Home Boys Read online

  They were put three to a cabin. The two boys Colin was roomed with were named Jack and Darren. Colin said as little as he could in response to their questions and soon they stopped bothering him. They were both older than him, Darren by one year, Jack two, but it didn’t seem that way to Colin when they got to talking. They put Colin on the top bunk and took the two bottom ones, and although Colin tried not to listen, it was hard to keep the words out.

  ‘I was talking to a girl, Susan, at the dinner table. She says she has an uncle in New Zealand, who has sent her postcards.’

  ‘Did she have one to show you?’

  ‘No, but she said it’s very beautiful. You go to the beach every day there, she said.’

  ‘What about when it rains?’

  ‘I don’t think it does, not much anyway.’

  ‘Is she staying with her uncle?’

  ‘I didn’t ask.’

  ‘Do you think your new family will be rich?’

  ‘I think they must be, to be taking us on like this.’

  ‘Imagine a huge house, with servants. That would do me.’

  ‘That’s why we’re going, Miss Stuart told me. We’re going to start a better life.’

  Colin wanted to tell them not to think things like that, he wanted to say how no one was ever nice, just because somebody said they would be. He wanted to explain how often it was the exact opposite, and the people you were warned about turned out to be the best people of all. But mostly he wanted to be apart, not involved in their thinking, so he didn’t say a thing. Their talking must have got inside his head though, because his dreams, when they came, were of being back up north again, where he was sent during the war, where he met his good friend Gino.

  At first Colin was conscious of where the dream was taking him, but he didn’t resist because it was a better place to be, better than the ship, better even than London. And then it wasn’t like any dream he’d had before. There was none of the dislocation, the shifts in place and time, the wrong people coming and going, or changing without comment. Every detail seemed correct and solid, so it wasn’t like dreaming at all. It was as if, just by choosing it to be so, Colin had closed his eyes and stepped back in time.

  * * *

  He was at the side of the road, waiting for the school bus to come around the corner, ready to wave out to the driver and watch it grind down through the gears to a dusty halt. The air was still and cool, the first touch of autumn. He watched his breath take shape in front of his face. Exactly as it had been in real life, the first day he met Gino.

  There were seven of them altogether, Italian prisoners of war, and Colin’s host, Mr Strike, was responsible for administering their captivity. It was a job he took very seriously. In the evenings, when Colin’s chores were completed, and he had told the necessary lies about his homework, Mr Strike talked of little else. What jobs he had lined up for them, whose farm they would be digging on, which of them was lazy, or needed to be watched carefully, because they were sure to be planning an escape. Mr Strike also took great care to explain to Colin the rules governing interaction with the locals, which he had on two typewritten pages sent up from London, and apparently knew by heart.

  There was to be no interaction of any type between the prisoners and the locals, unless expressly sanctioned by the appointed authority. That’s me Colin.

  The prisoners were denied access to any form of currency, and any transaction they entered into would be a direct contravention of their conditions of imprisonment. We don’t wish to punish them further, but we will.

  The prisoners were to receive no gifts, including any food or drink beyond the normal rations.

  Any problem of any type, relating to the prisoners, was to be reported in full to the appointed authority without hesitation.

  These rules might seem stringent Colin, but the war effort is about every person doing exactly what is asked, without question or interpretation.

  There were other rules, but these were the only ones Colin remembered well enough when it came to the dreaming.

  While Colin had never met any of the prisoners before, he had seen them from a distance often enough, opening blisters and drains out in the fields, drains which rumour had it would be filled again as soon as the war was over. And every time Colin saw them he wondered how it was that this place, which was so safe, which he was so lucky to have been sent to until the war was over, was the same place enemy soldiers could be so unlucky to be sent to, as punishment for being captured. To Colin that made no sense.

  And from that Colin’s interest in the prisoners grew, so when he walked on to the bus that morning and saw four of them sitting there, right at the front, he couldn’t help but stare. And one of them stared right back, with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes, far happier with his lot than the driver, or Colin’s new teacher, or Mr Strike, or the man who delivered the milk, or indeed any of the adults in the town, who hadn’t been made prisoners of war, and weren’t being punished.

  Gino winked. Colin, who had never been able to close one eye without the help of the other, put his hand to his cap instead. The hand that would have been better used to steady himself as the bus lurched forward. Colin fell in the aisle, right at Gino’s feet, and Gino laughed. So did one of the other prisoners, and of course the school children joined in. The driver glared in the rear vision mirror, doing his bit for the war effort, and in Colin’s dream all this happened again, in exact replay, and just like then, he knew he had to find a way of talking to Gino.

  So school would have to wait that day. Colin knew where to find the prisoners, the four of them had been sent up to repair a stone wall on Mr Higgins’ property. The shortest route was through the orchard behind the church, and because he knew it was rude to visit empty handed, Colin stopped and picked a jersey full of apples on the way.

  That particular day the job of prisoner-watching had gone to Mr Hampton, a retired policeman and good friend of Mr Higgins’. He had brought out a chair and a book and postioned himself on a small rise a good forty yards from the nearest prisoner. Staying out of sight was as simple for Colin as dropping to his hands and knees on the other side of the wall and crawling slowly forward.

  The first prisoner he reached didn’t seem so surprised to see him. Colin offered him one of the apples, which he took with a smile and nothing else; and having no more to offer, Colin crawled on. The second was the same, and the third. It was only Gino, still as cheerful as he had been on the bus, who bothered to take it further.

  ‘Ah, the boy from the bus. You fall down eh?’ His accent, strange to Colin’s ears, was as fascinating as the curls of his dark hair and the play of his smile. Colin desperately wanted to say something, so that the whole adventure might not end with a crawl back along the fenceline and a jersey still half full of apples.

  ‘What did you do?’ he asked the prisoner, whispering it even though Gino hadn’t bothered.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well you’re a prisoner aren’t you? What were you doing when they caught you?’

  ‘Oh I see.’ Gino laughed again, so loudly Colin was sure Mr Hampton must hear it and come running over.

  ‘No, don’t worry about him. He already thinks I’m crazy. What did I do?’ He placed the stone he was holding on the wall and let his hands do most of the telling. ‘Well, it’s the war you see. You don’t have to do so much. I was in a house, in a village, with a gun. And then a soldier, an English soldier, he comes around a corner and he has his gun. I don’t expect him, and I think he don’t expect me. So I wait for him to shoot, and he waits for me to shoot, and I think we both think it is better we don’t shoot at all. So I put my gun down, and my hands up, because it is more difficult if he surrenders, because I am not doing what my commander thinks I am doing, and explaining would be difficult, and I can see there are more English coming. And anyway, this is more interesting than dying. They bring me here and I am happy now. I am Gino. What is your name?’

  ‘Colin.’
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  ‘Hello Colin, pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you too.’

  ‘Thank you for the apple.’

  ‘Would you like another one?’

  ‘No, but maybe you could do something for me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If I give you my shirt, and my hat you could come over to this side of the wall. And I could go over to that side and crawl away.’

  ‘You want to escape?’

  ‘Only for one hour.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Mr Strike had explained to Colin in some detail the evil the prisoners might be capable of, if any of them ever got loose, but Colin had difficulty picturing Gino as that sort of prisoner.

  ‘Whatever I find to do,’ Gino smiled. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  ‘I suppose we do,’ Colin answered, because he couldn’t imagine saying no.

  ‘All right then. We will have to do this quickly. Take off your shirt now, so you are ready. I will walk over to that pile and bring back some more stones. When I get back I will jump over the wall and you do the same. I will pass you my shirt and my hat and you put them on. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  It went just as Gino said it would, although Colin was sure he and Gwynn could have worked a better plan. The hat was too big and fell down over his eyes and the shirt was so large that even with the sleeves rolled up it was falling off him. It wasn’t until Gino had crawled away, naked to the waist with an apple in each trouser pocket, that Colin realised he had no idea how to go about mending a stone wall. He tried watching the others, but as far as he could see they didn’t have much idea either. So he did what they did; picked up stones from the pile in the centre and half-heartedly wedged them into any cracks he could find.

  In the next hour and a half Mr Hampton hardly looked up, just the occasional glance to count there were still four of them, going through the motions of work. The other three noticed though, and engaged in elaborate sign language conversations along the wall, from which Colin understood they didn’t think Gino would be coming back. Colin wasn’t so worried. He believed in Gino. Gino didn’t let him down.

  ‘Thank you Colin. You have a beautiful village.’

  ‘It’s not really my village.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Well I’m sort of a prisoner here too.’

  ‘Oh well, this is a good place for that I think. Here, jump back over and get changed again.’

  So Colin hurdled the fence, but his timing was bad and there was a shout from up on the rise.

  ‘Hey there. Hey you, come back!’ Colin was terrified but Gino didn’t miss a beat. He stood calmly, still without his shirt, waved and smiled.

  ‘Sorry Mister Hampton. I am just, how you say, taking my relief?’ And for added realism Gino undid his trousers and pissed a steady stream against the wall.

  The dream stopped there, although real life lasted another eight months. In that time Colin came to know Gino well, and the other prisoners too. He visited them in the evenings, sneaking food into the locked barn where they slept; not so locked that the one small window couldn’t be forced, and Colin was a good climber. They taught him how to play cards, and some words in Italian, and they made him feel special, so that he began to hope the war would never end, and he wouldn’t have to move away. In real life.

  * * *

  Waking the next morning was even stranger than falling asleep. The dream remained with Colin in such detail it was difficult to believe it was a dream at all. Being on the ship felt more like a dream, and that afternoon, when he met Gino again, Colin wasn’t even surprised.

  Colin was sitting in a small alcove high up on the side of the ship, two levels above the deck; two locked gates and a No Entry sign away from being disturbed. He heard someone walking towards him and pulled in closer to the wall so he wouldn’t be noticed. But Gino, who was moving furtively, checking left and right as he went, saw him straight away and stopped dead.

  He stared at Colin and Colin stared back, silent, as if they both knew this was a conversation that would take some getting into. Gino’s hair was cut short, and he’d grown a beard that wasn’t much longer; and when he spoke the accent had gone, or at least been buried beneath a careful disguise, but there was no mistaking the eyes. As alive with hope and wonder as any eyes you would ever see. Beautiful eyes, Colin had once heard a girl from the village say, and he could see what she meant.

  ‘My God, Colin.’

  ‘Gino.’

  ‘It’s Joe now.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I like the sound of it.’

  Gino squeezed in beside, beyond the reach of curious eyes. ‘So, what are you doing here?’ Colin asked, although that wasn’t exactly the way he meant it.

  ‘I’m going to New Zealand,’ Gino smiled. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Yeah, I am too, I suppose.’

  ‘You’re lucky then,’ Gino told him. ‘Very lucky.’

  And those words, which from the teachers, and the man at the dock and the other children on the boat, had always sounded so empty, were suddenly filled with promise. Colin remembered his rule, and tried not to let the excitement take hold, but this was Gino. Colin had dreamed him, and now he was here, and that meant impossible things, like happiness, like adventure, were possible again and maybe it was wrong to deny that.

  ‘Here, look.’ Gino took a wallet from his pocket and produced a piece of paper which he carefully unfolded. It was a picture, from a magazine by the looks of it, of a beach, painted in colours that couldn’t be real; golden sands and blue blue water, and trees that looked as if they were on fire.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful Colin? And the women are beautiful too they say.’

  Gino held the picture a moment longer in front of Colin’s nose, then carefully folded it back up. From the wear of the creases it was easy to see how often the picture had left the wallet, how many of Gino’s dreams lived there.

  ‘Why didn’t you go home Gino?’ Colin asked him, when silence threatened to settle. ‘After the war?’

  ‘Ah, well,’ Gino smiled. ‘I could have I suppose, but it is complicated, the war, and maybe not everybody there thinks the things I did are the things I should have done, and while I don’t mind that, sometimes moving is easier than explaining.’

  ‘You could have stayed in England though, couldn’t you?’

  ‘I needed an adventure Colin,’ Gino told him.

  ‘So, are you running away then?’

  ‘No, I’m running toward. What about you though? Are you with the other children? Were your family killed Colin?’

  ‘No, they’re alive enough. There’s me Dad and me brother, and me Mum, but I don’t know where she is, and Dad won’t say, and Jeffrey won’t either. He just came back from the army, he’s finished his time, and I think this was his idea, putting me on this ship, because he thinks he’ll have to look after me otherwise, but he won’t, because I can look after myself, and I look after Dad too, and who’s going to do that now.

  And that was the thing that got him crying, thinking of his Dad, alone now, with only Jeffrey, who never really understood him, who wouldn’t sit and listen when Dad made no sense. Gino took him in his arms, and it was enough to be able to swallow his tears, and think ahead, to the world past the endless ocean.

  ‘What will you do Gino, when you get to New Zealand?’

  ‘Find a job perhaps. Work a little, play a little. Move on when I need to.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘Can you swim?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘A little’s not enough I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, the thing is Colin, probably when you came on this boat you had a ticket, and papers, and when you got on people checked them, and when you get off people will check them again. But me, well I would have had them too, I paid a man to get them for me, but when I arrived at the ship I was taught a little lesson, about paying in advance. But that wasn’t going to stop m
e from getting on the boat. I waited until it was almost dark, and the packing was underway, and people were distracted, and well, here I am. But now, well getting off will be tricky too. I have a friend here, who works with the engines, and for a little more money he says he knows a place where I can jump off, as we enter the harbour, and swim in on the tide, to start my new life. So it is a little dangerous you see, too dangerous for you anyway.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘But I do. I’m sorry Colin.’

  ‘But, but you could come to where the boat comes in after, couldn’t you? You could see me then?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Gino told him. ‘I could try perhaps. It is an empty country they say, so maybe I will see you anyway’

  They talked some more, but Gino became nervous of being seen and said his goodbyes. After that the journey passed slowly. The other children, and the teachers too, soon learnt that Colin preferred to be left alone. He met with Gino a few times more, but Gino was afraid of being out in the open and their conversations were short. Colin retreated into the rhythm of the boat, until he became a part of it; the throb of the engines, the rolling of the sea, the patterns of the weather, relentless and numbing, and too complex to ever read. As the days counted down to their arrival in Auckland, Colin’s fears returned, fears for himself and fears for Gino too.

  The night before they reached the shore he couldn’t sleep. He lay on his back, his eyes lost in the darkness, feeling every vibration, hearing every break in the regularity of the ship’s noises, imagining each of them was Gino, climbing high onto a railing, getting his bearings, launching himself into the unknown. Colin worried his friend would be sucked down by the ship’s engines, or would swim the wrong way in the dark, or be caught by a turning tide, or thrown against rocks by the heavy sea. There was so much could go wrong, when nothing was certain, and Colin couldn’t believe Gino wasn’t frightened by that.