Ghost River (7 page)

Tiny backed into the humpy, fearful of Tex's words.

The boys said goodbye and headed for home. Although the air was warm Ren shivered as he neared the wheelhouse, sure he could hear a tangle of snakes slithering in the cellar water. They dragged the bike up the track between them, reached the top, then turned and looked down at the campfire smoke-signals rising in the air. Ren looked further on to Deep Rock. He couldn't make sense of the idea that someone would want to destroy the river just so people could
go for a ride in a car.

‘Last smoke,' Sonny called. ‘Pass the tobacco.' He fixed his eyes on the water the whole time he rolled his cigarette. ‘They can't do it. Blow it up. There must be a law to stop them doing something like that.'

‘Maybe they can. One of my aunties used to live in a house she and my uncle paid money for. They owned it. Never stopped the government coming along and taking the house away from them. Knocked it over with all the other houses in the street.'

Sonny stuck his head between his knees and took a deep breath. ‘This is our place. We can't let them do it.' He passed the cigarette to Ren. It was perfectly rolled.

Ren looked up at the sky and watched as a hawk lifted from one of the girders of the iron bridge. It swooped down and glided along the river, its wings tipping the surface of the water. The bird suddenly dipped its beak and plucked something out of the water. Ren couldn't be certain from such a distance, but it looked like the bird had a rat in its mouth. The hawk flew into the sky and hung over the river before turning and flying back to the bridge.

Ren left Sonny at the back gate and sat sulking in the backyard toilet, thinking about the damage that might be done to the river. A little while later he heard the sounds of digging in the lane. Except for stray dogs nobody used it but him and Sonny. He went into the yard and opened the back gate. Della was scraping mud along the lane with a shovel and tipping the mess into a rubbish bin. She was without her scarf and her hair hung across her face.

Ren was surprised when she looked up at him and smiled. ‘My father doesn't want the bad smell entering our church. We will begin services soon.'

‘Services?'

‘Yes. We have been sent here by the Messenger to hold the Gatherings.'

‘From where? Your father, he sounds like an American. You too, sort of.'

‘Oh, we've been there, to the United States. My father trained there, with the Messenger himself. When the time came for my father to be tested, and he passed the test, he was sent to mission. We've been to many places across the world, my father speaking His word. And now, he has been called here to save.'

‘To Collingwood? Good luck to you. People are too far gone to be saved round here. What was the test your father passed?'

‘A test of pain,'

‘Like what?'

‘Another follower held one of my father's hands on a wooden table and stood a nail on it. We watched as my father drove the nail through his hand with a hammer.'

Della spoke the words with no more drama than if she were telling Ren how to thread needle and cotton. He was sure the story couldn't be true, but was polite enough to say nothing. He watched as Della collected a shovelful of muck. ‘It's dog shit,' he offered, which wasn't really necessary, he thought, as soon as he had made the comment, seeing as Della was the one shovelling it. ‘It's dumped mostly, out of the backyards.'

Della didn't seem interested in Ren providing her with the history of local dog shit. She tucked her fringe behind her ears, grabbed hold of a broom leaning against the stable wall and began sweeping. Ren couldn't think of anything better to do so he grabbed the shovel and worked the shit and mud towards the broom. Della swept muck onto the shovel and he tipped it into the bin. It wasn't long before the section of lane behind the stable had been swept clean.

‘I saw you, just now, coming across the road from behind the factory wall, with your friend. I've seen you coming from there before. Where do you go?'

Her eyes blinked a little nervously, as they'd done when Ren first saw her in the stable. He was caught off-guard and wasn't sure what to say.

‘Where do we go?'

‘You don't have to tell me, if you don't want. I'm sorry for being curious. My father tells me that curiosity leads to sin.'

‘I must be a big sinner myself,' Ren said. ‘I'm always curious. My mum reckons it's a good thing.'

Della raised a corner of her mouth. Ren was pleased. It wasn't quite a smile, he thought, but he'd get one out of her soon enough.

‘We go to the river, down behind the mill.'

Her eyes lit up. ‘There's a river close by?'

Before he knew it, Ren was sharing stories of the river with Della. ‘It's a secret river, almost. Sonny and me are the only ones who use it. Except for the river men. They've been down there longer than anybody. There's wild cats and foxes and bats, and a waterfall. If you open your window of a night and you shut your eyes, you can hear it, the water coming over the falls and crashing into the rocks.'

‘I have heard the noise. I'd like to see it.'

Ren wasn't sure what to say. Talking about the river was one thing. Showing Della the path to the waterfall would be something else. He was certain that Sonny wouldn't like it at all.

‘Della!'

Reverend Beck was standing at the rear gate of the stable. He looked down at the cleared lane and back up at his daughter. The look on his face cut her in half.

‘Collect the bin, empty it in the garden and dig it into the earth.'

Della picked up the bin and shovel without looking at Ren. Her father stood to the side and she disappeared into the yard. She'd left the broom leaning against the stable wall. Ren picked it up and offered it to the Reverend. ‘This is yours.'

The Reverend Beck snatched the broom from him. As he did so Ren noticed a clean rounded scar on the back of his left hand. The Reverend snapped the broom handle across his knee and threw it to the ground.

‘Remain clear of my daughter.'

Ren wanted to run but couldn't move, he was so frightened. The Reverend fixed an eye on him until Ren turned away. When he looked back the man was gone.

CHAPTER 5

The new school year started with a heatwave. Straight after last bell Sonny would run to the bike shed and dink Ren to the river for a swim. Afterwards, he would lay on the pontoon and wish he wasn't in school at all. It took only weeks for his wish to be granted. While he had only himself to blame for much of the trouble he found himself in, the science and chemistry teacher, Mr Crooke, took aim at Sonny every chance he got, whether the boy deserved the attention or not. On the first day of term Crooke separated Ren and Sonny, and ordered Sonny to sit at the front of the room, directly below his own desk on the platform. Each time he asked a question that couldn't be answered by anyone in the class, Crooke would single out Sonny. The more he focused on him, the more agitated the boy became, returning the teacher's bullying behaviour with a snarl.

The term was only two weeks old when Sonny reached boiling point. He complained to Ren as he rode with him to school in the morning. ‘We got science first up?'

‘You know we do.'

‘I fucken hate that Crooke. Why's he always picking on me?'

‘Because you stand up to him and he doesn't like it. None of the teachers like it when you do that. You need to learn to keep your head down.'

‘Well, fuck that. I'm not a coward.'

‘Nothing about being a coward. Archie says that pulling your head in is all about being sensible when you need to.'

‘And fuck that too.'

‘Please yourself, Sonny, but it's not gonna get Crooke off your back.'

By the time first bell rang out across the schoolyard Sonny was angry enough to be clenching and unclenching his fists and slamming them into his thighs. Before the boys could take their seats in class, Crooke was already getting stuck into them. ‘Shut up the lot of you.'

The room groaned when he announced a closed book chemistry test. The first few questions were answered easily enough. He then asked for an answer to ‘the molecular structure of sulfuric acid'. The classroom went quiet as bodies shifted nervously and wooden desks anxiously creaked. Several boys looked out of the window into the asphalt and treeless schoolyard, hoping to avoid the teacher's gaze. Crooke stood up from his desk, walked around to the front of it and looked down at Sonny.

‘Brewer, I hope that you are alert enough this morning to enlighten the class with the breadth of your knowledge on the subject of chemistry. Would you please provide the class with the answer?'

Some of the boys sniggered with relief, until Sonny turned to see who was laughing at him and they fell silent. Crooke stepped down from the platform and stood over Sonny's desk.

‘Look at me when I am talking to you. The answer? Speak up now.'

Sonny refused to look at him. Crooke reached out and grabbed hold of him with both hands, by his school jumper. A few of the boys in the room gasped. Sonny looked down at the teacher's hands. Crooke addressed the class as he pulled Sonny towards him. ‘Do you know what we have here? A stupid boy. Brewer is a stupid, stupid boy, who knows only trouble.'

Sonny turned his head towards Ren, seated in the third row, and winked at him with his good eye. Before Crooke knew what was happening, Sonny managed to slam the heel of his fist under the teacher's jaw, leaped onto the desk and tumbled over the top of it, onto Crooke. Boys in the front rows stood up from their desks. They were afraid to move any further. Except for Ren. He got up from his desk and paced the aisle, watching as Sonny threw windmill punches at Crooke. All the teacher could do to protect himself was cover his head with his hands. Hearing the commotion, the woodwork teacher from the classroom opposite, Mr Hearn, burst into the room and tore Sonny away from Crooke. He dragged Sonny into the corridor.

Mr Hearn was one of the few reasonable teachers at the school. He had a soft spot for Sonny and was prepared to speak up for him to the headmaster that day. Ren was also called to the office. He sat in the corridor and listened as Mr Hearn complained that Crooke had been provoking Sonny. ‘He's been giving him a hard time for weeks. The man is a sadist.'

The teacher's testimony wasn't enough to save Sonny. He was expelled the same day and a letter was delivered home to his father by one of the prefects.

At lunchtime, Ren saw Sonny walking across the schoolyard with his bag over his shoulder. He ran and caught up with him at the bike shed.

‘Where you going?'

‘Home.'

‘Early?'

Sonny threw the bag over the handlebars of the bike and hopped on. ‘Nah. For good. I've been chucked out.'

‘Shit! What will you do? Your father will …'

‘You don't need to say it, Ren. My old man is going to skin me. Then he'll kill me, if I'm not dead already.'

‘This is bullshit, Sonny. And it's not fair. Crooke started on you because you couldn't answer the chemistry question. No one in the room knew the fucken answer.'

‘H
2
SO
4
.'

‘What?'

‘The answer to the chemistry question is H
2
SO
4
.'

‘You knew it all along?'

‘I did. Can hardly believe it. Maybe the first time ever I knew the answer. Don't know why, but it stuck in my head from last week.'

‘Why didn't you tell him then? It would have saved you from all this trouble.'

‘Nah. He would have kept going until he got me for something else. This was always gonna happen, Ren. I'm glad it's over and done with.'

‘But your dad?'

‘He'd find something else to whack me for as well.' Sonny smiled, as if he wasn't bothered at all. He slammed his foot on the bike pedal and hoisted his bag onto his back. ‘Fuck Crooke. And fuck this school.'

Loretta Renwick, while never a gossip herself, had a habit of picking up news of importance to her. The following night she asked Ren to help her with the washing up. The only time Loretta asked her son to help clear up was when there was something serious she needed to talk with him about. They washed and dried the dishes in silence. Loretta wiped the kitchen table, set a fresh tablecloth and asked Ren to sit down with her.

‘What happened to Sonny? I hear he's been expelled.'

Ren told her about the incident in the classroom. ‘Crooke wasn't going to stop picking on him until Sonny went for him.'

‘So, you think it's okay for a boy to hit a teacher?'

Ren did think it was okay. Standing behind Sonny as he punched the teacher about the head, Ren didn't want him to stop.

‘I don't know.' He shrugged. ‘Dunno what else he could do.'

‘You planning on spending time with him now that he's out of school?'

Ren wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘He's my best friend.'

She pulled at the sleeve. ‘Don't do that, you grub.' She leaned across the table and took Ren's hands in hers. ‘Do you really believe Sonny can stay out of trouble? The way he's going, it could be the lock-up next.'

Ren looked down at his feet, swinging back and forth under the chair. His only thought, at that moment, was that if Sonny could stay out of trouble he could also fly to Mars. ‘Crooke's been riding Sonny since he started at the school. He was bullying him in front of the class and Sonny'd had enough.'

Loretta stuck a finger under her son's chin and lifted his face until they met, eye to eye. ‘Why didn't he go to someone and talk about it?'

‘Because there's no one to go to. The headmaster's as bad as Crooke. So's his dad. None of this is fair on him.'

‘Maybe not. But I can't help it. I have no say in what Sonny gets up to but I have to answer for you, Charlie. Archie too. We're responsible. I heard a racket in there last night. What went on?'

‘His dad was waiting with the letter in his hand, from the school. He gave Sonny a belting, buckle out.'

‘How long's the father been hitting him?'

‘He's always hit him. Before they come and lived here. He blames Sonny for his mother running off.'

‘Rubbish. A man can't blame a child for his own misery. And that one's as miserable as they come. And he drinks too much.'

Loretta stood up from the table. ‘I won't stop you seeing him. For now. You'd only go behind my back anyway. But you find yourself in trouble, Charlie, it will be over. No Sonny. And no river.'

Ren found Sonny the next day sitting on the backyard step in the lane. He was a mess. He had a swollen face and a dark bruise on his neck where, he told Ren, his father had choked him. After he'd beaten Sonny he told him that he had a week to find a job or cop another belting and be put on the street to look after himself any way he could.

‘What are you gonna do?'

‘Don't know. Go round to some factories and ask if they have any jobs.'

Sonny didn't pick up a factory job, but with a day left on a ticking bomb he got lucky for maybe the first time in his life when he saw an ad in the newspaper shop window, for a paperboy. He went inside and was offered the job after a talk with the owner, Brixey Booth. The man was a walking repository of news and local history. He knew who Sonny was the moment he walked into the shop. Brixey had come up through the same streets the boys lived on. He wore a deceptively owl-like face behind a pair of rounded glasses. If anyone were to see him in the early hours of the morning, stripped naked in front of his shaving mirror readying himself for a day's work, they would have noticed the untidy scars across his body, war wounds from his younger days when he'd been not such a soft man.

Brixey possessed the uncanny ability to read people and saw something in Sonny that most missed. He chanced his judgement on the boy and gave him the job. Ren walked to the paper shop with Sonny the next morning when he went to collect his locker key and leather money pouch. Ren recognised one of the other paper boys, sitting atop a pile of magazines reading a comic. It was Spike, a kid who'd gone to the same school as Ren and dropped out a couple of years earlier. The best compliment anyone paid Spike was that he was
slow.
He'd had an accident when he was younger, falling from the roof of a factory he was trying to break into. Spike had been knocked unconscious, fractured his skull and spent six weeks in a coma.

Brixey handed the leather money pouch and belt to Sonny with advice and a warning. ‘You know last night the wife said to me that maybe I'm a soft touch for taking you on.' He looked across the shop at Spike. ‘I have a habit of collecting no-hopers, she says.' He knocked on the top of the shop counter with a pencil to get Sonny's full attention. ‘She best be wrong. For both our sakes.'

He then handed Sonny his locker key. ‘Listen to me, kid. I was around your age when a bloke give me a job, jockey on the ice truck. Heavy work for a boy my size.' He grabbed hold of a fist-full of gut fat. ‘Believe it or not, I was as skinny as you in those days. You know what the boss said to me the first day on the job?
Fuck up youngster and you'll be gone in a flash.
So don't be offended. But I have an investment here and I need to give you the same advice. You fuck this up and you'll be out of here faster than a champion greyhound needled on fizz.

‘You got that? All of it?'

‘I got it.'

‘By the way, you got a pushbike of your own?'

‘Sort of. I mean, yep.'

‘Good. Never know when you have to get somewhere in a hurry. You do good and I'll give you the afternoon newsstand under the rail bridge at the bottom of the ramp at the station. Be here at six on the button tomorrow morning and I'll have Spike take you through the round. Follow his lead real close because the next morning you'll have to get around on your own.'

Sonny looked across at Spike, studying his comic book. It was left to Brixey to reassure him.

‘Yeah, I know. He's got a metal plate in his head. But he also happens to be a walking street directory. Young Spike knows every back street across the concrete jungle. By heart.'

The job was a godsend for Sonny. With tips he made near the same money he would have in a noisy factory or hosing down coal dust at the railyards. And he saved, hiding his pay packet away so his father couldn't get hold of it and gamble it away. Or spend it on the drink. Within a month, as Brixey promised, he also took charge of the afternoon newsstand at the railway station.

Ren missed Sonny's company at school and began hanging out at the newsstand with him. He helped out by delivering the afternoon papers to the stationmaster and shopkeepers along the arcade at the station. After dropping the papers at the bookmakers and the dry-cleaners, Ren would stop at the pawnshop and pore over the secondhand cameras in the front window.

‘You must really want one of em?' Sonny said one afternoon. ‘You spend all your spare time looking at them.'

‘Don't matter what I want. They're too expensive for me. Even the secondhand ones.'

‘You could do a smash and grab.'

‘Yeah, and have my own photo taken at the lock-up. Only way to get one of them cameras is to save for it. I don't even have a job.'

Sonny thought about what Ren had said and the next day put an offer to him. ‘How'd you like to become a sub-contractor?
'

‘What's that mean?'

‘Means a job. I work for Brixey and you come and work for me of a morning on the paper round. I pay you from my wage and you save up for one of them expensive cameras.'

‘How much would you pay me?'

‘Fifty cents a morning, times six. Three dollars a week.'

It was better money than Ren would have expected. The offer appealed to him. ‘I'll have to ask my mum if it's okay.'

That night Ren lay on his bed looking across at the photograph of the majestic bird on the back of his door. He could hear the TV in the room below. Loretta and Archie were watching the nightly news. They never missed it. Ren couldn't stop thinking about a camera. He wrote some figures in his sketch book and calculated how much he'd save from what Sonny was willing to pay him. As soon as he heard the music from the TV announcing the end of the news he took the photograph off the back of the door and marched downstairs with it. Loretta was changing the channel and Archie had his head in the newspaper. Ren lay the photograph on the coffee table, sat next to Archie on the couch and coughed to get his attention.