Happy as Larry (13 page)

‘What happened to your head? Ouch. That looks nasty.'

Vince lightly touched his brow. ‘I hit a road sign on my run this morning. I . . . I just didn't see it.'

Mal snorted a laugh, then bit it in two.

Vince was shaking. His eyes were wet.

‘Sorry, Vince,' Mal said. ‘That must have been horrible.'

The old man straightened. ‘Oh, no, I mean I've run into things before, I'm just . . . I'm not ready to give up running. I think if I stop running, I'll die, and I'm not ready for that yet, either.'

‘What about a treadmill?' Denise suggested. ‘Running on the spot.'

Vince's nose wrinkled. ‘Muriel bought me one a few years ago. I hate it. Seems so pointless. I'm not really running for the exercise . . . well, I am, but mostly I run for the foreshore, the smell of seaweed, the seasons, the freedom. Know what I mean?'

‘Yes, of course,' Mal said.

An awkward silence fell in the room. Only the news chattered away on the box. Apparently, the US Supreme Court had decided once and for all that George W. Bush had won the vote in Florida and would be President of America for four years.

‘I'll run with you,' Larry said.

Vince, Denise and Mal stared at him. Mal laughed again, though this time he gave it free rein. Sometimes his boy said the most crazy, insightful, generous things.

‘Be your eyes, I mean. It will be like reading . . . only we'll be running.'

‘Seeing-eye boy,' Denise offered.

They chuckled. The Rainbows stared at Vince.

The big man tousled the boy's hair. ‘Judge a man by his actions, they say. You're an amazing kid, Larry. Are you sure you're from this planet?'

‘Yes,' Mal said, tears stinging his eyes. ‘I sometimes wonder that myself.'

A HAND TO
HOLD

V
INCE AND
L
ARRY
ran every other day. They held hands – monkey grip – to begin with, but that was sweaty and awkward. They tried jogging with Vince's hand on Larry's shoulder, but it was too hard to stay in step. They eventually found their rhythm with a short length of rope and a set of spoken commands that warned of impending obstacles.

‘Gutter . . . dog poo . . . three steps up . . . man with a pram . . . puddle . . . woops, sorry about that.'

They ran a slightly different route every trip but always included the leg from the long jetty at one end of the breakwater to the Cradle River bridge.

‘That rotting weed might not be the most pleasant aroma in the world,' Vince said, on more than one occasion, ‘but it smells like home to me.' Larry's body grew longer and leaner and his total food intake seemed to double. Mal and Vince had quietly agreed in the beginning that the boy's enthusiasm for running would probably wane, but months of sidestepping pedestrians formed a habit. He saw the things a seeing-eye boy would need to see even when he wasn't with Vince, and the running got into his bones. When Vince rolled his ankle – walking to the letterbox to collect the mail one afternoon – and couldn't run, Larry had trouble sitting still. He paced the house until Mal finally snapped.

‘For goodness sake, Larry, sit down. Or better still, why don't you go for a run?'

The boy was out the door in a flash. Mal took advantage of the ads to get another beer. For a moment he considered jogging after Larry, but the ads finished and the news came back on. He slumped into his hollow on the couch and smoothed the work shirt over his rounded belly. He could probably use the run. He remembered when his body craved activity, not that long ago. He promised himself that he'd run when the weather warmed up a little.

Larry found it strange running without Vince on a leash behind him. He found himself taking a wide berth around obstacles and at one stage shouted aloud, ‘Dog poo on the left.'

It wasn't just the running and the swampy air beside the inlet that were addictive; it was being away from his parents and their frustrating sloth. They mostly just sat around. When Mal walked to and from the jetty on Sunday, Larry could hear him puffing. Larry properly met Guillermo on the jetty that weekend. They'd nodded a greeting to each other for weeks but had never exchanged a word. Larry wasn't even sure if the olive-skinned boy spoke English. He was there with his father and when they spoke to each other it was machine-gun fast and in another language. They fished ten metres along the jetty from Mal and the Crew.

The icebreaker was a big old flathead that Guillermo's father landed.

Gorky shook his head and tutted with envy.

Larry went to check it out.

‘Nice fish,' Larry said.

‘Indeed,' Guillermo replied. ‘My father's lucky day.' He looked away as his father crunched through the fish's spine with a pocketknife. ‘Not so lucky for the fish,' he said, and they laughed.

Guillermo talked a lot after that, and Larry hung on every spiced and exotic word. He loved the way the boy said ‘Bolivia' and ‘
madre
means mother'. At thirteen he was three years older than Larry but they stood eye to eye.

When it was time for the boys to go their separate ways that Sunday, Larry awkwardly offered to shake Guillermo's hand. Guillermo pulled him into a bear hug and patted his back before bidding him farewell in Spanish. It felt odd, but Guillermo was unlike any of Larry's other friends.

Sundays passed and Larry found out that Guillermo was crazy about soccer. He knew about the World Bank and was angry with George W. Bush and John Howard for abandoning the Kyoto Protocol on global warming. He wanted to travel in space, like the American millionaire who paid money to visit the International Space Station and became the world's first space tourist. Guillermo didn't eat meat, other than fish and shellfish. There were other things Guillermo knew about that Larry just didn't understand – like sex slaves from Asia and how people got
AIDS
– but didn't have the courage to ask about. Larry found himself telling Guillermo things he'd never told anyone – about drowning, about being buried alive at the beach, and about Clinton. Guillermo said that Larry seemed so much smarter than the other kids he went to Villea Catholic College with. Soon, the few hours they had on Sunday mornings weren't enough, and they agreed to meet in the park on Condon Street after Larry had been to church.

There was something going on in the Rainbow household on the Sunday the boys had agreed to meet. Larry's father was whistling. He had laughed aloud with the Crew. He threatened to kiss a toadfish, and when he got home he kissed Denise good morning.

Larry's mother wasn't much different. She sparkled into church and hugged Mary Holland as if she was a long-lost sister. Larry could see the puzzled look in Mary's eyes, but she didn't resist. When he and his mother were walking home, Denise wanted to hold his hand, but Larry said he needed to run. He challenged her to a race, then sprinted ahead. He didn't slow down and didn't look back and eventually ran all the way to the park. Guillermo wasn't there. Larry hid under the slide – lest Clinton should see him and stain his day – and waited. Cars and minutes passed and Larry spotted feet beneath the bush in the corner of the park. They looked like Guillermo's shoes and he realised that the boy had been hiding and waiting for him, too. He was facing the fence and probably hadn't seen him arrive. Larry crept up.

‘Ra!' he shouted, pulling the branches apart.

Guillermo jumped and hurriedly pulled up his shorts. Larry laughed, then swallowed the laughter when he realised what he'd seen – the dark thatch of Guillermo's pubic hair and his morning-hard penis pointing at the high sun.

‘Scared you,' Larry said, but the other boy just looked angry. ‘What were you doing?'

‘Nothing,' Guillermo said.

‘But I saw your . . .'

‘Just going to the toilet.'

‘Ah,' Larry said. It almost made sense. ‘You could have gone to the toilet at my place.'

An awkward smile flashed across Guillermo's face. ‘Yes, but you weren't home.'

‘Laaaaarrrry!' his mother sang from next door.

‘Come on,' Larry said. ‘Come and meet my mum.'

‘You go,' Guillermo said sharply. ‘I'll be there in a minute.'

Larry backed away from the bush and saw Guillermo collect a magazine and shove it between the branches above his head.

‘What were you reading?'

‘Nothing,' Guillermo said. ‘It's just rubbish. Rubbish I found in the park.'

He brushed down his shorts and followed Larry into the driveway.

‘There you are,' Denise said. ‘Your lunch is . . .'

‘Mum, this is Guillermo.'

Her strangeness hadn't worn off. She hugged his friend.

Guillermo blushed, but hugged her back. She invited him in for lunch.

‘Guillermo doesn't eat meat, only fish,' Larry explained.

‘How interesting,' Denise said. ‘Are you vegetarian for a reason?'

‘Not strictly vegetarian,' Guillermo said. ‘I do eat fish and seafood. We used to live close to the abattoir in Bolivia. Too close.'

‘Eating seafood would have been difficult in Bolivia,' Denise said.

Guillermo agreed.

‘Weren't there any fish left in Bolivia?' Larry asked.

Guillermo chuckled. ‘There were fish.'

‘Just no sea,' Denise added.

Larry frowned.

‘Bolivia is surrounded by other countries,' Guillermo explained. ‘We have no sea of our own. I think that is why my father spends so much time at the pier.'

Denise gave Larry's friend the full twenty-question interrogation and Guillermo, to his credit, answered her every query fully and with enthusiasm. Where did his mother work? What did his father do? How old were his sisters? Were they born to the same mother?

‘Yes, Susan is our stepmother but she has such a big heart and she has loved us like her own since very soon after we first met.'

‘Isn't that lovely. It must be nice to have sisters, Guillermo?'

Guillermo laughed. ‘Of course I love them, they are my sisters, but there are days when I wish I was an only child, like Larry.'

Larry knew his friend wasn't being unkind, but being called an only child stung him. To be an ‘only child' was to be a spoiled brat who had screaming fits in the supermarket and didn't know how to share his toys.

‘I'm sure there are days like that,' Denise said. ‘Just as I'm sure there are days when Larry wished he had a little brother or sister. Aren't there, Larry?'

Larry looked up and his mother did something strange. She hugged his head. Squished his ear into her bosom and rocked until Larry rolled his eyes and had to pat her arm.

‘Yes, Mum.'

They ate their salad sandwiches and Denise could barely contain her enthusiasm for Larry's newest friend. Larry could see she loved everything about the boy: his manners, his charming accent, his big brown eyes, his olive skin, his long eyelashes, his easy smile.

‘Mum, is it okay if Guillermo and I go for a ride?'

There was no hesitation. ‘Of course.'

Larry had been riding his father's old bike for a year. He wiped the cobwebs off his mum's bike and adjusted the seat for Guillermo. He had to find the hand pump and inflate the tyres.

‘Where are you going?' Denise asked, the barest hint of constriction in her voice now.

‘I thought we might go to that track along the river.'

‘That sounds like a lovely idea,' she said. ‘Be careful.'

‘Yes, Mum.'

‘Look out for each other.'

‘Yes, Mum.'

Larry put a lead on Gilligan's collar.

‘Be home before dark.'

‘
Yes,
Mum.'

Gilligan was like a sled dog, pulling Larry up the hill then threatening to jerk him from his seat when he found a good smell and stopped. Larry let him off his lead on the gravel track and he bolted like a prison escapee. At the weir Larry and Guillermo took off their shoes and trudged through the frigid water to the stony beach. Larry taught Guillermo to skim a stone as best he could. They pelted bombs into the deep until their arms ached and the dog was saturated.

‘Thank you, Larry,' Guillermo said. ‘This is a wonderful place.'

Larry smiled. He thought about showing Guillermo the echidna cave, but something stopped him, made him bite his tongue. It was their family place. Their sacred spot. He'd grown used to being secretive about it.

‘We should be getting back,' Larry said. ‘Mum's probably half dead with worry already.'

Guillermo chuckled. ‘Does she watch the news?'

‘Yes! All the time! She's addicted.'

Guillermo scoffed. ‘You think your mother is bad. My mother . . . Susan . . . is a journalist. She
swims
in the news all day. It depresses her.'

‘Same!' Larry squeaked. ‘My mum used to cry at the news all the time.'

‘Really?'

Larry nodded.

‘She seemed so happy today.'

‘She's been a bit weird. I think she likes you.'

‘Oh, thank
you
.'

‘No. I didn't mean . . . she would like you anyway. She has just been strangely happy.'

‘Hmm. A mystery. The case of the smiling mother. I like a mystery.'

And on the way home, Guillermo shed some light on a couple of the mysteries in Larry's life.

‘Poof is one of the rude words used to describe a homosexual.'

‘Oh,' Larry replied blankly.

‘A man who is attracted to other men.'

‘Ah.'

‘In a loving way. Like husband and wife but they are both men.'

‘Really?'

‘Really. Oh, and I asked Susan about women.'

‘You just
asked
her?'

‘Yes, of course. It turned into an embarrassing half-hour lesson about a woman's reproductive system. Was that the sort of information you wanted to know?'