Out of Time (13 page)

The action of the police on discovering the body was not particularly helpful to themselves. No photographs were taken of the body or of the car before it was moved, and the car itself was left unwatched by the police for a considerable period.

James laid down the book, turned out the light again and went back to the window. A baby possum that the boy had been feeding occasionally ran along a branch near the window. He was growing big and fat. But a clanging noise from a nearby building frightened him and he hurried further up the tree, with a clatter of leaves and twigs. James noticed that, unlike past days, the possum did not scuttle to his mother when alarmed. James was pleased in a way by the increased independence and maturity of the little creature but disappointed too, as the baby possums were always more tractable
and trusting. Seeing the mother on a branch just below him James called out quietly but firmly to her, ‘Yes, Ma P, you're going to have to let him go. He's too big for you now. He won't be coming by so often.'

Suddenly he realised with a shock that he was hearing his own voice inside his own house. He withdrew his head quickly and hoped that no-one had been listening.

THERE WERE ONLY
two things that he could imagine might be wrong. One was that the parents might have moved, or been moved, from the camp, and he would not be able to find them. The second was that he might not be able to convince them to come with him. He could think of other problems too, but none that should be beyond his competence.

The first problem turned out not to be one at all, though he got the impression that he was just in time. He found the parents sitting at one end of the biggest compound, with their pitiful bags of possessions at their feet. They had the appearance of people about to resume a journey. Rather to his surprise they recognised him and showed pleasure at the sight of him. They evidently remembered him as a digging partner in the excavations back in Freedom Square. They may not have realised that they were digging for the same girl – though James, knowing what he did, had dug with little zeal – but perhaps they sensed that their purpose had been the same.

They were puzzled but willing when James beckoned them away. And they brought their possessions with them when he indicated that they should. They followed him to one of the rough wire fences that formed a boundary of the camp. James had timed his arrival for dusk but the security around the area was now so lax that they could probably have slipped away in daylight. James gestured to the man and the woman that they should follow him across the crude barrier. But this was not so easily managed. The old people showed reluctance, concern. They looked at him questioningly, hands outstretched, palms upwards. James had thought of only one solution to this predictable dilemma and he was not sure that it was going to be good enough to work. He took a stick and began drawing in the dust. First he drew an irregular figure in the approximate shape of the camp. Then he drew a winding road, pointing away to the north as he did so. Finally he drew a building with a large cross on it. He looked up. The two parents were watching him carefully. He reached across to the face of the mother and gently drew on it with his thumb the exact shape of their daughter's scar. At last he had broken through their reserve. They talked to each other excitedly. He could not tell what their decision was likely to be, though he scanned their faces anxiously and tried to pick up the nuances in their conversation. They talked for several minutes. Though James could not know it, they were agreeing that this strange Caucasian boy seemed to be offering them their only chance to find their daughter.
No matter what the dangers of going with him, they could not afford not to go. And why should he wish them any harm anyway? Surely one so young would not go to all this trouble out of malice?

And so at last they turned and looked at James gravely, nodded their heads and gestured to him to lead them. It was now quite dark. It was not clear what would happen to anyone who tried to leave the camp – perhaps nothing – but the three of them exercised great care when getting across the fence. Within ten minutes however they were on a dirt track, hurrying away from the enclosed area. And soon they were on the road that James recognised, the road they had been taken down on their journey from Freedom Square, the road north. Within another ten minutes, James, knowing that they could not walk the entire way and knowing that his time was limited, began trying to thumb a lift. After a short time they were picked up by an empty army truck.

IN HER DREARY
hospital bed the girl shifted restlessly for a moment, before lying back on the pillow and slipping again into the pallid, vapid state that was causing her doctor more concern each day. Her eyes settled on a dead spider that hung in its own web in a corner of the ceiling. The spider, lifeless, moved and lifted at the merest breath of a breeze. The girl felt that if she blinked the spider would dance. She tried it. To her
astonishment the spider bounced and spun. Then she realised that its activity was precipitated not by the flick of her eyelids but by the door to her small room, which had opened quietly. She turned her head slowly, listlessly, and saw a sight she had believed she would never see again. One parent would have made her happy. Two was overwhelming. The shock and joy of the reunion was so violent that afterwards none of the three could remember anything of it. They came gradually to the realisation that they were together, gathered in and around a bed in a makeshift hospital. By the time they thought to look for James again, he was gone.

AFTER JAMES' LAST
use of Mr Woodforde's machine he could not quite remember whether he had actually used it or whether he had merely used his memory and his mind. It was his last night with Ellie. She had asthma all day, and his parents had left her at home with him, telling him to ‘look after her, be careful with her'. His parents had gone to a birthday party for one of the researchers at a restaurant. It wasn't even someone they liked, but it was a party. James was annoyed at them for going, sulky when they actually left. He ignored Ellie for the first half-hour or so, refusing to take his eyes from the TV when she spoke, trying to shut out the noise of her ragged, hungry breathing.

‘What do you want to eat?' he at last asked ungraciously, getting up and taking a couple of steps towards the kitchen.

‘Nothing,' she said.

‘Don't be stupid, you've got to eat something.'

‘Why?'

‘Cos you'll starve if you don't.'

‘I don't want anything.'

‘Well, this is your only chance. I'm going to make myself some tea now, and I'm not making anything later just for you.'

‘OK, don't.' Then she added, as he went to the door, ‘What are you having?'

‘I don't know, I'll see what's there. Probably microwave something. Are there any of those hamburgers left?'

‘Don't think so, unless Mum got some more. I had the last one yesterday.'

She drew back, into and under her doona, as James went out to the kitchen. ‘Stupid asthma,' he thought, ‘I hate it. Half the time she puts it on, anyway.'

At about eight o'clock they had a foul argument over television shows. Ellie wanted to watch ‘Do We Dare?' James wanted to watch ‘Highway 32'.

Ellie was in tears. James was being cold and sarcastic.

‘Go and watch it upstairs if you want to see it that badly,' he said at last.

‘No, you go, why should I go?'

‘ “Do We Dare” is so dumb. Guess it's lucky “Sesame Street” isn't on or you'd want to watch that.'

James prevailed, largely because he had the remote control. Ellie stayed huddled in her doona, sucking her thumb, only half watching the television. Wet tear traces, like snail tracks, marked each cheek. Occasionally
she gave a little sob. Her breathing was worse.

‘Do you want the pump?' he said at last.

‘Yes please.'

‘Can you wait until the next ad?'

‘OK.'

A few minutes later James switched channels to ‘Do We Dare?'. ‘ “Highway 32” is pathetic now, since Johnno left,' he said. He was rewarded by a tiny flash of a smile from Ellie through the mask.

She went to bed at about nine, saying she felt better, although she did not look it.

‘Do you want me to carry you up?' he asked, not sure that he could anyway.

‘Nuh,' she said, ‘I'm too fat and heavy for you.'

‘You're not fat,' he said.

Later, when he went to bed himself he noticed that her light was still on. He hesitated by her door, wondering if he should disturb her or not. She was such a light sleeper. He went on to his own room. He awoke only once during the night, when his parents came home. They sounded drunk, laughing and crashing around. He wrinkled his face in disgust, rolled over and went to sleep.

In the morning James came down to breakfast very late. It was the third day of the school holidays. His grandmother was there. No-one else seemed to be around.

‘Hurry up,' she said. ‘I've been waiting for you. You're coming to stay with us. Get a few things from your room, and I'll wait for you in the car.'

There was nothing unusual in this, as he always
stayed with them for part of the holidays, and often at short notice. He did as she directed. But he soon realised that this time it was different. No-one seemed to want to speak to him. He stayed there a few days, a week, a fortnight. Then, just before it was time to go back to school, his grandmother told him that Ellie had died ‘two weeks ago, the night you were supposed to look after her.' On the day that school started he found his uniform had mysteriously appeared and was hung on the chair in the room he was staying in. He put it on and was driven to school. This became routine. The weeks became months, and still he was staying at his grandparents'. And still they hardly spoke to him. He had not seen his parents since the night they went to the party, though day and night he longed for them, with an awful deep longing. He longed for their touch. But he dared not ask anyone about them. The kids and teachers at school seemed to be colder too, to be withdrawing. Then James became ill. He had acute peritonitis. He lay in a hospital bed, hoping he would die. One day, after the crisis had passed, he opened his eyes and saw what he had been praying for months to see. His parents were standing by the side of the bed. He closed his eyes and turned away from them. They made many efforts to get him to turn back again, to open his eyes, to speak to them. After a while they gave up and went away. When he was discharged from hospital it was to his parents' place that he was taken, but he did not speak to them or to anybody.

Time passed.

*

JAMES PRESSED THE
Return button. Or did he? Had he really been there with Ellie again? Had he really heard her wheezing giggle when she told him she was too fat? Had he only imagined her darting grateful smile when he told her she wasn't? Had he imagined standing at her door, the door that he had been afraid to open ever since that night and was still afraid to open? Was it terrible, the knowledge behind that door?

HIS PARENTS WERE
sitting at the kitchen table, talking in low voices, when James walked in. They ceased their conversation and looked at him in some surprise, coffee mugs halfway to their mouths. James said, clearly and calmly, ‘Do you think it's my fault Ellie died?' There was a long silence. James did not drop his eyes. At last his father put down his coffee mug on the table with a little clicking noise. There was another pause. Then he said slowly and carefully, ‘No. . . No. . . I don't think that. We never thought that. We just messed it all up. We were so mad with it all, I guess we messed everything up.' His mother said, ‘We couldn't think straight. By the time we started to function again, the damage was done.' James sat down on the chair at the end of the table.

*

JAMES TURNED THE
machine on and began keying in the new coordinates. But the machine felt cold and dead. He glanced at the battery indicator and saw with shock that the needle had hardly moved. He flicked the switch on and off several times. Each time the needle gave only a tremble. The last time it seemed not to move at all.

He prised open the cover of the little battery compartment and pulled out the battery. Bright, bright silver, it was like no other power source he had ever seen. It was tiny; the size of a gambling die. And the shape of one. But it was surprisingly heavy, weighing more than all the rest of the machine. James sat and stared at it for several minutes, as it rested in the palm of his hand. Then he made his decision. He ran downstairs, through the front door and across the square to the Technicians' Store. A tall young man, fair-haired, with a drooping moustache, was standing behind the counter. An array of parts was spread in front of him. James had seen the young man many times. He deposited the tiny battery on the counter.

The man looked at it casually, looked at James, looked at it again, then picked it up. Suddenly his whole expression changed. He was astonished. He seemed almost frightened. He stared at James. ‘Where did you get this?' he said. ‘Where'd you get this? This isn't possible. How could you have one of these?' He turned it over and over, shaking his head. ‘Someone said the other night that you probably see more of what goes on around here than anyone. I'm starting to
believe it.‘ He bent towards James. ‘Where did you get it? Why did you bring it to me?'

‘I want you to recharge it,' James said. His voice sounded perfectly normal, steady and well-modulated. The man showed astonishment a second time.

‘I'll be,' he muttered. Talkative little fellow aren't you? Look,' he said, ‘you don't recharge them. They're not like a battery. But on the other hand, you can't run them out either. Well, not that anyone's been able to so far. If you've been running your torch off it, then I guarantee you a few millennia of bright light yet. Matter of fact, you could keep this base lit up for way past your lifetime, just on one of these little beauties.'