by Ross Watkins
This morning’s dream was so vivid that it felt like a real event. Two boys, one older, one younger, both with equally dark heads, wrestling on a bed. The older boy laughed at his own strength as the younger tried to tackle him into the covers, but the older boy only had to manoeuvre himself over the top of his brother to pin him against the bed, using his size and weight. He then pulled the covers over his brother and held the end down. The young one screamed a muffled cry to let him out but the older boy laughed again, believing that he knew the limits, the point of suffocation, and that his brother would be fine if he let him go in time.
The screaming became more frantic. He kicked beneath the covers. He cried. He let out a gurgling sound and finally his brother let the cover go.
The young one kicked out again and his heel collided with his brother, knocking him to the floor, but he was laughing still. This sent the younger boy into a rage, his face wet with crying and saliva. He got up from the bed and picked up a heavy book from the shelf, then while his brother had his face turned the young boy brought the book down on the back of the dark head. The head bent forward awkwardly, the body rocking, so the young boy took advantage and hit him again and again, and then once more, until Adrian woke with the tangibility of impact.
*
‘Salaam, my brother.’ Rafiq shook Adrian’s hand, placing his left hand over their clasped hands.
‘And peace be with you.’
‘Oh, I think you are in greater need at present.’ He was looking at the patch over Adrian’s nose. ‘How are you holding up? You don’t look like the Adrian I know.’
‘I guess I’m doing as well as can be expected. It feels like the drama’s only just begun.’
‘Well, I’m pleased you’ve come. It must be difficult, and I have some things to tell you.’
‘The hit-out will be good anyway. Clear my head a little.’
They picked up their racquets and Rafiq opened the glass door to a court.
‘So what’s this news?’ Adrian said. ‘I’ll serve first.’
‘Well, you know these boys. There’s only black and white for them. They tease each other, taunt each other. There’s a very thin line between friend and foe.’
Adrian served as he listened. He gave the ball too much and he faulted.
‘There’s certainly no grey for many of them,’ Adrian said, and served again.
Rafiq returned and the point was over quickly. He took up the serve. ‘They’re still making sense of the world. And where they are placed within it.’
Rafiq’s blend of faith, tolerance and intelligence was what made him such a good teacher. Adrian appreciated that more than ever now. He felt as though he had become Rafiq’s student in that moment.
‘Maybe a few months ago I had a Year Eleven class in the change rooms, and I was outside marking the roll when I overheard some talk. They were teasing each other, saying things about being gay, then someone mentioned Akker. Akker’s the faggot, they said.’
When Adrian heard those words put together that way, echoing off the squash court walls, he missed a shot. He kicked the ball back to Rafiq.
Rafiq continued. ‘Do you remember the fight between Akker and Marley on the oval? They say it was because Akker touched him in the shower – touched his genitals, you know – and Akker was hard.’
There was no need for Rafiq to say anything further. If the boys at school doubted Akker’s sexuality, then the peer pressure, the goading, the sledging would probably be enough to push him to deflect guilt elsewhere. Adrian dropped his racquet on the floor and knelt.
Rafiq squatted beside him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. It’s just … It doesn’t explain everything, but it explains enough.’
‘I don’t believe Alex Bowman is a bad person. Neither is his English teacher.’
Adrian nodded.
‘Tell me, how is Nguyet taking it?’
‘I don’t really know. It doesn’t look like happy days, though – she’s taken Tam to stay with my parents.’
‘This makes sense. There is a saying: when things are too hard to handle, retreat and count your blessings. She needs time and space. Give her your respect and faith and she will return. Amy would need the same if such a thing happened to me.’
‘But it wouldn’t happen to you. That’s the thing – it wouldn’t happen to a guy like you.’
They both stood and Adrian picked up his racquet. Rafiq served and Adrian returned once, but then lost the will to continue. He let the ball bounce in his square and roll to a stop against the glass.
Rafiq turned to him. ‘You will find peace in the truth of this situation. That truth may be a burning coal you must hold, but you will live and you will know it.’
*
The next afternoon, Danny Bowman was back outside the house in his grey Camry, no doubt still burning for revenge. Retaliation. Retribution. Exacted upon those parts of Adrian’s body which had disgraced his son, beginning with his eyes for looking at the boy, then his hands for putting them on the boy, and finally his dick. That’s what Adrian assumed. Ultimately, he couldn’t account for Danny and what he was capable of. He could only imagine the rage building inside that man sitting out there in his car for several hours each day, watching Adrian’s house, waiting for him to come or go so that he could launch his attack, all the while cultivating a special brand of hate.
In the moments when Adrian was both sober and honest he admitted that Danny’s strategy was working a treat. He expected to find something at some time – a bag of rotten meat on his doorstep, graffiti on his garage, or at least another note – to increase the intimidation. To debilitate Adrian’s movements while the case was being prepared and charges tallied down at the station. Or, at worst, as a prelude to the physical reprisal to come. The guy had been out there for hours and hours now over the past three days, since Adrian’s first day out of hospital. He’d just about had enough.
When Adrian had taken the edge off with a few drinks, he fancied his chances against the guy and his scare tactics. After seeing Rafiq yesterday he’d been drinking harder, and it was in this brazen state of mind that Adrian looked out past the curtain to see Danny Bowman sitting in his car, the window half-down. He decided to approach him.
‘What the fuck are you waiting for?’
It was a stupid way to start things off, Adrian knew, leaning against his brick mailbox – casual-aggressive.
Bowman wound his window up, but Adrian could still make out his head, his face. Even if he couldn’t see the man’s eyes, he knew they were fixed on him.
‘Chickenshit! Come out,’ he yelled. ‘Come on, get out of your car if you’ve got something to say to me. Hey! I know who you are. I know your name, buddy. Don’t think I don’t recognise you.’
The more Adrian said, the more he felt like going on, but he was fast running out of things to say without the scenario devolving into something downright ugly. He was wishing Bowman would say or do something. For him to be provoked into acting rashly, recklessly. Adrian was on the verge of no longer giving a shit about himself. If Akker was intent on completely screwing his life, then he’d go out in spectacular fashion.
But then he thought he saw movement in the back of the car. It could have been a reflection, a trick of the eye – nothing at all – but it could have been Alex. Perhaps his father had forced him to join his little stakeout mission and witness firsthand how pathetic the monster had become. Perhaps it was a lesson in confronting the aggressor, the perpetrator. Putting the monster in its place. As a father, Adrian understood this. He often had to show Tam that the figure in the dark was not what he thought it was – that what he feared was just in his imagination. Because there is no creature lurking in the quiet spaces of the house. No goblin, no beast. The only true terror is the person who impresses their will upon another. This was the most sobering thought of all.
Adrian now stood upright and looked away from the Camry. He’d done his dash – for the time being, at least. As he turned to go back inside a car pulled into his driveway, and for a moment he believed some looming horror was about to strike. He felt the old heat come back to his throat when he saw who it was.
*
Sometimes all he wants to do is hit Noel in the face, shout down on him, then offer him a hand to pull him from the ground and move on. Sometimes he convinces himself he’d prefer to not talk about it – that he doesn’t want answers to questions like why? The reasons don’t exactly mean all that much in those heated moments. All he wants to hear is confirmation that, yes, it did actually happen, that it wasn’t a dream or a false memory, that they were just two boys and one was six years older than the other, and that one day the older brother had ideas, and because no one else knew about those ideas no one could stop him from doing them. He created or took advantage of opportunities when no one else was around so he could get what he wanted.
The younger brother had to be taught what to do, of course, so a set of instructions was created.
I’ll tap you on the head as a secret message. One tap means your teeth are hurting me so you’ll have to open your mouth as big as you can. Just like this, see? And two taps means I think someone’s coming, like if I hear a sound or something, so move away and pretend to be doing something else, like playing. Okay? You understand? Good boy.
Adrian doesn’t want someone to blame – it isn’t about that. Noel was twelve, thirteen. Kids do stuff – he knows that. Kids experiment, kids explore their sensory worlds. Kids are just trying to make sense of what they’ve been presented with while their bodies roil through youth. Yet Adrian still needs something – if not blame, then at least reconciliation. A ceasefire. It had to be that. A cessation of heat and fire.
Yes, no more fire.
No more fire.
Please.
*
‘Little bro, look at you.’ Noel hugged him there on the front lawn.
Adrian caught his breath as he felt the thickness of his brother’s upper body. He wasn’t so solid last time they’d stood face to face, when Noel was Adrian’s best man. ‘What are you doing here?’
Noel gave a knowing laugh and said, ‘Brother, you know that better than any of us.’
Of course. The arithmetic was simple: Adrian’s in deep shit, plus Glenda knows, plus big brother is a cop. Noel would equal the hero in this gritty quest for justice.
Noel shut the car door. ‘Let’s talk inside, eh?’
‘Yep,’ Adrian said, then took one more glance back at the Camry. Bowman had his window down again.
Noel caught the look. ‘Who’s ya mate over there?’
Adrian wasn’t ready for that conversation. He was still making up his mind about how to react to Noel being here. ‘Don’t worry about that guy,’ he replied. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
Inside, Noel went about opening curtains and windows as though he owned the place. ‘Reminds me of when you used to stay home sick from school. I always had to open up the house when I got home in the afternoon. Used to give me the shits.’
‘Yeah, I remember.’ I remember heaps of stuff, actually, he felt like saying.
Noel went into the kitchen and made a couple of coffees, then brought them out to the lounge room. ‘Your nose’s seen better days.’
Adrian nodded, took his coffee and sipped.
‘So who is he?’
There was no mucking about with Noel. ‘Just a kid at school. One of my students.’
‘No, I mean the guy in the Camry. I’m guessing he’s not security detail.’
‘He’s more like insecurity, actually. He’s the kid’s father.’
Noel drank audibly, nodded. ‘Impressive. No wonder Mum said to come as soon as we could.’
‘Are Wendy and the girls here?’
‘Not my idea. They’re over at Mum’s, but we’re staying at a hotel in Parra.’
Adrian put his head into his hands. He abruptly imagined himself up on a stand, his head locked into a guillotine, his entire family there to watch.
‘We’re not here to kick your tyres, mate. It might seem that way but, trust me, it’s not like that.’
‘Okay. It’s okay.’
Noel put his hand on Adrian’s shoulder; his instinct was to buck it off. That heat again. He let the hand stay.
‘So has this kid’s dad done or said anything to you?’
Adrian thought of the note, torn up then put back together with tape.
‘I’ll show you,’ he said, and went and got it from his study drawer.
Noel took it, read it. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘So what are we going to do about this fuckwit?’
*
‘Leave it to me,’ he said. ‘Stay in the car. Don’t get out.’
‘Noel.’
‘What?’
‘Please don’t let this get out of control. I don’t need any more shit on my doorstep. I’m dealing with enough as it is.’
‘It’ll be fine. I’m just going to have a bit of a word with him. That’s all.’
‘Please.’
‘And if it goes pear-shaped, it’s on me, not you. I’ll testify to that. Just stay in the fucking vehicle. If you’re seen out here then you are in the shit.’
They’d tailed Danny back to the apartment block and watched him go up to his unit. It was just Danny, it turned out: Alex hadn’t been in the car. Adrian didn’t want to have anything to do with the whole escapade but Noel insisted that what Danny was doing was against the law, and Noel wanted to let him know. ‘Just as a warning. Nothing too aggressive. Tit for tat.’
‘I still don’t know about this,’ Adrian said. ‘I’m not supposed to go anywhere near their family. This is seriously bad news if the whole thing goes to court.’
‘Mate, you can’t live like this, with some pumped-up dickhead stalking you in his crapbox Camry.’
‘I don’t have much of a life left anyway. Think about it, Noel.’ He could barely believe he was defending Danny against the terror of his own brother. ‘Just leave the guy alone. He’ll bugger off. He’ll get tired of sitting out there, and—’
‘And that’s when he’ll come after you. He’ll step out of that car and onto your driveway and he’ll do something drastic. I mean, holy fuck, I’m doing the right thing by both of you here, so you think about it, Adrian. The guy’s pissed at what you did or didn’t do, or however the fucking story goes, and he’s not about to forget that and come for a kiss and a cuddle. Now, let me handle this – it’s why I’m here and it’s what I know. I deal with grubs all the time, and I’ve gotta be good for something around here. Not just opening curtains and making a fucking cuppa.’
Noel was on edge, a pumped-up dickhead himself, Adrian saw, but he couldn’t argue. He was hopeless at arguing at the best of times, and loathed confrontation. For a man of many words in the classroom, he was often caught bereft when he needed them most. Fight or flight? He was one of the world’s best pilots.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I agree. Do it.’
‘Good boy.’
NOEL
Knock, knock.
Danny Bowman opened his door and Noel didn’t hesitate: he put his shoulder into it and forced the door wide. He then stepped in and pressed his forearm into Danny’s chest, and used his other hand to turn the guy flat against the door. Danny shouted, ‘Who the fuck are y—’ and didn’t put up much of a fight, but Noel exercised caution and put him in a neck restraint anyway, compressing his carotid arteries. ‘Don’t resist,’ he told him. ‘Don’t resist and you won’t lose consciousness.’
Danny breathed heavily against the wood of the door, rapidly at first but then, after a minute, with the blood flow to his brain restricted, he calmed. Noel pulled him away and shut the door with his boot, then marched the man over to an
armchair. There were no dangerous objects at hand.
‘I’m going to soften my grip now and ask you to comply,’ he told Danny. ‘If you agree to comply I’ll release and step away, at which point you must sit in the chair. You got me? Don’t do anything stupid or I will use force.’
Danny grunted.
‘Okay. I’m softening my grip now’ – he did so – ‘and I ask if you comply with my instructions.’
Danny nodded as best he could.
‘Say it.’
‘Yeah, I comply – yes.’
Noel let him go and stepped back. He noticed a mobile phone on the coffee table but watched Danny in the armchair, rubbing his throat. Noel lowered himself into a chair on the other side of the small table, then leant forward and picked up the mobile and put it in his pocket.
Danny watched. ‘So I don’t call the cops, ay?’
‘I am a cop, you dickhead.’
‘My arse you are.’
‘No bullshit, my friend.’
‘If you were a cop you’d be worried about more than just a phone.’
‘Cops worry about a lot of things, including people like you and the threat they pose to others in the community.’
‘I’m no threat. I’ve done nothing to you. I don’t even know you. You’re the fucken threat, mate, bashing me against the fucken door … If you really are a cop then you better get ready for a court case – your face on the telly.’
‘I’m not here to bully you, Mr Bowman. What just happened there was for my own safety, because I know you better than you think, and I have reason to believe that you’re actively intimidating with intent to cause fear of physical and mental harm.’
‘Harm who?’
‘You know exactly who I’m referring to.’
‘Tell me. You think you know, so you tell me.’
‘Where have you been over the past few days?’