Dancing Home

by Paul Collis

  ‘It’s alright, cuz. I won’t bring the coppers here,’ he said, trying to reassure her.

  ‘It’s not jest that, Black,’ Dot said, drying her face. ‘That’s Radjiri Land Council ground now. Ya gotta be a member ta git on there,’ she continued.

  Blackie thought for a while. His blood was getting hot. Membership to get on the country of his birth … The same land that he once had access to freely, had now become private property, owned by a Local Aboriginal Land Council and requiring membership for anyone to be there.

  ‘They can’t do that, the bastards!’ he growled. ‘My mother’s buried there! They can’t stop me …?’

  They both knew that Blackie had no place in Dubbo to hide, and that there was too much danger for all if he hung around and went to war with the cops. They looked at each other with sad eyes.

  ‘She’ll be right,’ he said, ‘I’ll git goin soon as I’m better. Don’t worry, I won’t bring ’em here,’ he promised.

  Dot left him on his bed and went to see what the kids were up to.

  Blackie sat wondering where Rips and Carlos had gotten to. He had to find a way out of Dubbo, and wanted them to help. He hoped that Rips behaved himself and brought no harm or danger to Tegan last night, with his demand for sex or whatever he wanted from her. He tried to focus on the wind and on the rain that was lashing the house. For some unrelated reason, he started reciting Coleridge’s classic poem ‘The Ancient Mariner’ silently to himself.

  Water, water, everywhere,

  And all the boards did shrink;

  Water, water, everywhere,

  Nor any drop to drink.

  After that, he thought of the Gordon Lightfoot song, ‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald’.

  With the morning there was no let-up from the wild weather. The storm outside turned more savage, more outrageous. Garbage bins were being tossed in the air like paper. The wind that had chopped through the night was now chopping through the dawn. It was doing its best to tear Dubbo apart at its seams. The storm might well have been strong enough to sink the old Fitz. Blackie’s mind raced from one thought to another – a by-product of the hangover from all the speed he’d taken the day and night before in the toilet at the pub. He’d told Dot that he was too crook to eat, and that the only thing he needed was a drink of water and to rest up a while until his head stopped spinning. As if things weren’t bad enough for him,

  He was coming

  Down, Down, Down.

  His hands shook like that of an old man with the tremors.

  Lost in thought, he thought he could hear voices. He hummed a tune from 1962, and thought it funny for no particular reason. He thought about things that made him laugh. Silly sayings like when people speak saying, ‘No. Yeah, blar, blar, blar …’ He looked into the darker parts of the room – behind the door, between the gap of the bed and the wall, but he couldn’t see anyone lurking there. The voices he imagined he could hear remained just out of range for him to make out what they were saying. It frustrated him. He had lied when he said he was alright, and that once he had another sleep, he’d be right as rain.

  Chapter 10

  Boys’ Talk

  In the other room, Fingers heard a car door slam. He cautiously pulled back the blind to check who had come to the house. ‘Rips!’ Fingers spoke. He saw Rips dressed in brand new clothes, arm in arm with Tegan, walk towards the front door.

  ‘Um, lookin for Blackie,’ Rips stammered as Fingers opened the door. ‘Someone said you brought ’im ’ome ’ere last night, ay? He alright?’ he continued.

  ‘Yeah,’ Fingers said. ‘He’s layin down in the back room there.’

  Tegan, a cousin of Dot’s, disappeared into the lounge room as the men headed towards Blackie’s room. Fingers led Rips up the narrow hallway, to the little room at the end of the house. Halfway along the hall, Fingers propped and turned back to face Rips.

  ‘Come here, mate,’ Fingers said as he led Rips into the children’s bedroom.

  ‘Whas a matter?’ Rips said, surprised.

  It took Fingers a second to find the right words to say. Finally he asked, ‘Do ya know that this fella talks to himself?’ Fingers pointed a thumb towards the room Blackie was in.

  Rips smiled and softly said, ‘Yeah, the silly bastard been doin it for years. Reckons it helps ’im sort things out in his mind when ’ees ’sleep, or some shit like that. Don’t worry bout it, man. He’s okay,’ Rips assured Fingers.

  Fingers seemed a little relieved, and then together, they made their way towards the end bedroom where Blackie was sleeping. As they approached the door, they could hear the unmistakeable soft mumbling of Blackie’s voice. Without knocking, Fingers gently opened the door. Blackie was dozing on the single bed, covered only by a cotton sheet. He was smiling and whispering to an invisible entity.

  ‘How much did ya say that was, brother?’

  Fingers and Rips looked at each other. When Fingers met Rips’ eyes he found it hard to stop himself laughing out loud. The bedroom floor was littered with dirty tissues and a bloody towel, all evidence of Blackie’s suffering. His lips were swollen and cut. His eyes, puffed and purple, looked as sore as they were swollen. A big bruise coloured both eyelids. Dried blood still clung around his mouth, all evidence of Blackie’s pain. Rips’ joy quickly turned to outright rage and shock to find Blackie in such a busted-up shape.

  ‘Fuck-me-dead, Blackie! Who did all dat to ya?’ he blurted out.

  Blackie stirred. Looked up through his one good eye to find Rips standing, worried, beside him. Blackie tried to smile, but found the best he could do was to pull a sad old grin. He coughed to clear his throat and tried to reach for the water bottle beside the bed. Rips hurried to help and retrieved the bottle for him.

  ‘Fuck, Blackie! Who did all that to ya, man?’ Rips demanded in an angry voice.

  Blackie saw the anger in Rips’ look, and he hastened to assure Rips that it was no big deal.

  ‘No b, b, b, big deal, be fucked, Black! Who did it? Ya right? Or what?’ Rips said, getting wilder by the second.

  Rips’ top lip curled, as was always the case when he was stirred up. Seeing Blackie in a busted-up state made Rips’ blood boil, and if the culprit or culprits responsible for Blackie’s demise would have been in spitting distance from him, he woulda let ’em have it. Fingers, sensing that he might somehow end up being blamed for Blackie’s injuries, decided to make a quick exit and leave the two black men alone to talk business.

  ‘I’ll put a cuppa on, hey?’ Fingers asked, but didn’t wait for a reply.

  After Fingers left, Blackie said to Rips, ‘Never mind, brother. Sit down ’ere, I wanna talk to ya.’

  He patted the bed, and Rips accepted the offer and sat at the foot of the bed. After taking a swig from the water bottle, Blackie offered it to Rips who replaced it beside the bed.

  ‘Ay! Where’d ya git the new clothes from, bud?’ Blackie inquired upon noticing the new attire Rips had set himself up in.

  ‘Ya won’t fucken believe it, Black!’ Rips exclaimed, sounding like an over-excited kid who had thought all his Christmases had come at once. His big face beamed as bright as headlights and his smile was big like that of a rodeo clown, ‘I won the fucken big link up, man! Ten grand! On da pokies, bra!’

  He couldn’t contain his excitement and grabbed Blackie’s arm hard to convince him that he was telling the truth. Blackie buckled a bit under his grasp. Rips released his grip and moved slightly away. Blackie settled comfortably against the wall. He propped himself on one arm. He looked at Rips, dressed in fine new jeans and shirt.

  ‘Pocket full of gold hey? Fuck you’re arsey, big fulla!’ Blackie congratulated him. ‘Whatcha gonna do with all that cash, ay?’

  Blackie got Rips to open the window, and then put the bite on for a cigarette. The first long drag made his head spin so bad he thought he’d black out. He
rested against the wall until his head cleared listening to Rips’ plans regarding his newfound wealth.

  ‘Well, I haven’t got it all yet! The bastards down there only gib me a thousand last night, man. Git da rest today,’ Rips boasted. ‘Um gonna git a car and go ’ome and see me old mum. Heard she’s in ’ospital back in Walgett … Suppose I’ll give her most of it,’ he finished.

  Blackie smiled and said, ‘Thas good, bud. Ya better off givin it to your mother. You’ll only end up drinkin yaself to death anyway!’

  Blackie wanted Rips to stay. Wanted to go back to the big smoke with him. He tried to convince Rips by saying, ‘Bet listen, mate, don’t go home. Jest put the money in ya mother’s account, man. Something bad’s gonna ’appen Rips. I got a bad feelin brother.’

  ‘Whatcha fucken talkin bout, Blackie? I been ’ome thousand times. Um too smart for them cops up there. I’ll be in and out ’fore they even know I was there!’ Rips big-noted himself.

  ‘Naa bud. I got a real bad feelin bout this one, Rips! Stay ’ere mate. I’ll be up and round again in a couple-a days.’

  ‘Don’t go talkin like that, Blackie. Yul bring me bad luck, man. This the best thing ever ’appen to me, man. I’ll be able ta give Mum somefin back for all the stuff I put her through ova the years. Don’t say stuff like that man,’ Rips whinged.

  He was worried about Blackie’s request. He knew better than to doubt him about most things like this. He wanted to go home so bad, to show all of his mob how well off he was, to big-note that he finally had something most of them could only dream about. He was rich! He had been secretly summing up presents he’d give to particular relatives and imagined the smiles and looks of astonishment on the faces as he played the black Santa Claus – maybe a new bike for his nephew, Kevin … Gift vouchers for his nieces … Chocolates for his aunts … Grog for his uncles.

  Rips felt uncomfortable and regretted now that he’d come to check on Blackie in the first place. Unable to take it anymore, Rips smiled, shook his head and said jokingly, ‘You a silly bastard Blackie when ya wanna be. Ya wanna look after yaself! Look at ya! I thought ya could fucken fight! Ya look like ya had the shit kicked outa ya!’

  Blackie sat up a bit straighter and said sadly, ‘I had the shit kicked outa me!’

  Rips was only joking, and thought he’d hurt Blackie with his sarcasm. He hastened to repair things by saying, ‘Fair dinkum ay? Wait’ll I git back, brother. We’ll see how good these Dubbo dicks are then. I’ll only be gorn couple-a days.’

  He lit two cigarettes and handed one to Blackie. Rips then reached deep into his trousers pocket and pulled out a fistful of dollars. He shoved the lot into Blackie’s other hand.

  ‘’Ere. Buy yaself some smokes or somefin while um gorn,’ he said.

  ‘Fuck man! How much is all dis? I don’t need all that, brother. I git paid tomorrow. ’Sides, these fullas here are lookin after me. You keep it mate.’ Blackie tried to give the money back, but Rips would hear none of it.

  ‘Ya give me plenty, Blackie. Ya might wanna score while um gone. You keep it,’ was the final word said on the subject as Fingers came through the doorway holding a small tray with three cups of steaming tea.

  Fingers was about to set the tray down when an enormous thunderclap shook the house. He almost dropped the tray into Rips’ lap. Blackie laughed to see Rips move so fast. Then both black men stared solemnly at each other as they read the thunderclap as a sign – a bad omen.

  ‘Fuck ya Blackie! Ya got me jumpy now, too!’ Rips laughed.

  ‘See man! Told ya. Signs all over the place!’ Blackie laughed back.

  Rips was shaken and visibly frightened by the words, and the thunder that seemed to come on demand, emphasising Blackie’s words. Rips obviously thought that the Blackman could tap into some other world – into the world of ghosts and spooky things.

  ‘Far, far, faaark ya Blackie! Ya wanna stop livin with ghosts! Ya got me shaky, man!’

  Blackie winked at him, smiled and said nothing.

  ‘A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, I suppose,’ Blackie softly considered to himself.

  He decided to change the subject and asked Fingers what he thought Rips should do with his newfound fortune. The men sat and sipped their tea thoughtfully. Fingers said he had a mate that understood stocks and bonds and offered to put him in touch with Rips if Rips wanted to play the stock market.

  ‘Fuck that, mate,’ Rips said. ‘I’m lucky to be playin with meself these days. ’Sides, they rob ya, dem ’countants and banker fullas, hey Black?’

  Both men had seen their fair share of white-collar crims come through the system over the years to be wary about anyone holding their money for them.

  ‘Only safe place for ya cash, in ya own sky rocket!’ Rips declared.

  ‘Does funny things to people – money, hey?’ Blackie said thoughtfully.

  Tiredness, once more, beckoned him to sleep. Its cool, dark hands crept into his brain. Blackie felt the hands stroke his eyes shut. He drew a deep breath that seemed to hurt the rib and cartilage in his chest. He let out a soft, slow groan that went unnoticed by the others.

  ‘Naa. I reckon people are jest strange. Money’s jest an excuse for people to be arseholes to each other,’ Fingers said.

  ‘The concept of wealth is a very particular thing,’ Blackie lectured.

  Both Rips and Fingers agreed with a nod of their head.

  ‘People look at people different when they’re rich. And, I think you’re right Fingers. People can just be arseholes anyway,’ Blackie finished.

  The talk dried up and the long minutes drove each man back into his own private thoughts.

  They all heard the rain falling heavily and it looked like it would for a while longer too. The mid-morning sky was a complete grey, as grey as grey could be. The wind gusted and small trees planted along the side fence bent and struggled to hang on. The house shook with each gust. Blackie didn’t like the sound the wind made as it tore at the world.

  ‘Bad news wind, that fulla,’ he said softly – way too soft for Rips and Fingers to hear.

  Leaning against the wall, he remembered the junkies leaning outside the chemist, back in Katoomba. Yesterday, a lifetime ago to him. The memory of the broken eggs on the road came to his mind, making him feel sorry for himself, being busted and broken. He turned his thinking to the cemetery. He thought of the cold air around Nan’s grave. He smelt the air, hoping to smell her jasmine scent again.

  Suddenly Rips cooeed in joy. ‘Ya fucken beau-tey!’ he screeched excitedly. ‘Won’t be any cops on the road tanight if this rain keeps up. I’ll ’ave a free ticket all the way ’ome. See, it’s all fallin into place for me! You watch and see if um right or not.’

  Blackie shook his head. Disappointed. ‘It’s not your gittin there brother, it’s the gittin out I’m worried about for ya. It’s like Hotel California … even when ya check out, ya never leave!’

  ‘You’ll be right Blackie!’ Rips said to close down the conversation on the matter once and for all.

  Blackie took the hint and shut up.

  ‘Where’s that little one from last night, man?’ Blackie asked – referring to Tegan.

  ‘Don’t ’ave ta worry bout her Black. I, I, I lub ’er. She’s the best thing that’s ’appened to me in a long time. Sh, sh, she’s coming with me when I go ’ome,’ Rips said.

  Blackie looked hard at Rips and could see that the man meant what he said. Blackie was taken aback by the unashamed honesty in Rips’ tone and demeanour. Blackie thought a love born in a storm such as this one they were all caught up in would be either deadly-strong, or doomed to fail. No middle ground or room to move about in a game of pretend there. He didn’t say that though to his mate, instead he made a joke of the seriousness of it all by saying,

  ‘Far out man! You look after her, bra. She’s related to me,’ Blackie warned. ‘
Hey Rips, you quick as dis big whitefulla ’ere when it comes ta women. Fingers fell in love jest like that first time he met Dot in Sydney, hey old mate?’ Blackie said, snapping his fingers.

  Fingers was the first to draw breath and reply with a laugh, ‘Yeah ya bastard, Blackie! You went round tellin everyone that “Dot and the Blur” were at it in the back of that old car of hers, didn’t ya!’

  ‘Well, if you wanna go showin off ya white arse in the lane!’ laughed Blackie.

  The three enjoyed the moment. The relaxed mood allowed each the privilege to ask an intimate question of the others.

  ‘Ya got a lot to say bout everyone else there, blackfulla. Where’s your woman?’ asked Fingers.

  Blackie felt the smile slowly drain from his face. He fished for his wallet and drew from beneath cards and paper, a torn, tattered letter.

  ‘’Ere.’ He handed the paper to Fingers to read. ‘Thas why … There – she’s still the one! She’s got me, bro – Yeah … she’s fucken got me!’ he said.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ Fingers asked him, reading the letter.

  … I dunno what to say Blackie. I can’t get enough of you. I want to go again and again. Your voice is like the whisper of the trees, and I want to be in the big world with you, looking into the Milky Way. I want your hands pulling me onto you. And your voice! Your voice is my embrace. But I won’t wait for you to come back this time. This time, it’s over for good. I love you … but you know that.

  xxx

  Gillian.

  The words seemed almost to tumble right off the page, and along the floor, under the door frame and down the hallway, looking for any place to hide their shame. Blackie thought of her beautiful smile, those green eyes, her soft skin and those beautiful kisses. It had been nearly seven years now since he’d last laid with her. Sadly now, he remembered walking out on her one too many times.

  ‘… it’s over for good. I love you … but you know that …’