The Beloved by Annah Faulkner Page A

CP.’
    â€˜No I’m not.’ I pushed aside the envelopes and went to work on a picture of a giant fish filled with tiny people.
    Dad looked at my drawing and waggled my plait.
    â€˜Do you hate it, Dad?’
    â€˜No. How could I hate anything you do?’
    â€˜I’m going to be an artist when I grow up, like Aunt Tempe.’
    â€˜Oh, are you?’ Dad combed his moustache with his fingers.
    â€˜Mama wants me to be somebody.’
    â€˜You’re already somebody, sweetheart. You’re our Roberta.’
    â€˜Yes,’ I said. ‘Roberta Lindsay Lightfoot, world famous artist.’

    Two months after we arrived in Port Moresby, I ditched the calliper forever .
    â€˜We’ll celebrate,’ said Mama. ‘Drag your father from the office and go on a picnic. All of us.’
    We had a calliper-burying ceremony. Dad dug a hole and snapped his heels together. Atten-shun! Squa-a-a-ad salute! I leaned on my sticks, tossed in a fistful of dirt and watched in satisfaction as Dad filled in the hole. After the burial we went on a picnic. Mama had wanted me to bring a friend.
    â€˜I don’t have a friend,’ I said.
    â€˜But I’ve heard you talk about Diane and Pamela.’
    â€˜They’re not friends, they’re just kids at school.’
    â€˜Bertie, you must have friends. Invite a few classmates home to play.’
    Play what – hopscotch? Anyway Diane had already tried that.
    â€˜Mrs Potts said we should play with you,’ she said, one day at playlunch. ‘What can you play?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜We could . . . well, we could skip while you hold the rope?’
    I shook my head.
    She chewed her lip.
    â€˜It’s all right, Diane,’ I said. ‘I don’t have to play.’ I walked away, wondering if they were watching me and whispering about my boot. They weren’t allowed to say anything to my face but it didn’t stop people thinking. I saw what kids did behind Errol Prichard’s back. He looked like a rabbit with his mouth hitched up to his nose and he talked funny. Some kids copied him, others felt sorry. I hated pity but I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Errol because his problem was right there in front of you all the time. Anyway, bullying was worse, and as long as people left me alone, friends didn’t matter.
    â€˜I’m all right, Mama.’
    â€˜You’re not all right and we’re going to fix it.’
    In the meantime she packed a picnic and we crammed into the jeep with the dog and drove into the cool of the hills. Tim and Snifter went everywhere together and as the jeep ground up the steep dirt road, Snifter leaned into Tim. Up and up we went, past the thundering waterfalls of Rona that made our electricity and on to Sogeri, a pretty village surrounded by rubber plantations. We found a spot by a stream and Dad set up an umbrella and our folding card table. He’d chopped eighteen inches off the legs to make it more useful for sitting on the ground and copped an earful from Mama.
    â€˜How are we supposed to play canasta with the Davies at that ?’
    Dad scratched his head. ‘I dunno. Maybe we can sit on the floor.’
    â€˜What? Four of us squatting on our haunches? What are we supposed to do with our legs?’
    Dad mulled it over. ‘I could cut holes in the floor. Our legs could dangle in the breeze. Nice and cool.’
    But it was good for the picnic and after a swim we munched on Mama’s sandwiches, lemonade and a chocolate cake she baked specially.
    â€˜Make a wish,’ she said, handing me the knife.
    I dragged it through the creamy filling. Make me normal, God. Make me like everyone else .

    One day we came home from school and Snifter wasn’t there. Mama said she hadn’t seen him all day so she went and asked Willie.
    He shrugged. ‘No dog. All day, no dog.’
    Tim went up and down the road calling but when Snifter