Dancing Home

by Paul Collis

  ‘Oh! Is that so?’ the shop assistant over-emphasised, pretending to sound interested in the old woman’s yarn about how bad they needed the rain. Blackie began humming softly the Creedence Clearwater Revival classic ‘Bad Moon Rising’. The tone of the young woman bullshitting the old ones made him smile.

  The warmth from the chemist heaters and the comfortable seat had Blackie relaxing, but the speed had him wriggling around in the chair. He forced himself to sit straight. He watched the last old woman being served.

  When the business with the old woman was done the young woman returned to the cash register, and there she remained. Blackie made his way to the same place at the counter the older woman had just been served. He stood there expecting the woman to return and serve him. Instead, without turning to address him, she stared straight ahead, and asked in a snappy tone, ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘What’s goin on ’ee-ya?’ he asked himself.

  He quickly came to the conclusion that he wasn’t welcome in that shop, by that woman.

  ‘Must be a “black” thing. Hmm? Wanna play games, ay you little witch? Den, let the games begin!’ he said to himself.

  Blackie refused to answer the woman; instead, he stared away from her and gazed straight ahead, copying her pose. An uncomfortable few long moments elapsed before the woman repeated her question. This time, her voice betrayed her anger.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she uttered between clenched teeth. Still she refused to look at Blackie when addressing him.

  And so, he stood there and refused to answer. ‘See who outlasts who,’ he told himself.

  More uncomfortable moments passed until finally the woman stormed down to stand directly in front of the black man, with her small fists clenched tightly. She blinked and moved away a little in fear when she saw the busted face and the worn-out eyes of the Aboriginal man in front of her.

  ‘Oh … yes,’ she gulped. ‘How can I help you?’

  But too late, by that time, Blackie was in a playful and vengeful mood. He decided that he’d have some fun with her before he’d let it go. Staring at her beautiful mouth and wondering how such spite could so easily spew forth from behind those soft, pink lips. He stood strong, secretly admiring her looks, and in a funny kind of way, admiring her willingness to not hide the fact she couldn’t stand him.

  ‘At least she’s not too afraid to hide it.’

  His eyes narrowed and he clenched his teeth, ahh, if only she’d been a man! He’d have bashed her there and then. He told himself that he would have exploded and used every ounce of the physical strength he possessed to crush and destroy the smugness. He would have cut loose to exact his revenge on the world in that split moment and cut her to pieces. But, he’d only have done that if she was a man!

  ‘Are you deaf or something?’ the woman snapped.

  ‘Got ya!’ Blackie said to himself, feeling happier that he’d made her react.

  Blackie made out that he was straining to understand what she had asked him. He knew he could have just as easily been charming and polite as he could be the opposite when his anger kicked in. His gaze was very intent indeed as he made efforts to pretend to answer her by way of sign language. He touched each finger rapidly with the tips of the fingers from the other hand as he pretended to sign. He touched his mouth, his ear, his chin and then more rapid hand-fingering before he stopped completely and blinked pathetically as he stared at the woman for some kind of recognition and understanding. His hand signs were so fast that they looked like they could have come from someone who used hand signs as their first tool of language. It was good enough to fool her in any case. The woman stood transfixed and embarrassed by her behaviour.

  She immediately drew herself together, however, and said, ‘I’ll go and get Doctor White for you.’

  And without waiting for her customer to respond, she abruptly turned and walked away leaving Blackie staring at her tight arse as she left. He couldn’t contain the broad smile that grew and spread across his face. For a short second, the joy he felt even overtook the pain from his gut. However his happiness, like all good things, didn’t last long. He stood, bent at the counter, his stomach more swollen than before, and the pain was going from bad to worse. He was going to return to his seat when an elderly man wearing a bright, white lab coat suddenly fronted him with the pretty woman in tow, a few feet behind. The older man stood directly before Blackie and spoke slowly. He very carefully addressed Blackie, ensuring that Blackie had a clear view of his lips when he spoke.

  ‘How-can-I-help-you?’ he said slowly.

  The old man expected that Blackie would be able to read his lips. Seeing the effort the old bloke was going to in order to serve him, found Blackie feeling shame.

  ‘Ahh! Ya never thought this one through, did ya?’ Blackie cursed.

  His eyes looked down to the floor, to show the old bloke respect.

  Blackie then said, ‘Look mate. I’m crook. I need some pain killers.’

  Hearing Blackie speak surprised and puzzled the old man. The young woman’s head peered from behind the old man, and if looks could kill, Blackie would have been a dead duck right there, right then. Her dark eyes directed their disdain and hatred deep at Blackie. She didn’t have to say a word. Her mouse-face said all that she wanted to, to the black man who had just made a fool out of her in front of her boss.

  Blackie raised his head slowly, and drew himself up as straight as his twisted stomach would allow to challenge the fierce stare that the woman was directing at him. Blackie’s return stare at the woman commanded attention. Blackie held the floor. Neither the old man nor the young woman had any idea what he was playing at.

  Although his face was bruised and he was bunged up around the eyes, his eyes shone bright. Thanks partly to the speed he’d taken, he gave the impression that he was completely in control and in charge of the situation that they found themselves tied up in. He frightened the woman and the old man.

  ‘Whatcha see when ya look at me?’ Blackie said softly to the woman.

  The softness of his voice, coupled with embarrassment that he’d caused her, turned her angrier, and filled her with rage.

  ‘Nuffin!’ she spat.

  Her eyes narrowed just so slightly with her anger and, without speaking again, she spun on the spot and stomped off into the back of the shop out of sight.

  ‘Yeah. That’d be fucken right,’ Blackie swore.

  The old man didn’t know what to make of it all. He obviously felt threatened by Blackie’s behaviour and by Blackie’s presence. He repeated his original question to Blackie.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘Mate, I need some pain killers, and, something to make me go to the toilet. Me stomach’s real sore,’ Blackie said shyly.

  The old man’s experience and training told him that Blackie’s injuries could very well be serious enough to cause him major drama.

  ‘What happened to you?’ asked the old man.

  ‘Was workin on the silo. Out Dunedoo. Fell off scaffold,’ Blackie lied.

  Blackie was thinking on his feet as quickly as he could. He didn’t want too many questions. He could feel his shirt begin to stick to his sweaty skin. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and felt the clamminess from his brow stick to his hand. He just wanted to get some laxatives, and perhaps some Panamax (or something stronger), and to get out of there.

  ‘Listen, young man. Your injuries could be life-threatening. You need to get yourself to the hospital immediately,’ the old man warned.

  Blackie did his best to convince the old man that he was alright, and that if he could get his laxatives and pain relief, he’d be on his way. However, no matter how Blackie put it, the old man wouldn’t give in to the mad request.

  ‘You really shouldn’t have anything before you see a doctor, my friend. I could be fined or lose my licence. If I give you anything and it
turns out you have internal injuries, well, you could die! I’m sorry, but you will have to see a doctor first, young fellow,’ were the final words on the matter from the old chap.

  Recognising that there was no way of getting around the man, Blackie lied once more, thanking the old bloke for his advice and assuring him that he would take himself to the hospital directly. As Blackie shuffled away, he cursed the old bastard and his friggin rules. Blackie felt like knocking all the goods – the stupid perfumes, the deodorants, the aftershave, the knick-knacks and hair dyes – from the shelves and send them sailing. He wanted to yell at the old man to go and fuck himself. But he kept his mouth shut and said nothing, making his way through the exit and out onto the footpath and into the fresh air.

  He stood leaning against the wall on the corner, wondering what to do as he watched the rain. He looked across the road through the gloom into the park. He squinted to make out the form that he imagined he’d seen. There, huddled under the gum tree, were three dark figures. At first he thought of the three witches in the opening scene from Macbeth.

  ‘Where shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?’ Blackie remembered from the play.

  Blackie recalled the ghost’s prophecy to the gullible ‘would-be king’.

  Be bloody, bold, and resolute. Laugh to scorn

  The power of man, for none of woman born

  Shall harm Macbeth.

  ‘So foul and fair a day I have not seen!’ Blackie whispered as he remembered more from Shakespeare’s great tragedy.

  He wondered what those three dark figures in the park might be planning, plotting or pledging to one another. His thoughts were interrupted when two of the three stepped from their shelter beneath the tree and began swinging punches at each other. Blackie watched as the two fighters traded hits while they slid and slipped in the mud. No witches were they, Blackie knew.

  They were blackfullas.

  They looked to be drunk, dressed like fringe dwellers or maybe street people, raggedy and dirty from living in the long grasses. Blackie knew the look. The rags, the desperation, the loneliness, the worn-out bags of bones. They slipped and slid on the wet ground, fighting to stand tall, fighting for space. No one but Blackie noticed. No one saw them get into it there, in the park. Blackie strained to hear their sad and angry voices, but their voices were lost to the howling wind and drowned by the pelting rain.

  Watching the lonely scene reminded him of the night two years ago when he spied old Black Tom. Tom, drunk, but not defeated, standing there alone in the dark alleyway at the Cross. Black Tom, the homeless man who read an abridged version of Keats on the sidewalks of the Cross. The man who’d once worked as a lawyer in Pitt Street, Sydney. Who had dined in blue suits at The Rocks. The same man who’d lost it all when he shot his wife when he found her in bed with his partner. Tom put the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger, the bullet grazed his brain and the court found him incapable to stand trial for her murder because of diminished responsibility.

  Blackie remembered how the old man stood defiant in the pouring rain. Blackie saw Tom tear his shirt from his back, and shake his fists to the night sky, and scream to no one there – not even a chair, ‘Why me?’

  Blackie remembered the scene of police and ambulance officers as they gathered at Black Tom’s wrecked body two days later when he was discovered dead on the overgrown block.

  ‘Why me?’ muttered Blackie, remembering. ‘Why me?’

  Remembering Tom, and remembering the scene in the chemist’s shop, and remembering the behaviour of the white woman who at first refused to look at him, brought wildness back to Blackie’s mind.

  ‘Fuck whitefullas, the dogs,’ he whispered. ‘Why it always gotta be this way?’ Blackie asked louder, to no one there.

  Blackie shook his head sadly and re-focused his thoughts back on the two men brawling in the park. They looked like they had both run out of puff and collapsed into each other’s arms with apparently no real damage done to either one. They were brothers, once more. And once more were being held together in brothers’ arms. He began scouring the park for any other signs of life that might be lingering there. He quickly stood to attention when he came across the shape of a woman, hanging there, alone in the weather.

  ‘She not real!’

  ‘She can’t be real.’

  ‘How can she be? Her feet don’t touch the ground!’

  He blinked to get a clearer picture. But when he opened his eyes, the vision was gone. He stood ramrod straight. He searched for her again. Where had the strange woman gone? He looked from tree to tree, but she wasn’t there. His anxious search took him from the palms to the gums, from the shrubs to the bushes.

  ‘Where’d ya fucken go?’ he murmured. ‘Fuck, my eyes!’

  His search was disrupted by the loud beeping of a car horn that drew him back to other people’s presence. Rips and Tegan had arrived to collect him.

  ‘Fuck ya, Rips!’ he cursed softly.

  The new lovers brought with them their urgency for Blackie to hurry so they could be gone to do their sexy business again. It forced him to move towards the car and it left him feeling completely unfulfilled and yearning. Tegan told Blackie where he could buy plastic boomerangs for the twins, and upon purchasing them, Blackie decided to get something for Dot, Fingers, Silvia and Silvia’s baby as well. Blackie, Rips and Tegan fished around the mall peering through the shop windows until Rips spotted a wheelchair that was available for the disabled. Big Rips was quick to pounce. He returned to Blackie and Tegan with a mad smile a mile wide across his face, pushing the bright orange-flagged chair for Blackie to use.

  ‘’Ere Black. Sit ya black arse in dere, man. Git round in style brother! Fuck the Gubbas! They not the only ones thas loud ta use these things, man. You crook man!’

  They erupted into loud, uncontrollable laughter, and despite Rips’ crazy request, Blackie played along, sliding into the chair. Rips pushed off before he was completely settled safely, forcing the chair into a wheelie, with Blackie gripping hard and cursing along the way.

  Chapter 13

  A Twist for the Twisted

  The car ride back to Dot and Fingers’ place was a fast one. Tegan was driving fast trying to race the wind through the deserted streets. Carefree and all messed up in love, she’d never felt so much freedom and joy as she did in her little Toyota Corolla. She drove the fast car through the wind and the rain with the greatest of ease, while Rips played with her thigh, tickling to tease.

  On the back seat, surrounded by gifts, Blackie finally began to feel good about everything. The pain in his gut had eased and was almost gone, bringing with it sweet relief. And the speed he’d taken had him feeling like he was flying. He felt happier than he had in a very long while. He breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction, closed his eyes, and smiled. The worries that had brought him into the storms of life had, temporarily at least, flown away.

  Rips began singing ‘Hey Good Lookin’. He sang all the way to Dot’s house.

  With hearts filled with gladness and arms full with food and gifts falling from their grasp and spilling around them, they stumbled up the steps and onto the rain-soaked porch, giggling like kids do when they’ve done something wrong or silly. They almost fell into the living room as they squeezed through the doorway. But the scene that was set before them as they stepped into the silent room filled their hearts with fear and dread.

  The twins were clinging to the side of their mother’s dress, their little faces buried deep into their mumma’s side. Dot stood there stiff as if in shock with her eyes tearing, leaving her with a stained face. The tears rolled away and got lost in the wrinkles on her face, spreading sideways and disappearing away across her cheeks. Dot’s other two boys, Kiah and Patrick, now home, sat with their arms folded as tight as closed envelopes on the lounge. Glum-faced with downcast eyes, Kiah and Patty appeared as though they’d been cry
ing also. They gave Blackie a quick glance of acknowledgement with a nod of their heads, and then turned away, doing their best to hold back their tears and anger. Blackie threw his gifts to the empty lounge chair and rushed to his cousin, Dot.

  ‘What ’appened cuz? Who died?’ he asked wildly.

  ‘Oh Black! Coppers come and took Fingers! They’re lookin for you and Rips,’ Dot answered with a slow shake of her head.

  ‘What? What for? What they pinch Fingers for?’ Blackie questioned.

  ‘Said you fullas stole a car last night, or somethin. Whatcha’s do Black?’ Dot asked.

  Blackie looked at Rips, who, in turn, looked away in shame, and was no help. Needing time to think, Blackie said, ‘’Ere. Come and sit down, cuz.’

  Although he was feeling rage and hatred for the coppers surging through his body, he held himself together tightly. He began to consider what to do to resolve the mess he’d caused everybody. He did his best to help his stunned cousin, by the offer of his arm, to the empty lounge chair. She gathered up the twins and nursed them safely in her arms. Blackie was pleased when Silvia appeared from the kitchen with yet another tray of cups filled with hot tea. She looks as hot as the tea, he thought. Funny he hadn’t recognised that she was so pretty, so elegant, before. She caught him looking at her, and embarrassed, they both looked away from each other in a flash. Blackie got his mind back to the business. He kept turning over the situation, feeling responsible and terrible. He thought there and then that his nan had been trying to warn him all along to stay away. That’s why she hadn’t left him alone! That’s why he smelt her scent.