The Minnow by Diana Sweeney

they want with him.
    If you’re wondering why I named the sinker the ‘fiske’ and not the ‘rumbly’, it’s because I’m saving the name Rumbly for when I get a pet. When I was little I really wanted a cat, but Dad forbade it. He said they were vicious killing machines. We used to have a feral cat problem at The Crossing before Dad sorted it. Dad was always awake at night, so killing cats gave him something to do. Nana referred to it as T-triple-C (The Crossing’s Cat Culling). She said our town was indebted to Dad’s insomnia.
    Mrs Blanket doesn’t keep puppies or kittens and she only sells male rabbits and guinea pigs to prevent uncontrolled breeding. ‘You can’t trust most folks with pets,’ she says. ‘They’re either too lazy or too broke to have their pets neutered, or they let them go feral when they’re bored with them and we end up in all kinds of trouble.’ She stopped selling carp when she heard about people letting them go in creeks and she absolutely refuses to sell pets in December because she disagrees with pets as Christmas presents.
    I think Rumbly would make a great name for a turtle.
    When I woke up, Mum was smiling at me. She looked just exactly the same.
    â€˜Mum,’ I said, but no words came out. She reached over and touched my cheek with the back of her hand. It felt wonderfully familiar.
    â€˜Don’t speak, pet,’ she said, ‘the doctor will be in to check on you soon.’
    I tried to swallow but it hurt. I tried to feel for the Minnow but my body seemed wooden and distant. It was hard to keep my eyes open, so I let them close.
    â€˜She opened her eyes,’ I heard Mum say.
    â€˜Good, very good,’ I heard someone reply.
    â€˜It’s a good sign, then?’ Mum asked.
    â€˜Better than good,’ the same person answered.
    I could hear small beeping sounds. Someone lifted my arm and held my wrist. The same someone was taking my pulse. I wondered if I was back at the Mater Women’s Hospital in West Wrestler. I tried to open my eyes to check, but my eye lids were too heavy. ‘Mum,’ I said again.
    â€˜I think she’s trying to speak,’ Mum said in her worried voice.
    â€˜That’s what it looks like,’ the wrist holder answered, ‘but it’s probably just a gagging reflex caused by the tube in her throat.’
    â€˜But what if she’s trying to speak?’
    â€˜The tube will make it impossible.’
    Mum brushed my cheek with her hand again, slowly this time.
    â€˜Try not to speak, puppy. The doctor won’t be long.’
    Nothing’s biting. The inlet is conveniently close to Jonah’s house, I just wish it was a more reliable fishing spot. I had planned to catch dinner, but it looks like we’ll be eating something out of a can.
    â€˜Watch out!’ shouts the Minnow. I turn towards Bill.
    â€˜What?’ he says, looking at me accusingly.
    â€˜Nothing,’ I reply.
    â€˜Watch out for what?’ I whisper to the Minnow.
    â€˜Over Bill’s shoulder,’ she answers.
    I turn to look. There is nothing there. She’s scaring me.
    â€˜Something’s about to happen,’ she says. ‘Trust me.’
    Once, when I was four, I lived outside with Dad for almost a month. I loved it. I slept in the hammock, ate strange things that he cooked on the fire, spent each day with him doing whatever it was he was doing. One morning, at Bunter and Davis, while Dad was hunting for roofing iron, I found a box of wooden pegs. They were large and old and someone had made them into toy people. Each peg had clothes and a painted face, and hair made out of yellow knitting wool. The three pegs wearing trousers had yellow wool moustaches and the four pegs wearing dresses had rosy red cheeks and big red lips. I decided all seven were girls.
    When I showed my discovery to Paul Bunter he said I could keep them on one condition; that I moved