Free Cloudstreet by Tim Winton

you barracked for God or nothing at all, life was all there was. And death. Oriel began to snore. Lester gave up waiting and went off himself.
    Having both watched parents hurried to the grave by medicine, Oriel and Lester weren’t chuffed about doctors. Neither had stepped inside hospital or surgery since childhood. The children were born wherever they were. Hat and Elaine in the kitchen at Margaret. Quick in the lockup of the police station, Red in the saddle room, and Lon was born at the side of the road in the shadow of the broken-axled Chev. Hard work and plenty of food, that kept the quacks away. And a bit of care, Oriel would say. She could fix most ills with a bit of this and that. She conceded that doctors were like governments: it was possible that they served some use though it didn’t pay to put them to the test.
    But the ache of their doubt about Fish got hold of them and besides, it looked like victory in Europe and they were feeling optimistic, so they found themselves in a surgery across the tracks that week telling a quack their story.
    He was a waistcoat and watch chain type and he spoke like the pommy officers Lester remembered from his days in the Light Horse. He put a light down Fish’s throat and then in his ears. It got old Fish giggling. The doc looked puzzled and amused. Oriel munched her lip. Lester kept his hands on the boy. Fish stood there with his shirt open and his eyes flicking all about.
    What’s your name, boy? the quack asked.
    Fish Lamb, said Oriel. Samson.
    Fish, said Fish.
    Mrs Lamb. I’ll ask and he’ll answer.
    Very well.
    Why do they call you Fish?
    It’s the name, said Fish.
    Hm. How old are you, Fish?
    Nine.
    Ten next month, said Oriel.
    Mrs Lamb .
    Can you count to nine?
    Nine, said Fish.
    Yes.
    I’m big.
    Indeed, said the quack. Fish, where do you live?
    In the family. With Quick. Lestah.
    Who is this? the quack asked, pointing to Lester.
    Fish grinned. Lestah! My da.
    And who is this, Fish?
    The bright look stayed on Fish’s face, but it became a look of suspension.
    Who is this lady?
    Oriel set her teeth in a smile, her jaw tight enough to break.
    Fish?
    Lester, he doesn’t see me.
    Who is she, Fish?
    Please, Doctor, this—
    Fish looked past her into the wallpaper, his features bright and distracted.
    The water, said Fish.
    On the wallpaper there were waves and jumping mullet and sails.
    Queer, said the quack.
    Oriel got a hanky out for the eyes.
    How long was he under the water, you say?
    Lester shrugged. A few minutes. He was caught up in the net and my lamp went out—
    Yes, yes. And you revived him Mrs Lamb?
    Oriel looked at Fish but couldn’t get his gaze. Yes. And I prayed.
    The water, said Fish.
    And you didn’t take him to a doctor, or a hospital?
    We thought he was better, said Lester. A miracle, you know.
    Hmm. Like Lazarus, eh, the quack muttered; Jesus wept.
    But he’s retarded, said Oriel, it’s like he’s three. We had to potty train him again, start from scratch.
    You mean he’s improved?
    A bit, yes.
    A boy would have more than this regression after an experience like that, said the quack. He shows no spastic tendencies at all.
    He blacks out.
    No speech impediment. He seems alert, aware, sane. This is not what happens. Now I—
    Are you saying we’re liars? Oriel growled. Do you think we’d come here not telling the truth?
    Mrs Lamb—
    Because I am a woman whose word has been respected as long—
    Oriel! Lester’s voice was shaky with momentary authority.
    This boy seems traumatized. There’s nothing physically wrong with him. Are you sure he hasn’t been through a great shock of some kind that would explain his obvious … retreat?
    He’s been alive and he’s been dead, said Lester. One of those was bound to be a shock.
    Perhaps he was under a few seconds, enough to give him—
    Minutes, said Oriel. No heartbeat. Another minute, two even, before I got him back.
    You could think about a psychiatrist.
    Lester swallowed. If his … his brain