Wrath (23 page)

“Couldn't have lasted without you, mate,” I say. He doesn't answer, but I feel his body tremble, and I walk away quickly. No time to brood though; it's straight over to class for the last time. What a day of goodbyes.

We're pretty good with our meditating now. If ever there's a good drug, meditation must be it. We're all hooked. I don't just sit there counting now. I start that way to slow my thoughts down, and then I just let my thoughts pass. After a while, everything's calm. Mr P says to stay with whatever feeling comes up—even if it's a bad feeling, like being agitated; just acknowledge it and feel agitated. Don't think about what's making you that way—just stay with the feeling till it passes.

Most often the feeling that comes up in me is sadness. When I used to think about what I did, about Mum and Ray, I'd feel so many thoughts all clattering and banging into each other—guilt, self-loathing, fear, horror, disgust—but now all that's left is sadness, a sadness that I think will be with me forever, but I accept it. Today, though, my mind is full of Archie, and I feel happy, so happy for him. I sit and feel that happiness, and I can't help but smile.

There's only a little group of us doing our exams. The other boys are lying around on the couches or in their rooms, but they join us to wish Mr P a good holiday and to thank him for all he's done for us.

Jason stands up, grinning with embarrassment. “We'd just like to thank you, Mr P, for working with us all this time. We've bought you something to remember us by.” He hands Mr P a parcel. I have no idea what it is. I'm not included. All I've done is written him a letter thanking him for all he's done for me. I step forward and put the letter on top of the parcel.

Mr P stands there, a big smile on his face. He scratches the back of his neck and hitches up those awful pants he wears. “Thank you, boys. It's been a privilege and a pleasure.”

“Open your present, sir,” urges Norbert. The other boys laugh.

“Okay, okay.” Mr P rips open the package, and out fall a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

“Time to get a bit groovy, sir. Hope they fit.”

“He won't notice if they don't!” We all laugh, including Mr P, because we all know it's true.

“Well, I've got a little something for each of you; nothing much—nothing as flash as your present to me.” He hands us each a parcel, and I can tell mine's a book. Bet it's another Buddhist one! I rip the paper open and look at the back. Yep. On the back cover, it says something about someone called Milarepa, who lived over a thousand years ago. He'd caused the deaths of 35 people, but he changed his life around through meditation and became one of the great heroes of Tibetan Buddhism, achieving enlightenment in one lifetime. Typical Mr P. The allusion's not lost on me. See? I've learnt what an allusion is this year!

Mr P comes over. “Good luck, Luca. I'm proud of what you've done this year. It's been a pleasure to know you.” He turns to the boys. “How about we just spend the last few minutes on our cushions, boys? Just something a bit different to finish off.”

Surprised, we sit down again. Whatever Mr P wants to do, that's fine. His funny clothes, his raucous laughter, his mellow, soothing voice—they'll all be gone for good in a little while, so we settle, smiling at him.

“Just close your eyes. I want you to imagine somewhere a long way off, a beautiful valley. There are snow-capped mountains around you, and the valley is green and lush. Slowly, it fills with countless Buddhas, sitting like you.” He pauses. “Or, if you prefer, it can be Jesus standing there, smiling down on you. A soft, white light comes from them, joining together in a glowing purity all the way down to you. It surrounds you and then flows gently through the top of your head and into your body, filling it with light and love. Any dark parts in your body— where you hold fear or pain—dissolve in that radiant light until your whole body is filled and surrounded. You are pure. All pain is gone. You are healed.”

He stops talking, but I hardly notice. Those dark parts sure are in me—I can feel it in my stomach and chest when I think about that night—but that light fills me, and even though I know it won't last, that feeling is good. I wish I could just sit there forever.

“Well, boys, that's it.” We open our eyes and blink at each other. “Stay where you are,” Mr P says, getting to his feet. “I'd like to remember you all this way.”

Jason says in a husky voice, “You wouldn't have one dark place in you. You're good all the way through.”

A tiny flinch contorts Mr P's face for a second. “We all have our dark places, Jason. Knowing that helps us to have compassion for everyone else.” He waves gently to us and is gone.

We sit in silence for a while, and then I say goodbye to them all and thank them for having me, just as did the first time I came. They laugh, and I leave with a smile on my face.

I see Neil that afternoon in the gym.

“Can you get some speed or whatever it is that Aaron takes?” I ask.

Neil screws up his face. “You going to turn into a crack-head too?”

“No, no. I just need to have some for when Aaron needs it.”

“Sure. I'll sort it. Go to the shop on Tuesday or Friday and tell Brett—the one who does the book, no one else—how much you need. He'll transfer the money from your account. He'll just give a total to the guy who supplies at the end of the day, and he'll take stuff to that value. Neat, huh?”

“Will he give it to me straight away?”

“Hell no, but you'll get it soon enough.” A couple of guards come into the gym, and we get back to our weights.

I follow Neil's instructions, and the next day, when I'm on duty in the kitchen, Stephen—a skinny little kid I know only by sight—leans on the bench next to me. He talks like we're great mates, and as he turns to go, he slaps me lightly on the chest. I finish wiping down the bench and then step back to check out what happened, scratching my chest near my pocket. Yep, two bumps at the bottom of it. I'm nervous, but I carry on as normal, working and chatting till my duty is over and I'm back in our cell. Aaron's in the rec with Neil. We've agreed that he isn't to be here on his own.

I glue a couple of pages of notes together around the edges, leaving the top open, and then I drop the pills in. I slide the pages into the middle of the rest of my notes and then paper clip them all together. Aaron comes in a few minutes later, and I feel his agitation. Neil must have said something. Bugger. He should have kept his mouth closed.

“Hi,” I say, turning back to my book.

“Luca,” he says. I look and see him fidgeting with the edge of his blanket.

“What's up?”

“I know you got some stuff for me.”

“I said I would.” I hand him the pills, and he looks at them lying in his curled palm like fat white slugs. He licks the corner of his mouth, not taking his eyes off the pills as though they'll disappear if he looks away for an instant. Finally, he raises his eyes to meet mine.

“Here,” he says, handing me one back. “Keep this for another time.” I take it wordlessly and go back to my books. I hear the creak of Aaron's bunk, and once his breathing slows down, I slide the other pill back in its spot. I don't know what this stuff is, and I don't want to know, but I won't judge him for taking it.

After all the long build-up, the exams are over in a matter of days. I think I did okay, except I could have written so much more in the English exam. I've lived with Raskolnikov for months, and I think I'm able to understand and identify with him, but I don't really write that fast.

Now I just have to wait. I've applied for the same degree course in Maths and Science at four different universities, although I don't really know what I want to do and part of me doesn't even want to think about it. I feel a bit lost now with no study. I miss the cottage; I miss Mr P; I miss Archie.

Mr Robinson peps up the sport a bit, and we play cricket every weekend. It's not really for me, but just being outside is worth all the slowness of the game. Geez, I'd shovel horse manure all day if I could be outside in the sunshine. Mr Khan asks us all to organise a concert for Christmas. Some of the guys sneer at first, but some guitars and drum kits get dragged out from somewhere, and there are auditions. It starts to be fun. We have some singers, a band and a play that's pretty stupid, but gradually, more boys start hanging around and the guards get involved too.

I read a lot now—the Buddhist books and the Bible. I can't believe they are really saying the same thing: love one another; have compassion for one another. Same message. The Buddhists spell it out pretty clearly. They have these four basic ideas: the Four Noble Truths. Basically, they're saying life is difficult. They got that right. The reason it's like that is that we crave satisfaction. It's true. We're always wanting something other than what we've got.

I was once so desperate for a bike that I thought if only I had one, I'd be happy forever. Within a few months of getting it, however, it was getting rusty because I dropped it on the ground instead of putting it carefully away, and it started looking old. Then Gary got a brand new racing bike. Mine looked so crappy next to his, and all I could think about was getting one like his and comparing my bike to his. We lurch along all the time like that—always wanting something bigger, better, newer.

The third thing that leads on from this is that there's a way out of this endless trap for everyone. Just stop all this craving for things, this constant greed. I'll have to think about that one. Even if I'd somehow got Karol as my girlfriend, would I have gotten sick of her down the track? Found fault with her and wanted a prettier or smarter girl or whatever? People always seem so happy on their wedding day—as though they've got everything they want—but just look at how many get divorced.

The final step is a big one. It says there is a way out of all this: living a life of virtue, wisdom and meditation. Well, I haven't got much of the first two with the way I've stuffed up my life, but I love meditation. Mr P says the word comes from the same base as the word ‘medicine'—they are both connected to healing, and some part of me feels like I'm healing.

Back to the Buddhists. Once again, they break it down for you—a real road map to follow. They call it the Eightfold Path. Basically, you don't look outside yourself for someone to wave a magic wand and make life happy; instead, you look to yourself. Jesus says the same thing: the Kingdom of Heaven is within you and available to everyone.

Anyway, I'll shut up now before I bore the crap out of you. Just read some of those books and learn how to meditate. Think before you act. Unless, of course, you've already got it all together. But I doubt it.

I don't know how to tell you. I've sat down half a dozen times to write, but I just can't believe it, and I end up staring at the wall in amazement while my mind goes over everything again. Here goes.

Mr Khan called me in a few days ago and said that Dad wanted to see me but first wanted to make sure that I was willing to see him! I sat there, stunned. I let happiness wash through me, but there was something niggling at me. Of course. It would be like when Katy came. She can't forgive me for what I've done, and Dad will be the same. He loved Mum so much… but I have to see him. I'm prepared for everything he has to say; he won't be saying anything I haven't said to myself a thousand times.

I nod speechlessly to Mr Khan. He smiles and says, “Good. He's waiting in the visitors' room for you. You'll have it to yourself.”

“Now?” I gasp. “He's here now?”

“Yes. He's been with me most of the morning.” Mr Khan stands up.

“Thank you,” I say stupidly and leave. I don't remember how I get down the corridor; my heart is hammering so hard, and then I'm through the door, and it's Dad—oh Jesus, Dad—and his arms are around me, and we're both laughing and crying like a pair of fools.

He steps back at last, and we look at one another. He hasn't changed a bit, except that there are a few flecks of grey in his hair and he's put on a bit of weight. I drink him in, every feature: his dark eyes, crinkled at the corners; those little white lines where he squinted into the sun and those bits haven't tanned; his big, bony nose; everything. At last we sit down.

“You've grown so much, Luca! You're nearly a man.”

“I work out a bit, Dad.” It feels strange but so good to be saying that word again. There's so much to talk about, but we fall silent. That heavy sense of sadness weighs me down, and I sink into a chair. Dad grips my wrists.

“I didn't think you'd see me, Luca.”

“I thought you'd forgotten all about me,” I whisper huskily.

“Never! Never! You've never been out of my thoughts.” His voice catches, and he stops for a moment. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“What for? You and Mum broke up. You left. It happens all the time.”

“What for? I abandoned you. I thought I was doing the right thing by getting out of the way. I was just thinking of myself! I saw that when…it happened. I just couldn't stand seeing you every now and then, being a part-time father. I couldn't separate you and your sister, and she couldn't leave her mother. I drove back past the house one afternoon, and Katy was with him, holding his hand and skipping along beside him, and they were both laughing away. I just assumed you felt the same way.”

“No, Dad! I hated him!”

Silence.

“I know that now. I didn't know then. I didn't even think of it.” Dad shakes his head. “What a terrible thing I did to you, Luca. Look at what my stupidity caused.” He covers his eyes.

“No, Dad. It wasn't you. I did it.”

Dad shakes his head sadly. “Katy told me what really happened. You were doing what I'd always taught you to do: trying to look after your family. Great one I was to say it. I didn't look after you at all.” He lets out a long, shuddery sigh. “Can you ever forgive me, Luca?”