by Máire Fisher
She pushes the thought away. She won’t be defeated. Her father can’t win; he can’t be given the chance to say, ‘I told you so. I told you there’s something wrong with her,’ and then look at her mother and add, as he so often does, that the gene pool on her side of the family runs weak and shallow and why did he ever marry her in the first place, and what a let-down she’s been to him, they all have. ‘Even Lily is showing signs of—’
Juliet’s back straightens at the thought of her father targeting her sister. If she can just keep Lily out of his sights for a few more years. She’ll get her Matric and then a job. She’ll get into unisa and she’ll qualify as a lawyer. She’ll swoop in and get Lily out of there. Juliet and Lily taking on the world. She’ll get there, one of these days. Until then, she’ll play the game, follow the rules to the letter. She’ll keep herself strong.
140.
Gabriel is nine years old and he has been in this place for two weeks. They call it a children’s home. They will not tell him where Mum is. They will not tell him what has happened to Harry.
Every day Gabriel asks, and every day he is told the same thing. Nothing.
No one says they’ll try to find out, no one says don’t worry Gabriel, your mum was a bit sick, but soon she’ll get better and then she’ll come and get you. But that doesn’t stop Gabriel asking, every day. Where’s Harry? When’s Mum coming to get me? Because that’s what mums are supposed to do. They’re supposed to look after their kids and keep them safe, and deliver them from all evil, just like it says in the Our Father, the prayer they all say before they go to sleep, because then Our Heavenly Father will keep us safe. That’s what the night warden says before he walks up and down between the two rows of beds, before he turns out the light and leaves them to whisper in the dark.
When it’s dark, that’s when Gabriel tries to remember everything he can about home and Mum and Harry. He tries to remember Dad too, his happy face and happy laugh and words of wisdom.
He tries to remember the smell of Mum’s hair and the smell of Harry’s skin, the special baby smell Mum says can only be found just there, Gaby-Baby, at the back of her head where her curls meet her neck.
Gabriel lies in his bed in the children’s home and wills himself to remember everything about before. Before they went to live with the old man, before the jolly man came and took away all their furniture.
Before Mum ran to the window and saw the men leaping down the path and into their cars. Before the bam! bam! on the door when the men came looking for Dad.
He doesn’t remember Mum saying, Not again Joe, what are we going to do now? but she must have, because that’s what she says AFTER when she’s sitting in the corner of their empty sitting room and says, I asked your father, Gabriel, I asked him over and over, but he couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. And now where are we? What are we going to do now, Joe?
Gabriel tries not to remember that day when he sat right next to Mum in the empty house in the dark because the electricity had been cut off and Harry was crying and he was saying I’ll change her Mum, don’t worry, and Mum saying Thank you, Gaby-Baby. And then, Well Joe, there’s nothing for it. I’m going to have to ask him for help.
Gabriel tries not to remember how she gathered herself up as if she was pulling all the pieces of herself together, bit by heavy bit, leaning against the wall, until she was on her feet and then they were all moving to the door, Mum and Gabriel and Harry heavy in Gabriel’s arms. We need to pack, Mum said, and then she was laughing and crying and crying some more, saying, pack what? What are we supposed to pack?
Gabriel lies still in his bed, but his eyes are wide open.
The sheet is stiff, scratchy. Everything here scratches. Gabriel’s shirt, the trousers at his waist, his underpants. Not like the clothes Mum used to wash and iron every week.
Hey, Felix? That’s Gabriel’s surname, and it’s the first time his name has been spoken in the dark. It’s Arendse, the boy in the bed across from him.
Yes? Gabriel’s voice reaches cautiously into the dark.
You know she’s not coming, don’t you?
What? Who?
Your mother. She’s never going to come for you.
Arendse is one of the boys who gets visitors from outside. A mother who says she loves him, who’s coming to get him, he says, as soon as she can, as soon as she’s got a proper job, as soon as they have a proper home. She comes to see him and she brings news from the outside. News of trouble and strife, of crime, stories about boys who set houses on fire and mothers who have been committed to institutions for long-term care.
She’s going to be locked away, Felix. In the nuthouse. My ma says she’s off her rocker.
Gabriel wants to push the words back across the cold polished floor, back to the iron-framed bed and the thin mattress and the scratchy blanket, to where Arendse’s shaved head rests on a lumpy pillow.
That’s not true, he wants to say. She is coming for me, and Harriet, and then we’ll all go home together. But then, from further along, comes another voice, kinder this time, not filled with spite like Arendse’s. Gabriel doesn’t recognise it. He still doesn’t know all the boys who share the room with him, who straggle onto the bus to go to the local school.
Felix?
Gabriel doesn’t want to answer. This is not a night for good news.
Give up on your sister too. The babies always go.
Go? What do you mean?
What do you think he means, dummy?
Another voice and then another.
They always come for the babies.
All the moms and dads who want babies of their own, but they never want us.
We’re too old for them.
We’ve been stuck here too long.
We’ve got too many bad habits.
We’re just bad boys.
Gabriel pulls the blanket to his chin, burrows his head under his pillow to drown out the voices filled with knowing. Boys who have been here much, much longer than he has. Boys who know how the system works. Boys whose voices fade into darkness as the night warden patrols the dormitory, shining his torch into eyes closed tight against the light, boys pretending to be asleep.
141.
Maddie walks through the gates, up the path, up the steps, up to the school’s wide double doors.
Noah isn’t at her side. So she doesn’t have to worry about him, doesn’t have to hear the rumble of his voice on a bad day when he’s counting aloud or the regular sound of his breath on a good day when he’s happy to keep the numbers inside his head.
She doesn’t have to watch from the corner of her eye to make sure no one is messing with her brother. The only person she has to worry about now is herself. That’s the way it’s been for the last six weeks – forty-three days where it’s just been her and her parents. Forty-three days, and in all that time they’ve only seen Noah five times, for a grand total of ten hours.
She stops in the corridor, letting the others flow around her, no pattern, no routine, no need to keep walking at a regular measured pace. She’s on her own. How many times has she wished for this, allowed the guilty thought that life would be so much easier if it weren’t for Noah. But now, now there’s a gap at her side where her brother used to be and all Maddie wants—
A bump from behind and she stumbles forward.
‘Sorry, hey.’ It’s Kyle Blake and two of his friends. ‘Didn’t see you there without your brother. So, what’s new, Mad Dog?’ He laughs and his friends do too.
Don’t answer, that’s what Maddie tells herself, they’re not worth it, but anger wells fast and hot. The same anger that filled her when those bullies converged on Noah and mocked and prodded and tried to get a reaction from her gentle brother.
Kyle Blake hasn’t moved on. He’s standing in front of Maddie, eying her up and down, a slight smile on his thin face.
Maddie stares straight back at him. Don’t. Don’t answer him, she tells herself. But she can’t help it.
‘How are you
doing, Kyle?’ she asks sweetly. ‘How’s your elbow?’ She doesn’t drop her gaze. ‘Are you going to be out of action for long?’
‘Another six weeks,’ he says, his voice a snarl. ‘Thanks to your brother.’
‘Thanks to Noah?’ Maddie says. ‘I reckon quite a few kids here are giving thanks to Noah.’
‘What d’you mean?’ He has to ask the question.
‘Well, it’s obvious isn’t it?’ She takes a deep breath to keep her voice steady. ‘You won’t be able to shove the little kids around half as well with only one arm.’
There’s a murmur of agreement from the students gathering around, eager to watch this peculiar standoff.
‘It’s easy, isn’t it?’ says Maddie. ‘Easy to pick on the little kids, or people who are different, like my brother.’
‘Your brother?’ He’s sneering now. ‘Your brother’s a psycho. Everyone knows that.’
‘My brother wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s O … C … D, Kyle.’ Maddie spells out the letters as patiently as a primary school teacher. ‘Do you even know what that means? Do you know the prison he lives in? His life is one big set of rules and regulations, one huge battle, from the time he wakes up to the time he goes to sleep. And even then, he never really relaxes. Can you imagine what that’s like?’ Maddie moves a step closer.
Kyle is cornered and the wall of people around them is growing deeper.
‘I don’t have to listen to this sh—’ he tries to say
‘Oh yes you do,’ says Maddie. ‘You have to hear this from someone. If your parents can’t say it, I can. You’re a bully.’
‘Yeah right, your brother—’
‘Oh please. Give me a break. Your parents might buy that bullshit, and even Mr Reynolds. But you and I know different.’
Maddie stops, draws breath, looks at him quizzically. ‘So what’s it like?’ she asks.
‘What’s what like?’ Kyle tries some swagger. ‘What’s it like having to talk to a psycho-bitch like you?’
His friends snigger, but the rest of the students are quiet.
‘No, what I meant was, what’s it like being you? Do you actually like being mean to people? Do you like making them scared? Do you go to bed at the end of the day thinking, “Nice, Kyle, job well done”?’
Maddie’s in full flow.
‘You’re cracked. I’m outta here.’ Kyle tries to shoulder his way through the crowd, but Maddie’s next words stop him short.
‘That figures.’
‘What?’
‘When the going gets tough, guys like you can’t handle it.’
Kyle steps up close. ‘Listen—’
‘Listen who?’ She smiles at him sweetly. ‘Bitch, slut, slag, pyscho? How about Maddie Mad Dog? Is that who you’re talking to? Go on, then.’ She smiles again. ‘I’m all ears, waiting for the great and brave Kyle Blake.’
‘You’re as much of a freak as your brother. You should be locked up with him.’
‘Nice, Kyle. Very nice.’ Kyle is so close to her now that Maddie has to tilt her head up to look him full in the face. ‘I’d rather be with Noah than anywhere near you.’
There’s surprised laughter from the gathered crowd and Kyle’s face darkens. He opens his mouth but Maddie’s back in there before he can say a word.
‘You know you bullied him. Noah could wipe the floor with you with one hand tied behind his back, but you knew he’d never retaliate. So you went for him. Every time you saw him. Day after day. Just like you go for anyone you think is weaker than you, or different, or smaller. People who can’t fight back, especially when you’ve got your backup buddies.’ Her lip curls as she looks at the boys standing behind Kyle. ‘Don’t you realise? Hanging around with people like Kyle doesn’t make you better than anyone here. It just makes you …’ – Maddie searches for a word – ‘pathetic.’
‘Why don’t you just shut up,’ Kyle says, and the boys behind him nod. ‘Shut up and get lost.’
Maddie laughs. ‘You don’t scare me. You and your mom and your dad, you think you’ve won. But all three of you are just bullies.’
She stops. She feels like she’s going to be sick, but Kyle Blake and his henchmen can’t see that. She wants to rush to the bathroom and puke her guts out, but they’re not going to see that either. Instead, she turns away from Kyle Blake and leaves him yelling after her.
‘Hey, Mad Dog. You’re a whack job, you know that? Just like your brother.’
Maddie walks through the students gathered three-deep around her. Someone touches her on the shoulder, another gives her a thumbs-up as she walks past. A small girl squeezes her hand.
Maddie keeps walking. It’s only when she gets to the corner that she breaks into a run, heading straight for the girls’ toilets.
142.
Sunlight filters under the door of the small room where Gabriel sits on the floor, shut in to think about the wickedness of his ways.
Gabriel has been fighting. He leapt onto Arendse and punched him as hard as he could, over and over, until the boy’s face was a bleeding, blubbering mess. Gabriel doesn’t miss school, that would be against the law, but once he gets off the bus and finishes his homework, the rules of the home apply. He’s marched into this room for a month, left to eat his meals in the dark.
Gabriel is lighter than Arendse by at least twenty pounds, younger than him by two years, but on that afternoon in the dining room size and weight mean nothing.
It all starts when his name is called – Hey, Felix! – and Gabriel looks up and sees Arendse walking towards him. The boy is brutish, his shoulders pushing at the seams of his regulation shirt.
Gabriel takes another forkful of stew.
You deaf?
Arendse’s at the table now, his face close to Gabriel. Gabriel smells mutton on his breath, sees grease shining on his lips.
So Felix, my ma says your ma’s off to the nuthouse today. You know what that means.
Gabriel has learnt not to look Arendse in the eye.
You listening to me? Arendse flicks at the fork in Gabriel’s hand and fatty meat spatters onto his jersey.
It means she’s taken the rap for you, Felix. My ma says God knows when she’ll get out, and all because of her son. Filthy little murderer, my ma says. That’s all you are. A filthy little murderer.
Gabriel’s going to be in trouble again, because his jersey is dirty, but still he keeps his eyes down.
I’ve got a present for you, Felix.
Arendse reaches into his pocket and drops something onto Gabriel’s plate. It lands in the middle of his food, a small yellow box with a black border and a proud animal etched in red: Lion Safety Matches.
Gabriel stares at the lion on the small box, lying, waiting. He watches as the grease from the mutton stew seeps onto the label, stains it brown.
I’m sending your ma a box too, Felix. I’ll get mine to drop it off on her way home from work. She’s a lekker sexy little stukkie, your ma. Lots of mal ous waiting for her to light their fires, hey? The boys around them snicker as Arendse starts to sway on his feet, thrust his pelvis forward. Come on baby, light my fire. She’ll drive them befokked, Felix, batshit crazy. Your hot little ma. He’s licking his lips, running his hands up and down his body. Mmmm uhhh, light my fire.
More boys laugh as Arendse’s movements become more crude. Oooh baby, baby, baby, Arendse’s eyes are closed and he doesn’t see Gabriel stand. He doesn’t see him move closer. The laughter dies as Gabriel flies at him and Arendse’s eyes open with the shock of the first punch. He falls backwards, hits his head on the wooden bench and then he’s on the floor and Gabriel’s on him.
Fight! Fight! Fight! A ring of boys surrounds them, but all Gabriel sees is Mum laughing up at Dad. Looking down at Gabriel and ruffling his hair. Hey Gaby-Baby, deep breath and blow. The candles flicker and then, under the gust of Gabriel’s breath, they all die.
143.
Day 44 / 14:13
Ms Turner’s given them another sheet of paper and asked them to fi
ll it in as fast as they can.
1.If I could . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
2.If I could . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
3.If I could . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Only 3 slots to fill in, but maybe, if Noah writes really fast, he can add a 4th and then a 5th.
When they’ve all finished they’ll take turns to read one thing out. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to,’ says Ms Turner, and Noah relaxes.
‘If I could take a magic pill,’ Vuyokazi’s saying, ‘just one a day. Enough to feed me and make me stronger. Just one swallow and then water for the rest of the day, I wouldn’t care about the flavour. I’d even take it if it tasted like liver.’ She laughs. ‘The worst taste ever, but I’d line up for it every day, if it was one a day only.’
‘No. It’s sour milk,’ Morné grimaces. ‘When you get to the fridge and take a swig.’
‘What about when you vomit in your mouth,’ Simon says. ‘That happens to me.’
‘Nah,’ Juliet’s joining in now. ‘Eggplant. Slimy. Gross.’
‘What about you, Ms Turner?’
Why do the people in this group have to talk so much?
Ms Turner laughs. ‘This is going to sound very strange,’ she says, ‘but I’ve had a lifelong aversion to pears.’
‘Pears?’ Even Wandile’s talking now. ‘Pears are delicious!’
‘Maybe to you, Wandile.’ She pulls a face. ‘Not me. I don’t know. It’s got something to do with the texture. That gritty feeling on your tongue. No thanks.’
‘Any of the above,’ says Vuyokazi. ‘Just one pill, once a day and my life would be a dream—’
‘—sweetheart,’ Noah almost adds, one of his mother’s songs humming in his head. Instead he raises his hand.
Do not volunteer.
He opens his mouth.
Careful. Don’t give anything away.