Just Joshua (9 page)

Robert, bewildered, was the first to turn away. Joshua watched him walk down the jetty, saw him speak to the others, then they scattered and went off, leaving him alone.

It was what he had wanted. Just the same, he wished they hadn’t gone.

Back at the convent he found Marius and Vincent and Catherine in a huddle in the playground. He went over to join them. Catherine looked up. ‘Go away,’ she told him.

‘Why?’ He peered over their shoulders, trying to see what it was they had on the ground. He circled round till he was behind Marius. ‘Let me in,’ he wheedled.

Marius looked back at him over his shoulder. ‘No,’ he said, shuffling closer to the others, closing a gap.

Joshua was taken aback. ‘Why not?’

‘Because this is to do with us.
You
wouldn’t
understand
,’ Catherine answered.

Joshua felt his face go hot. He turned and ran to the dormitory, grabbed hold of Pig and dragged him to the
corner of the room furthest from the playground. He sat on the floor beside Pig and rested his aching head on the broad back. He could smell the oil in the wood. He closed his eyes.

‘Josh?’ He opened his eyes. Sister Martha was
squatting
beside him.

He smiled at her.

‘Are you all right?’

He nodded. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep.

‘Sure?’

He was, now. He felt fine.

‘Good.’ She got up. ‘In that case, outside with you. Go and find the others.’

He stood up. Sister Martha picked up Pig’s front legs. ‘Come on, I’ll help you take him back to your bed. And now, shoo. Go on, out you go.’

When he went outside, the others had disappeared. He didn’t want to go looking for them, not yet, they might ignore him again. Instead he wandered back to the shop. He trailed his fingers along the counter and on along the table till they came to the knife. He
hesitated
. His fingers moved towards it. He picked it up. The wooden handle rested easily in the palm of his hand. It was the knife his father had used to carve with.

He took it outside to the standpipe. He turned on the tap and let water stream on to the stone underneath.
When he thought the stone was wet enough, he began sharpening the knife on it – back and forth in long strokes – till the edge showed clean and shiny. He hunted around the yard for a piece of wood but couldn’t find any he liked.

He went to the beach. No one was around; it was too early for the fishermen and their dragnet. The tideline was marked by a line of brown seaweed that had been abandoned by the receding waters. He walked along with his eyes down, looking for a suitable bit of
driftwood
, stamping on the seaweed bubbles to make them pop. He bent to pick up a long, forked strand, and there, beneath it, saw a promising piece of dark wood. He brought it a little way up the beach, sat down and began to whittle. It was a good feeling, rough wood, hot from the sun, in one hand, and the smooth knife handle in the other. Chips flew into the air and landed on his legs, tickling them.

‘Joshua!’

He looked up. Marius was running down the beach towards him. ‘Sister Martha says, do you want a drink?’

On the path behind Marius he saw the figure of the nun. He was surprised; he hadn’t realised that his
wanderings
had taken him so close to the convent.

As he got up, he slipped the knife underneath the wood so that it wouldn’t show. He wasn’t sure that knives would be allowed in their lockers.

‘Sister, Joshua was carving,’ Marius announced. ‘Look.’

Joshua half held out the wood then pulled it back. ‘I haven’t finished it.’

‘You’re not really from here, are you?’ Marius stated matter-of-factly.

‘Of course he is,’ Sister Martha corrected him sharply.

But Joshua felt uncomfortable under Marius’s stare.

In the rubbish heap, the discarded skin of a melon heaved as two rats fought over it, squeaking loudly, dislodging rotting fruit and tin cans. One rolled down the heap and landed right at Joshua’s feet as he walked past. Robert hadn’t been at home when he’d called, nor Tom nor Millie. The tin was a welcome distraction. He kicked it away from the pile and dribbled it like a
football
, swerving to one side of the road and then to the other. He knocked it into an imaginary goal and raised his arms in the air in triumph.

A car hooted. He jumped and turned round. Cars were a rare sight in the village. This one had gleaming red paintwork and its engine purred like a well-fed cat. Joshua could see his face in its shiny bonnet. He reached out to stroke it.

‘Boo!’ Millie jumped out.

‘Millie!’ He stared at her and at the open door. ‘Were you in the car?’

She nodded, beaming with excitement. ‘Come on,’ she said, pulling at his arm. ‘It’s the tourists. They want you too.’

He scrambled into the back seat. The nearest he had ever got to riding in a car was a ramshackle old lorry used as a bus. He reached over and pulled the door shut.

The woman in the passenger seat turned round and smiled at him.

‘Isn’t it great, Josh?’ Millie was burbling. ‘They’re taking us to the Gola.’ She looked uncertain for a moment. ‘At least, I think that’s what they were saying. When I saw you I told them to stop. Aren’t you glad, hey?’ She punched him playfully.

Joshua punched her back and she giggled.

‘All right, Marguerite?’ The man in the driver’s seat patted the woman’s knee and let off the handbrake.

Marguerite? Joshua looked closely at the couple, recognising the strange name. It was the same pair he’d met when he had carried their package from the craft shop.

The woman twisted in her seat again and looked at him. ‘Yoswa?’ she asked.

He nodded, more interested in the car than in her. The leather seat was hot under his thighs and it stuck to his bare skin. When he shifted, it released him with a soft, sucking sound. The smell was strong too: leather and petrol and metal all blended together.

He listened to the car engine throb as they moved off and hunched forward to watch the dials turning slowly
on the dashboard as the man drove, not wanting to miss a second of it.

Millie turned round and knelt on the seat to look through the back window. After a while, Joshua joined her, but there wasn’t much to see: only swirling clouds of sand churned up in the wake of the car. The dials were far more interesting.

The car drew up outside the hotel.

‘You can get out now,’ the man said, gesturing,
leaning
back and opening Millie’s door.

‘Come on.’ The woman beckoned them to follow her as she headed for one of the tables outside the bar.

Millie flounced after them as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Joshua held back.

‘What are you doing here?’ Oliver asked, appearing suddenly on the path beside him.

‘I’m with them,’ Joshua said doubtfully.

‘Pull the other one,’ Oliver laughed.

Joshua scowled and ran after the others. He pulled out a chair and slid on to it, leaving Oliver gawping.

Drinks were set before them.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ Joshua said to Millie,
uneasily
aware of the disapproving glint in the barman’s eye.

‘Why shouldn’t we?’ retorted Millie, her chin jutting out. She smoothed her dress down over her knees and placed one hand over the stain on the skirt. She leaned forward and took a delicate sip from her glass.

Joshua nursed his glass in his hands as the woman was doing. The cold drink chilled his fingers and little rivulets of condensation ran down the sides of the glass. He stared down at it, not sure what to say now they were here. Even Millie had subsided into silence.

The man and woman exchanged few words too; they seemed content to observe the children.

The woman reached down for her handbag. From it she took an envelope and produced photographs which she spread out on the table in front of them. They showed a tall brick house with windows with glass in them that gleamed and looked at you like so many eyes.

She pointed to herself and the man and then at the house. ‘We live here,’ she said.

Millie and Joshua nodded, eyes wide.

‘This is our bedroom.’ She put her hands together at one side and rested her head on them, pretending to snore.

‘Bedroom.’ Joshua tried to repeat the foreign word.

The woman looked delighted. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘
bedroom
. Here’s another bedroom.’

It was painted blue and green and had one bed in it. Joshua stared. He picked up the photograph. There was a window and, outside it, the top of a tree. So the room was very high up, he thought wonderingly. Beyond the tree was a sloping red roof, not thatched
like theirs, or made of concrete. The floor was
covered
in blue and there were high wooden head and
tailboards
to the bed, as high as on Old Mama Siska’s ancient bed which he’d once seen through the window, and a curving side which made it look like a boat. He saw books on the shelves, a bunch of flowers, and a clock on the windowsill. He gazed greedily at it, imagining himself in that bed, pretending the room was all his.

Millie nudged him. ‘Look,’ she said, awe written all over her face, ‘this is where they cook and eat, and this is another room.’ He saw the kitchen and the
drawing-room
, large places full of strange things. ‘What a big house,’ she breathed. ‘It’s like a hotel.’

Joshua noticed her smile extra sweetly at the woman when she was asked if she’d like another drink.

‘Where do you live?’ the man asked, pointing at Millie and then at Joshua.

‘At home,’ Millie said, ‘in Botelo.’

The man clearly understood the name of the village.

‘At the convent,’ Joshua said in turn.

This time the man looked puzzled, not recognising the word.

Joshua mimed a nun’s habit and put his hands together in prayer. Millie giggled.

‘Oh.’ The man’s face cleared. ‘The orphanage.’ He examined him with interest.

‘Orphanage,’ Joshua repeated, getting his tongue round the strange word.

‘You see? I said he was bright that first time,
remember
?’ the woman said to the man, the foreign words tumbling from her lips. ‘And what a stroke of luck that he’s an orphan! You don’t think – after all these years hoping …’ she sighed wistfully, leaving the words hanging in the air.

‘Oddly enough,’ the man said, ‘I thought I
recognised
his name when Reverend Mother discussed the children with us.’

They gazed thoughtfully at each other.

‘What are they saying, Josh?’ Millie asked.

‘How should I know?’ he retorted. He fidgeted under the strangers’ stare and picked up the photograph of the bedroom again.

The woman took off her sunglasses. ‘Would you like to sleep in that bedroom?’ she asked, pointing at Joshua and the bedroom, and again mimicking sleep.

‘Don’t rush him, dear,’ the man said, laying his hand on hers. ‘One step at a time.’

Joshua looked from one to the other, bewildered by what he thought the woman had meant. Millie, feeling ignored, began to pout. ‘Come on, Josh, let’s go.’ She got down from the chair. ‘Well, are you coming?’

He left his chair reluctantly, flashed a smile over his shoulder and followed Millie.

A lizard fell off the wall, landed on the ground and waited, absolutely still, checking that no one or nothing had noticed. Satisfied, it scurried into the shade at the base of the wall, its tail weaving to keep up with its tiny strong feet. A large splinter of wood blocked its path. The lizard’s tongue flickered. It went round the obstacle and continued along. Another chipping fell, right in front of the lizard. It froze.

‘Joshua!’

Joshua dropped the piece of driftwood and the
whittling
knife over the far side of the wall, just missing the lizard. ‘Yes, Sister?’

‘Father Peter wants you to serve at Mass,’ Sister Martha said, whisking him off to the chapel to find a surplice that fitted.

‘Can’t I sing?’ Joshua asked plaintively. ‘I’d rather sing.’ He quite enjoyed his short solos, even if Robert did tease him afterwards.

‘Not today. Today’s your turn to serve.’ Only the orphans served at school Mass. It was their privilege.

‘But I’ve never done it before.’

‘There’s always a first time,’ she said, taking down the starched cotton garment from the shelf.

‘I don’t know what to do.’

The nun looked at him in mock fury. ‘And how many times have you been to Mass, young man?’ she scolded. ‘Of course you know what to do.’ She pulled the white surplice down over his head, plucking at its folds to get it to hang right. ‘Anyway, I’ll be nearby in case you need me.’

Joshua wriggled inside the surplice. The white sleeves fell below his elbows and felt awkward, and the starched cloth itched at his neck. But once the school came filing in and silence fell in the chapel and the Mass began, he forgot the discomfort. He became caught up in the prayers and the words, in the light and burning wax from the tall candles banked high on the altar, and he remembered at which point he had to kneel and stand and bow.

‘Lift up your hearts,’ the priest intoned.

‘We lift them up to the Lord,’ he responded along with the others. He had the brass bell in his hand and watched the priest, concentrating. Father Peter spread his hands over the holy wine in the chalice and Joshua rang the bell, once, twice.

As he filed out behind the priest at the end of Mass he glanced at Sister Martha and she nodded her approval. He cast down his eyes and tried to look
solemn going down the aisle. At the last row of seats his eyes fell on two pairs of large feet in shoes, one with laces, the other high and strapped, with painted
toenails
peeping through. He gazed up from the feet in astonishment. It was the tourist couple again. The woman smiled warmly at him and he smiled back. Then, remembering himself, he bowed his head once more and followed the priest into the vestry to disrobe.

When he came out they were gone. In a few
minutes
, lessons would start. He ran out to the playground and retrieved his knife and the wood from behind the wall. He looked around for a better hiding place.

‘What are those?’

He jumped. He hadn’t heard Robert approach.

He put the knife behind his back.

‘Let’s see,’ Robert coaxed.

‘No. It’s secret,’ Joshua said stiffly.

The bell for lessons clanged, distracting Joshua. Robert grabbed the wood and knife from him.

Joshua didn’t try to take them back. There didn’t seem much point. His hands dangled at his side.

Robert examined the piece of wood. He ran a finger over the head that was beginning to appear and down over the back that Joshua had rounded and smoothed. ‘Oh,’ he said tonelessly. He stared at Joshua, then held out the wood and knife. ‘Here.’

Joshua took them.

Their eyes locked. Robert was the first to look away. ‘Hide them,’ he said, his voice cool and distant. ‘Don’t let the others know you’re carving. Try under that stone over there.’ He turned on his heel.

Joshua hurried over to the stone and lifted it. There was a hollow in the ground beneath. He put the wood and knife in there, replaced the stone and ran to catch up with Robert.

Robert didn’t grin at him as usual. He didn’t even turn his head. He quickened his pace.

So did Joshua.

Robert headed down the aisle for their desk, Joshua hard on his heels.

‘Joshua!’

He stopped. Sister Mary was beckoning him. ‘I asked you to sit over here, remember?’ She pointed to the empty desk in front.

‘But that was last week, Sister,’ he pleaded. Robert had sat down at their desk.

‘And this is this week. You’ve come in late without a word of apology or explanation, and I want you in this desk.’

‘That’s not fair!’ Joshua said. Robert had come in late too.

‘Don’t answer back! Go to the desk at once.’

He went. When the nun turned to the blackboard to write down the names of world capitals, he looked
round. Robert was holding a whispered conversation across the aisle and he was unable to get his attention, though he tried. He sighed, opened his exercise book and began copying the names off the board.

Robert would think he was a mountain boy because of the carving. He had to talk to him. Again he looked round. Robert was writing, head down.

He turned back to his book. New Delhi, he copied down, Jakarta, Islamabad, Maputo. A film of tears clouded his eyes, blurring the words on the
blackboard
. He blinked, and wrote: Canberra, Amsterdam, Rome, Nairobi.

A tear overflowed and dropped on to the last
i
. He wiped it with his fist, smudging it. London, Dublin, Tokyo, Bangkok, he went on.

Tears dripped silently down on to the page. The lead of his pencil slid off the wetness.

There was a hand on his shoulder. ‘Here.’ Sister Mary passed him her handkerchief. ‘Blow your nose. It isn’t as bad as that.’

Yes it is, he thought, blowing into it. He remembered Robert saying that no one wanted to be friends with his father. Perhaps Robert would stop being his friend now that he’d seen him carve. Marius had already told some of the others; he could tell from the glances they gave him. He held the handkerchief out to Sister Mary.

‘Keep it,’ she said, patting him. ‘Now,’ she raised her
voice to the class, ‘who is going to tell me which
country’s
capital cities these are? Yes, Rosemarie, which is the first?’

‘India,’ Rosemarie said.

‘Good girl.’ She chalked India up next to New Delhi.

‘And Jakarta?’

Joshua looked round again. This time Robert’s head was up. He was staring at the blackboard. Joshua could not catch his eye. ‘Robert!’ he mouthed.

It was no good.

He turned back to his work. Dully he wrote down India, Indonesia, Pakistan, Mozambique, in turn. He felt desolate.

‘Australia,’ someone called out.

‘Netherlands.’

He knew only half the places.

‘Excuse me, Sister.’ Sister Martha came in and went over to Sister Mary. They talked quietly, their covered heads close together like two white birds, the starched cotton quivering. Sister Martha seemed to be
explaining
something. Sister Mary looked across at Joshua. Behind him he could hear restless shuffling and
whispering
. He sat there miserably, his mind a blank.

He saw Sister Mary nod. Sister Martha came over to his desk. ‘Put away your book, Joshua,’ she said. ‘
Reverend
Mother wants you in her study.’

His stomach plummeted. You only went to Reverend
Mother when you had done something really wrong.

‘There are some visitors to see you,’ she added.

Joshua stared at her, open-mouthed. Visitors? For him?

The whispering in the class turned to a buzz. ‘Silence, class.’ Sister Mary clapped her hands. ‘Now, who can tell me which country has Harare as its
capital
?’

‘Zimbabwe,’ muttered Sister Martha, leading him out of the classroom, one hand at the back of his head. He had to hurry to keep up with her as she marched down the long verandah. The wooden rosary hanging from her girdle swung and clattered with each step. She seemed upset about something.

They reached the door of Reverend Mother’s office. Sister Martha stopped and pulled his shirt straight. ‘I don’t like it,’ she said under her breath. She smoothed his shorts. ‘They’re good, decent people but if they think they can just march in here – just two letters and a week’s visit –’ she broke off when she saw Joshua’s questioning look. ‘It’s not right.’ She smoothed his hair. ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering to tidy you up. Right,’ she said crossly. She turned him to face the door, and knocked.

‘Enter.’

Sister Martha ushered him in. Inside, behind a desk, sat Reverend Mother, her face all wrinkles. Joshua had
only ever seen her in chapel; she did no teaching.

‘Good morning, Reverend Mother,’ he said politely, eyes to the ground.

She got up and came over to him. He was surprised to see how short she was next to him, and her usually stern face was smiling. ‘Here,’ she said, turning him towards the corner.

He hadn’t noticed the man and woman sitting in chairs. Now they stood up and came forward.

‘This is Mr and Mrs Nettar.’

It was the tourist couple.

‘Say good morning to them,’ she prompted.

‘Good morning.’

‘Hello, Yoswa,’ they answered, in his language.

Joshua almost laughed; the way they spoke sounded so funny.

‘I understand you have already met these people,’ Reverend Mother said. ‘Is that right, Joshua?’

He nodded. ‘And I’ve been for a ride in their car,’ he informed her proudly.

She smiled faintly. ‘Have you, indeed.’ She and Sister Martha exchanged glances. ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘they have come here because they want to adopt a child, someone to go and live with them. They have a big house, with plenty of room. They want to adopt you, Joshua.’

Adoption? He looked at her in astonishment, and
then at the couple. The woman’s lips twitched upwards in a nervous smile. The man nodded at him.

‘Now, this is an important decision,’ Reverend Mother went on, her hand still on his shoulder. ‘Joshua – are you listening?’

But he was already imagining that boat-bed in the room high up in the big house. ‘Yes, Mother John,’ he said obediently.

‘They have no children of their own and they’ve asked specially for you. You’d go to school in their country and grow up with them. And you’d learn their language, of course. They say you’ve already seen
photographs
of their house. Is that right?’

He nodded, hopping from one leg to the other, only hearing half of what she was saying as she continued to talk. The room would be all his. He tried to picture that: books and a clock.

‘You don’t have to say yes straight away,’ she went on.

‘No, don’t rush,’ Sister Martha chimed in. ‘Just because they’re in a hurry doesn’t mean we have to be.’

‘Sister –’ Reverend Mother raised a hand to stop her. ‘It is for the
boy
to decide, is it not? Now,’ she turned to Joshua again, ‘If you want to go with them, we are happy for you. Take your time.’

‘It means you’ll have to leave here.’ Sister Martha spoke again.

Joshua nodded. Exactly. Where the tourists lived,
people probably wouldn’t know about mountain men, he thought. If he went with them, he could carve
without
feeling he was doing something wrong. That would show Robert, and the others. He tried to imagine what it would be like sleeping alone and his head whirled with the excitement of it all.

He went over to the man and woman and looked back at the nuns. Sister Martha reached out a hand, then let it drop. There was an expression on her face that he couldn’t read.

‘Does this mean that you have made your choice?’ Reverend Mother asked. ‘Does this mean that you want to go with them?’

Joshua grinned. ‘Yes,’ he said excitedly.

The man spoke some foreign words. Mother John answered him hesitantly in the same language. She turned to Joshua. ‘I’ve told him that you’ve said yes,’ she said. ‘Are you quite, quite sure?’

‘Yes,’ Joshua answered again. The man and woman hadn’t even asked him what kind of man his father had been. It wouldn’t matter. ‘Oh yes.’

Sister Martha turned away.

‘Josh! Josh! Where are you going?’ Marius and
Vincent
came running after him. ‘Can we come too?’

‘If you want. I’m going to find Millie.’ He had wanted to tell Robert about the adoption, but every time he’d tried, Robert had moved away to talk to someone else. So Millie would have to do. At least she knew the foreigners.

Millie was at the jetty, as he’d hoped she would be, with Tom and their father. He had bought an outboard motor, secondhand, and was cleaning and oiling it. When she saw Joshua coming, Millie left them to it.

‘You mean you’ll be going to live with them? In that big house?’ Millie breathed, eyes wide, when he’d told her.

‘Yes.’

‘Can I come and stay?’

‘Of course,’ he promised, drawing himself up to his full height.

‘What big house?’ Marius asked.

Millie explained to him about the photographs. ‘Why did they want you?’ she asked Joshua. ‘Why not me? They know me too.’

‘I expect it’s because you’re not an orphan,’ Marius said importantly, reminding her. ‘Joshua is and I am, and Catherine. So’s Vincent.’