Hunting Elephants

by James Roy

  'Why don't you run up to the house and put something else on?' Dad suggested.

  Harry was already unbuttoning his shirt. 'There's no time, Dad. Here, hold this.' He felt slightly uncomfortable as he took off his trousers in front of all those people, but at the same time he felt vaguely heroic. Besides, he had boxers on, so it wasn't like he was naked.

  Frank was right there beside him with the rope, ready to tie it around his waist. 'Are you sure you're up to this?'

  'I'll be fine.'

  'Thank you, Harry.'

  'It's OK.'

  'No, I mean it.'

  'I know,' Harry replied. To anyone else listening it would have been such a nothing conversation – a thanks, an acceptance of thanks, the thanker keen to underline how grateful he was. But to Harry and Frank it meant much more than that. They both knew the truth.

  'You right, mate?' Dad asked.

  'Yep, I'm good to go.'

  Dad pressed the torch into his hand. 'And for God's sake be careful. If anything happened to you your mother would never forgive me.'

  Harry nodded sternly, pushing the thought of his brother from his mind. 'OK, I'm ready,' he said.

  Twenty-One

  The coldness of the fresh-fallen rainwater against Harry's bare chest made him recoil. Fortunately it wasn't deep enough to get anywhere near his nose and mouth. He was also pretty confident that there would be no sumps to go through in this particular cave. In fact, in many ways this was a much better cave than the one he'd tackled on the school camp, since it was man-made, and therefore relatively smooth.

  Smooth. Smooth except for the sharp pebbles and gravel that had been washed into the concrete pipe, and were now scouring his chest. He wished he'd waited for a shirt or some overalls, but it was all a bit late for that. Luke's wails had lessened, and were barely able to be heard over the sound of water pouring into the chamber from the other pipes. As much as Harry tried to convince himself that Luke's voice was quieter because he was getting bored with crying, he had to wonder if he was getting weaker as well. He imagined the little boy treading water, losing strength bit by bit until his face slipped under for the last time.

  He'd watched Joel lose strength like that, gradually giving in until he sank under the surface. Of course, he hadn't drowned in that way, but it was no less drowning. His lungs filling with fluid, his ability to get oxygen into his lungs worsening, his breathing more laboured and painful, then shallow and futile, his eyes growing heavier and his consciousness diminishing day by day. It was like drowning in the ocean, only it took longer, and he wasn't alone. No, his family had had to sit around and watch, completely helpless.

  Harry pushed forward in the culvert with his numb toes, bit by bit, extending the torch in front of himself and squinting along the beam. Up ahead, perhaps five metres or so in front, loomed a dark disc of emptiness. The sound of water falling into more water echoed up into that space, even louder now.

  'Are you still there, Luke?' he called, and at the sound of his voice, the little boy started wailing again. Harry was happy to hear it – it meant he was still there.

  'Luke, listen to me. It's Harry here. Remember me? I did the magic trick before. Have you still got the money I gave you?'

  Luke's voice trailed up to him above the pouring, pounding water. 'I don't want you! I want my dad!'

  'I know, but I'm going to help you get to your dad, OK? Are you all right?'

  'I want my dad!'

  Harry continued to creep forward, the water building up behind him, between his legs and around his hips, and he lifted himself up to let some of it flow by. It rushed under his belly and chest like a wave, and a moment later he heard it plunging down into the main chamber.

  'I'm nearly there, Luke.' The dark disc before him was no longer black and empty, but grey and deep as the beam from the torch caught the concrete on the far wall. He was only a metre or so from the end of the pipe now, and in a moment he'd be able to look down on the little boy.

  He called out again, trying to reassure Luke. 'I'm nearly there, mate.'

  'Is my dad there?'

  'He's outside, and he's waiting to see you. Your mum's there as well. Just be patient.'

  Finally he reached the end. Wresting his arm free from beneath himself, he directed the beam downwards, and saw Luke's little, upturned face. He was near the left wall, clinging with both hands to a thick steel loop that was fixed into the concrete. The water was pouring into the pit from another pipe on the right-hand wall, swirling around his legs and hips, jostling him about as he gripped the loop. Down low, behind him and in the corner, a third, larger pipe led away. Only about half of its diameter was visible – the rest was a rushing, dirty current. Harry tried not to think about how things might end if any more water should enter that chamber.

  'Luke, listen to me,' Harry called.

  'I'm cold.'

  'I know, but just listen. If I reach down, can you grab one of my hands?'

  'I'll wash away.'

  'Just one hand, that's all. Your left one. Do you know which one that is?'

  Luke nodded at his left hand. 'This one.'

  'Exactly. So if I lean right down, can you reach over and grab my hand?'

  'Maybe.'

  'Wait – I'll give you two hands to grab.'

  Harry had to pin the torch to the bottom of the pipe with his chest so he could get both hands free. The murky water swirling around the lens made the light against the far wall bend and flicker. I hope this bloody thing's waterproof, he thought, dreading the idea of sudden and complete darkness.

  'OK, Luke, you've got two hands to grab. Now, as soon as I've got your left hand, I need you to grab onto me with the other one as well.'

  'My pants are all wet,' Luke complained. 'My mum's going to be really mad.'

  Somehow, Harry managed to keep his voice calm. 'Luke, your mum's going to be happy just to see you.'

  'She won't be mad?'

  Not at first, Harry thought. 'I don't think she cares about your pants, Luke. But right now, I need you to reach over to my hand.'

  'I can't.'

  'You have to. After three, OK?'

  Luke nodded briskly.

  'Good. One, two –'

  Faintly, Dad's voice came echoing down the pipe. 'How are you going, Harry? Have you got to him?'

  'I'm just trying to grab him now.'

  'OK. Are you all right?'

  'Yeah, I'm fine. Just ... just let me do it,' he added, under his breath. 'OK, Luke, are you ready? Then let's go. One, two, three.'

  Luke let go with his left hand and reached towards Harry, his fingers scrabbling at thin air.

  'Luke, can you reach a bit further?'

  The sinews and muscles around Luke's neck pulled tight as he reached and stretched and strained. Finally, just as Harry was about to tell him to go back and rest, their hands met, and wrapping his fingers around Luke's wrist, he gripped it, hard.

  'All right, let go with your other hand!'

  After the tiniest moment of hesitation, Luke released his grip on the steel loop, and grabbed for Harry's hands. 'Have you got me?' he squealed, his eyes wide.

  'Yes, I've got you. Now, hang on tight – I'm going to pull you up.'

  Harry began to wiggle backwards, but it was hard to get any grip against the curved walls, so he braced his knees against them, and by squirming about and digging his elbows into the concrete under him, was able to lift Luke some of the way towards the lip of the pipe.

  'You'll have to help me, mate,' he grunted. With so little space to work in, it was hard to pull Luke the rest of the way up. 'Stick your feet against the wall and try to climb.'

  Luke did as he was told, but the angle he created as he pushed with his legs and pulled with his arms caused Harry to slide forward again.

  'Whoa, wait on!' Harry shouted. 'I'm going to lose the torch!'

  It was too late. As he slid slowly towards the chamber, pushed slightly by the water behind him, the torch teetered on the edge of the pip
e, then overbalanced and fell, turning over in the air as it went, almost in slow-motion. With a loud clack, it struck Luke on the forehead, just above his eye, and bounced away into the water, sinking like a stone. It was still working, but beneath so much muddy stormwater, it was now nothing more than a faint tan spot somewhere far beyond the turbulent surface.

  'Don't let go!' Harry shouted.

  'It hit me on the head, right in the face!' Luke screamed out of the sudden darkness.

  'I know. Listen, you mustn't let go now. We can't see each other, but we can feel each other, can't we?' He could hear no reply over the sound of the water, but he carried on anyway. 'So hang onto my hand, and I'm going to pull you out. Just don't let go, whatever you do!'

  The torch in the water had almost gone out now, and Harry was faced with almost complete darkness. Whatever light came from the mouth of the pipe behind him was blocked by his own body.

  At that moment he saw Joel in the black void, more like a presence than a face. It was simply an awareness of his brother. And it was a memory, too, of being beside that hospital bed. Joel was sitting up, his scrawny legs crossed beneath him, leaning forward with his head on his arms, which were resting on the tray table. It was the only way he could breathe with anything resembling comfort, and Harry held his brother's hand, watched his back rise and fall under the fabric of his Holden jacket as he struggled for a single painless breath. Joel barely spoke any more – staying alive was more important than talking – and quite often he was either asleep or unconscious in that position. He'd sat that way for days, and when he was awake he was irritable.

  Then he'd asked Harry to hold his hand. It wasn't something he'd ordinarily have done, but when he'd asked this time – almost wordlessly, as it happened – Harry was more than happy to do it. He took one of Joel's club-fingered hands and held it, even stroked the back of it for a while. The skin looked like palely translucent cling-wrap over grey flesh, with the blue-grey veins diverging and reconverging beneath it.

  Joel's breathing was slower than it had been, but it wasn't because he was getting better. It was quite the opposite, in fact. He was dying, and there was nothing – absolutely nothing – that anyone could do about it. He'd been rushed to the top of the lung transplant list, but everyone knew he'd never survive the operation, even if a set of compatible lungs was to become available right away. Joel was dying. He would definitely die, very soon, and no one could stop it happening. And that, more than anything, even more than the guilt, made Harry feel like punching a hole in the nearest wall.

  There'd been no one else in the room – just Joel and Harry. 'Are you awake?' Harry had asked.

  Nothing. Just the shallow breathing, each expiration like a puff.

  Harry squeezed his hand. 'I've got you, mate,' he breathed. 'Don't let go.'

  And now he was holding another hand. It didn't belong to his brother, but it was still a hand. He took a deep, cold breath, tightened his grip around Luke's wrists, turned his head and shouted over his shoulder. 'All right, I've got him! Pull!'

  The loop around his waist tightened and dug into his hips, and he winced as his bare stomach and chest began to drag slowly over those rough, pointy little stones.

  'I'm slipping!' Luke screamed, and Harry gripped his wrists even tighter.

  'You're not slipping! Just hang on!'

  It was like he was being torn in half at the shoulders, yanked one way by the anxious, enthusiastic men pulling on the rope at the mouth of the pipe, and dragged the other way by Luke, who was heavier to shift than he'd imagined, especially as he got to the lip of the pipe and seemed to catch on the edge.

  'You've got to help me now, Luke! Climb up!'

  'I'm getting water in my eyes!'

  'Who cares about the water in your eyes!' Harry yelled. 'I'm getting ripped in half here, so you've got to bloody help me!'

  Luke didn't say anything then, but in the darkness, Harry felt the strain on his arms release a little.

  'Are you up?' he asked.

  'Yes.'

  'Stop pulling!' he shouted, and the tension dropped away. 'OK, Luke, I've got to wriggle backwards, but you just keep coming, all right? We'll be out really soon. You're fine now. You're fine.'

  'Is my dad there?'

  'Yes, and your mum. And hey, buddy, don't worry about your pants. Seriously.'

  They crawled towards the daylight, one backwards, the other forwards. In the light squeezing around him, Harry could now see Luke's face, tiny and frightened.

  He felt the breeze and the rain on his feet a couple of seconds before he finally slid from the mouth of the pipe. Then he was kneeling in the deep puddle while Luke crawled the rest of the way out. Harry felt hands under his armpits, helping him up, and another pair of hands fumbling at his waist to untie the knot. Then he was almost pushed out of the way as others crowded forward to drag Luke completely clear of the pipe.

  They're going to suffocate him, Harry thought as Joe and Denise grabbed Luke in an embrace, tears pouring freely. Their boy was back, and he was soaked and crying and a bit banged up, and his good pants were wrecked, but he was otherwise safe.

  'You OK?' Dad asked, draping a blanket around Harry's shoulders.

  'Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine.'

  'Was he hard to get?'

  'A bit, yeah.'

  'But you did it.'

  'I guess I did. And I reckon right now he'd like to be back in there, away from that,' Harry added. Denise was planting kisses on Luke's cheek, while he screwed up his face and tried to turn away.

  'You're a hero, Harold.' Dad nodded with satisfaction. 'Harold the Hero – it's got a nice ring to it, don't you think?'

  Harry shivered. 'I just crawled down a pipe, Dad. It's no big deal.'

  'I thought you hated confined spaces.'

  'I do, but who else was going to go down there?' Harry smiled, nodding at his father's gut. 'You, ya big unit?'

  'You're very funny, Harold. And I think you're about to get some smoochies of your own.'

  Denise was approaching, picking her way across the mud and loose rubble in her good shoes, which were now completely ruined. Her eyes were red and swollen, which looked odd on a face that was so happy. Taking one of Harry's hands in both of hers, she said, 'It's Harry, isn't it?'

  'Yes.'

  'Thank you so, so much, Harry.'

  'That's fine.'

  'No, I mean it.'

  'I do too. It's fine.'

  'Weren't you scared?'

  Harry smiled. 'A bit, yeah.'

  'What would you like?'

  'I'm sorry?'

  'We want to get you something for saving our little ... our stupid little boy. He could have died in there.'

  'That's right,' said Joe. He was carrying a rather sorry-looking Luke, who was snuggling into his dad's chest, wrapped in a blanket. 'You just volunteered to go in there, and that was a dangerous and very brave thing to do.'

  'Well, someone had to do it,' Harry replied. 'And I just happened to be the right size.'

  'We'll think of something,' Joe said. 'Come on, Lukey, let's get you inside. I reckon you might need a hot Milo.'

  As they slowly walked up the driveway, Harry could hear Luke apologising for the state of his pants. His mother's reply was lost in the sounds of the bush and the pounding water from underground.

  Now that the drama was over, the small crowd was beginning to disperse, following Luke and his parents up to the house. 'You need to jump in a warm shower,' Dad said. 'You're shaking like a leaf.'

  'Yeah, sounds good.'

  'Harry. Are you OK?' Mum had found them. She wore a worried frown.

  'Yeah, I'm fine.'

  'What just happened? What were you doing?'

  'Getting that kid out of the drain.'

  'I mean, what were you doing getting involved in ... in some undergound rescue mission? And David, why didn't you wait for help?'

  'We didn't have time, Sandy,' Dad told her. 'You weren't here when we found out, but the emergency guys
are tied up somewhere else. We couldn't rely on them.'

  'Even so. Even so.'

  'Even so what?'

  'Harry could have died, David!'

  'We had him on a rope.'

  'I don't care. I can't believe ...' She stopped and shook her head, as if there was no point in her going on. 'I'm glad you're OK, Harry. You did a very brave thing. Stupid but brave.'

  'Thanks, Mum. For the brave bit, I mean.'

  'You're welcome,' Mum replied, throwing a savage look in Dad's direction as she turned to head back up to the house.

  'Where's Frank?' Harry asked Dad.

  'What? Oh, he's over there. Why?'

  Frank was coiling up the rope a short distance from them. He looked up, saw Harry watching him, and turned away.

  'I should tell him that I lost his torch. Maybe I'll do it later.'

  'I think later is best, mate,' Dad replied, putting an arm around Harry's shoulders and gently guiding him towards the driveway and the house and the marquee, which was now bathed in clean, freshly washed sunlight, while heavy drops of water slid from the leaves of the eucalypts.

  Twenty-Two

  Harry was thoroughly unprepared for the response that was waiting for him when he and Dad reached the house. The applause started as a disturbance in the corner of the room, just a bit of a clap and a 'Well done, Harry' from someone, but that very quickly crossed the room like a grass fire as others began to join in. By the time he was properly through the entrance-way and standing at the door to the living room, everyone was clapping.

  Oh, that's fantastic, thought Harry. All these people looking at me, and under this blanket I'm practically naked.

  He smiled uncertainly. Should he bow, or nod, or make a speech? In the end, he didn't get a chance to do any of those things, because Greg stepped up, extended his hand and said, 'You did a great thing, mate. Good on you. If you were old enough, I'd get you a drink.'

  'Can't I have one anyway?' Harry asked through chattering teeth, and everyone laughed.

  'I think you need that shower before you get stuck into the VB, Harold.' Dad's hand was on the small of his back, guiding him forwards through the crush.