The Ink Bridge (25 page)

‘Get a wiggle on, dumbarse,' he spat.

The room tensed, but Silent Boy kept his cool. He peered into the neck of the flask to check its progress.

‘You listenin?' Splinter turned his mutton-cube head under Silent Boy's. Leered up through the steam at him. ‘Listen, ya little goat-shagger, I need some water for me coffee and you need to let me at it.'

Silent Boy moved to one side and Splinter, taking this as his cue to move in, pushed his cup under the spout. Silent Boy pushed back and the water coursed over Splinter's hand.

Splinter dropped the cup and screamed. Mabor got up from his seat, but Sheila put her hand on his arm.

‘You bloody little reffo dipshit. See what ya done. Time you was put in your place.' He turned on the room. ‘All of youse.' He punched Silent Boy hard in the mouth. But Silent Boy didn't go down. Blood trickled from his lip. Uncle Massoud shouted something, but he stayed where he was.

Tran screamed, ‘Fall down. Why you not fall down? You mad?'

‘He's mad awright. And I'm goin slap some sense into him.' Splinter licked his palms slowly and clenched his fists.

Everyone was frozen. Hec stood up.
Take care of each
other
, the fisho had said. Hec could feel the fish-jewel in his pocket, the sharp point pressed into his skin. The distance between him and Splinter seemed great. He crossed it in slow motion, blood singing in his ears.
Take care
. He put his hand on Splinter's arm and as he did so, he knew it was a mistake. It was like trying to reason with fire.

He didn't feel the punch. But he remembered later how it had sounded as it broke bone. He remembered the lights turning like time-lapse stars above him and how cool the lino felt against his cheek. Then he remembered falling into mineshaft black with his body relaxed and every muscle turned to fluid and his smile stretched out like wings, his feet pointed up, the wind stealing his hair, eyes like sideshow carnival lights, kids popping ping-pong balls into his open mouth and no sound escaping ever
. . .
ever.

Splinter got fired. And Hec got a week off work, and soft food. He had jumped off the fence and got rid of the splinter from his arse too. But he was no hero.

When he returned to work, everyone ignored him. Why? Because he had done what they feared to do? Because they were ashamed of their cowardice?

Mabor finally talked to him. They were setting up the wicks. ‘You think you done big hero thing. You done one maan. Tousand more behind him. Ten tousand. You naiver win.'

Then it is better to do nothing?
Hec thought.
To live in
fear? I don't think so.

‘It is easy for you, Hec,' Mabor said as his wattle-bark fingers worked the spools. ‘You are the right skin colour. You have the right eyes and naime. And still you lose. Whaat hope for us?'

But after it had all settled down Sheila pulled him aside and whispered to him, ‘You was brave, Hec. Stupit, but brave. You help you friend.' She smiled at him. ‘When I come from Cambodia everyone say,
Go back to China
.' She shook her head, so her ponytail swung from side to side. ‘I'm not from China,' she said. ‘I wish I had friend like you.'

ANOTHER TWO WEEKS PASSED BEFORE Hec and Silent Boy made the next night trip through the suburbs. Uncle Massoud had been missing from his bed again. That was how they knew something was going down. It was later this time, almost ten and Hec knew they needed to make the last train home, just after eleven.

They saw the same people. The tramp carrying his bag of bags and a blanket, dozing his way in and out of the city. The afternoon shift-worker coming home with weariness tucked in the corners of his eyes and his blue pants strung with typesetter's ink. The call-centre girl playing Tetris on her phone, the hem of her dress dipped in mud.

And at Dandenong, the threat of the late-night crowd. The static of their pants crackling as they rolled down the street. Hoodies and hoons, lowered cars with the tub-thump of their subwoofers denting the air. And at the Hope Candle Works the smeared charcoal facade. The yellow mouth of the loading bay.

Hec leaned against the skip and felt the metal chill his back. It was turning to winter and the news was full of boat arrivals. They were housing them offshore, cutting islands loose from the mainland, changing borders. Hec didn't know what it all meant, but he saw the new faces at the factory. How they looked into space without focussing; how they talked in whispers.

They got into position behind the skip. The container wasn't there yet, but Hec and Silent Boy could see Merrick and Massoud leaning on opposite sides of the doorway, waiting.

After a while, the van arrived and Rudman jumped out. With one hand on the loading bay, he vaulted up beside the two other men.

‘They not here yet?' he asked, dusting his hands together.

‘Maybe they're not going to show,' said Merrick.

‘Glass-half-emp-ty, Mer-rick.' Rudman slapped him gently on the cheek on each syllable. ‘I had word from the port, they loaded up an hour ago.

‘In other glass-half-full news: there's a big Taliban offensive now spring has arrived in Afghanistan. “The fighting season” they called it; I love that – it's like when fruit comes back onto the shelves. We need to prepare for an increase in business.'

Merrick jiggled a pair of boltcutters against his leg. ‘Not happening,' he said.

‘Here the truck,' said Massoud.

The truck beep-beeped its way down the alley to the loading bay. It stopped, releasing air. Slowly the door opened.

‘Haz,' said Rudman to the man.

Haz nodded around the group until he got to Massoud. ‘I know this bloke,' he said slowly. ‘Name's Saladeen, right? You had a young fella with you last time we met.'

‘Massoud,' said Uncle Massoud and stuck out his hand.

‘Right you are then,' Haz said. ‘Massoud it is.' He turned to the container. ‘I'll unhitch her and get gawn. Got to get back to Adelaide with a load tonight. A nice little turnaround job this one.'

Haz unhooked the trailer. When he was finished he jumped back in his truck. ‘Last run for a while,' he shouted over the engine noise. ‘I got enough to last me. I'm heading bush.' He waved out the window and was gone.

Merrick exhaled. His breath formed a heavy cloud.

Rudman put a hand on Merrick's shoulder. ‘Merrick, you are a valuable part of this organisation. This is only the beginning.'

‘Spare me the pep-talk, Rudman.'

Merrick snipped the seal and opened the doors. A group of people surged out. There was shouting. Hec could see bodies falling to the ground in the gap below the door. The noise got louder and louder.

Suddenly there was a gunshot and everything fell silent. Rudman lowered the pistol and clipped the door against the container. The group was revealed to Hec and Silent Boy. Some were lying, others standing. They were Afghans: the older men with beards, young guys wearing jeans, a few women and children. Near the edge of the group a woman sat, her head bent over a small bundle in her arms. She was crying.

Rudman scratched his chin. ‘What's their problem, Massoud?'

Massoud questioned the men. They rattled agitated answers at him.

‘This woman baby die two days before. Not too much water for all.'

Rudman looked at each of them. ‘Tell them it is not our fault. That we pay the people in Jakarta to provide food and water. What they do with the money is their business.'

‘I not can tell them.'

‘Why?'

‘They will kill me then they will kill you.'

‘I have the gun, Massoud. Tell them to be reasonable.'

Massoud told the group and the men pulled at their beards and shouted. Rudman shot one of them in the foot. He fell to the ground. The others stared at him in disbelief. The children started to cry.

‘I'm not a violent man, people,' Rudman touched his nose with the barrel of the pistol. ‘But you are pushing me beyond my limits. Take the baby away, Massoud.'

‘Na, Meesta Rudman. Baby is dead. Is not allowed.'

‘Get the baby or I will shoot
you
!' screamed Rudman.

‘This is crazy,' hissed Merrick.

‘You want to take care of this, Hope?' Rudman asked.

Merrick hung his head.

‘Then shut up.' He pointed the pistol back at Massoud. ‘Do it or I'll pop a piece of lead in your ugly hide. And when I do I will get a bravery award for exposing a terrible smuggling ring and its evil mastermind.'

Slowly Massoud walked to the woman. He bent down and grasped the small bundle of cloth. The mother wailed and held on. The men gritted their teeth and spat curses at Massoud. He gripped tighter and pulled the body free.

‘Grab a bag from the van, put it in and stash it behind the seat,' said Rudman.

‘No!' screamed Merrick. ‘It's a baby.'

‘It's dead and we need to get rid of it. I don't want it contaminating the rest of the cargo.'

‘They're people!'

‘They're money. Remember that. Now do it Massoud or I'll shoot you and dump you with the baby.'

Massoud went to the van. With one hand he ruffled open the neck of a garbage bag and dropped the baby inside. Hec and Silent Boy held their breaths. The truck was very near the skip. From where they were crouched Massoud could easily see them. The only thing that protected them was shadow and silence. Massoud pulled the drawstrings of the bag together and knotted them. He swung it into the cab. It landed on the floor with a thud and a groan escaped Hec, like the grunt of the dying Jewelfish.

Hec saw Massoud look towards them, saw his tongue dart out and rip across his lips. He started for the skip.

‘What are you doing?' asked Rudman.

‘I hear one noise.'

‘It's nothing. You're jumping at shadows. We need to get the cargo into the van.'

Hec saw Massoud turn again. It looked as if they would be okay. But something made him stop. Hec pressed the sharp point of the fish-jewel into his palm and wished him away.

‘I just check, Meesta Rudman.' And he walked back to the skip.

Silent Boy was behind Hec. Hec knew what he had to do. If he gave himself up then Silent Boy would be okay. It could give him enough time to escape. But before he could react, Silent Boy grabbed him by the shoulder and leapt from their hiding spot. Hec watched as Massoud and Silent Boy's feet met and as they fell together.

‘Get up!' yelled Rudman. ‘Bring him here, Massoud. This is getting messy.'

Massoud twisted Silent Boy's arm behind him and marched him onto the loading bay.

‘Kneel,' ordered Rudman. ‘Kneel!' He smashed the pistol butt into the back of Silent Boy's head. Silent Boy fell onto his knees. Rudman walked behind him and placed the muzzle on his skull. He licked his thin lips. The mothers held their children tighter, pulled them into their dresses.

‘Naaaaaaaaawww.' The noise rose from deep inside Hec. It tore his throat as it came. It pushed past the silence. It ignored history. His private sadness. What had gone before. He exploded from behind the skip. He saw the gun pointed at him, but he kept coming. As he tried to jump onto the loading bay, Merrick's foot stopped him. It knocked him backwards onto the ground.

Rudman smiled. ‘Nice work, Merrick.' He pushed the muzzle hard into Silent Boy's mouth. ‘We'll start with this one and finish with his friend. What a sad story. Two mixed up friends. A murder-suicide. The Muslim fundamentalist kills the Aussie kid then tops himself. The media will love it. The tide just keeps turning against these poor boat people. But our business just gets better. That's what I call positive growth.'

The shout came from the top of the container. ‘Hey! I got a new endin for you dicks.' Silhouetted against the sodium sky was a man. In one hand he held a bottle. In the other a lighter.

‘Warned ya bout that cheap-arse wax didn't I, Hope? No good, I said.' He lit a taper at the neck of the bottle. ‘But you never listened to me. Pretendin to be all holy. Ha! Yer a fake.'