Brown Skin Blue (13 page)

Boof is quiet. He doesn't say anything when he picks me up. At first I'm relieved and then I'm worried. It's just not like him.

‘Something wrong?' I ask.

Boof scratches his head and swallows hard. ‘Bait's in a bad way.'

Shit.
I can't imagine Boof without Bait. I never liked the little bugger but I wouldn't want him dead.

‘Bloody snakes,' Boof mumbles, but it's not even directed at me.

‘Bloody menace,' I add.

He looks reassured. He nods and his knuckles whiten where he grips the wheel.

‘He'll be right,' I say. ‘He's a tough little blighter. Besides. It's not right that he's around crocs all day only to be taken by
a snake.' I suddenly realise it doesn't sound nearly as helpful as I intended.

Boof's quiet for a bit then he smiles. ‘I reckon you're right, Barramundy.'

A thought occurs to me. ‘How come Cassie's never in the car in the mornings, Boof?'

‘I pick her up and drop her off, then I come back and get you.'

‘Oh,' I say, thinkin'.

‘We don't live together. I've been trying to get her to move in with me for years but she says she likes her independence. We're still together, though. See, she had this real bastard for a bloke before she met me. Sold everything she had and they bought a house together. Got married, the whole bit. Then he run off on her. Took everything and left her dry.'

‘And...' I begin to add something I have no real idea about.

‘And then she met me. Been together six years, yet she still can't bring herself to make a proper go of it.'

‘Yeah.' I try to sympathise, but I've got no idea about anything. ‘I suppose you could always move into her place,' I add.

Boof sits up higher in his seat. He looks over at me and smiles. ‘You're a bloody marvel, Barra. It never occurred to me.'

Boof's mind is busy thinkin' on the new way things could work out for him. My arm rests on the window frame and I'm lookin' through the window at the trees and
termite mounds and the colours all changing and blending in together. I remember George from my last job telling me about Fogg Dam near Humpty Doo. It's out there, just over the horizon.

George told me about how one time Humpty Doo was like a Chinaman's goldmine back in the fifties. Said how a fancy man from Hollywood invested all this money in the place for rice farming. Thought it was going to end up the next fertile Nile, running along the Adelaide River. He told me how it brought stacks of work to the place. Really put Humpty Doo on the map. All these farms for rice. And then it all went belly up. It never did work out. What with the wild buffalo running all over the place, stamping out the crops. The unpredictable weather. And birds. Crows and kites getting stuck into the seedlings. The Humpty Doo wild. Everything wrong and upside down. Can't beat nature up the Top End. And then the place was turned into Fogg Dam. Bird habitat. And never mind a few crocs in the mix as well. I admire the way things work around here. Can't be tamed or tuned to a man's way of working. Can't be hemmed in and kept tidy. That's when I got to thinkin' about comin' here. To check the place out. Humpty Doo. Sounded like just the place for a broken git like me.

I think I know who the letter's from. And I don't want to know what it says.

I get busy with the day's work. I hack into the pig meat like it's my own personal punishment on the world. And I'm surprised at how good it feels to stick the hook in. Bob said ‘hello' and I ignored him. Sally tried to talk to me and I ignored her, mumbling something about pig meat, hooks and hungry crocs.

I spend the day focusing on all the little things so the big things don't worry me. Sally is a sour boil in my guts. It's so deep I don't even want to pick at it. I watch Boof and Cassie. I watch the way there's an easyness between them. They know what they're on about. I wonder if Boof has planned his next move.

Boof says he has to stay behind to help Cassie and I should get a lift with Sally. Sally looks white. She's in the toilet throwing up when I go to the laundry to get my bag. I'd like to make her feel worse by telling her it's her own fault for getting drunk last night. Traitor. Instead I run to the car park and hitch a lift with the tourist bus.

Tonight there's air in the coffin. But the letter begins to pulse on the fridge. I know it's alive.

I fiddle with the rabbit ears to tune the TV in properly. Bugger. All I can get is ABC news. Not my thing. But I like the sound of the noise. It's company. The news finishes and is
followed by a more in-depth news program. I lie back on my bed with a coke and a vegemite sandwich.

I'm watching the telly and it's just a man's head talking. I'm not really listening. But then there's a picture of McNabm Blue. He's framed like a school portrait snap, freezeframed, while the camera sweeps across a number of small communities. Shanty towns and Aboriginal communities.

...Government inquiry into abuse and neglect amongst the smaller, rural communities ... Aboriginal children are most at risk ... Some predators, like McNabm Blue years ago, could still be responsible for a continuing litany of child offences ... Why has it taken this long to investigate systematic abuse and government neglect? ... a cycle of abuse ... something should be done ... when will it end? ... who is culpable? ... institutional or personal neglect?

My heart is beating like a drum and the noose is back. McNabm is laughing at me from the television, as large in death as he was in life. I take the coke bottle in my hand and all I want to do is hurl it at the TV. I want to smash something. Smash anything. It's like I'm in a glass cage and the whole world is watching me. The stuffed crocs on the fridge are laughing at me. I throw the coke into the bathroom where it shatters on the tiles.
Come and get me if you dare!
I sit up and hang my feet over the edge of the bed. Here's another thing I know but suddenly I don't. I know the floor is right under my feet. That all I have to do is leave the bed and the solid floor will be there underneath me. But it's sinking. I'm high up on a wall and I can't get down. Who knows what lies down there.
Go on, Humpty Dumpty, bloody well jump!

‘You got a problem there, young Barry?' Blue says to me.

I'm stuck.

I followed Jonny through the abandoned mine all morning. Had a great time climbing over everything. Old timber, hills and rock heaps. And then Jonny said that I was too scared to climb the old water tower. I'm bloody well not scared of anything – and I've climbed up to the first platform before – so I climbed up the old timber ladder. He was down below me, on the ground, lookin' up. I wanted him small, so I kept climbing, higher than I'd ever been before. I climbed up as far as I could go.

I left the timber ladder, which had missing rungs and decaying wood bits, and climbed on the struts of the water tower. I got one satisfying look at Jonny before the top part of the ladder cracked and tumbled to the ground. I was stuck. Jonny ran off.

‘Don't you worry, little fella. I'll help you. You can trust old Blue.'

I've been sitting here all afternoon. The sun has almost gone down and I'm about to cry. I'm sitting on a plank across the tower holding onto a pole. I watch Blue start climbing up from the front of the tower. He grabs hold of the diagonal struts and uses his hands to cling higher up.

I'm lookin' down on the top of his head. My foot can touch his head.

‘Now. Hold my hand and put one foot at a time on these rungs. Then climb back down with me the way we came.'

He smiles up at me and I take his hand. I feel safe. As long as I hold on to him, I won't fall.

‘That little friend of yours shouldn't have run off and left you, Barry. Lucky I saw him and asked where you were.'

I look up and smile.

‘You want some more sweets?'

He takes my hand. Then he lifts me up and puts me on his back. I wrap my arms around his neck. He bends his arms around his back underneath my bum.

‘How's your bum today, Barry?'

‘Better, thanks.'

‘That's good, Barry. Real good.'

His hands feel warm.

I jump and the floor is as close as I knew it would be. But I'm still relieved. I decide that not opening the letter is from too much fear since Blue, so I should open it. But I have to clean up the glass first. I have to find a broom.

There's not as many people in the bar tonight. Just a few regulars enjoying their beer. I wait at the counter for the redhead. The blokes next to me are talking.

‘This country is a bloody disgrace. A kid can't live in the country without fear of attack,' the guy with hair says to his bald mate.

‘Typical government. Does nothing.'

I look up above the bar to the small television in the corner. ABC. The news program is just finishing.

‘That prick deserved what he got. Only good thing he did was to hang himself.'

A poisonous feeling creeps into my skin. The redhead comes to the counter from the back room.

‘Another beer, love,' the bald guy says to her. His head looks like a dark, round moon. In
Pitch Black,
the woman – who takes charge of everyone – finds this model of the planet, the suns and the moons. It turns on a set of timers and cogs, one compete rotation of the arms equals a year. There's a counter on the side of the model that marks the passing years. They know it's been twenty-two years since the last person on the planet was alive (that's when the last solar eclipse happened). She turns the arms and the counter clicks over. Twenty-two years. The planets, suns and moon on the model line up. Solar eclipse. That's when they know the dark is coming. And so are the beasts. This guy's head could be that moon. It's too small for his body.

The skin on the back of his head folds in three wrinkles above his neck. His nose sticks out too far from the silhouette of his face. I've got the picture of the solar model from the movie in my head. The suns are the heads of my would-be fathers. The planet is my face and the moon is this bald guy. The timer on the side ticks over. TOUCAN, it says.

‘You see that piece?' Toucan says, pointing to the TV.

‘About that “Blue” character?' the other one adds.

The redhead shakes her head and flicks her hand towards the TV. ‘I don't watch it,' she says.

‘Good riddance to him and everyone else like him,' Toucan answers.

‘I ... need a broom,' I say.

‘What?'

‘A broom,' I say louder. ‘I have a room.' I point feebly towards the rooms along the side.

‘Righto,' she says, disappearing again out the back.

‘Them bloody government types. Sit on their arse in Canberra and don't do a thing to help.'

‘Too right.'

I want the broom. Now.

‘They should round 'em all up and shoot 'em,' Toucan says loudly.

‘Yeah, but the trick is finding the bastards.'

The redhead returns with the broom.

‘Thanks,' I say and leave. If he really was my father, would I really want to know?

I sweep the glass up from the floor onto a Crocodile Zoo brochure and take it outside to the bins around the back of the hotel near the dirt patch.

It's dark but there's two kids playing with a ball on the dirt. One is tall and skinny. Black. The other one is shorter with skin like toffee. Their hair is wild around them. They're laughing and teasing each other. I realise that the taller kid is Tyson. He waves to the little one, and runs off, limping slightly, down the street. The little kid kicks the ball around by himself.

There's no one else around. I think about how small he is. How innocent. How happy. How easy it would be to strike up a conversation. To lead him away. For one moment, just a tiny fraction of time, the thought feels familiar and good. It's something I know exactly how to do. I want what he has.

I've got a wet tea towel across my eyes. I can't sleep. My body is heavy and tired, but my mind is restless and impatient. I'm like Riddick in cryo-sleep. Part of me is still awake. The animal part.

It's hot and the tea towel was soothing for a minute and now it's just annoying. Every time I think I'm asleep, I feel the pressure on my eyes and then I'm awake. And then there's the problem of taking the cloth off my eyes. The change in temperature makes the air feel hotter and so I put it back on. I'd love to wrap the pillow around my ears to drown out the noise but I'd suffocate.

I can't stand lying down any more, so I get up and go to my window. I pull the curtains to the sides to let in more air. The ceiling fan is on full, grinding like an ancient chopper, wobbling off-centre. I could be killed in my cryo-sleep by a runaway ceiling fan if it gets too loose. Heat can kill a person indirectly.

For a second I think my eyes are playing tricks on me, now that the cloth is gone, because I can see smoke rising up from the row of houses beyond the dirt path. Black puffs of smoke bleed from the white cloud and red flames leap out above the rooftops. I'm running out of my door, barefoot, towards it.

People are spilling out of the surrounding houses and the pub, standing on the street watching the house go up in flames. A group of people are huddled just a short distance away on the footpath. A woman is crying and a man has his arms around her. Children are scattered at their feet. Some stand with their arms hanging by their sides. Smaller kids
cling to legs. I keep walking past the people watching. I come up behind the family and see Tyson standing at the back.

‘Tyson!' I call.

He spins around. His father looks back at me, almost unseeing, then turns back to watch the flames. ‘What happened?' I move to stand next to Tyson.