Boy on the Edge (12 page)

And the first step to redemption was to learn the Ten Commandments.

“Remember the Ten Commandments,” the reverend had said. “Learn them by heart, say them out loud in your everyday work so they become a part of your life.”

Henry knew almost all the commandments from Oswald’s religious lessons. He sometimes muttered the key words of every commandment to himself as he was clearing out the dung canal. Remembering the number of each one had become a fixation for him. Which was why he didn’t necessarily say them in the proper order.

“Not name in vain: three. Not murder: six. Honor father-mother: five. Don’t desire: ten.”

Early morning and he was muttering like that, untying the cows after milking, when suddenly John was standing by his side. Henry immediately fell silent, clenching his jaw. John asked if he could help him herd the cows. Henry didn’t want any help, he didn’t want anyone to come with him, because when the cows were in the field he was going to his cave to sing along with the surf.

He didn’t answer but sniffed for a long time. He had wiped his nose so often on the sleeve of his sweater that it was red and sore.

John followed him up to the gate, running ahead to open it and close it before and after the cows had walked through. Then John walked beside Henry while the cows found their easy rhythm on the path along the road.

Henry felt extremely uneasy having anyone so close to him, especially now, especially John. Instead of limping along in his usual slow rhythm, he became stiff and awkward and his clubfoot became difficult to manage.

“Can you keep a secret? We need your help,” John said suddenly, in a hushed voice. “The reverend can’t know a thing. And neither can Emily, or else all hell will break loose.”

Henry cleared his nose with a horrible sound and spat. John wasn’t here to help him, or to be his friend, but to find out if he could keep his mouth shut! How stupid Henry felt for imagining anything else.

Henry tightened his grip on the whip and hit his leg several times with the handle. Then he cleared his throat vigorously.

“Leave me alone,” he growled. “Go away.”

He limped faster to indicate that the conversation was over. But John placed his hand on Henry’s shoulder and stopped him. He shouldn’t have done that. Henry ripped himself free and menacingly brandished his whip, burning with rage.

“Go away!” he screeched.

He turned around, limping onward as fast as his clubfoot allowed.

But John followed.

“Henry,” he called. “We need your help. We need a good place, a hiding place, somewhere in the lava, perhaps. To have a party, understand? Of course you’re invited; of course you’ll be with us.”

Henry slowed down. His foot was aching, his nose burning.

So this was the big mystery. This was what all the whispers had been about. A party. Henry had begun to imagine that they were going to set the barn on fire, even murder Reverend Oswald.

“You must know of some good spot in the lava somewhere,” John said. “Neither of us can get away long enough to find a place, you see? It needs to be somewhere we can’t be heard, understand, far enough away? So we decided to ask you.”

Henry sat down, out of breath, on a moss-covered rock, leaned forward, and rubbed his sore calf. The cows came to a halt and started nibbling on the grass beside the road.

John knelt by his side and explained the plan. Mark had struck a deal with the Brute, who had managed to get them some booze.

“But we need a hiding place,” John said. “Then next time the reverend goes away, we’ll have a wild party,” he added, and grinned.

“Booze?” Henry asked.

“Of course! There’s no party if there’s no booze,” John said, throwing his long hair backward.

Once again there was a confidential tone in his voice, just like the day when they had been laughing together. It made Henry believe for a moment that he was really important. He knew a lot of good spots in the lava field. There were enough crevasses, holes, and clefts that you could have many parties going at once and nobody would hear a thing. But he didn’t want to tell John right away. It took him a long time to get rid of all the snot and slime from his nose with his fingers.

“I know a place,” he finally said.

“Where?”

But Henry couldn’t answer just like that. The most important thing now was not to say too much too soon, to withhold all information for as long as possible. Maybe he could hold on to this friendship a little longer if he didn’t say anything right away.

“Where?” John pressed on with an air of irritation.

“First the cows,” Henry replied, and stood up.

The cows began to search for their rhythm again. But now John wanted to go fast. The cows loved to walk slowly, without any sense of being rushed. Henry never hurried them, for he too liked to walk slowly, because of his leg. He was like a slow, lazy cow, walking in a gentle rhythm, in his own time.

But now John was by his side. Now he couldn’t be like a cow. And there was so much to think about. It was so complicated. Henry had to pretend he didn’t care about the party, had to make John feel he was doing him a huge favor.

“Can’t they go any faster?” John asked, and started to urge them on with shouts and high-pitched whistles. Henry didn’t like that at all. He was the one who was supposed to look after them, talk to them, and Henry knew you should never urge cows on. But he didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to offend John too much. The friendship was hardly anything yet. And if John started to dislike something at this point maybe there wouldn’t be a friendship at all. So Henry kept his mouth shut.

John urged the cows on the way he wanted, until they were all running like mad, their udders swinging hard from side to side. Henry was afraid they might rip off.

Finally they stopped, panting and grunting by the gate, and Old Red sent him an accusing glance. She breathed fast out of her huge nostrils, with thick angry brows over her eyes. Henry pretended he didn’t notice her look, but opened the gate and let them into the field. That’s friendship, he thought; in order to gain it in one place you have to sacrifice it in another.

Then they started the long walk across the rugged lava. Henry tried hard to walk fast; he felt time was running out. John could lose interest if the walk took too long.

“Where is this damn place?” John sighed, obviously tired of stumbling over the lava.

Henry was out of breath and couldn’t answer, but pointed and nodded eagerly. He was soaked in sweat, his leg hurt, and slime ran constantly from his nose.

Finally they arrived at the cliffs. Shipwreck Bay stretched out below them with its churning surf. A strong gust of wind blew up the high cliffs, straight into their faces, and John gasped. A white cloud of birds fell screeching out from the cliffs and stretched their wings on the wind.

“Where is this place?” John called out, and gave Henry a suspicious glance.

Maybe he was scared and thought Henry had tricked him all this way to throw him over the edge. For a moment Henry could see the image in his mind: John turning and twisting in the air in a slow fall until the surf gobbled him up and crushed him on the rocks.

Henry sat down, swung his legs over the edge, and was about to take hold of the chain. But John jumped toward him and grabbed his arm.

“Are you crazy?” he screamed.

He hadn’t noticed the chain and probably thought that Henry was going to throw himself into the abyss. Maybe he honestly thought Henry was retarded after all.

Their eyes met in a quick glance. That’s friendship: it wants to save your life. Until it has gotten what it wants.

Henry raised the chain. “There’s a cave,” he said.

John let go of his arm. He didn’t seem particularly happy. He looked rather disappointed and sat down. Henry clung to the chain, his legs dangling in the air.

“This is hopeless,” John said finally. “The girls won’t have the nerve to go down there.”

Henry looked at the friend he had almost had, without understanding anything; what girls could he be talking about? “Girls?”

“Girls, man,” John said, raising his hands with open palms to stress the importance of the word. “There’s no party if there aren’t any girls!”

From the look on John’s face you could tell that the plan had collapsed. It was as if Henry had ruined the whole thing. He didn’t know what to do; should he cling to the chain a little longer or go home? He might just as well go down to the cave; he was going to anyway, before John came along.

Henry inched down the cliff until his feet touched the ledge. John decided to follow.

They entered the cave and John looked around. His face lit up.

“Great place,” he said. “Damn great place!” he added, taking a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it. Now John was happy. He had a smoke and smiled.

He didn’t offer Henry a cigarette. Of course Henry wouldn’t have accepted it, because he hated the smell of cigarettes, but nevertheless it would have been a gesture of friendship. Henry thought it would also have been polite if John had asked Henry first if he minded smoking in here.

But John didn’t ask. And the awful smell filled up the cave as John went on about the party and the girls they were inviting, the girls he and Mark had met on the road while mowing the fields. The smoke stung Henry’s eyes and the foul smell made him sick. Suddenly he felt unwelcome in his own private sanctuary, which he’d foolishly given away in the hope of gaining John’s friendship. But now Henry realized it hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped.

Maybe John hadn’t meant anything by inviting Henry to the party; maybe Henry had misunderstood. What was
he
supposed to do at a party with girls, anyway? They’d be scared of him or laugh at him. He should have kept his mouth shut. Now the cave was no longer his place to come and sing with the surf. All things considered, it would have been far better to continue being the idiot in the cowshed who knew nothing. Besides, this party thing was bound to be against all the rules — and the commandments. Henry had traded his precious secret for the friendship he desired. But he’d gained nothing from it.

Don’t desire: ten,
he thought. But it was too late to change that now.

And the rain arrived.

Gray drapes glided across the ocean, dragging their hem over the land. The mountains in the north were covered in a white mist that wove around the ridge, stretching out over the lava fields and blocking every view. Only the nearest surroundings were visible, a stretch of lava and the white farmhouses with their red roofs. It rained from every angle. The wind pounded Henry’s face with water as he came around the corner. His feet splashed with every step, and the cows’ cloven hooves sank deep into the mud by the gate.

John and Mark had finally finished mowing the field. The tractor stood by the barn wall with the mower raised. The sharp edges of the blades were coated in bits of grass. In weather like this there was nothing to do but wait; wait for the rain to stop, wait, wait. No work could be done on the foundations of the church either, for the sand ran everywhere. Nor was there any point in breaking the lava slabs into rocks in this kind of weather. It was out of the question. But not for Henry.

After milking, he limped across the yard without a dry thread on his clothes. He found the crowbar and dragged it behind him, toward the quarry. Grabbing it with both hands, he struck the lava with all his might. His rage gave him power, like a force of nature, like a giant crunching the earth beneath his feet. The rain poured down and the storm pelted water against his face and shoulders, but he hardly noticed it. It felt good to break rocks in the howling wind and the hissing rain, felt good to squeeze the cold iron crowbar, to raise it high and then strike it against the lava, which cracked with a hollow sigh.

It felt good to work like crazy when he didn’t have to. He wasn’t working for the reverend. He wasn’t working for anyone. He was doing it because he was furious.

He raised the crowbar high and thrust it down with all his might. A piece of rock broke off the lava, and the raindrops drilled the earth, hammering his forehead like nails.

He had given his cave to John and nothing had changed. John didn’t come to talk to him. It was just as he’d known it would be; they would never be friends.

He didn’t want John’s friendship, anyway. He just wanted to be left alone.

Suddenly he was exhausted and threw the crowbar to the ground and stormed back to his room. He stood for a long time in the quiet until his head was finally empty of curses.

The tempest subsided during the night.

In the morning, Henry heard the yellow Volvo honk farewell at the gate as Oswald drove to the city. The car disappeared down the road. This was the chance John and Mark had been waiting for; Henry knew the party would be tonight. Right after breakfast John and Mark attached the large metal tedder, which would rake the hay, to the tractor and drove to the field. The spikes glowed in the bright sun; the air was thick and warm.

It was a laundry day and Emily had hung linens on the clothesline behind the farmhouse. The fresh breeze filled the white sheets and duvet covers like sails on a large ship that cut the waves on the black lava ocean.