Max Read Online Free PDF Page B

grabbed Max’s attention were the Vietnamese groceries with their boxes filled to the brim. Moist vegetables, yellow marrows, lime green bok choy, Chinese broccoli with pale yellow starlit flowers, thousands of baby red chillies. Nodules of ginger, garlic tinged with purple, styrofoam boxes of dark brown nuts, chunks of Chinese cabbage, dark green zucchinis and lemon grass lying in shallow wicker baskets. The smell of the spices and packets of dried mushrooms blended with the salty tang of dried fish.
    Every week morning, Max would pass by the Tan Dai grocery and glance at its small bronzed Buddha sitting in the gloom at the back of the shop, fat sticks of incense sailing their aroma onto the street.
    A woman shopkeeper hosed off the footpath. Max stepped onto the road, dodging the spray. Horns of the morning traffic warned him off, reminding Max of the other night, of Fatman’s blood and spittle, the sour stink of Fatman’s body, the fall into darkness, the screeching train staring him down, its lights rushing up the line, searching for those words.
    Those words still simmering in his brain.
    â€˜The words... those words on the wall... they belonged in my brain. They were meant to remain in my mind. Silent. All wrapped up. Mine. ‘I thought you were my friend’... Yeah mate, I thought you were. But you didn’t hang around, did you? Some friend! But you were, weren’t you? My friend? It’s just you didn’t talk much. Some of the kids even thought you were mute. You know that, mate? Deaf and dumb. Dumb – no talk! Dumb – stupid! You weren’t either of them mate, I know that. You were just locked up in yourself. God! Imagine what was locked away in your brain. Should go to the cemetery and ask for your head. Maybe get some answers. Two heads are better than one, eh.’
    Max laughed out loud and startled a man with a vinyl shopping bag standing in front of a Chinese restaurant, its steaming windows hung with red glazed ducks.
    â€˜I’ll tell you another thing, Lou. It was bloody scary the other night. Bloody scary. But I wished I could have seen Fatman’s face when I jumped off the bridge. His face looked like a balloon already but his eyes must’ve been out on stalks when I went over the rail.’
    Max broke into a run. And laughed all the way to school.
    The school’s main attraction was that it lay next to the Maramingo River, the same river that was at the end of Max’s street. He had often dreamt of paddling to school for the sheer joy of it but other kids would have thought he had tickets on himself. Besides, The Falls were halfway between his house and the school. They were nothing like Niagara but still, going over the two metre drop in a lightweight kayak wasn’t something you’d normally choose to do.
    This was his first day back at school since Lou’s death. He was not sure how he felt and he had no idea how he should act. Should he be cool? Maybe silent? Angry? Where was the guidebook for these situations? Had he ever been told things like this might happen?
    One day your mate was here and the next day he’s vanished. Gone to who knows where. But in the past week there had been many times when Max felt as though Lou was at his elbow, mooching along, saying nothing, smiling every now and then at Max’s comments. Memories of secret exploits.
    God, what times they’d had. Climbing onto the tops of carrier trucks. Hanging on for about eight blocks while they sprayed their tags before they jumped down and ran off into the night. What a time! But now, as he approached the gates of the school, Max began to worry about the geeks at school.
    The kids who hated Lou would say nothing – unless they were complete arseholes. Then there’d be the professional soapie stars who could barely remember what he looked like, probably didn’t even know his name. They’d be looking forlorn and rushing off to the girls’