What the Light Hides (7 page)

During his third year at Blackheath Primary School we were called in for a meeting. School was out and Ben was playing football in the windy schoolyard with the other kids waiting to be picked up.

Vera and I were seated in Ben's classroom, ready to meet his teacher. The sun fell brightly on the tabletops, twenty squares lit up, and the room smelled of varnish and packed lunch boxes.

Ben came up and knocked on the window. He was chewing a red frog and flashed us a big smile. ‘Ben, no way,' Vera said, and went to the window. But by the time she wrestled it open he had already taken off and joined the other boys, shirt untucked.

She sat back down next to me, ‘Really?' she said. ‘Red frogs? He should know better than that.'

‘You're beautiful when you're mad,' I said and leaned over to kiss her. My tongue found the corner of her mouth and she opened it. One of us moaned just as Ben's teacher walked in. She stopped short in the door and we jumped apart.

‘Sorry,' I said.

She was young, in a brown skirt and practical shoes, and was blushing just a bit as she sat down in front of us.

‘Nothing to be sorry about,' she said and placed a folder on the table between us.

Despite her youth she had a quiet authority and I understood why Ben liked her.

‘Ben,' she started, ‘is creative and full of energy. And I like him very much.' She played with the edge of the folder. ‘The other day I asked the class what they want to be when they grow up. Most said things like wanting to become a vet or a firefighter, but Ben announced that he wanted to be the first person to go to Mars.'

‘Mars?' I said. ‘That's ambition for you.'

The teacher nodded. ‘Ben is certain, though, that a girl will get there first. He said, “Everyone knows that girls are ‘sipeerious' at reading maps.”'

Vera laughed in that loud uninhibited way that I really like.

‘I have absolutely no sense of direction,' she said. ‘I can walk down the street and get lost. But David can find his way anywhere. You could drop him in the middle of the bush without a compass and he would find his way home.'

‘Like a labrador,' I say.

Vera chuckles, then looks at the teacher. ‘So for the sake of keeping some kind of dignity I need to assert regularly that my map-reading skills are superior to David's, or maybe I should say “sipeerious” from now on.'

The teacher smoothed her skirt and looked at us. ‘Ben is funny and full of great ideas,' she said, ‘and he is not afraid to speak up. But he's also sensitive, too sensitive at times. I found him crying in the bathroom the other day.'

‘Crying?' Vera leaned forwards.

I instinctively looked out into the yard and spotted Ben chasing the ball with a small group of boys.

‘It's not the first time I've found him crying,' said the teacher. ‘And every time he seems unable to tell me what's wrong. That's why I wanted to speak to you today. Is everything all right at home?'

‘Yes,' said Vera and reached for my hand. ‘Yes, he's really happy at home.'

‘That's what he told me too,' said the teacher. ‘But we are concerned that he isn't able to explain what's going on. I thought it might be helpful for him to see the school counsellor.'

I continue working on the dovetail joints, remembering how Vera and I had said no to the offer of counselling. Ben told us on the way home that he had fallen during recess and that was why he had been crying. It seemed to be a misunderstanding, and neither of us thought to press the issue. The boy we knew was happy and everything seemed fine.

Now I can't stop thinking about those moments, the moments when we might have failed him or overlooked something. I sift through our life together for clues, for any kind of explanation as to what might have caused him to get up one morning and leave everything behind.

I keep working, slowly and methodically, and by the time I have completed the third piece of timber I feel tired, almost jetlagged. I regret organising dinner with Neil, and on the spur of the moment I decide to walk to Sydney Uni to see if I can catch him. If I stay for a cup of tea he might give me a pass on dinner.

Sydney Uni is a maze of old and new buildings. Being the oldest university in Sydney the campus has evolved over time like a European city, haphazardly, a new building here, a new road there. It's impossible to walk through it in a straight line.

I lived in a college dorm on campus for a year and remember it clearly: the shared kitchen, the drafty study halls and the rooms that smelled of sweat and hormones.

Ben didn't want to live on campus when he started his degree. Instead he found a small flat in Newtown and asked if Vera and I would pay for it. We said yes. We could afford it and I think we were both secretly relieved that he hadn't decided to join a rock band or go on a never-ending surfing trip.

There is another moment I keep returning to. It happened the day before Ben moved out. It's the last time I remember us being close. He came to see me in the workshop wearing his usual jeans and black T-shirt. He was indisputably good looking, and just that morning Vera had said, ‘He is becoming as handsome as his dad. I foresee broken hearts all over Newtown.'

‘Have you finished packing?' I said and stopped the bandsaw.

‘Yeah.'

I took off the goggles and put them on the workbench. ‘I could do with a break. Do you want a beer?'

‘No,' he said. ‘And Dad, you don't have to do that.'

‘Do what?'

‘Be the progressive dad, you know.'

I felt a bit hurt. ‘I'm not trying to be anything.'

‘No one else gets offered a beer by their dad,' he said.

‘You're eighteen, aren't you? I know you drink at parties.' I put the ruler back in my pocket.

Ben came over and touched the table. ‘Cherry?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

‘It's nice.' And then he looked up at me, eyes brimming with tears.

‘Ben?' I walked around the table and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘What's going on?'

He fell into my arms, his whole body shaking with violent sobs, his tears soaking my work shirt.

‘Ben,' I said. ‘Ben, it's okay.'

But he kept crying, and all I could do was hold him.

When he finally stopped he looked up at me with red eyes. He was about to say something when I reached behind me for a box of tissues.

I handed him the box. ‘What were you going to say?'

‘Don't worry, Dad,' he said, his voice hoarse from crying. And he went back to the house.

Later I went and knocked on his door. I could hear him practising the chords to ‘Space Oddity'. And not for the first time I marvelled at how good he was at everything he put his mind to.

He was sitting on the floor with his guitar. Everything but the bed was packed into boxes and ready to go.

‘Do you want to talk?' I asked.

‘I'm fine.' He kept strumming.

I waited.

He looked up at me. ‘Don't worry, Dad, I'm fine.'

I didn't press. Instead I went to see Vera in her studio to work out what we were having for dinner.

Now it haunts me. Now I keep asking myself if everything would have been different had I listened to him instead of reaching for that box of tissues.

The next morning we helped Ben load the small rental truck. His futon weighed half a ton and was impossible to carry, and there were two lamps, endless boxes of books, bed linen, pillows and a box of brand-new crockery that Vera had bought for him. There wasn't enough space in the truck. No matter how hard we tried we couldn't fit in the old armchair and promised instead to bring it to him the following weekend.

Vera cried as Ben drove down the driveway.

We went back inside and stood for a moment in the living room uncertain about what to do next. The house was quiet. Tiny dust particles hung in the light. Then Vera took my hand and led me to the red lounge. She had paid a fortune to get it upholstered—keeping, I am sure, the old upholstery shop in Katoomba going for at least another year.

On the red cover of lilies and hummingbirds she lifted her dress and gently eased herself down on top of me. She sat with closed eyes, breathing slowly, and I studied her; studied her eyelids, her mouth and her perfectly shaped nose. And then she opened her eyes and let me in, and everything else fell aside and all I wanted was her.

Once again the house became an extension of our intimate life. We made love in the kitchen, against the desk and on the cool floor of the laundry next to the washing machine on an insanely hot summer's afternoon. Our intimacy spread and unfolded and those years were some of the most productive we both had.

It's mid-break. A few people sit on the old quadrangle lawn, but otherwise the majestic building with its tall spires and maze of stairways is empty.

I am out of breath when I reach Neil's office on the third floor. I can hear Dizzy Gillespie playing inside.

‘Neil,' I say and knock on the door.

He appears behind me, carrying a mug of tea. ‘Mate,' he says, ‘what are you doing here?'

He is wearing a shirt in some tie-dyed pattern. His curly hair is in a ponytail and he wears a brown rubber band around his wrist, the kind that Ben used to wear, showing solidarity with some cause or other.

‘Have you got time for a break?' I ask.

‘Of course.' Neil opens the door and lets me into his cramped office. His desk is overflowing with papers. ‘It's been one hell of a semester,' he says and puts his mug on the desk. Then he opens the window. ‘Maria tells me not to smoke in here.' He shrugs and lights a cigarette and stays next to the window. ‘She says that I'll end up burning the place down, but you know…' He gestures to the mug. ‘You can have my tea,' he says.

‘Thanks.' I sit down and reach for the mug.

Posters cover every wall. There is a bit of everything. One promotes a music festival in Munich and features a host of large-breasted women. Next to that is a black-and-white print of Camus, his hair swept back, cigarette dangling from his mouth. There are posters waging war against funding cuts and inequality, and one of Angelina Jolie as Lara Croft, Tomb Raider. It's one part sex and three parts revolution.

‘How's the house?' Neil leans against the windowsill and cool air rustles the pile of essays on his desk.

‘It's okay,' I say.

‘Pat is gorgeous, isn't she?' He takes a drag on the cigarette and blows the smoke out the window. ‘Not politically correct, I know.'

‘When have you ever been politically correct?'

‘That's true,' he says, looking cheeky as ever. ‘Why start now?'

It has started to show that he drinks too much. His face is puffy and there are small broken veins on his nose.

‘How was Jared's birthday?' I ask.

Neil pauses, then taps the cigarette out the window. ‘It was good.'

‘You decided not to have family over?' I say, still feeling hurt that Vera and I hadn't been invited, even though I'm sure neither of us could have coped with a kid's birthday party.

‘We just had a few of his friends over, you know?' Neil sends me an apologetic look. ‘They spent the whole day collecting ants in the garden, by the way. No need for party games.'

Vera had bought an ant farm for Jared. It sat on our kitchen table for two days. Neither of us could bear looking at it and I was relieved when she finally took it to the post office.

Neil stubs out the cigarette and closes the window. ‘Vera rang last night. She's pissed at me.' He sits down across from me. ‘She said you've come here to search for Ben.'

‘What did you tell her?'

‘That you're here to heal.' He picks up a pen and taps the pile of essays in front of him. ‘She is a feisty lady.'

‘Why?' I ask. ‘What did she say?'

‘She told me to cut the psychology bollocks.'

My chair is rickety and I half-suspect that Neil has left it like this on purpose. I imagine a little song and dance between him and his students, all ending in Neil offering them his chair. My big brother has always needed to be liked.

Neil continues, ‘I've never told you, but there was one time when I thought I saw him too. I was leaving work late one night. It was right after the funeral. I walked out of the quadrangle and down the main stairs when I saw someone who looked just like him. My heart literally skipped.'

I sit up in the chair. ‘Did you get close to him? Did you check?'

Neil looks as if he feels sorry for me. ‘David,' he says, ‘I knew straight away it wasn't him. It was just a moment, you know? Losing someone messes with your head.'

‘You think I'm mad?'

He reaches for the mug and drinks the dregs. Then he strolls back to the window. ‘I think DNA testing is reliable. I think Ben is dead.'

It sounds rehearsed. I'm sure he's been waiting for a chance to throw that one at me.

‘Well, I need to get back,' I say. ‘And about tonight…'

He shakes his head, knowing what I am about to say. ‘Please, don't cancel, mate. Maria has been cooking all morning.'

I hesitate.

Neil pushes the window wide open and lights another cigarette. I wonder how many he smokes a day.

‘I just spoke to her,' says Neil. ‘She's in the middle of baking a cake.'

‘All right,' I say and get up. ‘Then I suppose I will see you tonight.'

‘David, before you go…'

I wait, hand on the door handle.

‘I know you don't want to hear this, but Mum has come home. I picked her up from the airport last night. She wants to see you.'

‘Right,' I say. ‘No word from her for four months and now she wants to see me.'

‘I think she's sorry.'

‘Neil, she is not sorry and you know it. I don't want to see her.' The air from the hallway is chilly.

‘She's tanned,' says Neil. ‘The department lent her a yellow Mustang with a sunroof, can you believe it?' He looks down at his cigarette. ‘David, something's not quite right with her.'