‘I was a cutter, Shaun. Know what that is? Kids called me emo but they wouldn’t have a fucking clue. Not one clue.’ A vision flashed before her: a group of awestruck girls, their mouths agape as though confronting some ghastly zoo creature. They weren’t concerned for her, she felt sure; they just wanted to see the mutilation and be justifiably appalled.
‘Why were you a cutter?’ Shaun asked, his eyes fixed on her.
Jess’s body slumped. ‘Because everything was fucked up, that’s why. Because I wanted to see my own blood. Ever seen your own blood?’
Shaun had to think. He’d once fallen off his bike.
‘Did it hurt?’
‘Didn’t feel a thing; I can hardly even remember it. Anyway, what’s it matter.’ She sat on her hands. ‘So tell me, Shaun, why do you want to jump?’
‘I don’t really. I just want to fly.’
Jess frowned. ‘Fuck you’re weird, Shaun. The only flying you’ll do is straight down: smack!’
‘But I’ll be in the air for a little while and then I’ll be going to see my parents.’
‘Do you really believe that shit?’
The boy kicked the bricks just as Jess did. ‘No, I guess not.’ He sighed. ‘What do you think happens then? When you die?’
‘Nothing,’ Jess said. ‘Nothing happens; you just rot.’
‘The bush creatures don’t get a chance to rot. They get eaten by other things; animals and insects. It’s because they’re part of the ecosystem.’
‘Is that relevant, Shaun.’
‘It’s nature. Nature takes care of things.’
Jess shot him a quick look. ‘Bullshit, Shaun. It only wants to kill people. You know: eat and shit and keep warm, otherwise nature will kill you earlier instead of later. That’s why suicide is healthy; it defies the natural course of things.’
Shaun peered down. ‘If you jump, nature will take its course.’
Jess bumped her heels. ‘’Bout time you said something smart.’
‘That’s why we need to think about it, Jess.’ He tried to summon a convincing argument but nothing suitable came. ‘Nature healed your cuts,’ he said at last.
They stared out, their legs dangling. Shaun heard someone tapping nails in a garden shed a few doors away and there came a soft clatter as the hammer was put down. Over the rooftops a small cloud piled up on a chimney like the smoke in a preschooler’s painting. One street away, a block of flats was going up. Grey slabs of concrete no thicker than a handspan stood one upon the other, punctured by square holes in rows where the windows would soon look down into neighbouring gardens.
‘Elton likes you, Jess.’
‘Elton lives in cyberspace, Shaun.’
‘If I was older, I’d like you to be my girlfriend.’
Jess’s jaw dropped. ‘What’s wrong with you, Shaun? You’re the weirdest kid, you know that?’
‘You’re different than the others,’ he said. ‘You feel things, and you’re smart.’
‘Oh yeah? That’s why I’m sitting on this window ledge staring into space.’ She sighed again. ‘Fuck this.’ She climbed back inside and Shaun climbed down after her. She went to a small bed and flopped back on it. The boy hesitated, noting her underwear and the mottled flesh of her legs. Her pink knees protruded; some of her toenails had fragments of dark polish. He walked to the bed and sat on the edge with his back to her. He looked towards the bright square of daylight.
‘I feel … angry,’ he said.
‘I can dig that.’
Shaun reddened. ‘Damn it!’
‘Say fuck it, Shaun, it feels better.’
‘Fuck it!’ He thumped the bed. ‘I hate my mum and dad; I hate them! Why did they do that? Why did they go back? If it wasn’t safe for me, then it wasn’t safe for them! They should have stayed with me.’ He thumped the bed again and leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. Jess sat upright but did not look at him hunched forward beside her. Involuntarily, her hand moved towards him and rested on his shoulder. They sat like that for minutes, Jess’s palm registering the tremor in the boy’s body, until Shaun finally straightened and took a breath.
‘They should have stayed,’ he blubbed again, the mucus popping in his nose. He pushed the moisture from his eyes. ‘They should have stayed.’
Jess moved her hand to his neck. Unexpectedly, drops rolled down her own cheeks and she quickly wiped them away.
‘Parents are just people, Shaun. They fuck things up like everyone else.’
The boy tried to imagine it. ‘Did yours fuck things up?’
Jess breathed deeply, trying to remain composed.
‘I don’t know. I don’t really know them, Shaun. I knew who Caravaggio was when I was five years old; I had books that told me everything about the guy, even what he was thinking. But I still don’t know who they are.’
‘You could talk to them.’
‘Why would I?’
‘Because … because they’re still here.’
SHAUN PRESSED some clothes into a backpack. He collected his exercise book and tore a page from it. He made a heading: Saturday. 9.00 a.m. March the 31st. Beneath it, he made his note, took it downstairs and placed it under the magnet on the fridge. He drank a glass of milk, put some bread in his backpack and filled a canister at the tap. Elton and his aunt were still asleep. He went out the back door, into the toolshed and through to the rear lane. He knocked on James’s door. It seemed ages before he answered. James squinted at Shaun through a mess of hair.
‘G’day,’ he said, scratching his scalp. ‘What’s up?’
‘Just wanted to give you something.’
James watched him take a book out of his backpack.
‘It’s the best one on Australian natives,’ Shaun told him. Just then Jess pushed her head past her brother’s shoulder. She asked Shaun if he wanted to come in.
‘No. I gotta go. Do you want the book, James?’
He held it out and James took it.
‘Native Trees and Shrubs of South-Eastern Australia. Thanks, Shaun.’
The boy looked at Jess.
‘Are you going to work at the library?’
‘Nah, what for?’
She hadn’t showered and her face looked pale and blotchy under a shelf of tousled hair that rivalled her brother’s. Shaun searched her eyes.
‘Okay,’ he said and refocused on James. ‘See you.’ He walked along the lane and into the side street with James’s eyes still upon him.
‘What was that all about?’ he said to his sister. ‘The library thing, some job?’
‘Nah, kid’s got too much imagination.’ She looked over her brother’s shoulder as he examined the book Shaun had handed him.
‘I might go out of town for a while,’ he said.
‘Serious?’
‘I might go and live in Gippsland.’
Jess felt her heart sink. ‘What the fuck for?’
‘I’m thinking about doing a course – tree surgery,’ he declared, and smiled.
‘Can I come?’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘I’d be stuck here with Mum and Dad.’
‘Jess, you already are.’
She lurched over to her brother’s bed, sat down and flopped back in her usual fashion, rolling onto her stomach. James strode into the kitchen and put the kettle on. He picked up a box of cereal and shook it, then stuck his nose into a milk carton. Jess thought about being left behind. How could she survive without her brother? He won’t go, she decided. He’s always saying things and doing nothing. She buried her face and blocked out the world.
As Shaun reached the street he noticed the Afghan man wiping the side mirrors of his cab. Arman caught sight of the boy and stepped towards him. ‘That man,’ he whispered. ‘That man in there is very sick. You have not been near him, have you?’ The taxi man looked agitated, as usual, and he asked Shaun for his name. ‘You should go,’ he told him. ‘Stay away from that other man. Run now, Shaun, run.’ It was a strategy Arman knew well.
The boy crossed the street and hesitated on the other side. Arman was still standing beside his cab, and high above him Shaun noted a solitary window, a dark, foreboding interior that inexplicably frightened him. He recalled the day on the stairs, the man chasing, the strained voices through the wall. Arman raised his arm and Shaun waved back. He stepped out onto the main road, turned west and did not stop until he reached Sydney Road. He boarded a tram, and by midday he was standing on the platform at Southern Cross Station.
ANOTHER BRIGHT, sunny day, yet Elton woke slowly in such darkness that it might easily have compared to some unknown pocket deep beneath the earth’s crust. He reached out to his work desk and woke one of his computers as well. As he rolled onto his side the screen lit up, an event more natural than a sunrise. He tapped in a password and the monitor opened on a new day, the promise of fresh surprises, new faces, old friends. He sat up and typed: morning. He waited a few seconds and half a dozen replies came back: hi; 6pm here; where you been; lo stranger. He smiled.
He needed to go to the bathroom but online conversations awaited. Then came the alluring smell of fresh toast and all else was abandoned. Elton pulled on a pair of jeans and went downstairs to find his mother in the kitchen in bare feet, still wearing her nightie. If only she would dress after waking, like normal people. She scratched a knife across the toast and switched off the kettle. It was 11.30 a.m.
‘Where’s Shaun?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Did you see him go out?’
‘Nope.’ Elton noticed some apples on a tray. One had a leaf on it and he took out his iPhone to get a pic of it.
‘What’s today?’ he said.
‘Saturday, Elton. You can have the whole day off.’
‘Good.’
‘And then tomorrow you can really get into things, eh?’
Later, Adele discovered Shaun’s phone on his chest of drawers and assumed the boy hadn’t gone far. But by three in the afternoon she began to worry – if he’d simply gone to the shops he would have been back long ago.
‘Elton, I want you to go next door and see if Shaun’s at Simon and Stef’s. If he is, I’d like him to come home now, okay?’
‘Okay, I’ll text Jess –’
‘No, Elton. I want you to walk over there. Now.’
Stef opened the front door to see Elton skewed on the footpath as if gravity had some unique effect on him. Had she seen Shaun, he asked. Stef invited him in while Simon checked, perhaps he was with Jess. But the girl’s father returned soon after: Jess was not in her room. Shaun has gone missing, Elton told them, a little melodramatically, and Stef went out to her son’s bungalow. She returned with both James and Jess.
‘He dropped by early this morning,’ James said.
‘He had a backpack.’ Jess added.
Just then the doorbell rang again.
Stef brought Adele into the kitchen.
‘We have a problem,’ she said, addressing all five of them. ‘I found this note on the fridge.’ She passed it to Elton, who held it close to his face.
Dear Aunty Adele,
Sorry, I have to go away.
Everyone is very busy and I don’t fit in.
The man next door is real bad. He chases me.
Hope you get another job. And Elton. And Jess. And James.
Tell Stef, don’t be angry.
Tell Mr Warner, be nice and make those lights shine like I said.
Tell Jess, stay off the window sill.
Thanks for looking after me. Love, Shaun
The group glanced from one to the other and Elton scrutinised the message.
‘What’s that about the man next door?’ Simon said. ‘Is he talking about the Greek guy?’
‘He mentioned a man the other day.’ All looked at Stef.
‘He came over the night before last … about seven. He was asking for Jess.’
‘Don’t know anything about it,’ the girl said.
Simon addressed his wife. ‘What did he say, exactly?’
‘Can’t remember now. Something about the man next door following him.’
‘What?’ Adele caught everyone’s attention. ‘You know anything about this, Elton?’
The boy concentrated. ‘He did say something. I didn’t think it was serious.’
‘Why don’t I know about this?’ Adele said. ‘And where on earth would he have gone?’
‘To the park?’ James suggested. ‘He likes the park.’
‘I don’t think he’d go there,’ Stef added. ‘I’m pretty sure he said the man followed him to the park.’
In the pause that followed, the outside traffic hissed and hummed on the warm bitumen. Adele concentrated: why hadn’t Shaun taken his phone? Suddenly her eyes widened.
SIMON HAMMERED loudly and Arman answered. All six were gathered around the doorway which caused their neighbour to spontaneously step back. Elton and Jess stood behind the others.
‘Where’s Shaun!’ Simon demanded and glared at Arman.
‘Who?’
‘The boy from next door, don’t act dumb: Shaun.’
‘He not here. I saw him go this morning.’
Simon pushed past him and the others followed into the kitchen – all except Elton, who lingered in the short passageway, palms cradling his elbows.
‘What’s your name?’ Simon demanded.
‘Arman. Arman Kh –’
‘What have you done with the boy, Arman?’
‘I done nothing with him. I saw him go this morning. That way.’ He pointed through the wall.
‘On his own?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t believe you. Where’s the other fellow; the tall bloke?’
‘He go off somewhere. He did not come in last night.’
‘You’re making this up as you go along, aren’t you?’ Adele faced him squarely. ‘Shaun said you chased him in the park.’
‘No! I chased no one!’
‘I’ll call the police,’ Simon threatened.
‘Then you will have to. But I did not chase the boy. He left by himself, this morning.’ The group studied him as he looked from one to the other.
A minute later they retreated and they were already out on the footpath when Arman abruptly arrested them.
‘Wait,’ he said, his eyes brimming. ‘I think Ben might be the one. I think you should check his room.’
Simon and James ran up the stairs. In Benton’s room, James’s father opened the wardrobe and looked under the bed. On a shelf he saw several sepia photographs of naked children. He found a letter on the desk addressed to Benton Hattersley. He took up a pen and wrote the name on his palm before rejoining the others.
‘He’s not here,’ Simon said. He turned to the Afghan. ‘What’s the man’s name?’
‘Ben. Benton.’
‘You think he might be after the boy?’
‘He watch him on this.’ Arman pointed to the monitor.
They saw the screen image of the footpath and the doors of their own apartments. A pedestrian passed under the camera.
‘Where did he go, what time was it?’
‘I don’t know. He has not come back. We –’
‘Not him, the boy. Shaun. When you saw Shaun, what time was it?’
‘I think about nine o’clock or … or a bit later. He just went up the street. I told him to –’
‘Which way?’ Adele fixed her eyes on him. ‘Which way did he go?’
‘Towards the Sydney Road. That way.’ Again Arman pointed through the wall.
A short while later they regrouped in Adele’s living room. Elton looked troubled and suggested they call the police. Jess grimaced and bit her nails; perhaps she’d been a little mean to the boy but it shouldn’t have precipitated this kind of response. Adele inspected the note again.
‘I might have it,’ she said. ‘I bet he’s gone bush. He might have taken off for Chris’s place – my brother’s. He has a block near Hembridge. Lost his house in the fires but he’s back the
re now, living in a caravan. Shaun spoke to him last week.’
Adele dialled her brother’s mobile but was obliged to leave a message. She suggested they sit, and all six managed to wedge uncomfortably onto the couches. Elton stood behind a chair. ‘We should call the cops,’ he said again. ‘Missing Persons.’
Jess crossed her arms. ‘He’s not missing, Elton. He’s just run away from home.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Adele said solemnly. ‘More likely, he thinks he’s going home.’
ARMAN’S WORLD was tumbling. Others had assured him that his escape to the new country would present fresh opportunities and a chance to be safe for once. But now things were not so positive. Yet he could not return to the life he’d left behind, filled as it was with sadness and horror that still crept in when he closed his eyes at night. He saw, in particular, a harsh Kabul winter when the Allied forces had come to his home. The snow had been falling heavily, wet flakes stuck to damp blankets draped around the shoulders of the unfortunates who were forced outside to scavenge for old timber. It kept a flame alive in their stoves. But Arman’s family were lucky, their home was hooked to power lines and most nights the government could keep the electricity flowing. Inside, they kept their kitchen to nearly ten degrees.
One week in January eight newcomers huddled on his father’s floor. Arman did not know the lodgers: two families from the west, a pregnant wife and a baby who cried in the night. It was imperative that his father should shelter them; he was the senior of a Pashtun community that controlled the region. But historical conflicts ran deep; between rival leaders, warlords, Shi’a and Sunni, Hazara, Tajik, Uzbek and Pashtun – and the Taliban themselves. Threats lay everywhere; no one was safe. Arman’s father tried to be a leader in his community. But it was unwise to be an outspoken and resistant tribal elder, surrounded as he was by imminent peril that did not exclude the heavily armed NATO operatives.
It was they who arrived some time after midnight, smashing down the front door as though it were cardboard and shouting loudly in Pashto. The group beyond the kitchen roused and the men jumped to their feet. Two panicked and fled through a side door into a courtyard, tripping and falling in the fresh snow. Spotlights fell on them and they were immediately fired upon. Who was attacking – it could be anyone? Arman’s father took up his walking-stick and ran into the lightless room where his guests were gathered. From the open door, Arman saw it. He saw a weapon-mounted spotlight steady; he heard the deafening shots and saw the blood spray from the brightly-lit region of his father’s chest.
The Colour of the Night Page 19