Goodnight, Boy

by Nikki Sheehan

  But when we pulled up outside Oskar had gone and someone else had moved in and barred the door.

  ‘Come,’ she said, and I climbed back into the Jeep.

  She sat quietly for a moment, looking at me, then she took a pen and a piece of paper.

  She drew an airplane, a house, a man, a woman and a boy. She didn’t try to use the words she knew of my language, just pointed to the woman then to herself. Then she pointed to the boy and pointed to me.

  She was asking me to be her son.

  Driving back from the tin shack Melanie sang. I didn’t know the words, but I sang along with the tune and our voices became one. It was beautiful.

  I thought that Melanie would take me straight onto a plane and up into the sky. Instead we drove to a large stone house on the outskirts of town.

  Its wooden shutters were hanging off their hinges, the tiles on the roof had piled into each other, and a crack, just wide enough to slide your hand into, snaked across the front.

  But the yard, Boy. I had never seen so many flowers, all different shapes and colours, like fireworks among the palms and tall eucalyptus trees.

  I knew that this was a place where love grew.

  At the door stood a middle-aged man and woman, their arms wrapped around each other. They were both tall and well fed with greying hair. He wore a clean white shirt. She was dressed in layers of clothes as bright as the flowers, and her hair was wrapped in a sky-coloured scarf.

  Melanie approached and spoke to them in English, but I hung back, unsure what was happening. The couple then looked over at me and all three talked more, then they nodded their heads. An agreement had been made.

  Melanie beckoned and I went to stand next to her. She took my hand.

  ‘I’d like you to meet Mamie and Pepe,’ she said.

  Mamie bent down to my level and spoke in our language.

  ‘Child, we are going to look after you for a few weeks, just while Melanie arranges your adoption.’

  ‘Is this an orphanage?’ I asked, looking over her shoulder into a room where I could see several pairs of eyes staring back.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘This is our home. We are foster parents. Our own children are grown and gone, so we look after anyone who’s in need until they move to somewhere permanent. We usually only take one or two, but there are a lot of children in need since the earthquake.’

  I looked at Melanie. She smiled, willing me to like Mamie.

  But I did already.

  ‘You think you’re too big to be looked after,’ Mamie continued. ‘But if you stay here you’ll be safe and well fed, and, most importantly, Melanie will know where to find you when she comes back.’

  This made sense, but I hadn’t forgotten about Oskar.

  ‘Can my best friend come and live here too?’

  Mamie’s eyes fell for a second. ‘I don’t like to turn children away, but this a small place and we’re already full, so I can’t take anyone in without knowing they have somewhere to go on to. I’m sorry. It’s just the way it is.’

  I looked at Melanie smiling, urging me to stay there, to be happy, to wait for her.

  And I nodded my head.

  Then Melanie gave Mamie some money and we said goodbye.

  It was over so fast.

  ‘I never got out of the habit of caring,’ Mamie told me as she showed me a mat in the corner of a crowded bedroom that I would sleep on. ‘I expect I never will.’

  Pepe rolled his eyes. ‘I thought we’d be resting in our armchairs by now.’

  She laughed. ‘He’s just jealous that he has to share my cooking. But don’t worry, there’s always enough to go around.’

  Life with Mamie and Pepe was easy compared with the streets; there was clean water, and black-eyed peas and rice for dinner, or spaghetti. Sometimes even chicken.

  But there wasn’t much space, and more people arrived every week, so sometimes I had to give up my mat and sleep on the floor.

  I tried not to make friends with the other children because I knew that they or I would be going soon. But day by day, as I chatted to Mamie, and played dominos with Pepe, or helped the younger ones to write their letters, the emptiness that I had felt on the streets began to fall away in layers.

  And, with the money that Melanie had left for me, I could start school again.

  I could barely remember how to read and write, but I caught up fast. I even studied English.

  I worked extra hard because I knew that I was going to need it really soon.

  At night sometimes I dreamt about Oskar walking the streets looking for me. But I never went to find him.

  Melanie came to visit every week on her day off. We would go for a walk, and she would tell me stories about what it was like in America, and how much my life was going to change. I didn’t understand a lot of the words she used, but I loved to listen to her.

  Then, one day, she came with a piece of paper.

  ‘What do you think this is?’ she asked me.

  I shrugged.

  ‘It’s your adoption document,’ she said. ‘It went through today. You are officially my son!’

  She hugged me and I felt as if I were floating high above the dusty ground.

  ‘Can we go to America now?’ I asked.

  ‘Just as soon as you have a passport,’ she said. ‘It may take a few weeks.’

  I was disappointed, but then she added, ‘My contract has ended here, so I’m going back home to finalise arrangements. But your dad and I will fly over just as soon as he can get away from work, and we’re going to take you on a holiday for a week. How about that?’

  ‘But when?’ I asked.

  She held my hands and looked into my eyes, ‘Soon.’

  The balloon is still up there.

  I’d love to play balloon volleyball. You’re good at that. You never popped it with your teeth.

  You’re so gentle with your teeth.

  I’m going to try and climb the fence. Then, maybe I can reach a branch and shake the tree.

  It’s harder than it looks, Boy. The spaces are too small for my feet.

  Shhh. Stop jumping and barking, or I’ll have to come down.

  Boy! Stop barking!

  I’m coming down.

  Because of you.

  We’re lucky he hasn’t come out.

  If he had seen me halfway up the fence

  he would –

  Settle down, Boy.

  That’s right. Settle down.

  That’s good, but you don’t have to lick my face.

  How about a new story? One about a dog?

  That’s fast wagging! All right.

  I’m going to tell you about the dog we had at the orphanage. His name was Button because when he was young his head waggled like it was on a thread.

  The dog was the girls’ idea. They wanted a little puppy so they nagged at the guardians who looked after us, promising they would take care of it. We boys joined in too. We told them that we could train a dog to guard us.

  We could see them considering it. So we continued to ask, and one day a young man came with a lump under his jacket. We crowded around and he took out a brown and white puppy. It was a few weeks old, much too young to be given away really, which is why its head was wobbling. Its mother had been run over by a car and no one wanted it. That made us love the dog even more; no one wanted us either.

  You’re wagging, I knew you’d like this story.

  Well, this part anyway.

  Button was a very spoilt puppy. The girls used to carry him around like he was a baby, and one of the guardians, who knew about dogs, would shake his head and warn us. ‘That puppy will end up vicious if you don’t start to treat him like a dog. If you pick him up he will start to believe he’s equal to you.’

  Of course, me and you, Boy, we’re equal, aren’t we?

  We’re both at the bottom.

  Button grew fast. After a few months he wasn’t little anymore, he was the size of a wolf. His sharp baby teeth dropped out and big
ger sharp ones grew in their place.

  Let me see your teeth, Boy.

  They’re very yellow and worn down.

  That one I broke with the stone doesn’t look good.

  Button’s were whiter, and more dangerous. You couldn’t hurt anyone with those stumps.

  Soon Button became too big to carry around, and gradually no one would walk him either because he attacked any dogs he met. If someone new came to the orphanage he would try to attack them too.

  We stopped calling him Button. We called him Satan instead.

  Maybe that’s why, when a priest came for a visit, Button broke free from his tether and bit the man’s arm.

  The next morning Button had gone.

  Move over a little, I need to stretch out.

  Though we had allowed him to turn into a vicious dog, we were devastated. D’you know why, Boy?

  I’ve only just realised the answer, so I’m not surprised you don’t know.

  It wasn’t because we missed him or wanted him back. We didn’t even like him anymore.

  It was because we knew that we were as bad as our parents.

  Many of us had been given up, or taken when our parents weren’t looking, but they didn’t come and find us.

  So they can’t have cared very much.

  Boy, what have you heard? Is it him?

  I can see. He’s coming.

  No, don’t pull, I won’t let go of your collar.

  Come and look through a spy hole with me.

  He’s limping badly now.

  I wonder what’s in that bag?

  Yes, I know he’s thrown it into the run, but I want you to wait while I go and see.

  Boy! Wait, I said!

  Good Boy.

  It’s clothes! My clothes.

  And wet wipes.

  Oh!

  And a Milky Way.

  Boy! Boy! Boy!

  You know what this means!

  Here, jump up and give me your paws!

  Yes, let’s dance!

  No, dance, not wrestle, Boy!

  She’s coming back!

  Melanie is nearly home!

  She will let us out, and take us back into the house and feed us and everything will be all right.

  Boy, can you believe it?

  I knew this day would come, and now it’s here.

  I’ll clean myself extra well with these wipes. Not only the parts that show. Hands, face, neck.

  Don’t look.

  I’m tingling now!

  I’ll rub my hair too.

  Here, sniff me. I smell of lemons!

  What? Don’t you like lemons?

  Your turn now. Melanie won’t want you stinking either. Remember how she loved sniffing you after you’d been in the shower.

  I’ll clean your head.

  Stop struggling, it’s nice.

  And let me wipe those crystals from the corners of your eyes.

  That’s better.

  Sorry, does it sting?

  I like the feeling.

  And now the clean clothes.

  Oh, they’re too loose around the waist. I must be shrinking.

  I hope she comes back before my clothes are dusty.

  She’s sure to let us out.

  After we’ve said sorry.

  It’s been ages, Boy. The sun has nearly set. It will be dark soon.

  If I lie down my clothes will become dirty.

  I’ll sit a while longer.

  I’m really tired now. It’s all right for you, curled up asleep, but someone has to listen out for her car.

  Someone has to wait for Melanie.

  I think I’ll have a nap. I’m sure the dust will brush off.

  It’s morning.

  He’s coming.

  Is she with him?

  No.

  But he’s shaved and he’s wearing smart clothes.

  He looks like he used to.

  She must be in the house.

  He’s dressed nicely for Melanie.

  I’m holding you tight, Boy, don’t try and bolt out again.

  He’s opened the padlock and let the gate swing open, but

  Boy! No!

  Come back, Boy, don’t run out there! He won’t like it!

  Come back!

  COME BACK!

  He’s acting like he can’t even see you. Maybe he can’t. His eyes are so bloodshot and swollen in his face. Like he’s been crying.

  Good, Boy. Thank you for coming back.

  Now sit here. He’s calling for me.

  I think he wants to take me out with him.

  I think we’re going to fetch Melanie from the airport.

  So while I’m gone I’ll talk to you in my head. Like last time. Just keep listening. I won’t forget you for a moment.

  ‘Church.’

  Melanie said he had to remember to take me to church.

  Do you think we’re meeting her there? Would she go straight there to thank God for a safe flight?

  ‘Get in the back.’

  I hope we’re meeting her there.

  I’m in the car. He’s looking at me through the rearview mirror. I think I disgust him.

  It’s the smell, Boy. Despite the lemony wipes.

  But he smells too

  of decay.

  ‘Belt.’

  He doesn’t want me to be hurt if we crash. I know that’s why he said it.

  Remember how he used to be a good driver? Fast but smooth.

  His leg is shaking so badly that he can barely use the pedals and the car is lurching down the road like he’s drunk. I’m pretty sure he isn’t because I can usually smell the alcohol if he’s been drinking.

  He’s definitely ill. His face is grey and shining with sweat.

  Do you think his leg’s infected from the bite?

  I hope it’s something else. Flu, cholera even.

  Anything that’s not our fault.

  He’s angry now. Other cars keep flashing and sounding their horns at his kangaroo driving, and he’s screaming and swearing and waving his fist. I’ve slid down in the seat so no one can see that I’m with him.

  It’s a long drive.

  We can’t go to Melanie’s usual church because of me.

  We have to go to another town where they know no one.

  He’s stopped in the church carpark.

  I hope she’s here.

  ‘We’re late.’

  He makes it sound like it’s my fault, Boy. I suppose that’s fair.

  He’s walking ahead of me, though he has to drag his leg, and now he’s holding the heavy church door open for me.

  ‘Oh, shit.’ He said that, not me. I don’t swear. Not in English.

  Inside the service has started. There are no empty seats near the back. Heads swivel into faces as we walk along the aisle toward the front.

  I can’t see her, Boy.

  I don’t think she’s here.

  She would have saved us a place.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  We’re squeezing down the bench, but it’s hard for him with his leg and he nearly fell into a lady’s lap.

  They look at us strangely. A few that I recognise from before smile, and he nods a greeting back, but I say nothing.

  I’m sitting down now and I’m sad that Melanie isn’t here, but it’s so good to be out of the doghouse.

  To be in a place that doesn’t stink, with my butt on a soft cushion is heaven.

  Even holding the clean white pages of a hymnbook feels special.

  He’s staring at my hands now. I don’t know what to do. I can feel my heart beating faster.

  My hands, Boy. The skin is clean, but my nails end with black moons.

  He’s taken the book away. I’m sitting on my hands.

  I wish you were here. So many people to make a fuss of you.

  I see them sneaking a look at us, the dirty boy and sweating man, then looking away again when they realise that we’ve seen them.

  They would be more friendly if you were here.
r />   Everyone loves dogs.

  The pastor is talking so much. I’m not used to so many words. So many ideas.

  Earth

  Heaven

  Hell

  Love

  God

  When all we’ve had for so long is

  Walls

  Roof

  Run

  Us

  Him

  I wish Melanie were here. He doesn’t even like church.

  A man in front just turned around and glared at me. Do you think he’s told them we’re living in the doghouse?

  Do you think he’s told them why? What we did?

  I think the man knows. I’m sure he knows.

  I’ve slid down in my seat, like I did in the car, so people can’t see me.

  Maybe I should run out. I don’t want them to guess what type of person I really am.

  But he would be angry.

  Besides, the church is warm, and my seat is comfortable.

  I’ll stay a little longer.

  It’s hard to stay awake. I’m used to napping during the day with you, then waking in the night every time the bushes rustle or a fox walks into the backyard.

  ‘JC!’

  He’s shaking my arm like a dog shakes a rabbit. I wish he’d stop. I didn’t know that I was asleep. My head was on his shoulder.

  ‘Listen to the pastor,’ he hisses like air escaping from a tyre.

  Boy, I’d better try, but it’s hard to understand. He’s talking about forgiveness, and he said that anger can be a powerful and useful emotion, and it’s necessary to fight injustice.

  He’s right to be angry with us.

  The pastor said so.

  ‘But…sometimes forgiveness is even more powerful.’

  Did you hear that, Boy? Did you hear what the pastor said? It’s like he knew what we had done, and he was speaking just to him. I’m sure he thought the same because he shifted in his seat.

  The service has ended. Everyone else is gathering their things, or chatting to their neighbour, but he’s holding my arm and pulling me along the row, stumbling and falling over the other people, and now we’re walking as fast as he can go, which isn’t very fast, to the door.

  I’m keeping my head down, Boy, staring at my shoes like in number two, and following him, and hoping hoping hoping that no one tries to talk to me.