Little Gods

by Jenny Ackland

  ‘But you can tell, can’t you? If someone did it?’

  ‘They tell me if they’ve done it, usually. But even so, you have to know when to go back and forth about something, how to be okay with not knowing the truth, thinking it could be this, thinking it could be that. If you make up your mind too soon you could be wrong, but the time comes when you have to stop the swinging back and forth and just pick one way. You have to know that guilty people act innocent and innocent ones can seem guilty. All the time. You need to be able to put all these things together. If something doesn’t fit, maybe it doesn’t belong, but remember, for a long time it might not seem to fit and then it just does, so if you rush, well. Problems. Most people find it too hard to sit for a while, not knowing.’

  ‘But what about the other things?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like what is fairness, what makes people bad. What is good punishment.’

  ‘All that stuff is for other people. Not lawyers, not really.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Guilty is something the court decides. It’s not a real thing. What you’re asking is whether I think they’ve done it and I’m telling you that doesn’t matter. Those coppers aren’t idiots, they don’t waste their time on a case they won’t win. Most people aren’t bad but they can do bad things. There’s a difference. That’s what you will eventually understand.’

  ‘But the guilty ones have to go to jail,’ said Olive. ‘In the Bible it says that people are the little gods, which means they have power to do things, like make baddies pay. That’s what Thistle said. That you should do whatever you can to make things right.’

  ‘Here we go. Enter the childhood philosopher slash theologian slash women’s liberationist with her firm convictions intact before the travails of adulthood overwhelm her and shepherd her towards corruption, cynicism or confirmed and permanent denial.’

  ‘But all criminals should go to jail or pay money. They have to fix the problem and pay things back.’ She could feel her face going red. Why was Cleg being mean, especially when he was so sad before? ‘It’s not true, is it?’ she said to William. ‘Does he help bad people?’

  ‘He has and does,’ William said. ‘Like your uncle said, you’ll see when you’re older.’

  It was the wrongest thing she had ever heard. She wouldn’t ‘see’, and it wasn’t ‘life’. Rue’s refrain of ‘it will all be alright’ was a lie. If lawyers weren’t the ones making the decisions and making sure people got paid back, made sure people did the right things, who did? The police just cleaned up the messes. Who fixed things? Maybe it was judges. Alright, she’d be a judge then.

  ‘That’s so stuffed,’ she said and stalked off to bed.

  She slept well and woke early in the morning. She ate cornflakes and read her book until her mother told her it was time to go home. Often, when it was time to leave, she couldn’t be found. There would be many delays followed by much fuss. But this time she was already packed and went and sat in the car with her seatbelt on while her parents were still gathering everything together. Rue asked her if she was feeling alright but Olive didn’t say a word.

  Bruce drove them home in silence. Once in her own bedroom she spent the rest of the day thinking. Jethro was back and it was time to start the final action. If she didn’t do it she would combust into a million pieces of bone and ash.

  She had to get it done.

  IT WAS REMEMBERING Thistle’s strength, the way her aunt said that they were the same, that made her wait until it was late and go to get the screwdriver from her father’s toolbox. It was thinking about what Cleg said, that he helped criminals, and her decision to become a judge, that made her put it in her pocket and get her bike out from the shed.

  She pedalled down the street on the footpath, cut across a driveway and went right at the school. It was two in the morning and she was headed to Farkham Street. Farkham was long and spinelike and ran from the old highway at the north of Stratford to the main road. It had shops on the south side and a football oval on the north. About halfway along, it intersected with Hopetoun, a broad avenue which bisected the town into two west and east halves, one side with the church and the other with the pub.

  As she rode she realised Jethro’s car might not be out the front. Maybe it would be in the driveway, or even in the garage. She would stop a few houses away, dump her bike on the nature strip to creep along and have a look.

  She really hoped it would be parked on the street.

  It wasn’t. She got off her bike at number seventy-one and put it under a bush. She walked along the fence line towards seventy-five, where the Sandses lived. Approaching, she could see no lights on at the front of the house, a compact single-storey weatherboard. The exterior was neglected, with peeling green paint and rusted gutters, an overgrown garden and gates off their hinges. The interior, though, was always neat and clean, the surfaces shining as best as Mrs Sands could get them. Olive had liked the house when she was friends with Snooky but now it sat with a toxic glow in the night, round as a toad as if waiting to hurt her.

  She peered around the edge. The car wasn’t in the driveway either. This was a problem. At the end of the drive was the garage, narrow with one of those pull-up doors that made a noise and the only patch of light was a small spread falling out of a window at the side. Was it the kitchen? She couldn’t remember. It had been a long time since she’d played at Snooky’s. There might be a separate door on the right side of the garage but with people still awake inside it was a big risk. She had thought three o’clock would be better, but the idea of being out even one hour later scared her.

  She stood at the fence, listening. She was almost certain there wasn’t a dog. She’d never heard about Snooky having one and she tried to remember if Jethro had said anything at the ganger’s hut. She thought he had said he hated them when they were talking about the scar on his face.

  She looked down the drive. She was sure she’d be able to bend and scurry underneath the sightline but found herself powerless against curiosity and was drawn to the window. She inched up the side from the bottom. A little more and she was looking into the lounge. It was empty but the TV was on, snow on the screen throwing light into the corner where two windows met. Then she saw them: feet at the end of the couch. Big feet, crossed and still. Dirty socks. Was it Mr Sands or Jethro? Was the someone asleep? Maybe it was John on the couch, not Jethro. If it was him and she got caught she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Hopefully Jethro was asleep and his car was in the garage. Hopefully he wasn’t out at a pub or a friend’s place, drunk and trying to get with girls. Hopefully he wasn’t about to pull into the driveway with his high beams to discover her pressed up against the side of the house. She would freeze and wasn’t sure if she would be able to run. At the window she was about to move, or think about moving, when she saw the socks start tapping, the toes clapping against each other at the end of the couch.

  She ducked and scrambled further along, under the window. On the other side, she peeped again. The socks were still in the same position but now there was an arm over the back of the couch, a thick arm with man-hair and one of the silver-studded leather straps that Jethro wore. He was clicking his fingers. He was awake.

  She moved down the driveway. Past some pot plants lined up along the cement, the sweet dusty smell of geraniums in the air. Around the corner came a cat. Orange, big, back arched with its tail up, turning in front of her, threading between her ankles. It miaowed and she patted it. She went to the side of the garage. There was a door and she put her hand on the knob, looking back over her shoulder. She pulled a little and it didn’t move. She pulled a bit harder and it opened and the cat darted through. She followed it inside, closing the door behind her, glad it didn’t make any noise. She couldn’t see so waited until her eyes adjusted, the cat rubbing against her legs.

  Something big emerged in outline, a pale form looming out of the darkness. Moving with her hands in front, sliding her feet forwards carefully so she di
dn’t knock anything, she passed around the front of the sheet. The cat followed, getting in between her feet, purring. She lifted the sheet and felt down to where the metal grille was at the front. She crouched, peering at the badge. Through a gap in the garage door came enough light for her to see the lettering, the silver metal word: CHARGER. She put the tip of the screwdriver in behind the emblem, in the middle of the word, and started to lever, first with arm strength and then leaning down hard with her whole body weight. Before she could stop the thing had bent outwards in the middle. She adjusted the screwdriver to the side a bit and tried again. It took a few goes but it popped off with a snap. She did the same at the other end, near the C, and that end came off too, though it took a bit longer. The cat was still there, she could hear it purring, and she was glad it was there with her. She didn’t want to be alone in the garage doing what she was doing, which was a bad thing.

  Then she tried to get the other badge off and luckily that one was easier, probably because it was a more solid rectangle rather than thin writing. She had them. She smiled. She would make an excellent thief.

  She put the badges in her pocket with the screwdriver, pulled the sheet back over the front of the car and, still grinning, stepped on the cat. It shrieked and scratched her leg and she ran to the door, knocking over something that was leaning against the wall. Behind her the clattering noise sounded like wood and metal, maybe gardening tools, falling onto the floor of the garage.

  She ran out the door to the driveway as the porch light came on. As she turned the corner she heard the back door open. Down the driveway, past the window, she didn’t bother to duck but sprinted out to the footpath, to her bike. She rode down the street, crossed to the other side where there were more trees and pedalled to the end of Farkham and around the corner, almost crashing into the fence. She stopped. Sitting on her bike she rolled back and looked through the bushes. Someone was standing in front of the house, looking up and down the street. He walked back in and she stayed a moment, chest sore and legs shaking. She pulled the two badges out of her pocket and held them up to her nose and whispered, ‘Howzat.’

  Looking through the bushes once more she saw two figures outside the house now, one walking away from her and the other coming in her direction. She set off home, bike wheels whirring.

  She put her bike in the shed, crept in through the back door and climbed the stairs, stepping in the right order so they didn’t make their creaks. She went to her room, shut the door in increments, and her heart started to slow. She kicked her shoes off and got into bed and lay listening to the sound of her breathing, then put on her bedside lamp and took out the things from her pocket. The silver badge, with the curving ‘C’ at the beginning and the ‘R’ lengthened at the end. The snappy shapes of the other ‘r’s’ and the cut-off of the ‘g’. It was pretty cool even if it was bent a bit. Maybe she could hammer it flat again. And the arrow-type badge, an oblong with three triangles all nested inside each other; a black one, a white one and a red one. She put them under her pillow and turned off the lamp and went straight to sleep.

  JETHRO RAN ALONG Kellda Street. Her house was somewhere along here. Was it the one next to where his old teacher Mr McCullers lived? The streets and houses were quiet. One dog barked a little behind a gate as he walked past but it settled quickly. He thought he’d go around the block, see if he came across anything.

  He knew it had been her. The knocked-over tools in the garage couldn’t have been the cat and he was certain he had heard light footsteps, the gripping sound of runners on cement, of feet running away. It was possible he’d imagined it. He had been almost asleep on the couch, after all. He’d been tired from the drive back from the city, and once home he’d had to listen to his mother talking about the Nash women. Then she’d complained about the doctor’s bill for Gary’s arm being more expensive because it had been a weekend, that she still hadn’t paid because next month Luke had to get his plate from the dentist, which would cost such a lot.

  He stopped under a tree. There was a light on upstairs in one of the houses. He considered it and, just as he was about to walk on, the window went dark. It was her. He took note of the number, seven, and walked on.

  Back at home, he lay a long while before sleep, thinking of Olive Lovelock and wondering what she was up to.

  MAVIS SANDS HAD a headache and was trying to rest when she heard loud talking in the kitchen. It was Jethro and Vanessa and when she came out she saw them sitting in the kitchen.

  ‘What’s that?’ she said. ‘What are you hiding?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ said Jethro.

  ‘Just a funny picture,’ said Snooky.

  ‘Keep it down, please,’ said Mavis. ‘I’m not feeling well.’ She went back to her room.

  Jethro got the note out from under the table. He read it once more:

  ‘Who gave it to you?’ he asked his sister again.

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Snooky.’

  ‘I can’t. He told me not to.’

  He? Jethro had been certain it was Olive Lovelock. That morning he’d seen the car grille, that the badges were gone, and any reluctant admiration he’d felt had disappeared with the realisation that this girl had touched his car. This creepy kid, riding all over the place on her bike in the middle of the night, camping out at the hut. Reading the note, though, he wondered if it was Bulldog. His sister had said it was a man who gave it to her, but wouldn’t say anymore. Bulldog or Nutter maybe—but why would they do it? It didn’t make any sense.

  He went out to the car again and studied the grille. Maybe she hadn’t done it. The removal was a clean job. Bulldog worked at the mechanics and liked to souvenir tags. Jethro was confused. The note said to go to Soldier’s so he guessed that was what he was going to do.

  ‘Are you gonna go?’ Snooky said.

  ‘None of your business. Now git.’

  Jethro knew that it would be a very bad thing if it was Nutter, but he had to go anyway, to see who had nicked his badges. He would get them back or not, but either way it was something he couldn’t ignore.

  OLIVE RANG THE farm and got Archie. He was sure one thousand per cent that he wanted to help. He suggested trying to get a gun out of his father’s cupboard but she said no, could he find some rope? And they needed a spade, too. She told him what his job as part of the plan was. She ran through everything with him twice. He didn’t ask why and he didn’t say it was a bad idea. He listened, and each time she paused his small breathy voice came down the line: Yeah.

  ‘And don’t say anything.’

  ‘To anyone, I know.’

  She hung up and ate a bit of toothpaste and got into bed. Soon she was going to find out exactly what had happened. She felt excited but also worried, with a small flicker of something in her chest.

  That night she dreamed that her mouth was filled with dressmaker pins and beyond, lodged in her throat, were clumps of cottonwool. First she had to pull out the pins. Then she had to reach in, past her teeth, reach for the round white balls that were stuffed in there. In her sleep, she was practical and calm, making herself breathe steadily, in and out and in, as her hands did their work. She knew that to panic was to lose control, but it was almost impossible to keep calm as she sensed herself edging closer to something dangerous.

  SHE WAS ON her bike in the meeting spot at the bottom of the driveway, waiting for Archie’s signal. She’d ridden there with her torch, her backpack and, most importantly, her tape recorder. She waited a bit longer but he still didn’t appear. There was no torchlight moving from house to shed. Maybe he hadn’t woken up yet. Maybe he was still working out how to balance the spade on his bike. She put her things down, left her bike and backpack beside the fence, and walked up the long drive, careful on the rocky gravel. She didn’t want to put the torch on and there was not much light in the sky. But she could see enough. Beside the driveway the pines towered, black on black. She probably should be scared but was so fixed on her purpose, she realised, that sh
e hadn’t even thought of what would happen if a murderer came out from behind one of the trees and tried to get her.

  She went to the back of the house and was about to open the door when Archie appeared. Mandy was with him.

  ‘She was in the hallway but I think she’s still asleep.’

  ‘Shhh,’ Olive said. ‘Whisper.’

  Mandy’s eyes were open like in a horror movie.

  ‘Mandy?’ There was no reaction. Olive waved a hand in front of her face and then pinched her. ‘Mandy.’ Her cousin’s eyes tracked around Olive’s face, blinked and settled back into an empty stare. She pinched her again. No response.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do, so I told her to come and she followed me.’ Archie sat down on the step to tie his runners up. ‘I’ve got the rope ready, like you said. And the spade.’

  ‘What are we going to do with her?’ Olive said. ‘She has to go back to bed.’

  Mandy spoke in a normal voice.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Shhh. You have to go back to bed now,’ said Olive. ‘It’s late.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘I want to come too,’ said Mandy.

  ‘You can’t. I’m taking you back to bed.’

  ‘I’ll tell.’

  It was a night empty of sound and very still, a time for ghosts. Thistle said wind blew the ghosts away but Olive had started to realise that while some of the things her aunt had said were true, many weren’t.

  ‘You can’t come. I’m taking you back to bed and you can’t tell anyone afterwards. I’m really serious. If you do, I’ll bash you.’ She felt bad because it was something Gary Sands would say. Mandy arched her back, throwing a shadow that reared up along the wall. She was about to tell Mandy to go back to bed again when her cousin opened her mouth and started keening. It started low and Olive clapped her hands across Mandy’s mouth.