This River Awakens (41 page)

He nodded.

I stood. ‘I wonder where the beavers went?’

Roland climbed to his feet. ‘Hiding, maybe, or out on the river.’

‘It looks bigger.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Let’s go. We don’t tell Lynk. Not anything.’

‘Yeah. Okay.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I

The rains finally came, in sheets the colour of lead, in torrents that made the earth run blind. The rains came, making the world sightless for a time, and Gribbs no longer felt alone.

‘Pour the water on to the tea,’ Owen recited. ‘Right?’

‘That’s culture you’re learning, my boy,’ Gribbs said. The chair creaked under him as he settled back, his eyes closing. ‘There’s ways to do things. Ignorance is no excuse.’

‘That’s what my teacher keeps saying. Of course, she doesn’t know anything.’

Gribbs laughed quietly. ‘You’re too damn sharp for me. But you’ve got an appreciative audience here.’

Owen brought him his tea, then sat down on the wooden crate.

Water leaked through the roof in a dozen places, splashing lightly into the pots and pans Owen had placed. Like the buzz of a million wasps, the rain surrounded the shack with an insistent, overwhelming noise. The air had cooled, but not enough. There was thunder and lightning on the way, a monstrous front raised up in the middle of the continent, on the prairie that had once been a sea. Above it, the sky swelled, swirled and rumbled with the memory of those ancient waves. She was on her way.

‘The river’s gonna flood, do you think?’

Gribbs shrugged. ‘Might. Depends on how fast and how much. Mind you, it was awfully low.’

‘I was wondering about that beaver lodge. We were out there a few days ago. It’s huge, bigger than ever. But we didn’t see any beavers or muskrats.’ He paused. ‘We didn’t see anything at all.’

‘Wouldn’t worry. It’s not going to float away or anything.’

‘They’ll be hibernating soon, I guess.’

‘Beavers don’t hibernate,’ Gribbs said, sipping his tea.

‘Really? Oh. Then they just swim under the ice and stuff?’

‘Yep.’

Owen didn’t speak for a time. The pouring rain continued to hammer on the roof, the sound filling the void of words. Gribbs massaged his left arm, kneading the muscles to work out the dull ache that had settled there over the past month or so. ‘You’re a bit down, aren’t you?’ he finally said. ‘School’s that bad, is it?’

‘Nothing I can make out, but something about it, something about my teacher, I guess.’

‘Don’t get along, huh?’

‘No. I don’t know why. She’s nice enough, I suppose. It’s only been a month. Maybe I just haven’t got used to things there. Maybe that’s it.’

‘What are you reading these days?’

‘Not much. Rhide wants us to write instead. After Christmas we’ll be reading a book called
The Steven Truscott Story
– I think that’s what it’s called.’

‘How can you write when you don’t read?’ Gribbs demanded. ‘Bloody ass backwards, if you ask me. What about the stuff you read on your own?’

‘Not much. I’ve got all this homework every night. Maths. I don’t get maths at all. It’s pretty frustrating.’

‘Can’t help you there,’ Gribbs laughed, trying hard to dismiss the unease that answered Owen’s words. Something was wrong; something was happening.

‘Jennifer helps,’ Owen said. ‘It’s easy for her.’

‘She sounds like quite a girl. I’d like to meet her some time.’

‘Sure. She doesn’t get along with most grown-ups, except for my mom. But I know she’d like you, and you’d like her.’

‘I do already, from what you’ve told me. You’ve fallen hard, eh?’

‘Well, Rhide hates her, picks on her all the time. She gets detention for the littlest things, but never the same days as me. We don’t get to see much of each other after school. Except for weekends, of course. What do you know about her parents? Anything?’

Gribbs leaned his head back, his eyes still closed. ‘A story there,’ he said. ‘A sad, sad story. Sometimes Sig Fraser comes by – or used to, been a couple years since I last saw him. Sig told me what he’d heard about Sten—’

‘Sig, that’s Roland’s dad.’

‘Right.’

‘Well, what’s the story?’

Gribbs hesitated. ‘Jennifer’s said nothing?’

‘No. I haven’t even met them. I’ve never even been in the house. Rhide acts like she knows something – she uses it, too.’

‘Christ,’ Gribbs said. ‘Well, I’ve got to respect Jennifer’s desire for privacy, Owen. Though she really should talk. She may think she knows everything, but she probably doesn’t.’

‘Wait,’ Owen said. ‘I changed my mind. I don’t want to know anything more.’

‘Good choice. Knowing’s not always the same as understanding, anyway. And understanding doesn’t always come easy, and even when you come to it, it doesn’t always mean you can just excuse things. We each have to take responsibility sooner or later.’

‘Rhide says she’s responsible for how we behave. She says we share that. Not just her, but everyone – all the grown-ups in all the world. That’s why it’s not good to misbehave, because it hurts the grown-ups.’

‘You believe her?’ Gribbs asked softly.

‘It’s not an opinion. It’s just the way it is. That’s what we’ve got to learn, so things will be better when we’re all grown up. It’ll be our job to make things better.’

‘Any tea left, Owen?’

‘Sure. Hold your cup out.’

The pot’s neck clinked on Gribbs’s cup. He listened to Owen’s soft breathing as the tea was poured, reached out and found Owen’s other arm. He stared up at the blur of the boy’s face. ‘Please, son,’ he whispered, his voice ragged. ‘There’s something inside you – it’s what you look at when you look inside yourself. I know – it’s drowning, I can hear it in your voice. But please, don’t let it die. Please, Owen, don’t.’ He released his grip, fell back, exhausted, ignoring the sudden welling of tears. ‘Everything’s opinion,’ he said, ‘when it comes to how you should live. Everything. For God’s sake, make up your own mind – why won’t they let you do that? Why?’

Owen’s voice was gentle – all the more painful to hear. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Um, I’ll try. What you said. I’ll try, Walter.’

Was it just his own private darkening world, or was the boy in front of him fading away?
Too old, too tired. What can I do? How can I get him out of here, out of that school? What am I trying to do anyway? I can’t fight his battles. I shouldn’t try, either. But there must be something.

‘I’m sorry,’ Owen said, ‘if I upset you.’

‘No, no.’ Gribbs shook his head, wincing at the worsening pain in his arm. ‘It’s me, Owen. Don’t worry about it. Go and sit yourself down, or you can go if you like, if I’ve frightened you.’

The wooden crate creaked. ‘I’ll stay a while longer, if you want me to.’

Gribbs wiped at his cheeks. ‘I’d like that. I guess nobody else knows just how generous you can be.’

‘Jennifer,’ Owen said.

Gribbs felt his humour return. He smiled. ‘Most men find
that
the hardest thing to be generous with, son. Don’t ever get cold. Stay warm. Always.’

‘I’ve got no choice. She’s in charge.’

He couldn’t help but laugh. The pain in his arm fell away. ‘Son, you’ve just discovered the secret of the world. Of course they’re in charge. They all are.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Owen said. ‘It’s fun.’

‘Hah! Well, that’s the other secret, isn’t it?’

They were silent for a long while, while the rain whispered down outside. Walter felt his thoughts spiralling inward, was unable to stop their dark plummet.
I can see the ship. Coming closer. Fear. Is this the boy? Will he be there, at the door, at the damned prow? Oh God, not him, not this one.

He’ll see my face – that boy burning bright. It’ll break him, send him over an edge. Whatever secret he’s keeping behind his eyes – it’ll come out. He’ll see my face, I’ll see his. No, please, not this boy.

‘You’ve got a secret,’ Walter said. ‘Holding it a long time, since we met, I’d say.’ He suddenly felt very tired. ‘I wish you’d tell me, Owen. It might make it … easier.’

Owen said nothing for a half-dozen breaths; when he spoke there was a shrug in his tone. ‘You said you were going to tell me, too.’

‘What?’

‘The Ship of Nails.’

Walter looked away, squinted at the wall – a greyish blur. ‘Now, that wouldn’t be fair of me. I thought about it, Owen. But … it’s a story you’d better discover yourself. On your own. It’ll come when it’s time for it to come.’

‘I can’t,’ Owen said. ‘I promised.’

‘But you’re regretting that promise. Some secrets aren’t safe to keep, aren’t healthy, I mean. Is it that kind of secret?’ A shaft of pain lanced through his arm, faded, left him trembling.

‘I promised.’

Walter sighed. ‘Fair enough.’

II

Jennifer was caught after lunch. Owen had been with her – not smoking too, just with her. They’d both looked flushed, as if there’d been more going on.

My God, he’s only twelve!
Joanne felt the smallness of his arm in her grip as she marched him to the conference room. She’d deal with Jennifer afterwards. Owen was far more important.
I’m effecting a change in him. He’s coming around. Damn that girl!

They strode into the room. Joanne shut the door, still holding Owen’s arm. She regretted the roughness of her actions, but it was necessary to show him just how disappointed she was. She sat him down in a chair then positioned herself on the table edge, close to him, close enough that he couldn’t raise his walls. She looked down at him. He had his eyes on the opposite wall. He scratched his nose.

‘Look at me,’ Joanne commanded.

He did, a nervous flitter in his eyes.
No longer the icy regard. No, he’s learning. About consequences. About behaviour that will not be tolerated.

She studied him a moment longer, then sighed. ‘What are we going to do with you, Owen?’

He shrugged, but the old defensive gesture wouldn’t work this time. She’d show him that.

‘You insist on remaining friends with a very troubled girl. Not to help her, of course, but precisely because she’s troubled. You’ve set her influence against mine, but let me tell you, it’s an unequal battle. She has nothing good to offer you. She can’t prepare you for the adult world. She doesn’t nurture you – your strengths, your qualities, the many positive things that I can see in you. No, only the negative. That path, Owen, will lead you to ruin. Are you listening?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Look at your friend, Lynk – it wasn’t you who gave him that black eye, was it?’

‘No.’

‘He
is
your friend, isn’t he?’

‘Sort of, I guess.’

‘He’s my finest student. He’s excelling in every way. He’s the one you should turn to as a positive example of how to behave.’

Owen’s eyes flashed. ‘Lynk’s fooling you—’

‘No–he–isn’t!’ Joanne almost shouted, punctuating each word with a palm on the table.

Owen jumped in alarm, his eyes widening.

She leaned close and spoke softly but firmly. ‘No he isn’t,’ she repeated. ‘Do you think I was born yesterday? I cannot, simply cannot, tell you how disappointed I am in you, Owen. I truly believed we were making progress. Is it back to square one with us, Owen? Is it?’

He looked down at the table. ‘No,’ he said.

‘I’m glad to hear that. There’ll be detention, of course. Monday afternoon. Not today. And finally, I will have to call your parents. As you know, the parent-teacher interviews are coming soon. I’d like to be able to tell them just how much you’ve improved. I’d like to tell them what I’ll be telling Lynk’s parents – that you’re one of my best students.’

‘Yes, Miss Rhide.’

‘Do you understand just how disappointed I am? Do you realise that we shouldn’t have to be like this? Do you finally see that Jennifer is not the kind of companion for you? We don’t want to lose you, Owen. It’s not too late, but we’re quickly running out of time, and patience.’

‘Yes.’

‘Very good. Now, return to the class and please inform Principal Thompson that I’ll be there shortly, after I’ve dealt with Jennifer.’

‘Yes, Miss Rhide.’

‘Tell the secretary to send Jennifer in.’

She moved aside to let him rise from the chair, and watched as he quickly left the room.
So small, so young, so very important to us. They all are, of course. With one exception – I’m being realistic in this, aren’t I? Just being realistic. She’ll end up a druggie, an alcoholic. It happens. Some are beyond our reach.

The door opened and Jennifer strolled in.
No bra. I’ll comment on that when I call her mother – little good it’ll do.

‘Sit down, Jennifer.’ Joanne went to the far end of the table, sat in the swivel chair where Barry usually sat. ‘Look at me, Jennifer.’

‘Get real.’

‘Very well, if that’s how it’s going to be. I am authorised to tell you that if you are caught smoking on school grounds again, you will be suspended for one week. If you persist after that, we will have to expel you.’

Jennifer looked over and slowly raised an eyebrow. ‘It was the smoking?’ she asked. ‘I thought it was because I let Owen cop a feel. I thought it was against the rules to get wet on school grounds. Against the rules for Owen’s prick to get hard. On school grounds. It’s just the smoking? Oh, well, what a relief.’

Joanne stared, feeling the colour rise in her, feeling her fingertips getting cold. ‘He’s only twelve!’ she said, almost pleading.

Jennifer grinned. ‘It came early.’

‘But this is corrup—’ She stopped, bit back the word.
Corruption. Mother would say that. Her word. I’m not supposed to use it. Teachers don’t use that word.
Jennifer was coolly eyeing her, as if trying to read her thoughts. That searching look made her furious. ‘Now listen, Jennifer! Stop looking so superior. You’re not. You’re a bad, a disgusting influence in my class – in this school. Don’t you dare look at me that way – don’t you dare!’ She realised she’d screamed those last words. In the office beyond the door the typewriter went silent. Joanne took a deep breath.

Jennifer seemed to have wilted under that last assault.
Good.