Darkness Be My Friend (22 page)

"Most of the patrols are in cars and trucks now," Lee said, after we'd sat for a minute or so thinking about it.

He meant that it'd be harder for a soldier in a car to see that a window was broken.

What we did then was just about the most fun we'd had since the invasion. With the deaths of Lee's parents and Corrie hanging over us, we needed something else to think about. There was a teatowel I'd seen at Corrie's place ages ago, before the house was destroyed by bombing. Somewhere in the rums that teatowel was probably slowly rotting away now. It had been one of Mrs. Mackenzie's favourites. She loved all those corny things. It said something like, "When this is all over I'm going to have my nervous breakdown. I've worked for it, I'm entitled to it, I deserve it, and I'm going to have it." I thought it was mildly funny the first time I'd seen it, and after that I hardly noticed it. But it seemed to sum up our attitude to life now. My attitude, anyway. I just wanted to get back to New Zealand and have my nervous breakdown. By God, I deserved it and, by God, I was going to have it.

But before I had it, there was work to be done. It
was just like life on the farm. "Hate it but do it." I want to watch TV I want to ring Come. I want to take a motorbike and go over to Homer's. I want to play on the computer, E-mail Robyn, go for a swim, eat, sleep, listen to music.

Preserving pan could do with a good scour if we want any jam this year. Finished that seed grading yet? Chain on the chainsaw needs sharpening. Time to get out and chip a few burrs, Ellie. Ashtray in the Aga's full. Ellie, can you check that mob of wethers in Bailey's for footrot? Rock-picking, stick-picking, blackberry-spraying. Hate it, but do it.

I hated what we were doing now, but I knew it had to be done.

I didn't hate what we did that evening at school though. We got to vandalise the place and no one was ever going to get mad at us for it. No one except the enemy, of course. But what we did was try different ways of breaking windows without making any noise. We only broke inside ones along the corridor in A Block, and we didn't break them all, although Homer would have if we'd let him.

We soon found the best way: put a blanket over it then tap it with something hard, like a hammer. We'd have to make sure the glass all fell on the inside, then we'd knock out any glass left in the frame so a patrol wouldn't see the jagged broken pieces.

Fi and I decided we'd turn down Homer's kind offer of a golf cart and use a wheelbarrow instead. We'd have to steal one beforehand and have it close by.

As for security systems—well, there was nothing we
could do. If they had one we'd just have to run away again. If we didn't hear anything go off, we'd take the risk and continue.

"Towel."

"Check."

"Hammer."

"Check."

"Wirecutters."

"Check."

"Wheelbarrow."

"Oh no, Ellie, what do you think this bloody great thing is?"

"OK, OK, just making sure."

Fi swearing: one of life's rarest moments.

The familiar tension was with me again. God, would we ever reach a stage where we could stop doing this? And how many more times could we get away with it? "Well," I thought, "no sleazing out now. Let's get it over and done with."

I was feeling a bit stunned actually, and upset. After we'd made our plans we wandered off in different directions. I suppose we each had to get ready for what was ahead, and we each did it in our different ways. Everyone except me that is—I had sentry duty for three hours.

But after I'd finished and handed over to Homer, I did what I badly wanted to do. I went looking for Lee.

He took a bit of finding but eventually I tracked him down. He was in the Technology area, gazing moodily at a dusty jigsaw. Most of the big stuff in there was gone—plundered, probably—and I guessed that the jigsaw would one day follow it.

"What are you doing?" I asked Lee.

I felt quite nervous.

"Getting some fuel."

"What for?"

"To help this fire off to a good start."

"Find any?"

He nodded without speaking at a twenty-litre drum that stood at the foot of the jigsaw.

"Is it full?"

"No, only half. But it's better than nothing."

I didn't really want to talk about fuel, of course, and I assumed neither did he. I put my hand on his arm.

"Lee, I just want to say it again. I'm so sorry about your parents."

"Did you ever meet them?"

"Not really. We went to the restaurant a few times. And I saw your mother at school stuff every now and then."

He sighed and looked at the window. It was dark out there but he seemed to be seeing something.

"They'd put up with so much already. It doesn't seem fair."

I didn't say anything.

"My mother got out of Vietnam when she was eleven."

"Was she like, a refugee?"

I was pretty hazy about all this stuff, how people emigrated.

"Her father paid a fishing boat captain to take them."

"So was it illegal?"

"Oh, yes. It cost a lot of money, too. Luckily they were quite wealthy—my grandfather was a trader in cloth and furniture. But by the time he arranged their escape there wasn't much left. He brought some gold with him, that's all." Lee sighed again. "There were more than fifty people on the boat, but it was a sound one and the captain was a friend of my grandfather, so it should have gone OK. And they did get away without any major problems. But, somewhere in the South China Sea, they were boarded by pirates. It was a common thing then, and the captain was ready for them. He handed out rifles and they tried to fight them off. But they lost. Too many pirates, and they had better weapons.

"So they boarded the boat. They searched everyone and found my grandfather's gold. All the men who were still alive they chucked overboard. The women they took in their boat. The children they left. I guess they thought they'd die soon enough anyway. So the last my mother saw of her father was when the current carried him away, and the last she saw of her mother was her face as the pirates' boat disappeared in the distance."

Lee paused for a moment. I was still holding his hand but I'd forgotten that I had it. I was mesmerised, frozen with the horror of this story that he told so calmly, seemingly so unemotionally.

He continued. "The children survived. A day and a
half later a patrol ship from the Singapore navy found them and took them in tow. It became quite a famous case. The boat of orphans' the newspapers called it. My mother came to this country after eighteen months in an internment camp. She boarded with a Vietnamese family who'd known my grandfather back in Nha Trang. Eventually they adopted her and they became the only grandparents I've known. That scroll I told you about, that's the one thing I have of my mother's father. My mother kept it even through everything that happened on the boat."

"How did your parents meet?"

"Oh, in high school. They were friends briefly but they didn't see each other again for three years, then they met by accident on a train. They started talking, decided they liked each other, and it grew from there."

"And..." My throat was croaky and I had to clear it and start again. "And your father? How did he come here?"

"It was a bit different. His father was working for an American company in Bangkok, as a computer programmer, and they transferred him here. He liked it, and ended up getting citizenship. But he was angry when my father married a Vietnamese woman, and one who didn't have what he considered to be a real family. And when they came to Wirrawee and started the restaurant he cut them off completely. He felt that my father should have aspired to something better. I don't know where my father's family are now. I guess I'll probably never track them down."

He paused again. "You see, that's why it seems so unfair. My mother especially. She survived so much, only
to be killed by some gun-happy little shit in the Wirrawee Showground."

"Are ... are you angry with your father for getting in a fight with the guards?"

"No, of course not. I was brought up to have more respect for my parents than you Anglos. I would never criticise my parents in the way you guys do. Anyway how can I say what they should or shouldn't do? I wasn't there to see."

That was the first time I'd heard Lee comment on the differences between our families. It showed how much the death of his parents had affected him.

I think I did the wrong thing then. I leaned over and took Lee's face in my hands and kissed him. I was embarrassed and disappointed when I realised he was not responding. I sat back again. I suddenly wondered, "Did he think I was trying to crack on to him?" I hoped not. I thought not. It was more complicated than that. But I was still upset, the way he just sat there. Then, to make matters worse, he got up and without a word to me, or a look, left the room.

So that's why I felt a bit shaken. I'd realised lately how strong my feelings for Lee still were. His story had held me in total fascination. I felt such an agony of grief, not just for him but for his parents, and for people I'd never met, like his Vietnamese grandparents. I felt it for every refugee, every orphan, every victim of war and cruelty. When I went to kiss him it was because of all those feelings. But to him, I don't know what it seemed like, just some immature reaction, I guess.

That's why I couldn't concentrate on what Fi and I were meant to be doing. Of course I knew that she was
holding a wheelbarrow. It'd be strange if I didn't, seeing we'd gone and got it ourselves.

We'd said goodbye to the boys. One of our usual sentimental scenes where we made weak jokes and said moving things like, "See you," "Good luck," and romantic stuff like that. I'd thought I wouldn't be able to look at Lee, but he gazed at me calmly, with his grave eyes, and even kissed me on the cheek.

Sometimes, especially since we'd met up again, I felt like he was about twenty years older than me, which was very annoying. This had been one of those moments. Maybe people suddenly grow older when their parents die.

Getting the wheelbarrow had been so nerve-racking that I wondered how I'd go when it came to the tough moments, like breaking into Tozer's or wheeling bags of sugar through the streets of Wirrawee, or sneaking into the fuel depot. At least three o'clock in the morning should be pretty quiet. But still in my mind was the knowledge of how I'd cracked up when I'd been with the New Zealanders and seen the enemy soldier. I was sure it wouldn't happen again, but it did take the edge off my confidence sometimes.

We went from backyard to backyard looking for a wheelbarrow and found one in the' fourth place. Well, that's not totally accurate. We found one in the second place and another in the third /place, but the first was too small and the second had flat tyres. The one we chose was good. Big deep tray and well pumped up. The thing that worried me though was how nervous I'd been getting. The risks were fairly small, after all. We only went into the yards that were easy, with houses a good
distance away from each other and no big fences to get over. We took our time and moved quietly. So why did I have the shakes?

We moved the barrow to Jubilee Park and hid it in the bushes. There was still plenty of time. We'd deliberately left early so as not to put more pressure on ourselves. This whole operation was relying heavily on times being right. The boys had to light their fire when we were ready to break into Curr's so the soldiers at the depot would be distracted. We'd then have to move fast to meet up with the boys and get out of town. We needed to be well away by dawn. The plan was to go back to Hell, call Colonel Finley, and arrange the pickup.

From Jubilee Park, Tozer's was within view. We climbed a big old oak tree and sat in the lower branches looking at Wirrawee. The tree was beautiful. I love people who plant trees that take centuries to grow. It means they're thinking of others: not being selfish, but thinking about people in future generations who might enjoy their work. Farming, good farming, is a bit like that, I suppose. "Live as though you'll die tomorrow but farm as though you'll live forever." Dad was always quoting that.

This tree must have been planted when the British settlers arrived in the district. It would have stood here all its life, coping with what came along. It didn't show fear. It didn't hide or run away. It didn't call for help when things went wrong.

"Ellie, are you still thinking about when you screamed at that man in Warrigle Road?" Fi suddenly asked me.

I nearly fell straight out of the tree. How did she know?

I waited a long time before answering.

"Yes," I finally admitted.

I thought she'd launch into a big speech about how I shouldn't blame myself and so on, but she surprised me yet again. She didn't say anything. Then I started panicking that maybe she thought I should blame myself; maybe she was wishing she wasn't with someone so unreliable. So I blurted out:

"Do you think I've lost it?"

Again she wouldn't follow the script that I kept writing for her in my mind.

"I guess you won't know until you get tested again." She paused. "You were good when you were waiting at the tech with me, but that wasn't so dangerous. Out there in the bush, and at the lookout, you were fantastic, but it was different there too, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," I said. "Because it was in the bush, and because we didn't have a choice, and because it was a matter of survival..."

"It was in hot blood," Fi said, "and this is in cold blood."

She'd said it. That was the big difference.

"Are you getting more scared or less scared?" I asked her.

"You mean each time we do something like this?"

"Yeah."

"Oh more, of course."

"But shouldn't we get less scared? Because we're getting more experienced all the time. It should get easier."

Fi shivered. We were very close together and I could almost feel the goosebumps on her skin.

"Stratton Prison," she whispered. "I have nightmares about that, thousands of them. I can't get it out of my head. Every time we start doing things like this, it's all I can think of. Robyn's face..."