Black Water (20 page)

Souki had said virtually nothing about the sinking of the boat, or why she was on it, and all she’d told him and Danny about her family was that she lived with her mum, her dad had died from snake bite, and she helped out during mutton-bird season. What she did make obvious was that she trusted Danny far more than anyone else in Queenscliff, and as soon as she’d had a bath
and another breakfast at the pub, and had spoken to Constable Decker, she’d asked Maggie to take her back to the island and leave her there.

It was bloody mad, Farren thought; first Danny wouldn’t cross the bridge, now this kid Souki wouldn’t, either. Swan Island was turning into a hideout for hermits of all sorts and sizes. The sound of the school bell, a brassy clanging from inside the school house, reached him, and in seconds a stream of kids fled out the door like so many rowdy sparks. Nerrie Turner and Robbie, he saw, brought up the rear, not talking but keeping company all the same. Nerrie waved, heading for the gate.

‘I’ll see you, Farren! Bye!’

Farren returned the wave, glancing after her as she went off down the puddled track.

‘She’s a good girl,’ he said, as Robbie arrived. ‘Ain’t she?’

Robbie vaulted the fence and landed with a thump. Farren saw he had new boots on, snake-shiny.

‘She’s even better than good.’ Robbie watched her disappear around the bend in the track before turning his attention to Farren. ‘But anyway, I hear Danny went out fishin’ last night, and caught himself a wee mermaid.’

Farren wished he’d been with Danny; not so much to share in the praise for the rescue, but to see how he’d managed to actually carry it out.

‘Yeah, and I don’t know how. But he did.’ He and Robbie headed for the path. ‘She’s a good kid, too. Tough as anything. So old Derri’d be lookin’ after you orright, wouldn’t he? After what we done for Isla.’

Robbie skirted a puddle and leapt another.

‘Yeah, but he’s shootin’ through in a couple of weeks, so that’s that.’ Robbie sent his hands sliding down deep into his pockets. ‘Does his basic training at Broadie then he’ll be off – if the War’s still firin’, that is. Which it will be. Although everyone round here reckons it’ll be all done and dusted in six months flat.’

Farren had seen the casualty lists in the newspapers. Danny’s name would’ve been there once in the column for the wounded, although he’d never looked for it, and didn’t want to. The boys turned up Garderon Street, the baker’s black and white horse, Shep, standing patiently at the corner.

‘How’s your mum goin’?’ Farren asked, wanting really to let Robbie know that he hadn’t forgotten about his dad, but not knowing how to go about it. ‘She orright?’

‘Yeah, scraping along.’ Robbie stopped at his gate and stood idly flattening the soft green thorns of the climbing rose. ‘Danny hasn’t come up with any more of those coins yet? They could come in pretty handy for you fellers.’

Farren had hardly thought about the coins in the past few weeks, although once or twice he’d wondered if Danny might’ve got them from overseas, and simply forgotten.

‘Nah, he ain’t. And anyway, since we’ve got the kid to look after, I doubt he’ll have much time to go lookin’. She sticks to him like glue.’

‘She can help.’ Robbie grinned and roughly pushed the rose back over the fence. ‘So how’s she going to get home? Doesn’t she come from bloody Bass Strait or somewhere?’

Farren saw Robbie’s mother looking out the window and waved.

‘Yeah, she does. I s’pose some boat’ll turn up in the end, but not many go there. Not from this side, anyhow.’

Robbie pushed in through the gate.

‘You and me could take her, ’Roon. On the
Camille
. Just sail out through the Heads and turn left. So ya comin’ in for a cuppa tea or what? I’d give yer rum or beer but unfortunately some dirty thieving bastards drank it.’

Mrs Price made tea and put a plate of buttered Arrowroot biscuits on the kitchen table. Farren could smell the rich odour of meat roasting. He heard it spit in the oven and felt hunger twist.

‘Julian’s been a wonderful teacher,’ Mrs Price said, overhearing Robbie talking about his replacement, a Mr Clement Grolsch, from Hamilton. ‘We shall miss him dearly.’ She put a hand, heavily banded with rings, on the table. ‘I only hope that he and all the other men manage to get home safely.’

Farren could see Mrs Price was getting worked up. Her chest rose and fell as if she had a fever.

‘Not as much as Isla does.’ Robbie held a biscuit in front of his mouth as if it was bait for a trap. ‘So who’s gunna do the wash-house work at the pub, Farry? Now that Isla can’t. And Charlotte won’t. And you weren’t asked.’

‘I dunno.’ Farren took another biscuit, knowing that he probably shouldn’t, since he’d had four. ‘Johnny asked me if Danny might, but his arm’s not right, and he forgets stuff. He might burn the joint down.’ Which was not the entire story, but good enough for the time being.

Mrs Price, holding a small brass watering can, went to the doorway between the kitchen and the hall.

‘So he’s not going to take up his sail-making position with Henk Smackmann again? I know the Smackmanns hope he will
come back. Even just to visit the loft.’

‘He won’t cross the bridge.’ Farren surprised himself; he’d decided not to tell anybody else this, but now that he had, it didn’t seem so unusual – or not in the Price’s house, which was pretty unusual already. ‘He says he doesn’t want to go into town or talk to anybody. But I s’pose one day he might go back to the sails. You know, if he comes right. He was good at it.’ Farren heard a blackbird out in the garden, its song fluttering across the silence that had descended in the kitchen.

‘Yes, I can understand that.’ Mrs Price spoke as if each word was put forward to reduce Farren’s pain. ‘Please give him my kindest regards. And I shall send some food home with you as I believe you now have a little visitor. A child from the wreck. Danny is an absolute marvel.’

Already Farren thought of Souki with great fondness. That she had put her trust fairly and squarely in Danny, and himself to a point, made him feel important and doubly responsible.

‘Yeah, she’s a good kid,’ he said, recovered. ‘She was in the water for a while and it ain’t warm. Danny reckons she’s part penguin.’ Farren slid another biscuit off the plate. The smell of the roasting meat was too much for him; he had to eat. ‘I hope she don’t have to go look at the bodies they got back,’ he added, unable not to say this. ‘Because that’d be shockin’. She’s only nine.’

Mrs Price nodded, as if in time to some distant, slow, sad music.

‘Yes, perhaps they’ll just get her to give names and descriptions or something. Hopefully she won’t have to go through the whole process.’

Farren hoped so, too. Even the stuff that was owned by people
who’d died was bad enough, let alone the dead people themselves. Two or three times he’d been tempted to take his father’s oilskin coat and burn it or throw it in the sea. It was like a ghost that lived in the shed. More than once it had scared the hell out of him in the dark. He avoided the place at night.

‘And there’s really no other choice but to bury the men here,’ Mrs Price said. ‘Such a long way away from their homes. How sad. How unutterably sad.’

‘C’mon, Farry.’ Robbie pushed the plate and the last biscuit towards him. ‘Eat up and we’ll go outside. I’m sure somethin’s happening that we need to know about.’

Farren and Robbie sat on the wharf, legs dangling, watching the home-coming couta boats, their sails spread out like scraps shaken from a sewing basket.

‘So old Derri’s goin’ this week,’ Farren said. ‘The War’s gunna be in Europe, too, soon. Or so Dan reckons.’ In the estuary he could see the
Camille
at her mooring, canvas-covered like a resting racehorse.

Robbie took two cigarettes from his shirt pocket and gave one to Farren.

‘Yeah. Might be.’ He lit up, holding the match out in cupped hands. ‘And it’ll be nasty. And big. But you know what, Farry?’ Robbie let the question hang. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yeah?’ Farren was busily engaged in dropping splinters from the timber into water, losing sight of them as they slipped away, like tiny boats embarked on an endless voyage. ‘What?’

‘I reckon Danny’ll come good.’ Robbie flicked cigarette ash. ‘He just has to re-learn stuff. You know, the other day I saw him
get something out of his pocket with his left hand and I haven’t seen him do that since he got home.’

‘I hope so.’ Farren would not allow himself to be too hopeful. He looked out into the bay, watching the fishing boats dotted on the water. ‘Sometimes you get hit in the head,’ he added, ‘and it’s like the damage’s done forever. Danny’s different now. Maybe he can’t be the same as he was. Maybe he doesn’t want to be.’

Robbie looked towards the railway station. There was no train but people were coming onto the platform to wait.

‘Yeah, true, but he’ll get through it, Farry. One way or another. Uh-oh, here’s trouble. It’s
big
Joe.’

Farren saw Joe Clouty coming up the wharf like a satisfied general inspecting his front line.

‘Shouldn’t be smokin’, boys,’ he said, stopping next to a pile of stinking fish boxes and a timber bollard stained white with seagull droppings. ‘Stunt ya growth.’

‘Tell me dad.’ Robbie took a drag and blew out smoke.

Farren considered saying the same thing but didn’t. He didn’t put the cigarette out, either.

‘Ya boat, Farren,’ Joe said. ‘More to the point. The one yers don’t sail. Well, what with a few of these newer, quicker boats around, its value ain’t about to go up as time goes by, is it? You ought’a talk to Danny about it.’ Joe bobbed his head, as if Danny was standing somewhere behind Farren. ‘I’ll give yer a good few quid for her, you know I will. So, as I said, come’n see me.’

‘She’s still fast enough.’ Farren knew the
Camille
had always done well in the races home, or out to the couta grounds. ‘She’d do any of your shitheaps,’ he added recklessly, because his dad couldn’t speak for his boat, and someone had to.

Joe looked at the boys as if each presented him with a set of different problems. Then he smiled broadly, the first time Farren had seen him smile like that since Johnny turned on free beer at the pub for Christmas.

‘Faster than
any
of mine?’ Joe appeared to savour this development. ‘Well, I’ll bloody wager ya that it’s not. But we’ll never know, will we? Because it’ll rot out and sink before you’n yer brother ever get it back out of this river.’

Farren was aware of something inside himself that was stronger and more stable than anger. He had gone through a lot – he didn’t have to take this. He was no kid. He was no idiot. Neither was Danny. Danny was a returned soldier, a hero, a sailmaker, and a mighty bloke.

‘Bullshit,’ Farren said. ‘When Danny’s right you’ll see how we go.’ He looked straight at Joe, a dark block of a man with the sun at his back. ‘The
Camille
’s still fast. Faster than any of your boats, anyhow.’

‘And I’d back ’em to beat ya anytime,’ Robbie added, Farren feeling his friend’s voice as much as he heard the words. ‘Because I gotta few quid and we’re all sportsmen here.’

Joe scattered seagulls with a booming laugh.

‘Sports
men
?’ He said the word as if Robbie had declared himself and Farren as gentlemen, princes, or millionaires. ‘You kids aren’t bloody
sportsmen
, you’re bloody
boys
. But if youse could ever get someone
old
enough to make a bet and skipper the bloody thing, then it might be a different story.’ Joe turned his attention to Farren. ‘Your brother
used
to drink at the Vic. Why doncha send him over to have a chat? He used to be a pretty decent feller until he started shootin’ people’s dogs.’ Joe turned and walked off.

Robbie watched him go, sighting on his back with his cigarette.

‘Bang, you fat old bastard.’ Robbie gave Farren a grin, a backhand knuckle punch, and a lazy thumbs-up. ‘Good on yer, ’Roon. You stuck it to him, mate. I’m proud of ya. Best on ground by a bloody mile.’

‘Did you mean it about that bet?’ Farren’s heart was beating hard but his voice was steady.

‘Of course.’ Robbie shrugged, shoulders jutting in a school shirt that was too tight by a mile. ‘You race, I’ll bet. He gets on my bloody nerves, that bloke. He reckons everything’s black and white and bloody tied up with string. He ought’a wake up to himself.’

Farren could see clearly that Robbie wasn’t joking, nor was he a kid any more. He knew too much about people, the War, and the world, to be pushed around.

‘Blokes like him have to be told.’ Robbie’s eyes were narrow and unflinching. He drew hard on his cigarette. ‘That not every thing’s gunna go their way. Which is where you come in, Farry. And Danny. And your boat.’

Farren was impressed with Souki’s house-cleaning abilities. She and Danny were like a pair of scrub-happy housewives, taking on tasks as odd as soaping down the back step, or making a cupboard for the watering can. Inside, the beds were made and Souki, who had taken over the washing, went through so much yellow Sunlight soap and scrubbed at things so hard, Farren had to tell her to calm down.

‘You’ll wear yer mitts out for one thing,’ he said, coming in from work, seeing her at the trough going hammer and tongs. ‘And me shirt for another.’

‘Bloody won’t.’ Souki ground the collar between small brown fists. ‘Me mum says you gotta be clean. And you blokes aren’t very.’

Danny smiled around his cigarette, eyes crinkled against the smoke as he made toast at the firebox.

‘Geez, fair go, Souk. Cut us a bit of slack, can’t yer?’

Farren sat down, wondering why Danny wouldn’t speak to anyone in town but got on with Souki like a house on fire. Yesterday,
coming over the bridge, he’d seen the two of them sitting and talking on one of the grey little beaches, Souki’s hair as bright as a daisy, Danny’s old slouch hat the colour of dried gumleaves. Or maybe they weren’t talking. Maybe they were just watching the waterbirds or the boats.

What Farren did know was that before, during, and after the funerals of the three men from her island, Souki had spent days in virtual silence – but now, more than a week on, she seemed to have recovered. Or at least she’d got over the shock of it all, as Maggie had said. He’d also heard an official police letter had been sent to her home, which might take weeks to arrive, depending on the weather and shipping.