Go Get Boy – by Alison Flett
ISLAND | ISSUE 160WINNER - OLGA MASTERS SHORT STORY AWARD 2020
I’m The Fetcher, Go Get Boy, barrelling along in the back of Darren’s ute, riding high on the highest pile of drydry firewood, gunna burn so good. I’m one of three, that’s me, that’s who I am, and the three of us are building one good fire. Others are building their own fires but ours’ll be biggest, ours’ll be best, ours’ll burnburnburn forever. No-one’ll forget us when they see our blaze.
Darren&Cody ride up front. They’re the Look Out Boys, the Shouter Outers, they stop when they see some wood needs collecting and out they shout GOGOGETBOYGO and down I scramble quickfastgrabwood bring it back to the rusty ute, pile it higher and higher in the tray.
Sometimes we stop at someone else’s pile and I grab what I can before they see us, runrunrun when they come chasing, fling the wood in the back of the truck, Darren&Cody whooping like crazy, pulling off with me stumbling after, leaping&snatching to catch the traygate, swinging up to stand on the pile with armshighskypunch YEEEEHAAA, watching the others running behind, slowing, falling back, slowing, stopping, standing there in our smoky dust, me giving the finger as we roar away with them growing smaller in the road.
Darren&Cody are older than me and everyone knows them, knows who they are. They’ve got a way of walking that makes people look, a way of talking that makes them sound big. Nobody ever looked at me walking and the way I talk’s too small for folks to hear but Darren&Cody, they seen me alright. Get your sorry white arse over here, boy, they said, we got a special job, just for you.
Saturday night there’s a drag race in the desert, booze and bonfires and cars from all over. We’re gunna build the biggest bonfire, now I’m helping it’s my fire too. I ain’t never had one before. I never even been to the races.
We drive round the outside of town, through the shan- ties, picking up pallets, broken sofas and rotten fenceposts, window frames and halfburnt pit props, any old junk made of wood.
Darren stops outside an old shack, sits there with the engine humming like he’s waiting for me to gogetwood except there’s no wood there. It’s Benny’s place, I know that cos I see him going in there sometimes, carrying shopping or some of his paintings. He’s got a firepit out the front, a dip in the ground with a circle of stones to keep the fire inside. I’ve never been in his hut, I don’t know what it’s like.
Benny done some work for me da one time, cleaning up in the yard. He came asking if me da had a job for him and me da says sure Benny, tidy up the yard. I liked it when he come round. I helped him with shifting some of the big stuff, car parts and galvo and bits of old gutter, and he told me stories about when he was a boy and lived in the hills in Italy and looked after goats and painted all day, the grass and the trees and the sky. He come here for work as a jackaroo when things got bad at home, but he’s too old now so he just does his paintings, sometimes odd jobs. Me da was gunna pay him, kept saying he would, except he never paid him nothing so Benny stopped coming. I wish me da would pay him so he’d come back.
Cody knocks on the cab’s back window, jerks his thumb, yells GOGOGETBOYGO but there’s nothing to get so I keep on sitting, shrugging my shoulders, grinning like maybe it’s a joke.
“Cody knocks on the cab’s back window, jerks his thumb, yells GOGOGETBOYGO but there’s nothing to get so I keep on sitting, shrugging my shoulders, grinning like maybe it’s a joke.”
Cody gets mad, bangs the cab door open, jumps down, boots puffing up red dust. He walks round, looks at me sitting on the woodpile, blows fag smoke out through his nose, eyes all squinty, baseball cap turned back to front, tuft of blond hair sticking out through the gap. What’s up Fetcher, you gone fucking blind? Go get us some of Benny’s wood!
There’s no wood there, I say real quiet, but I get down anyhow, make like I’m looking around with my eyes, feeling so small standing by Cody. He’s got his arms folded over his chest, hiding the skull on the front of his singlet, big guns popping, dragon tattoos, fag clenched between two fingers of his fist.
We’re both looking at Benny’s lot but all that’s there is his run-down shack, front door just a bit of crappy hardwood, painted up nice with one of Benny’s pictures, a roo and a joey with the sun behind them and some men sitting round a campfire. The walls are mostly galvo, an old tarp slung over for a roof and tied down with blue plastic rope, so frayed in places I reckon the wind could snap it.
Must be something up with your eyes, mate, Cody says, not looking at me. Reckon there’s a nice big bit of wood right there on the front of Benny’s hut.
I look at the hut and then at Cody. Not his door, I say, you can’t take Benny’s door. Quick as a snake he flicks his arm out, punches me on the side of the head. I hear my hair sizzle where the fag catches it. His fist lands on the lump me da left there last time he’d had a gutful so I know there’s gunna be a doublelump tomorrow. Cody bends down and pushes his face towards mine. I don’t look back, just stare at the ground.
“I look at the hut and then at Cody. Not his door, I say, you can’t take Benny’s door. Quick as a snake he flicks his arm out, punches me on the side of the head. I hear my hair sizzle where the fag catches it.”
Don’t you be fucking telling me what I can’t do, he says. Littlebitsofspit land on my skin. Now are you gunna go get our wood or are we gunna have to find us some other Go Get Boy?
I walk real slow towards Benny’s hut. His door’s closed on the outside with a bit of rope looped round a nail so I know he isn’t home but I still don’t like it. I unloop the rope and swing out the door, give it a bit of a yank. It’s got a load of holes drilled down one side with wire through them, fastening it to the galvo. I try twisting it to loosen the wire. I don’t try real hard.
Inside Benny’s hut it’s pretty neat, no squasheduptinnies or fagash&buttends scattered on the table, no lastnightdinnerplates lying on the floor, not like back at mine. He’s got a bed, a table and a chair, a box. That’s it. The box has got stuff in it. Jam jars full of paint and old bean tins crammed with paintbrushes, all different sizes. Propped against the wall there’s loads of Benny’s paintings. Some of them’s paintings of desert and bush. Gums. Sheep. Roos. Crows. Others are paintings of Italy. You can tell by the colours, all the green, the different trees. One’s a lady all in black, sitting outside a cottage. I think maybe it’s Benny’s mum. He told me he always wanted to go back and see her but he never got the money. Another’s a man with his lad. He’s pointing at a mountain that’s far away and the lad’s looking where he’s pointing. The man’s bent down, looking over the lad’s shoulder and they’re both smiling but you can’t tell what they’re seeing. I wish I was that boy, looking at something me da was pointing to, something far off in the distance. Me da never pointed at nothing.
I pull a bit more at the door. Door’s not shifting, I shout to Cody. Maybe we just need to leave it.
Shut the fucking door, Cody yells back. I shut it, loop the rope on the nail, start walking back to the truck. Cody gives a mighty roar and thunders past me, arms pumping, dust going puffpuff up around him. He leaps at the door, boots crashing into the middle of it, splitting it, the painting folding in on itself so you don’t see the men and the campfire no more, just the rough side of the broken wood, the jaggy edges and snapped wires lying in the dirt.
There’s a WHOOPWHOOP from the truck and Darren jumps down, comes to check out the damage. Cody’s bent over in front of the hut, hands on his knees, catching his breath. He looks up through the empty doorway. Hey, he says, I can see more wood in there. Where’s our Go Get Boy? Get over here, Fetcher, there’s wood needs fetching.
We all go in the hut and gather up Benny’s paintings. I feel sick in my stomach but it’s the three of us doing this together and I’m one of the three and Darren is grinning and ruffling my hair. Good job, Fetcher, he says, this shit’s gunna burn good, don’t you think? Different colour flames with all the paint. We’re gunna paint the sky, Go Get Boy!
I smile up at him but it’s not the right kind of smile. I don’t feel it inside no more.
*
We pile the paintings in the back of the ute, sling the door up there too, me on top, and off we go, back into town. I’m trying not to think about Benny’s paintings, but I can’t stop. I’m thinking about that man and his lad, how they’re gunna get burnt up with the scrapwood. I’m not stupid. I know the paint ain’t gunna make colours. It’s just gunna be black smoke smearing the sky, filling our eyes, making them water.
“I’m thinking about that man and his lad, how they’re gunna get burnt up with the scrapwood. I’m not stupid. I know the paint ain’t gunna make colours. It’s just gunna be black smoke smearing the sky, filling our eyes, making them water.”
We gun down the high street, past the bakery, and that’s when I see Benny, sitting on the pavement outside, paintings on the ground next to him, waiting for someone to buy them. He stands up when he sees me on the back of the truck, a big grin splitting his face. He raises his hand but drops it again when I don’t wave back.
I check through the cab window but Darren&Cody aren’t looking, they’re just talking to each other, smoking and laughing. I scrabble about under the door and find the painting with the man and his boy. I throw it out the truck onto the pavement. Maybe Benny’ll find it when he walks to the shops. Then I get all the other paintings and throw them out too. I can’t do anything about the door, it’s all smashed up and broken in half, but I’m saving Benny’s paintings, the ones with the sheep, the one with all the gum trees, the lady and the cottage and the crows. People in the high street are watching me. Jeanie and Gunter the fossickers and Sam who runs the post office and some of the old guys hanging out by the crossroads. I see them watching me doing the saving and I don’t know what they’re thinking but I feel good, like a saver, a saviour, like some kind of hero.
Darren&Cody hang out the cab windows, howling loud to the sun. I start howling too. Darren’s veering the ute across the road, tyres screeching, marking asphalt, black lines showing where we’ve been, that all three have been here, Darren&Cody the baddest boys in town plus me their Go Get Boy behind them, riding high on all we’ve got.
Darren screams the ute round the roundabout and carries on back down the high street. I’m hanging on tight so’s I don’t get flung off and I see the paintings still lying on the pavement and I’m thinking how Darren&Cody might be mad when they find out they’re not in the back of the ute. We go over a bump in the road and the top half of the door slides out from under the bottom bit, slips down the pile of wood and smacks into the spare can of diesel that’s kept in the tray. I see the bit of the painting with the three blokes sitting round their campfire and it gives me an idea how to fix things, how to show Darren&Cody I’m just as bad as them.
Quickasjesus I unscrew the cap of the diesel and slop it out on the wood. I get the matches from me pants pocket and strikestrikestrike and up it goes with a WHOOSH. The flames are blue and green and hot and we’re barrelling along through the middle of town, a mobile bonfire that’s Go Get Boy’s own and me arms are high and I’m YEEEHAAA and I have to move back cos the flames are scorching but I’m waiting for the moment when Darren&Cody turn to look through the cab’s back window, turn to see me, to see what I done. Then they turn and I see it in their eyes, opening wider as they stare through the glass, four big pupils with four tiny fires. I am their Go Get Boy, I made us blaze, and theyloveme, they love me, THEY LOVE ME! ▼
Image: Charity Petras
This story appeared in Island 160 in 2020. Order a print issue here.
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