Two Wolves Page 16
‘Don’t think so, Cop.’ Dad spat on the ground.
The word ‘Cop’ made anger rise up in Ben, the opposite of the feeling he’d had down by the creek.
‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.
Dad did not answer.
‘Pretty stupid place to hide,’ Ben said.
‘I’ve been living like an animal,’ Dad said. ‘For half a year I’ve been sleeping a hundred metres away from my money without knowing it.’
‘It’s not your money.’
‘You stole it,’ Dad snapped.
‘Not your money,’ Ben repeated.
‘You’re the same as me.’
‘I’m nothing like you.’
‘You, me and my old man. We’re all the same.’
Ben did not say anything. He hated the truth of it. ‘I’m going to give the money back,’ he said. ‘And I’m going to tell the cops you’ve been here.’
Dad laughed. ‘Is that before or after they stick you in prison for stealing the money yourself? Stupid boy.’
He felt like he was ten years old again, like nothing he said or thought or felt was worth anything. The difference was that Ben was almost as tall as Dad now and, after a year of lifting weights, better built. His father looked hungry, all sinewy arm muscles clinging to bone.
Ben moved toward him and Dad scuttled back, an animal in dirty jeans and a filthy blue t-shirt.
Ben reached for the money and Dad pushed him away, hard. Ben went down on his backside, then jumped back to his feet. He watched his father, the wild, crumpled figure of him, and he thought of Dad’s sneakers disappearing over Nan’s back fence while he and Mum and Olive were arrested.
‘Y’know, Mum went to court and won. They said it was all your fault and they’re chasing you.’
Dad blinked.
‘Mum’s got a job, a good one that she actually likes. Nan and her have been paying off all your stupid debts from the wreckers.’
‘Yeah?’ Dad said. ‘Why didn’t you give ’em some of the cash you buried?’
Ben, angry now, moved quickly toward his father. When he came close Dad hit at his ears and his neck, awkward places, but Ben fended off most of it, head down, hands protecting himself. He grabbed the material of the bag and he pulled hard and the bag ripped but he took it from his father and he scrambled away and ran. He ran up the hill, through the trees. Dad gave chase but Ben was too quick.
He made it to the top of the rise and into the clearing and he saw Mum waiting there in the car. She opened the door and stood when she saw him.
‘Ready to go?’
‘Dad!’ Ben said, panic tearing at him.
Dad loomed over the rise, limping toward the car like some zombie thief.
‘Stay away from him!’ Mum screamed, a mother bear protecting her cub, but Dad kept coming.
Ben made it to the passenger side, lifted the handle. He threw open the door, tossed the bag onto the floor, climbed inside. As he went to shut the door, Dad grabbed it, took Ben by the shoulder, pulled him up and out of the car, pressing him against the red metal, staring into his eyes. Dad was bearded, dirty, angry, saliva dripping between his hillbilly teeth, his fingers digging into Ben’s skin.
‘Leave him, Ray,’ Mum said, voice churning with panic. ‘Leave him!’
‘You’re not my father,’ Ben said.
Dad swung a punch but Ben dodged it and heard his father’s knuckles crack against the door’s rim. He grabbed Dad by the back of his dirty blue t-shirt, twisted it to make it tight and dragged him away from the car. Dad scratched and clawed at Ben’s arm, digging filthy fingernails into his flesh, but Ben did not care. He dragged him over the sand and dumped him at the cabin door.
‘Give it to me,’ Dad said, sitting up and rubbing his neck where the t-shirt had dug in.
Ben backed off. Dad drew himself off the ground and moved quickly toward him again. Ben tried to move away but he was too slow and Dad wrestled him to the ground in front of the idling car, pinning him.
Ben had a flash of the last time the two of them had fought on this ground: when Dad had taken his notebook, mocked him, owned him, like some overgrown school bully. Ben had been an unfit, jam-doughnut-eating thirteen-year-old then. Had not known who he was. Now, a year on, he was leaner, more muscular, while Dad had halved in size.
Ben twisted sharply and, in one motion, flipped his father over and sat on him, holding his wrists to the sand. Dad struggled and flopped but Ben held him. After a minute or two Dad stopped bucking and writhing. Ben stared into those red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes and he saw something he had not seen there before – defeat.
‘I’m going to let you go, okay?’
Dad did not respond.
‘Okay?’
Dad gave the slightest nod of his head. Ben let go of his father’s skinny wrists. He stood and backed slowly toward the car.
‘Ben, let’s go,’ Mum said. ‘Get in.’
Dad pushed up off the ground and stood like a lame dog. Ben continued to the car, wary, as Dad ran at him again with a growl. Ben raised his forearm in defence and Dad bit him hard. Ben shoved him away.
There was blood on Ben’s arm. His own or his father’s, he did not know. ‘Go!’ he shouted, like he was speaking to a vicious dog, and his father retreated. He recoiled and tripped and stood again at the cabin door.
‘Ben!’ Mum called. ‘Now. Leave him. It’s over.’
Ben held his arm and wiped the bite. It felt deep. He opened the passenger door. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said and in his mind he heard his father say, Don’t say sorry. It’s weak.
He collapsed into the seat, slammed the door. The figure stood in the doorway of the cabin. Mum accelerated quickly across the clearing and Dad chased. He beat on the front passenger window. He ran alongside the car and beat the window hard, leaving a smear of sweat and blood. He did the same to the rear passenger window, smashing on the glass. Dad clutched the edge of the window frame for a moment but Mum yanked the wheel sideways and he fell away.
They drove. Ben checked the side mirror and saw Dad in the clearing. Standing, screaming at them, in front of Pop’s cabin. Then the trees swallowed the car and they turned the corner and all Ben could see was dirt road, empty, ahead and behind. Mum turned another corner, powered up the hill, swerving around ruts and rocks. They drove on with Mum saying, ‘Are you okay? Are you okay?’
She flipped open the glove box, pulling three tissues from an old plastic packet. ‘Put these on it.’
‘It’s okay,’ Ben said.
She gave him a look and Ben took the tissues.
They drove for ten minutes and eventually emerged from the gully and into the sunshine on the edge of the tarred road. Mum brought the car to a stop, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Ben wound down the window. He could not hear the creek but he heard the trees swirling gently around him, whispering, and he felt grounded again for a moment. He sat and breathed. Mum held his hand and he clutched hers. She sobbed very quietly and Ben dabbed at his bite mark, noticing the crookedness of the indent made by his father’s teeth. For some reason he hoped that the bite scarred him, a permanent tattoo to remind him of where he had come from.
After a few minutes more, Mum put the car in gear and said, ‘We better go finish this.’
Ben nodded and they rolled forward. Mum turned right, toward Kings Bay. They coasted down the hill, windows open, wind roaring through them, feeling the enormity of what they were doing. Ben grabbed his old notebook out of the backpack on the floor of the car. Carved into the inside of the leather cover were the words ‘Culpam Poena Premit Comes’. Ben had found the translation of this in a book – something like ‘Punishment follows closely on the heels of crime’. It had proven true but it was almost too simple and neat for Ben now, too black and white.
On the first page of the notebook were the
sums Pop had written in smudgy blue ink, probably for some dodgy deal gone wrong. Ben flicked to the back of the book and read that quote one last time.
Two wolves inside him. One good, one bad. A terrible battle.
Which one would he feed?
Which wolf would win?
Ben stared out the window, letting the world go by in a blur of trees and sky. He felt empty now, totally empty. In a good way. As though he had released his wolves from captivity. There was no ‘good’ or ‘bad’ wolf any more, nothing to run from. For the moment, the terrible battle was done.
The origin of the ‘two wolves’ proverb is unknown. I first saw it attributed as an old Cherokee tale, but this is disputed.
Thanks to Varuna Writers’ Centre. I wrote there for four glorious days and I still carry that stillness with me. Thanks to the Northern Rivers Writers’ Centre where I wrote part of this manuscript. Thanks to the people who encouraged me to write this when I pitched it to them – kids and teens in schools, Sophie Hamley, John Boyne, Hux and Luca. Thanks to Catherine Drayton for daring me to dig deeper and complete the journey.
I am indebted to Kimberley Bennett and Zoe Walton at Random House who pushed me to rethink and rediscover. I have learned most of what I know about writing from the excellent editors I have worked with.
Thanks to my wife Amber for encouraging and inspiring my creative endeavours. Thanks to Jean Craighead George for writing My Side of the Mountain and the other authors whose work dares me to be better and more honest.
Tristan Bancks is a writer with a background in acting, filmmaking and TV presenting in Australia and the UK. His short films have won a number of awards and have screened widely in festivals and on TV. Tristan has written a number of books for kids and teens, including the Mac Slater, Coolhunter series, It’s Yr Life with Tempany Deckert, and My Life and Other Stuff I Made Up. Tristan’s drive is to tell inspiring, fast-moving stories for young people. Visit Tristan at:
www.tristanbancks.com
Comprehensive Teachers’ Resources
for this book are available at:
www.randomhouse.com.au/teachers
Also by Tristan Bancks
Mac Slater, Coolhunter 1: The Rules of Cool
Mac Slater, Coolhunter 2: I ♥ NY
My Life and Other Stuff I Made Up
My Life and Other Stuff that Went Wrong (April 2014)
It’s Yr Life (with Tempany Deckert)
Mac Slater, Coolhunter 1: The Rules of Cool
Mac’s just crashed the latest prototype of his flying bike in front of practically the whole school. So when the creators of Coolhunters approach him and tell him he’s an Innovator, Mac thinks they’re crazy. I mean, Mac lives in an old bus with his hippie, fire-twirling mum. He doesn’t have a TV, let alone a mobile. But Tony and Speed say he’s so uncool he’s, like, cool.
They offer Mac a trial. He’ll vlog all the cool stuff coming out of Kings Bay for a week. If he wins he’ll travel the world, uncovering stuff he loves and reporting it via Coolhunters, a massive online space dedicated to the coolest things on earth.
But hunting cool ain’t easy. Mac’s opponent, Cat DeVrees – angry, cold-blooded and the hottest girl he knows – wants the gig real bad and she’ll do just about anything to get it. Cool or uncool? Geeks or revolutionaries? The votes are in.
Mac Slater, Coolhunter 2: I ♥ NY is also out now
My Life and Other Stuff I Made Up
Have you ever been kissed by a dog? Ever had to eat Vegemite off your sister’s big toe? Have you had a job delivering teeth? Has a bloodthirsty magpie ever been out to get you? Ever woken up to discover that everything hovers? And have you eaten 67 hot dogs in ten minutes?
I have. I’m Tom Weekly. This book is full of my stories, jokes, cartoon characters, ideas for theme park rides and other stuff I’ve made up. It’s where I pour out whatever’s inside my head. It gets a bit weird sometimes but that’s how I roll.
Watch out for My Life and Other Stuff that Went Wrong in April 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Two Wolves
9780857982049
Copyright © Tristan Bancks 2014
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
A Random House Australia book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
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Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices
First published by Random House Australia in 2014
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Author: Bancks, Tristan
Title: Two Wolves/Tristan Bancks
ISBN: 9780857982049 (ebook)
Dewey number: A823.4
Cover photo Mike Dobel/Trevillion Images, illustration of boy
freelanceartist/Shutterstock.com
Cover design by Christabella Design
Internal design by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Typesetting and eBook production by Midland Typesetters, Australia
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