TRINITY
STREET
(HarperCollins
Australia, 1997.)
PART
ONE.
KISMET.
Death
is the end. A child is born, and matures to become an exceptional adult. A new
child is born. The original subject grows old and dies, leaving the offspring to
carry a genetic message to the future. It takes just one living, fertile
descendant to carry on the elite heritage. So death is not the end.
Sometimes,
through misfortune or wilful irresponsibility, the cycle is interrupted. We at
Hub HI-Q pledge that the cycle shall continue. To this end, we have implemented
a programme of strategic Recovery. In this fashion we uphold the most basic
human responsibility of the human race.
The
responsibility to the future.
*
Camena
was Tell Clancy's best friend, but for a long time Tell had had to accept the
fact that there were places Camena went that she could never follow. Places in
the mind.
Tell's mind was a workmanlike tool which
performed quite well when given the correct data. Camena's mind was a maze, an
electronic wonder. Hard slog to Tell was a playground to Camena, full of games
and possibilities. Camena enjoyed her own mind and its precision, and seemed to
accept the fact that Tell's was not the same. Tell could understand that,
because she found it disconcerting herself. How could things so clear to Camena
be so stubbornly opaque to Tell? And how could things which Tell seemed to know
instinctively take so long to dawn on Camena? The double mystery was beyond
either of them to solve. Tell lacked the means, and Camena lacked the
inclination. And yet ...
They
had been friends forever, complementing one another from childhood. Camena was
the beauty, dark and dreamy, brilliant but withdrawn. Tell was the doer, the
goer, who dragged Camena out of her shell and along to the pool, the shops, the
socials. Almost plain, argumentative and abrasive, Tell sparked raw life into
Camena and kept her on track. It was Tell who helped Camena to function
socially. It was Tell who reminded Camena of what it meant to be human.
In return, Camena calmed Tell's rough edges,
tutored her in Maths, provided her with purpose and someone to protect. And
Camena needed protection. Not only when she had one of her crippling migraines,
but also from her own indifference.
‘People
will think you’re a snob if you’re not careful,’ said Tell. ‘I know
you’re just floating around on some other plane, but they’ll think you
think you’re too good to live!’
‘I
don’t care,’ said Camena.
‘You
ought to care. You have to care! And if you won’t, I’ll have to do it for you!’
‘You
shouldn’t care so much,’ said Camena. ‘If they think I'm a snob, that’s my
problem. And maybe theirs.’
‘But
how can I not care?’ asked Tell. ‘I can’t just switch it off and
on! Besides - I like to care.’
‘On
your own head,’ said Camena. She sounded offhand, but her eyes were warm as she
smiled at Tell.
At
school, St Saviours College, Tell and Camena were accepted as odd, but close,
friends. But then, on the first day of Year 10, Gerhardt Watchman entered their
equation, homing in on Camena with all the certainty of an iron filing which
has entered the charged field of a magnet.
At
first Tell found it diverting, for her friend had never been the type who
attracted boys. Her amusement cooled when she realised that in the new order of
Camena and Gerhardt there wasn't a place for herself. Gerhardt was always
there. Aware, and saying nothing. It made Tell angry and Camena ill at ease.
'See you later, Tell,' she had said more than once, and Tell would walk away,
hurt and baffled.
What
price friendship? For Tell her friendship with Camena was worth more than
anything she had. She felt it was worth more than her casual relationship with
her mother Maureen. Much more than her distant association with her father
David. Was this a hiccup or the beginning of the end? Tell couldn't be sure
without asking, and there are some things you don't ask your best friend. There
are some things you cannot say.
"If
you don't like it, you can leave." David Clancy had said that to
his wife once too often, and Maureen had left, taking Tell and the
spaniel Betz with her. David now saw his daughter on Saturdays and Wednesdays
and for a mathematically calculated half of each school holiday.
The new order suited Maureen, but David still
seemed peeved and surprised to find himself alone. The whole thing had taught
Tell that you shouldn't throw down a gauntlet unless you were willing to have
it taken up. And this time, it was her friendship with Camena that was at
stake.
Gerhardt
was an enigma. He had entered the school waters sideways, two dimensionally, as
if he had been made of rice paper or a wafer of ivory. Despite his considerable
height, (he was one Year 10 boy who hadn't forgotten to grow) he was
practically invisible in class; neither sulky nor smartmouthed, neither clever
nor dim. He had no visible family, belonged to no teams, ventured no opinions,
volunteered no answers.
Thoughts
of Gerhardt braying off-key in the shower, dropping dirty underpants behind the
door or scoffing all the oriental noodles and being scolded by his mum didn't
ring true. Tell couldn't imagine Gerhardt with a mum any more than she could
imagine him raiding the pantry or picking his nose. Perhaps, she fantasised, he
was really a hologram, and vanished when the lights went out. Or maybe Camena
kept him in her locker ... a pin-up boy in 3D.
Gerhardt
was a tall boy, with brown hair, dark blue eyes and a strong chin. He had a
rather pleasant deep voice and impressive shoulders, but since he was more
likely to be found quietly playing Solitaire than kicking a football, he made
little impact on life at St Saviours College. And as far as Tell could see, he
left the school ground, turned into Sulphur Street, walked home with Camena
down Corella and Galah Streets and turned left into infinity. He had to live somewhere,
but it might as well have been on Mars.
In
the beginning, Tell had eyed Gerhardt distantly, as she might a wasp in the
garden, but by now, over a month into Term 1, she found a perverse pleasure in
watching him as closely as he watched Camena. She hoped she was making him
uncomfortable, but after the first few days he seemed to accept her as a sort
of semi-detached extension of Camena. Occasionally he'd try to frown her away,
but Tell wasn't about to give Camena up without a fight. Not to a boy who'd
arrived out of the blue on the first day of Term 1 and might just as easily disappear.
Once,
Tell stuck out her chin, spots and all, and issued a silent challenge, her
version of the Evil Eye. You want me out of the way, Gerhardt Watchman, you
get me out of the way. Until then, we share Camena and if you don't like it you
can climb up Silicon Peak and jump off. Comprehendez vous?
She
thought Gerhardt gave her a secret, astonished glance. ‘Ja, aye, au caka-va,’
he responded. Or she thought he did, but the strange garbled words must have
come from her own imagination, because his lips had never moved at all. Tell
felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Hearing things! She was going the same
way as Jeanne d'Arc...
Gerhardt
was watching Camena, and his dedication was not in Tell’s imagination.
If Camena read in the library, Gerhardt read there too. If Camena were playing
chess, Gerhardt would match her move for move. Occasionally he set out a pack
of cards and played Solitaire, but if Camena moved away he would sweep up the
cards and follow. Tell wondered what he was thinking. She wondered whether
he was thinking. Occasionally, she felt like taking hold of Gerhardt's ears,
one in each hand, and using them as handles to shake his head. Just to see if
anything rattled in there. Just to see if he felt normally human and warm. And
what if she threw reticence to the wolves and made a move on him? Would he
respond, or would his lips be stiff as wood? And there was a nasty
thought - finding herself in the embrace of a wooden statue.
Kissing
Gerhardt Watchman was an interesting fantasy in a squirmy sort of way, but it was
a fantasy. And she was ashamed of herself.
'Does
he ever talk to you?' she asked Camena one day in the privacy of the girls'
loo.
'Not
much.' Camena seemed surprised at the question.
'He's
your boyfriend - isn't he?'
'No,'
said Camena. Almost off-handedly, as if it were none of Tell's business.
'You're
not related, are you?'
'Not
that I know of. But then, being adopted, how would I know?'
Tell
ignored her plaintive remark. 'Is he a member of Mensa?'
'No.'
'Does
he get migraines like you?'
'I
haven't asked. Anyway, I hardly get them any more.'
'What
is he then? Come on, Brain, explain!'
Camena
shrugged and wiped her hands. 'A companion.'
'Who
doesn't talk to you.'
'Right.'
'Or
kiss you. Or - or anything.'
'No.
Shut up, Tell.'
'God,
I'll need a tin-opener soon just to get the time of day from either of you.
You’re about as much use as a pair of bloody oysters!' Tell said crossly.
Camena
smiled absently and Tell's skin prickled. This was the way Camena treated other
people; politely, but not as if they mattered very much. It was not the
way she had ever treated Tell.
If
the two had been having some hot romance, Tell could have understood, even
accepted Camena's abstraction. But there was no hot romance between Camena and
Gerhardt. There was just this sudden, exclusive companionship, as if they
belonged to a secret club.
Who
- what - was Gerhardt Watchman, and why was he watching Camena? The questions
buzzed in Tell's mind, but she couldn't ask any more. Not without risking an
answer she couldn't face.
Silently,
they left the loo, and silently, Gerhardt drifted up and fell into step beside
Camena. It was eerie, the way no-one else reacted. It was almost as if they
hadn't noticed the tall young man lurking by the senior girls' loo. And neither
Gerhardt nor Camena said a thing, only exchanged quick glances - recognising
glances, thought Tell.
Ja,
ich verstehe. That is so.
Who
said that? Camena? She often quoted snatches in other languages. But the voice
had not been hers.
Tell
glanced suspiciously at Gerhardt, but his face gave nothing away. And neither
did Camena's.
Tell’s
own face was cold and suddenly stiff. She was hearing things like Jeanne
d'Arc. Again. One way ticket to the loony bin - or sometimes to the stake.
She wouldn't rave, she would simply quietly go insane. And if she did - who
would notice? Maureen might, but not Camena, not now.
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