‘Captain Edmund,’ the boy whispered.

A distant rifle shot sounded, unlike the shot that had sounded earlier that night, the one that had sent all the boys but him jumping from their beds and to the windows. He had lain in his bed, his stomach cramping so hard his eyes watered. He had heard the master come and shoo everyone from the windows after that shot, shoo them into bed. No one looked at him, still under his covers. He wasn’t there; he wasn’t there as he waited.

‘Captain Edmund,’ he whispered again to the figure.

A few stars shone through the window.

‘Captain Edmund.’

He lifted his foot. The pain remained. He replaced his foot to the floor, the pain intensified.

‘Captain Edmund.’

He lifted his foot again and put his fingers to his heel; it was sticky and a jagged shape clung to it. He pried at it and nearly called out in pain. He held the shape in his palm.

‘Captain Edmund, I’m bleeding?’

‘Captain Edmund, shall I go?’

A few more stars had gathered in the window.

The boy turned and placed his hand on the door handle. Trembling, alert for the voice, he turned the handle and waited. He pulled the door towards him, paused, then he stepped into the doorway. A light was on at the far end of the corridor to the right: a light that wasn’t on before. He walked left to the fire-escape, smiling at the pain in his foot.

He felt the metal patterns of the fire-escape steps on his feet as the skin stuck and then pulled away from the tread. The bitumen of the path below pinched at his feet. When he reached the grass of the hockey field he rubbed his foot backwards and forwards to stop the bleeding. The hockey oval stretched to the edge of the school and a lone streetlight. Behind him, Captain Edmund’s building blocked light from the quadrangle, so the boy was in darkness. Now he slid both feet along the grass. The pain had eased and he imagined the grass had sealed the cut; he was happy about that until he remembered he had hoped it might kill him.

THREE

Day 2

Kilkenny Road

6.30 a.m. Monday, 26th October 1965

During spring in Perth, early morning was the coolest time of day. At six thirty the sun shed light and gentle warmth. A persistent concert of bird calls emanated from the trees. Cardilini, wearing boxer shorts, singlet and thongs, slouched in the backyard of his home smoking his first cigarette for the day. He could see the sunlight, filtered by the trees, spread patches of fluid gold across the backyard: a backyard of overgrown plants, dead grass and cigarette butts. He didn’t register the bird calls. He tried to remember what had happened last night, then gave up. One hand grabbed the fat of his ample paunch. He shook his head in disgust and ground out the cigarette butt with the heel of his thong.