Tim Winton - Eyrie

No nonsense, she said before closing the door. You hear me?

Keely raised his eyebrows mischievously but the boy did not respond. With the door shut and the shower running, he stood a sheepish moment before sitting at the bed’s edge. Perching. The boy smelt of toothpaste. He had a vee-shaped scar just beneath his collarbone. His skin was creamy as if he’d never been outside without a shirt. Perhaps it was the way these days. Safer. But it looked foreign, this ghostly pallor.

The boy shifted beneath his sheet, impatient. Keely didn’t like to get too close in case they touched inadvertently. Kai looked over as if assessing him.

Can you tell a story?

A story.

About eagles.

The boy’s face was plump and round and serious. Yesterday’s sun lingered on his cheeks and along the soft bridge of his nose. To that small degree he was comprehensible to Keely. Just this bit of colour made him an Australian child in a way he recognized.

Um, well. Okay. A story about eagles.

I don’t care if it’s make-up.

Well, I used to know a song.

About eagles?

Keely wasn’t sure about this. He was way out on a drooping stalk here. Hadn’t seen it coming. The sudden memory of the devotional chorus; it had to be about this morning, the memories of Nev and Doris and all those fireside church-camp singalongs.

But I don’t know if I can sing it, he said a little desperately. It’s been a long time.

Orright, said Kai flatly, as if accustomed to build-ups that went nowhere.

And it stung Keely, spurred him into croaky song. He just lumbered into it. Like a man pitching himself off a ledge.

We will fly with wings of eagles , he warbled in a key too high to sustain. We will rise and fly away. We will run and not be weary. We will walk and not be faint.

Okay, said Kai.

That was a song I knew when I was a boy, he said, flushing. It just came to me, that’s all.

But have you got a story? asked Kai as if he were prepared to put this embarrassing interlude behind them.

Right, said Keely. Yes. Not a story so much. But I know one interesting thing about raptors.

Nn?

You know from your book an eagle is a raptor, right?

A kind of bird. What hunts.

Pretty much. Well, did you know that when they do hunt, when a raptor grabs something, its talons lock up? Its claws — they kind of go on automatic. Like the osprey. It dives for fish, mostly. Imagine what it’s like when it gets hold of something too heavy to lift out of the water. I saw that once, on a documentary, a film on TV. This great big bird underwater, trying to drag itself up with a huge fish way too big to carry. It couldn’t heave itself out of the water, couldn’t even get to the surface, but couldn’t let go. It was locked on. Fighting up through the water with its wings. Like something you’ve never seen in your life. This great white bird hauling itself up, trying to fly against the ocean.

Kai blinked. Keely sensed, too late, that this was hardly bedtime fare for a child. He’d gotten carried away, florid as a souvenir teatowel.

One day, said the boy. The birds in the world will die.

What? he asked. What did you say?

In the end, said the kid. All of them, the birds. They die.

Well. Yeah. I suppose everything dies eventually.

I saw pictures. All the birds dead. On the beach, in town.

Ah, he said. Right. That. Jesus, he thought, I’m in the weeds here; this is way too close to home.

And then I knew, said the boy. One day all the birds in the world will die.

Kai, he said, trying to keep himself in order. That was lead poisoning. It was an accident. Well, actually a bad mistake. It’s just a terrible thing that happened because people were lazy and stupid.

Keely knew it was so much worse than that. But he shouldn’t be thinking about it right now. Had to let it alone for his own sake. And yet his mind had already run ahead, flashing on it, dragging him in. Esperance. Ten thousand birds killed. An entire town contaminated. Vegetable gardens, watertanks, clothing, food. Kids poisoned. Because of how easy it had become to do business in this state. There was nothing in the way of the diggers and dealers but hot air.

Look, he said too brightly. It’s over, Kai. It’s fixed.

The boy didn’t seem convinced.

This is where it begins, Keely thought, the lying to children. He had to stop thinking about this shit. Right now.

Dinosaur birds went extinct, said Kai.

What’s that? he said, tamping the tremor in his hands.

Bird dinosaurs, they went extinct.

Yes. Yes. That’s right. A long time ago.

The boy yawned.

Now it’s just bones.

Yes.

And birds will just be bones.

Well.

Extinct, he said through another yawn. Like us.

But our birds are okay, Kai. And we’re okay, too.

Keely could not believe what he was saying. He’d never lied like this in his life. And he’d broken into a sweat.

The boy slid down the pillow, pulled the sheet to his neck. Keely felt a little knee brush his hip as the kid rolled on his side and looked up with drooping lids.

Extinct, he whispered, as if tasting the word, trying it on for size.

Everything’s fine, Kai. It’s all going to be okay.

Orright, you two, said Gemma in a billow of steam. Lights out.

Keely felt the urge to ruffle the kid’s hair, to pat him reassuringly, but he didn’t dare. He felt Gemma waiting for him to leave.

Night, mate, he said on his way out.

The light clicked behind him as he went through to the livingroom; he thought he might slip away while he had the chance. But it felt wrong not to stay and thank Gemma for the meal. The mute TV flickered on — another bit of evening trash masquerading as current affairs. He saw his hands trembling, shoved them in the pockets of his shorts.

Gemma came out in her powder-blue tunic. She dropped a cheap pair of gym shoes on the seagrass matting and while he stood there, trying not to look at the chipped paint on her toenails, she spread a towel across the corner of the kitchen bench and set to ironing a fresh pair of school shorts.

How long’ve you been doing this? he asked, still standing.

Sometimes she dumped him. Other times I took him off her. And now I’ve had him a coupla years.

The iron swished breathily. The old fridge kicked into life.

Tough, he murmured.

Well. What can you do, eh?

You work at the place on the corner? That’s handy.

Did, she said. Now I’m up Canning Highway. They shoved me across a month ago. Bloody buses hardly ever come when I need em. Spend half me pay on taxis. It’s shit, really.

Keely was stuck for a moment. For want of something to fill the gap, he gestured at the travel posters gummed to the raw bricks of the wall. Coconut palms and sunset at Kuta. A smiling child feeding the dolphins at Monkey Mia.

Which did you prefer? he asked.

Prefer?

Which place did you like the most?

I do speak English, Tom.

Sorry.

Never been to either of them, she said dismissively. Kai found the posters at the Vinnies.

Wrongfooted, he made the neutral sound any nitwit makes stalling for time. He stared hopelessly at the clunky old Telstra phone and the notepad beside it.

Gemma turned the shorts over, sighed at a paint stain, and finished ironing them.

Listen, he said at last, surrendering to failure. Thanks for dinner.

Just chops.

It was nice.

Gemma set the iron aside and looked him up and down as if considering something. Keely thought he saw an idea retreat from her face. He took up the pencil beside the pad. It seemed that every page had a different bird on it, sketches and doodles Kai had worked on. Many of them bore no resemblance to any bird he knew, but the kid had given all his creatures wings.