by Leah Swann
Mummy! If only he could see her lovely face and climb into her lap, feel her wiry arms pulling him tight, feel her warm mouth in his hair, whispering things, kind things. Everything’s okay, sweetheart, everything’s okay.
The wish flooded and almost overcame him. He pushed his head back into the couch and stared at the cartoon on the television screen and said in the pretend voice of a tougher kid who didn’t care one bit: ‘This part of the movie is so cool, Dad.’
His father flicked up the volume on the remote. They watched the rest of the movie at a sound level so deafening his ears hurt. But he didn’t care, because it stopped Dad’s weird talking.
When the movie ended, Dad switched channels. ‘Go and play outside.’
‘Can we?’
‘Don’t go anywhere, and don’t talk to anyone. Just out the back door.’
‘I think it’s locked.’
Dad got up. He pushed open the slatted doors to the laundry, opened the dryer and pulled out their undies, socks, t-shirts and tracksuit pants. The boys put them on, and their shoes. The clothes were warm. Max and Teddy were excited. They couldn’t wait to get out of the smelly house and run through the grass. Fresh air and sunlight beckoned.
Dad unlocked the back door with the key in his pocket and the three of them went down the concrete steps, on either side of which was a thick tangle of green potted cacti and geraniums and garden gnomes covered in mosaics and surrounded by shells and sea glass.
They were in a flat grass yard edged with scribbly gums and bordered on three sides by a paling fence. There was no swing, no sandpit, nothing to play on, just an ancient Hills Hoist with a few rags pegged to it. Maybe tea towels that had been forgotten.
The sky was the same pale grey as the flapping rags. Dad checked the left side of the house and found that it met the fence. He checked the right side where there was a padlocked gate.
‘You come when I call, right?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Yes, Daddy.’
He went back into the house. Max heard television voices coming through the open door.
Teddy drank water from the garden tap. Max lifted him up so he could hang from one of the metal arms of the Hills Hoist and gave it a push. ‘Hold on tight, Teddy.’
Teddy giggled. He was a strong little boy. He was strong enough to hold on while the clothesline whizzed around in its circle.
‘Stop!’ he said, and Max caught him as he let go.
‘Let’s play monkeys,’ said Teddy.
‘Monkeys’ had been a favourite game since they had watched a David Attenborough special. It involved climbing and swinging and jumping. Teddy was an extraordinary climber. When he was a baby he used to make Mum so worried, crawling up bookshelves, chairs and tables and even the ironing board. Height was always his goal. If he could get to the top of the fridge, he would.
Max was only a slightly better climber than Teddy despite being so much bigger – he didn’t share Teddy’s speed or fearlessness.
They climbed the Hills Hoist and sat uncomfortably at the top. There wasn’t much else to climb, unless they tried to get onto the roof. The lowest branches of the scribbly gums were too high to reach. Their dad could lift them up, maybe. Max could ask him. But that would bring Dad outside and it was nicer without him.
Then he saw that the neighbouring house had an oak tree with broad branches that extended into the back of Kirsty’s garden. He pointed this out to Teddy and they dropped down and ran – like monkeys – across the lawn to the back fence, where luckily the cross palings faced inwards.
Max could still hear the television even at the back of the garden. He recognised the music that marked the beginning of a news bulletin. Dum, dum de dum . . .
He lifted Teddy onto the middle paling, puffing at his brother’s weight, and Teddy grabbed hold of the top of the fence and then the lowest branch of the oak tree. He stood up and lifted a leg over the branch and clambered up towards the trunk. Max did the same. The next branch was almost like a step and they climbed that too and grinned at each other.
From here they could see the neighbour’s house and lawn and a garden very much like the one they had just left. An old man was singing a cheerful tune in one of the gardens: pack up your troubles in your old kick bag and smile, smile, smile! Max wondered what a kick bag was. They saw gum trees pink with galahs, lemon trees yellow with fruit.
Max was considering whether he could make his way along the top of the fence to reach the lemon tree when he heard an almighty shout from inside Kirsty’s house. He froze. It was his father’s voice. Another shout came – followed by a woman’s scream and the sound of something shattering.
Max knew that he and Teddy should get down fast, return to the backyard and pretend they hadn’t been climbing. He gazed into the rich grey and brown texture of bark in front of him and tried to think. His heart was beating too loud in his ears again, like horses galloping. His body could barely move.
He gripped the branch with his knees and reached for the trunk and put his arms around it. He should move. He should get down. He looked up at Teddy. His little brother’s navy-blue tracksuit-clad legs were also gripping the tree. He had a dreamy, happy look. He was so deep in his own world, snapping twigs and watching a chain of ants on their endless march, that he didn’t seem to have heard Dad shouting.
‘Teddy.’
‘I’m higher than you. I’m a higher monkey.’
‘Yes. You’re a good monkey, Teddy. But we have to get down now.’
‘No.’ The dreaminess changed to a pout. The little chin poked out.
The back door crashed open. Dad ran into the yard. ‘Boys! Boys, where are you? We have to leave. NOW. Come on!’
Dad, turning this way and that way, roaring now, ‘WHERE ARE YOU?’
Max held his breath. The branches were bare because the oak had not yet regrown its leaves. If Dad looked up, he’d see them. Max should say something. Call out that they were coming straight away! His mouth wouldn’t form the words. His arms and legs wouldn’t bend or move.
‘We up here!’ shouted Teddy, gleefully. ‘We monkeys.’
Dad looked up. His blue eyes sparked. They were like lightning. He seemed to be wearing a swirling cloak of shadow. ‘GET DOWN RIGHT NOW! We’re going!’
Max found his voice. ‘Yes, Dad. We’re coming.’ He climbed down to the next branch. Teddy, wonder of wonders, followed him, perhaps sensing that there would be too much trouble if he did not.
‘Get inside,’ said Dad. He turned towards the back door, shouting, ‘Hurry! HURRY!’ over his shoulder.
Max stepped down onto the fence and waited for Ted, holding out a hand ready to grab him. There was a long, quiet moment.
Teddy put one foot down on the top of the fence and clutched Max’s hand. As his other foot was coming down, their father yelled again from inside the house and Teddy shuddered and missed the top of the fence and slid down the other side and the sudden yank pulled Max with him.
‘Ow,’ said Teddy, his eyes bright with tears. His pant leg was rucked up, showing a long dark scrape and skin flapping like flaked coconut.
They were on the wrong side of the fence with no helpful cross palings to climb. Max could only reach the top by standing on tiptoe. He wasn’t strong enough to pull himself over without putting his foot on something. What should he do? He decided he’d lift Teddy up and send him into the house to get Dad to help.
‘Quick,’ said Max, cupping his hands with interlocked fingers to make a stirrup for Teddy’s foot. ‘Climb up.’
‘No,’ said Teddy, sulking. ‘Don’t wannoo.’
The back door slammed again. ‘Where are you? You come NOW!’ screamed Dad, followed by a muttered string of swear words. Their father’s fury poured like heat through the fence. ‘You boys are in BIG TROUBLE!’
Teddy stood up, ran across the stranger’s lawn and hid behind a shed.
‘No! Please,’ hissed Max. ‘Ted!’
There was nothing else to do, he
had to go after his brother and bring him back. Fear for Teddy drove through Max and he bounded across the stretch of grass and through bushes into the narrow, dark space.
Teddy was scrambling in further. He was afraid of Big Trouble. He’d heard it before and he knew what it meant. He’d copped more blows from his father than Max had, it was deeper in him, and now he was hiding like a smart little puppy might from a crazed owner. He pulled at Max. The space behind the shed was tiny. Max could hardly fit. They were surrounded by old flyscreens, a barrow wheel, a bent metal stool. It smelled of wet leaves, wet metal, mud. Teddy pushed the stool over so it was wedged in front of them like a shield.
Max whispered: ‘We’ve got to go back. Or Daddy will be so, so cross with us, Ted.’
‘Shh,’ said Teddy.
He was looking past Max at the back fence from where they had come. They saw the fence shudder when their father kicked it, two or three times. Then, dreadful sight, Dad’s head appeared at the top of the fence. His hair crackled like thin white fire.
Max clenched his teeth and hugged his knees. Dad wasn’t shouting anymore. He peered up into the oak tree and then looked down, scanning the yard. Max felt himself go as cold as a lizard. He bit his lip.
Dad was climbing. His chest appeared. His arms pulled him on top of the fence. Then he had one leg over the fence. He jumped down into the yard. They ducked as he ran past, muttering under his breath, ‘Little fuckers.’
They heard him running around the garden. Max’s tummy sprang and jounced and hammered just under his heart. Teddy was as still and quiet as Max had ever known him to be. Dad called them in his Awful Voice. He sounded so close! ‘Where. The hell. Are you? If you’re here, and you can hear me, and you’re hiding, then know this: you have done a very bad thing to hide from your own father. How dare you! How dare you hide from your own father, who was going to give you all sorts of special treats!’
Max felt something wrench at these words. He felt like he was being screwed up and squeezed, like when his mother wrung out the dishcloths. If there had been anything at all in Dad’s words that felt like love, Max would have run to him, and gladly. But Dad was all anger and Max – like Teddy – could feel its danger. It made him feel funny, and bad, like he wanted to go to the toilet.
‘Where the hell are you?’ Dad shouted. ‘You little . . .’
He was right next to them. He rattled the door of the shed and went inside. They heard him kicking things. Something fell and he cursed. Then they heard him come out of the shed and clutched each other.
Dad glanced towards their hiding spot. Max swallowed. Could he see them? It was very small and very dark. Dad shouted their names. ‘Boys, boys! For fuck’s sake.’ Then he climbed the side fence and looked into next door’s garden.
Through the holes in the seat of the metal stool and the tall weeds Max could see rage turning Dad’s face into a horrid clown mask. A part of him wanted to run to his father and beg forgiveness. But he couldn’t. Dad wouldn’t be kind to Teddy. He’d shout and scream and smack him or hurt him. Max knew that.
Dad glared, his eyes skimming constantly, hard and bright and fierce. It seemed to Max that Dad must be able to see them, and he gave an involuntary shudder.
‘Max? Can you hear me?’ Dad thundered. ‘This is on your head, Max. You’re doing the wrong thing.’
A spatter of raindrops hit the tin roof of the shed.
‘If you get kidnapped it’s your own fault! If you can hear me, you come right now!’
Rain fell like a mist. It made Dad seem more far away. His shirt was getting wet. His hair was no longer fluffy and bright. It grew dark in the soft rain and went down his forehead in lines. Dad seemed to be staring at nothing but that misty rain. A cold look of hatred was on his face.
Then Dad turned and gripped the back fence and lifted himself over in one swift movement. He was gone. He swore and Max guessed that he was swearing at the splinters – he had one from the fence in his own thumb.
Max heard the back door bang. The rain had turned the fence dark grey and it sparkled in bits of sunlight. Great wings stirred the air and seabirds landed on the fence, calling to each other in strange bird voices that rattled. Nine birds – Max counted – rose up again as though they didn’t want to be left behind. One remained.
This large solitary bird was almost black and its sudden caw was startling. So harsh and dark and deep! It couldn’t help its ugly voice. You can’t help what you’re born with, thought Max. Never mind that you’re not sweet like the sparrows and budgies. Look at you, he thought, as the bird flew off, its big wings beating. You have the best wings ever!
He felt Teddy’s hand grabbing at his and holding it tightly. Teddy’s breathing was light and regular through his open mouth. The whole world went silent except for Teddy’s breathing.
‘He’s gone,’ said Teddy.
Max thought he was talking about the bird and then realised Teddy meant Dad. ‘Yeah. I don’t think he’s coming back.’
And now they were all alone. And I don’t know what to do.
In the shadows behind the shed, his brother’s eyes were as black as those of a possum. It seemed to him that Teddy had grown older over the past ten minutes but really he was still only a kindergarten boy and he still needed Max to look after him. It was on his head.
‘That was smart,’ Max said. ‘To run away.’
‘He didn’t find us!’
‘No,’ said Max, ‘he didn’t. I thought he could see us.’
‘He couldn’t see us!’
Max took a few more deep breaths. It was very calm behind the shed. What a good hiding place! He didn’t want to leave. He let out a long sigh and leaned back into the shed’s corrugated-iron wall. It was cold and spidery but he didn’t care. He felt safe. It occurred to him that it might be sensible to stay where they were in case their father was driving through the streets and looking for them from his car. Maybe they could live here during the day and go and find food at night. They could eat lemons from all the lemon trees.
Leaves spread from the side fence to the top of the shed, protecting them from the rain. A gap let in a thin pole of light that ended by his feet like a spear. His body wasn’t shaky anymore. It felt firm and good, here in their hidey-hole.
Teddy laid his head on Max’s shoulder. Max patted his wild hair. ‘We should stay here till night-time,’ Max said. He was surprised at himself. Surprised that he’d run after Teddy instead of obeying his father.
Inside him he had what he called a ‘stoppy’ thing. He’d once tried to explain it to his mother. He told her that it was there sometimes at school when he knew the answer to a question and he wanted to put his hand up but then the thought of everyone’s eyes on him made his cheeks feel hot and so he stayed silent. Or when his father was yelling at him for the wrong reason and he felt so scared he couldn’t find words to explain why his father was wrong, or when a ball came towards him and the fear of missing it stopped him from even trying. Teddy wasn’t like that. Teddy didn’t stop and think. He did what felt right. And today it was right to run.
Maybe he dozed off or drifted into daydreams, because it seemed like some time had passed when he heard shouts and smelled smoke.
They heard sirens followed by a short, loud cry. Max started, his heart beating hard. Dad? Had Dad come back over the fence to look for them again?
It wasn’t Dad. A man was in the garden on the other side of the shed and he was shouting for someone inside the house. The man’s voice was so close! Max pressed back into the cold wall of the shed and gripped Teddy’s shoulders with his arm, pulling him in. ‘Shh.’ They mustn’t be seen.
‘Fire! Gary! GARY! Come out! There’s a fire next door!’
‘Shit!’ came a second voice.
Max had to look. When he let go of Teddy to creep forwards and peer out, he got a shock: black clouds were curling over the back fence. He thought he smelled something like paint. Or petrol. There was some poison in the smoke maybe.
; Was it Kirsty’s house that was on fire? Where was Dad? You go to the police and I’ll burn this little shithole to the ground.
Had Kirsty called the police? That might be good. But Dad wouldn’t burn her house down, Max was sure. It must have been an accident; he didn’t mean what he said. No way. He was just cross and saying something cross. Dad wouldn’t do such a bad thing.
Through the weeds, Max saw a young man bolting to the back fence and jumping up to have a look. ‘S’okay, the fireys are there already,’ he called back.
‘I think we should leave,’ said the first man, coughing. ‘I think we should go to my sister’s.’
‘Nah, we’ll be right. They won’t let it spread. Calm down.’
‘Please, let’s go.’
‘Why don’t we drive around and watch them put it out?’
Max pulled back into the gloom behind the shed. He didn’t want this Gary person spotting him. His throat itched and he held in a cough. The light was low, maybe because of the smoke, or maybe because it was almost evening. He wasn’t sure.
He heard a door shutting. His stomach grumbled. He looked at Teddy, who was watching the clouds of smoke passing over the shed. He had his hand over his mouth.
‘Should we go?’ Max said, and coughed. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. His eyes were watering. ‘I think we should go. It’s too smoky.’
They crawled along the side of the shed. The men must have gone back into the house, and maybe out the front to get into their car. Their house was set close to the left side of the block and Max and Teddy hurried towards the narrow path running between the house and the fence. They ran over the stinking mushy possum droppings through weeds that came up past their knees. They paused when they got to the end.
From there they could see a fenceless front yard and the street and people running around, some getting into cars and driving off, some calling out to one another. Several people had wrapped scarves or t-shirts around their faces.
Max was worried that Dad was still around, maybe in one of the cars driving past. Or had he already left because of the fire? He didn’t know. Dad was too difficult to understand. Max had to get Teddy away from the smoke. Not good for his breathing. Breath is life. And little Teddy’s eyes were streaming like his own.