The Boat by Nam Le

Author:Nam Le
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307269461
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2008-05-13T10:00:00+00:00

CALE CAME OVER THE NEXT DAY.

“Tammie told me to tell you,” he said. He closed the bungalow door behind him.

“What?”

“Lester said Dory’ll meet you after training on Monday.”

“Meet me?”

Cale shrugged. “She told me to tell you.”

Jamie stood up. It was Saturday: he had two days left. He guided himself, as though measuring distances, all around the small room. He made himself breathe. “I’m fucked,” he said.

Cale didn’t meet his gaze. “The final’s next weekend,” he said.

“So?”

“You know,” he groped for the right words. “He might…” He trailed off.

“What about Wilhelm?”

Cale looked at a complete loss.

“And that Chinese chick,” Jamie said. “What about her?”

No charges had ever been laid. No evidence, or the evidence was inconclusive. Some Maroomba authority came down and said so. What no one said was that Dory and his uncle—a notorious flag-waver—had taken recently to assaulting Asians in that part of the bay. The town turning a blind eye. This body, belonging, as it did, to a faceless, nameless poacher, was just another case of no one’s business. More than anything, what Jamie remembered was Lester’s reenactment: the sheer joy of his punches—their appalling regularity.

The conversation faltered. Cale grim-faced. Jamie felt a sudden longing to talk to him, tell him everything—he was three years older, after all, had seen that much more of the world—then all at once he wanted Cale to leave him alone. They stayed quiet for a while.

“She said they weren’t even together.”

“Yeah,” Cale replied instantly. “Tammie said that too.”

Jamie hesitated, then said, “What should I do?”

“You’re fast. Use your speed.”

“What?”

“Throw sand in his eyes. Then get him in the balls when his hands are up.”

Jamie stopped, shook his head. The conversation was unreal. “Fuck off. I’m serious.”

Cale considered him, his face rough with the effort of understanding.

“I’ll do a runner,” said Jamie. “Like you. Travel around.”

Cale put his hands in his pockets glumly. “Nah,” he said. “I don’t farkin know.” He sat down on Jamie’s bed. “You want some mull?”

“Jesus.”

Cale puffed out his cheeks, sucked them back in, then said, in a low, hurried breath, “That’s why I ran away. My old man used to beat up on me.” He brought out his hands, rubbing his knuckles. “And I kept telling myself. That every time he hit me, he was telling me he loved me that much—that much.”

Jamie tensed. It clouded him, hearing this.

“Shit, man.”

Cale closed his hands into fists. Then, doubtfully, he banged them together. The mattress bounced up and down. “Fark. That’s bullshit. He never did. I don’t even know why I said that.”

Jamie watched on, confounded, as Cale fingered the beads on his necklace. He lumbered over to the window. “Look,” Cale said, facing away from him, “I’ve never been any of those places either.”

“What?”

“But my ex did give me this.” He added quickly, “She’s alive. In Cairns. Shithole of a place. She’s a horoscopist or horticulturist or something.”

“You’re fucking hilarious.”

“Easy, big man.”

He straightened up and came over to Jamie and nudged his shoulder, the gesture itself ambiguous—neither playful nor solemn.

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