The Fear (3)
"Howzit bud!" they both answered at the same time. "Jinx! You owe me a coke!" Joey seized the opportunity. "Awh fuck that!" Russell said. If two kids said the same thing, at the same time, whomever said jinx! first, was owed a coke by the other. "YESSIRREE!!" he bellowed his victory cry. The two followed Darryl towards the double garage. Once inside, he messed his neatly combed middle parting up, giving his black hair the same unkempt look as theirs. He pondered which of his three bikes he was going to use. "Man," Joey said, hands on hip, looking around, "do you ever use this stuff?" "Naah, its junk my dad buys for me when he goes away on business trips" "Hey, swing ball is not junk" Joey said, pointing towards the game, unopened, lying underneath a fingerboard, monopoly, and an electrical train set, amongst other things. Darryl decided to stick with his black mongoose. They headed for the tree house, via the stores. Russell felt the shakes getting stronger. Darryl, noticing that something was wrong, slowed down. "Shakes?" "Yeah" "Same dogs?" "Yupp" Russell looked over at him, noticing the sparkle in his eyes "They still out?" Darryl asked "No," Russell shook his head, "we’re not going back there" "Just quickly man," Darryl said. He ripped his handlebars back, and wheelied for a meter, the front wheel slamming back down on the tar, "I wanna see if they’ll chase me" Joey heard the conversation, and stepped in. "No you psychotic dork, we’re already late as it is. The last thing we need is you challenging dogs." As they peddled along, the look faded, for the time being, from his face. They had to cut to the left to get to the stores, and that meant another steep, grueling hill. To Darryl it offered a new and fresh challenge. It amazed them how every time he would race up the road, never letting up, struggling to keep a straight face as no doubt his legs must have ached. Once on top he would wait, drenched in sweat, gulping for air, with an unequaled look of satisfaction on his face. One they could never get from racing up a hill. "It’s all in the challenge," he always told Russell, or, his other line, "It’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game!". Gordon maneuvered the vehicle off the main road, and onto the path that cut through the woods. Tall, thin pines, black wattles, and eucalyptus trees flanked the narrow pathway. Leaves and twigs scrunched underneath the car. Chaptin’s eyes were wide open. His small body was rigid with tension, and quivered with wave after wave of fear. Buster had his right hand on his ears. "Hey!" Chaptins shivering irritated him. He yanked the dog’s ears back, and slammed its face down onto his knee. The dog whined softly, and continued to shiver. They carried on into the middle of the undersized woods. Gordon stopped the car at the usual spot. The engine died out, and sounds of birds and insects entered the car. "You get ropes, I’ll hold this bad boy" Buster said to Gordon. "I won!" Darryl stated as they arrived atop the hill. Below them, the mansions continued until out of focus. The road ahead was straight and deserted. "I was never racing you dimwit," Joey said as he passed him. "Only cause you’re scared you’ll lose" "No," Joey laughed, "not fear, more intelligence" "Pussy" "Numskull" The playful bickering continued until they reached Oasis, the local supermarket. "Who’s gonna stay behind?" Russell asked as they climbed off their bikes. "Why?" Darryl looked bemused. "Well to watch the bikes" Russell said "Yeah okay," Joey said, leaning his bike against the painted windows, " you guys go in. I’ll stay" "Fuck that," Darryl said, chucking his expensive bike down, " who cares? Leave them here." "Naah man," Russell said, leaning his next to Joey’s, " my bike means to much to me." The Oasis had Tastic rice, Weetbix cereal, and Nestle condensmilk, on special, according to the homemade posters. The windows were painted black, with a white palm tree in the middle. Groceries of all sorts lay like Christmas gifts around the bottom, painted in green, red and yellow. And the slogan, also in white: When the groceries dry up, and the money’s spare, you’ll find us- your Oasis- the answer to your prayer! The Oasis had around been since they could remember. Joey always joked that Noah had bought supplies from them. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert owned the store. Both used to sit in the small office located just after the entrance. Only the battered wooden desk of Mr. Herbert was visible through the door, but if the dusty fan was turning from side to side- he was there, punching away on his calculator, clearing his throat with a loud, dry cough. The Herbert’s were both in their seventies, and hadn’t been able to persuade either of their two children to take over the business. "Disgrace," the thin, baldheaded man had said to his kids, "what’s left of tradition, huh? I ask you!" The store had a distinct small-town feeling to it. Five tall shelves, about four-feet wide, packed with goods on both sides were scattered throughout the small store. From the back, the different aromas of the quaint bakery and butchery sauntered through the area. The cash register was in the front, to the left, next to the liquor display. The till was still hand operated, as Mr. Herbert said when his wife told him about the electronic ones "Electronic? Huh, what next?" Russell and Darryl walked to the middle shelve. That contained the good stuff. Russell’s eyes ran through the large selection. Nestle, Cadbury, Aero, Peppermint crisp. He dug into the pockets of his black shorts, and scrounged around. Counted the coins. Damn, he thought, only enough for two. He was hoping for three plus a drink. His mom had taught him not to eat alone "Sharing is caring!" she said. Darryl peered over Russell’s shoulder, glanced at the lady behind the till, and back at Russell. "How much you got?" Darryl asked. "Not enough" Again, Darryl’s eyes darted to the front, to Russell, then back to the till. Same unmistakable sparkle in them. "What you planning?" Russell asked "Keep an eye out" "Why?" "Well," he said, "do you want the chocolates or not?" Eyes front, to Russell, then till. He swooped down, and stuffed two Cadbury’s slabs in the front of his pants. "Jeez bud," Russell whispered, "don’t steal", the surprise evident in his eyes. "Shut the fuck up" he warned. Eyes front; Russell; till. Russell didn’t say anything; aware that if he protested it would attract attention. "Why?," he shook his head, "you’ve got the money." "Oh c’mon," he said. Eyes front, Russell, "this is more fun," eyes dart to till, back to Russell, "just act normal, and walk out." Russell’s legs couldn’t move. It was one thing stealing radios from his dad, out of his own garage. But to enter a store, and steal off the shelves? He had been able to ease his conscience by arguing that his dad didn’t need the radio’s anymore, that he was just to lazy to throw them away. But this, this was someone’s living. This was theft. "On second thought," Darryl thrust a crisp five rand note into his hand, "go and get us something to drink," a smile crept over his face, " that way they won’t suspect anything!" As Russell turned to walk, Darryl called him, "Russ," he turned around, "get us a coke" Russell walked towards the drinks, shaking his head, feeling like a two-bit, petty thief. And worse, he thought as his trembling hands took five cokes off the shelf, if they caught him, it would only be fulfilling a prophecy he knew they all made behind his back. He always felt their eyes follow him, heard their thoughts: keep and eye on the Carsten kid, they’re poor- he’s bound to steal. He closed his eyes, inhaled a deep breath, and, clenching on his teeth so hard he heard them grind, walked towards the till. "Get everything you wanted, bud?" Darryl slipped in behind him, asking the question with a poker face. Russell nodded, and exhaled. His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat raced. His eyes darted round to the small office, expecting to see the thin old man creep out and confront them. If mom and dad found out, he thought. He closed his eyes, clenched on his teeth. "Russ!," Darryl slapped him on the shoulder, " Missus Walters is waiting!" Darryl looked at the middle-aged women behind the till, and smiled, "Sorry maam, some dogs’ chased him, and he’s got the shakes again" "Really?" Mrs. Walters asked in such a genuine tone, pangs of guilt flooded into Russell. His pale hands put the drinks down on the table. Each clang from the registers keys echoed in his mind. "C’mon buddy, get with it." "S-sorry maam" He said, handing her the money. The new bill was drenched in sweat. "How’s Mr. Walter’s been lately?" Darryl asked. "He’s fine thank you dear. Had the flu a while back, but he’s back at work now" "Yeah, I heard a nasty flu’s been going around" Mrs.Walters handed the change to Russell. He avoided eye contact, and walked out. "See you later dear, say hi to your mom for me!" "Will do maam, bye!" Darryl said, following Russell. Jeanette Walters thought: what a nice boy. When they had left, Mr. Herbert walked out of the office, straight to Jeanette, "You keep and eye on those kids Jeanette?" "Yes Stan. Besides, Darryl Henderson wouldn’t steal, I’ve known his mom for ages." "I know, but that Carsten kid…why, I grew up with his kind. Them poor kids are all the same" Russell and Darryl left the store, and squinted as sunrays bounced off the shop windows. Patches of creamy-white clouds were spread across the light blue sky. Two pigeons pecked away at scraps on the curb. A slight wind scurried past. "Jeez," Joey moaned, lifting his head off his handlebars, " that took long enough" Darryl smiled. The same smile he had after racing up the hill. He turned and looked to make sure no one was watching him, then took the sweets out, displaying them to Joey like an Indian warrior would a scalp. Joey frowned, shook his head, and raised his shoulders "What the fuck man?" Darryl’s head bobbed back and forth, "Now that was fun," he slapped Russell on the shoulder, "jeez bud, I thought you were going to blow it" "Fun?" Joey raised his voice, "dude, you could buy the whole shop with one weeks pocket money," he shook his head, "I don’t get it" "Yeah? Well you wouldn’t get it, you’re not like me" "You’re god-damn right" "I’m a winner. A fighter." "No you’re not. You’re a thief!" "Fuck you." "Thief" "GUYS!" Russell shouted. He climbed on his bike, with the packet hanging off his left wrist, and stuffed a few blocks of chocolate into his mouth "let’s not argue about this now?" The two glared at each other for a while, then Joey laughed in his usual "ahh forget it!" laugh, and they headed off, leaving the tiny town while sipping the drinks and eating the sweets. Within a few minutes all was forgiven, as usually was the case. Darryl led from the front, trying his best to wheelie from one lamppost to the other, but could only manage half the distance. He never stopped trying, though. The kids headed out of the residential area, and took the last right corner, which had the graveyard on it. The houses stopped two hundred meters before the burial site. After the right bend, the street curved into the main road. That ran for twenty miles until reaching the next town. The road was flat and smooth. Thick bushes huddled up against the edges. The houses faded from view; the scenery changing from the clean, lively gardens to the lifeless, brown countryside. The tree house was located a mile out, on Timmy’s farm. The food took a few minutes to reach Russell’s stomach, and he only started to feel better as they approached the tree house. The sweets didn’t make him feel better though, more the effect that the place had on him. A narrow pathway on the left of the road was the only break in the thick bushes. Ten meters inwards, and short, fat thorn trees started. The trees ruled supreme in the region. The dusty pathway curled to the left, then to the right, then straight for a few hundred meters. They pushed their bikes inwards. Various shrubs created thick walls. Low, overhanging branches forced them to duck down, and they did this instinctively; knowing the exact location of each branch and every thorn. Their feet kicked up small clouds of dust. The rasping sounds of crickets bolted around. The air was hot and sticky, but the path was shady. They heard the rat-tat of Frank hammering away. "Ahh," Darryl said, "Frankie’s first as usual" "You know," Joey said, "is it just me, or is he never home?" "Is slightly odd" Russell agreed. Behind them the dust settled on the pathway as they reached the end. The branches and shrubs parted slightly, and revealed a large, round circle. Thorn trees clustered around the edges of the circle like a pack of hungry dogs’ waiting to close in on their kill. The place had an uncanny resemblance to a fighting ring. Joey always joked that he felt like a gladiator walking through the tunnel, and into the arena. The tree house had been built in a huge, towering oak that rested in the right corner, dwarfing the thorn trees. The kids weren’t sure who had made the clearing- Frank and Russell stumbled upon it- but they prided themselves in the tree house. Joey and Russell eased their bikes down. Darryl chucked his down. The floor was a red, smooth sand, with bits of dry grass and the occasional leaf scattered around. The only other exit was next to the oak. In the middle of the circle, the kids had constructed a makeshift barbeque out of rocks. The edges were crusted with soot. Darryl had stolen one of his dad’s grills to use, but it always slipped off into the fire. "Heh-hey, Frankie!" Joey greeted him. Frank was busy nailing the rope ladder to the oak. His golden blonde hair was drenched in sweat, the darkened tips covered in the selfsame red sand. He used his free arm to wipe the dusty sweat away. "Howzit guys" "Howzit howzit. Been here long then?" Darryl inquired "Yeah a while" Joey sat down on one of the metal buckets around the fireplace. "Jeez bro, don’t you have a home?" he laughed. "You’re looking at it" "Fair enough" Russell said and joined Joey around the soon-to-be-used barbecue Russell had stumbled across the clearing two years before, while Frank and himself were shooting pigeons with Frank’s rusty pellet gun. But for all their efforts, after hitting the birds full on, the frightened creatures would just fly off. Frank said it had something to do with the worn out spring. It used to be his dads. Russell watched him try and fix it the one-day. But to no avail. Still, he could see the enjoyment Frank got from taking the gun apart; his inquisitive mind humming with every spring and bolt he loosened. Yet, after assembling it, they still had two springs and a few bolts left. "Never mind," Frank had said, tossing the spare parts aside, "it’ll work without them," It didn’t. But, Russell wandered into the clearing; and their gang, the Wanderers, was started. Just Frank and Russell at first. Ask any of the kids about the tree house, and they would say- "Magnificent. Yes, solid, yet comfy." It took them the whole weekend to build. Frank brought all his tools along, and shouted orders. The wood Joey had organized. His dad just dropped it off without warning. Neatly cut-and-measured pieces, smoothed down with no splinters. For the roof they used two discarded sheets of corrugated iron they found on one of their expeditions into Timmy’s farm. None of them will forget picking up those sheets of iron. They learnt a valuable lesson that day. Russell spotted it gleaming in the midday heat, and shouted to the others. They wandered over, Russell standing proudly over his find. Frank had a look, "Yeah…this’ll do," he murmured. "Well done bud!" everyone told him. After making sure no one was watching, they swooped down and grabbed hold of it…they had blisters on their hands for a week. Sometimes you have to learn the hard way though. Darryl decorated the interior of the tree house with various drawings of his beloved racing cars, but then Joey tore them down and replaced them with pictures of half naked woman that Willy Reynolds had donated. Russell favored a brunette named Jessica, but Joey and Darryl fancied a blonde called Kate. Sadly, they had to take the girls down when Timmy joined. Didn’t want to set a bad example for "spud" as they called him. "YESSSIRREE!!" Joey let out his characteristic victory cry. "Fuck that!" Frank said. A small cloud of powdery dirt shot up as he chucked the cards down. The lads were playing poker around the fire. They barely felt the extra heat, the sun still thrashing down in the late afternoon. The smell of burning wood hung in the air, the sound of crackling timber echoed. A cool breeze twirled around. "Fairs fair" Joey murmured. His greedy hands formed a broom and swept the pennies off the dusty ground. "You always win though." Darryl chipped in, adding his cards to Frank’s. "No, you guys always lose…man you guys suck at cards! Even my gran would kick your asses" Russell laughed and said "Something tells me your gran would beat most men at cards." "Hey," Joey said, "I’ve told you all before- there’s two kinds of people in life. Hustlers and workers. The workers never hustle, and the hustlers never work." Frank laughed and said, "Yeah, and I’ve told you before- a fool and his teeth are soon parted!"
Copyright © 2001 David Rama |