cabbage and meaty sausage, Dieter watched me. He stared until my throat tightened and I couldnât swallow. He seemed to hate me for no other reason than sitting opposite him at the dining table and catching his eye. Klara sat next to me at the table, hardly letting anything pass her lips, as if Dieter was controlling her food intake. She carried herself in a hunch, and she shivered easily. The temperature only had to be slightly cool and Klara would start shivering. Or if her brother was nearby. Then she shivered too.
The times Dieter was around were the only times I wondered if I could keep on being Klaraâs best friend.
One Sunday Klaraâs mother and father took us on a trip to the Caribbean Gardens in a suburb a long drive away. Klara, me, Dieter and his friend from school. Fibreglass statues of animals rose out of dry garden beds like we were in a museum, and the sun beat down over acres of brown dirt and colourless rides and stalls selling hot jam doughnuts and sausages in batter. The parents set up at a picnic table with a tablecloth. They brought baskets out of the car boot filled with bottles of beer for them and cordial for us, stuffed cabbage rolls and thick, heavy cake smelling of honey. At the table Klaraâs father shook out a newspaper and held it in front of his face. Her mother stripped down to a pair of bathers, lay her towel on the dirt and settled down with a book and a sunhat.
âWhy donât you go for a swim,â she said to us, nodding in the direction of the muddy lake a few hundred yards away. A paddle steamer ploughed through the water on the far side. Klara and I wandered around the statues of elephants and giraffes and crocodiles. Further along the shore a replica submarine rose out of the dust like a grey dinosaur. Dieter was on the deck, trying to climb the periscope. Klara saw what I was looking at and she tugged me in the opposite direction.
âLetâs play over there,â she said, pointing at a bare patch of earth further along the shore. I followed her and she picked up a big stick and started sketching something out on the ground.
âWhat are we playing?â I said.
Klara looked over my shoulder and whispered, âNothing.â She dropped the stick. She whispered again, âLetâs go and play over there , â and she pointed even further away, out into the field where even her parents couldnât see us.
âAre we allowed?â I asked. My parents would never let me wander that far. I glanced behind and saw Dieter coming toward us with his friend, red-faced and crying, staggering behind him.
âOkay,â I said to Klara and we started to walk quickly away.
âHey,â Dieter shouted.
We bolted like startled deer, running till our breath was ragged and our chests sore. We ran past cages of monkeys and stands of poplar trees and enclosures of emus in the sun until finally Dieter gave up following us and we found ourselves in a small copse of eucalypts somewhere in the back of the Caribbean Gardens. We sat on the ground, cool earth covered in a dry carpet of leaves. I felt as if I had travelled through some barrier to reach a place in another time or another dimension. The trees had seemed small in the distance but now they were huge above us. I lay back on the fragrant leaves and looked up through the branches at the distant pale sky.
âHave we lost him?â Klara gasped, almost sobbing trying to get oxygen into her skinny body. âIs he behind us?â
I sat up. She was still doubled over, still sucking in air.
âI canât see him,â I said. But that didnât mean he wasnât there.
He was there one day at their house when I rounded the corner, looking for Klara. He and another friend of his. His friends were always small boys, while he was big, solid, fleshy. His small friend was holding a dartboard and Dieter had a dart in his hand aimed at the dartboard covering the friendâs
The times Dieter was around were the only times I wondered if I could keep on being Klaraâs best friend.
One Sunday Klaraâs mother and father took us on a trip to the Caribbean Gardens in a suburb a long drive away. Klara, me, Dieter and his friend from school. Fibreglass statues of animals rose out of dry garden beds like we were in a museum, and the sun beat down over acres of brown dirt and colourless rides and stalls selling hot jam doughnuts and sausages in batter. The parents set up at a picnic table with a tablecloth. They brought baskets out of the car boot filled with bottles of beer for them and cordial for us, stuffed cabbage rolls and thick, heavy cake smelling of honey. At the table Klaraâs father shook out a newspaper and held it in front of his face. Her mother stripped down to a pair of bathers, lay her towel on the dirt and settled down with a book and a sunhat.
âWhy donât you go for a swim,â she said to us, nodding in the direction of the muddy lake a few hundred yards away. A paddle steamer ploughed through the water on the far side. Klara and I wandered around the statues of elephants and giraffes and crocodiles. Further along the shore a replica submarine rose out of the dust like a grey dinosaur. Dieter was on the deck, trying to climb the periscope. Klara saw what I was looking at and she tugged me in the opposite direction.
âLetâs play over there,â she said, pointing at a bare patch of earth further along the shore. I followed her and she picked up a big stick and started sketching something out on the ground.
âWhat are we playing?â I said.
Klara looked over my shoulder and whispered, âNothing.â She dropped the stick. She whispered again, âLetâs go and play over there , â and she pointed even further away, out into the field where even her parents couldnât see us.
âAre we allowed?â I asked. My parents would never let me wander that far. I glanced behind and saw Dieter coming toward us with his friend, red-faced and crying, staggering behind him.
âOkay,â I said to Klara and we started to walk quickly away.
âHey,â Dieter shouted.
We bolted like startled deer, running till our breath was ragged and our chests sore. We ran past cages of monkeys and stands of poplar trees and enclosures of emus in the sun until finally Dieter gave up following us and we found ourselves in a small copse of eucalypts somewhere in the back of the Caribbean Gardens. We sat on the ground, cool earth covered in a dry carpet of leaves. I felt as if I had travelled through some barrier to reach a place in another time or another dimension. The trees had seemed small in the distance but now they were huge above us. I lay back on the fragrant leaves and looked up through the branches at the distant pale sky.
âHave we lost him?â Klara gasped, almost sobbing trying to get oxygen into her skinny body. âIs he behind us?â
I sat up. She was still doubled over, still sucking in air.
âI canât see him,â I said. But that didnât mean he wasnât there.
He was there one day at their house when I rounded the corner, looking for Klara. He and another friend of his. His friends were always small boys, while he was big, solid, fleshy. His small friend was holding a dartboard and Dieter had a dart in his hand aimed at the dartboard covering the friendâs
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