Sugar Town

by Robert Nicholls

  * * *

  I looked up and realised that I’d drifted to a stop. The letter wasn’t dated but by my calculation, based on when he went up into the mountains, it must have been at least five or six years old. Bridie would have been eighteen or nineteen when she received it.

  * * *

  The villagers have designated a small hut for my use (both church and residence, at the moment) and I have been at pains to persuade them to build a small annex onto it for Agnes. The proposal seems to have caused much amusement in the village. There is, they point out, already a women’s hut where many women, both married and single, sleep together. I would not interfere in their customs but I believe I am able to see a potential for loss that they perhaps cannot see. My fear is that Agnes is of an age (I believe she may be 16 or 17) at which she may be traded in marriage to another clan. We are only 27 people in this village – though other and larger ones are within a day’s march of us – and it’s common for young girls to be more or less exchanged in marriage arrangements between such clans. Her older brother has married a girl from a nearby village and Agnes may be marked for marriage to a brother-in-law. All that is very well and fine and customary, I know, but I fear that, were she sent away before I have finished her Christian education, she would be in grave danger of losing her new found faith. I only want her strong enough in her grasp of Christ’s teachings that she will be able to hold open the door for Him to enter into the hearts of her fellow villagers. Of course, I cannot have her stay with me in my hut but, with an annex, I might be able to keep her near enough to make it clear to all that she now belongs to God.

  Please include her in your prayers.

  * * *

  Sometimes, the harder you look at a thing, the more complicated it gets. I looked at that letter so hard that the actual words began to blur and the ‘between the lines’ message took on a crazy clarity. What I saw was that the Reverend was far away in the jungle, shacked up with a buxom sixteen or seventeen year old girl who was only half-way inclined even to cover her boobs!

  I looked down the path at Bridie, with her frayed banner across her chest. It was so old she could hardly remember where it came from. And the dress! How many times, in how many ways, had she ‘taken it in’ or ‘let it out’ or altered the hem? I’d asked her if we couldn’t afford a new one – just one fancy dress! But she’d always smiled in that sad way of hers and quoted me something.

  “If thou come to serve the Lord, prepare thy soul for temptation.” That sort of thing. “For it surely will come!”

  So I stood there, thinking about how much she might have sent off or done without, for the sake of the Reverend’s convert – ‘Agnes’ – a girl who, after all, presumably also had a mother. Or at least memories of a mother! And apparently had our father, as well! And our father, who once had a family to care for – who once had a wife – now had ‘Agnes’.

  Barely noon, it was, and already I was in my third bout of shaking-with-rage kind of anger. Not for the Reverend who, after all, was just a pathetic man with delusions of self-worth! No, I was angry with Bridie! What in the freaking fairy light was wrong with her? How much of herself did she think she had to sacrifice? For anyone, let alone for this man! What could she possibly imagine she’d done to make her deserve this kind of treatment? I knew I couldn’t confront her directly, there in public, but I damn sure knew I had to find some way to provoke her to talk to me.

  The queue at the gate was down to only a dozen people and, judging by the roar of bells and whistles and laughter from Sideshow Alley, Harvest Festival was off to a whale of a start. I stopped a few metres behind the last couple in the queue and waited, seething.

  The people in front of me, as it happened, were Sugar Town’s first couple, Lyle and Frieda Hoggitt. Lyle was the mayor and the president of the Lions Club and the natural annual choice for Master of Ceremonies in the formal parts of the Festival.

  Frieda, on the other hand, (so everyone said) was the power behind, beside and as often as not, before the throne. Her big jobs at the Harvest Festival included picking the Harvest Queen and keeping Lyle sober. As they passed through the gate, they took their turns patting The Grand Gourd.

  “It’s things like this,” I heard him boast to Frieda, “that make me know! God surely does smile on this town!”

  Frieda nodded happily and handed Bridie a twenty-dollar bill. I knew as soon as I saw it that it was far too large an amount for Bridie to be comfortable with and, sure enough, she began pawing amongst the coins in her little pot of money.

  “Let me get you some change, Frieda.”

  “No dear,” Frieda smiled. “Change is the last thing we need here in Sugar Town.”

  Bridie was sensible enough not to argue further and Frieda turned her attention to Asael.

  “So!” she yodelled, groping at his cheeks. “How old are you now, young man?”

  “Eleven, Mrs Hoggitt.”

  “Eleven? Never! Is it really eleven years?” She looped her arm through Lyle’s and drew him to her side. “You know, Bridie, I was just saying to the mayor this morning what a fine woman your mother was! Isn’t that something? Just had her in my mind when I woke up, I did! And the mayor was the same, weren’t you dear!”

  “Fine woman, was Rita!” he nodded and smiled – a politician, through and through. “Bloody marvellous! Specially considering what she had to put up with!” Frieda’s elbow twitched against his ribs and he wagged his head defiantly. “I meant what with ‘er ma getting topped, an’ all that terrible time! An’ the Reverend bein’ so . . . so hardline, like. That’s all I meant, love! Bloody fine woman, Rita was! An’ ye can take that as Gospel!”

  Then it was his turn to focus on Asael. “Eleven years ye say, young fella? Well! Couple more years, you’ll be voting in the shire elections, mate! Sump’m to think about, innit?”

  Frieda, as was her way, had begun to talk again well before he finished.

  “Eleven years in her grave, an’ we both wake up thinkin’ about her! Fancy that, eh! Somethin’ very unusual in the air this Harvest Festival, Bridie! Very unusual indeed!”

  Then she turned her big sombre face back to Asael.

  “Eleven’s time to start being a man, young Asael! Time to move out from under your sister’s skirts, eh? Find some independence! Make your ma proud o’ ye! She’s lookin’ down on ye from On High, ye know!”

  “I know,” he answered sombrely. “She says I shouldn’t be frightened. Isn’t that right, Ruthie?” He looked past them at me and the effort of giving him a nod nearly broke my neck. They all looked at me as if to say, ‘What tree did you drop out of?’ Then Frieda said to Asael, “Well that’s good advice. Here!”

  She held out her free hand, palm up, in front of Lyle who looked at it, recognised the signal and pulled out his wallet. Frieda scanned the contents and selected a ten-dollar note, which she held out to Asael.

  “Now you take this note and get off into the grounds, mister! Have yourself a ride and a dagwood dog on the mayor!”

  Bridie tried to protest but Frieda tucked the note into Asael’s shirt pocket and patted it firmly, knocking Asael back a step.

  “No! Not another word! This town . . . all over the shire . . . we can’t . . . we can’t ever re-pay your family, Bridie. Nothin’ but tokens, that’s all we got. This is jus’ one o’ them. Now you go on, Asael McFarlane, an’ do as I tell ye!”

  He stood, slack-jawed, staring past her at me. No way he would go into that crowd on his own.

  “Right, sure!” Frieda decided. “Take yer sister! Take Ruthie! Go on down Sideshow Alley an’ spend that money on just . . . whatever! Off you go, the pair o’ youse!”

  She was taking charge of us but, for once, the mayor had got in ahead of her. He had got his arm around my shoulders and was studying me sideways.

  “By Gee you’re a tall one, aren’t ye girl! Gonna be a beauty, like yer big sister, when you grow up?”

  I gave him the most acid smile I could manufac
ture. Lyle Hoggitt had been mayor of Sugar Town for as long as I could remember – three terms at least. But I was angry enough to tackle even him. Or, even sneakier, to use him.

  “I’ll do my best, Mr Hoggitt,” I simpered. “Wow! Mr Sutton’s grown us a pretty amazing Grand Gourd, hasn’t he?”

  “Tell you a secret about that, girl! Some folks reckon a Gand Gourd is a sign from the year passed! But you know what your old mayor reckons? They’re a sign from the future! Yep! Sign o’ great things to come! Say, did you lot hear about the meteor last night? Right over us, they say! Right over top of us! Night before Harvest Festival! How ‘bout that, eh? ‘Nother sign! Tell you what, kids! Never forget how lucky you are to live in Sugar Town!”

  “Wow, Mr Hoggitt! I never thought of it like that!”

  I stepped across to The Gourd and reached up to stroke it. They were all four of them watching me, like they could sense that something more was coming. Another meteor, maybe.

  “Great things to come!” I said with exaggerated pleasure and, as casually as you please, I began moving notes aside, clearing a space, claiming bits of Blu-Tack. Then I unfolded the Agnes letter and stuck it onto the Gourd.

  I put my fists on my hips and studied it for a long moment, defying any one of them to come across and read it over my shoulder. I couldn’t tell if Bridie recognised it but she certainly looked suddenly as though she’d eaten a bad egg. Asa’ looked back and forth between her and me; and the Hoggitts, sensing they were in the middle of a domestic something-or-other, shuffled uncomfortably. I didn’t care. What I knew was that Bridie wouldn’t be able to resist checking it out – even if she waited until after we’d moved off. And when she saw what it was, she’d have to talk to me.

  I stepped back across the driveway to the mayor, whose head came up, his eyes opening wide. Maybe he’d heard about me punching Dale Sutton and thought I was going to do the same to him. He shifted nervously on his feet, even though I kept my most innocent smile in place.

  “You know, Mayor Hoggitt, it’s funny you and Mrs Hoggitt should wake up thinking of Rita – our mum! Because we did too, didn’t we Bri’? In fact, we got to looking through old stuff . . . and we came across a funny old letter! One the Reverend wrote to Rita, years and years ago. One I’d never seen before if you can imagine!”

  He glanced in puzzlement at the letter on The Gourd. “Did you now? Well there’s a bit of family history then, eh? Important stuff, family history! Gotta have memories!”

  “Yeah well the thing is that we don’t, you see! I mean that letter mentioned something that happened in Sugar Town a long, long time ago – and we didn’t know what it was! A ‘terrible deed’, he called it. And he sounded so angry because, he said, everyone in town seemed to know about it but wouldn’t talk about it! And it seemed like . . . like it was something that needed to be talked about, you know? Our problem – mine and Bridie’s and Asa’s – is that he didn’t say exactly what the terrible deed was! And Bridie – well you know she has an amnesiac block you could hide a hippo’ behind! And I was just little, so I wouldn’t remember. And Asa wasn’t even born yet! So it really got us curious, you know? What could have happened in quiet little Sugar Town to get the Reverend so upset? And I said to Bridie, we should ask someone who was here! Someone like Mayor Hoggitt! He’d tell us!”

  His face, and Frieda’s and Bridie’s, turned the colour of porcelain, and I heard a little groan escape from Bridie. She dropped into her chair and covered her face with her hands while I fluttered my eyes at the mayor and smiled expectantly.

  He started up like an old lawnmower. “Harumph harrumph! What? Well! Cough-cough! Must have been Gracie, you know? The murder? Terrible! Yes! Some blow-in off the highway! Awful! Brutal stuff! Keep it from the kiddies, that’s all! No big secret there!”

  It was a good try on his part, but not good enough to win a balloon.

  “No no! It was before that! The letter specifically says Gramma Gracie was ‘tearing about town’! Those were the words weren’t they, Bri’? ‘Tearing about town’? Very upset about . . . whatever it was.”

  “Ah! Well! Couldn’t say then.” He waved his hands dismissively and began to bluster. “Something confidential. Ministerial. Part of the Reverend’s work, eh? Not for us to know.”

  He made as though to move away then but I took hold of his arm. The time for letting him off the hook, I felt, had not yet arrived.

  “No no, Mayor Hoggitt! He specifically said, didn’t he Bri’? Everyone in town knew about it! And he wanted them to talk about it but they wouldn’t! Surely if everyone knew about it, you, the Mayor, must have known best of all!”

  He blinked, opened and closed his mouth, pulled his arm away and sputtered into stillness. He was like a robot on overload. I just kept looking at him, waiting, smiling. It was Frieda who finally cut him loose.

  “We’ll think on it, Ruthie – the Mayor and me! Maybe between the two of us, some afternoon over a nice cup of tea, we’ll be able to remember something. Just leave it with us. Meantime you get on and enjoy yourself, all rightie? And remember, no good comes of fretting over things past, there’s a dear.”

  She was smooth, icy. And treating me like I was stupid. But that was alright. If you’re old enough to recognise the game, you’re old enough to play it. That was my feeling.

  “Okay! Thanks! I just thought I’d ask, you know? I have some other thoughts on where to look but . . . well, there’s no place better to start than at the top, right?” I was aiming for a nice balance between seeming almost satisfied but not at all stupid.

  “C’mon, As’. Let’s go spend the mayor’s ten dollars, shall we?” And I took the hand of my timid little brother, who shook his head in confusion but was content to do as he was told. Unlike me, who’d had a gutful of doing what I was told.

  “Frieda, . . . !” I heard Bridie begin apologetically and I looked back to see the Lady Mayoress sympathetically patting my sister’s hand. “Kids . . .” I heard her say, and something about growing pains. She was holding onto the mayor who had his eye firmly fixed on the letter I’d left on The Gourd. I stopped and watched, blatantly, defying him to go read it. Frieda, though, was far too savvy to allow that. She towed him away, heading for a decidedly distant part of Sideshow Alley.

  * * *

  I have to say, I was quite pleased with myself about that letter. It was like I’d put the cheese on the table while the mice were watching. All that was left to do was to pretend to turn my back.

  I took Asa’ into the edge of the crowd then doubled back behind the tents. His eyes were so bugged that I thought his glasses would pop off.

  “What’re we doin’, Ruthie? Why’re we . . . ?”

  “Why’re we what? Why’re you calling me Ruthie? What did I tell you to call me?”

  “Umm! Perplexia! You said to call you Perplexia!”

  “All right then!”

  “So what are we doin’, Perplexia? Why’re you mad? What did you stick on The Grand Gourd? Why’s Bridie so upset? Did the parade frighten her? What were you tellin’ Mr Hoggitt about? What happened?”

  I turned on him then which, not immediately, but a little later, I became sorry for.

  “Shut up!” I barked. “Shut up a minute and listen!”

  Tears came welling up in his eyes but I knew I couldn’t actually tell him my plan. His loyalty to Bridie would have exploded his head.

  “No, don’t start blubbing on me, Asael! It’s a . . . it’s a joke, see? A joke I’m trying out. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, I just want to see if Bridie takes the bait . . . so we can all have a good laugh later. Okay?”

  I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t give him enough credit. But it was easiest not to include him; easiest just to have him go along, like a little pebble, rolling down a hill. So we lurked like thieves at the edge of the pavilions, peeking around tent corners, waiting to see what Bridie would do about that Agnes letter.

  She was a picture of distraction, puddling away at her
little pot of coins. The money did, apparently, go into a bank account that the Reverend had access to. I didn’t know if he actually used it but I knew that Bridie loved to picture him, beatifically trekking along shaded jungle pathways with his little rucksack full of life’s necessities – all courtesy of the people of Sugar Town. And in her fantasy, grateful black faces would surround him as he dispensed gifts.

  ‘From my home in Australia,’ he’d say to them. ‘Collected by my daughter, who does good work for the Lord. In quietness and confidence is her strength.’ And the people would bare their brilliant teeth and beg a blessing for her.

  I knew she’d be mortified by my having cornered the mayor. But I reckoned that, for the most part, truth was on my side. It was true, for instance, that it was the Hoggitts, not me, who’d brought up the topic of Rita. And of Gramma Gracie. And it was true that we’d found the letter that morning. And that we had no memories of a ‘terrible deed’. And while it was true that no one spoke of lots of things from those times – things like Gramma Gracie’s murder and Rita’s suicide and even the Reverend’s leaving for New Guinea – it was also true that none of them were the thing mentioned in the letter. The thing that once meant so much to my parents. And the truest thing of all – and the fairest, I thought – was that what the town knew, we also should know.

  Even from a distance, I could see Bridie’s glance settling for longer and longer periods on The Gourd and the big flag of the Agnes letter. She’d always hated the whole ‘unholy symbolism’ of The Gourd. What kind of thing, after all, would people seriously ask of a vegetable? All she had to do to find out was to cross that narrow road! Which I’m sure she would have done if it hadn’t been for a last minute arrival.