Becoming Billy Dare (10 page)

Paddy stretched out on the iron bed. In the opposite bed, a sailor reeking strongly of whiskey talked in some incomprehensible tongue, laughing and shouting as his moods took him. Paddy pulled Dai's coat up over his head and for the first time since leaving Ireland, he tried to pray. He pulled the glass rosary beads out of his pocket and tried to mouth the words of a prayer for all the faithful departed. It seemed wrong not to at least try. He tried to conjure an image of Dai along with the words of the psalm for the dead, but the only thing that formed in his mind was a wall of black water. He saw the storm again, and the sea raging over the decks of the
Lapwing
.

He swung his legs over the side of the lumpy mattress and sat up. The drunken sailor groaned and pulled his thin blanket higher on his shoulder. Suddenly, more than anything, Paddy wanted to go home. He thought of his mam standing at the kitchen table, of the windswept granite fields behind their house and his small, cosy bedroom at the top of stairs. But there would be no welcome for him in that house any more. Uncle Kevin's last words echoed inside his head and he knew he had no home in Ireland. Dai had said the sea was a sailor's true home but how could Paddy sign on to another ship with the curse of a Jonah hanging over his head?

Whenever Paddy lay down, the bed seemed to pitch and visions of the storm kept him from sleep. The night seemed to go on forever. By the time the dawn light began to seep into the room, Paddy knew he never wanted to sail again.

13
The bones of a man

The next day, Paddy wandered the streets of the city. There was a chill in the air that made him glad of Dai's coat. Melbourne's buildings were tall and elegant and there were crowds of people everywhere. He took a tram from the Seamen's Home and alighted outside a cathedral made of pale gold stone, with a pair of flat, square towers on either side. He bought a pie from a street vendor on the corner and scalded his mouth on the hot sauce that the man had made by pouring boiling water through a hole in the crust. Further along the street he bought two currant buns with the coins that Cook had given him.

In one of the big wide streets, a small crowd gathered outside a shopfront with a banner proclaiming ‘Jim Crilly's Living Skeleton'. Black fabric swathed the window and a man stood outside, beckoning to the crowd.

‘Only sixpence! Sixpence for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the amazing, the stupendous, the unbelievable Living Skeleton! Is he alive or is this the face of the living dead? See for yourself! Bear witness to the incredible! A man or a ghost? Judge for yourself. Only sixpence, roll up, roll up!'

Paddy handed over sixpence and went inside. The room, like the window, was draped in heavy black fabric. There were a few people standing by a small stage and in the centre of the stage was an upright coffin. Standing inside the coffin, his torso loosely wrapped in a piece of white fabric, was the living skeleton. His limbs were matchstick-thin and his hands like strange white spiders. But it was his hollow, sunken face that was most frightening to look at. The man was almost bald and Paddy could see the ridges of his cranium. The man's lips and cheeks were blue, and his breath rattled in and out of his open mouth. Paddy stood transfixed. He knew at once that the man was consumptive, and remembered John Doherty's face on that last night in Dublin. It made Paddy's chest feel tight with pity. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and there he felt the second bun that he'd bought. ‘Here, man. You're starving,' he said and without a second thought he stepped up onto the stage. The skeleton stared at him uncomprehendingly as Paddy took his hand, turned it over and placed the currant bun in it.

The showman called out from the doorway, ‘Here, you, get off the stage!'

Someone grabbed Paddy by the collar.

‘You shouldn't be making money from a man's suffering!' shouted Paddy. ‘It's not Christian. He's a human being, a poor starving wreck of a man!'

The crowd murmured as the showman flushed red and hauled Paddy over to the door.

‘The skeleton gets paid good money, you're robbing him of his livelihood,' he hissed in Paddy's ear.

‘You're robbing him of his dignity. Can't you see he's dying!'

The showman's reply was to throw Paddy bodily into the street, all the while cursing under his breath. ‘Reckon I oughta put a sign up - “No dogs, no Irish”,' he said. ‘Now clear off, you bloody larrikin.'

Paddy stood up. Looking down the street, he noticed a pair of boys watching him and sniggering behind their hands. Paddy broke into a run, the folds of Dai's coat flapping around him like wings.

All day, Paddy wandered the city. By evening, he had started to worry about where he was going to spend the night. He'd already determined not to go back to the Seamen's Home, but as the dark came down he found himself down at the wharves with nowhere to go. There was a slick on the water that was sour and unpleasant, not like the fresh, briny scent of the open sea. Paddy sat down, his legs dangling over the side of the wharf, and leant against a bollard. He looked down at the black water and then across at the docks and the pinpricks of light that illuminated the wharves. He pulled the coat tighter around him and thought of Dai lying somewhere out there, amongst the coral and the fishes.

‘Blimey, there he is, that's the dumb Mick what was blueing with Jim Crilly,' came a voice from behind him.

‘So? He's no use to us. May as well chuck him in the bay,' said another voice in disgust.

‘Garn. Leave him alone. He's got guts, even if he's got no brains.'

Paddy couldn't help grinning to himself. It felt like the first time he'd smiled since the shipwreck. He looked over his shoulder. They were just a pair of boys and even in this light he could see their clothes were ragged. One of them held a cane in one hand and was leaning on it, his head tilted to one side.

‘Oi, he's looking at us, Nugget,' said the surly one.

‘Nugget' took a step closer to Paddy and nudged him with his worn boot.

‘You're lucky me and Tiddler came along when we did. You looked like you was about to jump and do yourself in. And ain't that a mortal sin?'

‘What would you know about it?'

They ignored the question. Tiddler leant closer and stared at Paddy. ‘I reckon he looks like a right sinner. You know, Jim Crilly took the skeleton over to Prahran this arvo and the bugger dropped dead on stage! That would have been a sight worth sixpence. I heard Jim reckons it was indigestion from the bun this bugger gave away what killed the skeleton. His last supper from a right Judas, that's what Jim Crilly reckoned.'

Paddy got to his feet angrily.

‘Sure, but I'm grateful for the news,' he said. ‘If you'd like me to serve you the same dish, come a little closer.'

‘Strike me fat, he's dumber than he looks!' laughed Tiddler, but he took one step back.

‘Shut up, Tiddler,' said Nugget. He pulled a pipe out of his pocket and lit up. ‘Look, Goldilocks, we're just heading downriver for a bit of a lark. There's a circus down on the river flats. You can tag along if you fancy.'

‘We don't want him along,' said Tiddler, disgusted.

‘I reckon any bloke that takes your measure and calls your bluff, Tiddler, is a man worth knowing.'

Paddy laughed. He decided to join them, if for no other reason than to annoy Tiddler.

‘So what brings you to old Melbourne town?' asked Nugget.

‘Shipwreck. My boat went down at Point Nepean.'

‘Oi, you wasn't on that
Lapwing
, was you?' asked Tiddler, suddenly impressed.

‘To be sure. There were twenty-nine of us on board but only five survived.'

‘So youse a sailor?' asked Tiddler.

‘Not any more,' said Paddy.

It was almost dark by the time they reached the circus. A huge tent stood glowing on the banks of the river.

‘How much will it cost?' asked Paddy. ‘I don't have much money left.'

‘Don't worry about it, cobber. Nugget Malloy don't pay for nothing.'

Paddy followed the other boys as they slipped under the ropes of the big top and wriggled under the canvas. They lay shoulder to shoulder beneath the bleachers. Peering out between the rows of seats, Paddy caught a glimpse of a man in a bright red coat and top hat. He whirled a huge stockwhip around his head and brought it down in the sawdust with a crack like a rifle going off. Paddy flinched, but a shiver of excitement ran down his spine.

A tribe of small acrobats cartwheeled into the ring and then out again. A trumpet sounded and two white horses cantered into the big top with a dark-haired acrobat astride their backs. He balanced with a foot on each horse, a purple and white satin cape flowing out behind him. Paddy caught his breath. The bareback rider raised his arms above his head and then threw his cape into the audience. He leapt from one animal to the other, twisting his body in mid-air and then landing sure-footed on the galloping horses. An attendant on a high platform held out silver hoops and the audience gasped each time the acrobat dived through them with effortless grace. When he galloped from the ring, a storm of applause and stamping feet thundered through the tent.

Suddenly, someone grabbed Paddy by the ankles and hauled him backwards. Beside him, Nugget cursed as he too was dragged under the bleachers. Outside the big top, Tiddler and Nugget wrenched themselves free from their captors and bolted across the river flat, disappearing into the darkness. Paddy stayed put. Three burly tent hands towered over him.

‘Sorry, sirs. I hadn't the money for a ticket,' said Paddy, ‘but I'd sell the shirt off my back for the chance to see that bareback rider again.'

One of the other men laughed. ‘Cor, he's earnest.'

‘I'll tell you what,' said one of the tent hands, ‘if you're that keen on seeing the show, hang on to your shirt but come back tomorrow morning. You put in a few hours work around the place and the boss'll likely give you a ticket for tomorrow's matinee.'

‘I'll be here, sir. First thing.'

That night, Paddy didn't go back to the Seamen's Home. He lay down beneath a tree, a stone's throw from the circus, and drew Dai's coat up over his head to keep the cold at bay. Despite the chill air, Paddy felt none of the bleak despair of the night before. The bright vision of the bareback rider rode through his dreams like a promise of things to come.

14
Daring Jack Ace

Before dawn, Paddy was waiting outside the big top. The first person to appear from the circus wagons was a small, golden-skinned, black-haired man with dark, almond-shaped eyes. He unrolled a rug on the damp grass and started stretching in the morning sunlight, then began to twist his body into amazing shapes. His limbs seemed to be made of licorice. Paddy's joints ached just watching. Suddenly the contortionist looked out from under a knot of limbs and grinned at Paddy.

‘You can make like this? You come to circus for job?' he asked.

‘Last night, a gentleman said I might be able to see the show if I worked today,' said Paddy.

‘You, boy, you here work for Mr Sears' Circus then? We need boy. You hard-working boy?'

‘Very hard-working,' said Paddy, nodding seriously.

The contortionist untangled his limbs and laughed. ‘Mr Sears make very good deal. He smart. You be smart too. You tell him you want job, not only ticket. We need boy to help with horses, help with work. Too much work this damn circus.' He rolled up his rug and tucked it under his arm. ‘You look like smart boy,' he said, tapping his forehead. ‘You no let Harry Sears make you work for nothing.'

Harry Sears, the ringmaster, had a chest as big as a barrel of Guinness and long powerful arms. Even without his costume, he radiated authority. All morning, Paddy worked hard, following the ringmaster's directions. He raked the sawdust in the ring, fed and watered the horses, shovelled manure and emptied the slop buckets into the river. Even after Mr Sears told him he'd earned himself a ticket, he kept on working until the matinee began.

From the first blast of the horns, Paddy sat on the edge of the bleachers, every muscle in his body taut with excitement. Harry Sears' sons tumbled in the ring, diving over and over each other until Paddy wasn't sure where one boy began and the other ended. The exotic contortionist, Coo-Chee, twisted his body into such complicated shapes that he seemed more serpent than man. A sword-swallower pushed a long shining blade down his throat and Paddy pressed his fist against his chest, as if he could feel the blade against his own ribs. Each act presented itself as a small miracle but the most miraculous of all was the flying bareback rider, Jack Ace. He cantered into the ring on his team of white horses, risking his life each time he leapt fearlessly from one horse to the other. At the height of his performance, he reached up, took hold of a bar in the rigging and swung high into the roof of the big top. Paddy watched the white-clad figure flying above the audience and held his breath. In a single, swift movement, the man performed a somersault in the air and then landed gracefully on the back of one of the white horses. The audience cheered and Paddy cheered louder than any single one of them.

At the end of the show, Paddy went in search of Harry Sears. He found him sitting at the back of the big top drinking out of a tin mug.

‘Mr Sears, I hear you've been looking for someone to sign on as a hand. I'd like the job, please, sir.'

‘How old are you boy?

‘I'm nearly fifteen,' said Paddy, adding a few months to his age.

‘You're a big fella for fifteen.'

Paddy tried not to smile too broadly.

‘Too big to train up for the circus. And too small for the sort of work a general hand has to do.' Harry emptied his mug and stood up.

‘I'm fit for anything. I worked on a clipper doing plenty of hard work,' said Paddy urgently, following Harry. ‘I used to help my ma on the farm back in Ireland. I'm not shy of work, sir.'

‘You're keen enough, that's for sure. You know we're a travelling concern. We're taking to the road tomorrow, heading north to Sydney. Your old man give you permission to sign on?'