Tim Winton - Eyrie

I knew you, said Kai one night. I knew you before you had a face.

I don’t understand, he murmured. What do you mean?

But the boy was silent, perhaps asleep already, and Keely was left to turn it over in his mind, the thought that Kai had been waiting for him, lying alone in the flat night after night while Gemma worked, waiting for someone to keep him safe. The idea was intoxicating. It made a man feel enormous and substantial. That he might be necessary.

Towards the end of the week he noticed Gemma becoming increasingly fractious. Sent on an errand he bought the wrong brand of paper towels. He cooked with too much garlic and like Kai he left the toilet seat up. She was fed up with their nerdy boy talk, their birdy bullshit — and why was he always here in the flat anyway, taking up space? She didn’t want a wife and besides he wasn’t even paying his way, so why didn’t he stop botting off her and leave them in peace?

On Thursday he gave Kai a quick game after school but sent him on home alone for dinner. Keely figured he’d make himself scarce a while. But on Friday evening she came by with a takeaway roasted chicken and reminded him of the prison visit next morning. She had the night off, she said girlishly. And for someone just back from the supermarket she seemed a little too carefully put together. She was giving him the willies.

Gemma left him the chook but he stayed away and jerked off miserably during the SBS movie. Later he thought of calling Harriet — she’d probably be still at work, the number wouldn’t take long to find. He suddenly wanted to hear her voice, tell her about this boy who held his arm, but he wasn’t mad enough yet to do it. She’d think it was either vengeful or pathetic. He’d make her cry and hate himself.

So as drunks rolled festively through the streets below, he carted himself off to bed. He couldn’t think about tomorrow. Tried to hypnotize himself. Fox his way down step by step, turn by turn, avoiding all thought. And mostly failing.

*

He dreamt he was swimming, coursing towards the sea on his own, fleeing shadows, making himself tiny with fear.

It was a long, hot drive out into the valley. They had the drab entirety of Perth to traverse — every grey and khaki suburb, every baking industrial park, car yard and junk-food franchise on the ravaged plain. The Saturday-morning drivers were torpid and maddening. Heat rolled down from the ranges in waves. Although they began the journey with Gemma at the wheel she was so erratic from nervous excitement she had to pull over and surrender the controls to Keely. Almost as jittery as her, he followed her directions, submitting to her liverish commentary until he got to the outlands where droughted horse paddocks gave way to housing estates of heartbreaking ugliness.

In the back with his sketchpad and pencil case, Kai sat subdued to the point of complete withdrawal. The boy had been to Bandyup before but he would not be drawn into conversation about it. At home whenever Gemma mentioned his mother he rarely engaged. The whole thing gave Keely the yips.

His eyes hurt. His head pinged and throbbed. Smears of light caught on everything, gave his vision a nasty lag, like old-school video. It was the shits, feeling this bad after a booze-free evening. He hadn’t even gobbed a pill for twelve hours and now he felt worse than if he’d been on a bender. For relief he thought of worthy analgesics: Panadeine Forte, Nurofen Osteo, Mersyndol.

When the turn-off finally came he missed it. Gemma slapped the dashboard in disgust. He pulled over violently.

For God’s sake, he said, startled as much as angry. Just calm down, will you?

Turning around on the highway, he took his indignation out on the car, conscious of how unhelpful the histrionics were.

The women’s prison was a squat brick campus set well back from the road. Except for the coils of razor wire it looked no nastier than the schools he’d gone to in the sixties and seventies. And yet his mouth went dry just rolling up the drive.

They were a few minutes early. He found somewhere permissible to park. Left the motor running for the sake of what paltry relief the aircon provided. Gemma opened and closed her handbag repeatedly. She checked her face in the mirror, tried to fold Kai’s hair behind his ears. Other vehicles began to coast in around them.

I’ll swing back at eleven, said Keely. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll wait here — in case you come out early.

You’re not comin in? she said with feeling.

Oh, he exclaimed dishonestly. I didn’t realize.

Well, Jesus. You don’t have to.

No, it’s that I didn’t —

I asked for Kai’s sake.

Not a problem, he said. Of course.

Jesus.

Really, he said, turning off the engine.

See? she said to Kai, twisting in her seat. Tom’s comin too. You ready to see your mum?

Kai shrugged.

Love! she said too brightly. She’ll be that excited.

The boy packed up his things without expression.

When they opened the car doors, the heat was withering. Keely felt it shrink his throat and cause flares at the edge of his vision. Gemma took Kai by the arm and Keely followed. All the way to reception she prattled about shade and airconditioning but once they passed into the industrial chill of the interior there was surprisingly little relief. With its muddle of signage, its antiseptic smell and atmosphere of tamped desperation, the building could have been the annexe of any social service — the dole office, Homeswest, DOCS. This side of the glass attempts had been made to create a sense of normality, but the strain was palpable. The false cheer amongst visitors. The sideways looks. Keely felt a scalding flush in his cheeks.

He followed Gemma, did what she did, tried to seem relaxed. They joined a queue, exchanged thin smiles with others. But they’d barely begun the process of registration when Gemma turned and seized him by the sleeve.

Oh Christ, she said. They’ve brought the dogs.

What’s that mean? he asked.

Down the line a uniformed officer and his eager mutt capered in and out.

Non-contact, said Gemma through her teeth. It’s gunna be a strip search — Jesus! Tom, take him.

What?

Kai, she said. Take him out.

But why?

Just get him in the car, drive him around for a bit.

Gemma —

I’m not havin em touch this boy.

Are you sure?

Of course I’m bloody sure, just go — now!

Bewildered but galvanized, he steered the child back towards the entrance.

Everything alright? said the officer at the door.

Change of plan, said Keely.

Imagine so, she murmured a little too knowingly.

They stepped out of the refrigerated enclosure and into white sun. Keely felt it dig into the pits of his eyes and the pain travelled through his shoulders, elbows, hands.

He didn’t know what to tell Kai. Then wondered if the boy needed anything explained anyway. Keely got them onto the highway for the sake of being gone, yet the moment he was free, giddy and slightly guilty for the relief of it, he was faced with the immediate problem of where to go and what to do out here in this desolation of overpasses and spiky bush. There was nothing: no shade, no houses, no shops. Enormous signs rose before them touting wildlife parks and tourist-trap wineries.

After a few minutes Keely pulled in at a semi-rural roadhouse where articulated trucks parked in lines at high-flow diesel pumps. Watermelons sat piled in crates. At the edge of the gravel apron there were trailers for hire and horse manure for sale.

You must be thirsty, he said to Kai.

Yes, the boy allowed.

Inside the place stank of fried bacon and scorched coffee. Homely smells after the prison. And the place was cool but not cold. Keely bought a Coke and a packet of chips for the boy. Scruples be buggered — the kid needed some sort of treat. Got an apple juice for himself. He chugged it before he’d even drawn up a chair. Kai opened his drink and then his chips and set his sketchpad on the table. Keely hadn’t even noticed him bring it in. He watched the boy lay out his pencils.