One Night Out Stealing (22 page)

Listen, Jane, and there was this woman but you would not believe, Jane, she had beauty, she had everything of this life. Oh, and Jube. You know Jube? We was out stealing one night, ya know? Hahaha, yeah, you know, you’re a Tavi girl you ain’t no Lady Muck of the fantastic house palace with all its conjoinings a perfection of constructional art and workmanship. So much to tell you, Jane, so much. She … she – I saw her naked before she was naked, ya know? Ya know, Jane? Oh but weren’t that; I ain’t no Jube McCall. They were just photographs, Jane.

And my mate – well he weren’t really my mate, not when I think about it, and yet he was – he had a wrong head, his mind was fixed. You get preachers like that, Jane, you know about them, in prison, when we were in our separate borstals, Jane. Fixed. Who’re fixed on something. Something single. So it becomes dangerous, and it can’t see far. Not far at all. Well ya see, Jane, I coulda taken – just – what Jube was doing cos it’s Jube, ya know? He was the beast I knew, so it wasn’t no big surprise. Oh Jane, do we really wanna be talking about him? About this? Come to me, Jane. Kiss me here. An’ don’t worry, my hands’re on D for don’t till you’re, uh, ready for me. Ya know.

But, Jane, she lost her child, that’s what did it. It – she – died of something, her mother said, cept I forget what cos I got blown away. Cos I felt I kind of knew her, Ants her name was. You know, from that video tape I tole you about? She died, Jane. From when we were last there till we came back. So it shoulda been enough shouldn’t it? We – he – shoulda walked then. But he didn’t. And I nearly didn’t.

When she asked for that one favour of mercy, I thought it wouldn’t be enough, not on its own, not with a man like Jube McCall. I know him and I know his type. Over a thousand days and nights I’ve known him, and the type. And they’re no different to the borstal preachers and the tired old prison ministers, Jane: they’re fixed. Ya can’t shift em. Even with proof, as ya know. Or even with something deserving of one act of mercy, ya can’t shift em, Jane. So –
urrrrrrghhhh
I’m sorry, Jane, something in my chest choking me. Like a weight, Jane. A fuckin great weight. You’d think I’d had my share, wouldn’t ya? Hahaha, but who’s complaining, Jane? I ain’t.

He shoulda let her off. He shoulda let her …

…? Jane? That you? (It’s a voice. I know that voice.) Mrs, is that you? It is? Oh, wow, this is unreal. Hey, I’m sor – Don’t be. But I am, Mrs – Okay, okay, I’ll rest. You’re the boss, hahaha. Hey, are you for real? Yes? No?

(It’s Penny. She says she’s Penny, and How are you, Sonny? is what she said. Jane? You there too, Jane?) A great heaving up from ruptured insides. Of blood. Or just liquid. For what madda what madda? He (I) is juss Sonny Mahia. Ya know? Sonny of the thousand-celled and ten-thousand-imprisoned days and nights who was, one night, out stealing.

G’nite to you too, Penny. Say g’nite to her, Jane. Farewell to you too, Jube, while we’re all at it. And is that snow falling? The sound of bells? Sing to me, Boris. Oh, and choir. Sing to Sonny. Sing for me, eh?

Award-winning novelist Alan Duff is the author of three of New Zealand’s best-selling novels,
Once Were Warriors
,
What Becomes of the Broken Hearted
and
One Night Out Stealing
. He lives in Havelock North, Hawke’s Bay.