Simon Kerr

by Rainbow Singer (lit)

  I felt the Void all right, that Friday the thirteenth, being bussed up north to the Crystal River. Teresa made me. She sat up at the back of the bus with Kelly and wouldn't even look at me. What made the big hole even bigger was

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  that she sat in front of Seamus and he was giving her the cyclops eye and me, the evil eye.

  How was I going to say sorry.' How could I in front of Seamus, let alone all those other people? I mean, they were all Taigs. It would be like apologising to everyone of them for being a good Prod. That was impossible. I'd have to try and get her on her own. Somehow.

  I was sitting in the middle-left of the bus with Derry beside me and Phil and Helmut behind us. Nobody was talking much. Nobody was mucking about. I think they were all feeling my Void to some degree and people don't like to feel the Void, whether it's in their own experience or in somebody else's.

  'Snap out of it, Wil?' Phil said after a particularly long and uncomfortable silence.

  'Yeah,' seconded Derry.

  'Yeah, snap out of it,' thirded Helmut.

  Being slagged by the other two was OK, but Helmut, that was something I couldn't take. I mean, that specky dickhead was sitting there wearing what must have been one of Phil's Iron Maiden T-shirts, Powerslave, and giving me grief.

  'Fuck, off Helmut,' I said back. 'At least I'm not wearing an Iron Maiden T-shirt just to be like Phil.'

  'I am not!'

  'Are so,' I said.

  'Am not,' said Helmut.

  'Arsehole,' Phil said, looking daggers right at me.

  That put an end to it. I think that's when I first realised Phil was getting all protective over Helmut. I mean, wearing matching Iron Maiden tops was kind of telling, but acceptable, as long as they didn't have the same Eddie on them. And they didn't - Phil's was Eddie in a straitjacket, off the Piece of Mind album. But, when Phil called me an arsehole, when he chose to defend Helmut

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  over me, it made me think about the flight over Cleopatra's Needle.

  We arrived at Waupaca's Crystal River Chain O' Lakes just before noon. The counsellors hurry-hurried us all out of our bus and assembled us on the riverside for a safety demonstration from the River Instructor - or whatever the old codger giving the lecture was titled.

  Old Man River showed us how to put on our life jackets. We were shown how to get into our two-man indian-style canoes. We were shown how to paddle in time. We were instructed not to worry about drowning because the river was no more than three feet deep anywhere along the course we were to navigate. Finally, we were warned to fork left at the sign that said junior route - this way or we might find ourselves paddling all the way to the Atlantic, but by that time Derry and me were tired of being talked at. We were giving big Stacey-May some stick.

  'Aren't you coming with us, Stacey-May?' I asked her.

  'You got to be joking,' she said. 'I'm too big for one of those things.'

  'Aw come on,' said Derry. 'How do you know till you try?'

  'I know,' she said, laughing and slapping her big belly. 'It's hard enough trying to get in and out of the bath of a morning.'

  That conjured some rather revolting images of Stacey-May naked, squatting and washing her big black lard-arse in the bath so I didn't engage in any further goading.

  When the counsellors were quite ready, we were all allowed to pair up, get ourselves in the twenty canoes and push off, out on to the Crystal River. I remember that moment of letting go so well. The sun was high. The

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  water, molten crystal. Never had a place name seemed more apt. Me and Derry just floated away . . .

  Aw, I know reminiscing in the first person can lead to sentimentality, but who says you shouldn't indulge in a nostalgia trip, that the letting go of sentiment hasn't its place?

  That's all the above is though - my unreliable reinvention of how things happened - you know, that we floated away for a peaceful rites-of-passage kind of experience, but the reality was more a shites-of-back-passage type-thing. Right from the off, everybody was trying to get a stroke going and water was spraying everywhere and canoes were capsizing and people were not drowning because the water was too shallow, but that wasn't the near-shitty-catastrophe. In a splash-duel with Phil and Helmut we almost lost our Derry-special packed lunch: the tuna, cucumber and mayo submarine sandwiches in our rucksack. It was that close, and it would have been a big loss because we were going to need all of that energy for our extended journey that unlucky-for-some day.

  About a third of the way down the river there was a picnic area set in woods on the riverside. The counsellors (minus Stacey-May) waved us in and we all landed our canoes, and got into our own groups, and got stuck into our packed lunches.

  Half-way into our submarines, that was when the trouble really started. See, Seamus and Peter chose that moment to come over for a quiet word with me. 'What about you, Wil?' asked Peter wearing a fake smile.

  'All right,' I said and continued eating.

  'Just in case you're wondering, we haven't forgotten about the concert,' said Peter.

  'He wasn't wondering,' said Derry and stood up.

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  'This isn't your business,' said Seamus. 'It's between us and him.'

  Derry moved into Seamus's face and said, 'Says who?' 'Man - you reek of tuna!' said Seamus and took a step back.

  'Oh yeah?' Derry said.

  'So it's hke that, is it?' asked Seamus.

  'There's two of you,' said Derry. 'And there's two of us now. Don't forget it.'

  'Don't forget me either,' Phil said.

  'Yeah and me,' Helmut added in his baddest voice.

  Seamus looked around us all and began backing off. 'We were just coming over to shake hands and you homos go and start it all off again. On your heads be it.'

  'Fuck you,' said Derry.

  'Fuck you too,' chorused Peter and Seamus.

  When I look back I feel a certain pride at the solidarity shown for me by my group. Yeah, believe it or not, I the arch-individual was once a valued member of a group of mates. But I also feel an indebtedness to the others in the group and guilt and regret for what happened next.

  I know, I know, I shouldn't feel these emotions. I didn't ask for their help. They gave it ... I was about to say freely, but that is not true. Because nothing is free in a group, in a we, in an us. I'm not saying Derry did it because I'd owe him, or Phil or Helmut. We were all just doing what Us boys do faced with the enemy Them. Bonding. Becoming a brotherhood.

  Back at the lunch site though we were all just finishing our submarines off when, up periscope - we saw Peter and Seamus lurking down by the canoes. Or rather, Phil our group lookout did.

  'What're they up to?' I asked.

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  'Don't know,' said Phil. 'I think they're getting into their boat.'

  Derry had a look. 'Yeah they're getting a head start on everybody else.'

  'But it's not a race,' Helmut said.

  That was true. It wasn't supposed to be a race. But there's something about competition that the male mind, especially the young male mind, just cannot resist. We as a group saw what Seamus and Peter did as a direct challenge to us. That, as it turned out, wasn't the case -they weren't intending to race us at all. We figured that out for ourselves when we ran down to launch our canoes.

  Peter and Seamus had stolen one of our paddles. To be more specific, they'd stolen it from mine and Derry's boat.

  'Fucking bastards,' Derry said. 'The wee shites,' I added.

  We looked around, checking to see they hadn't lifted anybody else's. Nah, everybody else had two paddles. So, the theft wasn't just a challenge to a race, or the start of Round Four. It was more personal. It was a declaration of all-out war.

  We could have lifted somebody else's paddle and taken off after them but we didn't. Derry and me just accepted that this was war and that men had to endure hardship in war to get a crack at the enemy.

  'We'll show them Taigs,' I said. 'Even with one bloody pa
ddle.'

  We launched.

  Phil and Helmut too.

  Now, when we set off that seemed to cue everybody else into action. All the Projectees and counsellors threw their

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  'Wil, I have no idea.'

  'Do you think this channel goes to the same place as the other?' 'Yeah.'

  'Yeah,' I seconded his hope.

  It's at times like those that you can experience the Void. When you feel so alone you get this out-of-group perspective. You see how small you are. How little you know. How few people would care if you got lost or died.

  We'd missed our sign. Derry and me. We were worried we'd get into trouble. But we shouldn't have worried that much. There are so many signposts in life, so many other people telling you where you should go. I'm kind of glad we went our own way; glad we one-paddled our way into the Void.

  So what if the Crystal River showed us its darker side? Like Algonquins we rode its rapids and pushed ourselves out of trouble more than a few times. Yeah, we were scared because it was starting to get dark early and we didn't know what lay ahead, but it was new and it was exciting: the hardship of war and the terrible beauty of Mother Nature, that is. And, by the time we happened on an overturned canoe at another bar of rapids, we were even what I'd say was Void-happy.

  All that changed when we saw whose boat it was.

  There were Teresa and Kelly the Taig on the river bank. Kelly just folded her arms and scowled at us, but Teresa waved timidly over and said, 'Hi, Wil!'

  'Hi,' I said back. 'Need some help?'

  'Yes please,' Teresa said.

  So a reluctant Derry and an enthusiastic me set about trying to salvage the sunken boat. It was no easy job. You see the way the boat had been wedged against the

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  rocks meant that water was rushing over it, crushing it there. We tried everything but the river didn't want to let go.

  'How the fuck did you do this?' Derry said to Kelly. She shouted back. 'I needed to powder my nose.' 'What?' Derry said.

  Teresa explained, 'Kelly needed the toilet so we pulled over upstream and well, both of us got out. While she was behind a tree, I wasn't looking and the canoe must have floated off.'

  'Where are your paddles?' I said.

  'They must have floated off too,' Teresa answered.

  'Floated off,' said Derry. 'That sounds like the stupid kind of excuse my sister would use for losing something!'

  That created an awkward silence in which the only sounds were the rush of the river and groans of Derry. 'We're not going to be able to budge this, Wil,' he said to me.

  'Ah well, never mind, they can come with us,' I said. I felt a bit like El Cid, rescuing his Sophia from distress.

  'No they can't. They'll sink us,' Derry said. 'And remember we only have one paddle.'

  We both turned to the girls.

  'We have a problem,' I said, 'We can't bring you both with us.'

  'No problem. I'm not going anywhere anyway anyhow with those two,' Kelly said to Teresa.

  Teresa tried to persuade her otherwise. 'Kelly - it's not like we have a choice?'

  Kelly was adamant, so the choice of passenger was made crystal clear for us.

  'Come on, Teresa,' I said, pointing to our canoe.

  'There's a house up there on that hill,' Derry told Kelly. 'Phone from there to tell the Crystal River about their canoe and maybe some day they'll pick you up.'

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  'Fine,' said Kelly. 'I'll do that.'

  'Maybe I should go with you?' said Teresa.

  But Kelly was in a full sulk. 'No. No. You go on with your boyfriend. I'll be all right.'

  The look on Teresa's face. It would have killed dead things! Kelly had obviously overstepped the mark once too often with her put-downs so, to spite her, Teresa came with us.

  We left Kelly as she ran off to the house on the hill.

  Teresa felt bad about leaving her. I sort of did too. But Derry was as pleased as punch. 'She'll be all right,' he said. 'There aren't too many things out here that'll tackle something as venomous as her.'

  The three of us paddled down the river as twilight fell and the air got all grey and bitty. Strictly speaking, Derry did the paddling. Teresa just sat up front. I was in the middle.

  A brave while passed before I got the courage to tap her on the shoulder.

  She half-turned to hear me out.

  'I'm sorry about what happened at your pool party,' I told her low so's Derry wouldn't hear.

  She nodded, looking sad.

  I said, 'I don't think of you as a Taig, Teresa.'

  She shrugged uncomfortably. 'I don't think of you as a Prod either, Wil.'

  'I want us to be friends again,' I said, and put my hand on hers.

  'Just good friends, yes?' she said, and withdrew her hand.

  I think I heard Derry making puke noises behind us but I ignored him . . .

  'I'm sorry,' I said one last time - the way the Fonz said the chicks really loved.

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  It didn't work, though. Instead of kissing and making up we became just good friends formally. The Fonz was wrong about apologies.

  The hole in me got wider.

  Yeah, it would be fair to say I went into freefall despair.

  I wasn't long for falling though. Round the next meander we happened on an ol' landing where the rest of the Projectees were waiting in the yellow bus for us, all except Counsellor Ciaran, who was standing there on the landing with his hands on his hips. 'What time do you call this?' he shouted at us. 'We've all been waiting for you lot for two and half hours.' 'Sorry,' said Teresa.

  'Where've you been?' Counselor Ciaran demanded.

  I stated, 'Someone stole our bloody paddle!'

  Teresa said, 'And Kelly and I had an accident.'

  That's when it hit him that he was short a Projectee. 'Oh my God! Where is Kelly? Is she all right?'

  'Yeah,' said Derry. 'She went off to phone for help at some house.'

  Our lateness ceased to be of such importance as Counsellors Ciaran and Kate and Stacey-May took Teresa to see Old Man River to find out where Kelly had ended up. I think because it was Friday the thirteenth they all feared that she'd been cut up in the house on the hill like in that series of slasher movies.

  Derry and me got on the bus with all the others and were told to wait for news of the missing person. We needn't have worried, not that with our other concerns we were worrying that much. Fear was the last thing on our minds. Terror was the first - there was the matter of the stolen paddle to deal with.

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  After saying our hellos to Phil and Helmut, me and Derry and Phil and Helmut went straight up to the back of the bus, where Seamus and Peter were sitting tittering.

  'What's so funny.'' Derry said, standing over Seamus in the aisle-seat.

  'You,' said Seamus and giggled his head off, along with Peter and their hosts, Merrick and Joe, who were obviously clued into the big joke.

  'Why'd you take our paddle, Seamus?' I said, pushing my way in, past Derry.

  It was Peter who answered from his window-seat, 'In case we lost ours.'

  They collapsed into hysterics. They thought they were safe, see, amongst their own, sitting down there laughing at us. But they weren't. Because the Void of love lost was howling down into their faces. And I was that Void. Hitting down at Seamus as hard as I could, I made contact with his left temple and it was some bang I tell you.

  What followed was total mayhem. Group violence at its most hectic. The whole back of the bus erupted into a flail of fists. I saw Derry turn into the Hulk and smash Peter's head off the window. I caught a glimpse of Helmut going down. I think I saw Phil rush to get Joe off his fallen host. I don't know how many times I was hit by Seamus (it can't have been many) or hit out at him. I don't know how many times I hit that fella Merrick. I just don't recall an awful lot about the fight. It was too fierce, too brief, and I was too devoid of feeling for there to be many memories from it. My main recollect
ion was a sensation of satisfaction though. If that thirteenth was anyone's unlucky day it was theirs. Round Four was ours! We beat them Taigs into submission.

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  19

  Stained Windows of Opportunity

  There was a lot of ill-feeling after the fight - between us and them; them being seemingly everyone else.

  Of course the Project, especially Counsellor Ciaran, couldn't just leave it at that. The Rev and Mom Horrowitz were informed of our 'disgraceful behaviour' directly upon our return home and took the other side's lies as gospel. As a result we, the criminal brothers, were sent to bed without supper, and with our wounds, what little there were, untended.

  Lying in my bed, alone in the night, I refused to think of Teresa. I would not dream of the Fonz either. There was only darkness in my mind.

  The next day, when we got up with hungry-heads on we were told by Mom Horrowitz, 'No breakfast yet. Pops wants to see you two.'

  'Where is he?' sighed Derry.

  'Outside on the porch.'

  We went out to face the music. At the grill-door we saw the Rev was sitting in the wicker chair, reading the Bible.

  He didn't look up as we came out. 'That'll do. Right there,' he said. We stopped.

  The music began. It was not Steppenwolf's Heavy

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  Metal Thunder, but it was loud.

  'I had a phone call early this morning. From no less than the Chairman of Project Ulster himself. What Bishop Clement O'Riley shouted at me went something like, "Reverend Horrowitz, we are supposed to provide a strife-free environment for these kids to make peace in, not create another war zone. The Project has been compromised and I can't have the Project compromised." Do you know what else he said?'

  'Nah,' we said.

  'He said, "Mark my words. There will be repercussions." And then, he rang off. You know what that means?'

  'Nah,' we said.

  'It means you'll probably be kicked off the Project.'

  'Oh,' we said, or maybe that was just me.

  'Look at the state of you,' the Rev said.

  I was tempted to say the only state we were in was Wisconsin, but I didn't. Instead, I looked over at Derry. He had a bruised chin and a swollen nose but that was it. And Derry looked over at me. I'd got out of it with a few scratches and a banged-up ear.