The Slightly Bruised Glory of Cedar B. Hartley (23 page)

Next it's Barnaby calling from a phone booth in Sydney. He doesn't get time to say much.

‘Hello little lady, it's your big brother.'

‘Hi, Barn, where are you?'

‘Still in Sydney. How was the circus?'

‘I didn't get in.'

‘Hey, that's a bummer. Don't worry, I didn't get into the first band I auditioned for, either.'

‘Didn't you?'

‘Nah. You get over it. It's all part of the game. Now, can you tell Mum I'm okay. Safe and sound and all that. Leaving tomorrow.'

‘So, how's Ada? You know I like her more now.'

‘Yeah, so do I.'

‘And guess what: Aunt Squeezy's leaving.'

‘Why?'

The phone cuts off. I listen for a minute, wondering if that's how I would sound if you listened to my heart right now, then Mum calls out, ‘Did he blow the head gasket?'

‘No, he said he's coming home tomorrow.'

Mum sighs. She's lying on the couch with a green facemask on. I sit around drawing animals all over the phone pad and thinking how Kite can't really be thinking about me if he doesn't ring, and sometimes I wish I was a giraffe instead of a girl, because giraffes don't have boyfriends. Then I write
Cedar B. Freeman
to see how it looks, and then I write
Lola Freeman
, just to be mean to myself. And then finally I go to bed and dream that Aunt Squeezy gives birth to a giant poo.

Chapter 42

That week passes by without a call from Kite or even from Harold Barton, and I struggle through it as if the days are solid and thick and hard to push through. By the time Acrobrats' training arrives I feel weary in the head from all that wondering and worrying and pushing through. If you have a line of worry going on and then you weave your wonder through it, like this:

then your worry gets lured in by the wonder and starts to wind and wiggle and expand all over your thinking space, like this:

So this is what I looked like by the time I turned up for training:

And guess who was the first person I saw? Harold Barton slouching on the steps of the building with a bag at his feet.

‘Hey,' I said, ‘you showed up.'

‘Guess so. Wasn't sure I'd come, but looks like I did.' He looks up, half-squinting and half-grinning at me.

‘I'm glad you did,' I say nicely, because I remember how he's had a hard time at home, and I'm practising my compassion. While I'm standing there smiling at Harold Barton compassionately and he's looking at me like I've just turned into a baboon, Inisiya arrives and gives me a hug, and suddenly I feel a bit lighter, as if my expanding whirling worry lines just got rubbed out by all the warmth coming out and going in.

I introduce her to Harold Barton and she's sweet to him, just as if he's a regular lad, and the thing is he acts just as if he is a regular lad, and smiles at her and laughs in a friendly way as we make our way inside.

Caramella is already there, sitting on the floor with the Hmong girls, and I notice how there's something similar between them: a round softness, which makes them look like a circle of quiet little mushrooms. Especially compared to Sali from Sudan, who's already dive-rolling on the mat and yelling at Inisiya to come and hold a hoop. He's become known as ‘Hopper', which is short for grasshopper. Oscar, who started that one, is lying on his back hugging his knees to his chest and seems to have a small crew copying him, including Parisa, who is Inisiya's little sister. Oscar looks like a clunky Pied Piper, because he's making trumpet sounds with his mouth to indicate position changes.

I leave Harold Barton talking to Inisiya and go over to warn Caramella that he's turned up. I know she'll want to try to persuade Mohammed to at least come and watch. Then I make an announcement, introduce Harold and say that anyone who's interested in doing juggling should cluster around him after the warm-up.

It surprises me to see how many of them are interested. All the boys, and also Inisiya, Nidal and, most unlikely of all, Caramella. But Mohammed can't be coaxed out.

Harold Barton has brought along tennis balls as well as juggling balls, so I figure we may as well all learn. But Harold appears to be quite nervous at the prospect of taking charge, and starts off in a stiff, awkward way, talking about the principles of juggling.

I try to break the ice a bit by calling out, ‘Give us a demo!' so he does, and he's really very good. Even I'm impressed. And you can tell by everyone's faces that their eagerness levels just shoot upwards once they see what's possible. That seems to energise Harold, who grabs a broom and starts showing some stick-twirling. By the time he gets us all standing against the wall, practising our throws, he's relaxed, and everyone is calling to him to come and check out their throws. They all want to move on to three balls. But Hopper, of course, is jumping about and chucking balls at people's bums.

What happens next happens so quietly that if I wasn't such a keen observer I might have missed it. First, Caramella approaches Harold Barton. I've never before seen those two even talk to each other, so of course I watch closely. She's talking quite intently, hands moving in the air. He has cocked his head to listen. After a while he nods and they part. She goes over to work with the Hmong girls and he attends to Sali. Then he grabs three balls, and walks over towards the door.

It's only then that I notice Mohammed standing there, wearing his little frown. Harold approaches him, talks, does a quick demonstration, then gives the balls to Mohammed and points towards a spot on the wall. Mohammed stands with the balls in his hands, staring down at them as if he's not sure how they got there, but since they are there, it seems, they lead him in. It makes me think of this story where there's a girl who puts on some red shoes and they make her dance. It's like that with Mohammed and those balls; they pull him in and then he's there. He gazes around wildly, as if he's afraid, but when he sees that no one has even noticed he seems to settle a bit, to let his weight sink into his feet, and then he begins throwing, carefully, quietly, also determinedly.

Caramella is watching surreptitiously and so is Harold, and even I can't help glancing over. Inisiya rushes up to me with eyes bulging.

‘Look,' she whispers ‘look at Mohammed.'

‘I know.'

‘It's amazing.'

We both stand there watching as Harold Barton gives some guidance to Mohammed, who tries with three balls, manages one round, and then drops a ball. As he picks it up, his eyes are suddenly ablaze and his whole face comes up smiling.

Smiling!

‘You see that? He smiles!' cries Inisiya.

I look at Inisiya and then at Caramella and all three of us can't wipe the smiles off our own faces. In fact I feel like cheering, but I hold back. Harold Barton claps his hand on Mohammed's shoulders and nods as he walks away.

‘It's the most unlikely thing in the world,' I say, kind of to myself, or to the world.

‘What? That Mohammed would ever smile?' says Inisiya.

‘No. Well, maybe. More that Harold Barton would be the one he smiled at.'

‘Why?' says Inisiya, and then I remember that she doesn't know Harold, and because I don't want to ruin the good impression he's making I shake my head.

‘Harold seems nice, though,' says Inisiya as she races over to tell Nidal what we just witnessed.

I stand there, watching. It's as if I've floated up into another stratosphere. Actually, I don't even know what a stratosphere is, but if there is another one I feel like I'm in it. It's as if I'm separate from what's going on, even though I'm right in the middle of it. Mohammed's smile, although such a tiny, tiny crack, has opened up some unimaginably huge and invisible surface and I've floated up through it.

It feels as though I've just found a better trapeze than the one Frankie was hanging from, because it isn't mine, and it isn't anyone's. It's like a hammock of expanding and linking hearts that has joined together without knowing; from Aunt Squeezy to Inisiya to Caramella to Ruben and even to Harold Barton. All of them who've simply been willing to try to understand someone else.

I am so proud. I feel like a very small portion of the universe has shifted and no one is taking any applause. It is quite unspectacular and gloriously beautiful, and there I am, swinging from that moment like some kind of drunken gardener perched on an imaginary tree, feeling amazed by the splendour of the surrounding garden.

Meanwhile, no one even knew what had happened. Probably Mohammed would never know how much it meant to me to see him smile, or at least what it did to me after that.

Chapter 43

I skip in the door after training and Mum says, ‘Kite called. He wants you to call him back. I wrote down the number.'

I stop dead still and I feel like laughing. For the first time all week I haven't been wishing he'd call. It's always the way.

I wait for Mum to leave the kitchen and then I call. I'm not even feeling nervous because somehow I'm in a mood where I feel a little bit less precious about my own life. Kite picks up the phone.

‘Hey, Kite, it's me, Cedar.'

‘Cedar.' He says my name like it's a slow sigh of a word.

‘How are you?' I say.

‘I'm fine. I'm sorry I haven't rung earlier. I wasn't sure if you wanted to talk to me or not.'

‘Why wouldn't I?' (Note the bravado.)

He pauses and I picture him frowning.

‘I thought you might have been upset about not getting selected. I wasn't sure…'

I make it easy for him. ‘You mean you didn't want to deal with a weeping fit?'

‘No, no, I mean yes, I would have – I just wasn't sure how, but it doesn't matter now because I've got some great news. They're offering you a place after all. The other girl couldn't take it up. Her father got a job in Melbourne. They're moving.'

‘So they're offering me the place?'