Tim Winton - Eyrie

Gemma dished up takeaway Chinese. Kai shoved a disc into the DVD player. They watched Shrek do his thing for the umpteenth time. No one said much. Gemma seemed faded. She bore an air of regret, of unspoken apology. Kai had eyes only for the green ogre and his mad japes; he loved everything about this movie except the musical routines, which bored him. Keely’s mind kept returning to the boy’s most recent drawings. Perhaps he’d seen these body outlines on a cop show. They bothered him. He should mention them to Gemma. Though maybe not tonight.

He’s not happy, she said later, quietly at the sink.

It was a rough day, he murmured.

Will you stay with him? Just till he’s asleep?

He nodded. Of course.

When you weren’t here it didn’t matter. Now you are — well, look at us.

He shrugged. It was hard to know what she meant.

Sometimes I wish she wasn’t born.

Keely set a sudsy plate on the draining board without comment.

Her father was a shithead. I wish none of it happened.

Then you wouldn’t have Kai, he said gently.

She nodded absently, blotting the plate with a towel.

Gemma?

I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.

He woke.

Gemma’s. The couch. The boy standing over him.

Oh, he croaked. What’s the matter? What time is it?

Four and twelve, said Kai. The boy’s face was pale in the yellow light spilling up from the wharves.

You alright?

I have a question.

Ah, he said, cranking himself slowly onto an elbow. Right. Okay. Hang on a sec, just let me wake up a bit.

What’s it like, getting old?

Keely hauled himself more or less upright on the couch, let his head fall back a moment to catch up with where he was. The bedroom light was on. Gemma was still at work.

Did you have a dream?

The boy said nothing. He was bare-chested in his shorty pyjamas. His breath was bitter, his eyes wide in the gloom.

Tom?

Kai, it’s the middle of the night.

Are you awake?

Well, I guess I am now, he said. Have you had a fright?

Can you tell me?

Getting old? Is that the question? Keely’s back was stiff. He wondered how long the kid had been awake.

It’s just, I don’t know what it’s like, said the boy.

Mate, I don’t know what to tell you.

But you’re old.

Well. Older than you. And yeah, right now I feel pretty old, that’s the truth.

Can you say?

What it’s like, you mean? What it feels like? Keely scratched his stubble, kneaded his cheeks a moment. The thing is, he said. Thing is, you hardly notice. It happens so slowly. You look different in the mirror, but inside you feel pretty much the same. You’re just a kid with an old man’s body, that’s how it feels. Same for everyone, I guess.

The boy shook his head.

I try and see it. But I can’t.

Well, I spose it takes a lot of imagination.

I have a lot of imagination. Mrs Crumb said. Father Crean said.

That’s good. That’s a big compliment. You want to sit here a moment? he said, patting the cushion.

But it’s not there , said the boy, ignoring him. Still standing. Looking past him.

Sorry? What’s not there?

Old.

Keely peered into the boy’s face.

Kai?

It won’t happen to me.

Getting old? Happens to all of us, mate.

No, he said sadly. Not me.

Keely reached for the boy’s arm but Kai eluded him.

Kai, listen. You don’t have to worry about things like that.

Are you like your dad?

Mate, what’s bothering you?

Keely struggled to his feet and the boy made room for him. At the sink he found a glass and filled it with water. He drank it off and filled it again.

I’m not like my dad, said Kai, resting his chin on the counter between them.

My dad’s dead, said Keely.

I know. But maybe you’re like him. When he was alive.

And what makes you say that?

Nan said.

Well, said Keely. I’d like to be. But I don’t think I am. Sadly. I’m older than him, now. Isn’t that weird. Listen, what did she tell you?

Are you going to be my dad then?

She said that?

Kai shook his head.

Oh. Well, no. You already have a dad.

Yes.

But I’m your mate, okay?

Okay.

Really. I’m your friend. You can tell me anything.

Kai considered this.

I know things, the boy said, spreading his hands across the laminated counter.

I believe you.

He saved people.

Who?

Nan said.

Who saved people?

Your dad.

At this, Keely felt a peculiar flush of grief. Hotter, fresher, harder than he’d felt for years.

Is it true?

Well, if your nan says.

But sometimes she says stuff. To be nice. He’s not just a story?

Keely set the glass down and looked at Kai’s hands. He felt ensnared.

Listen, why don’t we go in and lie down, eh?

Is it true? Like, he saved people? They called out in the night and he came?

Well, yeah. I guess.

There’s this bad dad, said Kai. It’s dark in the street. He’s real mean, he does all the baddest things. And the kids are crying. They hide in the toilet. Run in the shed. They go in the garden, and call out for help. But no one comes cause they’re scared of him. Nobody ’cept your dad.

Well, yeah. I think that’s true.

And he saves them.

He tries.

He fights him, said the boy, warmed to his own telling. He saves the kids. He’s big and he’s got a motorbike. And big hands.

Let’s talk about it in there, Keely said, pointing to the bedroom.

He’s real big, said the boy, allowing himself to be steered. Like a ogre. Like Shrek.

Maybe, said Keely, thinking on it. Maybe a little bit.

He got the boy into bed. The easterly was moaning in the balustrades and window sashes already. The sheets were cool. They smelt of woman and child. Kai’s hair fanned back against his pillow. He steepled his fingers on his pale chest.

I wish he wasn’t dead.

Yeah, said Keely, lying back on Gemma’s pillow. Me too.

He would come. He would save me.

Keely searched the kid’s face.

This nightmare. I think it’s really bothering you.

The people aren’t bad, Kai said quietly. There’s eyes and no faces. But they aren’t bad.

So there’s no one hurting you?

No. The hurting gets smaller. It’s kind of sad. Like… Like everything goes away, turning off. But I don’t want it to. Everything goes off like the end of the day.

Like going to sleep?

He shrugged.

And can you see yourself?

Sometimes I’m smaller. I can see from here.

And that’s what you draw?

The boy yawned.

Kai, have you told your nan about this dream?

The boy wheezed a little.

Kai?

He didn’t get very old either. Your dad.

You’ll get old, mate.

And a beard, said the boy sleepily. And big hands.

There was a long silence, as if Kai were picturing the big man of legend and savouring some detail before offering it up. Keely felt the little hand on his arm, the moment’s panic, and then the boy was off, overtaken by fatigue.

*

They were still there, side by side, the boy asleep, the man awake, when Gemma’s key scratched into the lock at dawn.

At midday the hot streets were crammed and the Strip was a freakshow. He angled his way off the main drag but even Bub’s was full. The place reeked of bacon, coffee, garlic, but beneath that comely fug were the contesting deodorants, unguents and perfumes of Sunday.

Gawd, he muttered at the door. Spare me days.

By the looks of you, said Bub, bussing his own tables, it’s breakfast rather than lunch.

Keely nodded bleakly and looked about for somewhere to settle but there was nothing.