Little Tim, Big Tim (5 page)

Dad announces that because James and I have been good, we deserve a treat. When Dad says we have been good, to me that means that Troy and Peter haven’t had to be out much. Peter surfaces though with the word ‘treat’ being mentioned; for us, treat means threat.

The Circus, the supposed treat, is located at the town showgrounds. The circus owner is the threat and his caravan is to be the place of sleaze. James waits outside while I feel totally ashamed to be where I am. I am about to be raped again and can’t do anything about it.

No introductions, I am just pushed against the bed; a big hand on my back pressing me down, my pants ripped down to my ankles, his thing inserted hard. I move to the
Dark
space, crossing paths with Peter, who always looks miserable.

As Peter walks out of the caravan, I join him. Peter and I intermix and as I look into James eyes I see tears well up; Dad has two hands on his shoulders, completely in control.

I know it’s my job to feel shame; however I sense another emotion that I have no control over. Implements such as a lamp, a ball of steel, a wooden stake and a metal torch are all within reach. A quick move to grab one of these and smash it against my attacker’s head can save my brother from the torment and torture I have just suffered.

The feeling or emotion is guilt. It’s the first time I have experienced it and it over loads my capacity to function. I quickly gain some control of this new emotion only to be overwhelmed by the feeling of shame again as James brushes past me, entering his own particular nightmare.

I feel shame and guilt intermixed. I don’t know how to interpret what is going on. I run, and run, and keep on running until I’m at the edge of the circus where the animals are tethered, with chain, to stakes in the ground.

The camels interest me the most; the size and shape of these ‘ships of the desert’ fascinate me. The idea of being on a ship in the desert appeals to me—in the middle of a desert I would be able to see if anybody was coming and could move to protect myself from the suffering.

Guilt starts to rise again. I fight this unusual feeling again and daydream of riding a camel out into the desert; the searing heat of the sun making the terrain inhospitable to any would-be attackers.

James stands next to me and says nothing; he just stares at the same camel. The camel, who until this point hasn’t really acknowledged our presence, raises its head and winks at us twice.

‘Did he just wink at us, Tim?’
James asks.

‘I
guess so.’

‘I’m sorry,’
I add.

‘Why? You get hurt too?
’

‘Because I could’ve hurt him so you wouldn’t have to go through it.’

‘You’re too little. When we get bigger we will stop them.’

‘Yeah, I guess so,’
I admit.

We both fall silent and I ponder what might one day be possible. James face is flushed with anger—even the camel senses it. The camel moves to the far side of his pen, as far as the chain will reach.

‘We better head back to the car,’
I suggest.

We move through the circus’ Fun Alley; all the stalls are closed. Its mid-morning and only a few ‘Showies’ are hanging around. We cannot blame them for not helping us; their boss’ caravan is separate from the main living quarters. No one would have been able to hear the pain we were suffering.

Dad isn’t far behind us as we get into our car. He gives us a ticket each to the circus. I am sitting in the front seat of the car.

I lower the window and unceremoniously let the circus ticket fly away from my fingers, making sure Dad sees my actions.

‘You ungrateful…’
I don’t hear the rest of the sentence as my ears are ringing from the solid punch I receive.

Dad has not been sacked this time; he has quit his job. It has been eighteen months of living at this address on the edge of the bush. Although Dad is once again out of work he occupies himself with other activities. Church members are the ‘Johns’, we are the whores and Dad is the pimp. The disguise, or what puts blinkers on our Mum’s and other people’s eyes, is the Sunday roast lunch after church which we are quite frequently invited to church members’ houses for. James and I are the dessert.

We are learning there is no safe place for us. Even going to church is a threat. Church is supposed to be a loving space for the community; however, if that’s love, we want nothing more to do with it. Love is abuse to us.

The money must’ve piled up because yet another move is proposed. There is a feeling in the air; another relocation. The impending move is what is giving the feeling in the air substance.

One week goes by before an announcement confirms,

We are going to move, back to Queanbeyan.’
This time it’s church members who finance our move—payment for our little bottoms.

We are packing up again when I come across some letters, diaries and photographs. I recognise the addresses, the names entered in the diaries and the faces in the photographs.

Also, there are two carbon copy books; one full of correspondence to a well-known media personality, and the other, letters to a mixture of recipients.

I have stumbled across these documents because Dad asked me to help pack up his study. They are stashed neatly under the bookcase that has space between the lowest shelf and the floor.

Hey, isn)t this a photo that of those big personality friends you know?
’ I question him.

‘Give us a look. Yeah, that’s them,’
he calmly confirms.

At this point, he has a switch, and demands to know where I got the documents and photos. I explain that they were under the bookcase and point to the spot. As quick as he switched, he switches back and asks me what my question was. I answer him quickly,

‘Dad I feel like I know these people in the photo. Where did I meet them?
’

‘I don’t think you have, son.’

We knew them; they were the men who raped us at satanic rituals and at the Daruke Boy’s Home Media Function. I know who they are and hate them as much as hate can allow.

Dad notices my unease and tells me to go and pack my own stuff; I obey and forget the evidence exists.

With the combination of the money saved from our involuntary torment, and the church funds, we move to Queanbeyan. Peter tells me that we have lived in Queanbeyan before and of the events that have transpired. I’m not looking forward to the move; not back to a place that I am supposed to know.

It is the summer school holidays and I will take the opportunity to explore the town and its surroundings to try and prevent disorientation, or being caught out by not having the answers I should when being questioned.

After the holidays we are sent back to the primary school that Little Tim and Peter have been to. It’s hard having to pretend that I, as Shane, know the school.

Until now I haven’t made any close friends for fear that they might get hurt like we do by the sick adults. However, I do know a boy my age who is a family friend—I believe his Dad doesn’t like my Dad much but tolerates him for his kids’ and us kids’ sake. We become good friends and he helps me re-establish myself at the school.

I can’t tell him of our secrets or that we often lose time or switch. He is a true friend who seems to be aware of the fact that we behave differently than his other mates. He always stands up for me if his other friends call me ‘Weirdo.’

I am just getting close to my friend when Dad tells me that he and Mum have been accepted into Bible College. We are to leave in two weeks time. Once again my hope of having a normal life is stripped away.

The Bible College, set up to teach people how to be missionaries in third world countries, is located outside Newcastle. As we drive through the front gate for the first time,

I feel that maybe this might be the safest place I can be. I count about fifty people, singles and families, enjoying the sunny afternoon. The college is located on Port Stewarts Bay. It offers saltwater fishing, saltwater swimming in a man-made swimming enclosure and a trampoline. I am very excited to be here. The large number of people makes me feel safe. I can always run to another adult.

My tenth birthday is spent at home and that night we have a birthday dinner with all the family. The regular visits to the attacker’s houses have stopped for me; however, James is still suffering attacks, alone. Five months goes by and nothing happens to me. The overwhelming feeling of shame is lifting, and I move into the
Dark
to see Little Tim move into the
Light.

As Little Tim I regain my body and start to really enjoy breathing and living. So many fun things to do—the other kids liked Shane, so it’s easy for me to fit in.

It has been a long time since I have been out ‘in reality’. But I am always aware of the others. I truly believe that having friends like Shane and Peter, who take care of different parts of my life, is normal for everyone. However, I never ask anybody to confirm this.

My life has changed now; reaching the magical age of ten years, no more visits to the rich peoples’ places, I stop wetting the bed and develop solid friendships with other kids.

Dad comes into my room one night and asks me to help one of the college students at the mattress shed. There is nothing unusual about the request, we are always asked to help other students with their tasks.

‘Who is it that I will be working with?
’ I ask.

‘John. He requested you specifically,’
Dad finishes.

‘I like John; he is friendly with all the kids.’

I arrive at the mattress shed at eight o’clock on Saturday morning. The mattress shed is a shed where additional mattresses required for camps and conventions are stored. Hundreds of mattresses are piled on top of each other. John is at the back of the shed away from the mattresses. He turns and faces me with his willy poking out of his trousers. I am completely shocked and think that it’s a mistake on his part—wishful thinking.

He is just like the others who hurt us. Betrayed again, the shock sends me flying back to the space of many colours. Peter surfaces to carry the pain once again. This man has total control of me.

Although it lasts a short time, I believe that I should’ve been able to stop this attack. Shane refuses to return as our shame has now developed into another emotion. Shane doesn’t have the capacity to carry another emotion. Another friend is needed.

We are guilt-ridden, so I create Gary the guilt holder. He now takes the position of Shane; Gary is now in the
Light.

Gary is thrust into being ten years old. He is small for is age. He’s a cute kid whose facial features sport flushed cheeks and swollen eyes and he has a very sore bottom. His voice changes, he is definitely the same age as the rest of us but his voice has a higher pitch. I am the one who educates Gary along the gravel road that he finds himself travelling on.

‘
Where am I?’
Gary questions.

‘
You’re at a Bible College,’
I answer.

‘
Who am I?’

‘Your name is Gary the guilt holder; however, people will call you Tim.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Little Tim has created you to be in the Light because he doesn’t know how to handle guilt.
’

‘How long must I be in the Light?
’

‘Until Little Tim doesn’t need you anymore.
’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Peter the pain holder.’

‘Do I only handle guilt?’

‘Yes, you feel guilt, to be more accurate. You are free to have other feelings if you wish.’

I sit down on the dam wall and look at rows of army huts that I instinctively know to be family homes. I am in shock as I ponder what Peter has been telling me. I have no memory of being here but somehow I know what is in front of my eyes.

How come I don’t remember anything?’
I ask Peter.

‘Because Little Tim doesn’t want you to have a memory, just knowledge. Believe me; you will soon learn that you don’t want a memory. You will have the knowledge but no memory to reference it.’

‘I feel sad and funny inside.’

‘That’s guilt. It’s your job to carry the guilt until Little Tim can understand and carry the guilt himself.
’

‘Well, I’m off. I will see you from time to time, unfortunately.’
Peter says with regret.

Peter is gone. I sit on the dam wall and contemplate the knowledge I have been given.

I walk to the third hut on the right and know it’s where I live. I instinctively grab Little Tim’s fishing rod and head for the water that I can’t see and have no memory of; I just know.

I almost have a panic attack as I fish the day away, avoiding everybody. The anxiety of having to deal with this situation drives me into a hyperventilated state. But as it turns out, the anxiety level is not necessary; Little Tim’s family is used to my unusual behaviour. Fitting in with Little Tim’s family is easier than I thought—to them I am having another episode. They are completely unaware that I exist and of my purpose. Their deduction is that I’m a weirdo and choose to behave differently on purpose, choosing to have a separate reality to theirs.

A couple of months later, I have caught up and have secured the knowledge of my environment and those who live in it. Even at school, at first a disaster, I’m now getting passes in all subjects. I come home from school, grab my fishing rod, which is always outside, and quickly change into some old clothes stashed from the night before. I put my school clothes into my school bag and dump it at the front door so nobody will bother searching for me.

I run down to the swimming enclosure that reaches thirty metres into the bay. The U-shaped platform, which is six feet wide, provides plenty of space to fish. I never go home until dark, and then I amuse myself in my bedroom which I share with Little Tim’s brothers.

Our time at the college seems to drag on, especially for us. We still avoid adults as much as possible. There is some controversy in the air that revolves around our parents, especially Dad. He is under a lot of pressure to remain on the course. Nightly arguments between him and Mum are intimating that we will be leaving soon.

The magical milestone of eighteen months arrives. Dad quits his course and Mum has to do the same. We are heading back to the Blue Mountains. Other family members are excited about going back home to their friends and old schools. I freak. I don’t know anybody or any school back where we came from. I have the knowledge but no memory to connect the knowledge to an image.

Something unusual happens at this point. Dad has been out picking mushrooms for the family breakfast. Being quite a fussy eater, I refuse to eat the mushrooms. Mum hasn’t touched her breakfast when the first signs present themselves—the mushrooms are poisonous. Everybody is vomiting and Mum’s rapid remedy of drinking salt water induces more vomiting.

No one comes to my family’s aid. Mum is doing her best to control everybody who by now are stoned from the effect of the poison. It is rather hilarious to watch Dad and my brothers and sisters walk around describing the grass as being multi-coloured and the horses swaying with the breeze.

Mum is starting to panic. She has to get all of them to hospital. She turns to me and gives me orders in a tone that demands immediate action.

‘Get some towels and some buckets, put them in the car,’
she orders.

I do as she asks, realising how serious this situation is. Our little sister is extremely sick and is having difficulty breathing. Mum carries her to the car and lays her in the back of the station wagon. Our older sister is less affected than the boys and Dad, and Mum makes her sit with Dorothy. Getting the boys into the car is some feat. Once Mum and I have them in the car, the unattended ones get out and start wandering around, describing the colours they are seeing.

Mum and I decide that once they are in the car we will put their seatbelts on. This confuses them long enough to get them all in and ready to go. The sight is hilarious now as they fumble to undo their seatbelt locks; they have no co-ordination to achieve the simple task. The attempts to unclip their belts cause Mum and me to laugh out loud. It is a brief but oddly enjoyable moment.

The joviality is short-lived. The seriousness of the situation escalates rapidly. Mum has called the ambulance which will meet us on the way. We are forty kilometres from the nearest hospital so we have to drive until we intercept the ambulance. We have driven twenty-five kilometres and transfer all of the sick family members into the two ambulances that we have met.

As we drive to the hospital Mum surprises me by saying that she is proud of me. My Mum hardly ever compliments me. I am shocked when she says that today I have grown into a young man.

I have proved myself in a difficult situation.

As I sit outside waiting to hear if the stomach pump has aided the family’s recovery, Little Big Tim is created. Little Tim has grown up, and the secrets are passed.