The Eye of the Sheep (22 page)

‘Mum! Mum!’ I shouted.

She grabbed at my clothes, trying to speak, making the sounds of a donkey calling and calling, her face white, eyes frightened, her body wanting the air, longing for it, needing it. Seconds were passing. There was nothing I could do but be her little man, watching as she tried and tried. Then she closed her eyes, and her body, so big and wide, arched like a bridge. Hard and stiff, her head went back and her eyes opened again but this time there was no light and no eye, only whites. Her eyes had rolled over to the other side, looking for a way to let in the air, searching for what was blocking the opening, then seeing the moths, thousands, swirling in clouds, wings beating as they struggled for space. Then her body dropped, slumped into the bed, soft and spent, her eyes closed, then it arched again, the eyes opened, and she made the sound of the donkey once more as it was squeezed and squeezed.

I called for her over and over. ‘Mum! Mum!’ but there was nothing I could do. Nothing I knew to do.

She arched her back one more time, her mouth opened wider than it ever had before, so wide I thought it would tear her face in two.

‘Mum! Mum! No! No!’

Out rushed the moths, up in swirls. Clouds of moths flew over her, their wings beating them upwards from her mouth, each with a tiny eye in the centre of its wing, shining with light. I stood back as the room filled with light from the eyes in the moths’ wings, then they flew towards the window, bunching at its open space, before flying out into the sky. They were gone. The room was empty.

‘Mum, Mum!’ I said, ‘It’s alright now, it’s alright! They’re gone!’

She didn’t wake up.

‘Mum, Mum! You can wake up now, they’re gone, they’re
gone!’ I pushed her shoulder. ‘Mum, Mum, you can wake up now,’ I said. ‘You can wake up!’ She didn’t move.

I climbed onto the bed and pressed myself to her, as I had pressed myself since I was a baby, to feel her, the land that was mine, but it was still. I held on as if by holding I could suck the life up from the earth’s network and give it to her. I held on, myself growing damp as she was, mixing with the wetness of her, as if it could make us one person and not two – not two.

I held on as the light in the room faded to darkness, and then I closed my eyes and kept them closed as if I could become a dream and in the dream there she would be and there I would be. It wouldn’t be earth, it would be another place, somewhere we’d never been before. It would be a story without pages or pictures and it wouldn’t end, it wouldn’t be over. I woke up, feeling her cold against me. I could feel crying in my cogs but it was caught, trapped. I couldn’t let it go; the force would destroy me.

When I next opened my eyes I watched the room turn from grey to pink to yellow to grey again. Night came and went, mixing with day until there was no difference. I pulled Mum’s blankets over me and lay close to her. I let myself slide back to where the sheep’s light began, where it was always shining. I heard the telephone ring. ‘Leave it, love, it won’t be anyone. Wrong number.’ I watched the light change again; pale orange, black, yellow. I was slowing down, setting myself to the clock of Mum. When I breathed I only took in the tiniest puffs, just enough for the smallest rise and the smallest fall. With each breath I took in less. The telephone rang and rang. ‘Oh, just leave it, Jimmy, we’ve got each other, we’re alright on our own, aren’t we, love?’

I rubbed my hand up and down her arm as if I could transmit life through my cells into hers, over the elbow, up to the shoulder and down again, her skin hard and cold beneath my fingers. ‘Pop down the shops, love, be a good boy.’

‘Yes, Mum, yes. For jam supremes, Mum. Supreme surprise.’

‘Funny boy. Don’t be long, love. I’ll miss you.’

‘No, Mum, I won’t be long.’

‘We’re alright, you and me, just the two of us, hey?’

‘Yes, Mum, just the two of us. Milk for your tea? Milk for your tea?’

‘My good boy, my little man, I’ll miss you, little man.’

‘I won’t be long, Mum. I won’t be long!’

‘I know you won’t be long, my love. I know.’

‘You know, don’t you, Mum?’

‘I do, Jimmy.’

‘Good, Mum. Good.’

‘I love you, Jimmy.’

‘I love you, Mum.’

I never went to the toilet; I don’t know what came out of me or where it went. I never left her side at all.

I heard knocking on the door:
knock knock knock. Knock knock knock
. I tried to push in underneath her while I waited for the knocking to stop but she was stiff and heavy. At last the knocking ended and it was just the two of us again.

Sometimes I got out of the bed and went to her bathroom where I drank from the tap, putting my face close to the spout, holding out my tongue like the lambs, feeling the cool and living water entering my parched tubes. Then I went back to the bed and climbed in under the blanket. I held on as the land of her turned to winter.

Part Four

‘Wake up, Jim, wake up!’

Men lifted me into the air. I looked for my mother in the bed but she was gone. I saw the shape where she had been; the full round valley, the low dips and gentle rises. I opened my mouth to call for her but I couldn’t make any sound. I turned in time to see men carrying a narrow bed through the door with a body beneath a sheet. I tried to follow but it was too late.

‘Haven’t you been able to contact anybody? What about the father?’

‘We’re trying. Apparently he left a couple of months ago.’

‘Keep looking. And didn’t the neighbour say there was a brother?’

‘Yes, and she also said he was off the coast of Kalbarri somewhere on a fishing boat.’

‘That’s just great. There’s an uncle too. Up north. Has anyone tried him?’

‘We’re trying.’

When I opened my eyes I saw that I was in a bed with a policeman standing on either side. Their words floated over my feet.

I closed my eyes and rolled them back so I could look inside. I saw the skin sac that enclosed my network, but the network itself was gone. There was only empty space; I couldn’t see the boundaries.

A man stood beside the bed. He said, ‘Jim, are you awake? Can you hear me?’ The man’s voice was warm, like a small fire of twigs and coal. ‘Jim? Can you hear me?’ I opened my eyes. I was in a bright white room with a row of beds. Above every bed was a window. I tried to swallow but my throat felt dry. The man passed me a glass of water and I took a small sip.

‘Do you think he might be ready for something to eat?’ A woman in a white dress put a tray with egg and baked beans and a glass of milk and peaches in syrup beside the bed.

‘We’ll see how we go,’ said the man. He looked down at a notepad in his hands. ‘Your name’s Jim, right? Jim Flick?’

I nodded.

‘I’m Andrew,’ he said. ‘I’m here to help you.’

I listened to him, but it was as if he was talking about somebody else. Here to help who?

‘Jim, do you know what happened to you?’

What happened to me? What did he mean? I opened my mouth to ask but I was prevented; something was blocked.

‘Jim, you’ve been through a tough time. The good news is your uncle is coming down to get you. Rodney – you remember him, don’t you? Rodney?’

I nodded. Rodney was from another time.

Andrew put his hand on my arm. ‘I am sorry about your mother, Jim.’

Sorry? What did he do?

Andrew stood up. ‘You don’t know where your father is, do you, Jim? We don’t know where to look.’

The smell here was like Blitz floor cleaner. I looked at the tray of food and I didn’t want any of it. I lay back, the pillow cool beneath my head. I was on my own; Andrew must have left.

‘We need the bed, Andrew. There’s no reason for him to stay. When’s the uncle due?’

‘Any minute.’

‘You better be right. He needs to be out of here by the end of the day.’

‘He still hasn’t spoken.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with him.’

‘He’s in shock.’

‘We can’t let him have a bed. There has to be someone or he goes into state care – but not this part of state care.’

‘Just until the end of the day.’

‘I’ll be back at five. Then that’s it.’

‘Okay.’

‘What’s his name – have you figured that much out?’

‘Jim. Jim Flick.’

I rolled back my eyes and watched as the empty space where my network should have been began to fill with rusted engines and wheels and belts and fans and glass and gearshifts and exhaust pipes and radiators and Coke cans and old tyres. I was being stretched.

•

‘Well, Andrew?’

‘Please, just one more night. The uncle called, he’ll be here at nine am. He couldn’t get a flight any earlier.’

‘The boy can’t stay. There are children who need the beds. If there’s something wrong he needs to be in a psychiatric ward.’

‘No, he doesn’t need that. He’s just lost his mother. He was in the room with her for four days.’

‘These beds are for sick children.’

‘Okay, okay. I’ll take care of it.

‘Now, please.’

‘Okay.’

Andrew helped me out of the bed, his hands against my back. I could feel the warmth between us but it was only happening to my outer casing. I was external to myself, watching from a new land. The police had taken my words at the entrance, locking them in a box and storing them in alphabetical order alongside the other mutes’.

‘Come on, mate, we need to get you out of here.’

My legs shook as Andrew took my hand and led me out of the hospital.

‘How long since you saw your uncle?’ Andrew asked as we drove.

I looked for the line between shops and gutters and lampposts and buses and bins but it had disappeared.

‘Can you remember when?’

The road was crowded with cars and trucks and a motorbike, all pushing to get to the front. Vehicles took the empty places
then vacated them, seeking others. There was empty space changing shape, but no connecting line.

‘What about your father? When did you last see him?’

I could hear Andrew’s voice, as warm as the first time, but it was like the television being on without watching it.

‘We know your brother is away on a boat. That’s pretty exciting, hey?’

His voice came and went, mixing with the rumble of the car’s engine. But I had nothing for him. I was wordless.

Andrew stopped the car at a building of pale bricks with a broken window and bars across. Outside the building was barbed wire and some writing in pink, purple and green painted across the side. The writing had its own code, indecipherable to the naked eye.

‘It’s just for the night,’ said Andrew. ‘Until your uncle comes.’

We walked towards the building. I read the sign out the front.

LATITUDE
South Western Juvenile Shelter

Andrew led me through double doors, his hand on my back. A woman came towards us. She had hair as short as a man’s and she was a man, and she was a woman at the same time. She gave us a small difficult smile, as if it was the last coin in her wallet.

‘G’day, Julie – this is Jim,’ said Andrew.

Julie looked at me with lines deepening across the top of her face. ‘You never told me he was so young, Andy. You sure you’re in the right place?’

‘There’s nowhere else. It’s not for long. He just needs a place to sleep.’

‘Sounds like he’s looking for a hotel. Do you know how short we are at the moment?’

‘Come on, Julie. The kid has been through enough. He hasn’t spoken since they found him.’ He put his hand on my shoulder.

‘Okay, Mr Bleeding Heart.’ Julie looked at me and wrote something down. ‘Welcome to Latitude, Jim,’ she said.

‘His uncle will be here to pick him up tomorrow morning. He doesn’t have anything with him except a pair of pyjamas someone at the hospital gave him.’ Then Andrew’s voice dipped low, as if he had a secret to share with Julie. They spoke and looked across at me and spoke again. Julie shook her head. They had to move closer to me to make room for a girl walking past. She was as dark as chocolate and wore fur boots and chewed gum, and she said, ‘S’cuse me, boss.’ Now Andrew and Julie were close enough for me to hear what they were saying.

‘She had no living relatives. It’s the father’s brother who’s coming for him – he doesn’t know where the old man is either. Disappeared off the planet – could be dead for all we know.’

‘Okay. But if the uncle doesn’t show up in the morning I’ll be calling you. They’ll eat him alive in this place.’

‘No worries, Julie. Thanks.’ Andrew turned to me. ‘Your uncle will be here in the morning.’ I could see his bleeding heart through his shirt. It was on its knees, hands pressed together. Then he walked out and I was left with Julie.

‘Come with me,’ she said.

I followed her down a long corridor that ended at a small room with a bed and a sink and a poster on the wall of hands
gripping each other. Above the poster it said
Wash your hands
. There were bubbles rising up around the hands but there was no body, the hands ended at the wrists.

‘You’ll have to stay in here, Jim. It’s our sick room. It’s all we’ve got left. I’ll come and get you soon for dinner.’ She opened a door in the corner. ‘There’s a toilet in there. I’ll bring soap and a toothbrush, okay?’ She waited for something that didn’t come. ‘Okay then,’ she said, and left the room.

I sat on the bed, my back against the wall, and turned off my remaining switches. Even then I kept breathing. It was as if I was hooked to a small plastic pump hanging in the air somewhere over my head, pulsing
in out in out
, but not because of anything that I did or wanted. It was made to, by gravity and tides, forces greater than one human being. But there was nothing to breathe for.

I don’t know how much time passed before Julie opened the door.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Dinner.’

She led me to a room with tables and chairs. People came out of doors and sat at the tables. They were young the way Robby used to be, but older than me. Their hands were all hidden in their sleeves, as if they were scared somebody would try and cut them off. Maybe the poster in the bathroom was a warning.

‘You don’t have to talk but you should eat. You’ll sleep better tonight,’ said Julie.