Just Joshua

by Jan Michael

His father went over to the oil drum to see how the fish were coming along. He lifted the poles that lay across the top. Fish hung down from the poles by string threaded through their gills. The first two rows looked ready. Satisfied, he slid the fish on to a metal tray. ‘Put these inside, would you,’ he asked Joshua.

  Joshua got up and took the tray inside, laid the fish out under the counter and brought back the tray.

  ‘Now, would you –’ His father broke off, laughing. ‘I forgot, you should be back in school. Go on now.’

  Sister Mary was waiting for him on the verandah outside the classroom, looking worried. ‘There you are at last. We have to get that cut seen to properly,’ she said, eyeing the bloodstained handkerchief around his elbow. ‘You didn’t think I’d forget, did you? Robert was using the rustier blade, so I’m going to take you to the hospital, just to be safe.’

  Robert appeared at her side in time to catch her last words.

  ‘No.’ This time Joshua didn’t run. ‘Dad’s cleaned it for me. He says it’s okay.’

  ‘His Dad won’t like it if you take him to hospital,’ Robert chimed in.

  Sister Mary wavered.

  ‘He treats things himself,’ Robert added. ‘He uses his own medicine.’ He turned to Joshua. ‘Come on, Josh, or we’ll miss Sister Martha’s arithmetic lesson.’

  Sister Mary’s eyebrows shot up comically at this unusual sign of enthusiasm.

  ‘He’ll be all right, Sister. Really.’

  Robert pulled him back into the classroom. ‘Come on, Josh.’

  Joshua went back to sit at his usual place, next to Robert.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A cardinal bird darted into the mango tree in search of its mate. Not finding her there, it zoomed out of the tree in a flash of brilliant red and landed on the palm-leaf thatch to look for food. It shoved its beak into the leaves, pecking this way and that, gathering up ants and spiders and swallowing them. It worked its way down the roof, stopping here and there for another tasty morsel, until it came to the edge, where it perched, swaying. Then it dropped down to the window below and balanced there, head to one side.

  ‘Where did you get these?’

  Joshua looked round. His father had pulled his box out from under the bed and was holding the four-legged creature in his hand, staring at it, turning it round and round in his strong fingers.

  Joshua hadn’t noticed him take the broom down from the hook to sweep under the beds. He was cross at not noticing, and even crosser that his father had looked under his bed. ‘That’s secret, Dad.’

  ‘Ah.’ His father looked at him. ‘I’m sorry. But since I have seen them, where did you get them, Josh?’ His father had stopped turning the little animal. He had found the broken leg and was frowning.

  ‘Outside the hospital. We collected them,’ Joshua explained.

  ‘We?’

  ‘Me and Robert. And Millie and Tom and Miriam. You know. Anyway,’ he felt less cross now, even quite pleased to be telling his father. ‘There was a mountain man in there and he threw them out.’

  ‘Is he still there?’ his father asked.

  Joshua shook his head. ‘He died.’

  His father got heavily to his feet, the box in his hands. ‘These are rejects, Joshua. The mountain man didn’t mean them to be collected. They’re broken. That’s why he threw them away.’

  Joshua crossed the room and took the box from his father and clasped it protectively to him.

  ‘Get rid of them, Josh.’ His father’s face was set. ‘They’re bad luck.’

  Joshua opened his mouth to argue. He nodded instead.

  ‘Now. Okay?’

  Joshua left the house with the box. Once outside, he looked at the two stone carvings. He didn’t want to get rid of them. It didn’t seem right. But he couldn’t keep them under the bed, not any more. Perhaps he could just kind of get rid of them by putting them somewhere else, somewhere outside of the house where he couldn’t get to them so easily.

  He listened for the steady swish of the broom indoors. His father would be busy for a few minutes yet. He saw a cardinal flit past him towards the shop. That gave him an idea.

  He went to the shop, into the back corner where there was a large carton containing paper, string and some old knives his father had discarded but was keeping, just in case. Joshua had never seen him actually look in the carton. Once he put things there he seemed to forget them, and anyway it was Joshua who sorted out the paper. He thought it was rather clever to hide something under his father’s nose. Get rid of them, he thought, and snorted. He shoved the box down in the bottom of the carton and covered it with the papers and string. The carvings would be safe there. He knocked his elbow on the side as he straightened, and winced. The cut was healing nicely but sometimes it still hurt a bit.

  He sneaked back into the house, grabbed a comic from his bed and was out again before his father had a chance to check on him. Pig was outside and he sprawled on the ground, one arm draped over him. Millie had slipped him the comic that afternoon after school. She said her father had been given it by a tourist. Joshua was fascinated by the bright, small pictures. The words in the bubbles were foreign and he couldn’t understand them, but he tried to follow the story through the illustrations. There was a red-headed boy in the first picture with a wicked grin glued to his face; in the second picture he was shaking a tin of something down a friend’s shirt. At least, Joshua thought it was a friend, although he didn’t look too happy about what was happening.

  His father had finished sweeping and was chopping vegetables for the dinner, humming to himself.

  Joshua lowered his comic and watched as his father threw the vegetables into the hot oil and added garlic, turmeric and chillies. His head was bare; he must have taken his hat off to sweep under the beds and forgotten to put it on again. Joshua noticed the way the light fell on his hair – straight hair, like his own. He was different to the other men in the village, there was no doubt about that. Joshua had succeeded in shutting out Robert’s words, now they came flooding back.

  But mountain men who came to this village got sick and died, he reasoned. So his father couldn’t be a mountain man, even if his hair was straight. If he was, he wouldn’t be here now, alive and well, cooking their meal. There, that proved it.

  His father looked up and smiled. ‘You’re very thoughtful tonight,’ he said. ‘Didn’t you hear me ask for the plates?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Coming.’ He scrambled to his feet and brought them over. ‘Dad,’ he hesitated. Now that he knew his father wasn’t a mountain man, it felt safe to check. Even so, he took a deep breath first. ‘Dad, you’re not a mountain man, are you?’

  His father was startled. ‘Who said I was?’

  ‘Well, Robert did.’

  ‘Him again.’ He frowned. ‘Why?’ he went on. ‘Would you like me to be a mountain man?’

  Joshua shook his head vigorously.

  ‘Well I’m not,’ his father said firmly. ‘Not so as to count,’ Joshua thought he heard him add under his breath.

  ‘Dad?’

  His father stood up, frying pan in hand, and looked down at Joshua. ‘Where were you born?’

  ‘Here,’ Joshua said confidently.

  His father nodded. ‘And does that make you a boy from the village, or doesn’t it?’

  Joshua nodded. ‘It does.’

  ‘Well then. Now get me my hat, will you?’

  Joshua lifted one of Pig’s trotters and put the comic under it so it wouldn’t blow away, then went inside for his father’s hat and swapped it for a plate of food.

  That night, lying in bed, he tossed and turned restlessly. He wasn’t wholly satisfied by his father’s answer. His father had straight hair, he wore a hat, he’d been a butcher, he carved – and there was Pig.

  In the morning he went round for Robert. Only Robert’s mother was indoors. She always baked on Saturdays, and the room was stiflingly hot from the small iron stove. He hovered hopefully, watching. Perhaps he could double-
check with her, he thought. He’d start with the most important question.

  ‘Is my father going to die?’ he asked her back, as she bent to open the oven door.

  She looked round at him in surprise, then turned back to what she was doing. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she answered at last, taking out a baking sheet and releasing a gush of warm biscuit smell into the air. ‘Of course he isn’t.’ She put a knife under the biscuits to loosen them, then tipped them out one by one on to a piece of raised wire netting to cool.

  ‘Never?’ Joshua asked, testing her.

  ‘No, not never. We all have to die one day, my love. But there’s no reason he should go just yet, is there?’ She looked up in alarm. ‘He’s not ill, is he?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Well then. Here,’ she handed him one of the hot biscuits and he crammed it into his mouth. Still he lingered by her side.

  ‘Is there something else bothering you?’ she asked.

  He shook his head, eyes on the ground.

  ‘Robert’s going to the market for me,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you go along with him?’

  Just then Robert appeared. ‘Mum, Miriam says she won’t … hey, Josh.’

  ‘Go and tell Miriam I want her to help me in here, will you. And ask Tony to look after the others. And make sure Solomon is clean, and –’

  Robert escaped, with Joshua on his tail. Sometimes Joshua understood why Robert liked the comparative peace of his home. ‘Robert!’ they heard his mother shout after them, but Robert didn’t stop.

  At the market they went straight to Mama Calla.

  ‘You two come to buy or to sell?’ she asked.

  ‘Both,’ they answered in unison.

  ‘Tell you what, Joshua, you sing for me. Robert, you go and get me a glass of coffee.’ She extracted some millis from her pouch and stretched across the piles of fruit to hand them to him.

  ‘Don’t you sell berries?’ Joshua asked her after he’d settled down beside her.

  ‘Berries?’ she asked in surprise. ‘No. Plenty of good fruit and vegetables to sell without those. Anyway, what berries? None round here. Look, are you going to sing, or aren’t you? I don’t want you just sitting here chattering. I have a lot of beans that need to be shifted, and tomatoes. Will you sing them first?’

  ‘Fat beans, juicy as ripe tomatoes!’ sang Joshua. ‘Come buy Mama Calla’s beans, sweet as her red tomatoes!’

  It didn’t go as well as the previous time, perhaps because Mama Calla cramped their style. Robert felt silly copying her phrases while she was there, watching them with narrowed eyes as she drank her coffee. After half an hour she paid them off with a small melon each and a quarter of the price knocked off the vegetables Robert had been sent to buy.

  They headed for their usual stretch of wall. Joshua spotted a sharp flat stone near his feet and picked it up. He wiped it on his shorts and dug into his melon, using it as a knife.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ He cut away some melon. ‘Here, want this?’

  Robert put it in his mouth.

  Joshua began whittling at the melon with the stone, but it didn’t seem to be working. Pummel came up to them, sniffed at their ankles and barked.

  ‘Here, Pummel, fetch!’ Joshua threw the stone for the dog. It looked reproachfully at him and stayed put. Robert found a piece of wood and threw that instead.

  Pummel ran, and reached his target just as Swabber came lumbering round the corner towards them.

  ‘Oh-oh.’ Joshua put down the melon.

  Pummel growled. His legs and back stiffened and he strutted up to Swabber, the piece of wood forgotten. The dogs were sworn enemies. Pummel slowly worked his way around Swabber, sniffing aggressively. Swabber, the older and larger of the dogs, froze, ears flattened against his head. Only his eyeballs moved, rolling back in his head. Pummel nipped him experimentally on his hind leg.

  That was enough. Swabber leaped round on all fours to face Pummel, snarling, lips drawn high over his gums.

  A couple of men had gathered. Now more sauntered over as the dogs began to circle each other. Pummel pounced and drew blood. Swabber’s hackles rose. Still he snarled.

  ‘Two korias on Swabber!’ a man yelled. There was mocking laughter from the onlookers.

  ‘Make it five for Pummel!’ called out another.

  Joshua and Robert went over and joined the men who were forming a rough circle around the dogs.

  The stakes climbed to eight korias. Swabber and Pummel, sensing the atmosphere, flew at each other in earnest. Pummel was smaller and sharper. When Swabber pinned him down and lowered his head to bite, he wriggled free, and raced around the older dog.

  There was ragged cheering from the crowd.

  Swabber turned, trying to keep pace with Pummel, trying to make sure he was always facing him. Pummel launched himself at the side Swabber least expected, bit, drew blood and darted away again before Swabber was able to retaliate. He came in again. This time Swabber managed to graze him with his teeth, but not before Pummel had sunk his deep into Swabber’s leg. Swabber let out a howl.

  The men surrounding them grew silent, intent on the fighting. Not even the man who had placed a bet on Swabber was egging him on now.

  Joshua’s heart thudded. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. Dogfights were common in the village, but he didn’t really want to watch this. He was sure that Swabber was going to be slaughtered.

  Pummel threw himself at Swabber’s head. He seized an ear in his sharp teeth and tugged hard. Swabber howled again.

  Suddenly a hand grabbed the back of Joshua’s shirt and jerked him to his feet. His father broke through the circle of men and threw the sack he’d been carrying over Pummel’s head.

  At once the snarling turned to a whine. Mutters rose from the spectators. Joshua’s father ignored them.

  ‘Go!’ he ordered Swabber.

  Swabber didn’t move. He seemed stunned.

  ‘Go!’ He pushed the dog with his foot. Swabber shook himself and slunk off, limping.

  ‘Who asked you to interfere? Get out of here! Meatseller!’ a man hurled the curse at Joshua’s father.

  ‘He’s not!’ Joshua shouted.

  But his father didn’t answer. He took the sack off Pummel’s head. ‘Joshua! Robert!’ he called.

  The boys went over, trying not to look at the men. Pummel barked and wagged his tail, transformed in a second from a vicious fighting dog to the playful mongrel they knew. Joshua bent down to pat him. He couldn’t help himself.

  When he straightened up, Simon was standing in front of his father.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ his father said in a quiet voice, stepping to the left to avoid Simon. Simon stepped to the left too. He moved to the right, but again Simon blocked his way.

  ‘Hello, Simon,’ Joshua said, edging closer to his father.

  Simon took no notice. He was staring hard at Joshua’s father. For a moment no sound came through the damaged teeth. Then, ‘Meatseller!’ spurted out on a wave of rotting breath.

  Joshua’s father flinched. He put out his hand for Joshua, and Joshua took it. He gave his other hand to Robert, but Robert pretended he hadn’t seen. Then he turned away, brushing past Simon.

  ‘Meatseller!’ Simon swore again. He threw back his head, arched and then spat at their feet.

  Deliberately, Joshua stepped on the glistening glob, covering it from his father’s eyes. He ground it into the earth, staring straight ahead, trying not to retch at the slipperiness under his skin. The three of them walked through the circle of men, restless now and breaking up as the men drifted away.

  As they walked off, they could hear Simon cackling maliciously, but no one else tried to interfere with them.

  Joshua’s father squeezed his hand reassuringly and then let go. Once they were beyond the market area he stopped and slumped against a wall, his eyes screwed tight. For a long moment he just rested there, saying nothing. Then he squared his shoulders and opene
d his eyes. ‘We couldn’t have Swabber being beaten, now could we, boys?’

  Joshua was astonished to see him wink.

  ‘That wasn’t a fair fight; Swabber is too old and slow for a young pup like Pummel.’

  Not a word about what had happened after.

  But Joshua would not let the insult go so easily. ‘You don’t even sell meat any more!’ he cried indignantly, still trembling from the ugly scene.

  ‘That’s right,’ his father agreed. He wiped his arm across his damp forehead but beads of perspiration sprang up again as soon as he had done so. ‘Don’t let them get to you, Josh. Not ever. Now,’ he went on, pushing himself away from the wall. ‘I was going for a walk. Why don’t you both come with me?’

  Since the day of the riot he hadn’t carved, and since he’d started smoking fish he rarely drank. He went for walks more and more often. He was restless, always on the move.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Robert asked as they rounded the hospital.

  ‘Round the back here,’ Joshua’s father answered, heading for the trees.

  ‘Oh.’ Robert stopped dead. He was silent for a moment. ‘I think I’ll see what’s going on at the Gola,’ he said to Joshua.

  Joshua’s father noticed Joshua dithering. ‘Go with Robert if you want to.’

  They split up and went in different directions, Robert and Joshua towards the hotel and the jetty.

  After a few steps, Joshua turned and looked back, uneasily remembering the sweat on his father’s forehead. It reminded him of someone else, but he couldn’t think who. Behind the banks of oleander bushes that surrounded the hospital were other, taller bushes with dark glossy leaves. Behind that, trees grew thickly, seeming to merge into the darkness of the high, looming mountains which shut out the sky and the sun. There was no path there. And there was no sign of his father. He’d been swallowed up by the darkness.

  Robert came and stood at his side. ‘That’s the way the mountain men take when they come to the coast.’

  Joshua looked at his friend, his unease returning.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Robert said. ‘I’m not saying your father’s one of them. Only that that’s the way the men from the mountain go.’