‘You girls supposed to be at school? You’re not waggin’, are ya?’ Jimmy eyed them. ‘I told ya already about waggin’. It’s no good. Gets ya nowhere.’
‘You and Dad used to wag all the time,’ said Marjorie.
‘Yeah, we did,’ agreed Jimmy. ‘And like I said: gets ya nowhere.’ His face continued to radiate disapproval and for a moment the two girls were afraid he might pack them into his ute and take them all the way to high school. But his face softened and he patted the old bench. ‘Come on.’ He smiled that wonderful Jimmy Waghorn smile. ‘I’ve been expectin’ ya.’ Jimmy Waghorn had business to do with Ruby and Marjorie. Things needed to be said.
It was a strange day for the girls. Jimmy Waghorn talked to them about a lot of things. ‘People are scared of the wrong things generally,’ said Jimmy. ‘The only thing people should be scared about is if we haven’t looked after each other. And drought. People should be scared of drought.’
The two girls looked at Jimmy and said nothing. They understood the bit about being scared of drought.
‘All the time we are scared about ourselves. Worrying about whether we are good enough.’ Jimmy gazed at the fire and shook his head. ‘We shouldn’t be worrying about what sort of hat anyone wears.’
‘Are you talking about Mum?’ asked Marjorie.
‘Yep. I’m talking about your mother,’ said Jimmy, nodding. ‘Ya know people are scared of her.’
Marjorie stared at Jimmy in shock. ‘No they aren’t. They’re not scared of Mum. They laugh at her behind her back. They think she’s mental.’
‘They don’t know what to make of her, Marjorie.’ Jimmy ignored the face glaring at him. ‘They are scared of all those bits of her that are bigger than they are – like the piano, and the singing, and the drawing and painting. So they make fun of the way she talks and how she dresses.’
The girls said nothing.
‘Like your Pa,’ Jimmy went on. ‘Why do you think he treats your mother that way?’
‘Because he’s just a mean old pig,’ said Marjorie. ‘He treats everyone bad. You should hear the way he talks to Dad.’
‘I know the way he talks to Bill,’ said Jimmy. ‘And he talks to Bill that way for the same reason. He is scared of Bill. Bill can take it. But Elise can’t.’
‘What do you want us to do, Jimmy?’ asked Ruby.
‘Just make sure Elise is in good spirits, alright? Don’t worry about the tea cosy hat.’
Marjorie folded her arms tightly across her chest and began kicking the dirt. ‘You’re asking us, the children, to look after our mother, the adult.’
‘I am.’
Marjorie started kicking hard at the dirt. ‘And who is going to look after us? Now that you’re going?’ Her voice was clipped and dirt was flying all over her shoes. ‘She’s the mother, Jimmy. She’s supposed to look after us.’
‘Elise isn’t strong enough for this country.’ Jimmy looked at them before moving to poke the fire. ‘But you two are.’
‘It’s not fair!’ shouted Marjorie.
‘No, it isn’t,’ agreed Jimmy.
‘It wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t wear the tea cosy all the time,’ said Ruby.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Jimmy. ‘Just make sure she only wants to wear that tea cosy hat on the farm. You will know your mother is alright if she is only wearing that tea cosy on the farm.’
Ruby shook her head. She put her arm around Marjorie. ‘I don’t know how to do that. If I knew how to look after my mother, I would already be doing it.’
Jimmy nodded.
The three of them talked for most of the day. And the country roundabout kept watch. Jimmy and the girls took turns feeding the fire and making each other cups of tea. They watched the sun climb to sit above their heads. They had dinner and they talked. ‘You doing that Leaving Certificate next year?’ asked Jimmy.
‘Yes,’ said Ruby.
‘You still want to be a teacher?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ll make a good teacher. You make sure you do that. Not enough good teachers,’ said Jimmy.
Ruby smiled. But salt water was doing what salt water does and it was making her eyes sting.
‘You could live with Aunty Agnes,’ suggested Marjorie.
Ruby poked the fire and said nothing.
‘What about you, Marjorie? Are you going to do your Leaving Certificate?’
‘Yeah, probably.’
‘What do you want to do when you finish school?’
‘I want to make books,’ Marjorie said.
‘So our Marjorie is going to be a writer, eh?’
‘No. I don’t want to write books. I want to make books. You know: have a printing machine and make the books.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘I’m going to get an apprenticeship.’
‘Oh! Marjorie is going to be an apprentice! Well, that’s a funny sort of a job for a girl. But don’t you let anyone stand in your way, Marjorie. If that’s what you want to do,’ said Jimmy.
They talked until the sun started heading towards its resting place. The girls knew it was time to go when the sun began painting the top of the gate in the distance. Jimmy had done all he could by then. ‘It’s time to go, girls,’ he said softly as he stood up from their old bench. ‘It’s time to say goodbye to an old friend. And I don’t want to be responsible if Bill finds out you’ve been wagging it at my place,’ he added with a smile.
Jimmy hugged Marjorie. ‘Don’t worry about things so much, girl,’ he whispered. ‘Most things in this world don’t amount to anything.’
Marjorie clung to Jimmy. Because she wasn’t so sure. And she was worried about so many things. Like how was she going to manage now if Jimmy wasn’t around anymore? Or Ruby?
‘You are you. No one else, Marjorie. Remember that.’ Jimmy lightly pushed Marjorie away from him so he could look into her eyes. ‘You are going to turn out just fine, Marjorie. Too right, you will.’ He nodded at her. ‘And go easy on those kids at school. Don’t be cruel.’
Marjorie smiled through the tears mustering at the back of her eyes. ‘Wheat Bag Boy is an idiot. He got kept down a grade,’ she said.
‘He might not seem to be as good with the school books as you, girl, but he is not an idiot. He deserves better from you. Alright? And his name is Jesse.’
Jimmy hugged Ruby. ‘Don’t pay too much attention to what the people hereabouts are saying. They don’t know much of anything.’
Ruby didn’t say anything, but her arms tightened around Jimmy.
‘Now the pair of you had best be getting home.’
‘Goodbye, Jimmy,’ said the two girls.
Ruby and Marjorie turned their backs on Jimmy Waghorn and walked over the sandhill to collect their bikes and ride home. They didn’t look back once. So they didn’t see him standing there watching them until they disappeared over the other side of the sandhill. They didn’t see him walk after them to the top of the next hill and watch them ride their bikes down along the track through the stubble and out the gate. They didn’t see Jimmy Waghorn standing and watching. Until he couldn’t see them anymore.
The two girls never spoke to each other on the way home. They just pedalled and cried all the way into the spokes of their front tyres. Those spokes collected all the tears and converted them into delicate crystals, and danced them around and around before discarding them onto the red dirt.
No one at the house suspected a wagging. No one noticed the red crying eyes of the two girls. No one supposed the girls had spent the day with Jimmy Waghorn. Because it did not occur to anyone at the house that Ruby and Marjorie might need to say goodbye to him – or that Jimmy would want to say goodbye to them.
The two girls went to bed that night and cried quiet, desolate tears into their pillows and into the night. And into many other nights
to come.
*
Nobody hereabouts ever talked about the business of Jimmy Waghorn, although everybody wanted to know. But Jimmy’s business was Jimmy’s business, and Jimmy had never invited his business to be discussed.
You never wanted to be found guilty of talking about someone’s business without being invited. Because that would constitute a breach. And a breach resulted in a cold shoulder. And a Mallee cold shoulder was a hard and heavy thing to bear. It was high-priced. With payment imposed by everybody. And there is hardly a lonelier road than turning up at the local footy match, or the tennis or cricket match, or the local dance, and having no one to talk to, but lots of people to stare at you.
Still, everyone was uneasy. Because the legacy of Jimmy Waghorn was big in this part of the country. So they tried their best to find out.
‘Jimmy’s left the Mallee, has he? Gone up the river? He’s got relatives up there?’
‘Jimmy’s got relatives up the river,’ said Bill. ‘Yeah.’
‘Jimmy’s been a bit crook lately, I heard?’
‘Doctor said Jimmy needed looking after,’ said Bill.
‘Blimey. All this time. I never knew Jimmy Waghorn had any kin.’ A farmer pushed his hat to the back of his head and scratched his hair at the front.
‘Yeah,’ said Bill. ‘Jimmy has kinfolk.’
‘Jimmy’s coming back then?’
‘The hut’s still there,’ said Bill.
Daft young farmers tried to squeeze information out of Pa. Choosing the public bar of the local pub.
‘What about that rain? Wet enough for ya, Pa?’
A proper answer would be: Could be wetter. But: ‘Call that a rain?’ Pa said instead. ‘I suppose you young whippersnappers are out there tearing round the paddick working up to plant?’ Pa turned from the cold delight of his beer to scrutinise the pitiful insufficiencies of the younger farming generation. ‘Young fools. Not near enough rain there to get a crop going.’
‘Reckon we’ve got a chance at the grand final?’
‘With that mob of pansies dancing around? They wouldn’t know how to play real football if the football jumped up and bit them in the bloody neck,’ said Pa. ‘Not bloody likely.’
‘Heard Jimmy Waghorn’s not too good. He been a bit off colour lately?’
That was the question Pa knew they were all itching to ask. He paused from the beer to gaze once more at them. ‘Why don’t you take a trip out home and ask him your bloody self?’ He gulped down the rest of his beer, watching over the frothy rim of his glass as their faces melted into dismay at the prospect of turning up at Jimmy Waghorn’s place without an invite.
Pa slammed the empty glass down on the bar and walked out of the pub. Pulling his pipe out of the top pocket of his coat as he went. Grinning in delight.
Womenfolk huddled around Elise like chooks squabbling for the wheat.
‘How are you, Elise? It must be such a strain for you.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Elise. Because unlike Bill and Pa, she truly didn’t know what they meant.
‘We thought it looked like Jimmy Waghorn had slipped a bit lately.’
Elise gazed at the women as directly as good manners allowed, hoping she might find, very discreetly, a clue as to how she should answer. Trying to remember if Jimmy had tripped over lately. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said cautiously. ‘Jimmy has always been very graceful on his feet.’
Smirks and raised eyebrows buzzed between Shirlene Doherty and her friends. ‘So he is doing well then?’ she said.
‘As far as I know,’ said Elise. ‘But you know Jimmy. He has never wanted to make a fuss.’
‘No. He never has,’ said the ladies, nodding wisely about something they knew nothing about.
So while they were all busy nodding and agreeing with Elise, Ruby and Marjorie slipped their arms through Elise’s and steered their mother to safety.
‘It’s so nice of you to be concerned for Jimmy Waghorn,’ said Marjorie over her shoulder as they walked off. ‘Ruby and I will probably be going over to his place tomorrow. Do you want us to give him a message?’
‘You’re going over to his house?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Ruby, smiling at the women. ‘Marjorie and I go over there all the time.’ Completely without guile.
And so, for the moment, Jimmy’s business, and therefore Elise’s business, was safe. No one lied. The hut was still there. It always would be Jimmy Waghorn’s place. And Ruby and Marjorie were still visiting.
In some ways, it was easier to manage the situation at school.
‘Jimmy Waghorn’s gone, hasn’t he?’ said Jesse Mitchell.
‘None of your business,’ said Marjorie.
‘I know he doesn’t live there anymore. Stop lying.’
‘Shut up or I’ll bloody shut you up.’
‘You’re swearing. I’m gunna tell the principal,’ said Kevin, stepping in to support his footy captain.
‘Shut up, Kev,’ said Jesse.
‘Go ahead, Kevin,’ taunted Marjorie, ignoring Jesse. ‘I crave to see you and your ridiculously flamin’ stupid cronies being kept in again and having to write lines again! One hundred lines of I must not bloody well be a stupid liar especially as it pertains to Jimmy Waghorn.’
‘Has he gone or not?’ repeated Jesse.
‘Like I said, Ruby and I go over to Jimmy’s place all the time.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘You’re welcome to come with us any time. I don’t know how Jimmy will take people turning up without an invitation, but’ – she shrugged – ‘that’s your problem.’
‘Come on, Jesse. Forget it,’ said Kevin, blanching at the thought. And the boys walked away before the situation became a bloodbath.
These were small victories, partnered by small comforts – because the girls were still visiting Jimmy Waghorn’s place. They didn’t mention their visits to Bill or Elise. They didn’t have to.
‘What have you been doing today?’ Elise would ask when Marjorie surfaced in the kitchen after a long day of absence.
‘Nothing . . .’
‘What are you going to do today?’ Elise would sometimes ask.
Marjorie would shrug her shoulders. ‘Dunno . . .’
‘The phrase is I don’t know . . .’
The girls would do what they had always done when they visited Jimmy. They would collect the latest crop of hollow beer bottles and stack them neatly, triangularly, brownly beside the hut. Although there were no empty bottles huddling around the campfire anymore. They would tidy the hut. Even though it was now perfectly tidy. They would check the wood heap. They would light the fire and sit on the old blue bench. They would stare at the fire and poke it with a stick and talk:
‘Not long now before you have to go to teachers’ college.’
‘Mum will be alright, Marjorie. Dad and Pa are there. You’ll be fine. Just try to think a bit first before you let anything come out of your mouth.’
‘How do you reckon you catch a tram?’
‘Aunty Agnes will show me. Are you listening to me? About Mum?’
‘I wish Kevin Doherty would drop dead.’
‘I wish I could show you how to manage with Mum. So you could make sure Mum is okay.’
‘I’m not like you, Ruby. I wish I was like you.’
‘I don’t want you to be like me. You’re fine the way you are. And Mum’s always going to be Mum. Doesn’t matter what we do, or don’t do.’
‘I wish I could come too,’ Marjorie would say.
Ruby would take Marjorie’s hand then. Or they would put their arms around each other’s shoulders. ‘It will be fine, Marjorie,’ Ruby would say. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve got through more than me going away to teachers’ college before. Me going away isn’t going to change anything,’ she would say.
*
What does it take for people to know how to properly tune someone’s tight strings? What did Mallee folks know about tuning? They didn’t know much. But there certainly were enough people who tried. Bill and his sisters, and even Pa. They all did their bit for the family.
Aunty Kathleen and Aunty Thelma knew that without Jimmy Waghorn to visit, Elise would now have no visitors at all. So, they would drive their various miles with the children bouncing and bobbing around in the back. Over to Bill and Elise’s place for a cup of tea with Elise. ‘Come on,’ they would say in their kind and practical ways. ‘Make us a cup of tea to go with that coffee of yours.’ And they would bustle around in Elise’s kitchen and ignore the tea cosy hat grafted to Elise’s head.
Elise never knew just how to take all this kind and practical business, all this bustling and sensible generosity. But she knew it would be rude to refuse it.
‘Would you play for us, Elise? Would you sing too?’ the sisters-in-law would ask.
‘What have you been drawing lately?’ they would enquire.
They would stay for as long as they could. Because they were canny as well as kind. They knew if Elise agreed to play, the family business was in a fair-to-reasonable state. And if Elise agreed to sing as well, the family business was in a steady position – Elise might not be what she used to be, but, overall, she was holding her own.
‘You know, you are very good, Elise,’ they would say, when the singing and playing was exceptional. When the drawings and paintings were produced.
‘I am not that good, really,’ Elise would say. ‘But thank you for saying so.’
Those sisters-in-law wouldn’t listen to that, though. Because they were fair and honest as well as kind and canny. Even so, they knew they were no substitute for Jimmy Waghorn. And they knew, despite never having tuned a piano in their lives, that Elise’s nerves were tightening. That over time, without Jimmy, Elise was becoming so highly strung that now she ran the risk of snapping more than one string at any moment. Snapping one was alright – you could still manage a bit of a tune. But snapping more than one meant Elise would become uselessly out of tune. And you don’t have to be a piano tuner to know that if a piano isn’t strung tightly enough it sounds terrible. But string it too tightly and the strings will snap. And sometimes it is only the tiniest of turns that make them snap. And you just never know when that tiny turn is going to be too much. Even the best of piano tuners has been caught out on that.
Wearing Paper Dresses Page 11
