by Leah Swann
He remembered what the Reverend had quoted last night. What a word was sacrifice. A word, a concept, a transaction, a rite.
Ava must sacrifice something that I may be restored.
The Celts once offered human sacrifices. So did the Mongols. Even the ancient Greeks. Iphigenia was set to be sacrificed by her father Agamemnon to secure victory in the Trojan War. Inca priests propitiated the gods of volcanoes and earthquakes with the slaughter of perfect children, while the jealous God of the Hebrews, Yahweh, asked for the life of Abraham’s son Isaac. On that rough altar of twigs Abraham would have slit Isaac’s throat had not the angel stayed his hand. This was the oldest kind of mathematics, the earliest reckoning, the slaughter of animal or human to atone. I desire mercy, not sacrifice: that was Christ, but Lawrence preferred the old gods of the earth and they drank blood by the drumful.
When Lawrence imagined a stone slab awash with blood, his heart went speechless with some quiet inner certainty. A child is always the most precious sacrifice of all. The old gods knew it. Children – fluid, malleable and pure, as shown in every fairytale ever told – are essentially liminal not because their personalities are being broken down but because they are not yet fully formed. Children flow into a ritual space as easily as water flows into a jar.
MAX
When Max saw Dad standing in the doorway he felt the old excitement, the glad thought – Dad’s here!
His first urge was to run towards him and have those strong arms lift him up high and safe, but he remembered that his father was angry with him and Teddy. He was not safe. His father always found out, that’s what he’d said.
And where was the policeman? Or had it been his father who shouted at Gerald? Had Dad hurt Gerald? But Dad didn’t know Gerald. Maybe Dad thought Gerald had been hurting them? Max was confused. He glanced over to where Gerald was lying on the floor.
Gerald looked older. He looked about a hundred. Max should check Gerald’s pulse like Mum had taught him. He trembled at the thought of trying to put breath back into the old man if his breath was gone. He and Mum had practised lifesaving but he’d never done it for real.
‘Hello, Max.’
Max saw with relief that his father wasn’t in one of his rages. He didn’t have the rolling eyes or that grey shine on his skin. He looked a bit sweaty. His hair was darker and one of his hands was bandaged and the fingers looked a bit purple.
Max took a step towards Gerald.
‘No, Max. Don’t touch him.’
‘Is he alive?’
‘Of course he’s alive.’
Dad was very calm, very quiet, very cool. He turned to the row of hooks by the front door and selected a set of keys.
Max was too frightened of his father to check on Gerald, though he knew he should. He looked at the wall above the old man. There was no blood.
‘Do you know where they park their car?’
Max nodded.
‘No running off. Not like last time. If you run off it won’t be good, do you understand? You lead me to Teddy, and to the car, and we’ll go on an adventure.’
An adventure.
That’s what Mum had said too, on that strange morning when they left their empty house. He didn’t want to go on another adventure.
Max moved off, slow, reluctant, hesitant, till his father stabbed a forefinger between his shoulders. ‘Quick now.’
They hurried into the kitchen and Tillie got to her feet. When Teddy saw Dad he whimpered.
‘Who are you?’ Tillie demanded. ‘Where’s Gerald?’
‘Get up, Teddy,’ Dad said, reaching for him.
‘You can’t take him,’ said Tillie. ‘You can’t take Max either. Tell me who you are.’
Tillie’s kindly face had gone all straight and serious and even angry. She seemed bigger. She stepped forward and said in a sharp loud voice: ‘Who are you? Where are the police?’
Dad pushed Tillie onto the couch and her new bigness vanished; her body seemed to fold and crumple like a tissue and Max saw how old she was, so very old and light against his father’s strength. He ran towards her. Poor Tillie, he would help her!
His dad had grabbed Teddy, and now he seized Max’s arm so hard it felt like it was being crushed. ‘So, Max. Car out back?’
Max nodded. The watery fear was flushing through him, almost coming out. His father grasped Max by the collar like a dog, his fingers cold on Max’s neck as he forced both boys towards the back door and slid it open, and then pushed them down the steps from the verandah.
Dad pinned them to the car door with his body while leaning in to try the keys in the ute, and when the motor was running he lifted them into the back, onto the same blankets they’d slept in. Max didn’t dare get out though he wanted to run like mad.
‘Lie down with your feet up this end,’ Dad said. Max and Teddy lay down. Their father took one end of the dog’s rope and looped their ankles together and knotted it. He shook out the tarpaulin and stretched it over them, and then everything was dark except for the gaps, diamonds and triangles of light. Max kept swallowing. It felt like a furry ball was stuck in his throat.
The blue tarpaulin was loud and crinkly and stuffy. Even though plenty of air came through the gaps, Max felt as though he was drowning under the heavy plastic. He could hear Dad striding around the ute, snapping the tarpaulin into place. The prickly rope, and Teddy’s ankle bone, pressed into his own ankle and it hurt. Max pushed at the rope with his other foot. So tight! When he got it off there’d be a red line on his skin. It might even peel later.
‘We’re going somewhere far away,’ his father said to them, his voice spreading like thunder through the crackling tarp. ‘And you will be LOYAL. You will never run away from me again. Do you understand?’
The boys clung to each other in the dark. Teddy was terrified, Max could feel it. Max had never seen his father in quite this mood before. The anger seemed to come from some distant place far behind his father’s voice, like a biting thing waiting behind a door or under the bed. A rat or a spider or a snake. The longer you don’t see it, the surer you are that it’ll get you.
‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’ roared Dad.
‘Yes, Dad,’ said Max, making his voice loud enough for Dad to hear. Wetness was coming from Teddy’s pants.
The ute door slammed. The ute was moving. It reversed, then lurched forward several times. He must be turning the ute around to drive past the other car in the garage. Their feet hit the end of the tray. Max could hear teeth in Teddy’s breathing.
He thought about Gerald lying on the ground. It made him sad. Max had liked the way Gerald called them both ‘son’ even though he didn’t know them, and how he’d laughed when Tillie teased him, rolling his eyes at Max in that friendly way, and Tillie was so funny with him too, saying how he couldn’t find anything, and he didn’t even seem to get mad. Not one bit. He laughed!
And Tillie was so kind making those pancakes and reading them books in a voice that flowed over him so that he could see the pokey puppy, the colourful rooster, the great red sun.
Tillie had fallen too easily; she was so light and thin and old – poor, poor Tillie. It was wrong to hurt strangers like that. Max knew what this meant: his father was a bad man.
And if his father was a bad man, did that mean that Max, too, was bad? Or would he grow bad later? Max thought of badness growing inside him like spots of blue mould grow in bread and you need to throw it out.
The ute turned a corner and they banged into the side of the tray. The tarp had a funny hot smell and the fast wind made loud crunkling sounds in it. Teddy smelled of wee and was whimpering.
Max squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imagine something good, anything. He saw the shining chimes swinging and chinking from the branch and his mother’s dress with the roses and the spots of sunlight dancing over her arms.
Was it just one afternoon, or lots of afternoons? Maybe it was every sunny day there ever was; he couldn’t seem to remember anything else. He didn’t know what to do.
How long would they have to roll around in the back, in the dark? Where were they going? What would their father do to them when they got there? Would they ever see Mum again? What if they didn’t? This last thought was so awful that Max half sat up, till a bump in the road made him fall back again. It was strange to be bouncing loose in the back of the ute like this, with no car seats to keep them safe, only the dog rope, cutting into their ankles.
He reached down and fingered the knot. He worked at it for a bit, trying to get it open. If he undid it, would he and Teddy go flying out? He didn’t think so; the tarpaulin would keep them in, but they might hit the sides too hard and hurt themselves.
Max grabbed at the side of the ute and felt for the tough elastic cords that held the tarpaulin in place. He slipped his hand through a gap and pulled the elastic down, hard, and felt it spring away from the hook.
One, he said to himself.
That wasn’t too difficult, not as difficult as he’d thought it would be. He remembered the tight octopus straps his mother had bound over the roof of the car when they were leaving home. She’d pulled them so tight they wouldn’t budge, and when Max pointed this out she laughed. I was trying too hard to make them stay because I’ve never done this before!
Dad had snapped the elastic over the hooks quickly. Max thought he probably only needed to open four or maybe five hooks to make an opening big enough for him and Teddy to get out.
The ute rattled over the road and he pressed against the side to steady himself. He didn’t admit to himself what he was doing. He just wanted to see the sky. He didn’t like having this plastic over him, it made him feel bad.
‘Get up,’ he shouted to Teddy. He must keep Teddy safe. That was the main thing. ‘Hang on, like this.’
Max worked out that if he climbed over Teddy they could both roll over together. He told Teddy to get into a half-kneeling position. They held onto the side, the rope between them.
‘Help me get this off,’ Max said. His hand went through the gap to feel for a second hook and he pulled again. Teddy tried with another one. He didn’t have the strength; the elastic was stretched too tight.
‘You get the knot off our feet,’ Max said, and Teddy crouched under the tarp and worked at the knot. If they could undo the knot and open up the tarpaulin they could get out when the ute stopped. Dad would have to stop sometime, wouldn’t he?
‘Pull it open. Undo the knot.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Yes you can, Teddy,’ he cried. ‘You’re good at undoing knots.’
When Dad stopped the ute, they could get out and run.
‘Just try, Teddy. You’ve undone knots before.’
They might have to jump.
‘Nope.’
And they’d have to run so fast – faster than Dad. Run, run, chase the sun! The story had those words over and over, and when Tillie read them it sounded like a song.
Run. Run. Chase the sun.
‘Yes, you have. You did knots at kinder, you said. Come on.’
Two. Three. Four. That was enough for the moment. Now there was a good buckle in the tarp, and he peeled it back a little.
Cautiously, he stuck out his head, trying to stay low so his dad wouldn’t see him. He smelled salt on the wind. Saw sheep in paddocks on one side and the coast on the other and birds flying across everything, their wings moving like scissors on the blue. Behind them the road was empty. His heart was beating very fast now. His hands were damp and clumsy.
Suddenly they both slid to the end again, as the road went over a hill and down the other side. Max braced himself using his feet. He jerked his and Teddy’s ankles up so he could tug at the knot, getting a good grip on each side of the knot with his forefingers and thumbs, pulling and pulling at it, trying hard to work it free.
Careful, darling, be careful, my love.
Max could hear his mother’s voice as though she were right there in the back of the ute with them. He sniffed, as though by sniffing he could bring her closer, draw her in, find her again; but he smelled only beach.
The knot was loosening. Was he even doing the right thing, untying himself and Teddy? There. The knot opened, the rope slid off their ankles; they were not tied up anymore. Max felt proud and also frightened.
‘Hold on,’ he told Teddy, and the two of them held on, their hands white-knuckled on the edges of the ute, and they pushed their heads up under the tarp and peeked over the back.
A small white car was following them.
Closer and closer it came, quite fast. It was a Mini. Max screwed up his eyes and blinked. It looked like Nanna’s car. The one that Dad called ‘the hairdresser’s car’.
Was it her car or just one that looked like it? Everything was moving! Everything was running like paint on wet paper. His heart was beating in his ears again and the furry ball was almost up to his mouth.
He gulped, staring at the windscreen of the car following them. Clouds shone back at him. The road was curving. The car came even closer. He saw hands on the steering wheel.
Was the car following them? Who was inside? Whose were the hands on the wheel? Max glimpsed a small flash of red. His heart soared. A red feather! Could it be?
He put his arm around Teddy’s shoulders and hugged him hard, and put his mouth right to his ear and said, ‘That’s Mum in that car, Teddy. She’s coming to get us!’
AVA
When she saw the photographs of Max and Teddy in her wallet with the frightening crosses through them she knew that Lawrence had been there. She put the wallet back into her bag with shaking hands. The fear escalated until she was swaying and almost falling to her knees.
I’ll do what will hurt you the most.
Ava didn’t dress. She jammed shoes onto her swollen feet. The woman in the next bed looked dark blue and gnome-like with bulbous eyes. Whatever she said to Ava made no sense. Ava heard vowels and consonants separately as beads on a string.
She bent down and from the floor, almost under her bed, she picked up her mother’s keys on the angel key ring that Ava had given her, the gems on its wings gleaming like tiny drops of blood. She pocketed the keys and stepped out into the hallway. Without stopping to speak to Simon, she hurried across into the lift and went down to the car park, where she searched futilely for Lawrence, knowing he would already be gone on whatever mission he’d set himself. Her only possible weapon was the same weapon that she’d used against Lawrence three days ago and that was momentum, enough to make her unstoppable, and she must use it better this time: this time she would not stop until her sons were in her arms again. Do you get that, Lawrence Bain? I won’t stop, you won’t take them from me, because I am the sane one here, I am not giving in, I will never give up, and out of the two of us failing our sons you are the one that’s mad.
Ava found her mother’s car and got inside and smelled the warm red leather and coffee and perfume, and there like a miracle on the front seat was her mother’s phone, connected to the dashboard. Ava turned the key and drove out of the car park and onto the road. With her free hand she started pulling at the bandages on her legs under her nightie, trying to unwrap them. She called directory assistance and asked to be put through to Sheerwater police station. She asked for Ballard. Within moments Ballard was calling her back and asking her where she was and Ava told her what had happened with Lawrence and the phone and the crossed-out photographs.
‘Stay in the car park,’ Ballard said. ‘I’m not far away, Ava. Just wait there. Is Simon with you?’
Ava hung up. She had no way of knowing where to go, where Lawrence might have gone, so she drove out towards the Princes Highway, thinking she could head towards Mering where Simon had said the fire was. If Lawrence was here, then maybe he didn’t have the boys; maybe they were still there? She would soon find out. As she drove she tried to call down the mental toughness she had once used for work and which had deserted her when her sons went missing.
She’d been in shock. That was it. She’d been in shock for two days, but she was
back now. She was back, and she was getting her sons today no matter what. By hook or by crook. Her skin felt tight and painless from the painkillers. The fragrance of the car was unbearable so she opened the window and glimpsed the blue ocean as smooth as a human cheek at this distance. Closer up she knew it would be a different story, just as her own story had once been smooth from the outside and turbulent up close.
She cast the images of Max and Teddy in front of her and drove. She would follow those images wherever they led her. Darling little human boys, her boys, her beloveds. Their lives sputtered and crackled and flared. Her hands no longer shook. The freeway sped towards the windscreen as she overtook the huge freight trucks and ducked between cars under a sky glaring like fury over the busy road.
The phone rang again and she answered it to hear Ballard bark: ‘Lawrence has ditched your phone.’
‘Where?’
‘They found it on the Princes Highway. We think he might be heading back to Mering. Are you waiting in the car park?’
‘No.’
‘Pull over,’ Ballard ordered.
Ava hung up again and dropped the phone onto her lap. She was on the Princes Highway. Could she take a back road to Mering? She turned left towards Stonyford. Near Glenfyne she let the car gather speed on the straight smooth pass till it was doing a hundred and ten and climbing.
The phone rang again.
‘Ava? Ava, it’s Simon. I’m in a car with Ballard and Hawkins. Ballard’s asking me to make you wait. She’s worried about Lawrence’s state of mind.’
‘So am I.’
‘A woman called Tillie King has called the cops. She had your boys.’