Warren Fitzgerald - The Go-Away Bird

More flashing lights, coming from the street below, made the black tree top turn blue every few seconds. Curiosity dragged me from the sofa. The crowd was in the way, kids, women, blokes, so I couldn’t see what they were so interested in. But judging by the ambulance and the only car in the middle of the road, the driver still in his seat, but with his feet on the road and his head in his hands, it was pretty clear he’d just knocked someone over.

So if the ambulance is there, what are you lot doing, eh? Helping? No chance. Enjoying the show, more like. Getting your next fix of grief and drama since Casualty ’s finished and EastEnders ain’t on till tomorrow. But what if I went down there in the street now, with my cheese knife, and started cutting my arm outside the Costcutter? They’d all run a mile; lock themselves in their scummy flats until the nutter had gone. Why? It’s OK to stand there and watch the little girl’s brains leaking onto the tarmac, but not me making a little cut in my arm. Because she didn’t do it to herself. If I hurt myself then it’s not just blood and guts and broken bones, it’s mental and emotional pain too. And no one wants to deal with the kind of emotional pain that makes you do that to yourself. That’s not entertainment, is it? It’s not good drama. And it’s certainly not art, right?

‘Go go go! Go go way!’ Jeanette is copying the sound of the big green birds in the fig trees. The ones with the tall white hats. She is running in and out of the trees trying to make them fly off. One does. It spreads its pretty purple wings and looks down at me as it goes. Its eyes are red apart from the black in the middle – red like Uncle Leonard’s after he has been at the cabaret all night with Dad. The bird looks unhappily at me, just like Uncle Leonard does if I wake him too early. I try and tell the bird, with my eyes, that I was not the one who scared it. But I laughed when Jeanette did it, so he is bound to blame me too.

Mum clucks like a chicken because she is unhappy at the noise we make. ‘Go and take your swim now if you want it, Clementine,’ she says. ‘Be quick! I need you to help carry the water back – that is if you want any breakfast today.’

Jeanette and I run on ahead. We know we must hurry. We are so lucky. My family are so lucky to live this close to the Nyabarongo. I try not to show it, but I feel bigger, more clever than Jeanette – even though we are both ten years old – because she always prefers to come and stay at our house. We are close to the river, you see. As we run past the last stretch of the marshes I puff the air out of my nose, so that I do not have to smell it. The smell of the marshes makes me feel sick. Jeanette has to smell that every day when she goes to collect the water with her mum and sisters. The water in their cans is always brown, the colour of the marshland. Mum walks to the edge of the river to get ours – so it is always clearer, and it tastes sweeter. And it is great to—

‘EEEE!’ Jeanette screams and falls into the mud up ahead of me. And I stand as still as a statue because my heart jumps and tells me to stop. But just for a moment.

Then I laugh at her. I laugh high and loud, louder than usual because I am relieved that it was just a big grumpy pig that came running out from the papyrus and knocked her over. The pig squeals as if it is copying Jeanette and disappears into the papyrus again just as quickly as it appeared. I jump over Jeanette and run ahead, sliding down the muddy bank. I leave my sweater and my dress on the rocks and run again – I like to try to keep running until the water slows me down and lifts up my feet and—

SPLASH!

Jeanette jumps in close to me.

‘EEK EEK, little pig!’ I say.

‘WHOOP WHOOP, little monkey!’ I suppose it was the only thing she could think of quickly.

We don’t have the breath to say much more, as we use all our energy to splash and swim. The water is nice and warm. I look up to the hills where we live. The mist is sliding away so I can try and spot my house. But all I can see from here is the banana groves. The bunches of bananas poking out from the trees look like the hands of giant green creatures holding back the branches so that they can spy on us swimming far below. I search for a moment for their eyes in the darkness and start to scare myself, so I turn the other way and watch the sky turning from pink to orange to blue. It is so pretty. Jeanette looks pretty too as the new sun sparkles in the water drops on her face. I smile at her. She kicks water in my eyes.

As I blink the water away, I feel a little moment of panic – just a tiny moment, because I cannot see – and I start imagining a big wave of water coming at me and covering my mouth and nose because I cannot see it coming to get out of the way. So, as my sight returns, I feel like I should look to the river bank to find my mum. She is there, where the water curves around the marshes, with the big papyrus plants looking over her shoulder as she crouches down and fills up our water cans. Mum is tall and thin – I think she is one of the most beautiful women in our village. If she stood up now she would just about be able to see over the top of the papyrus and over the marshes. Jeanette has disappeared under the water, swimming like a fish in case I try to splash her back. I make sure I can feel the river bed under my feet, in case she tries to pull me under, and I keep my eyes on Mum. I think she is filling the third can already, but because she is quite far away it is not easy to tell. She usually brings only two or three, but she has brought one more today because we have Jeanette’s hands to help too.

An antelope bounces through the marshes and catches my eye. They are my favourite animal – so soft and gentle, but so scared of everything. I dream about stroking their red fur and the white spots on their cheeks, but you can never get that close to one in real life. The river bursts behind me and Jeanette gasps for air, but I do not move. I’m trying to keep the antelope in my sight for as long as possible.

‘Who is that?’

‘Where?’ I say, still looking at the marsh, but I am only imagining the antelope now, following the swaying tops of papyrus and telling myself that it is the antelope that is making them move.

‘Behind your mum. Look! Over there!’ Jeanette grabs my chin and moves my head in the right direction. She does that a lot, probably because I daydream a lot, but I like the feeling of her hands on my face – it is a nice way to come back to real life.

I look back to the bank and my heart jumps, just like when the pig ran over Jeanette. A dark figure is coming round the edge of the papyrus and creeping towards Mum as she starts filling the last can. It spreads its arms wide as it gets close to her and just as it is ready to pounce I see a flash of white teeth and eyes as it smiles towards us. Then the man jabs his fingers into my mum’s sides and she screeches and drops the can into the water as she jumps up to see who is attacking her.

My dad lets out a huge, deep laugh as he hugs Mum close to stop her from slapping him. My heart is light again and excited at the new task we girls have – to catch the empty can floating off down the river. I swim as hard as I am able because I know Mum and Dad will be watching me and proud if I save the can for them. But I was never as strong as Jeanette in the water and she reaches it first and holds it up as she runs along the bank towards my parents, as if she has won the soccer championship.

I run from the river, but I stop by the edge for just a second to catch my breath – and to look at the picture of my dad greeting Jeanette and my mum cheering her for saving the can. All at once I am jealous of her and happy that she is treated as part of our family – she is like my sister. I do not have any real sisters, only a brother. These feelings are quite confusing so I run on again and concentrate on the mud oozing between my toes – that is a feeling that makes sense.