And I do recall Mamma coming out of the car all sweaty and pink and tying her hair into a pile of shape and staring up at the block three-storeys-high saying, Is this it? Is this it? Are you sure? And Sammy-K did be swearing at her and yelping like the Jefferson’s dog that got stuck in a rabbit trap near a creek near the farming house which was when Mister Jefferson had to come along with a gun and shoot out its misery. Being kind, Mamma said, but not for Joyous to be watching. And Sammy-K did be unpacking from the boot of the car and saying, What did you expect, princess, a friggen palace? Which is not a word I want to say but reminds Joyous of Sammy-K back then so it’s righteous, and then Mamma did say, No, no, it’s fine, everything’s fine, hun, which was a doopy-doo cause it wasn’t fine but Sammy-K had that look in his eye, that blazing one, all bulgy and middle-of-the-fire, ready to pop like a balloon with too much breath inside.
So we did shunter inside and there was oldness stinking that Mamma did be saying was a thing called mildew that I could smell like a cow-shed at Kinsville after raining in winter. One of the windows wouldn’t open on account of swelled timber from the leakage and the walls didn’t be having colour which Joyous was thinking to be strange because I had never seen any wall without colour but Sammy-K did say, It’s beige, you Spazzo Mong. And darkness and shadows but not to mind because I did know that Mamma was working things around a little when she was saying, Well, this is nice, isn’t it, Joyous? Our new home. This has potential. Which was one of her bestest shl words. But I could still see Sammy-K’s blazing eye so I did keep my head downward like a serving-boy and be carrying boxes not to drop them from the car with the flaring silver sides.
That night Joyous was not sleeping on account of the noises from the big city spread all around. These were noises I know now but which frightened me then, like car horns going daaah and traffic going rrmm-rrmm-waaa, and a party with loud rocky music and someone yelling words that I remember being, Go then. Go! See if I care! And I did be hearing toots and hoots and voices coming and going with the wind then a differing smell which was more comfortable and warm like a nice whisper inside your brain. And I did be discovering the next day that it was the honkingly good park nearby behind the shops and filled to the brimsome with the sounds of sleepy birds and trees in the breezes and the grass which did grow quickly being mowed.
But mister, after that first scariest night it was being an okayness for a while because I do recall Mamma did grow flowers in window-boxes and Sammy-K holding her with his tan arms while she was watering them and saying, This is the life, hey hun? This is the grand old dealaroo. And Mamma was nodding because of happiness and knowing that it would all be beneficial especially when Sammy-K was a success man with a job and a badge and maybe even, said Mamma, a uniform with gold braid. Those were truesome days even though the apartment was hot and stinky on account of there being no fans. I suppose it was the summertime when we drove in so the days were long of sunshine and mostly sparklous and in the afternoons Joyous did be going to the park a lot which I am still doing while Mamma and Sammy-K laid down for resting. Except no more of that, not since the accident, of course, with Mamma being alone.
Yes mister, I will be getting on with it. There was being another boy at the park whose name was Bruce Edward Matthew McIntosh. Bruce Edward Matthew McIntosh did give Joyous chewy which was nice and spear-minted so then we did play stuff of games in the trees and bushes like pirates and wars and police and cowboys. It was honkingly good then Bruce Edward Matthew McIntosh’s Mamma did come to the park one other day in a red jacket and yell at Joyous for stealing the chewy which I didn’t be doing. But that was a wriggled kind of confusing filled with too much noise like a hard piece from school so Joyous did decide that sometimes people don’t want to be knowing the true sort of facts which is not their fault but just down to the ongoing turning of the earth, which is a honkingly good example of working things around a little like my Dadda did write.
So you can see, mister, that the early times were middling and not too unfortunate. That summertime was pretty muchly nearly happiness and the city was getting-used-to, even if the sounds sometimes hurt and be making my ears gluey. There was often a warm blue of sky and Mamma’s flowers and a nice old lady down the hallway who did lend us sugars and breads and stuff for helping to cook and Sammy-K was an outside man being walking the streets for work and a badge and maybe even a uniform with gold braid. So Mamma and Joyous could spend time sorting it all out, which we did by painting the walls in peach colouring and it was dandiful, mister, dandiful.
Only when the winter winds did blow in were changes beginning – no more flowers, no more walking of the streets, no more afternoons being at the park, my favoured, but school for me with the cruel boys who Mamma said I should feel sorry for on account of them being scared of themselves which was working it around a little. But in winter we were inside all of the time, like vegies in a stew, Mamma secretly said in our chatting, and that was when there was some bad bits, when everything became twisty and burning and the blazing balloon-eye did be bulging and popping more than ever before.
JOYOUS and MOONBEAM
Hey, Joyous?
Yes, Moonbeam.
Have you … have you ever …
Mm?
Ever wanted to get out?
Joyous is not to be understanding the get out.
Sorry, I’ll be more – what I mean is, leave. Have you ever wanted to leave? As in, leave here?
Leave here?
This place. No more of – here. No more city, no more this place, no more home, the lot. Ever wanted to leave?
Not to be leaving, Moonbeam. Joyous is dandiful in here this place.
You’ve never wanted to? Seriously? Leave good old Room 12 and wherever you live, with the crap-a-lot dog – never wanted to leave all that?
The dog is being called Sasha and she is bounciful.
Come on, don’t stall. Have you?
No, never.
Why not?
Joyous would not be leaving Mamma.
Ah. Of course. Should’ve realised. She means a lot to you, doesn’t she, big guy?
Yes indeedy-do. Mamma is meaning a lot to Joyous and Joyous is meaning a lot to Mamma, like she says, Her Special.
That is so … I mean, you’re lucky. That’s the weird thing. Your life is – different, really different, but in a strange kind of way, you’re lucky.
Joyous is indeedy-do a fellow of luck. Lollipopsicle?
No, thanks.
Sixty-two to go. I will be having raspberry for niceness.
Good for you. Joyous, I want to leave.
Mm.
How about that, yeah? I want to leave. I WANT TO LEAVE!
Be shushing, Moonbeam, or Mister Santorini will come a-running and he will be saying no more off you go and then Joyous will be down low.
Sorry.
It is an okayness.
I – want – to – leave.
Moonbeam, Joyous is already knowing of this.
You know? How? I haven’t said anything –
Joyous is already knowing of this because Moonbeam’s eyes are often being sad and in elsewhere.
Oh. Is it that obvious?
Mm.
I suppose you think I should work things around a little.
Like my dadda wrote.
Bracks is the same. You two would get on so well. Ashleigh, there’s always a solution if you’re prepared to look for it. Ashleigh, you need be positive. Crap-crap-crapola.
Moonbeam.
What? Oh, I know. Swearing. Sorry. I’m just –
Three-in-one.
Yeah. Hey, I’m inventive. Do you want a coffee or water?
Joyous is liking of the coffee but with not any sugar because of hypo.
Okay. Milk? No? There ya go, big guy. And I am sorry, really, about yelling and swearing and stuff. Got carried away.
It is an okayness.
Thanks. Hey, Joyous, do you want to hear about my dream?
Joyous is also
having the dreams.
Go on then. You go first.
Joyous does dream of times ago with the farm with the duck family and my dadda’s face from the photo in my drawer and the church where my mamma and dadda did meet and talk while she was holding her purse and the people whispering.
Before you were born, obviously.
Yes.
Your parents met at a church. Ever seen it?
Not to be remembering.
But you want to. Is that it? Is that why you dream …?
The church is being of old stones and colourful windows sitting pretty inside Joyous’s head after Mamma’s describing.
Gotcha. So, where is this church? Do you know?
By the river up-country near the small town of Kinsville where we once were living many moons back.
Kinsville? I’ve heard of that. Go north, inland a bit – there’s this music festival near there, every year. Chinese lantern parades and hippies dancing in the mud. Is that where you’re from?
Yes. Kinsville and the farm. Does Moonbeam also have dreaming of farms and churches?
No. No, Joyous, in my dream I was on a boat.
Boats are dandiful.
They are, particularly this one. It was a sailing boat. Huge and wooden, a classic. Like the one in Dead Calm. That’s the name of an old movie. Never seen it? Nicole Kidman is on this cool boat, like a maxi-yacht, and some bad dude cons his way onboard and tries to kill her and her husband.
Joyous does not be liking killing-her-and-her-husband movies.
Chill, she wins out in the end. Gets the dude with a spear-gun. Pretty cool. Anyway, in my dream I was on this boat. All around was ocean, nothing else. No islands, no reefs, nothing, just water. Endless water, endless sky. Then, guess what?
Joyous cannot be guessing.
Suddenly I realised that everything was still. Everything! No waves, no currents, no seaweed, no tides. And when I looked up into the sky, the birds were frozen. You know, mid-flight. Wings out, heads up. The only thing that could move was me. It was like … like I was in a picture but I could move. Cool, hey?
Cool.
Well done!
Mm.
And there was silence. An amazing silence.
Joyous is liking of silences. And trees.
Absolutely. So, you know what I did? In my dream, I mean? I got off the boat and skipped along, touched stuff, even walked on the water.
Jesus Christ Son Of God walked on water.
Yeah, but this was a dream. Jesus was – anyway, there’s a difference. Apparently. So, I walked around and explored. Just touching. Running my fingers over the wings of a bird. It was magic. Because even though the bird was still, I could feel it was alive. You know, warm and sort of – throbbing. Then I knelt down and felt how smooth and cool the water was. I even touched the sky, and I remember … I remember it felt as if it was made of old paper that could scrunch or split. Like parchment, in a museum.
Moonbeam did be having a dandiful dream.
It was, Joyous, exactly. It was – dandiful. Or cool. Same thing, isn’t it?
Joyous is liking of cool.
Good for you. Hey, let’s reverse, you say cool and I’ll say dandiful. Okay?
Okay.
Joyous, this was the most dandiful dream!
Cool!
Yeah, it was. It was. Until … there’s always an until, isn’t there? Until I woke up and it was pitch-black, the middle of the night and I had this funny sensation left over, like I was trembling. Ever had that feeling?
Mm.
It’s hard to explain. I think, I think it was about how – how beautiful things were. I mean, normal stuff you take for granted, like a seagull and the sky, a chunk of water and the white hull of a sailing-boat. All beautiful. The dumb thing was, the feeling went. The trembling. I had it when I woke up, then, just as quickly, it was gone. Sort of – evaporated. And all that was left was my room and all the usual shit which I hate so much, hate it all. I know, I know, I swore and I’m sorry, it’s just that sometimes, sometimes …
Moonbeam. Moonbeam?
What?
Wet eyes.
Yes.
Is Moonbeam in sadness because of the dream?
No, it’s because – because I had to – I’m sad because it stopped, okay? Like everything good always stops.
Joyous is liking of your dream, Moonbeam.
Jesus, why do all the good things stop so quickly, and the rest – the rest just –
Moonbeam’s dream is the coolest and the most dandiful.
I feel so trapped in this stupid bloody world, like everything keeps piling up and nothing ever changes or gets any better, no matter how much I try to –
Moonbeam, Joyous will be holding your hand now. Mamma says that simple things like the holding of hands can be such a comfort in times of dilemma.
Why is that? Why do things always end up that way?
Moonbeam.
What? What! Oh, Joyous, I’m sorry, I –
Your coolest and most dandiful dream.
What about it?
Moonbeam can be having it back again, any time.
Huh?
Night-time, day-time, any time. Your dream is always there and thereabouts.
Yeah. I suppose. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, I –
Sad Joyous can be thinking of Mamma and the farm and the ducks of Kinsville. Sad Moonbeam can be thinking of the sailing-boat and the beautiful seagull and the chunky water and the sky that is paper. Night-time, day-time, any time. Just be closing of your wet eyes and calling for the dream and it will be coming back like an Aborigine boomerang. This is what Joyous is doing of my life sometimes.
You working things around for me, big guy?
A little.
Thank you. I mean that.
Welcome.
You’re a legend, you know?
Mm. Thank you, Moonbeam. Cool.
ASHLEIGH
Most of all, I miss my dad. I mean the real one, not this limited kind of plastic version that he’s become. Yeah, he’s still somewhere in my life, still living at home and saying stuff like, Have a good day, and, How was school? But it’s rote recital. Flat and insincere, like someone just pressed a button on one of those annoying toys. Worst of all, he’s bewildered. He never used to be – he was always pretty calm and controlled – but the Jamie-thing bewildered him and now the whole world seems to bewilder him, even though it’s the same world it always has been, still screwy and callous and – it’s like Bracks said, Well, Ashleigh, you’ve got to choose where you step. The world is a tiptoe through the good and the not-so.
My dad is stuck in the not-so. Sometimes I think that he’s like an actor playing a part that he’s been doing for years, but suddenly he’s forgotten his lines so he can’t do it anymore.
Before Jamie, real-Dad used to take me up to the Sands for drag-netting. We used to pack food and clothes into the old Jeep and bump along back roads, singing along to the same dumb country music CD every time, choruses only – couldn’t remember the rest, didn’t want to, didn’t really care. He’d always say to bring a friend but I never did because the Sands wasn’t something that I wanted to share. We only went up to there a few times a year so it was precious and I wanted to keep the experience – keep him – all to myself.
These days the Jeep sits behind the garage like a sad, neglected old toad. Every so often Mum says, Might as well get rid of it. Dad shrugs and that’s the end of it. Conversation Central, our place.
But the Sands … we used to stay at this shack that belonged to some mate of Dad’s, long gone. It had rusty hinges on the doors and ripped fly-screens over the windows, and a big hessian-covered space out the back filled with crab-pots and plastic buckets and nets with orange buoys attached. The rooms in the shack smelled like unwashed clothes and there were always gunky things in the fridge that we had to chuck out – milk that had turned to yellow sludge, leaky tomatoes with black holes and caved-in sides, and pieces of broccoli so covered w
ith dark-brown fur that it looked like a family of tiny, stinky wombats. The beds were those old ones with painted steel frames, squeaky but soft in the middle so you’d jump in and sink. It was like falling into a giant doughnut. I loved it.
Mum never came to the shack – she’s a five-star-hotel-plus-shopping-mall kind of holiday person – so it was just me and real-Dad and our daggy way of doing things. Our rituals, I suppose, to borrow from religion class. My favourite ritual was the Fried Egg Eating Competition. You had to carefully cut away the white edges, sliver by sliver, so that the whole yolk could eventually be lifted with a spoon into your mouth. The winner was the one who could take the most cuts without making the yolk bleed. Real-Dad was good but I got better because my fingers were smaller and I learned to be clever with the angles of the cuts.
If it was too windy for the beach we’d sit on the front verandah and take turns guessing the colour of the next car coming along the road. Any white car was an automatic draw. First to five correct guesses got to choose dessert that night.
My other favourite ritual was Crocodile, where we had a theme like Fruit And Vegetables or Sports And Games, and we had to think up words using the last letter of the previous word. The trick was to get lots of Es because there are plenty of words that end with E but hardly any that start with E. Real-Dad usually won Crocodile but I got better because I learned to choose sneaky themes like Female Clothing Brand Names or Ashleigh’s Song Collection. He didn’t seem to mind because it was our time, real-time, and that was all that mattered.
In front of the shack, across a thin strip of bitumen, was the sea. We’d go to sleep with the waves washing against the rock wall and then wake up in the morning and the tide had left a desert of flat, goopy-looking mud. Or we’d stay up and watch the moon rise over the edge of the world and change the ripples into strings of pearls, then real-Dad would get out his mate’s telescope so we could see the moon and all the constellations. I never realised how weird the moon’s surface was until we saw it in close-up, with its lumps and craters and strange shapes that we couldn’t recognise or give names to.
Joyous and Moonbeam Page 4