Cop you tomorrow, Arch.’
Lockie strode on down the hall like Mister Biker. He was getting to like being Archie for a couple of minutes every day. Born to be wild. Well, wild-ish.
‘Lockie ?’
‘Hm?’
Lockie watched his mum staring out at her little wedge of green sea. She looked bleary today. She moved in slow motion.
‘If anything happened to me, would you stick by your dad and help him with the kids?’
‘Nothing’s gonna happen to you,’ said Lockie, feeling sick.
‘But you’d stick by the Sarge?’
‘Course.’
‘Good. That’s good,’ she murmured.
Lockie stared at the skeleton of the anorexic girl. She never said a word. It freaked him out.
>
Nurse Bob put his head in the door. ‘How’s tricks?’
Lockie shrugged. ‘Okay. I s’pose.’
‘She’s getting better,’ said Bob in a whisper.
‘Yeah,’ said Lockie. Sure.
At two in the morning, Lockie got up for a drink. He found the Sarge standing in front of the open fridge in his PJs.
‘If you’re looking for a lamb roast and half an apple pie, you’ll be disappointed,’ said Lockie.
‘Hm?’
The Sarge’s face was white from the light of the refrigerator.
‘What’re you doin’?’
‘Thinking.’
‘Nice spot.’
‘Yep.’
‘You alright?’
‘No,’ said the Sarge. ‘I’m coming to bits. I feel like I’m gonna lose my family.’
‘You’re doing good, Sarge.’
‘No, I’m not.’
And right there in the cold light of the empty fridge, Lockie saw his dad break down and cry. A grown man. A police sergeant. Sobbing like a baby. In his jarmies.
A storm howled in off the Southern Ocean. It sent the sea into convulsions and ripped at the trees and rooftops of Angelus. Purple clouds heaved in from the south and the air turned cold and nasty.
Lockie steered the baby pusher down the windtunnel of the main street. Phillip and he did their best to keep the plastic bags of groceries from blowing away entirely. When the rain came and quickly turned to hail they were stranded between the windswept war memorial and the old convict church. In three seconds flat they were drenched and sore and Blob was nearly floating out of her stroller.
They found themselves in the doorway of the church and Lockie barged right on in. For a few moments they stood in the little vestibule making puddles while their eyes adjusted to the dim light. They looked about at the religious gear on the walls. There was no one in the quiet old church. Faint light poured in through the high stained glass. Everything smelled of incense and floorwax.
‘Least it’s dry,’ whispered Phillip.
Lockie watched the great, twisted limbs of the trees outside waving against the stained glass windows. They were like the figures of people out there. Tormented people. The wind whistled and moaned. There were pictures of Heaven in the window panels. All those pretty colours. Kids sitting with lions and lambs. Rainbows. Doves. It looked beautiful, the idea of a Heaven like that. But Lockie kept seeing the mad, thrashing shadows of the trees outside. The storm against the walls. He just wanted to bawl, he felt so lost and miserable.