Nervously, I started telling him about what happened. I told him about standing outside the house in Glebe. About Octavia showing up. About the train and going there, and the shell, and--
'It's all right,' he said. His expression was almost proud. '. . . That Octavia,' and he shook his head now. 'She's a great girl, y' know? Slightly insane, of course, but,' he continued, 'she's nice. You deserve her Cam, more than I ever did.' He waited for me to look at him. It took a while. 'Okay?'
I nodded, slowly, in agreement. 'Okay.'
'Good.'
'You're not angry?'
'Now why in the hell should I be? A girl like that needs to be treated right, and you can do that. I can't.' Then he unloaded a truth much harsher than Steve could even dream of. Only, Rube did it to himself. 'Me?' he told himself. 'I treated that girl like dirt, and now she's got you. You'll probably treat her like a goddess. Won't y' Cam?'
I smiled, but didn't bare my teeth.
He repeated the question. 'Won't y' Cam?' because we both knew the answer.
This time, I couldn't hide it. Rube and I laughed and stayed together a while in the kitchen.
'What are you two so happy about?' Sarah asked when she came in. 'It looks like the end of a Scooby bloody Doo episode in here . . .'
Rube clapped his hands. 'Wait till you hear this,' he nearly shouted.
'Remember Octavia?'
'Of course.'
'Well, I'll tell y' what. You'll be seein' a bit more of her again, because--'
'I knew it!' Sarah went through him. She pointed at me. 'I bloody knew there was a girl, you little bastard, and you wouldn't tell me anything!' I'd never seen Sarah grin like this. 'Wait!' she said, and, maybe thirty seconds later, she came back out with her polaroid camera and took an instant shot of Rube and me, both leaning back against the sink, talking and laughing.
We crowded around it to watch the picture form, and soon I could make out the rough-gatherings of Rube's hair and the smile of my own mouth. The apple was still balancing in Rube's hand and we were standing there, leaning, laughing, both in old jeans, Rube in a flanno work shirt, me in my old spray jacket. Rube was looking at me, saying something, and my face was imprinted with laughter.
Sarah pulled the photo closer to her.
'I love this picture,' she said, without a moment's thought. 'It looks like brothers.'
What brothers should be, I thought, and we all continued looking at it, as the tap still dripped down, exploding more quietly now, into the sink.
Later on, I went to Sarah's bedroom to take another look at the photo.
She said, 'Octavia, huh?' I couldn't see her face but I could sense the thrill in her voice. 'She's beautiful, Cameron.' So quiet now. So quiet I could barely hear her. 'She's beautiful.'
'Like you,' I wanted to say, but didn't manage it. It had been a while for Sarah. A few bad experiences with men had left my sister alone for a while now, but when I looked at her, she wasn't unhappy. She just repeated what she'd said in the hallway that night, which seemed like years ago now. 'Good for you, Cam. Good for you.'
Work the next day was agonisingly slow, as I waited. It felt like the hours were on their hands and knees, being dragged forward against their will.
When we made it home, it was closer to five o'clock than four-thirty, so Octavia was already waiting in the kitchen. She and Rube spoke and there was no animosity. No awkwardness.
As for me, I was standing there in awe.
She wore no make-up, had nothing sprayed over her hair, and she wore normal clothes. No tight top. No tight jeans. No jewellery except the shell, dangling from around her neck.
But she was lovely.
She was so . . .
God, I can't explain it right. Even now, I can't.
'Well?' She entered my thoughts with her quiet voice and human eyes. 'Are you going to kiss me Cameron?'
I was shocked.
By beauty.
By words.
Get over there, I told myself, and soon I held her hand in mine and kissed it, then her wrist, and her lips.
'He found you,' said Mrs Wolfe. 'That's good.' My mother came in and looked at me and I remembered what she'd told me in this very room a while back, when winter was just starting. She told me about a brother that would rise up one day and to not be ashamed. Maybe she was remembering it, too. She said, 'You better hurry up Cam. I think Octavia's waited long enough.'
I went and had a shower, got dressed, and Octavia and I left the house soon after. There were no words of be back at a certain time or don't come in too late. Nothing like that. Firstly, my family was used to me walking around the streets, and secondly, if I stayed out too late it would be said the next time I went out. In my family, you got one chance on your own, and how long it lasted was up to you. Sarah had been past that age now for years, and Rube was nearly there, too. For me though, I still had to be careful, and I'd make sure I was.
'We going?' Octavia asked, and I held the door open. We were gone.
We were a fair way along the street when I figured out that I had absolutely no idea where we were heading. I asked.
All Octavia did then was remain focused on where she was walking and said, 'You'll see. Nowhere special.' She sounded content, like nothing but us seemed to matter. At least, not for tonight. Her hand found its way to mine and I held it. There were no words but it didn't matter. The walk sign appeared at one of the streets and we crossed. I made sure not to trip up the gutter.
'This way,' she said later, diverting us from the larger crowds to a small movie theatre on a narrow, cluttered street. 'Would you mind if we went in here?' she asked. 'I kind of like old movies and this place shows some every Saturday.'
'Sounds good,' I replied. I mean, let's be truthful here. This girl could have invited me to hell and I'd have gone with her. There was no way I was going to argue, so we went in.
We went in and the movie was good.
It was Raging Bull and the guy seemed to know Octavia and let us in, even though he said he shouldn't. At times, I thought about other movies I'd seen where people our age go out on dates and they eat popcorn and look good and get a photo done in one of those supermarket passport booths.
One thing was for sure.
That wasn't us.
It wasn't because at one point, Octavia leaned over to me and I thought she was going to kiss me. She didn't.
She slept.
I looked at her and stroked her hair as she slept through De Niro smacking people around and getting fatter and uglier and meaner. The movie was black and white, and I could feel a girl breathing onto my throat. I could feel her breast lightly touching my ribcage.
I was happy.
When the credits arrived on the screen, I let the back of my fingers stroke her face. Gently, I whispered, 'Octavia.' Again. 'Octavia.'
She woke up, startled, afraid at the darkness, then realised. 'Thank God,' she whispered. 'Cameron. It's you.' The credits were still rolling when she stirred slightly and said quietly, 'Could you kiss me Cameron?'
Holding her, I leaned down.
I remember something about that moment, and it's one of the best rememberings I own.
It was the exact moment when I got closer and she pulled me into her, and our teeth touched in the dark. Her mouth took me in, and somehow, our teeth collided and the sound of it echoed through me. I liked it. The accidental truth of it.
With the lights starting to dim themselves on, Octavia said quietly, 'You know something Cameron? You're the first person I've ever really wanted to kiss me. You're the first peron I ever asked.'
This came as a surprise.
'You never asked Rube?'
'He didn't need to be asked.'
'I s'pose,' I reacted, I should've known that.' If Rube wanted something, there was no waiting. With me, there was too much.
'The thing is,' she turned my head gently towards her. 'I like that I get to ask you. It makes you unlike anyone I've ever met.' She kissed me again. Soft. Slow.
'That's the sort of person I want to be with.'
Outside, she decided she'd better get home, so we walked back to Central Station and waited for the train in the underground. There was the usual spattering of party-goers, lunatics, cigarette thieves and winos, with each of their thoughts and conversations tumbling across the dirty platform. Octavia spoke to me about her harmonica and how it's probably the only thing she'd ever loved or depended on. When her train pulled in, we both looked at it. We watched the carriages open, then sat and watched it pull away. That happened another three times.
'I can't believe I fell asleep.' She was shaking her head when the wind of the fourth train smashed onto the platform. It threw the rubbish forward and sent waves of coldness through the air.
Again, when the train pulled in and the doors opened, Octavia didn't move. I was glad. She got me to tell her what happened at the end of the movie, and in the eyes I spoke to, I could see how tired they were. I could see something hidden, or buried, but I still didn't ask. I remembered her saying to me on the phone that she would tell me things, and I figured the harmonica was the start of that. She said she started with it when she was eight years old, and when she was fourteen, she thought she was good enough to do it for money. I asked her where she'd played, and almost with embarrassment, she listed about thirty or so places throughout the city. She told me the songs. The first, the last. The best, the worst. I'd seen her happy when she was with Rube. I'd seen her happy and content when she was with me. I had never seen her like this, though. This was pride, and in a way, I felt close to it, maybe because of the start of my words.
Then there were the odd things.
Her past addiction to Cheezels.
Her severe hatred of Celine Dion.
Her love of harmonicas, off-tune violins and saltwater.
Her favourite singer: 'Lisa Germano, by far, by miles, by the wind blowing down these tunnels.'
Favourite movie: 'Some French thing. I can't remember the name of it but it was bloody good.'
Favourite song: 'Small Heads, Lisa Germano.' (Who in the hell is she, anyway?) Favourite item of clothing: 'Easy. The shell.'
Favourite human invention: 'Bridges. It's a mystery to me how they ever get the pylons drilled under the water.'
Worst moment in her life: 'No comment.'
Best moment: 'A close one. It'd have to be either asking Cameron Wolfe to stand outside my house, or kneeling down with him by the harbour, throwing away all self-doubt and putting my mouth on his.'
Favourite drink: 'None.'
Favourite sound: 'Teeth colliding in an empty cinema.' (I was glad she recognised it too.) Biggest disappointment: 'I'll tell you soon.'
When the next train came in, she said, 'I've gotta get onto this one,' and when she leaned out the door touching my sleeve for a last moment, she started to say something, but the doors shut.
'This,' she called through the window. 'This is my biggest disappointment.'
It was mine, too, even though she'd told me before the movie that tomorrow she'd be at the same place as last week, playing that harmonica and making money . . .
When the train was gone, I waited a while, then walked for the escalator, Elizabeth Street, and home.
There were no questions when I got there, but everyone seemed to assume it went okay. Smiles kept escaping from my face. Escaping all the time.
Again, I couldn't sleep.
The night was Octavia.
At times, thoughts of Steve awoke in my mind as well, and also the rest of the Wolfe family. Mainly Steve though. I wasn't angry at him for what had happened during the week, and I wanted to go up and see him the next day, before I went down the harbour.
In the morning, I ate and went up there. I didn't have to ring the buzzer because he and Sal were out on the balcony. He didn't call me up. Instead, he disappeared and came down to meet me. It was a gesture, I guess. He was coming to me.
He opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him.
'Where you on at today?' I asked.
Steve looked up at the balcony, but he didn't answer my question. He said, 'Thanks.' It was a Thanks for not hating me.
He offered me breakfast but I didn't accept. When I left, I moved out from under the balconies and called up to Sal, 'I'll see y' later.'
'I might come up tomorrow or Tuesday,' I suggested to Steve. 'Maybe we can go up to the oval.'
'All right,' he replied, and we went our own ways.
When I was nearly gone, I heard his voice call out one last time.
'Hey Cam! Cam!'
He came towards me until he was about ten yards away. Talking distance. He said, 'I didn't expect you to come up here, at least not this soon.'
'Well,' I unzipped my jacket. 'You beat four guys up, one by one. I guess I forgave my brother for calling me a lost cause. It doesn't make that much difference really, does it?'
'I would have hated you forever,' he admitted.
I only shook my head. 'It doesn't matter Steve. I'll see y' soon.'
At the quay this time, I stepped off the train without trepidation. All my thoughts leaned towards the sight and sound of Octavia, and from the platform, I looked down into the distance to see the people surrounding her, watching, listening, and taking in the music that flowed from her.
When I saw her, I moved fast, but once I made it, I didn't approach the crowd that was gathered around, or at least, not directly. I moved more to the side and just sat there, listening. The howling voice of her mouth organ reached me.
'Poor show,' she said, once she'd finished up and found me. She'd crouched down and was holding me from behind. 'Only forty-eight sixty,' she explained. The words brushed past my ear. 'Not too bad all the same though. Come on Cam, let's go.'
I moved to go back down to the bridge, but she didn't come. Not today. She said, 'You feel like getting high?'
'High?' I asked.
'Yeah.' She smiled in a dangerous, self-mocking way, and I only began to understand why when we headed back towards the middle of the city, to the tower. Inside, I went to pay, but she wouldn't let me.
'It was my idea,' she pointed out, pushing my money back to my pocket. 'I brought you here. I'm taking you up . . . And besides. You paid for the movie last night.'
We entered the lift and it took us right to the top, with some American golf-pro looking types, and a family on a Sunday outing. One of the kids kept stepping on my foot.
'Little bastard,' I felt like saying. If I was with Rube I probably would have, but with Octavia, I only looked at her and implied it. She nodded back as if to say, 'Exactly.'
Once up there, we walked around the whole floor and I couldn't help but look for my own house, imagining what was happening there, and hoping, even praying, that everything was going okay. That extended to include everyone down there, as far as I could see, and as I always do when I pray to a God I wouldn't have a clue about, I stood there, lightly beating at my heart, without even thinking.
Especially this girl though, I prayed. Let her be okay, God. All right? All right God?
That was when Octavia noticed my fist lightly touching my heart. There was no answer from God. There was a question from the girl.
She asked, 'What are you doing?' I could feel the curiosity of her eyes on my face. 'Cameron?'
I stayed focused on the city sprawled out beneath us. 'Just, sort of prayin' y' know?'
'For what?'
'You.' I stopped, continued. Almost laughed. 'And I haven't been in a church for nearly seven years . . .'
We stayed up there for over an hour, and Octavia told me some more about herself.
Very few friends.
Time spent on trains.
She told me about how one time her harmonica was stolen in school and she found it in the toilet.
She was just telling me who she was, and I guess, why she would come up to a place like this.
'I come up here a fair bit,' she told me. 'I like it. I like the height.' She even climbed to the carpeted step at t
he window and stood there, leaning forward onto the glass. 'You comin' up?' she asked, and I'll be honest--I tried, but no matter how much I wanted to lean forward onto that glass, I couldn't. I kept feeling like I was going to fall through.
So I sat there.
Only for a few seconds.
Then she came back down and saw that I wasn't doing too well.
'I wanted to,' I said.
'It's okay Cam.'
The thing was, I knew there was something I had to ask, and I did it. I even promised myself that this would be the last time I asked a question like this, even though I could never be sure I wouldn't.
I said, 'Octavia?' I kept hearing her telling me that she came up here all the time. I heard it when I spoke the words, 'Did you bring Rube up here too?'
Slowly, she nodded.
'But he leaned on the glass,' I answered my own next question. 'Didn't he?'
Again, she nodded. 'Yeah.'
I don't know why, but it seemed important. It was important. I felt like a failure because my older brother leaned on the glass and I couldn't. It made me feel hopeless in some way. Like I wasn't even half the guy he was.
All because he leaned on glass and I didn't.
All because he had the neck and I didn't.
All because . . .
'That doesn't mean anything.' She shot down my thoughts. 'Not to me.' She thought for a moment and then faced me. 'He leaned on the window, but he never made me feel like you do. Before you, I felt like I was only really alive when I played my harmonica. Now though, it's like . . .' She struggled not to explain it, but to actually say it. 'When I'm with you, I feel like I'm outside myself.' She finished me. 'I don't want Rube. I don't want anyone else.' Her eyes ate me, quietly. 'I want you.'
I looked.
Down.
At my shoes, then back up, at Octavia Ash.
I went to say 'Thanks,' but she stopped me by pushing her fingers up to my mouth.
'Always remember that,' she spoke. 'All right?'
I nodded.
'Say it.'
'All right,' I said, and her cool hands touched me on my neck, my shoulder, my face.
broken glass
We arrive at a glass screen, high up in the darkness.
As we move towards it, I know what I have to do. The dog steps back and slowly, ominously, I lean forward onto the glass. Shaking.
For a while, I just look down, seeing for the first time a smooth haze below. It shimmers and ripples, growing brighter with each passing moment.