Something In The Water
by Mark Peters
Act Four - The Verandah – An Exchange
They sat on low plastic chairs beneath the shade of the verandah. One of the elders disappeared briefly and returned with enamel mugs of tea. No one asked if Tony took sugar. He didn't anyway.
The children had retreated a little, though he could feel their eyes on him from somewhere beyond the shade of nearby tea-trees.
Aunty Pearl did not begin immediately. She sipped her tea. She watched Tony over the rim.
'You write about this town,' she said at last.
'Yes.'
'You write about people here.'
'I try to.'
She nodded once, as though acknowledging the careful phrasing.
'Why?' she asked.
The question was simple. Not accusatory. Not welcoming. Just direct. Tony could have answered in a dozen polished ways. About belonging. About community. About inspiration.
Instead, he found himself looking past her, out towards the water.
'I didn't grow up here,' he said.
'I know that.'
He glanced back at her, surprised. She tapped her temple lightly.
'I hear things.'
Jack's mouth twitched. Tony took a slow breath.
'I grew up in Sydney,' he said. 'Old suburb. Cheap houses. Smaller thinking.'
No one interrupted.
'When I was sixteen, my mother found out I was gay.'
He let the word sit there, unhidden.
'She told me to leave. Threw my belongings out onto the front lawn of the house we lived in, in fact.'
There it was. Plain. Out there.
One of the elders shifted slightly but did not look away.
'I had a backpack,' Tony continued. 'A few clothes. Not too many dollars. Some books. That was about it.'
Even Jack was still now.
'I came searching for this place,' Tony said. 'A bus brought me here. I came because I had other family here . . . though I wasn't sure that they'd even want to see me . . . there was some history there, but they were all I had.'
Aunty Pearl's eyes narrowed slightly – not in disbelief, but in attention.
'I slept on the beach the first night,' Tony went on. 'Thought I'd made a mistake.'
He gave a faint smile.
'Next day, I found out where Luke lived, then that night I went knocking on his door.'
'Luke?' she prompted.
'Luke Solomon, my cousin. And his partner, Matt. They took me in . . . despite the past.'
Aunty Pearl gave a small nod of recognition. She'd heard the names.
Tony swallowed once, remembering.
'Their acceptance saved me. A few days turned into a week. Then a month. Then . . . it was home.'
He let the word rest for a moment.
'They knew my mother, so they accepted my words. They didn't make me prove anything. They just . . . made space. Let me in.'
The breeze moved through the clearing, stirring dust and the faint scent of salt.
'So you stayed,' Aunty Pearl said.
'Yes.'
'Because they let you belong.'
'Yes.'
She studied him for a long moment. Then she gave a nod.
'You angry at your family?' she asked.
The question dropped, like a stone into still water.
Tony let it settle.
'I was,' he said honestly. 'For a long time. But only at my mother.'
'And now?'
He thought of his other family members; his sister and her partner and their son, his brother, the father who he hadn't seen since he was just a kid, a mother who had spat vitriol from the scriptures at every chance she got.
'I don't carry it the same way,' he said carefully. 'But it's still there.'
Aunty Pearl nodded once.
'Grief don't disappear,' she said. 'It just changes shape.'
Tony felt that somewhere low in his chest. Silence settled again. Then she shifted slightly in her chair.
'You got yourself someone?' she asked.
'Yes. His name is Aaron. We've been together since I came back here after some time away. Eight years now.'
Aunty Pearl gave a nod, and then a smile.
'My brother,' she said.
The words were not offered lightly.
'He was bunji-bunji too.'
Tony's head lifted.
'Oldest of us,' she continued. 'Strong as a bull. Laughed loud. Fought louder.'
One of the elders gave a quiet huff of recognition.
'He didn't hide,' she said. 'Never saw the point.'
Her gaze drifted towards the town across the water.
'That didn't sit well with some people. Not our mob. The town people.'
Tony did not speak.
'They'd come over sometimes,' she continued. 'Police. Council men. Church blokes.'
Her mouth tightened slightly.
'Always talking about improvement.'
Jack's jaw had hardened almost imperceptibly.
'My brother took a beating more than once,' she said evenly. 'But he never bent.'
She looked back at Tony.
'Then one night he didn't come home.'
The air seemed to thin.
'They said he'd been drinking. Said he'd fallen off the breakwall.'
Her eyes did not waver.
'He could swim like a fish.'
No one challenged that. Tony felt the weight of it settle slowly.
'They wrote it down as an accident,' she said. 'That's how stories get buried.'
The words hung there. Tony's throat felt tight.
'I'm sorry,' he said quietly.
She nodded once, accepting the sentiment without dwelling in it.
'He didn't get his chance for eight years,' she added softly.
Tony's mind flickered briefly to the boat ride. To what might be coming. The stories.
'You see,' she said, leaning forward slightly now, elbows resting on her knees, 'when you say you were thrown out . . . when you say someone made space for you . . .'
Her gaze sharpened.
'I understand that.'
It was not sentimental. It was recognition.
'You know what it's like,' she said, 'to have your own people decide you don't fit.'
Tony nodded once.
'Yes.'
A long breath passed between them. Then Aunty Pearl sat back.
'Alright,' she said.
The shift was subtle, but clear.
'You told me something true.'
She held his gaze.
'Now I'll tell you something true.'
Jack glanced up, just slightly. The elders grew still.
And somewhere beyond the verandah, the wind shifted direction.
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