by Sarak Kanake
Eventually their mum noticed. She went hysterical.
‘Where did you leave him?’ asked David, holding her by the shoulders. Jonah couldn’t tell if his dad was trying to comfort or shake her.
‘He was right beside me,’ she said. ‘He was!’
David rounded on Jonah. ‘Why weren’t you watching him?’
‘There, look,’ said Jonah. He pointed to the trees.
Samson came wandering out as if nothing had happened.
Their mum burst into uncontrolled sobs. ‘I can’t do this,’ she said, over and over. ‘I can’t do this, David.’
‘What’s for lunch?’ asked Samson, and their dad slapped him across the face.
Afterwards David held his hand like a wounded bird, while Samson sobbed.
That night, while Samson was asleep on his side of the partition, Jonah snuck outside to the back verandah and spied on his parents.
‘At least we won’t have to worry long-term,’ said Alice.
David poured them each another glass of wine. ‘Because of the services act?’
They’d been talking about some new government disability thing all year. Jonah didn’t understand what it meant, but they acted as if it would save their lives.
‘Yes,’ said his mum, taking her glass back from his dad, ‘but that’s not what I meant. I meant Jonah. He’ll always be there. Samson won’t ever be alone.’
Jonah shook his head, even though no one could see him. He hated his parents and he hated Samson and he hated the stupid services-whatever act if it meant he was going to be responsible for a retard. He looked down at his hands, boiled red from making fists.
Jonah never told his parents what he thought about their plan. He didn’t tell them that as soon as they were dead, he was going to send Samson to the nearest institution, leave him there and never look back. If his brother was gone, Jonah might even be able to make his own friends. Friends like the girl under the water tanks. No one wanted to be friends with Jonah when Samson was around. People thought his brother was charming, and Jonah was weird.
He turned to face the tiger and stirred up the soft, thin dirt. It surrounded them like a dark grey mist. Tears fell, drop after drop, from the end of his nose. The tiger licked them away.
‘We don’t need them,’ said Jonah, and he scooped the tiger up in his arms.
Together they broke free of the house and lawn and fence, and disappeared back into the darkening bush.
Clancy stared at River’s empty bed. Jonah. That little shit. How had he got into the room, and what had he done with the pelt? Clancy started by searching in the closet. He removed every shirt and every pair of duds. He looked in Jonah’s empty suitcase and backpack. He looked through the desk and in all the drawers.
‘What’re you doing?’ asked George from the doorway. His hair was neatly slicked back, and he was wearing the same navy blue suit that Clancy had worn to his wedding. Time hadn’t kicked the shit out of him the way it had with Clancy.
‘What does it look like?’ he answered.
George pulled a Craven A pack from his breast pocket. ‘You reckon the small one took it?’
‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ said Clancy, as he riffled through the last drawer in Jonah’s dresser.
‘No one saw me.’ George stuck the head of his durry onto his bottom lip and pulled out his lighter.
‘Jonah’s got it,’ said Clancy. ‘I know he’s got it.’
Scrape. The Zippo skidded across George’s thigh, and Clancy could smell smoke. ‘Only one place left.’
‘Where?’
George nodded to the bed. ‘Your leg up to it?’
Using the dresser as support, Clancy lowered himself down and stretched out his crook leg until his arse was almost touching the ground. He took all the weight of his body on his good leg and peered awkwardly under the bed. A large leather satchel. Clancy dragged it out and gazed back into the darkness. A cardboard shoebox.
George leant against the wall. ‘Boys will be boys,’ he said. It was something Clancy’s da always said whenever his ma wanted Clancy punished.
Clancy left the satchel where it was and grabbed the box, then used the mattress to help himself up. Something inside the box moved, thumping against the side.
‘That box isn’t big enough for the pelt, Clance,’ said George. His durry had burnt down to almost nothing, and his fingers looked as though they were on fire.
‘No?’
In answer, George took a last puff.
Clancy lifted the box’s lid and for a second he thought of Queenie rising through the black rubbish bag towards his hands. The only red pup in a litter of black, brown and grey. The smell was the same. The smell of old, caught death. One white eye stared up at him from the sea of black feathers. King.
Clancy’s hands shook. ‘Oh no,’ he said gently, and he thought of Murray trudging back up the mountain with the young, parentless kookaburra.
When Murray first returned from Sydney, Clancy had barely recognised him. The boy who’d packed his bags and walked defiantly down the mountain was strong and healthy. The man who came back was small and skinny and wearing a faded army jacket. His pants were torn at the knees. His hair was plaited into two rows. He moved slow, pushing himself on as if he was walking upstream. His boots were the colour of an old cowpat, and he seemed ready to keel over.
Clancy ran outside. ‘Murray!’ he called. ‘Murray.’
The man looked up. His eyes were dark, almost black, and the skin around his lips was pale and flaky. ‘I’m here,’ he said.
‘You’d best come inside.’
Murray lifted a black feathery ball out of his jacket pocket. ‘I found him.’
The bird ruffled its feathers. Clancy couldn’t tell what it was. A crow maybe? A currawong? Two tiny black eyes stared at him.
Murray glanced over at the house. He didn’t seem ready to come in.
‘Where’ve you been?’ asked Clancy.
Murray tilted his head back and let the twilight trickle over his face. A large flower had been tattooed on the back of his hand, and the skin beneath looked almost grey. ‘Sydney,’ he said. ‘Back now, but.’
‘How’d you get here?’
Murray gazed back down the drive. Seashells were plaited through his hair. They clacked softly.
Clancy asked, ‘Left something there, mate?’
‘Yeah,’ said Murray. ‘I came by foot.’
Clancy wanted to put his arms around the boy and tell him he could come inside, and feel safe. He wanted to tell George’s son that he missed him and was sorry about being part of a lie that had forced them all apart.
‘Want to come inside now?’
Murray looked into his eyes. ‘I came by foot,’ he repeated, and then he fainted. The bird tried to cry out. It tumbled from Murray’s hand.
Clancy lifted out the dead kookaburra, black feathers scattering over the bed like an exploded pillow. He saw a flash of blue and thought maybe King was about to burst from inside, but the body was cold and filled with hard, thin sinew.
‘You going to tell Murray?’ Scrape. Click. George lit another smoke.
Clancy shook his head. He couldn’t. Not this. Murray had already lost so much.
‘What will you say?’ asked George.
‘Nothing.’ Clancy placed King back into the shoebox and closed the lid.
George smirked. ‘Reckon we could both use a drink now,’ he said, even though he didn’t drink.
‘Yeah,’ Clancy muttered. ‘Reckon we could.’
Samson and Mattie lay on their backs under the water tanks behind Clancy’s house, gazing up at the ebbing sun through the rough timber boards. The ground was cold, and there was no grass. Samson’s bum and back felt damp, as though he was lying on a wet towel at the beach.
Mattie sat up. Samson followed because it was easier to sign sitting.
M-U-R-R-A-Y, started Mattie. His kookaburra is missing.
Samson nodded slowly.
He think
s your brother took him.
Samson shook his head. ‘No.’ But something pulled at the edges of his mind like a hand dragging him backwards. ‘You don’t know my brother.’
Mattie lay back down again, and Samson didn’t join her. I am running away soon, she signed over her head.
Why?
Mattie stared at her hands as if she was trying to find her answer in them. My mum is having a baby.
Samson shrugged as if to say, What’s wrong with that?
She doesn’t even know I’m here.
Samson wondered where his own mum was, and if she still remembered him and still remembered Jonah.
She’s forgotten me.
When? asked Samson.
Mattie shrugged. What? she signed, and the sign for what was one finger waving back and forth like someone getting into trouble for doing something naughty.
Your mum is here. My mum is gone.
Mattie sat up. You don’t understand.
Samson nodded.
No, you don’t, signed Mattie, and Samson could tell she was upset because her face was red and her mouth was clicking as she mouthed her words. My mum says you’re disabled.
Samson hated the sign for disabled, a backwards ‘C’ pushed into a flat hand like a wall, but the ‘C’ couldn’t break through – instead, it turned into a knife and cut the wall through the centre.
Handicapped, then.
Samson shook his head. Handicapped was worse. Handicapped was the index finger on either hand pointing down, followed by both hands going in circles, only the hands were out of time and went in different directions.
Mum says you aren’t like us.
You’re deaf and dumb, signed Samson angrily, and his hands hit his ear and mouth harder than they needed to, as if he was already punishing himself.
Mattie pushed him in the shoulder, and he slipped back. Fuck you.
Samson looked away. He wasn’t supposed to use the word fuck, even in sign.
Mattie stood up and almost hit her head on the wooden slats. Water dripped from between the gaps and some slid down her cheek as though her ear was crying.
I’m not disabled, signed Samson.
I am not dumb.
‘Dumb just means you can’t speak,’ said Samson.
Fuck you, she signed again. I can speak.
Not in daylight, signed Samson, angry again.
Mattie turned and crawled out from under the water tanks.
‘I’m not disabled,’ he repeated, only Mattie was already halfway back to the bush and couldn’t hear him. ‘I’m not.’
Samson stayed where he was, the sky darkening. He wished he could change his chromosomes, fill in the lines on his palms and reshape his eyes.
He thought of what Murray had told him about the Rainbow Snake. Squeezing his eyes shut, he saw the Big Bang. Stars shot out and lit up the darkness. Dust and rocks circled. From the centre of the explosion came the Snake, mouth open. It slithered across the earth, curling the mountains into shape, uncovering the trees like new seedlings and furrowing creek beds. Rain fell, and the creek beds filled with water.
Samson held out his hands. Droplets fell into the deep grooves and sank into his skin. He kept his eyes closed while his body grew, up and up and up. When he opened his eyes again, his face was surrounded by stars. He looked down.
The Rainbow Snake wrapped around his legs and feet. It pushed his flesh and bones and skin, turning him into a new shape. His feet melted into thin slivers, and his legs sank into the earth like the roots of a tree. His knees buckled and transformed into mountains, and his torso drifted, broke into pieces and became clouds, sun, even airplanes filled with people. His body kept going, up and up. He looked again, and his head was another planet. A new part of an old galaxy.
Clancy reached for the light switch on the living-room wall. He missed.
‘You’re munted, mate,’ said George.
Clancy ignored him. He found the switch, and the room filled with a throbbing yellow light. He covered his eyes. Something swirled inside his head. His tongue felt furry. Even though they’d been drinking for hours, George seemed just the same, while Clancy could hardly stand. He flopped into the armchair and watched as George finished his beer by the window. ‘Why’d you just give up?’ he asked.
Condensation from the bottle ran down the underside of Clancy’s arm. He could taste the amber bitterness. It made him feel like throwing up. He shut his eyes.
‘She wasn’t yours,’ said George.
‘In the beginning …’ said Clancy.
‘You brought me back. I never wanted to be here. This isn’t even me.’ George pointed to the darkness outside. ‘I’m part of all that out there. And so are they.’
‘You’re wearing my wedding suit,’ said Clancy.
George didn’t respond. He walked onto the verandah and started smoking.
Clancy shoved one of the mountain tapes into the VCR. He missed twice, getting it in on the third go. The room was dark, and his eyes were blurry. He steadied himself on the telly cabinet. The tape was already rewound. He pressed play and sat back in his armchair.
This footage was taken from up near the waterfall. A devil staggered from behind a tree – the only animal to appear, Clancy remembered, besides a possum towards the very end. The footage crackled. He closed his eyes and imagined that he was perched in a tree, out on his mountain. He imagined the sounds of the bush animals scuffling in the leaves and the whisp whisp of the wind through the branches. The smell of damp earth and fallen leaves and ghost gums lifted up around him.
Clancy was slipping between the folds of sleep and grog when something flashed in the silvery green. He sat up and leant forward.
Behind a ghost gum, in the deepest part of the footage, was a shadow he’d never seen before. A head. Then a shoulder. A hunched body. It turned. Two white dots lit up. Eyes. It blinked once, twice, and the shadow darted away.
Clancy smelt smoke. George’s hand was on his shoulder.
‘You see that?’ Clancy asked.
‘Watch it again,’ said George.
Clancy got up and sat on the coffee table where he could reach the VCR buttons. ‘Remember what that bloke said?’
George nodded. ‘Tiger eyes glow white.’
Clancy pressed the rewind button, and together they watched the footage again. Nothing. The space beneath the tree was empty.
‘Try again,’ said George.
Clancy rewound and watched the tape over, but they didn’t see the eyes again.
Jonah pulled a green branch from a tree beside him and kept walking. After a few steps, he heard a crack and let go. The tiger, draped over his shoulder like a cat on the bough of a tree, moved slightly.
‘I know, I know,’ Jonah said to the tiger. ‘I do as well … but how?’ How could he get Samson back for making friends without him? Maybe he could say Samson had hit him. ‘He used his amazing Samson strength, granddad,’ said Jonah mockingly. ‘He tried to break my arm.’ Both Jonah and the tiger smiled.
Up ahead, a branch was hanging from a blossoming tree. Although the tree was flourishing, the branch seemed almost dead, with no leaves or flowers. It was twisted like a beckoning finger. The tiger nuzzled the side of his face. The branch was thick enough to pull back without breaking and thin enough to whip him across the face.
‘Do you think it would work?’ asked Jonah. ‘I can try.’ He pushed the base of the branch. He let it go. The branch sprang towards him. Jonah ducked.
This was his answer. One moment of pain, and he could blame Samson and have his brother sent back down the mountain.
‘Good tiger,’ he said, running his fingers through the orange and black fur.
He stood in front of the tree and closed his eyes. He could do it. He’d been attacked by countless boys at school. He pushed the base of the branch again and let it go. It flicked over his head, and he darted out of the way.
‘No!’ he yelled, as if his reflexes could hear him.
The tiger jo
stled from the nape of his neck.
Jonah pushed against the branch once more and closed his eyes. He was about to let go when he heard a crack behind him. A twig breaking?
He turned. ‘Hello?’
The bush was silent.
‘Hello?’
Another crack, this time closer.
‘Who’s there?’ He leant down, trying to push himself into the safety of the tree. The branch snapped off into his hand. His heart was thumping.
Clancy’s dog ambled out from the trees towards him. She didn’t look anything like the creature he’d last seen under the house. Her skin was floppy, as though it no longer fit her body, and there were patches where her fur had worn away. Jonah could see her ribs. She saw him and growled.
‘Get lost.’
Her mouth curled back, and she bared her teeth.
‘Stop it,’ he said, his voice shaking.
Queenie barked, and something changed. The tiger tightened around Jonah. The legs folded in over his arms, then the head moved forward. Something transformed inside him, and Jonah was the tiger. He was something powerful. The fear left him, and he tumbled to the ground, shedding his boy skin. He leant forward and bared his teeth.
The dog lunged. Jonah was knocked backwards, and the branch – which he hadn’t even realised he was still holding – went between them.
A loud yelp, and the horrified dog tried to fling herself back, but the sharp end of the branch was in her belly. Blood pooled over Jonah’s waist and thighs. She couldn’t move while he was holding the other end. He let the branch go and tried to get out from beneath her body.
Queenie yowled again. She was skewered and couldn’t lift herself off the branch. She swayed back and forth, every movement sinking the branch in further. She tried to jump, pushing with her back legs, but she couldn’t jump high enough. She yowled once more and was still.
Jonah waited, then asked, ‘Dog?’ No response.