Making Laws for Clouds (10 page)

The bus drives off and I stand at the gate for a while, wondering if something's actually changed. And wondering what I'll do if it has or, at least, if it's starting to. Wondering just how accommodating I'll be
to any change of mind from Mr Bell. Pretty accommodating, I would think. This is the world I've got to live in, and it's not a time for pride.

‘Hey, dickweed.' It's Wayne's voice, shouting out from the verandah. The outside light's off but I can see him there, standing in the doorway. ‘Get your butt in here. I've made tea.'

‘Good work. What are we up for?'

‘Nachos. And it's getting cold. Mum'll lift the cheese off the top of yours and eat it for you if you don't get up here.'

‘Good on you, Wayne.' I'm not particularly hungry, but nachos is Wayne's second-best meal (second-best of two). ‘What did you think of the band? Mr Bell played the tape in the bus just then.'

‘So you know they sucked. Obviously. How was the boat?'

‘We finished it. We finished the painting. And the Bells shouted us fish and chips for lunch and Harbo told us about getting attacked by pirates, back in the old days.'

‘Pirates? Like, pirates with cutlasses and that?'

‘Cutlasses and buried treasure. A bit of plank walking and the odd beheading. Fair bit of flogging. I'll tell you about it later. Once your tea's gone down.'

‘Cool. Pirates, hey? So what did he say about them?'

‘Oh, lots of stuff. He reckons they were pretty tough. You know, those pirates used to flog people just for interfering with themselves, Wayne. Flog ‘em nude. They'd creep up on them in their hammocks while the lights were out and catch them at it. So Harbo reckons.'

Wayne gives me the look of someone about to introduce their pants to a bad surprise. His mouth moves, but no words make it out. Tonight, he'll barricade his bedroom door and get up every ten minutes or so to check that his windows are locked. Terrorising Wayne would have to rank relatively high on my list of life's simple pleasures. Poor Harbo. He never had a brother, so he had to get his fun fishing with a hand line. It's just not the same.

Harbo's new hands grind the spices while some seeds roast on the grill, and the smell of it all makes you realise why Hawaiian pizza could never really meet his needs.

‘It's a banquet,' Tanika says when he fills the table with food, and the smells of the meal grow big enough to hide the smells of varnish and paint and turn the cabin a step further back into a place where someone lives. ‘Like one of those twenty-four ninety-five per head minimum four person ones. A total banquet.'

‘That was the idea,' Harbo tells her. ‘But don't worry, the other idea was that I'd get a couple of reheats out of any leftovers, so there'll be no offence taken if it's not finished.'

It's almost ceremonial, the way he serves it out a small amount at a time and tells us about each dish – the spices, the idea behind it, the tricks of the trade.

‘So there we go,' he says. ‘She was worth some of that trouble, Sabine. Before she came along I was limited to the old hundred-and-one-ways-to-reheat-beans style of cooking.' He shovels in another mouthful. ‘But maybe, cooking aside, this'd be a good time to make a bit of a break from the past. What do you reckon, Kane?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, conquer the past, more than just break from it. That's probably more like it. Do you ever want to do that?'

‘I don't have much of a past. No Japs except tourists. No pirates.'

‘Anyone who's lived has a past, mate, even if there's only eighteen years of it and all on this coast. I was thinking something symbolic, maybe a new name for the boat.
Stella Maris
always struck me as a bit . . . pretentious. So I cancelled the signwriter and I've got him coming back later in the week. How would you be about the name
Stormy?
Do you reckon it's time to give it a run
again? Partly recognising all the work you've put in. I'd only do it if you were happy about it, of course.'

‘
Stormy?
Yeah. I don't know how Mum'd feel though. Not a big fan of the
Stormy
mark one, as I recall. But I'd like it. Maybe a name with
Stormy
in it,
Stormy
and something more, another word or two. Anyway, she's a bit more flash than the
Stormy
now, after the refit.'

‘Yeah,' Tanika says. ‘
Deluxe
. That's what you called her, Mr Harbison. The
Stormy Deluxe
. How about that?'

‘
Stormy Deluxe
,' Harbo says, trying it out. ‘Sounds like a racehorse. I'm up for it if you are, Kane.'

‘Yeah. Yeah, it's good.'

‘All right,' he says. ‘Next issue. The long-term future of said
Stormy Deluxe
.' He puts down his fork. ‘Here's the bit you don't know. You'd be thinking, to look at me, that I'd have a few years left, right? A few years, but not a lot of years. It turns out it might be quite a bit less than that, but there's no drama there. Nothing to get worked up about. While I was in hospital that couple of days for the burns, they picked something up on my chest X-rays and it doesn't look good. They said I should play it safe and start making a few plans, and I don't have any kids – I've got no family at all – but what I do have is this old tub that's now been turned into a prize specimen.'

He looks around, at the varnished wood and shiny fittings and cushions everywhere like you'd see in a magazine. But it's not about that. He's not telling us about the boat. They've told him to make plans.

‘I felt bad about that for a while,' he says. ‘People putting in money and time, fixing the old
Stella
for me when I'd sent her to the bottom out of my own stupidity and now I'm going to peg out on them some time anyway. But how do you stop people fixing a boat for you with that piece of info? You can't stop all that generosity by killing the mood and telling them maybe they should just prop you in a corner somewhere 'cause you might not be worth their bother. So she's fixed now, spectacularly, and it'd make me feel a lot better if someone like you two could take her on when the time comes. If you don't blow up the stove, she shouldn't cost you much to look after, and she might show you a few good times.'

I have to look away from him, but I make the mistake of looking at Tanika and she's stopped chewing mid-mouthful and she looks like she might cry. I feel sick. He's fed us with all this amazing food, and now I feel sick. So I look at the table and tell myself it'll be okay. Harbo looks good, not good but sturdy. Like an old tree that once got hit by lightning but got through it. Nothing'll bring him down for a while yet, surely.

‘But don't feel sorry for me,' he says. ‘Here's how
I look at it. I sink my boat, and stacks of people turn up wanting to help me. You two most of all. I know I keep myself to myself sometimes, and that suits me – it's suited me since Sabine jumped ship – but it can leave you wondering if people notice you're there at all. And now I know. They notice, and they want to help me. That's about the best thing that's happened to me in years. See? And that's enough. That's better than I was expecting. And now there's this bigger thing they can't help me with – the shadow on the X-ray – but that's okay. They would if they could. I know that. And I've got a bit of money set aside, so I'll talk to Father Steele about that and see if there's anything he wants done. But I wouldn't mind it if you two took the
Stormy Deluxe
.'

There's thunder outside, and a cool wind blows through the hatch and into the boat.

‘There we go,' he says. ‘Like bloody King Lear. The old bugger comes to grips with his own mortality and that, of course, portends a storm. I think portends is the word. Did you ever see that one?
King Lear?
'

‘So what's going to happen?' I'd rather not ask it, but I need to know.

‘We'll see. They haven't even finished the tests yet. But I wouldn't get too worried about it. I'm pretty well set up here, whether it's weeks or months or whatever. I just thought you should know. Before they turned up
at one of your houses one day with a bloody big boat. I wanted to run it by you, that's all. And I reckon you two don't always get a fair hearing from some of those church people, so . . . So, have a boat instead. Something like that.'

He laughs, and I laugh with him since it's not a choice anyone gives you. So, Kane, it's up to you – would you like the fair hearing or the boat? Like one of those dramatic game show moments, when you can take the cash and leave or risk it all on the next question.

‘Well, thanks,' Tanika says. ‘I don't think we thought you'd . . .'

‘Of course you didn't. You were here to help. And maybe to spend a bit of time with each other, but mainly here to help. What do you reckon, Kane? You wouldn't mind having one of these, would you? A smart-looking tub like this one?'

‘Well, it'd be great, but . . . I hope it's yours for a long while yet.'

And maybe it's reassurance that I'm looking for, but he says it doesn't really bother him either way and he tells us he's pretty tired now and he might have a lie down. But just tired – all gourmeted out – and fully expecting to wake up tomorrow, so we shouldn't look so worried. It's been a big day, seeing the boat go back in the water and his hands come out of bandages.

And we shouldn't bother with the dishes. He's the host, so he'll fix them up later.

‘Might even leave them till morning,' he says. ‘Just this once.'

Outside, the wind's picking up, tossing around leaves and rubbish, and the stars are all gone. There's a flash of lightning over the hills and thunder rumbles across us.

I pick up my bike from where I left it near the fence and a warm heavy drop of rain lands in my hair.

‘Any second now,' Tanika says. ‘We're going to cop a pounding.'

‘Not a lot we can do about it.'

‘I reckon, in the circumstances, I could probably give you a lift home. You and your bike, in the bus. I think that'd be okay. You know, Samaritan. It wouldn't be safe for you out there.'

‘You sure?'

Rain slaps down onto the concrete, each drop practically a handful at a time. Just a few so far, but plenty more to come.

‘Yeah, I'm sure. So come on.'

I follow her to the bus and the bike tyres bounce as they hit the steps on the way in. Rain lands on the roof, lumps of it, more than before but still not yet the real thing.

Tanika stands there next to the driver's seat, leaning
on the steering wheel as I lead the bike past, and she says, ‘Father Steele and my mother both talked to Dad.'

‘Yeah?'

‘And it's not like it's all fixed, or anything, but I told them about my feelings. So, we'll see. Anyway, Dad reckons he's been not quite right about you. The family-man side of him got the better of the rest of him for a while there. He figures you're a good bloke who just succumbed to lust before he'd really had the chance to think it through. He's wrong of course. You succumbed to me. But that's their problem, the stupid way they think of things. I thought it was a top night that night, and I couldn't give a rats about the nativity play, if truth be told.'

‘I was kind of over it myself. Steelo does it the same way every year. I know you can't change the story, since it's the birth of Jesus, but he doesn't leave much room for interpretation. And, if we're being honest, I wouldn't have been up for it this time around if I hadn't heard you were lining up for one of the other Magus spots.'

‘Good,' she says, and the rain comes down harder. ‘Better drive this thing, I guess.'

‘Yeah.'

‘Hey, I'm the bus driver, so I make the rules, right?'

‘Sure. The driver's ultimately responsible for
whatever happens on board. But the usual rule is just sit down and shut up, in the interests of safety. A bit more imagination wouldn't go astray.'

‘Exactly. Well, my rule is you should kiss me now. Or this bus isn't going anywhere, pal.'

‘All right, that's probably fair. Harsh but fair, and who am I to question the bus driver? But I thought it was just a Samaritan act, you driving me home.'

‘No one in the Bible kissed like the Samaritans, they reckon. They were just careful about it. Kept it to themselves and didn't push it too far before the time was right. So when they wrote the Samaritan story, they just looked like a bunch of people who'd go out of their way to help an old guy when he was down.'

She lets go of the steering wheel. Car headlights through the windscreen light up her face, streaky with the rain on the glass.

It's dark again when my hand reaches her arm, when my arms move around her, when my mouth finds her mouth for the first time in weeks, here in the stale warm summer air in this unlit bus with my bike squished between us as the edge of the storm is replaced by the worst of it, clattering down on the roof so nothing else can be heard. No cars, not the change in my breathing, not the quiet thing Tanika says to me when the kiss comes to its end.

I take the seat right behind her, the seat that's usually
hers, and I put my hands on her shoulders for a second. It's as if Joe Bell could turn up now, or Father Steele, and any time I touch her could be the last, so I don't want to stop just yet.

She flicks the indicator on, and she drives.

I watch the road ahead of us, the lights blurring with the rain washing all over the windscreen, parked cars passing below us to the left and the dull shapes of boats on the water beyond them.

I'm leaning forward and I think I can smell her hair, the fragrance from her shampoo with new rain mixed in. Ill remember that tonight, later. There's a lot not to forget. Harbo, the
Stormy Deluxe
, the things I didn't know about life. My life and his. And sometimes you get to know things slowly – they take weeks or months – then other times they come in bunches, fast, almost too fast. Onto you like this rain. Harbo and the shadow on his lung, his past with Sabine and the pirates and the ultimate piracy of his best mate. But sometimes those things happen. My father leaving all those years ago. Tanika Bell, turning up last year, doing the nativity play, telling me it wasn't over and meaning it.