Читать книгу The Dragon's Skin - Ross Gray - Страница 8

The man shook the umbrella, leaned it against the outside glass, stepped through the open door and slid it closed. His eyes took measure of the space: bright colours, wash and wear, no fragile objects, tiny town furniture, solid and soft, no sharp edges, a safe and secure environment. He rubbed his hands together vigorously, slipped them into his pockets and said, ‘Damp and nippy out there.’

‘Did the experts look’t the pitches y’took?’ Ben asked from the couch, the only big person seat in the room. A nod in reply. ‘An’ yeah?’

‘They think it looks like a bomb.’

Ben knew the difference between ‘looks like’ and ‘is’. ‘Well, they’ll hafta take me word, won’t they?’

‘They will.’

Ben knew the difference between ‘they’ and ‘we’ too. ‘You don’t think I’m capable uv buildin’ a bomb.’ It was an expression of hurt, accusation and question.

‘Today, Ben, I think you’re capable of anything.’

Ben studied him, looking for the sarcasm, the irony, the hidden barb. Then he relaxed and smiled. This bloke had never done that to him, he was sure – as far as he could be sure. He wouldn’t do it today. ‘Why d’you call me “Ben”?’ he asked abruptly.

‘That’s your name.’

‘I mean, y’know, everyone calls me Benny. ’Cept you. And Sharon.’

‘You told me once, remember? Ben, not Benjamin, not Benny, Ben’s what your mum called you. It’s on your birth certificate.’

Ben smiled sadly. ‘You always make everythin’ sound simple.’

‘It can be, Ben,’ he said. ‘I’m going to sit there,’ he added, indicating with his eyes and a slight movement of his head. He moved forward to the centre of the room and sat on the thick woven rug, legs crossed. He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his interlaced fingers. Throughout the manoeuvre Ben’s hand hovered over a switch attached to the vest near his solar plexus, the trigger of his device. The lips of the man on the floor twitched upward, acknowledging the precaution. ‘I can’t do anything tricky from this position.’ Ben wasn’t so sure.

Briette suddenly giggled. She had her father’s dark curls and big brown eyes. ‘Daddy, Uncle Dave, lookit B1’s doing.’ Both men laughed dutifully and watched the flicker of bright primary colours on the screen until B1 ceased his antics.

‘It is simple. F’you,’ said Ben. ‘Say “yes” an’ we all walk out. Say “no” an’ you walk out. Real simple.’

‘C’n we see the end before we go?’ Brie asked with innocent alarm.

‘Sure, sweetie,’ Ben reassured her hastily. But her words were like a splash in a puddle and his eyes locked with the other as ripples of their meaning spread through the room.

‘It’s not simple,’ said Uncle Dave. ‘We have a dilemma …’

‘What?’

‘… I’m not leaving.’

‘Waddaya mean?’ Ben could feel panic pushing at his gullet.

‘I’m staying here until the end.’ This didn’t match the picture Ben had in his mind of its unfolding. ‘Is it Sharon?’ Uncle Dave added sharply before Ben could adjust to the ramifications.

Ben was off balance, reeling. ‘What?’ His voice was spiralling in pitch. Brie turned a wide brown gaze on him, a small frown creasing her perfect cream coffee brow. He fought to choke it down, regain control of its timbre.

‘Do you want Sharon … removed?’

‘What?’ He was aghast. ‘How … how could … No! No!’ It was said with force but in a hoarse whisper. Brie was right next to him, why the fuck was he whispering? He stared into the blue eyes as they scanned him with a calculation that was almost a caress. Surely he didn’t believe it was Sharon? He couldn’t! He was trying to throw him off balance. Calm down, Ben, keep your shirt on. The day is yours.

He stared back at the eyes, hard, something he could never remember doing before. He smiled slyly. ‘You know it’s not Sharon,’ he said firmly.

The man on the rug smiled and gave a small toss of his head conceding that gambit. ‘Who?’ he asked guilelessly. And Ben, ambushed by a reflex, almost answered him. Cheeky bastard.

‘Y’know the deal,’ he said.

They held each other’s gaze for some time. Then Uncle Dave, with something like admiration in his voice, said, ‘Why couldn’t you live every other day of your life like you’re living this one, Ben?’

And Ben answered, with something like wonder in his voice because he knew the answer, ‘ ’Cause I was afraid.’

The man on the rug looked at Ben, looked at Briette, then his eyes slid over the television set to the bench in a large servery separating the room from a kitchen. There was a phone on the bench, a speakerphone, and it was engaged; the police had asked for it to be left that way. They’d be listen­ing to B1 and B2 if they could hear anything on the line at the moment. His gaze came back to Ben.

‘I want to tell you a story, Ben,’ he said. At his words, Brie, who was obviously tuned into the real world and the electronic simultaneously, turned expectantly towards him. He chuckled. ‘That’s a nice doll, Brie.’

She rubbed her cheek against Ben’s arm. ‘Daddy gave it to me. Look, it’s black.’

‘So it is, sweetheart. Very pretty.’ He patted his left thigh. ‘Want to come and sit on Uncle Dave’s knee?’ Ben’s arm shot out across Brie’s chest. ‘Don’t worry, Ben. You can flick that switch quicker than I can get to my feet.’

Brie looked up, puzzled. ‘Can I sit on Uncle Dave’s knee?’ Ben hesitated then slowly drew his arm back. He didn’t want Brie getting upset. The girl bounced from the couch, trotted over and plumped herself down in the nest made by the crossed legs of the man on the rug. She tapped his chin with the doll and he smiled and moved its arms about. Then her attention went back to the Bananas.

Uncle Dave’s eyes moved to Ben’s face. ‘Once upon a time, long ago, there was a policeman,’ he said. Brie’s face turned up to his. He responded to the body language. ‘Back in those days policemen were called “knights”. Do you know what a knight is?’ Brie nodded. ‘They wore bright shining armour. And there were dragons. It was the policemen’s – the knights’ – job to catch dragons if they were bad – devouring beautiful maidens and things like that – and put out their fire. Are you with me, Ben?’ Ben nodded. ‘But it wasn’t easy to capture a bad dragon. A poli … knight had to have the King’s permission. And he couldn’t get the King’s permission unless he could bring the King proof that the dragon was being a bad dragon. And he couldn’t do it alone. He needed the help of other knights and the King’s men, so that no one was hurt – not even the dragon.

‘Now the knight knew that a bad dragon had eaten three maidens already, but he couldn’t find any proof for the King. So the knight made a dragon suit and he put it on and he went and lived with the dragons.’

‘Where did the dragons live?’ Brie piped without taking her eyes from the TV screen.

‘In caves, big dark caves, deep underground. Then one day the bad dragon saw a new dragon he hadn’t met before. It was the knight in his dragon suit, but he thought he was really a dragon. The bad dragon wanted to show the new dragon that he was the smartest and baddest dragon of all. So he came up to the knight and boasted that he had eaten three maidens. And he said that he was going to eat more and more, whenever he felt hungry, and the King and all his knights would never catch him. In fact he said, he was going to eat a maiden that very night.’

Brie slung her head back and he felt her breath on his chin. ‘What’s a maiden?’

‘A young girl,’ he smiled.

‘Like me?’

‘Like you. When you’re a bit older.’

The baby browns swung down to the screen again. ‘A bad dragon.’

‘A bad dragon,’ he concurred. ‘Now the dragon’s cave was a long way from the King’s castle. The knight knew that even if he could get the King’s permission and the King’s men, he would never be able to get back in time to catch the dragon before he devou … ate the maiden …’

‘Did he cook ’em with his fire breath?’

‘Ah … yes, sweetheart, he did. But he liked ’em rare,’ he added dryly, his eyes on Ben. ‘The knight decided that it was better to save the maiden than to obey the King’s rules. So he took out his sharp, shiny sword and, after a mighty battle, he chopped off the dragon’s head and put out his fire for good.’

‘No more cookin’ maidens.’

‘No more cookin’ maidens. But because the knight broke the King’s rules he had to take off his shining armour and never be a knight again.’

‘He could wear his dragon suit!’ Brie chirped brightly. This amused Uncle Dave no end. But she couldn’t see what was funny.

‘At least he still had his dragon suit,’ he agreed through his chuckles.

‘I like that story.’

‘I’m rather fond of that version, myself.’ His eyes were holding Ben in thrall. ‘Do you know the moral of the story, Ben?’ Brie gave her father a casual, curious glance. Ben knew he had been privileged by the telling of this tale. He was well aware of the arch references. He had just heard the closest thing to a confession the teller was ever likely to utter. Though its bearing would be brief, the burden of trust thrilled and scared him shitless. But what fucking moral?

‘I, I … I …’ He shrugged helplessly.

‘Can’t guess, Ben?’ Now the eyes were cold fires. Ben was transfixed. ‘The knight did this for a maiden he had never met. Never laid eyes on. Didn’t know her name. Didn’t even know which, of all the maidens in the kingdom, she was. Imagine, Ben, imagine, if he did this for a complete stranger, imagine what he would do for someone he knew and, and … cared about.’ He dipped his head and kissed Brie’s crown. She glanced up quickly and rubbed her curls vigorously. ‘Let’s get out of here, Ben.’ His eyes snapped down and up. ‘Soon as Bananas in Pyjamas finishes.’

Then Ben had a waking vision, burned with the hard-edged clarity of the television image. He saw himself thumb the toggle switch on his chest, but before the world dissolved in brilliant nullity, he saw the man on the rug simply roll and his daughter roll with him, a marsupial child, and the blast never touch her.

He had his hands tucked under his thighs. His fingers were cold, but they were there to stop their shaking. What he sought had been sensed not seen, unclear to him until now. A figment of faith, he had shambled toward its vague trace and stumbled on it. He’d got what he wanted. The bond was forged. The realisation was burning through the channels of his being like overproof liquor. The day was almost done. He knew he couldn’t wring it for any more. Only one more chore. It was anticipation of this that had his hands shaking.

‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Brie darlin’, Uncle Dave has to make a phone call.’ He lifted her and rose to his feet, unfolding in one smooth movement. As Ben noted the athletic ease of the action, he wondered if he had ever been in control. ‘Need any help getting out of that paraphernalia?’ he asked Ben as he lowered Brie to the couch.

‘She’ll be right,’ said Ben. He watched him cross to the speakerphone. He listened to one side of the conversation as he stood, tugged down the zip and began to shrug off the vest.

‘Don? You there?’ A voice crackled and hissed. ‘We’re coming out.’ Crackle, crackle. Something like a footy crowd barracking on the radio. ‘About ten minutes. Plenty of time to stand down the troops, get fingers off triggers.’ More crackle and hiss. ‘We’ll leave the, ah … device in here.’ Crackle, crackle. ‘He hasn’t got a gun.’ Crackle, crackle, crackle. ‘The woman was frightened. Her imagination played tricks.’ Hiss, crackle. ‘No. All three at once. We’ll come out holding hands, one on either side of the little girl.’ Crackle, crackle, crackle. ‘Sorry, Don, you have a lot of adrenalin-­jacked personnel running around out there. Always the chance of an overachiever in a crowd. I’ll bring them across the street to you. Spread the word.’

‘What’s that, Daddy?’ Ben looked down. Brie was pointing at the vest hanging in his hands.

‘Just somethin’ Daddy made, luv.’

Brie reached out and tripped the switch.