Episode Four

Fences

 

 

There is a time to hang on and a time to let go. This is a rule that the boy Dalyon learnt with regard to his fences. He climbed to the top and balanced there, swaying a little. The small hand that grew from the end of the arm, attached to the shoulder that was Dalyon’s body, loosened, and he toppled to the grass. Pressure. A small cut. He climbed again and again. Swayed. Toppled. Don’t do that, do that, don’t do that do that, don’t do that, do that. This and that. At the end, at the shift part, he stood up and leant against the fence. The fence was hot from the sun shining on it. He walked along the fence that formed the boundary to his world, dragging a stick over its undulating surface.  At the end was a high gate that could not be opened. He touched the gate, swiveled around and walked back around the fence. At the other end was another gate that could be opened. He climbed up and undid the latch that had been made to keep him in.

Beyond the fence a struggling forest stretched out in every direction, dry trees above dry ground made worse by the long summer. In the strings of shade cast from sickly branches overhead, red winged insects moved about, piling sand around the edges of deep dark holes in hard ground. Dalyon watched two fighting, pulling, or helping, each other down below the ground.  He stood amidst the swirling lines of insects as he stared into the narrow channel of darkness that led to their world. At some stage he became aware of a stinging sensation. He looked down to see the creatures crawling all over his feet. He began to brush at his feet frantically.

‘Get away, you! Get away!’ He let out a scream to bring Ma. ‘Get away! Mama!’

She came running from the house with a jug of water.   ‘What are you doing boy? Get back. Get back inside. Quickly. Wait!’ She washed his legs and all the insects on the ground. ‘Now go. Go! They’ll have you soon enough if you stray.’

‘Ma?’

Ma didn’t answer for a moment.

‘What Ma?’

 She said, ‘there are monsters in the forest that still haven’t been caught. Big, hungry, hairy monsters. Grrr!’ She made her hands into scary claws. ‘They will kill you, and eat you all up. Gobble, gobble, gobble. And me too. Do you want that? No, no you don’t, you don’t at all. Come. You can’t have your water now. You can have some of mine. I’ve made ice. You’ve been outside enough today. Inside time now. Time to rest.  We’ll come outside again at dusk.’ She took his arm to bring him back.

‘Hungry monsters eat Bob-and-Terry?’ Dalyon asked as she dragged his resisting body after her.

‘No, they’ve got big guns. Like magic sticks – very loud. Bang!’ she said. ‘Bang, bang! No more monsters.’

‘Bang,’ he whispered.

The sound of the crows carried across the sky. Dalyon copied their cries. He was speaking to them in their language, echoing the cadence of their sound perfectly. The sounds fell away at the end. All crows were old and cross. They stopped to listen to his taunts, then started up again. Watch it, they said! Watch it or you’ll be sorry. Watch it meant, ‘be careful’. It was how people used to speak in this country when there were many people on the earth.

‘Crows, you watch it or you’ll be sorry,’ he said. ‘You watch it! Caw gaw gra-aaaw. You, you watch it crows.’ They flew off at that.

Dalyon had worked out a way to scale the fence. Tucked into his pocket he now kept a magic stick that he could make go ‘bang’. His stick would frighten the monsters away so that he and Ma could go into the forest whenever they wanted. Ma would say,‘no Dalyon,’ when he told her this, so he said no more about it.

He would need to scout ahead. He had a plan that took Ma into account. She had a certain routine that gave him time to do what he could do. She felt now that she didn’t need to watch him all the time because of the outside fence that Bob and Terry had caused. Others had come to build it – big, wordless men and women who sang nothing and went away. Dalyon swung and bounced all day, watching them as they worked, assessing the weaknesses and exit points that they were building into the barrier. When the workers had gone, Dalyon and Ma stood together for a long time looking up at it. Ma did not sing that night.

After that day she spent much of her time sitting inside. One day when Dalyon looked inside to see what she was doing, he noticed how she sat staring into the bowl from which she had hardly eaten since he left her at the table. Soon she made odd, gulping sounds, half way between laughing and speaking. Water streamed from her eyes, trickled over parts of her face and joined in a drop at the bottom of her chin. Dalyon saw that she was crying.

Dalyon had never cried. It was one of the things that Ma said he didn’t seem to do. It wasn’t either good or bad. It just was. In the story about Hansel, Gretel and the witch, Gretel cried when she was lost in the woods, and Hansel told her not to worry. Perhaps Dalyon should say this to Ma. From his quiet place just near the side door, Dalyon looked to her face for more clues. Ma said that a person’s face could show if they were happy or sad, and of other things they were thinking and feeling too. Everyone had their own thoughts, different from Dalyon.

Dalyon tried to see Ma’s thoughts in her face. Her face was a changing thing. It changed shape and it changed colour. It became dark, and then as pale as flour so that she almost disappeared into the walls. Dalyon danced from one foot to the other as he hovered by the door, watching her, unsure of what he should do. It was too difficult. He closed his eyes, and listened until she stopped her strange noises. Perhaps she knew he was there. Perhaps this is what she was thinking. Perhaps she didn’t like him looking at her crying.

He moved away, back to his business, ashamed of being there. He shook his head, shaking away his discomfort, and flapped his hands like small rags in a strong wind. He went like that until something entered his field of vision and called him away to play.

These objects in this yard spoke to him. Perhaps they, too, had their own thoughts. This chair was heavy and claimed it didn’t want to be moved. The swing was playful and always teasing him with its little movements. Come and play with me, it said. The trampoline liked being jumped on. It laughed and giggled with every spring and hop. When he ran fast, it laughed fast and high. When he jumped slowly, it laughed slowly like a goofy storybook horse.

Dalyon was flying on the swing. He was bouncing on the trampoline. He was checking his chair fence for gaps. The cat was lying there, old and tired. It got up, stretched its opposite side front and back legs way out, brought them back to stand beneath its body, and slunk away. It looked over its shoulder, not knowing what to do, or whether Dalyon would run to catch it this time, or not.