‘How do you know?’ Thellie licked the brown stains from around her lips. ‘I bet you know everything Bubba, don’t you? I’m glad you’re my sister now.’
Barbara smiled. ‘Why?’
‘’Cause you tell good stories. Tell me about the funny boxes, again Bubba. The ones that tell you stories too.’
Thellie skipped along the narrow path. The dunny was in the bush behind the shack, modestly hidden behind the thornbushes—three poles upright in the ground and another two strapped on to them longways, with bark woven in between for walls and a deep pit in the middle that had taken two days to dig. The seat was a kero tin with a hole in it and a big sheet of bark was filled with dry moss, used instead of toilet paper. There was no roof. ‘I mean what’s the use,’ Elaine had said when she showed it to Barbara. ‘If it’s raining you get as wet walking down there as you do sitting on the seat and thinking.’
Barbara waited outside until Thellie had finished and washed her hands in the tin of water that Ma kept filled beside the bark. The air smelt faintly of dunny and gum leaves and sweet night air, a different smell from daytime, different from any smell she’d known before. A wallaby crashed by, then stopped and peered into the growing dusk, as though wondering if there was someone there or not. Its whiskers twitched and it hopped on.
‘Bubba, I’m finished now.’ Thellie took Barbara’s hand again. ‘Do you think anyone will dance with you?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Barbara honestly. ‘Are you going to dance?’
‘People always ask me to dance,’ said Thellie importantly, ‘Dad, and Joey ’cause Dad tells him that he’s got to, and Gully Jack danced with me last time, when Mrs Reynolds took a turn on the piano. I was the only one he asked to dance in the whole room except for Dulcie. You get to dance with everyone in the barn dance.’
The chaos in the clearing had subsided when they got back. Ma was flushed, in her best dress kept pressed in brown paper for Friday nights; Dad was pink-faced and dewhiskered. Elaine was resplendent in the ribbons she only wore once a week. It was hard to recognise her with her hair tidy and not waving around her face like a swarm of butterflies. Young Jim was in his clean shirt and his sandshoes, not bare feet, and the little ones had clean bright faces. Dad counted heads. ‘All ready then? We’re off.’
There wasn’t room on the track for everyone at once. The little ones skipped in front with Dad and Ma arm in arm behind, Young Jim carrying Harry piggyback on his shoulders, and Elaine carrying the pikelets Ma had made, spread with apple jelly from Dulcie’s apples, to add to supper. The lamps were lit in the other shanties. Shadows hunted for clean clothes or their last pair of boots, put away for occasions such as this. Down the track they could hear the voices of other parties wending their way towards the hall.
‘What’s up?’ Young Jim spoke softly to Barbara.
‘Nothing. Just a bit scared.’
‘What of? It’s a dance! You’re supposed to enjoy yourself.’
‘I don’t know. Just the idea of so many strangers, I suppose.’
‘Don’t worry. You just stick with me and you’ll be right. Hey, there’s Mr Henderson. Mr Henderson, aren’t you coming?’
‘Maybe he can’t dance either?’ whispered Barbara.
Young Jim stared. ‘Of course he can dance. He’s a school teacher isn’t he?’
The Hendersons were sitting by their camp fire watching the flames. Mr Henderson squinted through the darkness. He hesitated before he spoke. ‘It’s Young Jim O’Reilly isn’t it? No, not tonight, son. I can’t say we’re in the mood for dancing.’
‘But you’ve got to come.’ Elaine was bouncing with excitement. ‘Everyone is coming. Come on, you’ll love it when you’re there.’
Mr Henderson glanced at his wife.
‘I don’t have a good dress to wear any more,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I thought I had them all packed safely but when I went to look they’d all got mildewed…’ Her voice broke off.
‘What’s a bit of mildew?’ Ma’s voice was matter-of-fact. ‘You bring it up tomorrow and we’ll have a go with salt and lemon juice. There’s a lemon tree laden with fruit down by Dulcie’s. The kids can pick a few of them. Anyway, you look lovely as you are, doesn’t she Dad?’
‘Pretty as a sackful of sugar to a hive full of bees,’ agreed Dad.
It was as though something in the air had infected Mr Henderson. He smiled uncertainly at his wife. ‘In that case, why not!’
‘That’s the spirit that won the Empire,’ said Dad. Mr Henderson was still smiling as he kicked ash over the fire and held out his hand to his wife.
The hall was lit by kero lanterns, shadows jumping crazily as figures strolled out of the darkness, past bright yellow windows and walls too dark to see the peeling paint on them. Posters were plastered by the door:
All Talkie Features, first Monday of each
month; Herbert Rowe Presents his
Original Refined and Entertaining Musical
Comedy Show, prices 2/-, 3/-. Children
half price.
Kids played hopscotch out the side by the dim squares of light from the windows. Men were clustered by the steps yarning about the weather or the death of Phar Lap, women perched chatting on the verandah rails, and horses whickered from the yard behind. Through at the back of the hall, Barbara could see Dulcie with the other valley women, setting plates along the trestles that had been covered by a selection of multicoloured cloths. Flowers tumbled out of vases under the faded streamers and the tinted photo of the King.
‘Where’s the music?’ she whispered.
Young Jim looked around. ‘Gully Jack’ll be along soon. He’ll have kept digging till dark. You can’t get Gully Jack away from his diggings while there’s any light. He likes to wait till the hall’s filled up before he starts to play anyway.’
‘He plays the piano?’
‘Naw. Remember? He’d have your guts for garters if he heard you say that. He’s got his fiddle. Loud enough to wake the kookaburras, you wait and see. As long as he gets his whisky he’ll play all night.’
‘Who brings the whisky?’
‘Johnny Halloran goes up to town each week with the vegie cart. Everyone throws in something, a few tomatoes or some rabbits. He sells them and gets the whisky for tonight. Come on.’
Barbara held back, her eyes wide at all the people. Who would have thought there were so many tucked among the wattles and gums and thornbush.
‘What’s up?’
‘I’m nervous, that’s all. What if I can’t remember the steps?’
‘You’ll remember. Who cares about the steps anyway? Think about the food.’
The inside of the hall was lit by the glow of lanterns and it was hot, a reminder of the day’s sun that had baked the walls and roof. Gully Jack was in his corner in a shirt with all its buttons. His face was shiny, scraped clean of black whiskers, his eyes blue as the morning sky. A chipped teacup by his side had been filled with a pale brown liquid. The fiddle lay across his knees as he tested the strings, ting tung, tung.
‘Take your partners!’
‘Come on, Bubba, they’ll be starting without us!’ Young Jim pulled Barbara on to the floor before she could object. Ma was there already with Dad, and Thellie with Joey, his face looking sulky, as though Dad had already had a word with him and told him to dance with his sister, and Elaine stood with a boy from down the valley, his big bare feet still grubby from the dusty track and knees like a kangaroo’s. Even Mr Henderson was there, looking surprised at enjoying himself, with his arm around his wife’s waist, her hair gleaming in the lamplight, her happy face looking years younger than it had half an hour before.
There was a surprised stirring at the door. ‘Hey, there’s Sergeant Ryan,’ whispered Barbara.
The dancers fell silent as Sergeant Ryan walked slowly into the hall, as though they wondered why he had come, for pleasure or on official business. Sergeant Ryan looked self-conscious and uncomfortable. It was the first time
Barbara had seen him out of his uniform. His hair was slicked back so tight it seemed to be made of leather and his face shone bright. He looked nervously around the room.
‘I knew he’d come,’ said Young Jim, satisfied. ‘He’d never hear the last of it from Elaine if he hadn’t.’
Sergeant Ryan caught Dulcie’s eye among the teacups. He threw his shoulders back and marched across the hall as if he was on parade, as though unaware that every eye was on him.
Dulcie put down the teapot she’d been filling. She smiled slowly, like someone finding a Christmas present where they had least expected it, hidden behind the tree. She put her hand out to Sergeant Ryan, and he reached over the trestles and took it.
Barbara glanced at Gully Jack. He was frowning. He held his fiddle against his waist, as though wondering whether to put it down.
‘Hey, where’s the flaming music?’ The yell came from somewhere at the front of the hall.
Gully Jack lifted his fiddle to his chin as Sergeant Ryan led Dulcie into the centre of the hall. She placed her hand on his shoulder. Gully Jack took a deep gulp from his teacup before he lifted up his bow.
‘Bluurrk! What the…’ Gully Jack spat the brown liquid frantically all over the floor, and glared around the room. ‘This is flamin’ tea! Where’s me flamin’ whisky?’
‘Shhh,’ said someone, glancing towards Sergeant Ryan, who looked carefully out the door as though he couldn’t hear.
‘Where’s me whisky?’ demanded Gully Jack again, glaring at Dulcie and Sergeant Ryan and the hall in general. ‘It’s Friday flamin’ night and I don’t play without me flamin’ whisky.’
‘There isn’t any flamin’ whisky!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Johnny Halloran broke his leg when the cart turned over coming back from town and Doc gave it to him to stop the pain while he set it, that’s why.’
The hall was silent. Gully Jack gazed around the room at the crowd of dancers. At the men in creek-washed shirts, at the women in their Friday night dresses, at the wide-eyed kids in bare feet or tattered sandshoes.
Gully Jack took another gulp from the teacup. ‘S’pose a bloke could get used to tea on Friday nights,’ he said, and lifted up his bow.
The music filled the night.
It was a night like none that Barbara had experienced before. The hall shook as feet pounded to the music. It was as if the world was fast, but slow, at the same time. Up the hall and down again, and galloping all around, swung from partner to partner in the barn dance until she lost count, tripping over Sergeant Ryan’s boots till he laughed at her and swirled her off her feet.
Susso or cocky, it didn’t matter, not tonight. Men with untrimmed whiskers tangling in their shirt buttons and sweat running down their faces, with laughing women who had forgotten the tin shantytown across the creek, the damper they would make for breakfast, the bread they had to measure so it would last, and kids with more bounce than skill. The music talked to them all, always the music. The magic thread of Gully Jack’s fiddle timed the beat of feet and clap of hands. It soared over the children’s giggles, and the shrieks of the possums up in the ceiling, their quiet evening gone.
‘See, I said it’d be fun,’ Young Jim panted. ‘And there’s still the best bit to come. You wait till you taste supper. Dulcie organises that.’
Barbara looked down to the hearth at the back of the hall. Dulcie was there again, checking a big kero tin of boiling water. She lifted it off the heat and threw some tea leaves in and began to ladle out cup after cup—chipped cups of a dozen colours, collected from every household in the valley that had any to spare.
‘Hey, come on!’ Young Jim grabbed Barbara’s hand. ‘The best tucker’ll be gone before we get there!’
Supper was cold mutton and chutney on thick white bread, plus pikelets, pumpkin fritters, fairy cakes with soft fresh cream, apple teacake fragrant with nutmeg, sponge cake with plum jam and cream, and trifle with jam and fresh sliced peaches and more cream. Dulcie gathered a cup of tea and plate of cake. She said something softly to Sergeant Ryan, then headed down to where Gully Jack still sat with his fiddle. He nodded to her, wiping the sweat from his neck and took the hot fresh tea. He seemed about to speak.
‘Hey Jack, how’s that channel doing, you getting near the seam yet?’ Old Man Lee’s hands were wrapped around a buttered scone.
Gully Jack’s eyes lit up. ‘Getting closer.’ He put down his cup of tea. ‘I reckon I’ve got it this time. Another month or two and she’ll be there. You know what I think? I reckon…’
Dulcie stood ignored with the plate of cake in her hand. Her face was half-sad, half-tolerant. She put the plate down by Gully Jack’s elbow and walked back down the hall towards Sergeant Ryan.
Sergeant Ryan was waiting for her. He handed her a fresh cup of tea with a fairy cake on the saucer, and led her out to the cool air of the verandah till the music began again.
‘May I have the pleasure?’ Barbara looked up. It was Mr Henderson, smiling down at her, his big teeth yellow in the lamplight. Barbara shook her head nervously. ‘It’s a waltz, isn’t it? I don’t think I know how to waltz well enough.’
It was different dancing with Young Jim—he didn’t care how many mistakes she made. She looked around. Young Jim was still outside, telling a mob of boys from down the valley about the demonstration and the Unemployed Workers’ Movement, the opening of the Harbour Bridge and how he’d seen Jack Lang once up in Sydney.
Mr Henderson grinned. He had a nice grin. His big teeth stuck out again, long and shiny in the lamplight. ‘Every girl needs to learn to waltz. Just follow my feet. One two three and one two three and one two three.’
Suddenly it was easy. Around and around the room they flashed. The possums shrieked up in the roof as the floor shook with the dancing, one two three, one two three. Gully Jack’s eyes gleamed brighter than the lanterns as his elbow flashed and he dreamed of his gullies. One two three, one two three.
The moon was sinking behind the ridges as they walked back home, up the narrow path between the thornbushes. Over on the track she could hear the sound of cartwheels, the clop of horses and the burp of someone’s car. Ma was walking arm-in-arm with Dad and she was singing, too softly to hear the words, gentle as the mumble of the creek. The little ones straggled behind, holding on to skirts and arms so as not to lose each other in the shadows.
‘Tired?’
Barbara smiled at Young Jim. He was carrying Harry piggyback again. Harry drooped, dozing on his shoulder. ‘No. My head’s still dancing. One two three, one two three.’
‘Yeah, I saw you dancing with old Henderson. Who’d have thought he could dance like that? But it was fun, wasn’t it?’
Barbara nodded. ‘The best fun I think I’ve had in my entire life.’
Young Jim grinned. She could just see the flash of his teeth in the moonlight. ‘Till next week anyway. There’s another dance then, don’t forget.’ He yawned deeply, stretching so hard his shirt ripped at the back. ‘Crikey! Well, it lasted for the dance anyway. Maybe Ma can patch it up tomorrow. Come on, let’s get home. I’m really whacked.’
An owl began to call, very far away, then the noise faded in the bubble of the creek. Like her old life, thought Barbara sleepily, fading all the time, until all that was left were the O’Reillys and the smell of night and leaves and strands of bark and the shack that was home.
chapter fourteen
Saturday
Everyone slept late the Saturday after the dance. The tin roof cracked as the hot sun struck it, the cicadas yelled in the trees and the flies buzzed around the ashes of the fire as though they could still smell the food that had been cooked on it.
Dad rose first, stretching, and kindled the fire with bits of twig and bark until the billy’s steam mingled with the smoke. The little ones tumbled out still bleary-eyed and yawning, with Elaine and Young Jim and Barbara slowly coming after them.
Dad handed Elaine a cup of tea. ‘You take that into your Ma. She’s proper
ly worn out.’
‘Too much dancing,’ yawned Elaine.
‘Too much looking after you lot,’ said Dad. ‘Don’t you be nagging at her to get up and make breakfast either.’
‘You making breakfast then, Dad?’ asked Elaine unbelievingly. ‘What’re you going to make, snake legs on biscuits?’
‘None of your lip, my girl. It’ll be fried bread in last night’s dripping, and there’s tomato jam in the box. The King of England would be glad of a breakfast like that, may his socks rot on his feet. But what would he need a good breakfast for with a soft life like his?’
The bread browned and crisped in the old black pan and the dripping spat and spluttered in the heat, bringing back the memories of last night’s roast, as it melted into the scents of warm rock and gum trees.
Barbara spread the tomato jam thickly for the little ones, and bit into her bread. It was hot and hard and tasted meaty. Slowly the fire died down to a bed of coals that winked red and black in their grey surrounds. The billy rested at the edges.
‘How did you enjoy the dance, Bubba?’ asked Dad, toasting another bit of bread on a long green stick. ‘Young Jim here look after you all right?’
‘It was the first dance I’ve ever been to,’ said Barbara. ‘At least the first dance like that. Is there really a dance every week?’
‘Too right,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve got to have some fun in life, even in a place like this. Not that this is such a bad place. If things were different you could make a good life here. Ah well, if I put my dreams in one hand and spat in the other I know which one’d be full first.’
Elaine giggled. ‘You could try walking round Barbara’s corner,’ she suggested. ‘You know what I’d have if I could walk round the corner?’
‘What?’ asked Young Jim seriously from over by the fire.
‘I’d have a great big room with a thousand books in it, all mine and no-one else’s, with clean white pages that no-one else’s fingers had ever touched. I’d have carpet so thick on the floor you could roll in it.’
Somewhere around the Corner Page 10
