Katrina Hunt has a disturbing secret. Since her earliest days fighting for survival in the poverty of a trailer park, she’s been able to sense moral corruption. And her gift is never wrong. This strange ability affects every relationship, for people have no way to hide from her. Katrina harnesses her gift and sets it to work, sniffing out evil in positions of privilege and power. Yet she soon finds she is not the only one who can do it.
One
Looking back, Katrina was aware of her gift well before her birth, in the embryonic semi-consciousness of her mother’s womb. It wasn’t supposed to be possible to remember that far back. Everyone said so. Memories, real memories, were only meant to start at three or four.
Even as a teenager, Katrina could clearly recall those dark, warm months. The liquid months. The before months.
She could remember a sense of the being around her, the person to whom she was so intimately connected, from whom sustenance was piped into her belly. Her impression – not a clear thought in language, just a sense – was of someone full of tenderness and love. And, occasionally, great fear.
Her second encounter reading the essence of a person – this she also would remember into adolescence – was with the physician who delivered her. Dr Fin Kaestner pulled Katrina out into the world in the usual ritual, unceremoniously and with a distanced impatience, within a building barely big enough to prop up the word ‘clinic’, in a town some miles out of Dallas.
Katrina’s impression of this person, this doctor, was distinctly disagreeable. For starters, his hands were cold on her flesh. But it wasn’t just that. Experiencing him was somehow like the sensation of biting into soft fruit, just to grind your teeth on the pip when you were completely off your guard. That’s how she would remember it in later life.
As Katrina was pulled head first into the world, suspended upside down and spanked to force an intake of air, she was completely off her guard. She had developed no defences. Whatever part of her was able to detect the goodness – or the badness – in others had not yet formed any powers of discretion. She could not yet switch it on or off at will. It was raw and exposed, like a sensitive nerve.
Bad people made it hurt.
Dr Fin Kaestner made it hurt.
‘You show us yours and we’ll show you ours. Hey, Kat, get down here. You gotta listen to the rules!’
A small female hand pulled Katrina by the shirt, from where she was scanning for grown-ups, down to where the three other kids squatted, hashing out how this thing would work.
There were two boys and two girls. Just the right number for it.
The biggest boy, who was six years old, said, ‘Okay, now you two gotta go first.’ He had broad shoulders for his age, dirty fingernails, and he forgot to close his mouth when parked in idle.
Katrina’s girlfriend, whom the adults called Tinker but the kids had shortened to Tinks, said, ‘Why us? Just ’cause we girls! Boys are s’posed to be brave.’
This fine argument caused a moment of awkward silence.
Tinks added, ‘You show us yours first.’
Five years after their daughter’s birth, Katrina’s mother and father now occupied their third home, in a third state. This one was off the I-25 in Bernalillo County, New Mexico.
On the outer fence, a wooden board emblazoned with a painted rose over a sunburst announced in once-bright letters that this was ‘Stubbie’s Trailer Park’.
Stubbie’s was really a cluster of semi-permanent motorhomes, skulking just too close together for any real privacy, even though the grounds were large. Katrina’s parents were still considering whether or not to marry, so that her mom’s surname would become the same as her dad’s: Hunt. At present, it was Mindelow.
To the motley gang of children who flocked together in Stubbie’s park, barefoot and happily unaware of their poverty, the camp was divided into Inside and Outside, and they played their games and carried out their intrigues accordingly. Any games involving a ball, or stones or making small bombs from Coke bottles, had to be played Outside, away from the homes. Riding bikes, chasing each other or just goofing off – the stuff adults could see – could be done Inside.
The terms were deceptive. Inside merely implied under the tight cluster of ash-grey trees that formed a canopy over the thirty or so homes. Inside was never really that good, because the adults parked their old cars and pick-up trucks just about everywhere, and if you ran around barefoot, there were a lot of stones.
On a hot July evening, Katrina Hunt was not just Outside, but all the way over at The Boundary: the mythical and scary far side of Outside.
She was not strictly allowed to be there. The worry that her parents might hit her or shout at her if they found out weighed at the back of her mind, just beneath the bouncing red pigtails that made her so easy to pick out in a crowd.
Katrina’s parents had never hit her. Nor did they regularly shout at her the way some of the other kids’ parents did. One of the boys’ moms regularly chased him with a stick if he broke a window or bullied his brother. Mostly, Katrina’s parents shouted at each other while she hovered like a ghost in the background.
If Katrina had been a little more sophisticated than her five summers allowed, she might have realised that it was not the idea of a scolding that bothered her. It was the sense she got from them when they were agitated. The colours and flavours and the great fear that her mom, in particular, gave off. The fear clouds felt yucky.
“Katrina was still unaware that other people could not sense each other. She could clearly feel that inside thing that pulsed in each of them that summer evening.”
‘You said we should do it!’ the younger boy said. He was five years old, smaller than his friend, and his voice was screechy. His hair was combed into an iron side-parting and gelled down: a parent’s attempt to disguise poverty with careful grooming.
Katrina was still unaware that other people could not sense each other. She could clearly feel that inside thing that pulsed in each of them that summer evening, out of sight of the trailer park and behind an abandoned 1960s police car whose floor was almost rusted out. Even though Outside was mostly wind-blown sand at this scorching time of year, at The Boundary the patchy grass grew so thick beneath the car’s rusted frame that no one could see under it. That made it perfect for hiding behind.
Katrina’s friend Tinker had brought a threadbare blanket. They all knelt on it, negotiating in urgent, whispered tones. The boys seemed hesitant. This had been Tinker’s idea. For a long time she’d been whispering in Katrina’s ear about going to the far side of Outside with some of the boys, behind the old police car, and letting them look. Looking at theirs.
‘Fine!’ the feisty little girl replied. ‘I’ll go first.’
Katrina could feel two things from her friend with the freckly nose, the fine-boned, petite features and the auburn hair. The first was anger, but it was not serious anger. Perhaps it was closer to irritation, or maybe impatience. But the second was something she did not know very well. It was sort of purpley blue, and it was pulsing, like a heartbeat.
Katrina closed her eyes for a second, trying to concentrate on what that strange thing was that her friend Tinker was experiencing. Sometimes, closing her eyes helped. Seeing people and feeling their … their feelings were two different things. What people said and did, and what they actually were, were sometimes not the same, and she already trusted the feeling more.
She sampled the throbbing blue in her friend. It was faint, as though not yet fully developed, but it was definitely there. It was actually quite beautiful in a newflowery, excited girl sort of way. The closest Katrina could come to describing it was girl need.
The boys had it too. The feelings inside each person didn’t really get mixed up or blur with others’ feelings, even if they were sitting close together. She could clearly discern each of them from the other. And to her surprise, she didn’t like what she was getting from the boys. There was the need too, boy need, but somehow it wasn’t as okay as Tinks’s girl need was. Theirs had red in it, and it was a bit threatening. There was something about it that was similar to what she felt in bullies who shoved.
She squinted as she concentrated on them. They were all about … what? Taking? Pushing down? A word like ‘domineering’ was not in Katrina’s vocabulary.
And there was more. Katrina tilted her head, dug a little deeper, concentrated on the inside of them, their clouds, their colours …
They didn’t like the girls. That much was very clear.
Suddenly, Katrina didn’t feel like going ahead with this anymore.
‘What’s your friend doin’?’ the older boy said to Tinks. Then turning to Katrina, he said, ‘Why you closin’ your eyes like that?’
‘I’m … I was just …’
‘She’s just a scaredy!’ said the younger one, although his body language and his inner colour showed that he was the nervous one. People did that a lot. Tried to say that another person was feeling exactly what they were feeling. Katrina wondered why they did that.
The boy popped up from his haunches, stole a glance over the police car, then bobbed down again, looking for a moment like a guilty-faced Jack-in-the-box.
‘Well, not all girls are scaredies!’ Tinks gave a snotty flick of her auburn hair. ‘I’ll just go first!’
She nudged her friend. ‘Kat! When I go first, go with me!’
Katrina nodded slightly and did as she was told. Both girls began undressing. She glanced at the boys as she did so, and it was as though they had somehow switched off. They sat dead still, jaws hanging, staring. Katrina felt the redness in them grow.
The scene was oddly quiet, oddly awkward, and for many years to come, Katrina would remember the strange moment when she undressed with her friend while two boys watched beside a rusted police car, at the far side of Outside on a sweltering New Mexico evening. The only sound was the soft sloughing of a lazy wind over brush grass.
Getting undressed was no elaborate affair. There was not much to remove.
Tinker wore a T-shirt and dirty blue corduroy pants with an elastic waistband, while Katrina wore short blue denim pants and a shirt. Even in the trailer park there were levels of poverty. And it showed when the girls were free of their play clothes and down to their panties.
Katrina was the wealthier of the two. Her yellow ones with the floral pattern had no holes or tears. The little girl with the auburn hair was not so fortunate, and the boys laughed when they saw hers: plain, drab, tired and undecorated, a number of small tears and holes at the edges.
Almost instantly, Tinks’s purple throb turned to a citrus-sharp embarrassment. Both girls were standing in nothing but their panties, but Katrina’s friend had goose flesh all down her legs, despite the heat of the setting sun.
To help her friend, Katrina said to the boys, ‘So what! She’s braver than you! You haven’t even gone yet.’
Tinks found her voice. The momentary embarrassment was replaced with defiance. ‘Yeah, now you guys gotta go! We done it!’
‘You gotta go panties off first,’ the older boy said, pointing.
“Katrina was excited too, but a little nervous about that something hostile that was still evident and, in fact, still growing in the boys; that foreign something that wanted to take.”
‘Nuh-uh!’ Tinks replied. ‘First you gotta take off down to your … to your jocks. Then we’ll all take underwear off together. Same time.’
The boys looked at each other, upset by the inarguable fairness of this proposal. In the silence that followed, a truck could be heard down-shifting way out on the highway. The bleak white sands and grey trees were made momentarily beautiful by the golden light. In the distance they could hear the radios and barking dogs of the trailer park, faintly and in fragments.
‘Fine,’ the older boy said. Katrina stood with her arms needlessly crossed over her flat chest. Tinks didn’t bother. Her hands hung down beside her worn panties. She played absent-mindedly with a loose thread.
Katrina watched as the two boys self-consciously removed items of clothing from their bodies. They stood close together, as she did with Tinks, as though they were two separate camps – boys versus girls – as though it were easier if your whole team was doing it too.
Soon enough, all four stood in awkward silence. The younger boy had rocket-ships on his underpants. The older boy wore a pair of swimming shorts, all the underwear he owned.
‘Okay, now everything,’ said the older boy. ‘But girls go first. Not together.’
‘Why?’ Tinks asked.
‘’Cause, just go!’ he said in exasperation, actually stomping a bare foot on the blanket. ‘If you do it, then we’ll do it.’
Tinks and Katrina looked at each other again, unspoken questions crackling between them like static electricity. Katrina could tell that the throbbing blue was back up in her friend. She really wanted to do this. Strange. Katrina was excited too, but a little nervous about that something hostile that was still evident and, in fact, still growing in the boys; that foreign something that wanted to take.
‘C’mon, Kat! Let’s pull ours down together,’ Tinker said.
‘Okay.’
‘When I say three we do it, okay? Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay. One … two … three!’
There was less duplicity among the girls than the boys. Tinks and Katrina intended to go together, and neither reneged on three. However, despite the suddenness implied by the countdown, the two girls both moved slowly, gingerly, each looking to be sure that the other actually did it. But by slow inches, they did lower their panties down to the ground, and stood in the puddled fabric.
The boys stared hard, until the two girls could no longer hide their embarrassment and both placed their hands protectively over themselves.
‘You mustn’t block. How we s’posed to see?’
‘Well, it’s you now!’ Tinks demanded. ‘Go! Then we won’t block.’
The countdown had set a precedent. The older of the two boys headed up this ritual for his team: ‘One … two … three!’
Katrina watched as their underwear slid down and their little acorns popped out. They looked funny. The older boy had stepped out of his swim shorts. The younger one still stood with his rocket-ship underpants around his ankles, as though eager to hoist them up again.
Tinks was also staring. She surprised Katrina by announcing, ‘Now touching.’
‘What?’ Katrina said. Tinks didn’t bother to answer. Still looking at the boys, she said, ‘You can touch ours, and we touch yours. Let’s sit.’
Although she was nervous, Katrina may have gone through with this revised plan. Except that the feeling she got from the boys was getting worse. Their red was growing somehow … stronger. Maybe even uglier. She got the distinct feeling these boys wanted to … she didn’t quite know what. Rob something? Take? Eat? It was like the feeling she got from one of the kids when they bragged about how they were going to steal, and yet it was also different somehow. More basic.
‘I don’t want to,’ Katrina said.
‘Kat! You gotta! Come ON!’ Tinks spoke through clenched teeth.
‘What if someone comes looking?’
‘They won’t. No one comes here. Come on, Kat.’
The boys had sat themselves down on the blanket, cross-legged. The younger boy was flicking idly at himself without realising it.
‘You go,’ Katrina said. ‘I’ll stay, but I don’t want to do touching.’
In the background, the smaller boy whispered to the bigger one, ‘My mom says a girl’s thing is poison for boys.’
‘No, it’s not!’ the older one countered. ‘Your mom’s just telling you so you won’t do stuff like this.’
After a long, trying stare, Tinks’s body language changed from pleading to a swanky dismissal that seemed to say ‘I’ll show you!’
She turned from Katrina and sat down right in front of the boys, who continued to stare at her body, full of the greedy boy hunger. Katrina slowly took her place down on the blanket beside them.
The touching that day was minimal, tentative and superficial, and involved only the boys and Tinks. And though Katrina watched everything, the throbbing red in the boys never gave rise to the bloodthirsty riot or whatever frenzy it was she had feared. Perhaps that particular type of red in boys didn’t do that. She didn’t know. But whatever it did do, it felt kind of scary. Either way, Katrina was glad when it was finally over and they all pulled up their underwear.
Evening progressed and the sky darkened. They heard one of the boys’ moms shouting for them from the trailer park, and all four swore never, ever to tell, even as they struggled into their clothes. The oldest boy said that he and his friend should go first, and then the girls should go later, so that they weren’t all seen coming out together.
‘Psst. You wanna come play at my place?’ Katrina asked Tinks.
‘No,’ the freckle-faced girl responded. ‘I’m not doing anything with you. You didn’t go with!’
Despite her defiant tone, Katrina picked up something else in the girl. Under the anger, she could read a mixture of fear and loneliness: I got dirty; why didn’t you?
Extracted from CharacterScan by Douglas Kruger, out now.
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