The Cartographer (22 page)

‘Don't be ridiculous. I'll tell him the truth.'

‘Mother, he wants to do things to me —'

That was as far as I got. There was a singing bang, and I was lying on the floor, seeing colours, mainly pink ones. That nun had a textbook right. Just then Miss Schaeffer turned up and helped me to my feet.

‘Take this disgusting boy back to class, Miss Schaeffer.'

She stuck her face so close to mine I could smell a mixture of Lux soap flakes, Vick's VapoRub and calico.

‘Don't you ever speak to a nun like that again, d'ya hear?'

Whatever I'd said seemed to do the trick, as she turned suddenly, her big wooden rosary beads making a sound like the beaded curtain in Aunty Queenie's living room, and swished away.

After the events of the past few days, I needed cheering up. Let's face it, it's not all beer and skittles being a superhero, and I was feeling that I needed a bit of social life after having to put up with the stresses and strains of being frightened by Aunty Betty's version of my life, threatened by Wonder Woman and the cop Murphy, and, worst of all, getting my picture plastered all over Melbourne.

So, travelling by drain to avoid Bob Herbert, I took Biscuit to visit the Sandersons. The only way to get Biscuit into the drain was to walk in from the river end, which gave me a view of the place where the Yarra River Incident had taken place. As I looked across to the island, I realised that it was mine to name, and perhaps to inhabit, so I named it Josephine Island, and made a note to come back to it and check out the old building. Then Biscuit and I plunged into the big drain. I ha d to talk to him a fair bit, as he had never travelled by drain before, and took a few minutes to get the hang of it. I went about halfway to the tip, which I knew was just a few streets away from Kipling Lane, where I exited and went down to the back of the Sandersons' place.

Nothing had changed. It was as if they had discovered that they had a torture chamber in their back yard, and had decided that from now on the only way they were going to set foot down there was if someone held a knife to their throats.

So Biscuit and I strolled though the overgrown jungle and around to the side door and knocked. There was no response, but there was a bell, so, after discussing the matter with Biscuit, who was all for it, I rang the bell and waited. You're probably wondering why I didn't just ring the bell straightaway, instead of knocking. Well, that was because the kids in our neighbourhood were always ringing doorbells, and then running like hell, and well, I guess I just wanted to see how it would feel to knock.

Somewhere there was a sound like a camel walking across the desert, and next thing I knew the door opened and there was Mr Sanderson, wearing slippers made of tartan material. I must have looked at them pretty hard — I know Biscuit did, because he was huffing and puffing as if he had just seen the funniest thing in the world. Instead of saying hello, Mr Sanderson followed our gaze for a second, then said, with a twinkle in his eye: ‘Oh, that's the Sanderson tartan,' but I heard Mrs Sanderson in the background saying loud enough for me to hear: ‘He's pulling your leg, dear …
Sanderson tartan
!'

So they invite me in, and I tell Biscuit: ‘Stay, Biff!' because it turns out he answers to just about any name I call him.

‘I thought his name was Shadow,' says Mr Sanderson.

‘Changed it,' I answer, following him into his cool, dark house that smells like a mixture of Brasso and pianos.

‘Hello, dear,' says Mrs Sanderson. ‘So, you two are a couple of heroes, aren't you? I thought your dog's name was Shadow. It said in the paper his name was something else — Biscuit, wasn't it, dear? I remember I said: “Biscuit? That can't be right.”'

‘People are always getting his name wrong,' I said, hoping to put an end to this public adoration of my dog. ‘He just eats a lot of dog biscuits.'

‘Well, he'll have to be content with a bone today, so don't go changing his name to Bones, will you?' They both laughed, so I did too, though I made a mental note to change his name to Bones for our next caper. The main thing was, I was enjoying myself as soon as I walked through the door. After all, the whole point of the visit was to spend time with someone who didn't think I should be in a home.

‘Seems like Biff's not the only one with a couple of names.'

I was ready for that one. ‘All the kids have a couple of names. It's a bit of a game,' I said, without missing a beat.

So things got off to a good start. The Sandersons seemed to be happy to see me and gave me some cake that had just been made, and some creamy soda, my favourite non-alcoholic drink. They gave Biscuit a bone to gnaw on, so naturally, being a Labrador, he thought it was his birthday. But it wasn't. Actually, nobody seemed to know his real birthday, so I made it the same as mine. That way, Mum would always make him a birthday cake without knowing it, saving me having to ask and getting told that birthday cakes for dogs don't grow on trees.

‘Anyway, we're both very proud of you. We've stuck the picture from
The Sun
onto our fridge door and we show it to everyone who comes over. So, tell us, what have you been up to?'

As I sipped the creamy soda, I had a quick meeting of the League with myself, and decided to tell them the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, like in
Perry Mason
. I took a breath.

‘I've been visiting my cousin in New Zealand for a while. His father is a fireman, and recently had to put out a fire in an office building and rescue a whole lot of people by carrying
them down a ladder to the ground, and they gave him a medal. My cousin's name is Mick, and he's a year younger than me, though we're the same height. His mother says that's because it's a bit colder there than in Melbourne and it does something to kids' bones that makes them grow faster. They used to live in Melbourne — in Brunswick, and I think they barracked for Fitzroy, who didn't do too well this year. I went to New Zealand on a plane and came back on the same plane. It was a DC-3.'

I stopped and took a sip of my creamy soda. This was good creamy soda.
I bet it would be even better with a dash of Gilbey's in it
, I thought.

‘What a wonderful adventure,' said Mrs Sanderson. ‘We don't think we've ever met a more interesting young man than you. Have you always lived in this neighbourhood?'

‘Yeah, all my life.'

‘And you go to which school?'

‘St Felix's.'

‘Help yourself to some more cake, you look like you're enjoying it.'

My plan was working: I was starting to relax, to feel that right in the middle of the world of trouble and fright I lived in I had found an oasis. I looked around and took in the living room: red carpet with a Persian pattern, thick curtains with little ropes to tie them up, a clock that ticked away as if it might stop with every tick, but didn't, unlike ours, which was the same size but ticked as if it was daring you to try and stop it. There was a huge mirror with a polished wooden frame and a large brass pot full of lilies and embossed with flowers. There was a little round table with two chairs and a checkers board built into it. All over it were wooden playing pieces, some of
them shaped like castles, and some of them like horses — I noticed that there were two black horses but only one white one. There were lamps all over the place — five in fact. And I noticed, looking at the ceiling, that there were no ceiling lights, but there were three gas light fittings folded back against the walls that would never be used again — all of the old homes I had been into had those. There was a gigantic fireplace with a mantelpiece covered in old brown photos and little statues. I counted six photos and three statues. And there was a piano with the word ‘Wertheim' written on the front in gold, same as the one at our place, only newer. Finally, there were two bone ashtrays in shiny metal stands shaped like slender naked women with their hands above their heads.

When I looked back at the Sandersons, they were both looking at me with very gentle eyes.

‘You know,' said Mr Sanderson, ‘I'll bet if I asked you to close your eyes and name every object in this room, you could.'

That was such a new idea, I had to think about it for a moment. But he was right, and I nodded.

‘Yes,' he said, ‘that's what I thought. That's a rare gift, you know. Most people would have to be trained to do that, and you can already do it. You like to walk, don't you, you and Biff?'

‘Yes, we go everywhere together, me and Biff.'

They looked at each other.

‘You have the air of a natural explorer, an enquiring gentleman. You never ask questions, yet your eyes ask questions ceaselessly. Am I right?'

He was. He knew all about me, yet didn't frighten me. This was not the Mr Sanderson I was used to, but it was okay. I nodded slowly and Mrs Sanderson sipped her tea.

‘I wouldn't be at all surprised if you knew everything that went on in this neighbourhood — hmmm?'

‘Prob'ly.'

‘Tell me — and you don't have to answer if you don't want to — do you know what happened in this house before Mrs Sanderson and I came to live here?'

I took a bite of my cake. It might as well have been tripe.

‘I see. Well, I wish I could say we know all about it, and put your mind at rest, but we don't.'

Mrs Sanderson put down her tea. ‘I wonder if …'

‘Yes,' said Mr Sanderson. ‘I suppose we have to ask you this question eventually. We have reason to believe there was a witness to … to what happened in this house. Do you know what a witness is?'

I was chewing, but nothing was happening.

‘Now I want you to think carefully. Remember that you are always safe here: we would never tell anyone anything you tell us, not your parents, not even the police. But we have to know what happened. Were you on the ladder that day?'

By now I had run clean out of saliva, and stood a good chance of being the first kid in my street to choke on a piece of orange sponge.

‘Did you see the man who did … who took my sister's life?'

I could not talk. I had to think. Then, as I looked into their eyes, I realised that it was all right. They were talking about Bob. They knew nothing about him, but I knew something about him that nobody knew.

‘The man who did that to my sister has never been found. Did you see him?'

‘Russell, perhaps —'

‘Yes, I did, but I don't know him.'

There was the sound of the doorbell.

‘Russell, that's enough for now.' Mrs Sanderson got up. ‘Actually, we were expecting visitors when you came, and we thought you might be them. Now we can all have a fresh cup of tea and another piece of cake.'

She went out to the door, and Mr Sanderson said: ‘Our visitor is one of our oldest friends and her son — he's about your age, but I'm pretty sure you'll find he goes to a different school.'

The visitors were shown in and we all stood up while I was introduced to them.

‘This is Mrs Palmer, and this is her son, James …'

 

Looking back, I wondered why Biscuit had not detected the presence of Wonder Woman on the premises, and killed her on the spot. But then it dawned on me that he had smelt her perfume before — on me — and more than once too, and that was probably what saved her life. Now it was just the Cartographer and his new nemesis.

‘I'm pleased to meet you,' she said, as cool as an ice-block. She reminded me of the Larry Kent episode: ‘Lovely But Cold!' She was not Wonder Woman just then; she was just Mrs Palmer from South Yarra, and she did not try to control my mind or capture me with her Lasso of Truth — I think because she did not want me to tell the truth just at that moment. She must have been as surprised as I was, but I saw only the merest flicker of her eyes when she noticed me, and I knew what that meant, because Granddad had told me to look for it in the eyes of people we met at the track.

Granddad and me even had a trick: he would ask a question and look away for a second, so that the punter would think
Granddad couldn't see if he was lying or not, and would let his guard down. Meanwhile, I would look at the punter's eyes. If they flickered I would sniff. I sniffed when I met Mrs Palmer, but I admit I didn't have to, as I could see she was surprised; no, I sniffed because she smelt like a million bucks — make that two.

As for her son, James, he and I hit it off instantly. I felt that I had known him for ages, having seen his picture on the piano at his house and having even pretended to be him for a few minutes — nothing brings you closer to another person than putting yourself in his shoes, Granddad says: that's how you know which way the punter's going to bet. Well, you know what I'm trying to say.

James had no friends on my side of the river, he said, and wanted to tell me all about his school, Royals, and his friends, and, of course, his toys. As far as I could see, we had two things in common, apart from being boys. He had a large collection of comics, superior to mine in number, but not in the selection offered. He did not, for example, have any
Combat
,
The Sarge
or
Fightin' Gyrene
comics. But he did have an extraordinary range of
Classic Comics
, including a few I had never heard of, such as
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
,
Two Years Before the Mast
and
The Black Arrow
, which I just had to have. And we both liked the same radio and TV programs.

Mrs Palmer left James and me to get on with boys' business: the business of going outside and visiting young Biscuit. Biscuit was not good company, as he had a bone, and James had to be content with my assurances that he could rescue people from rivers — I showed him the photo on the Sandersons' fridge — rescue people from burning buildings, and jump up and tear the limbs off thugs who were escaping on horses. After James
saw the photo the rest was easy. People believe what they want to believe, said Granddad. And I had never seen anyone who wanted to believe as badly as James. He was keen on dogs and wanted to pat Biscuit, or Biff, which was the name Biscuit went under that day. But Biscuit would only growl at James, which was kind of him, as it tended to validate my stories.

James was all right, I thought. I decided to keep an eye on him and if he had the correct qualifications, recommend him for membership in the Commandos. I hoped he might be able to help us with our money-printing because we still hadn't got it right. Of course, I would have to devise a suitable initiation. That would be half the fun.