Tim Winton - Eyrie

Well, he said. That was all a bit awkward, wasn’t it?

The boy glanced past him.

I’m sorry you didn’t get to see your mum.

Kai selected a pencil.

Your nan will explain everything.

It’s drugs, said Kai.

I see, he said haplessly.

A waitress sloped by on tender feet and informed them that if they wanted to sit inside they’d need to buy a meal. Keely couldn’t face the heat just now and he was anxious to avoid any unpleasantness, so he ordered a BLT. Maybe the kid would pick at it.

Lucky you’ve got your nan, he said.

The boy chewed his lip.

What’re you drawing?

Kai shrugged.

Can I see?

Kai rolled a pencil on the laminex as if weighing up the request. Then he pushed the pad across. Keely took it up and flicked through pictures of magpies, a Pacific gull and several failed attempts at a pelican. After this came a series of simple, almost stylized images that were not at all birdlike. It took Keely a few moments to understand what they were.

Kai, what’s this?

Just me, said the boy, considering a salty crinkle-cut chip.

An outline?

Kai licked the salt off the chip. Keely looked again at the emphatic line, the splayed limbs. It was the classic pictograph of a dead body, the sort of thing you saw every night on TV.

What’s it about? What’s it for?

I draw it when I dream it.

When you dream it? You mean the same dream you told me about?

Where I land. I’m there for a while. Then I’m gone and that’s all that’s left.

This line?

The boy ate the chip, took a gulp of Coke, and burped quietly.

Are you sure this is a dream?

Kai offered a look of studied patience and did not quite meet his gaze.

Well, that’s pretty interesting, he said, trying to disguise his alarm.

The boy retrieved the pad and thumbed through the pages.

Does it make you afraid?

Kai took up the pencil and commenced to roll it again.

Kai? Can you say?

The boy pursed his lips in a manner suggesting assent.

Keely pressed his thumbs into his temples, tried to think.

The waitress returned with a colossal sandwich. They looked at it, man and boy, and Keely saw that Kai wanted it but needed coaxing. He passed him a knife and fork.

Bet you can’t finish that, he said.

Kai set aside his pad and pencils, drew the plate to him and went to work with his usual finicky precision. Keely could have watched him do it all day. The boy’s fine blond hair fell across his face. He brushed it aside with a forearm and chewed methodically, eyes half closed in concentration.

Keely got up to buy himself more juice and at the counter he looked back at the kid working his way through another mouthful.

He’s lovely, said the waitress, clearly mistaking this for a Saturday access visit.

Yes, said Keely. He is.

*

As Gemma got into the car she brought with her an acrid smell that suggested an electrical fire, and he saw by the cooked colour of her face that he’d kept her waiting in the sun for some time. For several minutes nobody spoke. The Hyundai’s airconditioner buzzed impotently. And then at the freeway on-ramp Gemma began to blot her eyes with a tissue.

Sorry you didn’t see her, Kai, she said.

Keely wasn’t sure the boy heard. He watched him in the mirror as he gazed out at the traffic, licking his lips without expression.

Not your fault, Keely murmured.

No. It’s not.

She hunched forward suddenly. She beat a fist against her brow in a ghastly, silent sob. Keely did his best to focus on the road and traffic ahead but he monitored the white flash of the tissue clenched in her fingers, the veins rising in her neck, one livid ear. She gave out a small, strangled sigh. And after a few moments she’d mastered herself.

The dog, she said at last. They bring it out when she’s blown her privileges.

I don’t follow you, he said, anxious about the boy.

She wouldn’t say, of course. But I could see it right off.

I guess you’ve had practice, he said lamely.

You just know. When it’s suddenly non-contact, when they strip you and put the dogs over you, means she’s not clean. Christ, she coulda said when she rang, to spare the boy. She knows what it means. She doesn’t even care that much. How can she let us go in there and have him felt up like that? Jesus, you’re lucky they didn’t follow you out and do a car search.

How could it matter? he asked. There’s nothing here.

Mate, the dogs’d be howlin over this thing. You think this doesn’t stink of what they’re lookin for?

But we’re not carrying anything, Gem.

As if that makes any difference. The dog gets a positive, they think you’re supplyin. And suddenly it’s all hands on deck. Big search, more bullshit.

But they’d see we’re clean.

Jesus, you haven’t got a clue.

Keely steered the car. Nauseated. Angry. Fighting blips of phosphorus he could taste now.

After a moment’s silence she lit a fag and cracked a window.

This piece of shit, she said.

On the freeway he threaded through the citybound traffic.

I was only there ten minutes, she said. You know what she wanted to talk about? The car. She wants me to sell it, wants the money in an account. She wants the computer stuff sold. Can you believe that? She wants money. I’ve been down this road, I don’t need it.

It’s just the drugs, said Kai.

Yes, love. That’s what it is. But she’ll get better. We’ll go again another time. When she’s right again.

The boy said nothing. They rode home in silence.

He swam out to the pontoon in a languid Mersyndol crawl. Beneath him the white sandy bottom was ribbed and scalloped and the sheen from the surface spangled across the sand in pulsing bursts like brain waves. As he hauled himself onto the ladder squealing kids leapt overhead, spearing out behind him, their bodies sending shocks through the water. He clambered up and sat awhile, bracing himself against every lurch and jerk as the platform yanked on its chains and children launched and chased and goaded each other. He felt self-conscious there amongst the kids, but the water had brought him back off the boil, calmed him enough to enjoy their antic energy. Neither Gemma nor Kai had wanted to come and he was glad. The beach was a relief, a happy rippling mosaic of colour. Umbrellas, balls, lycra, bodies, hair. The desert breeze carried laughter, shouts and music across the water. He lingered, savouring it while he could. Up on the grass there was no sign of Conan at all. Keely was home free.

*

Afterwards he rode into the West End, took in an art show at an old Victorian warehouse. Just to feel normal again. But the gallery was hot, its whitewashed walls too bright for him. He moved on to a bookshop but lost his bearings. Found himself standing by a row of fashion tomes beneath the airconditioning vent.

Is there anything I can help you with? asked the tattooed young woman striding down from the counter.

He gave a witless smile and shook his head. There was nothing here he could afford. And he’d been there fifteen minutes, he now realized. Not even browsing. Just there. Like a post, an uncurated installation.

*

Late in the afternoon Kai came to the door.

Nan’s got takeaway, said the boy.

Keely didn’t fancy it; he could have done with a break from them, but he didn’t have the heart to knock the kid back.

I’ll be up there in a minute, he said.

Keely washed the salt from his face and looked for a clean shirt. When he got to the door the boy was still there. He wasn’t sure if Kai had something to say to him or if he was simply being escorted. He didn’t want to quiz him. Nothing was said.