Neil Armstrong was the first man to walk on the moon, but Buzz Aldrin was the first to pee on it – or at least pee while he was standing on it. Pericles, Tibor and I were discussing who had better bragging rights when Starkey swaggered over and said, ‘Is this a meeting of Poofters Anonymous?’
‘It certainly is,’ I said. ‘And there’s always room for new members in our friendly circle.’
‘Fuck you!’ He smacked the chicken baguette from my hands.
‘That wasn’t very friendly,’ Tibor said as I salvaged my lunch.
‘I’m no friend of filthy knob jockeys,’ Starkey said. ‘Why are you hanging out with these two confirmed faggots?’
Pericles squared off with Starkey. ‘For the record, I’m the only faggot here. Unless you’ve got something to get off your chest?’
‘Oh yeah, you’ve discovered my dark little secret, Pappas. And right now I can hardly stop myself from kissing you.’
Evan Starkey did not kiss Pericles Pappas. He leant back a little then slammed his forehead into the bridge of Pericles’ nose. Pez swayed and collapsed. Starkey walked away, wiping his hands. I tried to rouse Pericles but he was out cold – blood dripping from his nose onto the dirt.
‘Cunt,’ Tibor said through his teeth, eyes burning with rage. I watched with shock and admiration as he raised his fists, contracting all the muscles in his body till he began shaking, as if opening the vault where the hurt from years of bullying had been stored. Then he sprang up and charged after Starkey, pounced like a panther onto his back and knocked him over the embankment. They rolled down, entangled, Tibor’s arms flapping about. Starkey got to his feet before Tibor could push himself onto his knees and kicked him in the arse twice, and hard. He spat on him and swaggered back to the playground. Tibor hobbled over to us, sore but proud. ‘I just took on Evan Starkey and lost,’ he said.
‘You were legendary.’
Pericles half-emerged from his stupor and said, ‘I don’t know what just happened, but thank you.’ He spat five or six times then ran a finger along his teeth. ‘I thought there was grit in my mouth but they were chips from my teeth.’
I tried to convince him to report Starkey, because in a perfect world there would be justice, but the Dash would ask him what the fight was over and Pericles didn’t want to talk about it. So instead of going to Student Welfare, we cleaned him up in the toilets.
At the end of the day we met up to walk home. Pez’s nose resembled a baby eggplant, matching his purple left eye. We’d hardly left the gates when Mullows caught up with us.
‘So, Starkey told me what happened and—’
‘You came to check out his handiwork?’ Pez said.
‘No, I came to tell you I think it was a total dick act. He beat you up for being gay and I’m not down with that.’
‘Great,’ Pericles said. ‘Thanks for the support. See ya.’
But Mullows persisted. ‘I don’t think you can help being who you are. It’s not your fault you turned out that way and I personally don’t have a problem with it.’
‘Gee, thanks – that’s incredibly open-minded and tolerant of you.’
‘Nads and Starkey have done some crazy shit lately and I’m through with it.’
‘Defecting from Clown Town?’ I said.
‘Nah. Nads and his family have been good to me ever since I moved here from the bush. But I won’t let either of them lay a finger on Pericles again.’
‘You know what?’ Pez said. ‘I can look after myself.’
‘Yeah, sure looks that way. Anyway, I’m sorry about what happened.’ He reached out and squeezed Pez’s shoulder, holding it for a bit longer than comfortable, probably expecting some expression of gratitude that he didn’t get.
‘That was awkward,’ Pez said when Mullows had walked away.
‘Yeah, just a bit.’
I didn’t understand why Pericles refused to tell Dad what had happened, but I agreed to back up his story of being hit by a cricket ball – after all, I’d once used a similar fake explanation. Before we started dinner, Pez delivered grace – unprecedented in the apartment – which incorporated thanking my earthly father for taking him in.
‘It’s been a pleasure having you,’ Dad said, raising his glass. ‘Here’s to the three amigos.’ As we began eating, Pez’s phone rang with the danger alert tone. He declined.
‘Who was that?’ Dad said.
‘Nobody important.’ His phone rang again so he turned it off.
A few minutes later, the home phone rang and Dad answered. He put his hand over the receiver and said, ‘Your father wants to talk to you, Pericles.’
‘Tell him I’m not here.’
‘He knows you are.’
‘Please tell him that I don’t want to speak with him.’
Dad shrugged and told Mr Pappas that Pericles was currently unavailable. We could hear Con’s garbled response from the dining table. Dad replaced the receiver.
‘He’s on his way over. We’ve enjoyed having you, buddy, and you’re welcome to stay for as long you need. But I can’t stand between you and your father.’
‘He can’t force me to go with him.’
‘Of course not, but—’
‘Thanks for having me, Mr Locke,’ Pericles said, defeat tugging down on the corners of his polite smile. I’ll pack my stuff and get out of here before he arrives.’
I followed Pericles but Dad stopped me.
‘Let me talk to him,’ he said.
Dad somehow persuaded Pez to stay and at least speak to his father, but he couldn’t eat his dinner, and when Mr Pappas buzzed the intercom he flipped out and went to the bathroom. Dad greeted Con at the door. Short and stocky like Manos, he was carrying a box of vegetables under his arm, which he presented to Dad.
‘There’s a fine-looking specimen,’ Dad said, lifting a bunch of silverbeet for me to see. ‘Are you a greengrocer, Con?’
‘Nah, that’s my brother. I work in airport operations. Potter around in the garden for stress relief. I hope Pericles hasn’t been any trouble?’
‘It’s been a pleasure having him. Lincoln, could you go get him?’
‘Lincoln?’ Con said. ‘You’re the boy who knocked him out of the relay team?’
‘I guess.’
‘Good job. It might put a bit of fire back into his belly.’
‘He doesn’t need it,’ I said without bothering to add that I’d already been kicked out of squad. I went and knocked on the bathroom door. Pericles told me to come in, and I found him sitting on the toilet with the seat down.
‘I think you should come out,’ I said. ‘Your father seems in a good mood.’
‘He’ll be laying on the charm offensive.’
Dad and Con were on the sofa with beers when we returned to the lounge room. Con’s jaw practically disengaged when he saw his son’s bruised face. ‘Pericles, have you been in a fight?’
‘No. I just got beaten up for being a poofter.’
‘Don’t speak like that in front of these nice people.’
‘Are you suddenly trying to be politically correct now?’
‘No. You’ve misunderstood me because you don’t listen properly. I don’t have a problem with you being a homosexual, but this is what happens when you wave it about in people’s faces.’
Pericles closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
I jumped in. ‘Pericles was standing up for me and our friend Tibor against a homophobic bully.’
Con looked confused. ‘Is there a whole group of you at the school?’
‘I’m not gay, Mr Pappas. Pericles and Tibor were the only people who made me feel welcome when I started at Crestfield. Pericles lent me his goggles and taught me how to swim butterfly properly.’
‘That’s commendable, son.’
‘Then why are you always so disappointed in me?’ Pericles said.
‘I’m only disappointed that you’re choosing this lifestyle.’
‘Don’t start that again in front of everybody. I need some air.’ Pericles walked out to the balcony. Dad left me with Con to fetch another couple of beers. Con immediately dropped his attempt at the nice-guy façade and pointed his finger at me.
‘I hope you’re not secretly his boyfriend.’
‘Afraid not, Mr Pappas.’
Dad returned with the beers and a bowl of unshelled pistachios. Something about the way Con opened them with his teeth instead of his fingers and then chomped away caused my tail to rise and prickle. I wanted to knock the bowl out of his hands and tell him to eat with his mouth closed.
Pericles came in and sat a distance away from us, backwards on a dining chair.
‘Sit properly,’ Con said, ‘or you’ll break the good people’s furniture.’ Pericles turned the chair around and sat stiffly with his hands clasped in his lap, silently mocking Con’s directive. ‘A man’s home is his castle, Pericles. And the castle has rules. When you come home you’ll follow my rules until you turn eighteen and then you can run around and do whatever you like. That’s reasonable. I’m sure Mr Locke would agree with me.’ He looked at Dad for backup.
Dad looked at me and raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes, Con, it’s true. Every family has rules, spoken and unspoken. But I’d be the worst kind of hypocrite if I sat here pretending that I hadn’t broken one of the most fundamental ones. Because I already lied about it more than once and lost the trust of my family in the process. This isn’t my castle, Con. It’s just where I live after my wife threw me out.’
‘No need to elaborate,’ he said and walked over to Pericles, gripped his shoulders and shook him twice. ‘All I ever want is the best for you, Perilakimu. Will you come home with me now? Your mother’s been sick with worry.’
Pericles surrendered himself with a small nod. I followed him to the guest room to get his stuff.
‘That was his best behaviour you saw tonight. He’ll start yelling at me the moment we get in the car.’ Pericles lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Sorry about all the drama I’ve caused, Lincoln.’ He looked up. ‘And thank you for letting me stay here. You saved my life.’
‘Now you’re being dramatic.’
‘No, fully literal. I was teetering on the brink for a while. I was really fucking hating on myself and lost hope of ever feeling different. But something inside me has changed, even if my father hasn’t. I used to be terrified of him and now I’m not. It’s because I’m not afraid of who I am anymore.’
‘That’s good. You know I’ve always got your back.’
‘Same.’
‘It was a short stay but I’m going to miss having you here. Dad will too.’
I hugged Pericles hard – square on, not just right shoulder to shoulder. No pat-pat-patting on the back. And I told him that I loved him.
He said, ‘A hundred per cent.’
After Pericles and Con left, Dad and I pulled apart everything that had just happened. ‘Con’s a hardarse,’ I said. ‘But at least his visit tonight has made you seem not so bad in comparison.’
‘That’s lavish praise.’
‘Seriously, that was huge when you spoke so honestly about yourself. You didn’t have to, but it shut Con up.’
‘Thanks, mate. One day when you’re a parent you’ll come to understand how difficult it is raising a family. And how wonderful.’
‘I don’t want to have children. The idea doesn’t appeal to me.’
‘Not right now, but the time will come when you’ve settled down with the right person.’
‘Maybe.’
I’d barely started coming to terms with the tail, and wasn’t thrilled about the idea of reproducing that part of myself. Maybe Edwin had? I said goodnight to Dad and returned to the book.
In Chicago, I took the world’s longest elevator to the rooftop of the Auditorium building, where I caught a glimpse of Lake Michigan through the smog. After playing Pittsburgh and Cleveland, we reached our final destination, New York City. America’s largest town seemed no better than Sydney in its planning or sanitary arrangements. Everywhere squalor nipped at the heels of extravagance. Immigrant factory workers were packed into four- and five-storey tenement buildings with no gaps between, yet not a quarter-mile away were grand apartment buildings, elegant theatres and department stores with marble flooring that made Pemberton’s Emporium seem hardly magnificent at all. There were fancy dining establishments that my father would’ve loved, and just down the street, food carts in their hundreds selling fried potato knishes, baked pretzels, pickles and clams, nuts and sweet pies.
The population was a heaving mass of almost three million people, each seemingly intent on getting somewhere fast, seizing the opportunity to make a new life for themselves by working around the clock. And when they stopped for just a moment of relief, there were two places they visited: the green of Central Park or the blue seaside pleasure resort of Coney Island, Brooklyn.
Coney Island was the birthplace of the manufactured dream and there was no greater dream-maker in those early days than the Fearless Frogman, Paul Boyton. After performing countless aquatic feats around the globe and touring with P. T. Barnum, he’d capitalised on his fame by opening Sea Lion Park, the first enclosed outdoor amusement park in America. Built around an artificial lagoon, it featured a water flume ride and the world’s first looping roller-coaster. Unfortunately, the loop’s diameter was only twenty-five feet and the sudden transition into the thrilling climax gave so many riders whiplash the ride was permanently closed. The sea lion shows proved more successful, especially when Boyton joined the performance. He loved challenging the visitors to swimming races and, with the advantage of a rubber buoyancy suit, he always won.
By the park’s third season, the novelty-hungry public had seen just about every conceivable act that could be performed on the water’s surface. Hungry for a piece of Boyton’s pie, Irving Melinkoff had purchased a small plot of land close by and come up with a brilliant point of difference – he would allow the audience to see underwater! He had an enormous glass tank built, three-quarters of it underground. It was surrounded by two curving stairways descending to a cavernous viewing area. Electric light bulbs were installed behind the tank, illuminating the walls with magnified ripples, and there was an air pump at the bottom that released flurries of bubbles.
Melinkoff planned to open the Underwater Grotto with The Battle of the Atlantis Brothers, starring Hilda Groot as the mermaid princess, with Paulo and I fighting for her affection. He began promoting the show before even bothering to ask if Paulo could swim, assuming that with webbed fingers and toes he’d be a natural. But Paulo had never been in anything deeper than a bath and I was given just one week to train him. Though his limbs were extremely short, his torso was powerful, so I taught him the rippling motion of the dolphin kick and soon he was gliding through the water as if born to it. Hilda had grown up on Lake Michigan, and with the addition of a rubber tail easily outclassed both of us. Advertising bills featuring a photo of Hilda in the tank, flanked by Paulo and me brandishing tridents, were pasted up all over Coney Island and drew a crowd at least five times the venue’s capacity.
Never before had the public had an opportunity to view bodies underwater – bodies barely concealed by clinging suits, magnified into god or monster-like proportion by thick glass. Never before had they been able to scrutinise so closely such strange forms as those belonging to Paulo and me. And just as Pemberton’s display of authentic artefacts had lent credibility to the fake hybrid creatures surrounding them, so Paulo’s and my abnormalities lent plausibility to Hilda’s tail. A New York Times reporter, so impressed by the illusion, wrote a tongue-in-cheek article espousing the existence of mermaids, and Hilda Groot became famous almost overnight.
Hilda’s sudden rise to stardom, and corresponding earning capacity, made her even more desirable to Melinkoff. He took her to restaurants and shows, and lavished her with flowers, chocolates and jewellery. She accepted the gifts but resisted his passes. This strange dance continued for weeks until one day she returned every gift that hadn’t perished or been consumed. Melinkoff suspected she’d found a lover, but his imagination failed when it came to airing his conjectures of who that could be. Then, one night, he spied them together down near the Elephant Hotel: Hilda Groot and Paulo Esposito, ravishing one another in public view, beneath an almost full moon.
Delirious with jealousy, but lacking the dignity to confront his rival directly, Melinkoff worked his revenge into the plot of the aquatic drama. He switched Paulo’s character from ill-fated hero to a lecherous villain whose appearance was the result of an unnatural coupling. Seven times every day Melinkoff would stir the latent prejudice of the audience with his melodramatic narration, whipping them into a jeering chorus. Seven times Hilda was forced to revile the man she loved. And seven times Paulo would be strangled by me, his truest friend. Of course, up until that point we were only acting, but in the dying moments of the new, more violent finale, Melinkoff would delay the killing of the lights. Paulo, exhausted by the struggle, would be forced to lie motionless on the tank’s floor, sometimes blacking out before the lights.
I recalled the photo I’d seen at the exhibition on my birthday, the one of Edwin and Paulo with their tridents on either side of Hilda. With stunted limbs, Paulo couldn’t have been more than a metre tall and yet Hilda Groot, the beautiful mermaid princess, had fallen in love with him. What was Paulo’s secret?
The thick glass tank would have enabled the audience to ogle the performers’ bodies in their ‘clinging suits’, and to see Paulo’s and Edwin’s unusual features magnified. The possibility of anybody spotting mine in the pool had terrified me. I gained a new respect for these so-called freaks, who for the sake of their families had put themselves on display for the world to see. Maybe it was Paulo’s courage that had won Hilda’s heart?