Nature of Ash, The (5 page)

He’s on the sofa, crammed right next to Travis. Rabbiting on, oblivious to the fact that Travis probably doesn’t understand a word he says. Mikey’s face is smeared with icing, the cake already half eaten — no wonder he weighs such a ton — and Jiao’s in the kitchen staring at the floor. Travis is on the joystick, in no doubt what to do. He’s so intent on the game he barely notices when we return, and looks disappointed when Jeannie interrupts and says they have to leave.

‘See ya, mate,’ he says to Mikey and gives him a high five.

As he gets up, I notice a Polynesian tattoo snaking round his neck. ‘Awesome tat,’ I say as we shake hands. I like that he’s been kind to Mikey.

‘Thanks. Your brother’s cool.’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t swap him for the world.’ I
can see that Mikey’s listening, so I play this down. ‘Well,
maybe
I’d trade him in if it was worth my while.’ I smile, to make sure everyone knows I’m joking, and they all politely laugh — except Mikey who, once again, pokes out his tongue. Sometimes he doesn’t miss a beat.

As soon as Jeannie and Travis have gone I sprawl, exhausted, into Dad’s La-Z-Boy and close my eyes. Maybe if I can lull myself to sleep, I’ll wake up fresh tomorrow morning in my fart-laced hostel room with Hayden and discover this has all been a bad, bad dream.

‘Jow Jow, come have your turn.’ Mikey doesn’t comprehend that others might not love that stupid game as much as he does.

I open my eyes and watch as Jiao slinks over to the sofa, her eyes and nose still cry-baby red. When she sits down next to Mikey, she’s shaking pretty much all over. I’m not surprised — even the coldest bitch must be aware how much her leaving’s going to break his heart.

She takes the joystick out of his hand and lays it in her lap. ‘Mikey. I have to go.’

‘No!’ he says. ‘You play the game.’

She glances up at me and I stare right back.
Fuck you
. If I get involved, Mikey will blame me.

She takes both his hands and rests them on his knees, holding tight. ‘I have to go away.’ Her voice is shaking now as well and she can’t hold back the tears.

‘Tomorrow then?’ He reaches up and wipes her cheek. ‘Don’t cry Jow Jow. Doesn’t weep see.’

‘Pardon?’ No wonder she looks so confused. He’s minced up one of Dad’s favourite quotes.

‘He does not weep who does not see,’ I translate, before I can stop myself.

‘Ah, Victor Hugo.’

I try like hell not to reveal my shock. I’ve
never
met anyone anywhere near my age who knows this too. ‘She’s ditching you, mate,’ I say to Mikey. ‘Doing a bunk.’

‘It’s not quite—’

‘No, Jow Jow. Don’t go.’ Mikey’s caught the drift. He flings himself across her lap and wraps his arms around her waist, pinning her to the sofa. Any moment now he’s going to melt down completely.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she lobs at me. ‘Why are you being so mean? You don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘Don’t I?’ Fury launches me from the chair. She’s going to bugger off and leave me to cope with him. ‘So if I handed you a hundred bucks right now, in forward payment, you would stay?’

‘No. I can’t—’

‘Ha! See, Mikey, it’s not even about the dough — it’s just she can’t bear clinging to this sinking ship.’

Mikey’s not listening, though, just sobbing in her lap. She grabs his arms and flings them off. Storms up to her feet and confronts me with her scorching eyes. ‘Leave me alone! You’re not the only one whose family’s in trouble.’

‘Trouble? Honey, ours is six feet under. We have no family any more — so don’t play little guilt trips with me. Just bugger off. I’ll make sure you’re paid exactly what you’re owed.’

‘Ignorant pig,’ she spits. ‘Don’t you even watch the news? My parents are in one of the factory farms up north. They’ve closed it down, and now they’ll either make them fight against your country or shoot them dead. You understand? My folks are trapped. And once your military, or mine, track me down — and, trust me,
one of them’s sure to do it eventually — I’m good as dead as well. I’ve had too much Western education. They’ll see me as a traitor — too risky to their stupid war.’

‘Whoa!’ I certainly was not expecting that.
Bloody hell
.

Nor was I expecting Mikey, who’s tackling me to the floor, to kick me in the shins. ‘Hate you, Ashy. Go away. Say sorry now!’

My shin is frickin’ killing me. ‘Okay, okay …’

I feel like my brain’s gone on strike. There’s only so much shit it can take. The only thing I
do
know is that, whether what she’s said is true or not, Jiao believes it — the inflections in her speech make that quite clear. It’s one of the weird things about what I’ve been studying: by default, you end up listening far more intently than you ever knew was possible and, somewhere along the way, you start to realise you can sometimes pick up lies or truth. Mikey does this without even trying, like it’s wired into his damaged DNA. Maybe I should’ve taken more notice of the fact he likes and trusts her as a friend and not just because she’s the owner of such hypnotising tits.

I limp back to the chair and spread my hands to hide my face. I have to pull myself together. I’m acting like a total dick. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Okay? I had no idea.’

Jiao’s still standing by the TV, arms crossed and legs astride. ‘Thanks.’

It’s a marathon effort to rein my thoughts back under some control. ‘So, where are you going to go?’

She shrugs, her fuck-off demeanour slipping as her arms drop to her sides. ‘I don’t know. But I can’t stay where I am.’

‘Why not?’

‘I live in a boarding house with lots of other kids whose families work up on the farms. Our house parents are very pro-UPR.’

Now I really feel ashamed. I’ve seen docos about the kinds of conditions kids like her have to put up with. They may be living in a so-called free country, but they’re cramped into sub-standard housing and bullied like hell — and one foot out of line can see them shipped back home to scavenge for themselves or sent to work in regulated labour camps right here. Either way, their destiny is not their own.

Mikey slips his arm around her waist. ‘Stay here, Jow Jow. Don’t go away.’

‘Thanks, Mikey. But you guys have enough to deal with right now.’

‘No, he’s right!’ Jiao does a double-take. But I have to make things up to her. Dad would be furious if I let her go when it’s so dangerous. ‘Stay here — at least until we see how this unfolds.’

‘But you’ve just lost your father …’

‘Mikey needs you here right now. Besides, I’ll need someone to stay with him while I sort funerals and lawyers and all the other shit. You’d be doing us a big favour.’ Now that I’ve said it, I realise how true that is. Having someone to help navigate Mikey through the rapids of the next few days would certainly take the load off.

Jiao strokes the top of Mikey’s head, and I swear to god he purrs. ‘I haven’t any money to contribute. Everything I earn goes towards school and board.’

‘So?’ Dad would say money should never be the
referee of what is wrong or right. ‘I’d be forking out for
someone
to help with Mikey, why not you?’

‘Love you,’ Mikey says, ambushing Jiao with a sloppy kiss right on her mouth.

‘I love you too,’ she says through a watery smile. She subtly wipes her mouth dry on his shoulder, making it look like she’s nuzzling in. It’s pretty nice, the way she leaves him with his self-respect intact.

‘So what about it?’

‘Okay. Thanks …’

Mikey punches air. ‘Yus!’

‘But just for now,’ she says. ‘If things get worse, I’m heading for the hills.’

‘You and me both.’ For the first time we smile at each other, before she goes all red and looks away. Good job. I’d hate for her to notice that I’m blushing too.

‘You want to come with me to pick up my things?’ she says to Mikey, and I have the feeling she’s asked him so I’ll get a break.

Mikey bolts straight to the door.

The flat is eerily quiet once they’re gone. I just wander from room to room, not knowing what to do. I feel ninety … no, two thousand — so old that if I stand still for a moment I’ll petrify. I should probably watch the news again. I
know
I should phone back the funeral guy. As for sorting uni and my part-time job … Instead, I find myself back in Dad’s bedroom, staring at the framed photo of him and Mum, trying to make out what’s written on Dad’s T-shirt, dusting off the glass with my manky sleeve. I reckon Dad’s about eighteen in this. My age. He looks so young and carefree. So happy with Mum. Yet the man who raised
me and Mikey on his own looked grey and strained. I guess that’s understandable when you’re forced to go through years and years not knowing if your wife is dead.
What a bitch
.

I turn the photo frame over and open up the back to see if there’s a record of exactly when the picture was taken. As I do so, these tiny squares of newsprint flutter to the bed. Each is neatly trimmed, and all five notices are the same. Some random message in the personal column, dated on Dad’s birthday, for each of the last five years.

Happy birthday SMcC. Enduring love c/o Maungaroa General Store
.

OKAY, THESE NOTICES
could come from anyone, right? Maybe Dad had a secret admirer. Or, bloody hell, perhaps he had a girlfriend and I didn’t know.
That
would be good: the poor bastard deserved a little snake-charming in his old age. So why do I immediately jump to the conclusion they’re from Mum? The idea that she materialised five years ago to send him creepy little messages is nothing short of sick.

If I think back five years to the date of the first message, I’d have been thirteen and Mikey nine.
Thirteen
…
thirteen
… It was the year I started secondary school. The year Dad was made the president of the CTU. He was all over the news and, if I remember rightly, launched straight into a big campaign to reinstate the minimum wage. Dad was gutted when he lost … or so I thought. Maybe he was gutted about something else.

I reconstruct the picture frame and take the notices through to his study, taping them to a clean sheet of paper so I can view them all at once. The longer I stare at them, the more convinced I am that they’re from Mum. Don’t ask me why: I’m buggered if I know. Not that it gives me any comfort. If there’s one thing I absolutely hate it’s people who play games to mind-fuck someone else. It’s a real politician’s trick. A game for scum.

I start to pore through Dad’s personal papers again, feeling like a spy. There’s a whole stack about Mikey, from when Dad was fighting with the school to keep him with his peers. He must have scoured the internet for days, there’s so much research to back up his bid. Perhaps one day I’ll show all this to Mikey and he’ll understand how hard Dad fought.

There’s a mass of letters from the school about me, too: disruptive, fighting, blah, blah, blah. They
never
understood the shit I went through protecting Mikey. Never asked me if
I
was hurt. I tried to keep as much of it as I could from Dad, who had enough on his plate. Besides, he might’ve shifted me somewhere else, and that really would have left poor Mikey up shit creek without a paddle — or a friend.

I find a pile of printed bank statements and sort them into months and years. It’s just as I expected: money in quickly converting into money out. I knew we lived close to the breadline, despite Dad’s job, but seeing this in black and white brings it right home. This past year, between my board and Grandma’s care, we’ve eaten through all Dad’s reserves. There was only nine hundred and eighty-two bucks left at the beginning of this month … minus the two hundred Dad sent me,
plus Mikey’s shoes — and anything else he’s spent since then. Fuck knows where the lawyer thinks the funeral costs are coming from, but they’re sure not here. Will we have to sell the flat? Judging by these statements, I doubt I’ll have a shit-show of paying even one round of annual bills. And then there’s power, water, phone and food … oh god, and Grandma … and Jiao’s pay …

That’s it then. I’m totally screwed. I’ll have to quit uni and try to find a full-time job.

The front door bangs. I drag my sleeve over my face.
Jeezus. Stop crying and harden up
. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, blubbing every five minutes when I haven’t cried for years. The last thing Mikey needs is me behaving like a girl. Besides, I’m damned if I’ll let Jiao see me in this state.

She’s returned with a shabby grey suitcase and a school bag bulging with books. ‘I told them I was staying the rest of the weekend with a school friend,’ she says. ‘So long as they don’t have to feed me they won’t care for now.’ There’s an edge of bitterness in her voice.

‘You can sleep in my old room,’ I say. ‘I’ll share with the Snore-Meister.’ She looks so bloody relieved it makes me wonder where she
thought
I’d make her sleep. Give me a break! I’m not the kind of perv who tricks a girl into bed … well, not so blatantly. The only two times I’ve had sex I was so drunk it’s now just a sweaty blur.

While Mikey helps her stow her gear, I peel a pumpkin to make soup, hoping this will be enough to stave off Mikey’s hunger for tonight. We’ll need to eke out the little food we have until I see the lawyer, and god knows what we do after that — probably grovel to the people who’ve offered help, though even this will be only a short-term fix.

The peeling, dicing and stirring at least keeps me distracted for a while. When we sit down at the table, Jiao and Mikey dig in like starving refugees, and my own appetite kicks back in as well. Between the three of us we demolish the entire pot of soup and half a loaf of bread — not exactly holding back, but I figure we’ll need our strength to survive the next few days.

Only once the pot’s scraped clean and we’re sitting back, stalling on getting up to do the dishes, do we properly start to talk.

‘So,’ I say to Jiao, ‘tell me more about your family.’

I can see a blush bleed up her neck. ‘They emigrated from the Mainland when I was two. It cost them everything they had. They thought that once they got here they’d have a better life.’ She shakes her head, then lets out one derisive snort. ‘No such luck.’

‘What do you mean?’
Why am I even asking?
I’m not Dad’s son for nothing: even though his rantings drove me mad, much of what he said has stuck.

‘They only get to stay here if they sign away their lives. They’re doing it for me. To give me what they couldn’t give me back at home.’

‘Then how old were you when they sent you down here for school?’

‘Five.’

‘You’re joking? On your own?’

‘No joke. I only get to see them twice a year — one week over Christmas and three days mid-year.’ She rubs the corner of her eye. ‘When I was little I used to cry because I missed my real mother so much. My foster-mum would beat me up. You soon learn how to hold it in.’

Mikey’s listening intently and, though I doubt he
understands the subtleties of what she’s saying, he can read her pain. ‘Bad people. I’ll bash them.’

Jiao pats his hand but looks at me. ‘My father always says:
Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves
.’

‘I’d better buy a spade then,’ I say under my breath. ‘’Cause you can bet your arse l’m going to seek revenge for Dad.’

She shakes her head. ‘It’s not about your father, Ashley—’

‘It fucking is.’

‘You’re wrong. This conflict’s been building for years and years. We’re just the meat in the sandwich. Collateral damage.’

God I hate that phrase — it’s bullshit-speak. Anyway, who does she think she is, teaching me to suck eggs? My father raised me on this stuff; I don’t need
her
to tell me that we’re all just pawns in a few greedy pricks’ ego game — that’s more than bloody obvious. But it’s also not the point. ‘You think I should just forget? Someone sent Dad threatening notes. If that’s not personal, then what is?’

Jiao’s eyes widen. ‘You know this for sure?’

I glance over at Mikey, who’s shuffling in his chair as he picks his nose behind his hand. ‘Can you put the kettle on for Jiao, mate? She’d like a cup of tea.’

Mr Raging Hormones nearly trips over himself as he leaps to his feet. ‘Coming up!’ He beams at Jiao and heads off to the kitchen like a love-sick fool.

‘I found them in Dad’s office today,’ I say, quietly so he can’t hear. ‘That’s why Jeannie came — she’s a cop.’

‘Wow.’ She shakes her head, as if sifting the words into her brain. ‘Does she know who it might be?’

‘Nope, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess.’ If she can’t see it has to be the UPR, she’s purposefully playing blind.

Jiao goes all quiet, her eyes downcast. She picks up her discarded spoon and twirls it in her hand. Taps it on the table. Places it back carefully in her empty bowl. ‘We’d better check the TV,’ she says at last, sounding almost as knackered as I feel.

I turn it on as Mikey brings us hot drinks. It’s not hard to find out what’s happening: almost every channel’s cancelled its usual programming to keep up with the breaking news.

There’s been a curfew put in place in all the major cities: no one’s allowed out after dark. And there’s picture after picture of mobilising troops — tanks rolling into towns and Unimogs patrolling city streets. Offshore, there’s now a build-up of container ships that can’t get into the blockaded ports at New Plymouth and Clifford Bay. And on board the various navy ships amassing in our territorial waters, the Aussies and the big boys of the Western Alliance are playing cat-and-mouse with gunships from the UPR.

‘Ho-ly shit!’ It’s hard to comprehend that this is real.

When the reporters start to check in from the regions, Jiao tenses like a cornered rat. ‘Look! Look! That’s where my parents work,’ she says, all squeaky, pointing to the screen. It’s easy enough to make out the armed guards patrolling the perimeter of the heavily fenced factory farm. Then the camera zooms in on a large group of workers being drilled in how to handle guns. Frightened faces, thin and pale from crappy food and little rest, come into view. As the camera pans around, Jiao yelps.

‘That’s Ba! There!’ She springs up to point at the screen,
but the camera moves on before I can identify who she means. She rocks back on her heels, her cheeks two pink starbursts. ‘Human shields,’ she mutters, then she looks at me. ‘Somehow I
have
to get them out.’

‘You’re kidding me. You really think you can just march up there and expect them to release your parents ’cause you ask?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Okay? I just don’t know. But I can’t sit here doing nothing — they’d expect more from me than that.’

‘Come on. Surely they can’t—’

‘You don’t understand. I owe my parents everything. I’m their one hope for a better life.’

‘That’s ridiculous. They can’t hang that on you. You’re just a girl.’

I shrink back from the furnace in her eyes.

‘Exactly. They could have aborted me — waited for a son — but they said I must be female for a purpose, so they brought me over here to give us all a better chance at life.’

Bloody hell. She has this way of making me feel real dumb. I mean, I know about the UPR’s one-child policy and their preference for boys, but
never
thought what it must feel like to know you’re a disappointment to your family before you’re even born. Of course I should’ve had a hint: after all, Mikey’s in much the same boat — in fact, the only real difference is that he has no idea how close he came to never being here at all. Maybe that’s why Jiao’s so nice to him. Maybe she’s figured out this connection too — though right now I’d be a suicidal fool to ask.

‘It’ll be okay,’ I say. ‘I’m sure it will. If we can see what’s going on, then the rest of the world must too.
Surely the UN will have to act.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ She looks as though she doesn’t believe a word. Trouble is, I’m not sure I do either.

I’m ambushed by a yawn and check the clock. It’s only seven-thirty. If I go to bed now I’ll never sleep. I drag out a copy of Mikey’s current favourite movie, hoping for a distraction from the pictures in my head.

I watch the stupid slapstick antics on the screen, while Mikey snuggles in between Jiao and me, but I can’t connect. It’s like I’m floating underwater, the words and images filtered through murky brine. When the damn thing’s over I pull the plug and do the dishes while Jiao reads Mikey a story before we go to bed.

Without even discussing it, Mikey and I end up in Dad’s room — not only because his bed is bigger for the two of us to share, but also for the comfort of Dad’s smell. We nearly have one final meltdown when Mikey refuses to take off his new shoes, but in the end I let him wear the bloody things to bed. If this is what he needs right now, who am I to stop him? In fact, I slip on Dad’s old dressing gown with the same intent. Then I climb in next to Mikey and offer to scratch his back. It always calms him down and, in the process, calms me too.

‘Ashy?’

‘Hmmm?’

‘Can Dad come back?’

‘No, mate. No, he can’t.’

‘You’ll stay?’

‘Of course.’

‘Promise?’

I think about the UPR and WA armies readying their troops.
No guarantees
. ‘Of course.’

‘Say it,’ Mikey demands. ‘Pinky promise.’ He shoves his hand into my face.

I loop my little finger through his, darkness hiding my deceit as I cross the fingers of my other hand. ‘Pinky promise, mate. Now go to sleep.’

He sighs, sounding extremely grown-up. ‘Okay. Night night. Love you, Ashy.’

‘Love you too.’

It’s not long before he’s snoring, but he’s restless as hell, tossing and turning as if he’s staked by a rotisserie and can’t break loose. I roll over to the side of the bed and stick my head under the pillow to block his nasal drum-roll, but it does no good. Every snore reverberates inside my head like a death-metal solo … At one-thirty I sneak into his empty bed in search of peace.

I’m finally just drifting off when I’m jerked wide awake by a tortured roar: ‘Where are you?’ He’s upright in the bed, freaked out of his tiny mind.

‘It’s okay, mate, I’m here.’ I climb into bed with him and rub his back. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘Want Dad.’

‘I know. I want him too. But I’m still here. And Jiao.’ He’s crying, and my eyes start watering too.
God damn
.

‘Tell me the dragon story,’ Mikey whines.

It’s one I made up when he was small and must have told him at least three hundred times.

‘All right,’ I say, snuggling in beside him so I can feel his breath on my cheek. ‘Once upon a time …’

As I settle into telling it, I glance up at the bedroom door. Jiao is standing there in a T-shirt and pants. ‘Okay?’ she mouths.

I nod.