by James Roy
At first Harry wasn't sure if the voice was addressing him. But when he glanced around, there was only one other person nearby – the man in the stained Ford cap, sitting on the end of the bench. Even though it was quite warm, he wore several layers of clothing, and his mouth was worming about under his untidy beard as he concentrated on crumbling a wad of two-minute noodles into a foam cup full of hot water. Harry had seen him around the station before, often asleep on one of the benches under the stairs which led up to the overpass. He hadn't noticed him there for a while, though – not since the railway people had 'fixed' the seating on the platform. Now each bench was divided up into three seats, with a metal arm between each pair, making it impossible to lie down on them any more. Designed to keep the riffraff away, or something.
'What have I got where?' He wondered if he'd even said it loudly enough for the man to hear.
'That book there. What's it about?'
Harry half-closed the book to show the man the front cover. He glanced at it, and sniffed. Then he turned his head away, suddenly more interested in something far up the tracks. 'What would you know about it?' he muttered. 'Were you even there?'
Of course I wasn't there, Harry thought – this all happened when my parents were kids. 'No, I wasn't,' he replied. 'Were you?' Then he was aware of how rude that might have sounded.
The man's mouth was still twitching behind his beard. 'It'd be convenient to think so, wouldn't it?' he said, regarding Harry through slightly closed eyes. 'I've seen you here before.'
Harry nodded. 'I catch the train from here every day. My school's just back there. I've seen you too. Except you've been ... not here. Lately, I mean.'
'That's true. Hey, I'll tell you what,' the man said brightly, as if to change the subject. 'Want to see a magic trick, one Ford fan to another? I knew by that,' he said, pointing at the blue and white sticker on the side of Harry's school bag.
Harry decided it was time to stand up. 'Um ... no thanks, not really.'
The man took a plastic fork from his pocket, wiped both sides of it on the leg of his trousers and fished a few noodles out of his cup. Steaming, they hung from the prongs of the fork. 'Bloody hell, it's just a magic trick – it's not like I was going to kidnap you or anything,' he growled, before blowing on the noodles and shovelling them into his mouth.
'Sorry,' Harry mumbled. 'I just ... You know, maybe next time ...'
'Might not be a next time, sport.' 'OK. Well ... we'll see, I guess.' The man didn't say anything. He was too busy looking along the tracks, silently chewing his noodles.
'What's that you're reading, Harold?' Dad asked from the other side of the living room.
Harry held up the Vietnam book. 'So I can talk to Frank about it.'
Dad snorted. 'Good luck. But top marks for interest.'
'So, Dad, what are you reading?' Harry asked. Dad showed him his novel. On the cover, an airbrushed hero mounted on a dragon was battling some kind of huge serpentine beast, with blazing eyes and flaring nostrils. Behind the hero, stormclouds were gathering around the summit of an erupting volcano.
'I see,' Harry said slowly. 'And what's it like?'
'Long, badly planned, too many people die, and I suspect that in the finish it may end up being utterly pointless. A bit like the Vietnam War, really.'
Harry smiled. 'And a bit like most of your jokes.'
'A lot like that. I heard a new one today, by the way. Do you want to hear it?'
'No,' said Mum from her desk in the corner. 'Trying to work over here.'
'Sorry, dear.' Then Dad winked at Harry. 'Later,' he whispered.
'Great.'
It wasn't a great joke. 'Hey, Harold, why are elephants large and grey?' Dad asked from the bedroom doorway.
Harry looked up. 'I don't know, Dad. Why?'
'Because if they were small and white, they'd be aspirin.'
Harry blinked twice. 'They'd be aspirin? That's the joke?'
Dad winked. Then his stupid grin slowly dissolved. Taking off his glasses, he polished them with the front of his shirt. 'Pah. I'm wasting my best material on an ungrateful world.'
'That's your best material?' Harry chuckled.
'Yes, I know. Pitiful, isn't it?'
'Fairly.'
'You OK?' said Dad, slipping his glasses back on.
'Yeah, I'm just stuck with this maths stuff.'
He held up both hands in surrender. 'Well, hey, don't look at me!'
'But you're an accountant.'
'That's what spreadsheets are for, dear boy.' Dad picked up the Vietnam book from the end of Harry's desk and flicked through it. 'Ah, the famous photo,' he said, turning the book around to show Harry. It was a picture of a young Vietnamese girl, completely naked, running along a road towards the camera, while smoke billowed up in the background. There were other kids in the photo as well, running and screaming, their mouths distorted, while four American soldiers walked along behind them, calmly, as if nothing had happened.
'She's been burned with napalm,' Dad explained. 'There's a video as well, taken just after this photo was shot. The skin over her whole back is just peeling off. It's awful.'
'Did she die?'
Dad shook his head. 'No, she survived.'
'She was lucky.'
Dad closed the book and laid it back on the desk. 'Yeah, maybe.'
Four
It was lunchtime, and Harry was about to break some troubling news to his friends. Michael had just invited him to his birthday party, and now Harry sat on the low brick wall at the end of the little grandstand beside the main oval, biting his thumbnail. He'd consulted his diary, and what it told him wasn't encouraging.
'This is so typical. I can't come.'
'Really?'
Harry continued to stare at the date, and at the words written below it, as if that would somehow make them vanish, or perhaps simply change. 'Yes, really. Any weekend but that one.'
'Are you serious?' Ricky asked, leaning over and snatching the diary from Harry's hands. 'Let me see.'
Harry snatched it back. 'Yes, I am serious. I can't come. I'm going to be away.'
Michael wasn't happy. He kicked the wall a couple of times. 'You're going to be away? Doing what? Can't you cancel? I mean, it's for my birthday –'
'Yeah, I know that, Michael.'
'That's right, and his Dad's gone and booked the whole place for like the whole evening,' Ricky added.
Harry sighed. 'Then you'll have a great time without me, I guess.' He glanced down at his diary once more, just in case he'd read the date wrong, or the words had faded away when he wasn't paying attention. But they were still there, clear as anything: AWAY FOR STUPID WEDDING!!
'This sucks,' Michael said, throwing his apple core at the nearest bin, and missing by half a metre. 'Where are you going, anyway?'
'He's going to a wedding,' Ricky muttered.
'Seriously? You're going to miss out on four solid hours of go-karting for a wedding?'
Harry nodded sadly. 'It's true. My Uncle Frank is getting married, out near his farm. Actually, he's my great-uncle –'
For the briefest of moments, Harry thought that Michael's head was going to explode. 'It's an old-people wedding?'
'He's like my mum's favourite uncle or something. And we missed his last wedding, so apparently ...'
Ricky was shaking his head. 'This is unbelievable. Un-be-lievable.'
'You're going to have to get out of it,' Michael said sternly. 'That's it – there's no other option. I was going to suggest that you guys stay over at my place that night anyway, so why don't you just come for the whole weekend?'
'My parents'd never let me,' Harry said. 'It's a family thing. Mum's kind of funny about that sort of thing since ... well, Joel.'
That changed the mood instantly. No one said anything, and Michael bit at the side of a fingernail. 'Well, you know, can you at least ask?' he said after a while. 'It's my birthday, and it's not like that wedding is for someone in your family family, you know what I mea
n?'
'Yeah, I know. I'll ask, but don't get your hopes up.'
Mum shook her head. Her hands were folded in front of her on the kitchen table, which was better than folded arms, but still not promising. 'Absolutely not,' she said. 'I'm sorry, Harry, but we'd like you to come.'
By which she meant, 'You're coming, like it or not.'
'That's right, Harold,' said Dad, lifting the kettle off the stove. 'It's a family thing, like we said the other night.'
Somehow Harry managed to keep the wheedling tone from his voice. Barely. 'Look, I know it's Frank's wedding and everything, but I don't even know the guy. I mean, seriously ...'
Mum was unmoved. 'The thing is, Harry, we need to be a family, OK? Besides, Trent is going to be there.'
This was new. 'Who the hell's Trent?'
Dad frowned as he thought.
'Guys? Who's Trent?'
Dad spoke slowly. 'I'm just trying to get this straight – he'd be your ...'
'He's your second cousin,' Mum said. 'He's Frank's grandson, and he's about your age, Harry, maybe a year older.'
This is just great, Harry thought. Someone else he didn't know. 'Look, I don't want to be rude or anything, but why do I care? I mean, I've probably got hundreds of second cousins, so why would I want to miss out on my best friend's go-karting party to meet one of them?'
'You shouldn't look at it like that, mate,' Dad said.
'I know, but I'm the one missing out on something that's really important to me, so I'm sorry if I look at it like anything.'
'Harry, Frank mentioned Trent specifically in one of his emails,' Mum explained. 'He'd like you guys to meet. Trent has had a few issues.'
'And that's my problem why?' Harry retorted.
Dad was frowning, but it wasn't thinking-frowning any more. This was warning-frowning. 'Watch the attitude, Harry.'
Harry pushed his chair back and stood up, startling Daisy in her basket. 'Sorry, but I don't know why some kid I've never met who's got some kind of problems that aren't even my fault is a reason for me to miss out on my best friend's birthday party. It's not fair, guys. It sucks.'
'Harry, sit down,' Mum said.
Harry paused. Then he sat, but he hadn't decided how long he'd be staying for.
Mum was still talking. 'Listen, meeting Trent isn't the main reason we want you to come to the wedding. It's not even an important reason, to be honest. Mostly, we just think you should. Your dad and I feel that we should be there as a family, like I said before. Besides, it's not just the wedding; it's also the first time we'll have been anywhere since Joel, and we thought it'd be a good chance for us to have some time away. You know, really away, from here.'
'Like a holiday,' said Dad.
'Yes, exactly.'
The parents were showing a united front, so it was two against one. Harry wanted to say that he wished Joel was there so they could have a family vote. He wanted to say that a holiday without his brother wouldn't feel like a holiday at all anyway. But apart from that there was nothing more to be said, certainly not without a wheedling tone. So he said nothing, except, 'I'll be in my room.'
'Harry, wait –' Mum began to say, but Dad cut her off.
'Let him go, Sandy.'
Harry passed Joel's old bedroom, went into his room and lay on his bed. He just wanted to be by himself, to have a bit of a think. He wondered how long that would last.
Not very long at all, as it turned out. A few minutes later he recognised Dad's heavy footsteps, which stopped at his doorway.
'You all right, mate?'
'Yeah, I guess. I'm just disappointed. I know it's selfish, but it's go-karting, Dad. And a party. My friend's party. My friend's party.'
'I know.'
'So it sucks.'
'I know. But we appreciate it.'
'Who is this Trent kid, anyway? And what's so special about him?'
'Look, maybe we weren't clear. Trent's actually been staying with Frank, ever since his dad ... Well, let's just say that Greg went off the rails a bit, and Trent's living situation got complicated. So he's been spending some of the time with his mum, and the rest with Frank. I think his dad's sorting himself out now, though.'
'So what's he like?'
'Trent? Fine, I think.'
'Fine? He's fine? You think?' This was getting better and better.
Dad smiled. 'Keep your smalls on, Harold. To be honest, I've never met the kid.'
'Why not?' Harry retorted. 'He's family, isn't he? And apparently family is meant to be important.'
Dad ignored that. 'It's just one of those things, I guess. They live a long way west of here, and we live ... well, here.'
'Does this kid have any brothers or sisters?'
'As far as I know, it's just him.'
'Like me.'
'A bit like you,' Dad said, his voice a little quieter. 'Sorry, mate.'
'Yeah, OK,' Harry replied. He wasn't into making people feel worse than they needed to.
It was like someone had let all Michael's air out. 'Ah well, you tried.'
'I did, but no luck. They weren't going to budge. I mean, I'll keep trying, but it does look like I'm going to be hanging out on some farm for a whole long weekend with this kid I've never met.'
'Guy or girl?'
'Guy.'
'That's a shame.'
'I know. He's my second cousin or something.'
'Huh. So what are you going to do on this farm?'
Harry shrugged. 'Dunno. Ride the fences, chew bits of straw, carve banjos out of twigs, stuff like that, probably.'
'Shoot roos?'
'Yeah, maybe.'
'Have you ever shot anything?'
Harry shook his head.
'Me neither. Could be fun, I suppose.'
'Not as much fun as go-karting.'
'Nothing is.'
'We'll go together another time,' Harry said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
'Yeah, I guess.'
He could tell that it was going to take a bit of time and a lot of convincing to make Michael feel better about this one.
Five
The man was on the Buckridge platform again. He was at his usual bench, rearranging some item of clothing that was jammed into the top of his grubby old red Reebok bag. When the man looked up and nodded to him, Harry knew he'd been spotted. He'd have to talk to him. It was either that or be rude.
'Hey,' he said, very casually, keeping his bag on his shoulder.
'Gidday.'
'Sorry about the other day.'
The man looked puzzled. 'The other day?'
Was he actually trying to make this harder than it needed to be? 'Remember, you offered to show me this magic trick, and I ... I said no. I thought you'd be offended.'
'Oh, I remember. You got spooked, that's all. People get threatened.'
'I wasn't threatened.'
The man lifted one eyebrow, and paused dramatically. 'Yes, you were. I could see it.'
'How?'
'You took a step back. But it's OK – I'm not offended.'
'You're not?'
'Nah. If you'd tried to set fire to me or pinch my stuff, then maybe. Or if you'd spat at me. But not just stepping back.'
Harry smiled. 'Oh. Well, that's good. I don't like offending people.'
'Well, thanks,' the man said. 'So, you changed your mind?'
'About what?'
'The magic trick. Do you want to see it? It's a good one. You'll be impressed – I guarantee it.'
It was a big claim. And he seemed very insistent. 'Yeah, OK, sure, I guess. But only because you're wearing a Ford cap.'
The man brightened. 'Good stuff. Now, you got any money?'
It wasn't a terribly impressive trick so far. Of course Harry had money, but he wasn't planning on giving any of it to this guy, even if he was wearing a Ford cap. 'Not really,' he said.
'Just ten cents. Can't do the trick without it, since it's a coin trick.'
Harry slipped a hand into his pocket and took out the coins
he had in there. 'Sorry – I've only got a couple of twenties,' he said, showing them resting in his palm.
'A twenty'll do.'
'Will it?'
'Yup. So hang onto one and stick the others away.'
Harry showed him the twenty, now all alone on his right palm.
'Now listen, if I can make it disappear, can I keep it?'
Was this the point where Mum would be encouraging him to move away? Probably. But then again, she'd always told him that he should be polite to strangers, not rude, so that was confusing in itself. And he'd already apologised once – he didn't want to have to do it again the next day.
'OK, let's see it, then,' Harry agreed. It was only twenty cents, after all.
'I'll look away,' the man said. 'When I do, hold the coin in one of your hands, like a fist. Then hold both fists out, like this. You follow?'
'Yeah, I follow.'
'Good.'
He turned his face away, and Harry held the coin in his right hand. Then, stretching out his clenched fists, he said, 'OK, I'm ready.'
The man turned back. He intertwined his fingers and cracked his knuckles. 'Now, through my powers of metallurgical perception I can tell which fist the coin's in, simply by feeling them both. But you've got to look right into my eyes. All right?'
'Yeah, OK.'
He took Harry's fists, one in each hand, and held them. Dirt and grease was buried deep in the cracked skin of his fingers, like faint tattoos, and his smell was suddenly stronger, wafting around Harry and making his nostrils feel like they were about to start twitching.
'Now look me in the eyes. Look, I said.'
'Sorry.' Harry stared past the man's crooked, shiny nose, past the unruly beard that crept up his cheeks like overgrown vines, past the bushy eyebrows and the deep furrows around his clear, flinty-grey eyes. Their brightness surprised him. It was a bit uncomfortable, holding that gaze, but he concentrated, and did it.
'All right, I think I'm done,' the man said. 'Check your hands. They should be empty. That coin should've completely vanished.'
Harry turned his hands over and opened them. The coin rested in the centre of his right palm, exactly where he'd put it to begin with. He tried not to be disappointed, or surprised. Of course a homeless guy wouldn't be able to do magic tricks, no matter what he claimed.