‘We will,’ and I smile at Mrs Wolfe because I want her to think that everything’s all right. I want her going to work without worrying about us. She deserves at least that.
Rube gives her an ‘Okay’.
‘Good.’
‘We’ll try to get back quicker,’ he goes on, before Mum returns inside. First she pats Miffy for a while, running her dry fingers through our friend’s soft, fluffy fur.
‘Look at this dog,’ I say once she’s gone. Just to say something. Anything.
‘What about him?’
I’m lost, and unsure what to say. ‘I guess, we’ve got to liking him, ay.’
‘But what does liking do?’ Rube looks at the road. ‘It doesn’t do anything.’
‘Does hating?’
‘What have we got to hate?’ He’s laughing now.
The truth is, there’s a lot to hate, and a lot to love.
Love.
The people.
Hate.
The situation.
Behind us we hear Mum cleaning up the kitchen. We turn and see the silhouette of our dad helping her. We see him kiss her on the cheek.
He is unemployed.
He still loves her.
She loves him.
Watching it, I see the handful of fights that Rube and I have had inside the warehouses and factories. They’re pale, I decide. Pale in comparison. There’s a vision also of Sarah, putting overtime in (as she’s been known to do lately), or even just watching TV or reading. There’s even a vision of Steve, out there on his own, living. Mainly though, it’s Mum and Dad. Mr and Mrs Wolfe.
I think about Fighting Ruben Wolfe.
I think about fighting Ruben Wolfe.
From the inside.
I think about finding Ruben Wolfe …
I think about fights you know you’ll win, fights you know you’ll lose, and the fights you just don’t know about. I think about the ones in between.
It’s me now who looks at the road.
I speak.
Talk.
Say it.
I say, ‘Don’t lose your heart, Rube.’
And very clearly, without moving, my brother answers me.
He says, ‘I’m not tryin’ to lose it, Cam. I’m tryin’ to find it.’
Tonight, there’s nothing.
There’s no ‘Hey Rube, are you awake?’
No ‘Of course I bloody am!’
There’s just silence.
Silence, Rube and me.
And the darkness.
He’s awake, though. I can sense it. I can feel it, just out of reach from my vision.
There are no voices from the kitchen.
There’s no world but this one.
This room.
This air.
This awake-ness.
12
In the half-consciousness of Saturday morning, I’m dreaming of women, flesh and fights.
The first fills me with fear.
The second fills me with thrill.
The third fills me with more fear.
My blanket covers me. Only my human snout sticks out the top, allowing me to breathe.
‘We goin’ for a run?’ I ask across to Rube.
Is he still asleep?
‘Rube?’