Pig Boy (20 page)

Before they threw him in the river, did the worms start to eat him? Did they nibble at the man's skin and crawl out of his mouth like in the photo I used to stare at in my
Australia's Worst Crimes
magazine?

‘Why these people think you dangerous?' I stop walking because the Pigman has just stepped in front of me. ‘You are good boy, no dangerous boy. I know this.' His enormous hands wrap themselves around mine. ‘Is okay, Demon. Is okay. You tell me truths.' His pale eyes are looking into me, right into me. Like the cat's. Like the man's. Why do they always plead and beg me to do something that's too hard? ‘Demon, I am friend. You can talk with me. You can.'

I hear my voice, breathy and thick as I try to force the words out. ‘No. No. I can't. I can't. You, you …'

‘You tell Miro truths. Is best. Always.'

‘Yeees,' I hiss. ‘Yeeessss! I need you to teach me how to shoot. Shoot without missing. I, I can't miss …' Now I can hardly breathe. ‘You see, the man. The man.' My jaw is gulping at the air. ‘The maaaan …'

‘What man, Demon? You talk about your father? What man, you speak to Miro.'

‘The man, the man …' The words spill out in one breath. ‘The body, the man they found in the river I saw him I saw him die that's why, that's why I need you to teach me to shoot without missing.'

My legs crumble to the ground until I am kneeling on the dirt just like he was. But I am not alone. The Pigman is kneeling with me.

‘It was a Friday. It was, it was my fucking eighteenth birthday.' The Pigman sits opposite me, cross-legged on the dirt. Our knees touch and he still holds my hands as I tell him what I believed I could never tell another human. ‘They wanted me out of school,' I begin. ‘You were right. Pascoe, the headmaster, told me that I had to go. Just like that. Just like I didn't count. So I walked straight out. I was going home, home because I didn't, I didn't have anywhere else to go and he – Pascoe – didn't give a fuck what happened to me.

‘I was heading into the bush, down the hill where the old school used to be but I heard a noise. At first I couldn't work out what it was. Then I recognised it. It was one of the Marshall boys laughing. I'd know that sound anywhere. I darted in behind a rock, thinking they'd just pass through but they didn't. They stopped about fifty metres from where I was. So I was trapped. I couldn't move. I just sat there watching, watching this whole thing happen.

‘It was Billy and Steven Marshall. There was another bloke too but I hadn't seen him before. He was bald and a fair bit shorter than them. He was holding a black bag, his arm was bandaged. They were crapping on about money, about how much something was and how many pieces they could get. Then he unzipped the bag and he pulled out a fucking AK-47 and started passing it around like it's a puppy or something.

‘The shorter bloke was facing me this whole time and whatever Billy and Steven were saying was getting him agitated. I couldn't catch what it was but he said something to them, put the AK-47 back in the bag and started walking towards me.

‘I think Billy said, “That's not how it's going to be,” and started walking up behind the bloke. The other guy was almost level with the rock I was hiding behind and Billy was coming closer and closer. Why, why didn't he run? Billy couldn't have caught him.'

Suddenly it's like I'm back there and I can see Billy Marshall's brown boot crunching through the leaves, the other one dragging behind, the toes all scuffed and scratched like it didn't belong in the pair. Straight away the bile is rising, scalding my throat. I feel my back jerk like I am about to throw up but the Pigman's hands firm their grip on mine and I feel myself sink back into the ground. It's a second before I can start talking again.

‘Then, then,' I say. ‘I heard Steven Marshall shouting and I realised he'd ducked around the trees and had caught the bloke up. He was standing there pointing a pistol in his face.

‘“Drop the bag. You're going nowhere.” Billy yelled that line. He said, “Your fucking boss set you up.”

‘The guy sort of sidestepped, like he actually thought he had a chance to get away. But Steven spun him around and kicked his legs and he just went straight down like a rag doll.

‘“Up on your knees. Up on your knees. You're going to have more than a sore arm,” Steven was shouting and Billy was beginning to laugh. That, that crazy hyena laugh was going off. By now I was lying on the ground but I could see it all.

‘He was on his knees, kneeling, and Steven had the gun butted right up on the side of his head. Billy was still laughing. Fucking laughing and laughing. And then, and then …' A wail, thick, impatient, raging to get out, explodes from my body. I am up on my feet stumbling, my arms wrapped around my head. ‘Ohhhhhh,' I cry. ‘I don't want to say the next bit. I don't want to say the next bit.'

‘Demon, Demon, I am here.'

‘I'm so ashamed. So ashamed!' I yell. ‘I'm so fucking piss weak. I did nothing!' The Pigman reaches out to take my shoulders but I push him away. ‘That man was down on his knees and he saw me.
He saw me!
' I roar and balls of spit ricochet from my mouth. ‘I just, I just peered around because his fucking mobile started ringing. Can you believe it? He's down on his knees, Steven Marshall has the gun at his head and then, and then the man's mobile starts ringing like, like it's the most normal thing in the world. The man looked up and he saw me. He looked right at me, right into me. All pleading and begging like I was meant to run in there and save him. But how could I? Hey? How the fuck could I?' I am sobbing. ‘His face, his face. Ohhh, I've never seen anyone so scared before. He knew he was about to die. He knew!' It's like the dead, empty, stagnant space inside of me has thrown open its gates and is flooding. Overflowing.

As though we are about to dance, the Pigman takes my waist and carefully folds me to the ground. My head rests against his shoulder and he holds me firm.

MIRO'S NEW BREW OF PLUM
rakija
calms the endings of each nerve. It's almost as if I hear my body sigh, relieved that the weight I've been forcing it to lug around has finally lifted.

I have told it all to Miro. Every last detail and the lightness I feel is incredible.

Sara's head rests on my lap. My fingers rub the smooth, silky fur of his ear and I realise it's been a long, long time since I've felt such peace inside myself.

‘Bit more,' Miro whispers as he tops up my glass of brandy. ‘Sarajlije, he look like he drink my
rakija
too.'

‘What do you think I should do with the AK-47?' I ask Miro again. ‘I don't know about handing it in to the police. I should've done that straight away but I thought I'd need it. I thought they'd come looking for me.'

‘Why, boy? I still no understand why you think they come looking for you?'

‘Because, because they probably know I, I saw the whole thing.'

‘But they no see you.'

‘Oh, come on, Miro,' I cry. ‘They know. You even said yourself the Marshalls know everything about this town. No one gets away with anything.'

‘They no see you, boy. They shoot you if they do! Now stop!'

I take another long sip of brandy then savour the thick haze that swims around my brain.

‘We need to talk about real thing. Not, not crazy devil whispers in your head.'

I nod.

‘AK-47 locked in your wardrobe, yes?'

‘Yes.'

‘And you not open bag, Demon?'

‘No. No, of course I haven't. I'm too scared.'

‘Do you think your mother find key to lock you make on wardrobe? Because this is what I most worried for, Demon. Maybe she do some cleaning.'

I tug at my pocket and produce two small padlock keys. ‘They're on me all the time,' I answer. ‘The only way she could get in there is with a pair of bolt cutters and I don't know where she'd get them from.'

‘I think when safer you bring Kalashnikov to my house. Is best idea. Then we decide what to do. No rush. But no open bag and touch. You understand?'

‘And you don't think the Marshall boys know that it's me who has it?'

‘No!' Miro shouts and Sara's head lifts from my lap. ‘I tell you this again and again, boy! They too stupid. Why they kill man so close to town and leave bag with AK-47 and dead body I not know. Stupid. Stupeed! They think they big tough gangster but they not. They bullies. They piss.'

‘But why did they throw the bag into the bush and just leave? They must've thought they heard something.'

‘Demon, they stupeed, idiots, that why.'

‘Curtis Marshall knows I've got the gun. I, I saw him at the petrol station and he waited till his mates were out of earshot then he told me he was watching me,' I say. ‘Why didn't I just leave it there? I should've left it alone.'

‘Yes. It would have been better.'

For almost an hour I lay on the ground too scared to move, hearing the man's shallow breaths disappear. I covered myself with leaves because I was shaking so much. They were damp and stuck to the vomit on my hair and school clothes. But I stayed there and counted until I forgot what number I was up to, so I'd start again and again and again. It was the only thing that could stop me from screaming and howling because just metres away he lay sprawled on the dirt, which was slowly turning to crimson.

‘Now, Demon, I tell you this one more time. They no see you.' Miro says it with such certainty and I really want to believe him. ‘They no see you, Demon. They not going to do anything to you. It all devil whispers in your ear.'

My face is buried in my hands. Devil whispers. I want to believe him but Miro wasn't there that summer afternoon. He didn't see the way Steven Marshall hurled Princess Anne across the river. He didn't hear the ‘splat' as her tiny body hit the tree, hear their laughs and whoops at what a good ball their brother had just bowled.

Miro's still speaking. ‘Marshalls not coming to get you or your mother. You listen to me, boy. You no need Kalashnikov to protect your family. Anyway, you not know how to shoot Kalashnikov!'

‘That's why I bought the rifle.'

‘Ahhhhh, now it make sense,' Miro sighs. ‘But you give Kalashnikov to me to take care. We will do this and when good time we go to police.'

‘The problem is getting the bag out of the wardrobe without my mother seeing it and asking me a hundred questions,' I say. ‘My mother has no life, she's always at home and she watches me and she …'

‘You no speak about your mother like this!' Miro scolds. ‘I no want to hear this things. We wait for moving bag. No hurries. We be patient.'

‘Patient! I'm so bloody sick of being patient.'

I yawn and stretch my limbs, careful not to disturb Sara, who has settled back on my lap and now is snoring. It feels strange it being daytime. It doesn't suit our mood. We need a night sky, velvet black and sprinkled with stars. That and a spitting orange fire should accompany us and our
rakija
. Not this brilliant blue sky and a dented old gas bottle.

‘Is good to learn patience. We wait, Demon. There will be right time to tell police. And boom.' He clicks his fingers and I feel my heart beat. ‘They will get big bullies. It will be over. Trust me. Patience good thing.'

‘If I could get his face out of my brain,' I moan. ‘That's what I can't handle any more, seeing his face. It doesn't matter if my eyes are open or closed. Awake or asleep. I still see him. His, his face. It takes up every space in my head. Especially his eyes, just that second before, before he knew he was going to die. He knew. He knew. I could tell.'

‘Maybe his face never go from your head.'

The image of Princess Anne, her broken head flopped in my hand, her eyes peering up at me, is a picture that is hard to budge. I know Miro is right but I wish he wouldn't say it.

‘Maybe you remember forever, Demon. You ask me, you think dead forgotten. You say this to me once. But they no forgotten because dead like to follow. They stay close.' He whispers, ‘I know this.'

‘What do you mean?'

Miro gets down on the ground next to me. He holds out his glass and asks me to pour him some more
rakija
. For a second he stares at the cup then tilts his head back and pours it down his throat. One swallow and it's gone. Again he holds the glass out and I fill it up.

At last Miro is about to tell me a truth. But now I'm afraid. I'm not sure I want to hear it.

‘War is very bad, Demon,' he begins. ‘You know this?'

I nod.

‘Many, many people die. But it war and this what happen.'

I hear the saliva catch in my throat.

‘Since this war I am afraid of storm. Afraid of wind. This is why I like to find good place for camping,' Miro explains. ‘When big wind, I hear them.'

‘Who?' I mutter. ‘Who do you hear?'

‘All people I kill.' He breathes in each word like he is trying to swallow his whispers. ‘I hear them, up there in trees.' Miro's arms begin to wave about. ‘Up, up high. They never go away. I know this truth. I do.'

‘What do they – sound like?'

‘Sometime screaming. Sometime whispering. Sometime they shout.' He leans over, taking the brandy, this time drinking it straight from the bottle. ‘You say to me, “Miro you talk in sleep. You say
ohprohstee mee
…”'

‘Yeah!' I answer. ‘So you do know what I meant.'

‘I know these word. I no tell you truth. I say these word in day, all time, when sun shining and when sun going down. I say them to myself.' Miro's hands still hold the
rakija
. He swirls the bottle around then holds it up to the sun to watch for bubbles that will tell him his new brew is good. ‘But I not,' he begins to say, ‘but I not know I say these word in my sleep. See, it never leave you.'

I am almost too terrified to ask but I know he waits for the question.

‘What does it mean,
ohprohstee mee
?'

‘
Oprosti mi
,' he repeats. ‘Forgive me,' Miro answers. ‘It mean, forgive me.'

I nod. That's all. There are so many things I could say to him, so many questions I could finally ask – but for now I think silence is best. We have unzipped our wounds and let our secrets out to play. For now silence is best.