The Minnow (4 page)

I hear the front door close. Open my eyes. Realise it wasn't a dream.

Jonah walks to my door, which is really his door, seeing as I'm sleeping in his room. ‘You awake?'

I don't answer. I keep my breathing steady. The Minnow doesn't move a muscle.

‘Okay, Tom, I'll buy it,' says Jonah, ‘but they're getting insistent.'

‘I know,' I say, out loud.

‘Me too,' says the Minnow, just to me.

‘Get up and I'll make you breakfast.'

‘You hear that,' I say to the Minnow, ‘he's making us breakfast.'

‘Hungry?' calls Jonah as he walks the three steps to the tiny kitchen.

‘Ravenous!' the Minnow and I call back in unison. The Minnow loves the word ‘unison'. She says it describes us perfectly.

‘Forced to use force,' I say halfway through my toast and eggs.

‘Knew you were awake,' says Jonah, as he puts more bread under the grill. I pour us both a cup of tea.

‘Jonah.'

‘Yes, Tom.'

‘Thanks.'

‘For what?'

‘For being my best friend. And for letting the Minnow and me move in.'

Papa had only just turned fifty when he died in a boating accident, almost thirty years ago. I overheard Nana telling Mavis that she thought it was ironic when Mum, Dad and Sarah also drowned. I'm not sure I agree with her choice of word. I looked up ‘ironic' in the thesaurus and I don't like the alternatives any better. I prefer ‘tragic'. Tragic has a much better list of alternatives, like ‘ill-fated' and ‘heartbreaking'.

Papa says I shouldn't worry. He says Nana was probably referring to the role water played in all of their deaths. Whatever. I still don't agree with her—especially as Papa told me he didn't actually drown. He got caught in the propeller. Apparently he was a real mess, and when Mum had to identify his body she decided to keep the truth to herself.

I can't be sure, but I think I saw Mum once. Bill and I were fishing at Crabs Gully and we kept seeing someone scuttling around the rocks. On our way home, Bill spotted a piece of fabric in one of the shallow pools, in the direction we had seen the person heading. Bill grabbed a stick and fished it out. When we got home we rinsed off the mud and laid it out in front of the pot belly. As it dried it filled the boatshed with the faintest smell of honeysuckle. Mum's smell. It wasn't a hanky, as we'd first thought, but one of the pockets from Mum's gardening apron. She must have left it for me to find, so I'd know she wasn't far. Papa says he hasn't seen her yet. Sometimes, he says, it takes time.

Most days, Papa hangs out at the Mavis Ornstein Home for the Elderly. He says he likes the company. Plus, everyone has one of his photos, so he feels like a bit of a legend.

The Minnow has a habit of prodding me awake. She is doing it now, and I'm trying my best to ignore her. The bigger I get, the more sleep I need, the more she prods. Right now, her fin is poking me in the ribs.

‘Ow,' I groan, ‘stop it.'

‘There's someone at the door,' she whispers. ‘It might be the police.'

‘What should I do, Papa?'

‘Well, you'll have to speak to them sooner or later,' he answers.

‘Then I choose later,' I say, and roll over on my side. I try to fall back to sleep, but the disruption has ruined my chances.

‘Ow, that one
really
hurt,' I complain, louder this time, following another sharp jab.

‘I feel seasick on your left side,' she says, in her whiny voice. I roll onto my back and I listen to the quiet for a while. I decide it's safe to get up. The Minnow and I walk to the bathroom. I pee a lot. On the way to the kitchen I notice Jonah's bed is empty. It must be after nine. Jonah works at the pie shop on Saturday mornings. He used to work after school on Thursdays too. I'm not sure why he stopped.

The school was badly damaged in the flood. Classes were cancelled indefinitely and it seemed that they would never restart, until a politician turned up a week before Christmas, with a film crew. People were saying things like, ‘it's a disgrace' and ‘an appalling lack of essential services' and ‘just a country town' and ‘this would never happen in the city'. Two weeks later, trucks arrived. Building commenced on the first of January and halfway through January, four teachers appeared. The mayor put them up in caravans out the back of the town hall. Classes started in February, but had to be held in the hall for three months until the work was completed. The politician came back with the camera crew and opened the new school building on Mother's Day, in honour of the tragedy.

Jonah loves the new school. ‘Better than the old building,' he says. ‘All the rooms have air conditioning and there's a basketball hoop and they've fixed up the netball court and the toilets don't leak anymore and the boys have got a stainless-steel urinal that flushes automatically.'

‘Anything else?' I ask.

‘Lots of kids are missing.'

‘Anything else?'

‘Miss Pearson is there, but Mr Buckle drowned and Mrs Lee is too upset to return.'

‘Is that what they said?'

‘No, they said it was stress leave. She lost Ling and Betty.'

‘What about “the fish”?'

‘The new art teacher, Mr Wo, repainted.'

‘What do you mean, repainted?'

‘R.e.p.a.i.n.t.e.d,' he spelled out as though I was too stupid for tea cake. That's another Nana saying. Papa's favourite is ‘too silly for roast beef'.

‘But has he kept it like it was?'

I loved ‘the fish'. Someone, years ago, had drawn an underwater scene across the western wall of the hall. I made a point of walking past it every day and knew every detail. The scene was a dark deepwater, and the fish and jellyfish were especially weird. No one really knew who the artist was. No signature, just ‘the fish' written in the bottom right corner. But I'm guessing it was a bloke we knew called Dave McKewen, because it appeared around the same time that Mum started calling him ‘a bit of a romantic'.

The entire thing was drawn in chalk.

Which was fine, while it never rained.

‘You should see it, Tom.'

‘I don't know,' I said. ‘What if it's not the same? What if it's ruined?'

‘Tom,' Jonah said, like he was trying to understand, ‘it's beautiful. Mr Wo is really sensitive.'

‘Sensitive?'

‘That's what one of the other teachers said; that it was a sensitive rendition.'

I thought this over for a moment. ‘I think I need to see it for myself,' I said.

‘Well,' said Jonah, ‘it's about time you came back to school.'

Jonah was right. I did need to go back to school.

I went the following weekend, but only to see Mr Wo's mural. Jonah and I walked there on Saturday afternoon, right after he finished work. He brought sausage rolls and sauce and we sat on the bench under the callistemon and ate them in silence, staring at the most beautiful painting I'd ever seen. The whole wall was covered in fish and coral and seahorses and jellyfish and seaweed, with tiny little starfish on the rocks and sharks in the background. And everything swayed with the current. It was even more beautiful than the original, although I wish that one wasn't lost. Now that I can never see it again, I'll probably imagine it differently. In years to come I'll be like Nana who remembers things the way she wants them to be and I'll lose Dave McKewen's drawing forever.

‘Don't you like it?' asked Jonah.

‘I love it,' I replied, and it was the truth.

‘Then why the sad face?'

‘When Mum lost her wedding ring, Dad saved up for two whole years and bought her a new one. It was beautiful. And Mum loved it. But I understand, now, why she cried when she put it on. It reminded her of how much she missed the old one.'

We sat there until it got cold. When we decided to leave, Jonah walked me the long way, past the new school buildings and the netball court. ‘I know what you're trying to do, Jonah,' I said, ‘but I'm not ready.'

‘I know,' said Jonah, ‘but you've already missed a year.'

It's a cold and windy Saturday. The Minnow and I have an hour or so until Jonah finishes work, so we're killing time at the pet shop. Mrs Blanket has the heating on, so it's nice and warm.

As usual I'm parked in front of the carp tank. And I'm daydreaming, which is why I get a bit of a shock when Oscar starts talking.

‘I saw her,' he says. ‘She had long brown hair and she was carrying a snorkel. I told her the snorkel was no good unless she was going to use it, but she said it was already too late.'

‘Thanks, Oscar.' I can't believe he has finally decided to speak to me. ‘Why didn't you say something earlier?'

‘I was afraid I'd hurt you.'

‘I'm tough.'

‘I figured that out.'

If it is possible for a fish to smile, I'd swear he was smiling.

‘The Minnow says you're dying.'

‘She's a smart one, your Minnow.'

All four carp are side by side, almost motionless, looking at me and the Minnow. Mrs Blanket is fussing with a customer over a guinea pig.

‘Oscar,' I say, pausing for a moment so this comes out right, ‘why haven't you told the others?'

‘There are carp and there are
carp
,' he replies. ‘These three are sweet but uncommunicative. They'll find me floating on my side in a couple of weeks and the only one who'll grieve will be Mrs Blanket. This lot will just take it in their stride.'

‘And me,' I say, ‘I'll miss you heaps.'

‘And you,' he says back.

I turn to walk out the door.

‘Tom,' Oscar calls after me. ‘The police were here asking questions.'

‘Like what?'

‘Just stuff about your family.'

‘Thanks, Oscar.'

And then I think of something else. ‘Did they mention Dad?'

‘I don't remember.'

No one mentions Dad. I can't figure that out. Nana and Papa only talk about Mum. Of course, she was their daughter. But still. It's weird isn't it? Or maybe I'm just extra sensitive.

Dad was tall and thin and brown. He didn't like being inside and he spent all his time in the yard. He ate his dinner on the porch and he slept in the hammock. He didn't come inside to shower because he had a shower in the shed and a thunderbox behind the garage. Mum said he was a paradox. She could never figure out why showering in the shed was okay, but being in the house upset him. I really like the word ‘paradox'. And I like all its alternative words except ‘absurdity'. I don't understand how that one fits.

Everyone said Dad was talented. Mum said he could turn his hand to anything. We had a pond down the back. Dad had dug it close to the creek, with a little channel that fed it fresh water and a spillover to stop it flooding. In the middle was a fountain made entirely of scrap metal that he had scrounged from the Bunter and Davis recycling centre. Paul Bunter and Jacko Davis were Dad's mates and would give him anything he wanted. In return, Dad did all their electrics. Dad wasn't certified. He just knew how to do it on his own.

Dad and I got along better than Dad and Sarah. Probably because Sarah was a girly girl and I was a tomboy. And Dad never said much about anything and Sarah was a chatterbox. So Dad and I never argued, never got on each other's nerves, never got in each other's way. Mum said we swam in the same direction. I guess she was right about that. I never really thought about how comfortable I was around Dad until I had to fit in with Bill. Bill's a loner. People were surprised when he took me in.

I have a beautiful new dictionary. The Chambers English Dictionary. It has one thousand, seven hundred and ninety-two pages. I found this great word: ‘solivagant'. It means ‘wandering alone'. I was looking for a word to describe Dad, but I'm not sure solivagant is the one. But it's a great word.

Mavis bought me the dictionary for my birthday. She says her husband (who is really Papa) told her to buy it. Mavis says her husband is quite sure I'm brilliant. I know this is really Papa telling her these things because Mavis has a room-mate, Betsy Groot, and Betsy told me that Mavis has never been married. I suppose Nana has always known this, too.