Reading it feels masochistic too with its sharp edges.
She ends up lying flat on her back with the book resting against her raised legs bent in front of her. The way Beñat used to hold Ro as a baby when her shoulders got sore, so Beñat could sing and he could mouth babble back.
It’s the strange noise that comes up the hall and enters their bedroom first.
A mewl like a hybrid animal, part kitten, part fox.
She snaps the book shut.
Ro stumbles in and looks at her, irises green and somehow see-through, like the infra-red image of eyes in the dark.
Hey, Ro. Did you have a bad dream?
He looks at her and keeps shaking his head and mumbles and moves down Beñat’s side of the bed.
He stops on the carpet between the bed and the chest of drawers where a basket of washing waits to be folded, rests, full of promise.
His fingers jerk and he pokes his penis out of his PJs and before she can call out the steady stream does a rainbow arc into the washing basket, his legs wobbling.
Hey, no, Ro!
As Ro hears her voice, he turns mid-stream and she stops calling and leaps up behind him and dodges and weaves and directs him back to the washing.
What’s going on?
Beñat stands at the door.
His eyes are open but I think he’s asleep, she says.
Mona leads Ro back to the bedroom and he lies down without a sound.
Beñat meets her in the laundry with the heavy basket.
It was better than him doing it on the carpet, Mona says.
Beñat laughs as he shovels it into the machine again.
Mona thinks about Ro’s face.
I watched this show once where the people were putting on a lot of weight and they couldn’t work out why. Turns out they were sleep-eating, raiding the fridge every night without waking up, she says.
Beñat lines his mouth up straight.
Sleep-eating? Bet they were American.
They hid cameras to film their faces when they ate. They looked exactly like Ro just then. Like their eyes had been replaced with devil’s eyes. Those eyes spooked me out. I couldn’t look at him.
Every morning the slap of feet, the final run-up, the launch into their bed and the questions that need answering.
Right now.
The clash of fast and slow while she focuses in on the bed, the room, the day. Ro.
No time to drift into morning except on weekends.
With his finger on the lamp switch and his excursion form to sign.
And Beñat out before daylight on the express train to Melbourne.
The room still smells.
Do you remember getting out of bed last night?
Ro crawls down under the doona and pokes his head out the other end of the bed.
I did not!
You don’t remember needing to go to the toilet?
He shakes his head.
I did wake up early today though, before the alarm. In the dark. The man in the hat woke me up again, he says.
The man in the hat?
When I go to bed, I put two lights on. My bear light and my fishy light. Just in case the batteries run out, I still have the other one.
He rolls over and lies on top of her, body fully stretched out, head up to underneath Mona’s chin.
When the light is on, I can’t see the shadow of the wolf.
But what about the man?
I saw him when I woke up. It was still dark, just a little bit of light outside. Squawky the magpie was calling.
What does he look like?
He has a hat and he stands there on the verandah. He wears a big coat with a hood.
What about his face?
I can’t see his face. It’s just dark.
What happened this morning?
I saw him and I covered my head with the blanket but when I looked again he was gone.
It might just be the tree outside your window making a weird shape in the dark.
It’s a man in a hat. He moves.
How about Kaz makes you some curtains so you can’t see him?
What if he opens them?
They’ll be on the inside of the window.
What if he opens the window?
We’ll lock it.
Maybe I could wear my new spyware night-time goggles to bed?
How come?
Then I can see him in the dark first before he sees me.
Mona hears a loud banging, a drumbeat echoing from the foundations of the house next door. They’ve started building early today.
Hey, what’s that noise? she asks.
Ro sits up on her tummy and listens, his face serious. He lies back down on her.
That’s my heart.
When Ro’s at school, Mona looks out his window, onto the verandah where the tulip tree hangs heavy. The tree pushes the bricks up with its octopus legs into little hills Ro jumps over on his bike.
When they first moved in with Beñat, the paving was flat.
She measures the windows.
She waits for the man in the hat but it’s daylight.
White Ikea shelves of dragons and spy gear and the Operation board game, its smiling patient with organs exposed to the buzzer. Socks without friends trail around the room and Lego Club brochures cover the floor like a glossy rug. Broken lightsabers and Beanie Boos, their eyes glittering.
A peacock feather drifts on the top shelf, its gentle head prodding the ceiling.
A robot built as part of a school team assignment, too big for a shelf, sits in front of the window, cereal boxes cut up for arms, strawberry punnets for eyes and mouth.
She picks up the robot and puts it in his cupboard. He says he doesn’t like art. She knows it’s time. To get back to teaching. The thought makes her tired.
She’ll start casual. Ease her way in.
Are you sure it’s not the robot in the dark? she asks him that night.
He has a hat and coat. I told you that.
Ro goes to sleep wearing his spy goggles.
The Lego Ninjas stand at attention inside the Carefree box. Lined up on the window sill, little yellow faces turned outwards at the same angle.
A collection of impromptu weapons at the ready, guarding the fortress against the dark forces of the night.
PRIVATE EYES
Castlemaine, 2016
Ro stands in the bungalow looking at the alcove, his fingers tracing the edges of the photos.
He finds one of himself, red hoodie bright against the clouds, small bike tipping over the top of a muddy hill.
That’s me! At the skate park! What shape are you making on the wall, Mama?
I’m not sure yet. I’m just seeing how the photos match up.
It looks like a tree, one with fruit on it. How many photos are there?
I started taking them the day you were born. One a day.
That would be at least six times three hundred and sixty-five photos. How many is that?
I can’t do maths in my head like you can. Maybe one day I’ll take another photo of all of them put together like a puzzle. But these are called triptychs. I’m collecting other bits and pieces to match.
He fingers the collections she has strewn on the floor. Broken plates, twigs, leaves, buttons.
Why are there white bits around them?
It’s a special kind of camera and film called a polaroid. You know how the picture comes out right after you’ve taken it?
He shuffles to stand by her computer and starts clicking fast on the mouse.
Why do you take them?
I wanted to take a photo of you on the day you were born.
Ro stands on tippy-toes to point the photo out. All skin and bones.
Mona nods.
And then I couldn’t stop. Those on the wall are just some of them. There are more in the cupboard. Take a look if you want.
You always have a camera. Sometimes when it looks at me I don’t like it.
How come?
>
Because I just want to look at you.
Ro picks up bundles of polaroids and spreads them out on her desk.
There’s Beanie!
She loved lying in that flowerbed.
Why do you take one a day?
I decided to take one photo that would help me remember that day, a photo that would bring the day to life. I had to choose just one moment. A moment that perfectly summed up the day.
But in this photo you look a bit sad.
Well, sometimes things aren’t so perfect. Sometimes I take a photo to capture my feelings.
If I had a camera, I wouldn’t take a photo of you looking sad. Can I take some photos too?
With the polaroid? Mona asks.
I want to put some on your wall.
Maybe you could have a project of your own.
On my own wall?
You’d have to be careful with the camera. You can’t put it on the ground and step on it, like you do with your toys, and you can only take one a day. It’s not like taking photos on the phone.
How do you choose the right photo for the one a day?
Sometimes I think about it beforehand, like I go for a walk to photograph something. Sometimes it comes up and surprises me. Sometimes I walk through the day with my eyes like a camera and imagine the world through the lens.
Like looking through binoculars?
When you pay attention, you notice more things.
Ro puts his hands into owl-shaped glasses, holding them up to his eyes and peering through at her.
Where’s the camera? I know what I want to take for today, he says.
Already?
I want to take a photo of the camera.
How are you going to do that?
Well, I’ll hold the camera, and look through it and click.
But you won’t be able to take a photo of the camera if you’re holding it already.
Oh yeah.
I’ve got an idea.
What?
You could take a photo of it in the mirror.
Oh yeah!
You could squat down and hold your hands up above your head to take the photo.
Like this?
He wobbles down and balances near the floor.
She gets the camera out of its case and loads the film.
That way you will only see your hands and the camera in the mirror.
He jumps up and grabs the camera.
It will look like a photo taken by a zombie! Or the Invisible Man!
The photo comes up in Mona’s newsfeed. It’s a beautiful shot, creamy black-and-white. Framed right.
Her Grade Five student, Jasmine. She’s in her underpants, starting to get curves.
The shot is taken from below, up and over her body, as she reclines across the bed with her brother.
When Mona clicks through, she sees that her colleague Matty, Jasmine’s dad, has put up more. All composed, elegant. Appreciating this body that’s becoming.
But there’s a notion that becomes consolidated, an instinct.
She googles Dodge’s images, searching for herself.
They’re not that easy to find, Untitled.
A gallery has a couple on its website. Not the ones she’s looking for. Tasteful. The rest listed not on display.
It’s so different now. The exposure.
Not just in an art gallery or a photo album but as a moment of exchange. A mark of parental pride.
When she first returned home, she asked Kaz about it. All Kaz would say was that Dodge had won them all over. The critics. The parents. Even the teachers and the headmistress when he turned up to school that day.
On Matty’s Facebook page the comments come in fast.
Matty, these images, they make me uncomfortable. Might be good to take them down.
You need to think about Jasmine’s privacy. Does she want them up there?
Mona writes her own comment too and then deletes it. She decides to contact him on chat but she can’t get the tone right.
It’s just a gut feeling.
Two feet poke out of the waffle blanket, pink diamonds in the morning sunshine.
Ro peers out from underneath the pillow and pretends to swallow light beams, gulping, mouth open like a groper.
Look at me, I’m eating dust!
He hides again.
Mona goes to tickle his feet and he makes a squirming movement under the covers, rolls over quickly onto his stomach.
Have you seen my phone?
I was just checking the footy ladder.
She pulls the blanket back and wrestles the phone out of his hand as he goes under again, tucks his feet in.
On the screen the browser’s open, and the first thing she sees is the word entered in the search bar.
Google images.
Women posing in lingerie. Red bras. All tits. Arse. Arms above their heads like they’re holding up the world.
She scrolls but she’s pretty sure he hasn’t.
More explicit the further you go down.
That joke Kaz always used to tell. Lower.
Women naked and backed up to the camera, girls masturbating on YouTube.
Not a single photo of a man comes up under the search term.
She throws the phone down.
What were you doing?
He flinches under the covers as if she’s smacked him. She pulls the blanket back so she can see his face.
I’ve had enough of you taking my phone! I’ll need to put a passcode on again if you’re going to use it when I’m not around.
I just wanted to look at the weather.
Well, why is there sexi entered in up the top?
Charley told me to. She said to type in that word on Google.
He sits up as if he’s about to make a run for it and she plonks down next to him so they’re both staring out the window at the trampoline.
Any time you want to know what a word means, just ask me. I’ll tell you, it doesn’t matter what it is. You don’t have to go on the internet.
Charley dared me.
You know, sometimes grown-ups like to be sexy and show off their beautiful bodies. But not all grown-ups like to do that or look like that.
Do you?
I think people are sexy when they’re just being natural, being themselves. But being sexy isn’t something kids have to think about. It’s a grown-up thing.
But what about that song they play at Inflatable World?
He gets up and struts around the room.
I’m too sexy … too sexy …
That’s meant to be a joke, that song, but it’s not really a kids’ song, because they don’t get the joke.
I think it’s funny!
Again, it’s something that people don’t like kids doing. If you swear, I won’t be upset, but lots of other people will be, including your teachers.
Are you going to add the passcode now?
I don’t really want to because if there’s an emergency you might need the phone.
You don’t need the passcode in an emergency! We did that at school!
Well, what I’m going to have to do is put restrictions on my phone so you can’t use Safari or YouTube or play on the internet.
He turns the edges of his mouth down, an upside-down rainbow, and squeezes out hard tears.
But what about my dragons? They’re on the last evolution and I need more gems!
Can you talk in an indoor voice? That’s just the way it is.
His voice rises more.
When I told Charley at school what you told me about babies, her big sister came up at recess and said it was disgusting and that I couldn’t talk to Charley anymore.
Mona feels her voice start to get louder too. Delayed reaction. She can’t help herself.
Stop shouting! What did you tell her?
That the man puts his penis in the vagina and there are all these eggs inside. And the baby comes out the vagina.
Well, that’s pretty much it. Some people are in denial.
I think it’s disgusting too.
Yeah?
I can’t believe you have eggs inside you.
They’re really tiny.
I’m never eating them again.
The ones you eat come from chooks!
And I can’t believe that a baby comes from your tummy out through there.
I can’t believe that either. But you’re living proof!
Later, she shows Matty’s images of Jasmine to Beñat, scrolling through to the near-naked ones.
Are you thinking of reporting him? he asks.
I just get the sense that something’s not right. I see Matty as someone who has these feelings and hasn’t acted upon them. He’s so controlled all the time.
What exactly are you saying?
He has strong feelings for the beauty of children. Since he moved here Matty’s tried so hard to be accepted. He’s such an integral part of the community. People might not be willing to think about it too deeply.
What if there’s nothing to think about? He just likes to take beautiful photos of his kids.
Mona opens up Dodge’s photos on the screen. Beñat leans in to look at them.
He’s putting it out into the world so the world says, isn’t that beautiful, so his feelings are validated. But he knows they’re sexually enticing, she says.
I can kind of see what you’re saying. It doesn’t feel quite right looking at her like that. You’re probably sensitive to it too.
Putting those images on Facebook. He’s risking everything. Teachers know very deeply even the effect of sexual tension on a child.
What’s Matty like at school? Do you teach together?
Like I said, he’s always in perfect control. I’m not sure he’d ever act on it in a sexual way. But for someone like him, I don’t know. It’s so close. It feels so familiar.
What are you going to do?
I’ve already sent him a message saying how I felt.
Did you hear back?
He pretty much dismissed it. He sees them as arty shots.
Do you think this is coming from your experience with Dodge?
Maybe I’m looking for them, signs of internal conflict. These images, they just set off alarm bells.
You want to protect her.
I mean, look at her face in the photos. She is just so free.
In the dusty backyard all the grass has given up.
Almost a Mirror Page 14