Home Boys (9 page)

‘But it is like I say, the road to this place is complicated. They have, in the harbour, a buoy, and I cling to it, thinking that if a tide can run one way then it can run another, and all I must do is wait. But it is freezing there. The wind is knocking my teeth together and below my waist I feel nothing at all. I think of sharks and snakes, but also I think of a beautiful beach, in a picture in my wallet, which now is full of water.

‘Then the next strange thing, in the list of strange things that become this story. I feel myself falling asleep, and I try not to let it happen, because if I sleep I let go of the buoy, and if I let go of the buoy I drift out to sea and end my time in no place at all. But sleep is strong you see, and you know why it is strong? Because it feels safe boys. Even when you are clinging to your life in the middle of the night, and you know falling asleep will kill you, sleep feels safe.

‘So I would like to say I fought all night, but I gave up before the dark did. And the funny thing is, and Mary says this is the most important part of the story, so I leave it in for her you see. The funny thing is I remember the dream, floating out into the night, better even than I remember being awake. Does that make sense?’

‘It does,’ Colin told him, and waited for Dougal to say something sarcastic, but instead he asked the question Colin wanted to ask.

‘So what did you dream?’

‘I dream I am on a beach. A beach in a picture. And maybe you don’t believe this but I dream you are there too. And we are swimming and the sun is hot, and then I catch a fish, and then I wake up, and you know what?’

‘What do you mean we were there?’ Dougal demanded. ‘You’d never even met me.’

‘No, I hadn’t,’ Gino replied, as if this hardly mattered.

‘So you can’t have seen me in your dream can you?’ Dougal continued, determined to make his point.

‘It’s a dream,’ Gino reasoned. ‘I can see whatever I like, can’t I Colin?’

It was possible, Colin knew that, but he could also tell it wasn’t
that way for Gino. Gino was a teller of stories, nothing more.

‘You didn’t recognise me, when you saw me earlier.’

‘Ah no, well that’s the thing about a story,’ Gino smiled. ‘It is not like any other thing that gets used up a little every time you use it. A story grows a little instead doesn’t it, every time you bring it out to look at it. Mary will like this new bit, when I tell her. And it isn’t finished yet, so listen, and try to keep up with the net. There are two of you, it should be easy. Now, when I wake up from my dream it is the earliest part of morning, and I have become the fish. People are pulling me up on to a boat, and I think maybe this is a part of the dream too, or maybe this is dying, and God is happy to be a fisherman, like they say. But it is real. They tell me they are bringing in their net and there I am, and they think I am dead but I am not and this makes them happy, but it makes me happier.

‘They are good people. They don’t ask many questions, or mind that I don’t want to stay with them, when they bring their boat back in. I rest a day and a night and then I walk along the road, waiting for a ride. And the ride I get, just outside the biggest city this country has, brings me all the way here to the smallest town of all. Yes, this is true. It is Ron, and his truck, that one over there, and he stops and tells me he is going south, and I tell him so am I. There is someone with him, a boy not much older than you, and smaller. That is his jersey Dougal.

‘His name is David and Ron is his father, and David has run away and Ron has followed him all the way to Auckland, and is taking him back home. But then we stop for petrol, and David runs away again, and Ron is so sad that I stay with him all the way, to keep him company. He thinks this is strange so
I take a risk and tell him my story, and that is when he tells me he is a fisherman, and with David not wanting to be a fisherman too, there is work for me if I would like to stay.

‘So, I am here now, catching fish in a net, and there is no other place I want to be, because I am meant to be here. And maybe, so are you.’

‘So, which parts of the story are true then?’ Dougal asked, eyeing Gino suspiciously. ‘I think you made it up, all of it. I think you were running away from something when Ron found you. I think you knew he was a fisherman, you could smell it in his truck, and the rest you made up. You’re a criminal you are. That’s what it is. And this Mary and this Ron’d have to be daft to believe you.’

‘So what’s your story then?’ Gino asked, unmoved by the accusation. ‘What will you tell Mary brought you here?’

Colin looked at Gino, at the two deep wells of possibility beneath his eyebrows, and at the scene behind, where the waves beat out a steady rhythm on the steep shore, and he knew he wanted to stay here.

‘It’s the dreams that brought me here,’ Colin announced. ‘I dreamed of you first, on the ship, and then, in the bush, it was Dougal’s dreams that brought us to this place.’

And although Dougal scowled at the invention, he didn’t contradict it.

‘It’s a good story,’ Gino smiled. ‘Good enough for both of you.’

‘They’re just soft dreams,’ was all Dougal said, when Colin looked to him, to thank him for the chance.

‘It is all right for you to think that Dougal,’ Gino told him. ‘But never ever say it to Mary.’

Mary was a big woman, almost as round as Ron, who was her husband, and when they walked together along the beach they wobbled in time, swaying from one side to the other as if the next step might be the one to topple them forever. They were King and Queen of the fishers; their palace the orange bach nearest the sea and their kingdom the coastline as far as a day’s walk could take you in either direction. Their subjects numbered thirty-four, Gino and children included, and that night, after the boats came in, they gathered around a huge bonfire under the stars and drank beer and told stories, and insisted Colin and Dougal share stories of their own.

Colin was nervous. It was a long time since he’d had so many eyes upon him, and he tried to say he had no stories to tell.

‘What about when you met me?’ Gino suggested and there was a murmer of approval from around the fire, to tell him there was no getting out of it. So Colin told the story the best he could, but he knew it wasn’t as good as theirs had been. He couldn’t be as clever, or as funny, or even as loud. And he didn’t know the words they knew, or did but had always been taught not to use them. But still they listened, as he told of the meeting on the boat, and the picture Gino had shown him, of the beautiful beach that had visited him in his dreams. And then, with the heat from the fire lifting his words, he told of how he had sneaked up to the deck, on the night Gino had jumped, and how later he had crept into Henry’s room and stolen back the money Henry had cheated from Gino. And with each invention the story felt more real, and his presence amongst them more fated. Nobody questioned
him when he finished. They just called out their approval, and raised their beer bottles in welcome.

It wasn’t until Colin sat down, with the sweat from the telling still beaded on his forehead, and the circle’s attention turning to Dougal, that he saw her.

Colin had never seen beauty before. He had seen plenty of women, pictures and real ones, and had heard people say some of them were beautiful, but he had never seen it himself. Not in the way he saw it now. He had to stare, even though he knew how he would blush with embarrassment if she was to look back. He couldn’t even blink, despite the heat and the smoke stinging in his eyes. She had long dark hair that blew across her face, and high white cheeks that glowed in the firelight, dark eyes that were full of dancing shadow, and a wide mouth made to smile. He imagined he saw sadness too, in the way she sat alone and looked away from the group, out to sea. He would have imagined other things too, if Dougal hadn’t pulled his mind back, tugging at his shoulder.

‘What story shall I tell them?’

‘What?’

‘It’s my turn. What shall I tell them?’

Colin looked to his friend and was surprised by the nervousness on his face. Dougal, who made every remark a story, who never hesitated in sharing an opinion.

‘You’ve lots of stories,’ Colin whispered, while the crowd and their bottles shouted encouragement.

‘I don’t,’ Dougal replied, desperation in his voice.

‘Well, what about the sheep we tried to catch? That was funny.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It is.’

Someone had dragged him to his feet and Dougal looked back to Colin for one last expression of encouragement, and then he began.

‘Well the thing is, my friend Colin here and me, we were mighty hungry. So I said to him, what food is it you feel like? And he told me he longed for a roast of lamb …’

The first burrs of nervousness in Dougal’s voice quickly disappeared. Not that Colin was listening well enough to notice, or watching close enough to see the way people leaned forward to better enjoy his tale. The girl across the fire had stood and was walking back along the beach, and Colin followed her with his eyes, until she had gone farther than her reflected light could travel. Even then he stayed concentrating on the last spot he had seen her, waiting for her return.

The stories must have worked, because before the party broke, and the embers were kicked over, Dougal and Colin were given their invitations to stay. It came in the form of an official edict, issued from the grandest piece of driftwood at the fireside, which tonight had served as a throne. Ron was the one who did the talking, but it was obvious from the way Mary watched carefully the shape his mouth formed, that the decision was mostly hers.

‘Well Colin and Dougal, a friend of Gino’s is a friend of ours, and a body who can follow Gino as far as this should not be turned away. So if you’re happy to sleep on his floor for now, and do the work we ask you to do, then we’re happy to have you here. And if you break any of my rules, you will be gone. Do you understand?’

‘What rules are they?’ Dougal asked.

‘You’ll know when you’ve broken them,’ Ron replied with a chuckle that quickly spread through the group. Despite warnings of an early start, Colin and Dougal stayed awake well into the morning, questioning Gino’s stories, and the embellishments he had remembered since, and then chronicling their own escape from the valley. It was Dougal who did most of the telling, and most of the interpreting too, but Colin didn’t mind. He lay back beneath the heavy blanket Gino had borrowed for them and listened as if he had heard none of it before. He noticed the way Dougal avoided mentioning the Grey Man, and the way Gino asked so many questions every time the dreams were mentioned, but he didn’t dwell on either of these things. Instead Colin enjoyed a new and wonderful feeling; the three of them under the same roof, his new friend by his side, an old friend he’d only just met swinging above him.

The smells of that night were instantly familiar, as if somewhere in his memory this place already existed. The smoke from the driftwood fire, the salty air, the crumbling concrete floor and the oilskin hanging at the door, these were the smells of home. When he did finally feel himself falling asleep Colin tried to think of the girl again, as a way of inviting her into his dreams, but it didn’t work. Or it did, but he didn’t remember.

A storm came up in the night, and by sunrise had washed the settlement clean of its welcome. In its place was an angry low-swirling sky. A bitterly cold wind ripped white-frothed tops off dark waves and blasted sand against the side of the bach. Colin huddled low and ran sideways like a crab, his back to the worst of the weather, as he hurried in from the outhouse.

‘A southerly,’ Gino told them, swinging down from his hammock and almost landing his foot on Dougal’s face, who still hadn’t stirred despite the rush of cold that swept across the floor every time the door opened. ‘You’re lucky you’re not still in the bush. Or maybe not. It is no day to be starting out. They won’t be putting you on the boat I don’t think.’

‘Come on then,’ he kicked Dougal in the side. ‘Time to be up. You need to start well, or they will think Gino told them lies about you.’

‘What did you say?’ Dougal asked through half-closed eyes.

‘I told them you were hard workers.’

‘You told them lies then.’

‘Not today I didn’t,’ Gino replied with another kick before pulling the blanket from him. Dougal was curled up like a baby, and still wearing his clothes from the night before.

‘I knew you would like that jersey.’

‘I’m cold, that’s all.’

‘Breakfast is eggs.’ The pan on the range was already spitting fat, and the smell of burning driftwood filled the room.

‘They’ll be knocking on the door soon, so you should eat quickly.’

It was Mary who did the knocking. She came in without being invited and took Gino by the arm, leading him across to the window so their backs were to the boys. The two of them spoke in whispers and Colin thought Gino was protesting about something, but with the noise of the wind he couldn’t be sure. The consultation finished abruptly and Mary turned to the boys.

‘Morning. It’s not a good day to start you on the boats. Gino has a net that needs mending. Dougal, you will help him.’

‘What about me?’ Colin asked, when nothing more was said.

‘Oh, you’re coming with me,’ Mary replied. ‘Have you got a coat?’

‘There’s one Gino gave me, if he doesn’t

‘Take it,’ Gino said.

‘We’ll need to find you some boots then. Come on, don’t keep me waiting.’ She lurched for the door, like one of the boats fighting its way out past the breakers, and Colin followed without question, as had become his habit.

Mary led the way back to the orange palace and left Colin waiting huddled in the porch while she disappeared inside, re-emerging with two pairs of Wellingtons to choose from, two large sacks and a pair of long serrated knives. Colin chose the boots that were the nearest fit, only two sizes too large, and followed her back out into the storm. They walked down to the beach, where the boat trailers stood already empty, and then turned left, so the wind was behind them. Despite her size Mary moved quickly and when Colin looked back twenty quiet minutes later he could no longer make out the baches, or even the point where the stream broke the cliff face. Mary had stopped and was considering the sharp rocks which ran like a jaw of broken teeth ahead of them, at right angles out into the sea.