The Painter's Friend

by Howard Cunnell

  But the peachy light made me giddy. Wanted to bite shapes out of it, grab it in handfuls.

  Red barked on the foreshore, her front legs in the water, the fur along her back raised and spiked.

  Terry, the old man said, can’t you see?

  Two jet-skis burst from under the willows, racing each other, huge spouts of water rising behind them, wet chainsaw sound ripping through the morning. Crows and parakeets came rushing up out of the forest into the high clear sky.

  The dolphin surfaced under a coronet of expelled air. Breaking the skin between worlds. A single arc through the water. Shallow, fugitive. Then she was gone.

  Whooping from the jet-skis. Higher revs. Machines gaining, roaring, petrol rainbows in the spray.

  We watched, John from his boat, me from mine.

  Red barking all the time and running up and back along the shoreline.

  John cried out, hand shielding his eyes.

  The dolphin surfaced again, far ahead, something mythical, glimpsed. Rising and disappearing in the same moment, jet-skis chasing. Almost impossible to have seen against the dark riverbank, except that John’s old sailor eyes had seen.

  The machine screamed past the dolphin, turning hard to cut the animal off. Made a tight half turn that became an out of control spiral when the engine failed. High fan of water following the boat’s spin. The jet-ski tipped over on its side, the rider thrown off into the water.

  The second jet-ski, with two figures riding her, revved down and turned back.

  She’ll likely die in the river, I said.

  Yes, John said, but not because of those bastards.

  The old man coughed and spat, the hollow of his throat moving up and down.

  The jet-skiers came onto the island. Red heard them first. They must have brought the machines round and tied up at the boatyard. Big, healthy-looking kids with large white teeth and big feet. All three of them wearing long pastel shorts and polo shirts with the collars turned up. Pink, sky blue, orange. Sky-blue shirt wore a New York baseball cap.

  The biggest kid was tying his wet blonde hair up in a bun.

  Water dripped from his pink polo shirt and shorts.

  The three of them slapping along in flip-flops with a little Brazilian flag on them. Big, hairy white toes hanging over the edge of the flip-flop. Made my stomach turn.

  Red turning round in circles, barking all the time.

  Get below Red, John said.

  The dog looked outraged for a second, then sloped into the barge.

  The blonde kid waved at John from up on the towpath.

  We come in peace, he said.

  Sky blue shirt sniggered.

  Amazing boat, the kid in the orange shirt said. Really amazing. My dad keeps saying he’s going to buy one of these. How much would something like this cost?

  We’re looking for Alex, the blonde kid said, when John didn’t answer.

  Alex Kaplan? I said, coming out of the open wheelhouse.

  The blonde kid hadn’t seen me. No time to set his face.

  I’d seen the ugly look a million times.

  Alexandra, the kid in the cap said. The exiled princess, back in town.

  The kid looked John up and down, then turned his cap round so it sat backwards on his head. Crossed his arms over his chest. Made shapes with his fingers that I didn’t understand.

  Just think about that for a second, he said.

  What the fuck Bruce, the third kid said.

  This is her island right? the kid called Bruce said, playing with his cap. Alex’s. So you have to tell us where she is, right. There must be a law or something.

  Bruce, the third kid said, seriously.

  Shut up Cooper.

  Rage uncoiling inside me.

  Red barked.

  John went below.

  A breeze from the river lifted the flags in the trees. The pirate flag, Michael’s face, unfurled and became briefly visible. The boys looked up at the sound of the material snapping.

  Whoa, the boy called Bruce said, did you see that Dex?

  The blonde boy laughed and said something I didn’t hear, but his friends laughed with him.

  Kid’s feet were almost level with my head. Could have reached out and grabbed his legs. Pulled him into the river.

  Behind me something heavy was being dragged across a deck. John was standing on the tarpaulin-covered empty boat that was between his painted barge and my boat. Holding the lump hammer by the handle, down by his side.

  Shooma alley come! John shouted. Shooma alley come!

  Lifted the lump hammer and shook it at the kids.

  The old man reached for the gunwale of my boat with his free hand. Dropped the heavy hammer onto the deck of the empty boat. Went down on one knee.

  What the fuck? the boy in the cap said.

  John! I shouted.

  The old man’s crazy, the blonde kid said. Let’s get out of here. Come on!

  Was a damn porpoise! John said later.

  You seen many dolphins in the river? I’d asked him.

  I wasn’t going to argue with him.

  We were in the wheelhouse. The evening sky was ruby and charcoal. Red had her head in the old man’s lap, and John was pushing his large hand over her, going with the grain of Red’s coat, flattening the dog’s ears and making her eyes look wild and staring. Then he pushed the fur the other way so the fur stood up. Then he started again.

  The old man looked better. Been to bed.

  You had your dander up, I said. What were you shouting at those kids?

  Aden, John said, his voice low, phlegmy.

  Long time ago. Maybe sixty years. Shore leave. Got my pocket picked in the market. Run after this little youth. Wasn’t going to catch him. Kid ran straight into this old man. The old man starts shaking and slapping him and really beating the youth. Pointing at the kid’s skin and his own skin and then pointing at my skin and then whupping the boy around the head. All the time shouting: hshuma alaikum, hshuma alaikum.

  What’s it mean, John?

  Shame on you, he said, I find that out. Shame on you in the name of God.

  Red yawned. Keeping her head in John’s lap she turned her body upside down.

  You can’t rely on them here, John said. Somewhere like Aden, they would lead the ship into port and lead her out again. So many you couldn’t count them.

  What’s that?

  Porpoises, he said.

  Adam smoothed out a crushed piece of paper on the banquette. Ripped where he’d pulled the notice from the tree it was nailed to.

  Take a look, he said.

  Big meaty hands. He’d had the use of them, as Nan would have said.

  The crumpled sheet and Adam’s living hands looked like they wanted nothing to do with each other.

  Didn’t trust official letters. Told a story about your life you hadn’t written. Didn’t recognize. Subject to what the words said you were. Until you couldn’t be seen for all the black bars of type. But paper in all forms was also the material I worked with. Many times I’d turned over official letters to make a drawing on the back. Every clean piece of paper was a magic carpet. Even the crushed sheet under my hand.

  It was late. Still warm. New moon. The wheelhouse door was open, letting our smoke out and the night sounds in. Birds called to each other like fond comrades. Music pulsed across the dark river. Kaplan’s house. A big party. All the lights burning.

  Whirring moths crowded the wheelhouse bulb.

  What’s it say? Adam said.

  Made the mistake of looking at him.

  I can read, the young giant said, putting on a fierce face. Just not all the legal bollocks.

  Course, I said. Who understands that? Different language. Pass me my glasses.

  Adam handed me the glasses without looking at me.

  Right, I said, and read the notice of eviction out loud.

  To anybody living in the forest:

  You are illegally squatting on private land. You will be given a generous amo
unt of time to leave voluntarily, but if you have not dismantled the camp and left by August thirty-first, you will be forcibly evicted and charged with:

  Causing damage while in the property.

  Not leaving when they’re told to by a court.

  Stealing from the property.

  Using utilities like electricity or gas without permission.

  Fly-tipping.

  They’re bringing in fence posts and wire, Adam said.

  Kaplan clears you out, I said, then he’ll go after the rest of us.

  Adam showed me a pair of wire cutters.

  Put a fence up today, he said, and I’ll cut it down tomorrow.

  There were other people at the camp. Summer visitors.

  Dawn and Lala, teenage runaways from a gang of men who’d raped and prostituted them. Gloster Vince, an army veteran camped in the hollow of a dead tree inside a perimeter of sharpened sticks. Conor, an ancient former navvy, who had lost the ability to speak in a way that could be understood.

  Bloke called Jason. Gnomic, balding under a cap, mostly smiling though he had his quiet sad days. Lots of teeth missing so he had an underbite like a bulldog. Insides were kaput, you could tell by looking at him. Yellow. Around thirty but looked closer to my age. For some reason he called me Paul.

  All right Paul?

  Jason played an imaginary guitar. He was very convincing. Fingers seemed to know what they were doing. A small cardboard sign said: Guitar lessons.

  Walked into the camp one day and Jason was sitting with his back to a tree, waving a stick up and down.

  All right Paul? he said.

  The sign offering guitar lessons was gone.

  What happened to the guitar? I said.

  Gave it up.

  Why?

  Too many groupies Paul.

  What you doing now?

  Conducting.

  Fur hat on the ground. A sign next to it that said: Beware of the dog.

  Mind how you go Paul, Jason said.

  There’s something I’ve been thinking about, I said to Adam, and told him.

  Kaplan’s house across the river seemed to exist in starbursts, blazing from every window in the house and from the marquee that was set up on the big lawn. There were ropes of fairy lights in the fading rhododendrons. A young woman moved among the guests with a tray of drink and food, her skin made darker by the waist-to-ankle white apron that she wore, the shining foreground.

  Where the garden met the river there was a jetty or little pier. Kaplan’s cruiser was alongside, gleaming. Alexandra, barefoot in a white halter-top dress, her red hair loose, half-walked half-ran along the jetty and stepped onto the boat with the tall blonde boy she was holding by the hand. I didn’t know if it was the boy called Dex, but I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t.

  A reggae tune started and was turned up, and the lawn became full of dancing kids. Through the windows of the boat, I could see Alexandra’s outline dancing close with the boy.

  Adam threw the eviction notice on my cold fire.

  I know a place, he said. Let’s go.

  Now?

  You got anything better to do?

  I need to bring anything?

  Got a torch? I need a piss.

  We stood up and moved around getting ready. The boat see-sawed a little on the water. The tyre fenders creaked loudly. A light came on in John Rose’s boat. Adam went into the stall and pissed like a horse and I worried my portaloo was going to overflow.

  What? he said when he came out.

  I found my torch and put it in my bag. Red stood up.

  Dog coming with us? Adam said.

  John Rose didn’t have time to look after a dog. That’s what he said. Almost without realizing it Red was with me all the time. I’d made a bed for her on the floor, but more often than not she’d sneak into my narrow bunk and squeeze herself next to me. So that we shored each other up. I’d open my eyes in the morning and find myself face to face with her. Hot breath a fishy wave. If I didn’t move quickly to let her out she’d lick my face and I became used to this unusual start to the day.

  Looks like, I said.

  She know to keep quiet?

  Red’s ears were up and she turned her head to look at both of us as we spoke.

  Well, I said, wherever it is we’re going she’ll let us know if somebody else is there.

  Somebody is there, Adam said.

  I looked at him but all he said was: Let’s go.

  The party music got louder. Tales of Babylon and sufferation boomed across the illuminated lawns. Bass lines rolled over the river. Adam looked at me but said nothing and we went into the forest towards the boatyard. The treetops bent and sshhed against one another in a wind we did not feel at ground level. There were birds up there too. Dark movement, the sound of wings. The light of the new moon showed faintly on the path and the rough sides of trees. Little flashes came from the forest on either side. Unseen animals made quick scraping sounds as they moved through the dry undergrowth. Red, silent, tensed at each sound and turned her head. Stayed on the path. Adam’s back was a big slab I couldn’t see past.

  We came out at the boatyard. The new security lights on the big fence came on.

  Adam turned and headed west on a narrow path, between the trees and the moonlit water. We went deeper into the forest until the music could only just be heard.

  I’d never been in this part of the island before.

  Red stopped suddenly. She pricked her ears and peeled off into the forest. A girl materialized on the path in front of me. Short, dyed-blonde hair shaved at the sides, pink fluffy sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. The girl’s hair and jumper were dirty but oddly luminous. She wore cut-offs, and shower shoes over socks. She held something down by her side. A screen or a blade flashing blue in the moonlight.

  What are you doing here? she said.

  A foreign voice, Eastern European. A tough, boy’s face, with high cheekbones, thin lips, no make-up. Dirty, fugitive, but with her shit together. Seventeen at most. Hard eyes.

  I live here, I said, on the other side.

  You can tell me stories, she said, what looked like mosquito bites on her bare forearms, but who knows who you are.

  Some kind of rune tattooed on the side of her head I could see.

  Hey Nina.

  Adam had doubled back.

  Adam, the girl said. He’s with you?

  Yeah.

  All right then, the girl called Nina said.

  She stepped off the path and vanished, her bright hair and jumper the last of her to be visible.

  Who’s that? I said.

  Adam looked at me, his face both light and dark.

  That’s Nina.

  She in the camp?

  That’s right.

  What’s she doing out here?

  I don’t know. Not my business. Mate of Dawn’s.

  I was about to whistle for Red when she appeared on the path, white markings brightest in the near dark.

  We came to a chain link fence. Inside I could see some kind of hangar or silo.

  The fence shimmered. Adam looked at me, the pale moon haloing his head made his broken face seem golden. Adam trailed his fingers along the fence and it rattled.

  At the big padlock Adam took something from his back pocket. Seconds later we were on the other side. I looked at him.

  I’m in and out of here all the time, he said.

  Adam reached through the fence and re-locked the padlock.

  Bats fizzed jerkily all around us.

  A large structure made of metal, with a curvilinear roof that corresponded to or made an answering pattern with the underside of the risen moon. A low, fast vibrating noise coming from inside.

  The shape of the hangar or silo seemed fated given my vision of the dark ovals suggested by the reflected arches of the bridge far downstream.

  At the front there was a huge sliding iron door that Adam got open as easily as he had the big padlock. The vibrating noise got louder. />
  Light flooded the space from strips high above us.

  Gene was using a belt sander on the hull of a fishing boat. The boat was up on a kind of cradle made of boards and scaffolding, and Gene was working underneath. Paint flakes and dust fell to a plastic sheet that covered the space under the boat. The boat was the classic type – wheelhouse, open deck with gunwales. The hull would contain the sleeping compartment, a tiny galley and head, with a small space for storage in the bow. No engine that I could see.

  Gene turned off the sander. Looked at us. Wearing a grubby handkerchief over his mouth and nose so that all I could see were his huge eyes that had new light in them. Took a flat chisel from his pocket and worked at some stubborn paint. Threw the chisel down onto the plastic sheet and looked at us again.

  Fuck’s sake Adam, he said through the cloth.

  Sucking and blowing out the material as he talked. Gene pulled down the handkerchief and spat, careful to aim beyond the plastic sheet. Rubbed his head free of dust and paint. Shook the rest of himself out like a dog. There was a bottle of beer by his feet and he reached down and picked it up. Wiped the top and drank from it. Every time he moved the plastic underneath his feet made sticking and pulling sounds.

  You’re building a boat, I said.

  Nothing gets past the bloke, Gene said.

  Red went over to be petted, her feet on the plastic making rapid versions of the sounds Gene made.

  In the corner I could see a sleeping bag. Some of Gene’s clothes.

  Get out of there Red, I said.

  I walked around the space with Red following. The floor was gritty underfoot.

  Power points. Overhead strip lighting. A big plywood tool board mounted on the wall by the work tables. I ran my hands across work surfaces, opening drawers.

  It’s perfect, I said.

  For what? Gene said.

  Tell him what you told me, Adam said.

  How big are you talking? Gene said when I’d finished.

  You want to be able to see them from the river, I said. How high’s the roof here?

  High enough, said Adam, looking up.

  Gene looked at me moving around. Looked at Adam.

  Dreamland, he said. The pair of you.