So when Perry and Blue arrived in the tree house on that Sunday afternoon Perry said, ‘Story.’
And Violet said, ‘Which one?’
‘Violet’s True Story.’
‘You mean, In Indigo’s Shadow?’ asked Violet although she knew very well which story Perry wanted.
‘True story. Violet’s True Story.’ Perry nodded and then he lay down and watched the leaves moving like a dappled green sea and waited for the words to begin. Violet took the book from the pocket of her jeans where she always carried it as though it was her soul or her heart or some other important thing which couldn’t be separated from her. She lay down with her head on a cushion beside Perry’s and turned to look at him before she began. She smiled and her yellow hair curled like the wood shavings in Ben’s shed.
‘Once,’ she said, and Perry closed his eyes, ‘on a never-ending night, purple as a plum, the windows yawned and breezy fingers stroked Mama’s skin and wakened her. She got up out of her big brass bed and walked through the house, quiet as a cloud. She sipped mint tea and scattered lavender on her pillow, then she lay herself down again in the curve of Daddy’s back and breathed slow and long and silent. When the pain grew so strong that she knew her baby was coming, two months too soon, she woke Daddy and he fetched Nell. Nell was like a yellow halo in the room; strong and steady and calm. She knew exactly what to do. She took Mama’s hands in hers and told her not to be afraid and Mama’s baby girl was born in the rosy dawn. She was born fast and cried loud. She was as dark and beautiful as midnight and Daddy held her in his arms and laughed and cried.’
This was the part of the story where Perry imagined himself being held in someone’s arms. He felt sure he must have been, although he couldn’t remember it and there was no-one who could tell him the way it was. He imagined a lady laughing and crying like Ben Silk had. And then he imagined her smiling. At him. Violet went on …
‘Mama knew from the moment she set eyes on her baby, that she would be a leader. But no-one knew there was another baby in the dark and the quiet inside Mama. The second was small and slow and slipped silently on to the bed amongst the scattered lavender like a whisper. She was the follower, a shadow of the first.’
Then Violet put her book down and it looked like a moth with lacy lavender wings open against her chest. She showed Perry with her hands, just how small the baby had been. That was how small he must have been when they found him; small enough to fit inside a shabby suitcase embossed with five golden letters. Then came the surprise. Perry Angel liked surprise endings and so did Violet. This one was such a secret surprise that Perry didn’t understand when he first heard it. But it made him smile now, every time Violet got to that part of her story.
‘Then Nell passed the second baby to Mama, and Mama looked deep into its eyes and she saw they were the colour of violets.’
The first baby hadn’t been Violet at all, but Indigo!
Each of the Silk children had been presented with a book at a Naming Day Ceremony held exactly one year after they were born. The Naming Day Books were kept in a cupboard with diamond-paned glass in the doors. Ben had carved flowers and leaves, and Violet’s name on the cover of her book. Annie had made the paper for its pages and on them she had written a poem in loops and swirls of purple ink. Violet was proud of her book and of the poem inside it. She read it to Perry.
‘You are the story behind my pictures,
You are the words to my song,
You are harmony to my melody,
You are Violet; soft as morning, sweet as Spring.’
The words tinkled against each other like wind chimes and Perry felt happy. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t understood the poem. It was a gift from Annie. She had made it herself and had given it to Violet, and that was all Perry Angel needed to know.
4. Lavender, Scarlet and Fangled
Summer Sundays were long and golden at the Kingdom of Silk and after Violet had finished reading her story, there was still plenty of time before nightfall.
Perry heard Layla’s voice before she appeared on the top step of the tree house.
‘Do you want to come for a walk?’ she asked.
‘Where to?’ asked Violet.
‘To see Mr Jenkins,’ Layla answered. ‘Nell’s coming and so is Griffin.’
‘I think I’ll stay here for a while,’ said Violet. ‘I want to do some writing.’
‘Come on, Perry,’ said Layla. ‘You come with me. You can bring Blue.’
‘I’ll let Blue down in the Levitator,’ Violet told Perry. ‘You can ride with him if you want.’
Perry put his arms around Blue and the canvas closed around them and turned them into special secrets in the quiet dark.
‘Jenkins,’ Perry whispered in Blue’s ear. ‘Going to see Jenkins.’
On the way to the Cameron’s Creek District Cemetery, Perry remembered his first visit there when Layla had pointed Mr Jenkins out.
‘There he is,’ she’d said. ‘He mows the grass and rakes the leaves and saves ribbons and bows for Violet to make her books. And Nell says he gives tea and biscuits to sad and lonely people and something else called condolences. I don’t know what condolences are, do you, Griffin?’
‘Amber told me they’re what people say to you when someone you love dies,’ Griffin said after he’d arranged a circle of daisies on his baby sister’s grave. ‘After Tishkin died Daddy and Nell sent thank-you notes to everyone who’d been kind to us. Amber and I rode our bikes around and put them in people’s letterboxes. Amber read one to me. It said, with heartfelt appreciation for your condolences, cards and kindness, from the Silk family.’
Perry knew there had once been a baby who had died before she was named. He’d seen a painting of her on the wall in Annie’s studio. He knew Griffin had thought of her name, Tishkin, and had made the daisy-chain circle that was pressed flat inside the cover of her Naming Day Book.
Mr Jenkins knew about Tishkin, too. He took care of the rose bush which grew on her grave, so there would always be plenty of buds for buttonholes, nosegays and posies. Mr Jenkins had no grandchildren of his own and always stopped to chat with Griffin and Layla and Blue. They were good friends of his, especially Blue. On the day they were introduced, Mr Jenkins said, ‘Pleased to meet you, Perry. I’m sure we’ll get along famously. Anyone who’s a friend of Blue’s is a friend of mine.’
‘Jenkins is my friend!’ said Perry, remembering that day, and he clapped his hands and began to run, his red cape fluttering behind him as he chased Blue, Griffin and Layla down the hill towards the cemetery.
Most Sundays when they arrived, Mr Jenkins was outside pushing his old-fashioned lawn mower which didn’t have a motor and worked by person power. It glided over the grass with barely a sound. Mr Jenkins said it was disrespectful to make too much noise in the cemetery and besides, he liked to listen to the Sunday Classics program on the portable radio which hung from the handle of his mower. When the grass was picture perfect, Mr Jenkins would oil the hinges on the curly black gates to make sure they opened easily and silently. Sunday was his favourite day. It was a popular visiting day which meant there were plenty of people to talk to and to make cups of tea for. Mr Jenkins always made sure he had an extra packet of Shortbread Creams in his cupboard for Sundays.
On this particular Sunday, Mr Jenkins was sitting in his green and white striped deckchair on the front porch of his caretaker’s cottage. He was doing the brain-teasers in the Daily Beacon newspaper and looking cross. Then he noticed he had visitors.
‘How come you’re not mowing today, Mr Jenkins?’ asked Layla.
‘Because they’ve taken my mower, that’s why,’ said Mr Jenkins.
‘Taken your mower? Who’s taken it and what for?’ said Nell and she suddenly looked big and puffy and full of air, the way Madonna the hen did when anyone went near her chicks.
‘Council fellow took it. Loaded it up in his ute and drove away.’
‘Did he say why?’ asked Nell.
‘Health and safety reasons,’ Mr Jenkins answered. ‘They want me to cut the grass with one of those newfangled things you sit on,’ he grumbled. ‘I can’t see how sitting down to mow the grass improves your health. And it’s so fast I don’t know how to fill my days in now. I’d rather have my old one back any day.’
Immediately Layla and Griffin began thinking about things Mr Jenkins could do to fill in his spare time. Griffin wondered if Mr Jenkins liked inventing things. He might enjoy tinkering and pottering in Ben’s shed. In there amongst Ben’s collection of timber off-cuts, tins of paint, bolts, bicycle wheels and broken toasters it was easy to get inspired. As usual, it was Layla who spoke first. ‘You could come up to the Kingdom of Silk and help Nell and me with the caterpillars. I could call in on my way and we could walk there together!’
Mr Jenkins didn’t seem too keen on the idea.
‘It isn’t hard, once you’ve got the knack,’ said Layla. ‘You just have to look for holes in the cabbage leaves. That’s where the caterpillars have been eating and they usually aren’t far away. Sometimes you can find them by following the black dots that look like poppy seeds, only they’re caterpillar poo. I could show you. And when we finish we could dance the Spanish Fandango and we might even get famous when Mum can afford to ring up the Guinness Book of Records people!’
Mr Jenkins was speechless, so Layla tried to reassure him. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll answer their questions when they do the interview. They’ll probably just want you to be in the photo with me and Nell and all the caterpillars.’
All this time, Perry Angel had been sitting on the step with Blue. First of all he and Blue watched a scribbly line of tiny black ants carrying crumbs into a crack in the path. Next he noticed how big the sky was and how it wasn’t the same blue it had been at lunchtime. It was the same colour as one of the pencils in his tin of seventy-two and he tried to remember its name. Those were the reasons he didn’t pay much attention to what the others were talking about.
He didn’t hear Nell saying, ‘I’m sure Mr Jenkins will think of something before too long.’ But he did hear her mention Amber’s Armenian Love Cake.
And he stopped trying to remember the name of the colour of the sky when Mr Jenkins said, ‘Oh lovely! Come inside and I’ll put the kettle on.’
After a cup of tea and a slice of Amber’s Armenian Love Cake, Mr Jenkins seemed to recover his good spirits and offered to show them his newfangled mower. Perry wondered what fangled meant. He stood close to his friend Jenkins while he unlocked the door to his shed. There, next to the wheelbarrow and the cement-mixer, was a big shiny machine with black wheels on every corner and a steering wheel and a seat. Perry couldn’t tell by looking at it what fangled meant, so he guessed it was a name, like Ben’s truck was called Bedford. But he did know what colour the mowing machine was and made up his mind to tell Scarlet about the new red mower called Fangled.
Layla lived not far from the cemetery. After they had all admired the mower, she said, ‘I’d better go home now. See you at school, tomorrow.’ She waved to Griffin and to Perry, who had forgotten it was the last day of the holidays.
When they arrived home, Perry saw the plants growing in tubs beside the door and remembered the name of the colour of the sky. It was lavender. Then he looked at the painted poem and wondered if there was anything there about keeping your boat steady when you went back to school in the morning.
5. Words and Pictures and Melted Chocolate
Layla was going up a grade. She would be in the same classroom as Griffin, although he would be one grade higher. They were almost the same age, but Griffin was very clever. He read books with tiny writing and long words, like the Comprehensive Illustrated Ornithologist’s Bible, and ones with not many pictures. He knew a lot of things Layla didn’t, even though he hadn’t been going to school for as long as she had. Annie had taught Griffin and his sisters at home up until Tishkin died. Layla didn’t mind that Griffin could read better than she could, because there were other things she was good at; like going fast across the monkey bars fifteen times in a row, and talking to old people, and having really excellent ideas. She sometimes wondered if it was because they were not alike that she and Griffin were best friends. Nell said life would be boring if everyone was good at the same things and Layla agreed.
Perry Angel had only been at St Benedict’s school for a few weeks before the holidays. He was in Miss Cherry’s grade then. Miss Cherry was kind. She had given Perry pencils and let him keep his golden-lettered suitcase under the desk when he’d been too afraid to let it go. Now Perry kept his suitcase under the bed in the sleep-out where he and Griffin slept. But school was complicated. There was a lot to remember. Miss Cherry had talked to Annie, Ben and Nell at Christmas time and now she was giving Perry something else. She was giving him settling in time. Perry was going to be in Miss Cherry’s class again.
On the first day of school after the summer holidays, although they couldn’t wait to find out where their new lockers were and if they would be sitting near each other, Layla and Griffin were standing opposite St Benedict’s Primary School. They were waiting for Perry Angel.
Before the holidays, Perry would ride to school with Ben in the Bedford and in the afternoons he would walk home with Griffin. But sometimes Ben had to travel a long way from home to collect materials for the furniture he made, which meant he had to leave early in the mornings before Perry was awake. Perry wanted to walk to school with Griffin, but he was much smaller than other children his age and Annie thought walking both ways would be too much for him. So from the first day of the new school year, Perry was going to ride on the school bus with the Rainbow Girls, but only as far as Saint Benedict’s.
Nell said it took a lot of practice to become a good bus driver and that Mr Davis was one of the best. Mr Davis had been a bus driver for forty years. He had driven his bus along the same route eight times a day, five days a week and four times on Saturdays for all those forty years. Forty years of experience had taught Mr Davis the number of every stop, its location and what time his bus would get there. The bus didn’t need a cord to pull or a button to press when you wanted to get off because Mr Davis knew the name of almost every passenger and where they would get on. And the only time you had to say where you wanted to get off, was if you were going somewhere different to where you usually went. In between driving, Mr Davis swept the narrow aisle, buffed the red leather seats and polished the chrome instruments which did important things, like show how fast the bus was travelling, and if there was plenty of oil in the motor, and whether there was enough fuel to last the distance. In the mornings Mr Davis wound a handle and a sign written in bold black letters appeared in a small window at the top of the windscreen. It said SCHOOL BUS. After school had started the bus went back to being a regular bus for people to use when they wanted to do things like go shopping or visit someone in the hospital.
The first time Perry Angel rode the bus to school, Mr Davis called out in a loud clear voice, ‘Next stop, number 5, St Benedict’s Primary School.’
Perry was sitting next to Violet.
‘This is your stop, Perry, see, number 5,’ she said, pointing to the sign on the footpath. ‘Oh look, Layla and Griffin are waiting for you!’
When the bus stopped Mr Davis pulled a lever and the door folded back like the pages of a book. Only three people got off before Perry. The rest of the passengers were older children who went to a school on the other side of Cameron’s Creek. As he stepped off the bus, Perry heard Mr Davis say, ‘See you tomorrow, Buddy!’
Perry looked around to see who Buddy was. But no-one else got off the bus. Mr Davis waved and closed the door.
The lollipop lady held up her red stop sign and Layla, Griffin and Perry walked across the road to St Benedict’s. Perry wanted to go with the others, but Miss Cherry was waiting for him. She said she’d saved a special desk for him in the front row of her class. In the morning before playtime, Miss Cherry read a book. She read it aloud, the
way Violet did. It wasn’t like Violet’s book though. This book had pictures as well as words. Miss Cherry read slowly and turned the pages carefully, with the tips of her fingers gently touching the sharp corners, because, she said, a book is a precious thing. In some faraway places there are no books. People there have to keep the words and pictures which make a story inside their heads and their hearts. Miss Cherry turned the book around so the children could see the pictures inside it. It was the story of a dog who once belonged to no-one and then found a family who loved him and took care of him. Perry understood every single thing about the story: the written part, the painted part and the other part which had no name — the secret part that felt like chocolate melting in the quiet dark inside him.
Perry was still thinking about the story at lunchtime. He was also thinking about Blue and Annie and Nell. It seemed a long time since he waved goodbye to them from the window of the bus. He wondered if Blue was waiting by the strainer post at the end of the drive for him to come home. So when it was afternoon playtime, Perry Angel decided to find out.
Forty years of experience had taught Mr Davis that if a small boy was standing alone at number 5 bus stop opposite St Benedict’s school when it wasn’t home time, then something was amiss. So although he knew it would put his schedule out, Mr Davis pulled his bus into the kerb and told his passengers he’d be back in a moment. Then he stepped down off the bus.
‘Where do you want to go?’ he asked Perry. Mr Davis hadn’t asked him any questions when he got on the bus that morning, so Perry hadn’t thought about having to say where he wanted to go.
All the Colours of Paradise Page 2