Mack

The tiny cabin kitchen was cosy. Just enough room for a table and two chairs, Mack and Grandpa and a big cupboard that was stuffed with the old man’s things.

Mack poked at the boiled egg on his plate and glanced every few moments at the older man. What was taking Grandpa so long to eat breakfast?  

It was the last day of the summer holidays. Tomorrow his mother would be here to take him home. He’d been coming here ever since he could remember. Four weeks of no rules, except Grandpa’s, where he could hunt rabbits with Poss the dog, climb trees and never mind the holes in his trousers. Four weeks of sun that burnt his face on the first day, then baked him all over a golden brown.

Mack studied his grandpa’s every move. The old man’s hair, wispy with age stuck out from under his worn cap. It reminded him of a cartoon he’d read. A brick or something must have fallen out of the sky and “Splat!” Grandpa’s hair was forced into that shape forever.

The old man slurped the last dregs of coffee, ceremoniously set it down and pushed his chair away from the table. He looked at Mack.

“You done yet, boy?”

Mack usually wolfed down his food, eager to be out and about, but not this morning. This morning he had something he wanted to do. Something he’d been planning for a long time but had never had the guts to do. Until now.

“Not yet Grandpa. I’ll eat this, then pack my stuff, okay. Mum will be here early, and you know what she’s like. She’ll want to get back to the city before lunch…” He let the words trail.

Grandpa and mum didn’t see eye to eye on much. Mack had noticed the silences between the two. It had always been the same, but this year was the first time he’d realised it was a thing. Mum wasn’t like that with anyone else he knew.

        “All right then. I’ll be on the tractor this morning. Vegies need to go in before winter. You wash up this lot before you head out. And remember, not near the dam.”

        “Okay, Grandpa. I know, not near the dam.” He poked the eggshell, crushing a hole in the bottom. The words set off a buzz in his head.

It was always the same rule. Not the dam. Well he was not six or seven anymore. He was ten. Old enough to swim out past the breakers and catch a wave back in. What was so bad about the dam? He ached to swim in it, just the once.

Every year he had snuck over the white bank and stared at it longingly. Only when Grandpa was not in sight, of course. The first time he’d discovered it, he’d been too young to swim anyhow. Grandpa had tanned his hide for even going near it.

He squirmed on his seat at the memory. He’d not sat for a day after that. But he could swim now, and the dam didn’t look as big as it did back then. He reckoned he could do it end to end in fifteen strokes. And if he didn’t do it today, he knew it would eat at him until next summer. He’d prove to his Grandpa he wasn’t a baby.

Mack waited until he heard the tractor rumble past the house. The vegie garden was at the back. The dam lay just past the big shed where he kept his equipment, and out of sight of the house.

But Grandpa had Poss. He’d know where Mack was, because Poss was an inch behind him all day long. Mack loved the mutt, but he knew if he had any chance of getting a swim in the dam, Poss would have to be outsmarted first.

He had worked out a way to do just that. On Grandpa’s cupboard of things, he’d spotted an old belt. He opened the door and whistled to Poss, who as always, obeyed instantly.

The blood pumped in his veins; his heart hammered so loud he was sure his Grandpa would hear it above the tractor. Poss’s tail wagged hard as Mack hugged him and fed him his leftover toast.

“Good boy! Stay!” He slipped the belt through the dog’s collar. Poss pulled against it, his quizzical face searched for the meaning of this new game.

“Come on! In here! Good boy!” Mack cajoled him into his bedroom. Poss needed no encouragement, he wasn’t usually allowed in the house. He eagerly complied. Mack threw another piece of toast under the bed and as Poss dived to retrieve it he slammed the door shut and leant against it. Poss scratched and barked at the other side.

“Sorry, boy! No time for games today.” He whispered. He slid a biscuit under the door. Poss whined, then accepted his fate. Mack listened as the biscuit was devoured. He carefully backed away from the door.

Once out of the house, he dashed for the shed. Grandpa’s tractor rumbled on in a steady tone. He’d made it. He scurried around the corner of the shed and made his way barefoot to the lip of the dam. Once over, he knew no-one would see him. His heart sang with joyous glee. At last he could conquer the dam and summer would be complete. He would be king!

Within the lip of the dam, a stillness enveloped him. The sounds of the farm, the cawing magpie, the tractor engine, all the familiar noises were gone. The only sound now was the buzzing of green bottle flies. Mack’s ears rung with the silence.

He raced to the waters edge and sat down to strip to his briefs. Goosebumps pimpled his flesh even though the sun had already baked the ground to an uncomfortable heat. His heart still raced.

He sank one foot gingerly into the water. His toes squelched in the slimy green mud. The water was surprisingly cold. He glanced back at the rim of the dam. The blue sky met the white lip of the dam and sealed him from the rest of the world.

This was his moment. He smiled in triumph. It had been easier than he thought. He would be back, dried off and have his bag packed before Grandpa had finished the new vegie patch. And he’d never know Mack had done it.

He stood up, counted to three and threw himself into the calm surface of the dam. Dragonflies buzzed in a frenzy as their world exploded. Mack had closed his eyes, but the shock of the cold water as it sucked his body into its depths, forced them open.

It was cold in the dam. Icy cold. He held his breath for as long as he could, but the water forced him to let the bubbles go. He watched them one by one in slow motion. His hair floated across his vision.

A tiny voice in his brain called out. Swim! Swim! Up! His arms flailed in response. Which way was up? The voice cried desperately. Up! Follow the bubbles, stupid! Oh yes. That way is up. His lungs burnt now. His feet touched slime. He had hit the bottom. He waited another moment. The voice begged him. Push off the bottom! Wait, wait. Push!

Mack pushed with all his might only to find the slime under his feet sucked him deeper into itself. The cold slime encased his ankles first and then his calves. He flailed his arms harder. Nothing.

His chest no longer burnt. Funny, he thought. This is different than the sea. Why is it so cold? Mum will be here soon. You’ve not packed your bag yet. She’ll be angry with you. With Grandpa. Grandpa will tan your bum again, you know that. Even though you’re ten, he’ll do it.

Suddenly the water around him churned. Bubbles of humungous size pushed against his body. He felt himself being lifted. It was like the time he was on the chair ride at the show. He could hear sobbing, but he knew it wasn’t him. His chest hurt again.

Mack tried to sit up. He couldn’t. It felt as though someone was sitting on his chest. Wait. Someone or something was. It was Poss. Good old Poss. Mack started to shiver. He coughed and spewed slimy water. Yuck, that tasted disgusting. Poss didn’t care, he licked his face, whining with worry.

“Good boy, I’m okay. Stop licking me!”

Mack heard the sobs again and realised he wasn’t alone. Grandpa sat beside him. His head was bent between his knees and his whole body shook. Mack laid his hand on his arm.

“Grandpa, I’m sorry.” He whispered.

The old man said nothing. He picked him up and carried him back to the house. Mack felt embarrassed to be carried like a baby but at the same time a warm fuzz came over him. This was the most emotion that his Grandpa had ever shown him and as strange as it was, it felt wonderful. He sunk into his arms and closed his eyes.

Back at the house his Grandpa set him onto the porch and gruffly spoke for the first time.

“Go wash up, lad. I’ve something to show you.”

Mack had expected a hiding. He had steeled himself for it, but his Grandpa’s response confused him. How was he not in so much trouble? He’d been yelled at for something less than this. Was his Grandpa sick? He was all wet too. How had Mack not noticed that? He obeyed without a word.

When he emerged from his room, his Grandpa was at the table, a large cardboard box in front of him. Spread around it were photos that Mack had never seen before. His Grandpa motioned for him to sit. He handed Mack a stack of them.

“These are photos of your uncle Davie.” His voice cracked slightly, and he coughed to clear it.

“I have an Uncle? Mum never said.” Mack did not believe him.

“You did. He was the same age as you when he went swimming in the dam.” His voice cracked again. This time Grandpa did not even try to hide his pain.

“He was a year older than your mum.” He sobbed. “She found him floating there. She was too small to save him.” His voice was barely a whisper.

Mack squirmed in his seat. Now he understood. Tears welled in his eyes. He jumped from his seat and hugged his Grandpa.

“I’m sorry Grandpa! I’ll never go there again!”

The two of them hugged for what seemed ages until Grandpa prised them apart and showed him the photos one at a time. The smiling boy in the photos even looked like Mack. As they went through them, Mack heard the change in his Grandpa’s voice. He proudly told the stories about each one. He loved this boy called Davie; it was plain to see.

“Why did I never hear of Davie before, Grandpa?” Mack was overwhelmed with sadness. He wished he’d known him.

“Ah, son. Your grandmother. It put her in an early grave. She forbade us to talk about him. And I guess your mother and I just stopped. Both of us felt we were to blame. I wasn’t there to save him, and your mother couldn’t.”  He whispered, “We had him in our hearts.”

“But now, we can talk about him, yes? I want to know everything.” Mack carefully shaped the stack neatly. His Grandpa nodded.

The following day, when his mother arrived, Mack hugged her tightly. She looked over his head at her father with a questioning look. He smiled back at her, the creases of his eyes wet with tears.

Mack stepped back from his mother and pulled the cap from his head.

“Look Mum. Grandpa gave me Uncle Davie’s hat to keep!”

He had never seen his mother cry.