The Boundless Sublime (4 page)

‘Are you all right?’ Fox’s fingers tightened on mine in a reassuring squeeze.

I found my breath and nodded. I squeezed back, and suddenly Fox’s hand was a life raft, the only thing stopping me from sinking further into empty blackness.

‘Do you need to take that?’ I indicated the cardboard box.

Fox shook his head. ‘It’ll be here when we get back.’

I took him to a café that I knew had a juice bar. Fox looked curiously around as we went in, at the laminex tables and
band posters on the walls. A waitress came over and I ordered a coffee. She turned to Fox, who smiled up at her.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘My name’s Fox. It’s lovely to meet you.’

The waitress looked confused. ‘Great,’ she said. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Josie,’ said the waitress, glancing at me. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

Fox shook his head. ‘I don’t drink coffee.’

The waitress took a deep breath.

‘Juice,’ I said, leaning forward. ‘He drinks juice.’

‘Okay,’ said the waitress. ‘We have orange, apple, ginger, pineapple, carrot and grapefruit.’

Fox looked delighted. ‘And I get to choose one?’

‘One, or a mix. You can have all of them if you want.’

‘All of them together in one glass?’ Fox shook his head with a disbelieving smile. ‘Who knows what that might do to me. May I have apple juice? Thank you so much, Josie.’

The waitress smiled insincerely and disappeared into the kitchen. Fox carefully inspected everything on the table – the laminated menu, a tea-light candle in a glass holder, the salt and pepper shakers, the little packets of sugar and artificial sweetener.

‘What are these?’ he asked, holding up a pink packet.

‘Splenda,’ I told him. ‘It’s an artificial sweetener.’

‘Artificial?’

Had he really never been in a café or restaurant before? ‘You use it instead of sugar. To make tea or coffee sweet.’

‘Because sugar is bad for you.’ Fox nodded.

‘Right.’

‘And this isn’t bad for you?’ He shook the packet.

‘Oh, I’m pretty sure that’s bad for you too. But a different kind of bad.’

Fox’s puzzled frown deepened. ‘So why use it?’

I shrugged. ‘People like sweet things.’

‘People seem to like lots of things that are bad for them.’

‘Yep.’

Fox chewed his bottom lip, thinking. ‘People are strange,’ he said finally.

The waitress reappeared with Fox’s apple juice and a flat white for me. I reached for a packet of sugar, but saw Fox’s alarmed expression and decided to go without. He then proceeded to tip a good three teaspoons of salt into his juice, stirring it with the straw.

‘That’s
salt
,’ I said.

Fox nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘It’s going to taste disgusting!’

‘Salt is a cardinal element.’

I made a face. ‘Do you always have salt in your apple juice?’

‘I have salt in everything. Don’t you?’

I shook my head. ‘You know that salt is also bad for you, right? Like sugar?’

Fox laughed. ‘Don’t be silly.’ He lifted the striped paper straw from his juice and cocked his head to the side. ‘What is this?’

‘You’ve never seen a straw before?’

Fox shook his head.

I explained what it was for, and Fox put it back in his salty apple juice and tried an experimental suck. A brilliant smile lit up his face, and he looked just like a little boy.

‘That’s
wonderful
,’ he said.

I stared at him. ‘Are you Amish or something?’

‘I don’t know what that is,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think I am.’

I wondered if he had an intellectual disability. He didn’t seem as though he did … but how else could you explain not knowing what a
straw
was?

‘Do you go to school?’ I asked.

‘Schools are full of lies,’ Fox said, his tone automatic, as if he were reciting something. ‘I learn from the world. The drizzle of rain on a window. The tickle of wind that heralds a storm. The rise and fall of my breath, and the rhythm of my heart. The voices of birds and trees.’

I raised my eyebrows, and Fox laughed at my expression.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I get carried away sometimes. No, I don’t go to school. But I like learning about … well, everything.’

He raised his arm to gesture at the world, and his oversized shirt-cuff fell back to his elbow, exposing his wrist and forearm, dusted with golden hair and freckles. I imagined what it would be like to touch his arm, to press my lips against his wrist.

I sipped my coffee and tried to get a grip on myself. ‘What about your parents?’

‘My parents?’

‘Don’t they worry about you, out here all day instead of in school?’

Fox smiled gently. ‘Daddy understands that there are more important things in the world than school.’

Daddy
? What was he, five? ‘And your mum?’

‘I don’t have a mother.’ He said it simply, matter-of-fact.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

‘You weren’t prying,’ said Fox. ‘Being truly alive means being completely honest with everyone. Including yourself.’

I had a million questions, and no idea where to start. Fox was like a box of puzzle pieces, with no picture on the lid to guide me.

‘Are you being completely honest with yourself, Ruby?’

The question caught me off-guard. My mind searched for something to say to distract him, change the flow of conversation, but my mouth betrayed me and told the truth.

‘No.’

Fox waited, watching me with patient eyes.

I twisted a serviette in my hands. Could I tell him? Could I say the words out loud? Would the world end? Would Fox turn his beautiful face away in disgust?

I glanced around the café. About half the tables were occupied – pensioners enjoying an afternoon coffee, a few truant schoolkids. A man in a taxi-driver’s uniform. The waitress glanced over at our table. My throat jammed closed. I couldn’t.

Fox pushed his chair back and stood, tugging me up with him. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he said. ‘I know somewhere.’

I nodded. He headed for the door.

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘We have to pay.’

Fox blinked. ‘Oh,’ he said, and his cheeks coloured. ‘I don’t— I didn’t think …’

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll get it.’

Fox followed me to the counter, where I pulled out my wallet and handed the waitress a twenty-dollar note. She counted out the change, as Fox watched, fascinated.

‘May I?’

I handed him the ten-dollar note and a few coins. He rubbed them all with his fingers, held them up to the light, smelled them. The waitress glanced at me and made a
That guy is nuts
face. I felt a weird surge of protectiveness, and steered Fox out of the café.

‘I thought it would be different,’ he said quietly, staring at the money. ‘More beautiful. More dangerous. But it’s so … mundane.’

He handed me back the note and coins.

‘Fox,’ I said. ‘Was that the first time you’ve handled money?’

‘It’s strange,’ he said, his brow creasing. ‘That people suffer so much, do such ugly things, all because of something so trivial.’

He laced his fingers in mine, and led me down the street to the park.

It was a grey, desolate day, and the icy wind was keeping all but the keenest dog walkers and joggers from the park. The trees were bare and the grass was trampled and muddy underfoot. Fox led me to the pond, an artificial mini-lake populated with straggly reeds and a few ducks. We sat down on a park bench that faced the water.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ Fox asked, his eyes shining. ‘I feel so in love when I come here.’

I swallowed. ‘In love?’ I said, trying to sound casual. ‘Who are you in love with?’

He looked at me, his eyes thoughtful. ‘It depends,’ he said. ‘On what I’m thinking about. Sometimes I come here and I feel totally and utterly in love with ducks. Sometimes I feel as if I’m in love with all of humanity. Sometimes I’m in love with a single leaf or flower. But today … Today, Ruby, I feel like I’m in love with you.’

For a moment, the darkness fell away, leaving me pink and exposed. My heart pounded and my mouth turned dry.

‘My little brother died,’ I blurted out. ‘And it’s my fault.’

Fox didn’t say anything.

‘I was supposed to pick him up from soccer practice. Mum was working, and Dad had been on night shift. I was supposed to pick Anton up at six. But I didn’t. I forgot. I was with my friends. We hung around talking after school and I lost track of time. There was a guy there I liked – Ali. I was trying to impress him. He offered me a drag of his cigarette and I took one, even though I never smoke. I nearly
choked, and he laughed at me. I didn’t hear my phone ring.’ I took a deep breath. ‘When Anton couldn’t get in touch with me, he called Dad. Except Dad wasn’t home. He was at the pub, with some of the guys from his work. He’d been drinking all day – since he clocked off work that morning.’

I felt my chest starting to heave, and struggled to draw breath.

‘Anton went running over when he saw Dad’s car pulling up. But Dad was driving too fast. He tried to swerve …’

Fox still didn’t say anything. Did he hate me, now that he knew the truth?

‘They wanted to let Dad out on bail until the trial, but he refused. He said he didn’t deserve to be out in the world. He’s in a remand centre now. I don’t know exactly where. Mum sort of fell apart. It’s like she’s been sleepwalking ever since. My family is broken, and it’s my fault. All because I wanted to show off to some stupid boy.’

I took a deep breath and stole a look at Fox. He was staring out across the pond. He certainly didn’t
look
revolted.

‘What do you see, when you look out here?’ he asked at last.

‘Um.’ I looked around. Wasn’t Fox going to say anything about what I’d told him? ‘The pond, I guess. Trees.’

‘What do you notice about the trees?’

I squirmed. ‘They have no leaves. It’s winter, so everything looks dead.’

I turned back to Fox and saw the hint of a smile tweak the corner of his mouth. ‘Look again,’ he said. ‘Look closer.’

I did. And I realised that the trees weren’t all bare at all. There were pink and green buds starting to swell on every branch. Winter was nearly over. Beneath the trees, green spears were pushing through the soil, spears that would soon become crocuses and daffodils.

‘Oh,’ I said, softly.

‘How do you feel?’ Fox asked. ‘Do you feel different, now that you’ve told me?’

‘I—’ I took another deep breath. ‘I feel … better. Sort of
cleaner
, like I’ve opened a window to let stale air out.’

‘See?’ said Fox. ‘Honesty. Honesty will free you from the weights that tether you to your sadness.’

‘But that doesn’t change what I
did
.’

‘You can’t change that. No matter how bad you feel.’

‘I don’t think Mum will ever forgive me,’ I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Fox reached over and brushed my cheek with his fingers, delivering a pulse of electricity. ‘Then you’ll have to forgive yourself instead.’

If anyone else had said that, I would have dismissed it as impossible. But with Fox … with Fox, everything seemed possible.

‘Come and have dinner with us,’ said Fox. ‘I want you to meet my family.’

Dinner. Making small talk with strangers. Questions. More questions. Being polite and normal and human. Smiling and passing the butter. The thought of it was suffocating. I shook my head, but couldn’t quite bring myself to refuse. To see where Fox lived … to puzzle together the pieces of his mysterious life. Could I really turn that chance down?

‘Don’t worry,’ said Fox. ‘You don’t have to talk. You can just listen. Nobody will pressure you. We don’t work that way.’

I hesitated.

‘And I’ll be there with you, the whole time,’ said Fox. ‘I won’t leave your side. Please.’

I swallowed my terror. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll come.’

3

‘You live here?’ I said, staring up at the house.

It was old and huge, built of stately red brick with lacy fringes of white Victorian latticework. High walls surrounded a dense jungle of garden. It looked like a house out of a fairytale.

‘Sometimes,’ said Fox, leading me up a winding, overgrown path towards the verandah.