Into the River (28 page)

Back in the sick bay his things had all been gathered up in his bag and left by the bed. He tipped everything onto the floor and looked at it. On top of the pile of things was his old Bible. It lay there accusingly. “The truth will set you free.” He knew there was no bluffing this time. He was gone. Heading back to Whareiti. Back to Ra. Back to the whole suffocating monotony that the old life represented. But this time it would be different. He would no longer be the “boy of promise” or “the boy who’d save the tribe”. Now he would be “the boy who had failed”. The one who had lost the scholarship. He could join the other deadbeats and pretend their life was all there was. This was the hand dealt him. He grabbed the Bible and threw it out of the tiny window over the toilet.

The afternoon rolled slowly on into evening. The duty tutors poked their heads through the doorway every hour or so and, as it was beginning to grow dark, Jeremy was escorted in carrying a tray. Macaroni cheese, standard Sunday night fare. Devon peered at him to see if there would be some repeat of the mimed message, but this time he was too closely monitored for that.

Some hours later, Devon had almost dropped off to sleep when he heard something being slid under the door. He turned on the light. It was a phone. He quickly crossed the room and listened at the door but there was no sound outside. He picked up the mobile. It was one of the supermarket jobs that were so common at school. It could be anyone’s. He wondered who he was meant to be ringing. There was no one. Maybe it was a gift.

Some hours later Devon was awoken by a buzzing noise. It was the vibration of the phone in silent mode. He looked at his watch. It was after two a.m.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Devon.”

“Steph?”

“Of course it’s Steph. Who’d you think it was?”

“You sound different. It’s the middle of the night.”

“Really? It’s not even midnight here.”

“Where are you ringing from?”

“The airport.”

“Auckland airport?”

“No, Melbourne. Tullamarine.”

“Oh. That’s why it’s not so late for you?”

“You’re a sharp one.”

“Hey, man, I’m half asleep.”

“Look, Devon I haven’t got much time. I nicked my father’s phone during the flight and he’s at the airline counter trying to organise a search.”

“God you’re devious …”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. What’s happening your end?”

“I’ve been expelled. Back to Whareiti tomorrow.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m stuck in this prison called the ‘Sick Bay’. They’re frightened I’m going to run away. I’m being given back to - the headmaster’s words, ‘your people’.”

“Your people! That’s a good one. How did you get the phone then?”

“Someone slid it under the door a few hours ago.”

“That was my man Jeremy.”

“I guessed, actually.”

There was a pause.

“So what’s happening to you?”

“Geelong Grammar. Prince Charles’s old school. Just outside Melbourne. Nothing but the best for Steph.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Gulag Grammar? I loathe it. I never picked my father to do a thing like this. Just goes to show, doesn’t it, behind every liberal,
there’s a Stalin panting to get out.”

His tone changed. “Devon, I did everything I could to stop you from copping any flak. At one stage I had all these different groups having a go at me, one after the other, all trying to find out what happened. They had a crime but they had no evidence. They needed a confession. Wanted me to dob in Willie, but I wouldn’t. They wanted your head on a plate, too.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“I never cracked, Devon. I didn’t cry. They really wanted me to. ‘Show some remorse, Steph, that’s all we need.’” His tone changed to one of outrage. “That was my father saying this, for God’s sake, the guy on my side.”

“Yeah?” Devon wasn’t that surprised.

“‘Do a deal: give him up, stop him from ruining other innocent parties like yourself’. That was the cops. They wanted a pederast for the courts. ‘Think of your father’s reputation. Think of the school. Don’t you care?’ That was the headmaster. They were relentless but I never broke down. I never cracked. And I kept you out of it.”

Devon felt a flush of admiration for Steph’s toughness.

“In the end, the deal was done by my father. ‘Get Steph well clear and his report card will be unblemished.’ Something of that order. Hypocrites that they are.”

“I never knew what happened. I never knew how much they knew. I guessed you hadn’t given anyone up,” Devon said.

“I didn’t want you hurt.” Steph paused, and then continued as if feeling his way through difficult emotions. “No matter what else happened, that was not going to be on my conscience. I know that you wouldn’t have done half that stuff … if it hadn’t been for me. I feel I screwed everything up for you … ruined your chances. I know how far you’d come …”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Stop feeling sorry for me. I always had a choice. I don’t regret
anything.”

“True?”

“Sure.”

“Non, je ne regrette rien. Just like Willis?”

“Oui.”

“We never had a chance to get our stories straight before I was, as they say, from Barwell’s womb untimely ripped.”

“I know,” Devon said wistfully, “We never had time for anything.”

For a while there was silence.

“When am I going to see you?” Devon asked.

There was another long pause and then Steph came back with a quieter, more serious tone. “I’d like to say soon, or even one day in the distant future, but I’ve no control over what happens to me. I’ve traded that much away. Lost it. Everything’s stacked against us, Devon. We broke through for a while … learned what freedom was. It’s like we found the window open, climbed out and lived in the real world for a spell …”

“It was amazing. I knew it couldn’t last.”

“… and then we were spotted. The window was welded shut and we were locked in again. I can’t believe that I’m never going to know that feeling again, or at least not until I’m so old it won’t matter.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Because I’ll be too old to do anything with it.”

“Fucken dismal outlook, man.”

“It is fucken dismal. I am not going to show it any other way.”

“Life’s a bitch and then you die?”

“Something like that … but let’s hope it’s better expressed.”

“That’s the old Steph, pretentious as ever.”

“Someone’s got to maintain the standard.” He broke into an accent. “It sho’ ain’t gonna be yo’all. You sound like a country boy.”

There was a gap between them, like a departing ship, getting
wider by the moment. Devon stared into the void, lost for words. When he eventually spoke he was shocked by the finality of his words and the weakness of his voice.

“I guess this is the point where you say, ‘Have a good life’.”

“Is it? Okay, Devon, have a good life.”

“Back at ya.”

The words resonated in Devon’s head. They were just the standard kiss-off but somehow they were true. His life lay before him. He thought of the time, all those years ago, when Ra had put that challenging choice into his head. Had demanded that Devon be the one to decide whether to stay in Whareiti or to plunge into the wine-dark sea of the unknown. He remembered his dream. The tipuna emerging from the darkness, row after row of them, their hands shivering and the whites of their eyes enlarged in
pukana
. Then the glint of an earring as Diego stepped forward to claim him as one of his own. From that moment, everything had been decided.

He woke early to the sound of bells ringing and boys hurrying off to perform their usual routines. He checked them off as he lay in bed. The wake-up call. The run. The shower. Breakfast. Dorm inspection. Assembly. Then the tutor Henderson appeared, carrying his breakfast.

“I’m sorry about what happened, Devon. You look after yourself, right?”

“Mr Henderson, can you do me a favour?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Could you return this phone to Jeremy? I borrowed it a while back. Keep forgetting to return it. Tell him, thanks.”

“No problem,” he said, looking almost relieved, and then disappeared.

By the time Mr Faull appeared Devon was ready to go. He was wearing his jeans and his HDT jacket. He left his uniform on the bed. Someone else could have it. He wasn’t taking it with him, that was for sure.

Mr Faull explained that the task had been given to him to drive Devon to the bus station. This would be Barwell’s last contribution to his education: after this he was his grandfather’s responsibility. They walked through the dining hall to where the staff parked their cars. Devon carried the same overnight bag he had used when he first came. It was lighter now, he thought.

The white Golf was parked in the lee of the dormitory roof. Mr Faull popped the hatch for Devon’s bag but he declined, preferring to keep it on his knees.

“Suit yourself, it’s not a big car though,” Mr Faull said, avoiding all possibility of conflict.

He started the car then turned to Devon.

“This is it then: a sad day.”

Devon said nothing, but tightened his grip on the handles of the bag.

“It’s hard not to think of what might have been.” Mr Faull engaged reverse and slowly cleared the edge of the building. “But I really do believe that Barwell’s has done all it could for you.” He straightened up and nosed towards the gateway.

“From here on Devon, there won’t be safety nets to catch you if you fall.”

The traffic cleared and he swung left towards Newmarket.

“I do hope you have learned something from your experiences. Life’s not complicated; it’s just a series of choices between right and wrong.”

They hadn’t gone for more than half a mile when they came to a stop: the morning traffic was banked up ahead; there was some sort of road-works taking place. As they waited in the traffic, Devon unclipped his belt and turned to Mr Faull.

“I’ve learned plenty, Mr Faull, but it all comes down to this:
there is freedom and then there is everything else.”

He opened the door.

“And today I give away everything else, and I choose freedom.”

He stepped out of the car.

“Liberación!” he yelled to the astonished face of his assistant housemaster.

As he closed the door, Devon leaned low to give Mr Faull a parting wave and then headed back the way they had come.

Like Diego, making his first strokes towards an unknown coastline, Devon felt a sudden lightness. The world was waiting for him, and now finally, he was getting closer, one step at a time.

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