Year.â
Mum told us to go and look at the Womenâs Weekly Childrenâs BirthdayCake Book and I knew that they wanted to be rid of us, so we sat in the dark living room, huddled on the floor, and I tried to listen to what Mum and Bo were talking about in the sunroom. I tried hard but I couldnât hear properly.
When my brother had narrowed the cake selection down to three possible choices, the ones with the most icing and candies that he liked, Bo came in and said that he was going to try to sleep for a little while. He said he had not had much sleep for a long time and he suddenly looked very tired. I could see the hollows of his eye sockets, and his eyes were not gray and they were not blue. They seemed to be no color at all, like they had been washed out to nothing.
My brother said, âGood night. See you in the morning,â even though it was morning. Even though it was only 10 AM .
âSee you in the morning,â Bo said. Then he turned to me.
âYou know what is a nice cake for the New Year? Chocolate-hazelnut-cherry cake.â
I had never even heard of a cake like that before, not ever, and I couldnât even imagine what it would be like.
THE CAKE
T he cake was like a castle, a fortressâwith turrets made of chocolate curls dusted with powdered-sugar snow. There were layers of cake and between them were ground hazelnuts and cream and dark cherries that had come out of a can Bo got from the ship. He let me drink a bit of the juice that the cherries were inâit was sweet and rich and it stained my lips purple.
It took Bo a long time to make the cake. It seemed very complicated and there were lots of different parts to it. He didnât seem to mind how long it took. When the cake part was ready to go in the oven, Bo made himself a coffee and poured it into one of our glasses that was actually a small Vegemite jar. I donât know why he didnât use a cupâhe must have liked the small glass, because he always used it when he was at our house.
âI miss coffee,â he said. âThe way it tastes at home.â
He took a sip, a taste, then held the small glass up to the light coming through the window.
âNo matter how hard I try, itâs not the same as at home. It should be the sameâitâs the same coffee and I make it the same. But it does not taste the same! This is some kind of problem. A mystery. Maybe it is the salt in the air, or because I am in the south, where everything is going backward all the time. I donât know. It is some kind of mystery.â
Bo wouldnât let us watch him finish the cake. He told us it should be a surprise, so I went and watched TV with my brother until it was ready.
Bo carried the cake out to the sunroom. There was one candle already lit, burning bright, and it made the dusted icing glow and sparkle.
âYes, I think this is my favorite type of cake,â he said when he put it down on the table. âItâs like being in the forest in the winter when the trees go to sleep, when the light isnât so bright and the river begins to freeze, then the snow is coming more and more, and everyone has their Christmas lights in the windows night and day, shining out, and you can smell spices in the air from all the special Christmas baking.â
And I could taste itâthe dark rich earth of a forest filled with rabbits and deer, snow gently falling.
A fairy tale.
TIME
B o sat in the sunroom under the light.
I could see his back through the glass of the living-room door, his shoulders rounded in his white T-shirt. He didnât seem to feel the cold. He was smoking a cigarette. I watched him for a whileâmaybe it was for a long time, I donât know. It was the middle of the night and everyone was asleep. Everyone except for me and Bo.
I opened the door from the living room to the sunroom. I walked in and stood at the table and Bo looked at me, his eyes dark.
âI canât
Mum told us to go and look at the Womenâs Weekly Childrenâs BirthdayCake Book and I knew that they wanted to be rid of us, so we sat in the dark living room, huddled on the floor, and I tried to listen to what Mum and Bo were talking about in the sunroom. I tried hard but I couldnât hear properly.
When my brother had narrowed the cake selection down to three possible choices, the ones with the most icing and candies that he liked, Bo came in and said that he was going to try to sleep for a little while. He said he had not had much sleep for a long time and he suddenly looked very tired. I could see the hollows of his eye sockets, and his eyes were not gray and they were not blue. They seemed to be no color at all, like they had been washed out to nothing.
My brother said, âGood night. See you in the morning,â even though it was morning. Even though it was only 10 AM .
âSee you in the morning,â Bo said. Then he turned to me.
âYou know what is a nice cake for the New Year? Chocolate-hazelnut-cherry cake.â
I had never even heard of a cake like that before, not ever, and I couldnât even imagine what it would be like.
THE CAKE
T he cake was like a castle, a fortressâwith turrets made of chocolate curls dusted with powdered-sugar snow. There were layers of cake and between them were ground hazelnuts and cream and dark cherries that had come out of a can Bo got from the ship. He let me drink a bit of the juice that the cherries were inâit was sweet and rich and it stained my lips purple.
It took Bo a long time to make the cake. It seemed very complicated and there were lots of different parts to it. He didnât seem to mind how long it took. When the cake part was ready to go in the oven, Bo made himself a coffee and poured it into one of our glasses that was actually a small Vegemite jar. I donât know why he didnât use a cupâhe must have liked the small glass, because he always used it when he was at our house.
âI miss coffee,â he said. âThe way it tastes at home.â
He took a sip, a taste, then held the small glass up to the light coming through the window.
âNo matter how hard I try, itâs not the same as at home. It should be the sameâitâs the same coffee and I make it the same. But it does not taste the same! This is some kind of problem. A mystery. Maybe it is the salt in the air, or because I am in the south, where everything is going backward all the time. I donât know. It is some kind of mystery.â
Bo wouldnât let us watch him finish the cake. He told us it should be a surprise, so I went and watched TV with my brother until it was ready.
Bo carried the cake out to the sunroom. There was one candle already lit, burning bright, and it made the dusted icing glow and sparkle.
âYes, I think this is my favorite type of cake,â he said when he put it down on the table. âItâs like being in the forest in the winter when the trees go to sleep, when the light isnât so bright and the river begins to freeze, then the snow is coming more and more, and everyone has their Christmas lights in the windows night and day, shining out, and you can smell spices in the air from all the special Christmas baking.â
And I could taste itâthe dark rich earth of a forest filled with rabbits and deer, snow gently falling.
A fairy tale.
TIME
B o sat in the sunroom under the light.
I could see his back through the glass of the living-room door, his shoulders rounded in his white T-shirt. He didnât seem to feel the cold. He was smoking a cigarette. I watched him for a whileâmaybe it was for a long time, I donât know. It was the middle of the night and everyone was asleep. Everyone except for me and Bo.
I opened the door from the living room to the sunroom. I walked in and stood at the table and Bo looked at me, his eyes dark.
âI canât
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