MOONRAKER
by Craig Wallwork
By the age of seven, I could bring back the dead.
That year, my mother and father bought me a fish tank and a goldfish I named Murphy.
I bought a small bridge for decoration, and a little diver. The fish tank was small, and Murphy had little room to swim. So, I took the bridge and diver out of the tank and this seemed to please Murphy. One afternoon I was sat in my bedroom. It was cold and I had a portable calor gas heater keeping me warm. My father told me to keep the windows open so the fumes did not get on my chest. But I figured that was a stupid idea because then it would get cold again and I would be no better off with the heater or without, so I kept it closed.
I fed Murphy fish flakes, and set about drawing little cartoons of my friends in a notepad I kept by my bed. A few moments later, a stone hit my window and I looked down and noticed my friend, Philip, from across the entry. He had a football in his hand and pointed to it, and then pointed to me. I nodded and then he pointed to the opposite end of the entry where two gable ends stood facing each other, the road between a makeshift pitch, their walls our goalposts.
I played football with Philip because he was a very good football player and I could learn a lot from him. Least that is what I thought. The reality is I learnt nothing except how bad a football player I was. After he beat me 15 – 0, I went back upstairs to bedroom and sat on my bed and began drawing cartoons of Philip with a big fat tummy (he did not have a big fat tummy. He was in fact slim and I once heard my mother refer to him as handsome, but it helped cushion the blow of losing to draw him this way. I added a big nose too). When I finished, I checked on Murphy. He was no longer swimming around in little circles. He was not swimming at all. Instead, he was floating on the surface of the water. I poked him a couple of times, thinking he may just be sleeping. I did not know how fish sleep. I had never seen a fish sleep before, which I assumed they did when I was asleep because whenever I looked at Murphy he always had his eyes open and his mouth moving in big “o” shapes. Because my poking provoked no reaction, I picked him up and held him in my palm. I thought sure if he were asleep, the sudden fact he was not surrounded by water would make him gasp and flip in my palm. But he did nothing but lay there.
I had seen films and television programmes where people had put their mouths to those who lay still like Murphy, breathed in their mouth, and made them move again. I looked at Murphy’s mouth and did not enjoy the thought of kissing a fish. In those same movies and television programmes the people who kissed the person lay still would also sit on their belly, press their chests, and count up to five. I pressed my finger against Murphy’s side to see if it helped. Save for his mouth opening every time I pressed his side, he remained the same. I popped him back in the water and forced him under, and he popped back up again. I took him out and placed him back in my palm.
I had never had a friend die on me before and I really did not like the feelings it gave me. I stroked his fins and head and told Murphy I was sorry. I did not know why I was sorry because I was sure I had not killed him, but it felt like the right thing to say to a dead friend. I then placed him back in his tank and went downstairs to eat my dinner. It was a fine dinner. Fish fingers and mash potatoes with lumps in. I had plenty of tomato sauce and for desert we had, Angel Delight. Then I went to the front room where I sat with my dad and watched The Two Ronnies, and both dad and I laughed loud when the Phantom Raspberry Blower did his little sketch. I was then asked to go to the local shop and pick up two Flakes, a Bounty and Walnut Whip from Tom’s the local convenience shop. Tom was an old man with a big purple nose who one was robbed because his eyesight is very poor. The robbers sprayed a fire extinguisher in his face and when the police found him, white power covered his glasses and his big purple nose. He was nice to me and sometimes would give me mojos for free, so I really hated those robbers for a while.
When I got back I ate my flake while watching a little of Dave Allen. Then I was sent to my room because his stuff is what my dad calls, “blue”. I had all but forgot about Murphy and him being the only friend I had die on me, and when I sat on my bed and noticed him swimming around in little circles it did not occur to me he had died at all. It was the next day when I awoke and went to feed him that I remembered, and with a start, I ran to my mother and father’s bedroom and told them I had brought back to life my friend Murphy. My father cared little for my excitement and indicated this by farting loudly. My mother said she was pleased but I felt she did not fully grasp the consequence of my revelation. I could now, in theory, bring anyone back the dead. This in turn made them immortal. The thanks I got were a quick kiss on the cheek from my mother and another fart from my father.
I killed three times that day. First was a pigeon in my back yard. It had been feeding from our dustbin and cooing for twenty minutes before sustaining a fatal head injury by a well-aimed stone. The stone had taken off half of its head and popped its eye completely out of its skull. I felt sorry for the poor thing at first but I knew everything would be fine in an hour or two once I had touched it like I touched Murphy. While I waited for the pigeon to heal itself, I looked around the entry to see what else I could bring back to life. There was little to see other than dog shit and a few ripped up pages from magazines like those my father kept under his bed. I left the entry and went to the croft at the end of the street. Nothing there too. I decided to take things into my own hands and threw a half brick at a passing cat. It did not die at first. I had to drop the remaining brick on its head a couple of times before its tongue lopped out of its mouth and its belly stopped moving. I knelt down, touched its head, and stroked it. After five minutes of touching every part of it other than the areas you are not allowed to touch animals or people, I felt happy enough to move on.
My last victim was a friend of mine called, Joey Morgan. We all called him Moonraker because once he drank a quart of his father’s whisky and thought the moon had fallen in the river Irwell so decided to retrieve it with a garden rake. He was not a bright lad at the best of times. In truth, he was in the lowest sets in school and his parents were known in the local area as drunken gypos. But Moonraker was a nice lad and once he found a five-pound note on the floor and took me to Tom’s to buy Curly Whirleys and Panini Football stickers.
I told Moonraker about my special gift and he said I was full of shit. I told him I could prove it and I took him to my yard to where the pigeon lay. Only, when we arrived, the pigeon had gone.
“There ya go,” I said proudly, pointing at the bloodstain next to the bin, which had been where the pigeon lay.
“Don’t prove shit. The blood could be just from ya ma’s old tammies.”
I did not know what he meant by that so I just told him there was a pigeon there.
Moonraker wanted further proof. I took him to the croft next and looked for the cat with the broken skull. There it was. He looked at for a while stroking his chin.
“Thought ya said you cud bring it back to life?”
“I can. But ya have ta wait a little.”
He did not seem convinced. Moonraker picked up a stick and began poking it.
“You kill it?”
“Yep.”
“It’s head’s all fooked up.”
“Hit it with a brick.”
“Cool.”
Silence.
“So how long do we hav’ta wait?”
I shrugged.
“Fancy a game of pitch of toss while we wait?”
“Okay. But I got to go home and git me a few coins.”
“Fine,” said Moonraker.
We got into a game close to my home, and after I lost 50 pence to Moonraker, another friend called Williams came over and played Moonraker and that game then led to another and another and before we knew it it was teatime and we all had to go in. I arranged to meet Moonraker after to tea to go look at the cat again.
I met Moonraker at the end of the street at six. Moonraker walked in front of me, which I think had more to do with him not wanting me to see his face rather than him being excited to realise my gift. When Moonraker walked in front it usually meant his parents had been arguing and Moonraker had been crying.
I did not like to look to make sure because I would not like my friends to see me crying. We were boys and boys don’t cry.
When we arrived at the place the cat lay with its crushed skull, Moonraker stopped and looked at me. I did not look at him but instead at the floor where the cat should be.
“It’s gone,” Moonraker said surprised.
“Told ya so.”
“Maybe someone moved it?”
“Bollocks. I got the gift! You saw!”
Moonraker shrugged.
“Fine. Don’t believe me,” I said.
I began to walk away when Moonraker called me back. I stopped and he walked up to me. I saw his eyes then, and they were red. His cheek was bruised too and his shirt collar had been ripped. I did not say anything.
“Ya sure ya got the gift?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He sat down on a nearby breezeblock and began picking at his shoes. I sat near him, picked up a few little stones, and began throwing them at a tin can.
“So what ya gonna do?” he asked.
“What ya mean?”
“With ya gift? What ya gonna do?”
“Don’t know. Help out in war, I guss. Could bring all our soldiers back to life that get killed. You know? Yeah, they could get up and keep fighting and the other side would be dead fooked. Or I could bring back some really old dead people, you know? Like those in the graveyard. Hav’em walk around like zombies and folk would just piss’em selves with the fear, and…”
“Revenge?”
I stopped and looked over to Moonraker. He was still picking at his shoes and when I did not answer straight away, he looked at me. His face was serious, his eyes glazed over.
“Whot ya mean, revenge?”, I asked.
I did not really need it explaining. For as long as I knew him, Moonraker never got on with his parents. Not a week would go by without him getting a beating. Once his father held Moonraker’s arm over the stove and burnt it really bad and Moonraker got a week off school. Part of me envied him for having the week off but part of me really felt lucky to have a father that liked to watched the Two Ronnies and fart in bed and wasn’t into burning his children. I know Moonraker talked to other kids we knew about running away from home. Moonraker said his parents would not give a shit if he were gone or not, nor would they give a shit if he were alive or dead. Guess now he wanted to prove if this was true or not.
He was not overly keen on having his head split open like the cat and pigeon, so we prearranged his death so that little physical damage would be incurred. Too, Moonraker insisted his death should be seen by as many people would as possible. We figured hanging ticked all these boxes.
At the mouth to Buile Hill Park stood an old children’s slide. A steep ladder led to a wooden cage, which would allow you access to the top of the slide. It was common to hear bullies threatening the weaker kids with threats of hanging them by their school ties to the wooden cage until all life drained from them. Therefore, the slide was aptly named the Hangman’s Slide, used to frighten the young kids, and suitably the stage from which Moonraker would act out his final revenge.
He did not appear nervous in the slightest at being hanged. If fact, as I tied one end of his school tie around the wooden struts, Moonraker was whistling a merry tune.
“Make sure me Dad gets a good ganders before they cut me down, wontcha?”
I nodded, and carried on securing the knot.
“And if ya can, make sure Tracy Ingam knows about it too. She’s dead fit.” I nodded again.
I finished the knot and made sure Moonraker had tied a half Windsor at his neck. I then looked around for anyone who might be walking their dog.
“Coasts clear,” I said.
Moonraker inched himself off the ladder and onto the side of the cage. All he had to now was let go.
“So make sure me Dad and Ma get a good look at me, won’t ya?”
“I will.”
“And shud I kak me keks, don’t tell any of me mates, yeah?”
“I won’t.”
“Do ya think this thing will hold?” he asked looking at this tie.
“Should do.”
“Don’t wanna fall and break me neck.”
“Wunt blame ya.”
“Oh yeah…”
Moonraker reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
“It’s me suicide note. Pass it on to me parents. Don’t read it though.”
I grabbed it and placed it in my pocket.
“I won’t.”
“Right… well…this is it then.”
“Yeah… good luck.”
“Fuck luck. I got you.”
He then jumped off.
I heard a snap run through the wood, and at first I thought it might split and Moonraker would fall and break and his neck. But it held. Even when Moonraker twisted and kicked out his legs, the wood holding the tie remained firm. I felt proud that I had tied a knot so well, firstly doubled and the trebled. After Moonraker stopped kicking, I went down from the ladder and looked up at him. I could not see any marks on the saddle of his pants to say that he had shit them, nor any piss near his crotch. He looked scary hanging up there. His eyes were open and bulging out of their sockets and his skin had turned an awful purple colour like those of overly ripe plums. I then went back up the ladder, reached out, and touched his head and his shoulders.
I touched his hands and his back. I said the word, “Live” repeatedly in my head. Then I got down and ran back home. I told my Ma and dad how I had seen my friend Joey Morgan hanging by his neck in the park. They said I should not lie about things like that, and then I pretended to cry. They both looked at each other, and then my dad put on his boots and walked me back to the park.
My dad was the person who cut Moonraker down. I know because my Ma told me. I was not allowed to see what was going on because as soon as he saw Moonraker hanging from the slide he yelled at me to go home and tell me Ma to phone an ambulance. I thought it was a waste of time because in an hour or so Moonraker would be up and about, but I had to play along for the sake of Moonraker. After Ma phoned the ambulance, she got her coat on and told me to take her to Joey’s house. I stood outside the Morgan house alone, but I could hear Moonraker’s parents shouting a lot, and Mrs Morgan crying. When I saw her run out of the house toward the park, her eyes streaming with tears and her grieving audible in whispered words of misery, I sat back and smiled. When his father came out, white as a sheet, followed by my mother, my stomach got all tingly. Moonraker had done it. He had made his parents understand the misery they subjected him to.
By the time the ambulance turned up, a small crowd had gathered. I felt bad for Moonraker because my dad had cut him down by then so no one could see him. I do not even think his Ma had seen him hanging, and I know his father didn’t because my Ma and me were only about a minute behind him when we arrived back in the park. Guess I had failed Moonraker on that score.
Nevertheless, both his parents cried, wailed and grieved over their dead son. It was funny to know the truth and even funnier knowing Moonraker would get the last laugh. I fully expected him to get up there and then while his mother held him to her chest and cried tears all over his head. But he didn’t. Even when the paramedics arrived and tried to resuscitate him, Moonraker waited. I could not see fully their failed attempts at bringing Moonraker back to life because I was taken away to a safe distance where I could not be scarred by the site of seeing a friend die.
When the police arrived it all got a little scary. A tall officer asked me questions about Moonraker; like at what time I found him hanging from the slide; had his mood changed recently; had he ever spoke about doing something like this before. When he left, my mother cried and held me for a very long time. That night we ate fish finger butties, my favourite, and my father let me stay up late and watch Dave Allen. It was great.
The next day I had arranged to meet Moonraker back at the slide before school. But my parents would not let me out. They said I did not need to attend school that day because of what happened to my friend. They said it would best for me to stay in though, read comics, and draw cartoons. I knew if I were not there to meet him, Moonraker would turn up to my house anyhow, so, I stayed home and did what my parents told me to. I fed Murphy. I drew cartoons of Moonraker hanging by his neck, played on my Commodore 32, and read Judge Dread. When reading comics got boring, I went into the yard to kick the ball around.
Striking the ball in an almost perfect volley, I accidentally knocked over a milk bottle. I picked up the pieces carefully and placed them in the bin, and to my surprise, wrapped in a Tesco bag was the pigeon I had killed the previous day. I went inside to find my Ma. She was watching the television. I asked her, “There’s a dead pigeon in the bin outside.”
“Yeah. Your dad found it yesterday, just lying there. Don’t touch it because pigeons are dirty birds.”
I sat on the arm of the chair.
“But…It’s not suppose to be dead.”
She switched off the television and looked at me.
“Is this about your friend, Joey?”
I nodded.
“Aww, sweetie…”
She gave me a hug and then said, “Remember when ya terrapin wouldn’t wake up that time?”
I nodded.
“Well, sometimes we fall sleep and never wake up. That’s what happened to ya terrapin, and the pigeon out back. And that’s what happened to ya friend. Ya mus’nt feel bad about it though. Joey woz upset and did a bad thing. Promise me you’ll come to daddy and me if you feel bad?”
I nodded.
“But the pigeon woz like Murphy and the cat.”
She looked confused.
“Murphy? What’s wrong with Murphy?”
“He fell asleep. But he got better. And the cat got better and run off, least that’s what me and Moon… I mean Joey thought. So the pigeon should be the same, right?”
“I don’t understand; are you saying ya want another goldfish?”
I shook my head.
“Ma…Murphy’s fine…but…”
“He’s swimming, right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Ya dad’s told ya to keep the window open when ya’ve got the gas fire on, right?”
I shrugged.
“Well, it’s important, sweetie. Me and ya dad wasn’t going to tell ya, but Murphy did fall asleep the other day while you were out playing football. Ya dad thinks maybe the lack on fresh air made Murphy fall asleep. He opened ya window, and I guess it helped.”
“The gas fire?”
“I keep telling ya dad to get rid and buy an electric heater. Said it cost too much but…”
“I need to go out and see Joey.”
“But honey, Joey’s not home.”
“Please, Ma.”
“Mr and Mrs Morgan will not appreciate ya going round now, honey. Just stay here and we’ll make ya some Angel Delight, eh?”
I got off the armchair and walked to kitchen.
“Where ya going?”
“To play in the yard.”
“Don’t touch that pigeon!”
I kicked the ball around for an hour. In that time, I thought about Murphy, and if what my dad said was true. I opened the bin to look at the dead pigeon three times and felt sick inside. I felt worse when I thought of Moonraker hanging by his neck from his school tie. I then remembered the note he handed me before he jumped. I checked my pockets and pulled it out and read it:
Mam and Dad
I hate you. You stink at being parants. You never wanted me. You treet me like shit. You killed me. I hope your happy.
Joey.
It saddened to me to think of poor Moonraker getting beat by his father, and his parents never wanting him. Worse still, it saddened me greatly to think the only way they would understand this would only be when he died. I placed the note back in my pocket, climbed on the dustbin, and jumped over the yard wall. I had failed Moonraker when I said I would make sure his parents saw him hanging. But I was not about to let him down when it came to them knowing how miserable they made him.
The old terrace house had its curtains drawn. The front door, normally open so Moonraker’s little brother and sister could run in and out and play on the pavement without pestering their parents, was closed. I knocked and waited. No answer. I knocked on the window, lightly at first, but then I hit it hard. Still nothing. I pushed open the letterbox and shouted for Mr and Mrs Morgan. Eventually, the door opened. Stood before me was a big fat woman with greasy skin and a big mole on her chin. I asked for Mr and Mrs Morgan and she told me they were at the hospital. I asked why, and she asked me who I was.
“Thomas. I woz a friend of Joeys.”
“You the boy that found him?”
I nodded.
“Could be ya saved his life.”
“Wot?”
“Are your parents here?”
I shook my head.
“Best you tell them to come over.”
“Please misses, is my friend okay?”
She looked at me for a few moments and then asked my age.
“Nearly ten.”
I lied. She then lit a cigarette and told me what happened.
“Paramedics said he shud of…well, hanging like that for so long is very, very dangerous. You know wot I mean?”
I nodded, and said, “Yeah, like he shud of died.”
“Exactly, and he did, die that is. For about ten minutes. Then the weirdest thing happened. In the ambulance, when they were taking him to the hospital, he came back. Look, maybe it’ll be best if I speak witcha parents, yeah? Explain it all to them. Why dontcha ask em to come over. I am Joey’s aunt, Beverley.”
“But Joey’s not sleeping?”
“Well, he’s tired, and the quacks are keeping in for a while to check on him, but that’s all. He’s a damn lucky bleeder. Said any longer and his brain who have suffocated, or somit. I’m sure, when he’s out, he’ll have a big thank you for ya. And I’m sure his mum and dad will thank ya too.”
“His mum and dad?”
“Yeah. Both of em have been with him all night, looking after him. They’re both really happy he’s getting better.”
I began to walk off.
“Hey, Thomas. Don’t cha want me to pass on a message?”
I stopped and thought for a moment.
“Just tell him… Just tell him, I told you so.”
For the first few weeks after getting out of hospital, Mr and Mrs Morgan never let Moonraker out their sight. They cut back on the drink, and talked to him and did the things parents should do with their kids. Our friend Williams said Mr and Mrs Morgan’s change of heart had to do with the social worker that visited them twice a week, because Social Workers have a tendency to make people act on their best behaviour. But I liked to think it had more to do with restored faith and love. With the money they saved by not drinking, Mr and Mrs Morgan bought Moonraker comics, football stickers and model aeroplanes, all the things he would steal in the past so he would fit in with the rest of us. We became best of friends soon after he was well enough to come home, and promised each other what happened that night on the Hangman’s Slide would remain a secret between us both. Because of this, he became a legend in the school. Moonraker had cheated death. Not many people we knew could claim such a thing. Some friends even labelled him superhuman, like those we would read about in the comics. Even Tracy Ingam talked to him one dinnertime and asked him what he was like to die. He would always say the same thing when people asked him this, “Like flying,” he would say. “Like flying.” But he always told me the truth because I was the one that brought him back to life.
“Tommy, it’s not like flying at all. It’s dead scary. Like being lost in a big field surrounded by fog. I wun’t recommend it at all.”
Scary, was all I took from that conversation.
By the time I was seven, I could bring back the dead. But after what happened to Moonraker, I never tried it again. Some things are best left in God’s hands and not a child’s.