Huia Short Stories 10 (14 page)

Joy Ride

Toni Pivac

‘Oi, Hemi!' The little boy whispered loudly, grubby hands cupped around his mouth. He stood at the corner of the house, leaning out to get his brother's attention. Hemi looked around at the younger boy, scowling at the interruption.

‘Yeah, what?' he asked, indifferently. He was busy.

‘Ea! Come here,' said Whata, gesturing to Hemi.

‘Nah, ow, you come here,' replied Hemi, turning away from him. Back to his cousins.

‘Aw,' said Whata, frowning. He stomped over, kicking an empty bottle on the way.

‘Hemi, ow,' he said, punching him on the shoulder. ‘Uncle's packing up the ute. Think he's going round the corner to drop off Aunty's cakes. Let's hop on the back and go for a ride!' He was trying his best to hide his excitement. It wasn't working.

‘Yeah, nah. I'm staying here, little bro,' Hemi said. ‘And don't get on that ute, Mum'll be pissed,' he added as an afterthought. He ruffled his little brother's hair until it stuck out like a kina. Whata frowned again and pushed Hemi's arm away. ‘Go find Lot Lot and Jayden, they were gonna hunt down Nan's fry bread,' Hemi suggested.

‘Nah, I'm not even hungry,' Whata said, looking down at his feet and drawing a line in the dust with the toe of his Nike. He thought the ground looked thirsty.

‘Well, all good then, but don't get on that ute, K?' said Hemi. ‘Hey, Steph, what's that song you were singing before, eh?' he called to the cousin leaning against the shed.

Whata huffed and sulked away, sitting heavily on the grass under the peach tree. The lawn needed a mow. No one ever mowed it any more, he thought, pulling at the blades that were tickling the exposed skin at his ankles. He hadn't been able to find any socks this morning and his pants didn't come all the way down. He yanked at some daisies that were speckling the grass, plucking them out at the base. He made a bunch and tied them together with a clover's stem. Maybe Mum'd like them, he thought. Mum liked flowers lately; there were always heaps of them in their house now. And visitors – but Whata didn't really pay them much attention. None of them ever wanted to play with him. He guessed they were all just too old and boring.

Speaking of which, Whata was bored. All of his cousins were either way older than him, or were girls. And girls didn't like adventures. Or cars. Not like him. Whata liked adventures
and
cars. And adventures
in
cars. Maybe even adventures
on
cars. His mind curled back around to his plan of climbing on to Uncle Dave's ute. No one seemed to notice that he was even here. He doubted anyone would notice him gone. And man would it be funny to see the look on everyone's faces when he popped up out of the back when Uncle pulled back into the driveway! He stood up, casually, shoving the bunch of flowers into his pockets, along with his hands. He shuffled his feet, trying to look innocent. Not that anyone was looking. He walked around the side of the house and was suddenly and effectively out of sight. He looked around a couple of times for good measure and then clambered on board.

The back of the ute was dirty. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a while. Whata didn't care though; dirt didn't matter. It could always be washed away. He lay down on his back, looking up at the sky. It was blue. A really nice blue. Kind of brighter than the normal blue of the sky. He thought it'd be a good colour to paint his bedroom.

Time ticked slowly away.

It was getting hot on the back of the ute, even though it was late in the afternoon. The cicadas were getting really noisy too, and it sounded like there was one hiding in the back of the ute with him, but he couldn't see it. He could hear voices in the house and round the back, but he couldn't hear what anyone was saying. Bloody cicada was too loud.

‘Yeah, catch yous up later, eh?' called Uncle, shouting around the back of the house as he came out the front door. Whata jerked, kicking the side of the trailer. He held his breath, waiting for his Uncle to come and investigate and discover him, which would ruin the plan. But he didn't come.

Whata heard him move past and climb into the cab, slamming the door behind him and starting up the engine with a rumble. The cicada finally shut up, and Whata could hear his uncle flicking through the radio stations. He must have found something he liked, because the surfing stopped and Whata heard the ute crunch into gear. With a jolt, they moved off, and Whata watched the weathered old oak bend overhead as they turned onto the road.

It took maybe three minutes to get to Aunty's place. She only lived around the corner, in a little yellow house. One time, Hemi and Whata had had a running race to Aunty's house – it was that close. Hemi had won, but only just, and only because he was all grown up and Whata was still only eight. Hemi's legs looked like his dad's legs. Big and strong and muscly. And that's what made him go so fast. Whata's legs were still spindly sticks, and he thought they looked like daddy-long-legs legs, too skinny to be any good. He wondered when they would have another race, because he'd been practising at school and was sure he was way faster now. He could beat
all
of the girls, and
most
of the boys. But Hemi didn't like playing with him so much these days; he was always so busy. Mum was busy too. How long did it take to move into a new house, anyway? They still had boxes sitting in the garage and they'd been here for a month.

Whata lay back, pondering, looking up into the cloudless sky. Yellows and oranges leached out from the sun, warming him. The ute growled underneath him, making his feet vibrate. It tickled, and he scrubbed them quickly back and forth to ease the sensation. They went over a speed bump and Whata's head bounced up and then down again, hard, making him groan and rub the tender spot on the back of his head. Any second now and they'd slow down and turn. He couldn't hear the indicator though. It always clicked really loudly and far too quickly, but at the moment it stayed silent. Uncle wasn't slowing down, either. In fact, Whata thought to himself, it felt like he was going faster. He gently pulled himself up and peered over the rim of the trailer. Aunty's house was fading into the distance.
Oh crap.

Whata lay back down, his heart thumping fast, like a baby bird's. He could hear it in his ears, and it felt like it was going to pop out of his chest.
Oh man, I'm in trouble
, he thought to himself. Hemi was right: Mum
will
be pissed. He could hear more traffic now, and his panic heightened. Looking up over his right shoulder, Whata could see upside-down traffic lights, lit up a glaring red.
Click, click, click, click, click.
The too-fast indicators were racing. He ventured another look up over the edge, and saw the motorway. Uncle Dave was heading onto the motorway. Maybe he should bang on the window, let Uncle know that he was back here. But then he'd be in big trouble. Uncle would give him a thump on the arse for sure. And an earful. And that would be nothing on what Mum would do.

The ute grumbled, surging forward, making Whata roll onto his side and slam into the dusty wall. It was too late now. He'd just have to stay still and handle the jandal. He could hear the ute labouring faster and faster. He'd seen the ads on TV, so he crossed his fingers that Uncle Dave wouldn't speed and they wouldn't crash and he wouldn't go flying out of the back and onto the road. There were no seat belts back here. Maybe it was time to close his eyes. He squeezed them tight until all he could see was darkness. And then he closed them tighter until he could see squiggly patterns roll across the blackness. Whata was scared. He wished Hemi had come with him. Or at least looked for him when he disappeared in the first place, during the long time it had taken Uncle Dave to get to the car. His brother wasn't gonna be very happy with him either; he'd probably think Whata was a stupid little kid. He hoped Hemi wouldn't tell his dad about it.

Rolling on, with the whine of the wind in his ears, Whata took a peek with one eye. Then the other popped wide too. Street lights were flickering by, lining the way like soldiers.

Just like Whata's dad. Whata's dad was a soldier. A soldier in the army. That's why he was always gone. He had to go away to a country that was famous for its bickies. What type of bickies were they again? Whata was always forgetting. Oh yeah, afghans. His dad fought bad guys in the place where afghan bickies were invented. Whata hoped that when his dad next came back from afghan country, he'd bring back some real, authentic afghan bickies for him. He'd asked his mum if she thought he might be able to. She'd looked a little confused, Whata thought, and told him she'd get him one from Brighton's Bakery on the corner the next day.

Beneath him, Uncle Dave switched lanes. The indicator whirred again, like an angry wasp stuck in a jar, and the tyres did the double
whump-whump, whump-whump
as they drove over the little road bumps. Whata curled his legs up. It was beginning to get cooler. He wished he had his hoody on. The one that Dad had given him, with the yellow zip down the front, would be perfect. It had big pockets that he could keep his hands warm in.

Whata decided he could risk another peek out, just to see where they were. The view had changed from dirty, crowded city to rolling country. They must be going south. There were green paddocks that looked like they were made of waves of earth, halted in their progression towards the sea and frozen forever. They were criss-crossed with fences and peppered with sheep. Whata looked at the hills and thought the sheep looked like sesame seeds. He smiled at the idea of sesame sheep. His dad used to get them two-dollar hamburgers from the takeaway shop sometimes, and the buns always had sesame seeds on them. Whata would pick them off the top and pop them between his teeth, imagining them exploding like mini grenades in his mouth. He wondered whether his dad had used many grenades this week. There were heaps of bad guys in wars, and surely grenades were the best way to kill them off.

Whata couldn't remember when he had last seen his dad. He could remember what they had done together, but not exactly
when
it was. It felt like ages ago. But maybe it hadn't really been that long. He missed his dad, but he knew he'd be back again soon. Mum hadn't been talking about him much lately, so maybe she was planning a surprise welcome home party. Maybe that's why her and Hemi were always busy thinking about other stuff. Stuff other than Whata.
That must be it
, he thought. And that's why they were always spending so much time with the rest of Mum's family. Whata had thought it was because everyone had missed them so much, because they had lived so far away for so long. Or maybe he just needed to pay closer attention to things, Whata thought to himself. Whata was always getting in trouble for being a daydreamer.

‘Always in your own world, you are, boy,' his mum would say to him in her exasperated voice. Her what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you? voice. ‘Away with the fairies,' she'd sigh, shaking her head.

Whata didn't think that it was a bad thing at all, though. In fact, he thought it was a cool thing. Isn't that what they're always telling you at school? Dream big and you can be whatever you like? And Whata knew exactly what he wanted to be. A hero, like his dad. A
war
hero who travels to faraway lands where they discover delicious biscuits.

Whata dozed a little. They'd been driving for so long he felt like it was too late to thump on the window and let Uncle know he was back here. Might as well hold out until the end, 'cause it probably couldn't get much worse. He would be in deep,
deep
trouble by now.

Finally, Whata heard the rushing indicator again. He saw the orange flash of its lights. He felt the ute begin to slow down and then turn. He looked out and saw the mountain, seasoned with the tiny standing stones. Whata recognised the burial ground immediately. He wondered why Uncle had come here.

The ute's motor was cut as abruptly as it had started, and Whata's ears rang in the sudden near silence. He hadn't realised how loud the engine's roaring had been until it was gone. Amid the buzzing in his ears he heard his Uncle pull the key out of the ignition and open the door.
Crunch, crunch
came his uncle's boot steps on the gravel shoulder. He slammed the door behind himself, and Whata slouched down as low as he could, tensing in suspense, dreading his impending discovery.

But his uncle moved around the front of the vehicle and opened the other door, which groaned in protest. Whata let out an almost groan too – not quite of relief, but one that meant he was grateful for the extra time. He realised he hadn't come up with any excuses for being back here.

He heard Uncle begin to walk away, the sound of his feet tapering as he got further from the ute. He sat up to spy on him. He was carrying something in his hands. Whata couldn't quite tell what it was in the dim light. It might have been a spade. He tilted his head to the side, wondering what Uncle would need a spade here for. There weren't any gardens to be dug up. Only big, flat stones with writing on them.

Behind him, another car rolled up. Two. Three. More of his uncles were arriving, and they too were carrying things. That's weird, thought Whata, as they followed Uncle Dave onto the mountain. The last one turned and spotted Whata crouched in the grubby tray of the ute. His eyes betrayed his surprise, and then showed another emotion that Whata couldn't quite pick. Whata bent lower, shyly meeting his eyes, waiting for his punishment to come. But it didn't. Instead, his uncle smiled at him sadly – how could a smile look so sad? Whata wondered absentmindedly – and began to walk to the ute. Once he reached it, Whata moved away from the edge, still waiting for a grilling, but his uncle held out his hand.

‘Come on, little big man,' he said softly. That was Dad's nickname for him.

Whata looked up at the big, lonely hill behind his uncle. All of a sudden, he wanted to be back on the road. Lying back on the dusty metal of the ute, watching the sky whizz above him. He wanted to be worrying about getting in trouble and how hard the smack on his bum was gonna be. But now he had to get out of the ute, and there was something not right about that. Something not normal and not good. Whata whimpered.