by Tim Winton
He was his father’s only son, his mother’s pride and joy . . .
He’s standing there, best I can make out, honing his knife, leaning on the verandah post, flashing an edge back before he gets a feed in. And I can’t help going dark on him for being so fucking happy with himself.
Then he’s gone for a bit, still singing, and a light comes on inside, a lamp or a candle. I hear the oven door. And fuck me, that’s a sound you never forget. A bit of clanking round and out he comes again. This time with a hurricane lamp he hangs off a nail. Even without the glasses I can see the tin plate of food, meat and something else. I even see the steam rising off it. The old bugger sets it down on a big old drum and he’s still singing.
He robbed the rich, he helped the poor, he shot James MacEvoy.
And it’s like every hair on me’s up.
A terror to Australia was the wild colonial boy.
Because that’s a song Nan used to sing. Heard Mum sing it a few times too. And sure, I was a bit wigged by then but I got the idea in me head that this old plonker knew it was a song would mess with me. Like he knew I was me father’s only son. He didn’t just know I was there, he knew who I was, who my people were. And I thought, you dirty prick. Trying to flush me out like a stray, putting meat out and playing with me like this. And then I thought, Jaxie, you knucklehead, how’s he gunna know who you are? He’s got no idea you even exist. He’s a lonely bloke talks to himself and sings a lot. People on their own get like that. So Jesus, man, just straighten up and settle.
So I got meself together. He stopped singing and cut himself a hunk of meat. And bugger me if he doesn’t come out and say, There’s plenty here for two.
And maybe he heard me gasp, because he kept on talking.
I’m a civilized fella, he said.
All I could do was shove me face in the dirt.
But as you see, he said, I’m not a fool. And I hope you’re no more fool than I. So let’s be civilized fellas together. There’s food here and you’re welcome to it.
I kept me head down. I could feel him waiting. After a bit I put me head up slow as I could. And that’s when I saw the shotgun behind him on the tarp.
But if you’re what’s coming to me, he said, then so be it. I’ll go out with my eyes open and my belly full.
Then he started to eat. The plate clunked and clacked. Moths were mobbing the lamp and the shadows of them danced over him and the whole front of the hut. I watched him eat the full plate clean. And for a while I thought I might do something crazy. I thought of all them holes in the ground back at the diggings. I had the Browning right there. He was the one in the light, not me. And I had a scope and space enough to get set. By the time he reached for that shotgun he’d be cactus. Out here no one’d hear a thing. There was nothing stopping me.
He chewed and sucked like he didn’t have a care, wasn’t even sure I was real, and I should of took that as a good sign but it made me boil, like the fucker didn’t take me seriously. I was a hungry thirsty beat-up desperate bastard with a .243 and he didn’t know how hard he was pushing me. I was so wired by then me teeth felt electric.
For sure he’d twigged to me and now he was foxing. Was he a sly old fucker or some barking nutbag? Maybe he did this every night, thinking he saw things, people who weren’t there. But I really was there and he coulda just pumped a few shells off into the dark to make himself feel better, cut me to bits at this range. But here he was offering to feed me.
Well I wasn’t falling for it. He didn’t know me. Didn’t know what I was made of. And he was old. He couldn’t stay awake all night. I’d been outwaiting old pricks all me life.
So I was one fucked up individual, it’s true, and dirty on him for gaming me like that but I wasn’t the sort of person kills a man in cold blood.
Thing is, this old dude couldna known that. He just rolled the dice, didn’t he? He wondered if I was a civilized man, like he said. Then he bet his life on it.
But that didn’t mean I could trust him. A bloke that doesn’t shoot you on sight, a man who offers you a feed, he could still be the one puts you in to the cops.
In the end the old geezer give up and went inside. Maybe he got bored. Or could be he couldn’t stand those moths another minute. He et everything on that plate and then some more. And he hummed and sang and sat quiet. Possible he decided he just imagined me. Whatever it was, he packed it in and went inside.
It was late. Well to me it felt like it was. So I figured he’d be getting himself ready for bed. Thought any minute I’d hear him start snoring. But that lamp stayed on. Yellow light fell out the door and through the window shutter. I couldn’t see nothing else but whenever I thought the old fella might be asleep I’d hear a chair scrape or a pannikin rattling.
Things itching round in the dirt under me. And overhead tiny birds or insects give off peeps and shakes and shuffles. Hour after hour I kept waiting for the damn lamp to go out but that old dude was sturdy. It looked to me like that whole hut was ready to doze off. I kept thinking the verandah was starting to droop like an eyelid but I spose that was me.
Sometime in the night a bird dropped into the thornybush above me. I felt the branches twisting and rocking from the landing and then all I heard was flitching and scratching a minute before it lifted off. It never even knew I was there.
Later I had to piss. And it come like a big insult, being that thirsty and still dying to chuck a wiz. So there was nothing I could do but unzip meself and let it go right there. You’d think the dry dust’d soak it up like a sponge. You don’t bank on having your duds totally soaked. That was premium, laying in that all night.
I thought about pulling back, slipping up the ridge and finding somewhere safe to sleep, then dragging meself home to the diggings in the morning. People have done harder things than that. And I might of done it. If it hadna been for the smell of water so close and the sight of that shotgun.
I had to wait this out.
I didn’t plan on thinking about Lee. This wasn’t the time for it. But maybe there was nowhere else to go.
Christmas didn’t start out so bad. Up until lunch everything was fine. Mum was pretty crook by then but that day she scrubbed up and acted like there was nothing wrong. She had a yellow dress on and we’d put up tinsel and streamers. In the lounge room there were bowls of snacks everywhere, chips and Twisties, chocolate and stuff. And the house smelt of meat roasting but it was so hot in there and the A/C was on the blink. Auntie Marg was down from Magnet and me and Lee played cricket out the back with the littlies to get some air and keep them busy. It was boring but kind of nice because the oldies were inside drinking their beers and shandies and Lee and me could be close and the kids didn’t know any different.
Now and then a batter would really get onto one and the ball’d go out through the doublegee paddock towards the train tracks and someone’d have to go tippy-toeing through all that shit to get it.
I remember the silos white in the sun. And the smell of stubble. Really it was peace on earth and goodwill to all men I was feeling. Especially when the little ones got sooky and went inside for Fanta and it was just us out there on our own.
I had something for Lee, a present I got her. Nothing fancy like the skate wheels but it was something I knew she’d like. Scored it at the tip where all the car wrecks are piled. It’s snaky as fuck down there. Half them cars and trucks got king browns crawling through them after the mice. But it’s worth the risk if you like collecting badges. I did it more when I was younger, hadn’t done it for yonks, but this time it was special. Because round November I found the perfect badge for Lee. Scored it off some truck from the Stone Age. Just the name. In silver running writing. Austin. Got it off clean and buffed it shiny. Glued it to a block of pine I bevelled up and sanded and varnished. Just a badge, I know, but it’s right for her because it’s her last name. Lee-Ann June Austin.
And I was headed right for the shed where I had it hid when Auntie Marg called us to come and watch a video with th
e rest of them. So I figured I’d do it later and we went in like good kids, like smiley Christmas cousins. I never did get to give her that present.
It was like this. We’re inside, on the couch. Me next to her and the littlies on the floor in front. And the house is so hot and the skin of her leg is cool against mine and I just want to put a hand there. Maybe hold her hand. Because even with the roast going in the oven I can smell that peeled orange smell of her and it’s driving me crazy. But old Wankbag is right there in his big recliner, reeking of rum and scratching his beard. And I don’t know if I can stand this bullshit another second. Having to pretend, sit there like a dumb animal all day and feel all this stuff and say nothing, do nothing. I didn’t want their stupid family Christmas. I didn’t want to be with any of them others, didn’t even want me own sick mum just then. All I wanted was right next to me and I couldn’t have her. And it got too much to take.
So I bolted. Well really I just got up and headed for the door. Auntie Marg said wait Jaxie love, lunch’ll be ready in a minute. But I kept on going and I’m in me bare feet across that prickly grass and past the washing line to the shed and I get inside the shade but the whole place stinks of him and I’m all wild and panicky like I’m trapped and so I push through the little back door and out into the hard sun and the snaky weeds behind.
I’m stuck there. Like I don’t know what I’m doing, can’t think what to do. I’ve got no shoes. I can’t go running out into them stubbly paddocks. All the firebreaks are bristling with doublegees. And the train tracks are so hot they’d melt the bottom off your feet. I’ve got a horn you could hang a waterbag off and it’s terrible, stupid, humiliating and I don’t know if I should have a wank or slice it off with a box cutter. And that’s how she finds me, bawling me eyes out hard and silent and horrible. I can smell her right beside me but I can’t even look at her. But she isn’t bothered. She puts her hands on me gentle, on me face, me ears, and she kisses me and makes this tiny noise like she’s trying to stop a baby crying but I can’t stop, I’m helpless, I’m so ashamed. And you know all I really wanted right then wasn’t to get in her pants, I just wanted to say all this stuff I couldn’t get out. It was like I could say her name with me mouth but not with me voicebox. I thought I was gunna burst into flames and die.
And next thing she’s kneeling in the dry weeds. For a second I think she’s begging me to stop crying, stop all this fish-face gulping shit. But she pulls me shorts down. Her hair’s shining. Them strange eyes are looking up into me like she understands everything. And it wasn’t like any time before because it was so sad and calm and kind and it was like we really were in a room of our own. When I was done she squatted back on her haunches and wiped her mouth with a victory grin and that’s when I knew I would love her forever, that I’d do anything to keep her and save her and nothing they could do to me would make me give up on her.
Next thing of course he’s standing there, winding one up. And I can see the fist coming but I don’t even move to save meself.
I went down in the weeds face first and all I could think was that the whole earth smelled of Lee and that was right and good. And when I got up they were both gone.
I come into the kitchen and it’s dead quiet. Everyone’s up round the table with silly paper hats on and they’re waiting, hardly breathing by the looks. The grub’s all out, the meat and vegies, the gravy and drinks. There’s streamers and tinsel everywhere. But no one’s happy. It’s like they’ve all forgot what they’re doing there. Me little cousins have this scared puzzly look on their faces. Mum and Auntie Marg have got their hands over their mouths, eyes as big as oven dials. And of course he’s the one not sitting. He’s back against the sink in his new Hawaiian shirt necking a bottle of homebrew, and he pulls the bottle off his mouth and burps and just looks at me.
You filthy grub, he says.
I say nothing. Me head’s still ringing. Then Lee comes in, face hot and wet. Like she’s been in the bathroom. Trying to figure out what to do. Auntie Marg makes a noise like she’s gunna yack.
When he comes at me I turn to run. Then I’m crawling in glass and beer. And he’s talking. He says it all. Even in front of the little ones. What we did. What he saw. Even though he must of said something like it already. And the women are screaming. Not for what he’s doing to me. No, fuck me, never for that.
Then Auntie Marg’s across the room and she’s got Lee by the hair. The kids are running out the door. Lee looks at me one time. She has them cut-off shorts on and a T-shirt showing the sweat in patches all up her front. Her feet are bare. But it’s them slaughterhouse eyes I remember.
And that was the last time I was in the same room as her. She wasn’t even allowed to come to the funeral.
But this isn’t how I want to think of Lee. When I bring her up out of the dark I put her in a big fat chair in a room with curtains. She’s wrapped in a sheet with her hair grown back and combed back wet like she’s just got out of a bath. This isn’t some cheapshit room in the Railway. This is five star. Deep carpet. There’s food and flowers everywhere, cold chicken and pizza, bottles of champagne or something, all on trays and tables. She sits back like a princess with her dirty bare feet up on the end of a bed that’s wider than a swimming pool. And she’s doing her eyebrow thing at me the way she does, to get me to laugh when I’m trying to look serious. I’m all clean and dressed right, like a grownup man. Me pockets are full of money. But I can’t keep it together. I fall down laughing. On me face, down onto the bed, into all that food. With her.
II
I woke up with something at me, poking, digging. Like an animal. And I jerked up so quick I snagged me head in all them snarly branches.
Well, the old bloke said, peering in, holding onto his spastic-looking rodeo hat with its curly sides. Good morning to you, then.
He straightened. Twisted a stick in his hand a sec and threw it aside.
I didn’t say nothing, I just blinked. It took me a bit to catch on. And when I reached for the rifle he smiled and lifted his shoulder so I could see the Browning strapped across it already. He pushed that cowboy hat back off his face.
Quite a night, wouldn’t you say?
When I opened me mouth it made a dry tearing sound. Like the noise a hide makes coming off a beef.
A rough one for the both of us, he said.
I didn’t have the spit for words. Didn’t know what to say anyhow.
I thought you were the end of days. I admit it, for a while I really did. But then I asked myself, would they send a child? Of course they would!
Then he laughed in a way that wasn’t real funny. And I couldn’t figure out what the fuck he was talking about. I just looked at him through the thornybush and saw the sky all eggy behind him and it come down on me hard what I done. I went the whole distance, waited all night. Jesus, I made a fucking warrior of meself to hold out and I’ve gone and nodded off at the end. And now I’ve let meself get caught.
An urchin, no less, he said.
He reached in and got hold of me waterjug and I couldn’t help edging back a bit. I was burred up and narky as a feral cat. I figured whatever was coming next it wouldn’t be good. And I didn’t have anything left to go him with.
Then he shook the jug and laughed.
For what does he thirst, this youth in the wilderness? Streams of living water? Or perhaps it’s vengeance.
I couldn’t tell if he was off his tits or taking the piss. I didn’t say nothing. I thought to meself, I’ll never see Lee again. If he doesn’t bury me out here he’ll dob me in to the cops.
Will you not give a fella good morning? Nothing to say for yourself? After a drink, perhaps. Come on with ye.
I figured what the hell. I wasn’t too steady on me feet but once I was up and into the clearing I went straight for the tank and got on me knees. I didn’t care he was behind me with the gun. All I could think about was water. It was warm as blood and I swallowed hard and fast as I could and when I couldn’t keep up I let it run over my
face and down me neck until the old bloke reached across and cranked the tap shut. For a while I just layed there in the sticky dirt and I could feel him standing back to watch.
Worse than I thought, he said.
Then he stepped over and give me one arm and like some little kid I took his hand and got up swaying. He didn’t let go right away. Instead he turned me hand over and looked up me arm and saw all the flakes of dry blood.
That’s quite a musk you’ve worked up, he said.
I didn’t know what he was on about so I didn’t say nothing.
You’ll feel better after a soak.
A drink is all I wanted, I said.
And you’re welcome to it, lad. But look at the state of ye. Those duds could walk to the laundry house unassisted.
That’s when I copped to what he was saying, that I stunk. I flashed up at that. Angry mostly but I was embarrassed too. And there was nothing I could do or say because it was his water going through me gut like a hot worm while I stood there and I was wobbly as a poddy calf.
There’s soap down at the water yard, he said. And a towel I can offer you.
Whatever, I said.
Ah, he said. That’s the spirit.
I didn’t want a wash. I just wanted a lay down in the shade. And it weirded me out it was such a big deal to him, I didn’t like it one bit, but he was the one with the gun so what was I gunna do? I took his towel and went down to the mill with him behind me. The yard round the trough was fixed over with so many twitches of wire it looked like a mad lady’s knitting. The gate was rough as guts but when I pulled it back a little I saw the spring was still good. I wondered how many goats this old dude had seen off. And how many dickheads like me. On a stump in there next to the trough was a tin bucket and a squeezy bottle of soap. The old man waved me in like it was a table full of food he had ready.
