His Father's Son: To save the son he loves, a desparate father must confront the ghosts of his past

by Tony Black

  “Okay, okay. Let’s keep calm. Did you have a row?”

  “A row … did we ever. But sure there’s nothing strange in that, a man having a row with his wife.”

  “No, no, there’s nothing strange in that, but if she’s depressed and you had a row, well…”

  “What are you saying here?” Joey’s mind was buzzing. He couldn’t think straight. All he could think of was Marti, where he might be and what he might be doing. Jaysus, he could be anywhere could he not, and in any state entirely.

  “Was everything like normal at home?” said Gordy.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Were any of their things taken – clothes, toothbrushes, that sort of stuff.”

  Joey jumped to his feet. He had caught Gordy’s drift. He felt his eyes open wider than ever, then snap shut like he’d been stunned by a bright flash. “God – the suitcases! That’s what she was after in the shed.”

  Gordy stood up beside him. “Bluey, are you all right?”

  Joey’s mouth dried over. He wondered was his heart about to jump right into it. He felt like he had just been given the scare of his life, like his entire body was fighting the shock of it. “Christ Almighty, she’s taken my boy,” he said.

  “Bluey, now you don’t know that yet.”

  “She’s taken him.”

  Joey broke for the door and Gordy stood up. “Bluey, what are you going to do, mate?”

  “Find them. What do ye think, man? My son is taken, my wife has finally lost it.”

  “Bluey, don’t do anything silly.” Gordy grabbed Joey’s arm tightly and delayed him where he stood. “Sit down and I’ll give the blokes the word, to keep an eye out … okay?”

  “No chance.”

  “Joey, you’re madder than a cut snake. Stay away from the grog. I won’t be there to keep you out the divvy van tonight.”

  “Gordy, let me go. I appreciate what you’re saying, but I have to find my boy.”

  Gordy released his grip and Joey ran into the street. He ran past his own home and into the next street where he had told Marti not to climb the trees. He ran to the late-night milk bar and he ran over the cricket oval where he had taught Marti to punt a pig-skin. He ran past the stream where Marti caught the frogs that he’d taken home and over the bridge where the stream flowed into a river. He ran through the rushes and the long grass that he had told Marti to stay away from for fear of tiger snakes and red-bellied black snakes that were seen there. And he ran to Marti’s school where he grabbed the gates and shook them until they rattled so much that the entire street sounded like it was suddenly filled with machine guns firing.

  “Marti, son. Where are ye? Where has she taken ye, my boy?” Joey fell to his knees and started to sob into his chest. He sobbed for only a short while, until his thoughts of Marti made him wonder what the boy might think of him, and then he stood up and started to walk away from the school gates.

  The streets were cold and dark, but Joey was miles away. He was lost in despair, numb with wonder at what had happened. He’d had no clue, no inkling this was on the way. Why? Why had Shauna done it? She was at her wildest with a notion in her, always was, but why this? What did it all mean? And worse yet, would he ever see Marti again?

  When Joey got back to the house Macca’s ute was parked out front. When he got closer Macca’s kelpie sat up in the back of the ute and barked, but only once. Macca was sitting on the front step, clutching a cigarette in one hand and shooing mozzies with the other.

  “Bloody dunny budgies are everywhere,” he said, taking off his hat and waving it through the mozzies. When he was finished he stood up and looked at Joey. “I thought I better drop by,” he said.

  Joey looked at him but said nothing. His head was sore now, his heart still pounded, he felt like some kind of mentaller – a crazy person out running the streets – sobbing and calling into the night.

  “I heard from Gordy,” said Macca.

  “Did ye now?”

  “You’ve copped a gutful there, mate.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s not fit to mind herself, never mind my boy, Macca.”

  “She couldn’t have gone far. We’ll have a look about tomorrow. We’ll get a few of the blokes together, no worries.”

  “You’ll be telling me to put posters up on trees next. It’s not a feckin dog I’ve lost.”

  “Look, mate, I know. We’ll find the boy.”

  “You’ve no right to be telling me that. Don’t ye read the papers? Jaysus, some of these bloody women just disappear off the face of the earth.”

  “Bluey, mate …”

  “No. Macca, he could be anywhere. Anywhere except the one place he should be, and that’s here with me.”

  Joey pushed past Macca into the house and slammed the door so hard it swung on its hinges. The place was in darkness, but Joey kept the lights out and crept into Marti’s room where he threw himself on the boy’s bed and buried his face in the pillow, then he felt the sobbing start up again.

  He was back in his own childhood once more, face down in his own tears, the mighty Emmet Driscol stood over him, berating. It was to be his first stay away from home, the visit to Bunratty Castle with the school. He had never been away on any of the school’s visits before and it felt to him like a hard-earned treat. They would take the bus and see the castle that kept out Ireland’s invaders and stay over for two nights in a dormitory nearby. Joey was excited about the visit, but he was worried the other boys in the dormitory would laugh at him because he had no bedclothes. His father said he would have to grin and bear it though, because there would be no money spent on the likes. Bedclothes were a vanity only, he said, and if Joey worried what the others would say he could undress under the covers.

  For days Joey begged for the jamas, even his mother said it was like a knacker child he’d be without them, but Emmet Driscol’s word was final. There would be no money spent on them. Joey’s mother couldn’t stand the mope on him or the thought of her eldest child being made a cod of – wasn’t it the type of thing that would stick with him his life. She got hold of a pattern and made the jamas out of pieces from her rag bag. There were sleeves didn’t match and seams all over but a pocket and collar of green velvet that made them look like the best jamas in the world, thought Joey.

  His brothers and sisters were sworn to silence about their mother’s handiwork, and when their father was out at Molloy’s pub Joey gave them a show of the new jamas. Everyone thought they looked grand and Megan said it was like a prince in a book he was and Joey acted the part, parading about in the jamas for all to see. He even laid down on the floor and pretended to be sleeping to show how grand and comfortable the new jamas were. And then, all of a sudden, Emmet came back with the smell of whiskey on him.

  “What is this?” he said. “I told ye, woman, no bedclothes.”

  “Tis just a few rags, Emmet,” said Joey’s mother. “Aren’t they hardly fit for his back.”

  “I said, no. Did I not, by Christ, did I not say, no?”

  Joey’s father grabbed for him on the floor, clasping his great hand round his ankle and jerking him into the air. Joey was rigid as a branch in his father’s hand as he was stripped of the new jamas, torn from his back, returned to rags on the floor below. He could see his brothers and sisters watching, Megan crying into her sleeve. It was a fairy tale being taken apart before her eyes. His mother was silent, slipping her arms quickly round the children and leading them away. When the jamas were in tatters Joey was dropped on the floor beside them, then he ran to his room in his pelt, all bar one cuff of green velvet, and cried into his pillow.

  “Up. Up. Get up, Bluey,” said Macca. He grabbed Joey’s shirt front with one hand and the belt round his waist with the other.

  “Get off, man,” shouted Joey.

  “I’ll get off when your boy’s back in that bed,” said Macca, and he lifted him up onto his feet in one swift move. “No
w, come with me. There’s only so many places the pair of them can be. We’ll find them, Bluey. We will.”

  6

  There was something the matter with Mam, thought Marti. It was the way she kept looking about the train, going all in a panic, and smoking the cigarettes called Majors all the while. He wondered was it because Dad was going to be late, but she said Dad wasn’t going to be late and sure didn’t it make no difference at all because he could catch them up at any time. Marti said would Dad be on the train and Mam said it depends, but when he asked what depends she got mad and said she’d had her fill of silly questions and not to be bothering her.

  Marti wanted a comic from the front of the train where they sold the newspapers and the coffees in the paper cups like they have at parties sometimes, but he thought that he would be bothering Mam with a silly question. She had already said he wasn’t too big to be getting his pants pulled down and have everyone on the train shown him getting the hot arse.

  He wondered how Dad would catch up with the train and if he’d drive really fast and then jump out the ute and get on the train, but he thought this would wreck the ute and there were no roads in the bush anyway, just the track for the train.

  Everything was red and dusty out the window, because it was the outback where Dad said you could fry an egg on a rock. Marti wondered if you really could fry an egg on a rock or if it was just one of the things grown-ups said that wasn’t really true. He didn’t think he would like to eat an egg that you could fry on a rock anyway, because it would be all dusty from the bush. It would be like the time he dropped a lolly in the street and it had all bits on it when he picked it up and Mam said to throw it away because a dog might have done its business there.

  It was really hot on the train but he wasn’t allowed to say it was hot because Mam said she knew it was hot and didn’t need a reminder of the fact every five minutes of the day. If this was the start of the bellyaching then it had better stop now or it’s a sorry boy he’d be. Marti didn’t want to be a sorry boy because that was what Mam usually said before she said is it the hot arse you’re after?

  If Dad was on the train he would give Marti the money to buy a comic and say to Mam not to bate the boy, or is it a broken man you’re trying to raise, for wasn’t there enough of them in the world already thanks to mothers like you. Mam and Dad were always talking like that. They said all the same words over and over, and sometimes if they didn’t think to say the words then Marti would say them.

  If it was Dad’s words he said then Dad would laugh and say, “Sure, hasn’t the boy got the cut of your jib.”

  But then Mam might hit Marti on the head and say, “Is it a hot arse you’re after?” If it was Mam’s words he said then she would say, “I don’t need a parrot,” and Dad would shake his head.

  “Well, is it a picture you want?” said Mam. She was flapping the collar of her shirt for a bit of a breeze to cool down and she had the woman’s look for making the milk sour.

  “No,” said Marti. “Are you very hot, Mam?”

  “Well, what do you think? No, Marti, I’m not. I’m froze to this seat, this bloody great uncomfortable …” Mam started to slap the back of the seat and a big cloud of dust came out and made her cough. “That’s it, that’s it,” she said. “I’ve had enough, enough do you hear me?” Mam’s face went all red, even her eyes started to go all red, and then she started to cry into her hand. Marti wondered what was so bad about asking her if she was hot to make her start to cry into her hand. He felt bad, like he was in bad trouble, but he didn’t think he had done anything really very bad.

  “I can’t take another minute of it, I swear I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” said Mam. She was roaring shouting and Marti was worried about the noise she was making and if the guard man in the blue jacket with the gold buttons who took the tickets would tell them off, or maybe even say leave the train.

  Marti looked about to the other people in the train to see if anyone was going to tell the guard man. Everyone was looking at Marti and Mam, but some of them looked away or out the window when he looked at them. There was an old lady with a fur coat and a big bag who smiled at Marti and then she tugged a man’s sleeve and whispered something and they both walked over.

  “I bet you’d like to come with me to find a nice comic, sonny,” said the man.

  Marti walked down to the front of the train with the man and picked a comic that he hadn’t seen before, but he liked it because it had a free soldier with it and the soldier had a parachute you could throw in the air. The comic looked like it cost a lot of money, and he wondered if the man would really buy it for him because Mam would have said she wasn’t paying extra for a bit of tat because didn’t they just stick that type of thing on the front to put the price up.

  The man had a big red face and Marti wondered if he was very hot or if his collar with the tie on it was very tight. The man looked very hot but Marti thought maybe he wasn’t really because he had a big green coat with checks on and if he were hot wouldn’t he take the coat off and open the collar and tie?

  “Are you happy with your choice now, sonny?” said the man.

  “Yes,” said Marti.

  The man was called Larry Lally and he was a funny big man, thought Marti.

  “And what might your name be?”

  “Marti Driscol.”

  “Ah, Driscol, a good Irish name. Sure Briney wasn’t wrong when she said she was after hearing a brogue on your mam there.” Marti wondered what a brogue was, but he didn’t want to interrupt the man who was happy because he had a good Irish name like Driscol.

  “My, you’re a serious looking fella, Marti Driscol. Is it the weight of the world you’re carrying on them shoulders?” Marti didn’t know what to say so he stayed quiet, and then Larry Lally said, “Sit yourself down. We’ll get back to your mam in a while. Sure Briney will be having a grand time with her chatting away and talking about the movies and Elvis Presley and the like.”

  “My mam likes Elvis,” said Marti, and the man nodded and looked happy to hear it, “but not just before he died last year because it was a crying shame the way he let himself go towards the end.” Larry Lally laughed and his face started to go the bright red colour again and Marti wondered if it might pop like a big red balloon.

  “Sure aren’t ye a ticket,” he said. “It’s a ticket ye are. My, aren’t we blessed with the gift of laughter?”

  “I suppose,” said Marti, and Larry Lally started the laughing again.

  “God, it’s a comedian we have here I think.”

  When it was time to go back and see Mam and Briney, Marti thought it was hard to walk on the train but not as hard as it looked for Larry Lally. He was too big for the little gaps in the seats and had to turn sideways to get through. Sometimes when he turned sideways to get through he had to go up on his tippy-toes and hold his breath, which made him have a big sigh afterwards. One time when Larry Lally went up on his tippy-toes he flicked out the tails on his jacket and said, “It’s a ballerina you have to be for this job,” and Marti laughed.

  Mam had stopped crying and smiled at Marti when he got back to his seat. She looked like she did at birthdays when the cake was brought in with all the candles lit up on it. “Marti, son, where would you most like to go in the whole world for a visit?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Wouldn’t you like to go to Ireland, where your mam’s from?”

  “I wouldn’t like to go to Ireland.”

  “Marti,” said Mam, and then her face changed. She started talking very quietly. She was trying not to get mad, he thought. “Wouldn’t you like to go and visit Ireland, way on the other side of the world, because sure wouldn’t that be exciting?”

  Marti remembered when Dad had said there was no sun at all in Ireland, and he had thought it must be a terrible place with everybody walking about the streets in the hats like miners wear with the light on the front. “I wouldn’t like to go to Ireland.”

  “But wh
y not, Marti?”

  “Dad says it’s always wet and dark in Ireland and Australia’s our home.”

  “Oh, so that’s the reason. Your father says, is it?” said Mam, and she had the anger on her. Marti thought he was in trouble again and Mam was going to say he wasn’t too big to be getting his pants pulled down and have everyone on the train shown him getting the hot arse again.

  He didn’t want to go to Ireland because Dad would never go back. He had told Marti Australia was God’s country and he would never leave for the days soaked through and feeling grateful for a bit of digging in a ditch, because wasn’t that the only work you could ever find in Ireland. Marti knew Dad loved Australia and the sunshine and driving the trailer because there was no sunshine and no work entirely in Ireland. Dad said Ireland had gave us the Guinness, and wasn’t the soda bread something to be grateful for too. But if you could tow the entire country to anchor off Sydney then he would still have to seriously consider setting foot on it, and even then it would be a temporary affair.

  Mam grabbed Marti by the shoulders and led him away. She walked very fast and didn’t look at any of the people who were staring at them as they went.

  “Mam,” said Marti.

  “Shut up.”

  “But, Mam,” said Marti. She was walking him really fast by the shoulders, and when Mam walked him really fast by the shoulders it meant the hot arse. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t.”

  “Marti, be quiet.”

  “But, Mam.” She stopped walking and turned to look down at him.

  Marti was sure he was going to start crying and when the tears came Mam looked around and then she sat down and took out a little blue handkerchief.

  “Marti, now listen to me. You need to be a big brave boy for me. Do you promise to be a big brave boy for me?” Mam started to wipe tears from Marti’s cheeks with the little blue handkerchief.

  “I do.”

  “Good, that’s good, son,” she said, and stroked his hair. “Ireland’s to be our new home, do you hear me? Our new home, Marti.” He didn’t understand because earlier Mam had said it was just for a holiday and he started to cry harder. It made him all sad, and he wondered why Dad never came and if he was ever really coming, but he didn’t want to ask Mam because he didn’t want her to say he was a bold boy and Dad didn’t come to get him because he was a bold boy.