This River Awakens

  These are my rights, Doctor. These are civilisation’s civil gifts, the sanctions people like me hide behind, with your blessing.

  And I’ve got property rights, too. My house with its locks on the doors, the curtains to draw tight, and the bloody turf where I’m the tyrant – all so carefully, deliberately hidden from view. Out of sight, out of mind.

  The new social contract. Fuck the huts with no doors to lock. Fuck the eyes of my neighbours – my uncles and aunts and cousins with their upstanding ethical regard to keep me in line. Fuck the threat of ridicule, the weapon of shame. Fuck the old unwritten tribal laws and the banishment that’s a death sentence by any other name.

  The new society doesn’t need all that. I’ve read Psychology Today, I’ve read Popular Mechanix. I’ve studied the stars, read the signs, and behold I proclaim the nuclear age of the nuclear family – boom! Amen to that, Doctor. Now, there are no eyes on us any more. We are sanctioned … private. The family’s scattered and absorbed in their own privacy, their own miserable tyrannies. It’s time for the monsters to come out. Time to play.

  Sten smiled as he watched Shane dream. The spurt of blood in the mouth, the quarry run to ground at last.

  Someone approached from the road. Sten slipped into deeper shadows. His smile broadened as he saw Jennifer. She was stoned, staggering as she navigated her way to the back porch. She pulled her smokes from her jean jacket and sat down on the step, bending low over the cigarette, the flame of the Zippo wavering about as she tried to join the two.

  Sten moved towards her, struggling to control his breathing. A moment later he stood in front of her. She hadn’t noticed. She was still trying to light the cigarette.

  Sten dropped his beer bottle and drove against her, one hand clapping over her mouth, the other pushing hard on her left breast. His weight flattened her on the porch. She tried to bite his hand and get her knees between his legs, but her efforts were weak, and she moved as if in slow motion. Sten stared down at her face, at the wide, terrified pools of her eyes.

  He realised suddenly that he didn’t want those eyes watching him. He reached up and grabbed her hair, twisting her head around, then her shoulders. Moments later he had her lying on her stomach.

  The breath through his nose whistled as he pulled down her jeans. Thank God for buttons. ‘Wouldn’t want you getting pregnant, would we?’ he whispered.

  She tried to scratch him, but he pushed her hands away.

  ‘Lie still and it won’t hurt. Much.’

  Behind them the dogs were awake. He could hear them pacing, panting. Kaja whined softly. A car rolled past on the road.

  Sten pulled down his own pants, fumbled with his penis, then pushed it between her buttocks. She cried out.

  A heavy hand gripped Sten’s collar and pulled him upright in a single, powerful surge. Sten swore, spinning in time to see a fist flashing at his face. Colour exploded, the shock rippling through his head. Bones crunched, teeth broke. Sten staggered back a step, tottering for balance.

  The big figure closed in again. Sten’s head snapped back as the fist connected with his cheekbone. He heard more bones break.

  Dad? Daddy?

  He was hit a third time, but his face was already numb. Like so many other times, years ago, he somehow stayed on his feet. The man in front of him, hidden by the blur swimming in Sten’s gaze, swung again, then again.

  Someone was screaming. The dogs flung themselves against the kennel wall. The back door opened and someone rushed out, crossing the porch – not to him, but to the screaming girl. The neighbour’s door banged open. A beam of light arced across the yard.

  The man didn’t stop. His fists rocked Sten’s head steadily, evenly, with great deliberation. Sten did nothing, trying above all to stay on his feet, to not shame his father by falling down, or trying to protect himself. He wouldn’t shame him. Ever.

  The girl still screamed. The dogs were in a frenzy. The neighbour had shown up, yelling at his own wife to call the police, then rushing towards the man beating at Sten. The neighbour came up behind the man and wrapped his arms around him, yelling and pulling him back.

  Sten stared. The ringing in his ears made everything faint, far away. The dimming, blurred vision cleared slightly, although only one eye could still see past the puffed, mangled flesh. The neighbour, Will Peters, who sold insurance and never once complained about the dogs, still held the man back, still yelled at him.

  ‘For Godsakes, Hodgson! That’s enough! That’s enough, dammit!’

  Fisk slowly slumped in Will’s arms, his battered hands forgotten at his sides. His face was white, his dark eyes fixed on Sten.

  Elouise came slowly to Sten’s side. He blinked at her. She crouched down and pulled up his pants, fumbling with the belt buckle.

  Jennifer sat curled up on the porch, her head buried between her arms. A broken cigarette lay white and unlit on the floorboards.

  ‘That’s fuckin’ it for the dog food,’ Fisk said. ‘I come here and you’re buggering your daughter.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Peters said, his eyes wide.

  Sirens sounded on the highway. Other dogs in the neighbourhood had set up a cacophony of barking.

  Sten tried to smile, but nothing moved right on his face. The ringing in his head got louder, almost a shriek. Drunk, he wanted to explain. I was drunk, Officers. Can’t remember a thing. Not a damn thing. Firewater, Officers. Bad medicine. Will you help me now? Help me understand what’s happening?

  IV

  She sat on the swing, the tips of her sneakers in the dirt. The taut chains in her hands felt warm, solid. Clouds scudded across the blue of the sky, and the grass of the playing field looked parched. The day felt old already, although it was barely past noon.

  She’d never wanted to be the one in her family left to explain things. Explaining was a waste of time, especially when it came to what had happened the night before. You don’t explain things. Ever. You just try to forget.

  But everyone had wanted to know, and that big man, Mr Fisk, had made it plain what he thought he saw.

  ‘The bastard was raping his daughter. What was I supposed to do, just stand there?’

  Yes.

  She saw her father before they took him to the hospital – irony of ironies. He was unrecognisable except for something in the mutilated twist of his lips. A smile. His smile.

  Mr Fisk would have killed him, if not for Mr Peters. The realisation triggered nothing in Jennifer. She hadn’t thought that what she’d say would get Mr Fisk in trouble. She hadn’t been able to take things that far in her mind. Too stoned. Too numbed by the feel of her father’s penis pushing into her. Virginity intact, what a relief. And now there was nothing but bitterness inside. We slipped out of it, leaving Fisk looking like a homicidal maniac.

  Sten had been drunk. He’d been taking a piss. He’d fallen on to his daughter, there on the porch. That was all. I swear. Then all of a sudden some guy started beating him to a pulp. I don’t care what he said he saw. It wasn’t like that. It was dark. No, my pants were up, what the fuck are you talking about?

  Sten and his smile. He’d shaken his head when the cops asked if he wanted to make a statement in writing, but then he shook his head ‘no’ to everything they asked him. ‘Lie down on the stretcher, sir.’ No. ‘Were you under the influence of alcohol?’ No. ‘Were you sexually assaulting your daughter?’ No. ‘Do you understand what’s happened here tonight?’ No. ‘Did you have an argument with Mr Fisk about something? Are you pressing charges?’ No.

  Mother hadn’t seen a thing. She’d been watching television in the living room, then all of a sudden – screams from the porch. She’d had to write it out, then sign the statement.

  She didn’t see. Thank God.

  The ground looked so parched. Where was the rain, the storms? Everything was drying up, dying.

  Roulston came by that morning. He said he’d come to check Elouise. He’d seen Sten being stitched up in Emergency. He’d talked to the ambulance attendants,
to the nurses, to the attending physician, to the police.

  ‘Mother didn’t see,’ Jennifer told him. The three stood in the living room, awkward in the gloom cast by the drawn curtains. After a tense moment, Elouise sat down on the sofa, her back straight and her hands clasped in her lap. Jennifer smoked, her eyes on a game show on the television. People were applauding.

  ‘Something happened last night,’ Roulston said. ‘That much is obvious. But you’ve raised the drawbridges, haven’t you? You should know that your responses are textbook perfect. I’d thought there were some smart people in this family.’ He turned to Jennifer. ‘I didn’t think you’d be so predictable. It’s rather disappointing.’

  ‘Up yours,’ Jennifer said. ‘So her wires aren’t stretched. You can go now.’

  ‘Well, no. Not yet.’ Roulston sat down opposite Elouise. ‘I’ve consulted with Sten’s physician. Do you want to know your husband’s condition?’

  Mother nodded.

  ‘Eighty-seven stitches. The man who hit him must have had concrete fists. A fractured cheekbone, broken nose, damaged ligature in his left eye. Fractured maxilla – uh, upper jaw. Three broken molars and damage to the palate. And, finally, eighty to ninety per cent loss of hearing in his left ear, which is likely temporary.’

  Elouise had nodded through all of this. Roulston fell silent, staring at her.

  Someone lost a car on the game show. Wrong answer. ‘So what’re you expecting?’ Jennifer asked. ‘Violins?’

  ‘Is that all you have to say?’

  ‘No. How long?’

  Roulston seemed startled. ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘How long will he be in the hospital?’

  The doctor blinked. ‘He’s being released this afternoon. We’ve recommended he stay longer, but since he’s not concussed – that is, he’s displayed to his doctor’s satisfaction that he’s functionally aware – well, he’s within his rights to discharge himself. There’s nothing we can do.’

  Jennifer felt her mother’s gaze on her. She focused on the game show, crossing her arms.

  Roulston asked, ‘Do either of you fear for your lives?’

  ‘No,’ Jennifer said, turning to glare at her mother. Elouise shook her head. Our lives? Wrong question, Doctor. Nothing behind that curtain. ‘Okay, fine. You can go now.’

  ‘I have some questions for your mother.’

  Jennifer sighed.

  Roulston cleared his throat. ‘Elouise. The X-rays – Sten’s – revealed multiple past … incidents.’ He pulled out a notepad. ‘Dr Weins, his attending physician, did a detailed examination at my request.’ He flipped the pad open, found the right page. ‘Four distinct fractures of the left supraorbital ridge, a shatter pattern is evident on the right zygoma. Blockage of the nasal cavity due to a collapsed septum. Fractures on the mandible and on two molars – wisdom teeth unaffected. Probable eruption post-injury.’ He looked up. ‘In other words, he received those particular injuries when still an adolescent. We’ve made a request for any hospital records related to these injuries.’ His blue eyes fixed on Elouise. ‘Are we likely to find anything?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘It was certainly Dr Weins’s professional opinion that none of the injuries was treated at the time of their occurrence.’ He paused. ‘Sten was beaten as a child. Severely beaten.’

  Her mother nodded.

  ‘His father?’

  Yes.

  Jennifer’s full attention was on the two of them now. No one tells me a fucking thing around here.

  ‘Was Sten’s father an alcoholic?’

  Yes.

  Roulston sat back, his expression satisfied. ‘The pattern repeats each generation. Be glad you have a daughter, not a son.’

  Jennifer sneered. ‘That makes a difference?’ Oh yes, he wouldn’t rape a son. Just beat the shit out of him.

  ‘Well, I don’t think he’ll beat you – not if he hasn’t up to this point, that is. Has he? I didn’t think so. But the trauma – the psychological damage – will manifest itself in you. Differently, of course. It’s my opinion that it already has, Jennifer. You’re abusing yourself, completing the cycle – doing Sten’s job for him. It’s his situation, after all, his making. Now, none of this is my area of expertise, but I have consulted with the hospital’s resident psychologist.’ Roulston leaned towards Jennifer’s mother. ‘For your daughter’s sake, it’s important that we intervene. Now. I’ve contacted Family Services. A social worker will be coming out. She’s on her way, in fact. If you’d like, I can remain here and be with you during the assessment and interview.’ He swung to Jennifer. ‘It’s important that you be here as well.’

  ‘Fuck that, Doctor. I’m not talking to anybody, and you can’t make me.’

  ‘If you don’t co-operate, the worker will likely assume that you’re fearful for your life under the present situation, or if not for your own life, then for your mother’s. Jennifer, listen. You’re better off being reasonable. The three of you need help, you lose nothing by asking for it. We can get this situation under control, keep the family together – each of you supporting the other. Counselling, therapy – they can be very successful once you acknowledge the need for help.’

  ‘Nobody’s taking me away,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘Well, it shouldn’t have to come to that—’

  ‘You swear it won’t? Swear it.’

  ‘Very well. I swear. But conditionally. You have to co-operate, you have to genuinely want to find a solution, to work through things. Promise, Jennifer.’

  She turned away. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’m going outside. I’ll be in the playground. Call me when the bitch from hell arrives.’

  Jennifer twisted on the swing. Co-operate. Sure thing, Doctor. I’m gonna lie like hell, and Mother’s gonna nod her head at everything I say. Watch. Roulston’s promise had been a surprise. She’d almost fallen for it, but then she realised he was going to fuck them over. He’d say anything – he knew damn well it was the social worker’s call, that she’d probably tell him to get lost. He’d made an empty promise. Maybe he was just stupid. More likely he knew. And so, just like him, I’ll say anything. No, ma’am, my father’s the pathetic kind of drunk. He’d been aiming at a door when he’d hit Mother. He only beats up the house. He didn’t mean to hit her, and he didn’t mean to shove his cock up my ass. He didn’t mean it, really. You didn’t mean it, did you?

  She saw Debbie Brand riding a bike on the road. The girl approached, riding down and across the shallow ditch. The bike looked strange. It was a Mustang, lime green, with high handlebars and a banana seat. But it had an extra gear sprocket, and the slick on the back wheel was thinner than usual.

  Debbie rolled up and stopped in front of Jennifer.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Got a cigarette?’

  She took out her pack and handed it over. ‘There’s matches inside.’

  ‘Had to get out of the house,’ Debbie said.

  ‘Oh yeah, I know what you mean. What kind of bike is that?’

  ‘It’s Owen’s. Our dad fixed it up. Man, it’s fast now. It’s like a racing bike. It’s got ten gears.’

  ‘Huh. So how come he’s not using it?’

  Debbie returned the cigarette pack then got off the bike and sat in the swing next to Jennifer. They stared at the bike lying on the grass in front of them. ‘All his friends are on vacation and stuff. He goes out in the mornings and doesn’t even come back for lunch, sometimes. Don’t know what he’s up to. I saw Carl yesterday – you know him?’

  ‘I see him around.’

  Debbie nodded. She tipped ash from her cigarette on to her jeans above one knee, then rubbed it in. ‘Carl says you and Owen are going together. Don’t worry about it if you are. I’ve got no problem.’

  ‘We’ve only been together a few times the last couple of weeks.’

  ‘You breaking up?’

  ‘No. But my mom was in the hospital, and now she’s home and I got
to take care of her.’

  ‘Oh.’ Debbie frowned. ‘So where does he go?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Weird.’ She looked over at Jennifer. ‘You turned him on? Is he tripping every day?’

  Jennifer laughed. ‘Owen? No, he won’t do anything.’

  ‘Good. I mean, I don’t mind, really. I’m sure he will in a couple of years, once the revolution’s won and everything’s legal and stuff.’

  ‘You must be kidding.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  They were silent for a minute, then Debbie said, ‘Dave’s such a jerk.’

  ‘Yeah, a real prick.’

  ‘I thought Mark was okay, but all he wants is to fuck. They’re all assholes.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m going to get my grades up. I’m going to go to university.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Going to change the world, eh?’

  ‘Anything’s better than this.’

  ‘Going to burn your bra?’

  ‘You don’t have to be mean about it. Can I have another butt?’

  ‘Sorry. Sure, take a few if you like.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So, does Owen’s – I mean, do your parents know about me and Owen?’

  ‘No. Lucky you. I hear Owen jerking off at night. His bed creaks.’

  ‘He must be really going at it.’

  ‘Yeah, you got him going, all right.’

  ‘He’s okay.’

  ‘Yeah, for a brother.’

  A car rolled into the driveway behind them. ‘Got to go,’ Jennifer said. ‘See ya around?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Debbie’s smile was pretty. ‘Summer school’s over. I got time now.’

  ‘Great.’ A car door slammed.

  ‘See you.’

  ‘Bye.’ Jennifer hurried back to the house. Mark told me once about social workers. Busting up families just for the hell of it. Sending kids to juvie homes. Roulston, she’s gonna eat you alive. Say what you like to her. I’ll make it obvious that you’ve jumped to the wrong conclusions. I’m good at this stuff. Watch me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE