Poor Fellow My Country

by Xavier Herbert

  Nell turned from his staring narrow eyes to the stove, saying, ‘We been use’m all-lot for washin’ up.’

  He said, ‘I’ll put you on a can of it . . . and build up the fire . . . and you can bring it out to me, eh? We do a bit o’ duck-pluckin’ together, eh?’ He was evidently excited. He grabbed up a kerosene can bucket, half-filled it from the tap, and put it on the stove. Then he made up the fire. ‘There,’ he said, ‘that’ll be boilin’ in ten minutes. Soon’s she’s right, bring ’er out ’o me, eh?’ He winked at Queeny as he went out.

  When Nell looked at Queeny wildly, Queeny said, ‘I been tell him you las’ night . . . go walk in moonlight long o’ Nugget. Wha’s matter you wan’ ’o play-about two-feller man?’

  Nell sighed: ‘I don’ wan’ play about nobody.’

  ‘You got ’o be tweet’eart long o’ one feller. Which one I don’ know. Dat you bijnitch. But I don’ wan’ trouble. Spone you tweet’eart long o’ Nugget, might be dat-one Knobby tek me ’way start him dat renchouse he talk about. Spone you like him dis one more better, he can tek you long o’ Beatrice . . . I stop here look-out ’nother one. You got ’o do sumpin, Tchister . . . you got ’o do him quick. Wha’ ’bout you tek some fresh cake long ’o workin’s smoke-o time . . .’

  ‘You tek him hot water long o’ ’nother one?’ Nell asked eagerly.

  ‘I can’t carry-him-up hot water got him crutch. He can’t do nothin’ you now. Wha’s matter you all-day fright’ somebody puggim you? Spone I can do it . . . I do it all-time. Da’s wha’ for man wan’ him you, ain’t it?’

  When the water was boiling, Nell went out with it. Knobby was leaning back on the uncut firewood, hat over brow to keep off the sunlight, smoking. He sat up quickly at her step. ‘’Ullo, love,’ he said. She would have set the can down and gone; but he caught her hand, saying, ‘No . . . sit down . . . talk to me while I pluck ’em.’

  She breathed, ‘Wan’ ’o mek cake for smoke-o.’

  ‘It can wait. Sit down, I said!’ He jerked her down onto a log.

  He dipped a duck into the hot water, and while it hung there, said, ‘You smell good. Been usin’ my brilliantine, eh?’

  She asked, ‘Belong ’o you?’

  ‘Yeah . . . but you use it much’s you like. I get you a bottle for yo’self. What else you want . . . lookin’-glass, dresses? Wha’ colour dress you like best?’

  ‘I got dress.’

  ‘That lubra rubbitch. I’ll get you real white-girl’s dress . . . shoes, too . . . comb, handkerchief . . . anything you like.’

  He pulled the bird out and began to pluck. He repeated, ‘Anything you like . . . ’cause I like you, see.’

  She hung her head. He asked, ‘You like me?’

  She was silent. He urged, ‘Come on, tell me . . . you like me?’

  She nodded the hanging head. He drew a deep breath, reached and stroked her shoulder. ‘I reckon’ you did. You ’n’ me go tweet’eart, eh?’

  She shrugged free of the hand, muttering, ‘No-more like o’ dat.’

  She moved to rise. He jerked her down again, breathing heavily now: ‘You proper tweet one . . . I wan’ you bad. You come to me in shed tonight, eh?’

  ‘No-more . . . le’ me go!’

  He pulled her lose, tried to kiss her. ‘Tonight,’ he insisted. ‘When the mob’s asleep. I’ll be waitin’ there. You promise . . .’

  She broke away.

  He leered at her: ‘You been promise me. I wait for you.’

  She broke into a run. He laughed after her: ‘I wait . . . I wait . . . you goin’ ’o come all right!’

  When Nell went panting into the kitchen, Queeny, who must have seen it all and heard most, asked, ‘Wha’ you goin’ ’o do?’

  Nell could only shake her head.

  ‘Mek dem cake, like I been tell him you. Tell him dat one Nugget you mek for him. Look him properly in heye, so he know you wan’ ’o tweet’eart long o’ him. You got ’o do it now, I tell him you!’

  Knobby came in with the plucked ducks some twenty minutes later. He held one up, looking very pleased with himself: ‘Didn’ I tell you I’m champion duck-plucker . . . whaaaaa!’ They were done nicely. Then he said, ‘Wha’ ’bout them cakes for smoke-o . . . I’ll take ’em.’

  Nell breathed, ‘I bring.’

  He leered at her, bumped against her deliberately, then winked at Queeny, and pinched her bottom as he passed her. Queeny gave vent to the false mirth. ‘See yo’ down the creek, then.’ He went off.

  Nell did take the cakes to the creek and say and do as instructed by that knowledgeable one, Queeny; but to no avail. Nugget didn’t grasp the significance of her saying the cakes were for him especially, and dropped his blue eyes before the dark troubled stare. When she reported back, Queeny snapped, ‘Wha’s matter dat Nugget . . . he calico-cock?’

  Knobby was all leers at dinner, and hung back afterwards to remind Nell about her promise, clearing off before she could protest. While his brother dozed during the lay-off time, he lay leering at the iron roof.

  Things were similar over supper. But in the evening, after a bit of music, Nell said she’d like to go for a walk. Nugget asked in surprise, ‘Not on your own?’

  ‘No-more. You can come.’

  ‘Okay.’ Nugget leapt up, his delight obvious. But as they were stepping off the verandah he asked, ‘You wan’ ’o take the boy?’

  It took Nell a moment to reply, ‘No . . . him all right.’

  ‘Okay.’ But even with evidently still more delight in the situation, he had to ask, ‘Which way you wan’ ’o go, Nelly?’

  ‘Aw . . . which way you like.’

  Likeliest place for sweethearting would surely be down by the creek, in leaf-dappled moonlight, on a bit of couch grass, with a Willy wagtail singing and plovers peeping. But for walking, which was what she said she wanted, the other way was better, since much less used. Besides, the man had been called Calico-cock. Again, there was Igulgul, right above now, and big enough for magic business; and of course the business he dealt in was always Wrong Side, whereas surely this was Right Side. They went the other way, that is not the way of lovers but of mere walkers.

  They walked the hard-packed wheel-tracks, a yard and a half apart, while he gabbled of the same old things: his economic hopes and plans, of the problem of Prindy’s future, with a hint here and there for her to confide her own problem but never the frank demand for the truth that was needed. Such walking and talking would make anyone tired in a mile. That’s when he asked her if she were, and getting a nod of the lovely dusky head, said simply, ‘Okay,’ and turned about. Even though she gave him her slim dark hand for the return, and he clung to it all the way, still he gabbled — while Igulgul, now looked them in the eye, leered for the joke of it. It was only as they came close to the house that he stopped, put his arm about her shoulders, and said, ‘That was a lovely walk, wasn’t it. What about tomorro’ night again, eh? I wan’ ’o talk you serious, too . . . real serious. You know what I mean serious . . . I mean not just play-about.’

  ‘Yas,’ she breathed.

  Despite his sedateness during the walk, he fairly bounded onto the silent verandah, crying, ‘What’s wrong with everybody . . . let’s have some music!’

  His brother appeared to be asleep in his deck-chair. Queeny was sitting on her box like a graven image, but for the glint of the moonlight in her wide staring eyes. Prindy was asleep round the corner with the radio muttering in Malayan. Whether or not Knobby had been truly asleep, he might just as well have stayed so. Usually he sang to the gramophone music. Now he was silent. Nugget sang everything with gusto, especially bits like: There’s a girl in Cherokee and she’s waitin’ there for me, waitin’ beneath the western Moon . . . Frankie and Johnny were lovers, oh lordy how they did lo-ove, swore to be true to each other, jes as true as the stars up above.

  He was still singing when he went out to the kitchen to help Nell get the cocoa and brownie. When suddenly he fell silent out there, which was in fact wh
en Nell scalded herself slightly and he leapt to get soap to put on her hand, Queeny on the front verandah, doubtless trying to make more of the situation than the pair had given evidence of, in order to discourage Knobby, said with a giggle, ‘Wha’ dem two-feller up to out dere, you reckon?’ Knobby only grunted.

  As they were retiring, Knobby managed to catch Nell in the passage, while his brother was out piddling. He was evidently waiting on her. He bailed her up, muttering, ‘What game you playin’?’ When she tried to dodge past him he caught her arm: ‘You tol’ me you like me. You promise me you come to me tonight.’

  She breathed, ‘Nutching promise you . . . le’ me go!’

  ‘You promised all right. I’ll be waitin’. You come . . . or I make trouble. My brother don’ wan’ you. He tol’ me . . .’

  Nugget’s footsteps could be heard. The pair parted rapidly, Nell to slip into the room where she slept, Knobby himself to go out to piddle. Meeting him, Nugget said, ‘Beaut night, ain’t it. Pity to go to bed.’ Knobby’s reply was another grunt, but not unamiable sounding.

  What Nugget had said about the night apparently he meant strongly, the way he tossed after getting into bed. The Moon was long down before his breathing told that he was asleep. Knobby, who apparently had been asleep almost since retiring, ignoring his brother’s attempts to talk to him, rose at once, bent over the box beside his bed and took out what, by the glint of it, was a flashlight, then silently slipped out, went to the pee tree. The dogs stirred and growled softly, but assuming a normal condition of things, fell back into their holes with their fleas. After piddling, Knobby went round the house. Passing the back he flashed the beam into the passage, stood for a moment, then went across to the shed.

  He lit up again in the shed, and propping the light on the hood of the utility, proceeded to gather up ore-bags from a stack, shake each one out, and spread them in the back of the vehicle. Then he settled down in the back with a cushion out of the cabin behind his head and his hands to prop it up, watching the dark bulk of the house against the stars. Curlews were calling down by the creek. No mopoke giving the all-clear regarding devilry tonight.

  So many stars went down while he waited. From muttering to himself that she would come, would come, would come, must come, because she said she liked him, because he wanted her that bad, wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman before, he came to saying, ‘The bloody bitch ain’t comin’ at all . . . the bloody yeller cock-teasin’ bitch! But by the Christ I’ll ’ave ’er . . . I’ll poke ’er if I ’ave to knock the bloody gin-bitch down in broad daylight.’ He fell asleep waiting. He started awake, must have been dreaming she’d come, because he exclaimed, ‘’Ere I am.’ After a while he rose, stood before the shed, flashed the light on the house. He did it three times. Then muttering, he came slowly back across the yard, round the house, round it again, then gave up, went to bed, sighed, fell asleep.

  Next morning Nugget, all exuberance himself despite lack of sleep, and unsuspicious as usual, took his brother’s obvious lassitude and surliness for sickness, which Knobby let him believe when asked how he felt. However, when Nugget suggested that he give work the go-by for the day and stay at home, Knobby looked even alarmed. He said he’d rather work than lie about, especially as they wanted to finish the sluicing today. He even went on down to the creek ahead of Nugget, because today was that fixed for removing the stitches from Prindy’s wound and the hanging of his crutches on the wall if all was well with the foot. In fact removal of the clay cast revealed that the wound had healed perfectly. The stitches came out; a bandage replaced the clay to protect the still tender skin; and Prindy, although hopping for a while from habit, went down with Nugget, singing with him Give Me My Boots and Saddle. Nugget went on singing it all morning to the beat of the pump engine, always with emphasis on the bit about the girl in Cherokee. Prindy, spared the worst of the cacophony through its being muffled by the engine’s din, appeared to be singing to himself as he did his small bit with the tin. Knobby simply scowled and sighed. He did the same throughout the midday meal, so as even to get on Nugget’s nerves and have him say, ‘Now, for crissake . . . you ain’t comin’ down to work this eve’nin’!’ And so it turned out. When the others rose after the after-dinner camp, Knobby stayed stretched out on his bed. His brother tried to get him to take medicine. He said he would later. The bottle stood on the box beside him.

  No doubt about it, Knobby was sick. Although it was quite warm there out of the wind, he lay covered with a blanket, and despite it, soon after the others left, was shivering. He tossed and turned, groaned and sighed. He sweated, flung off the blanket. At length he fell asleep.

  He woke when Queeny came to him to ask if he would have smoke-o. He said he would have a cup of tea. As she was going, he called to her, ‘Tell Nelly to bring it.’ Queeny cast him a sharp look. As she disappeared, he sat up with a sharp intake of breath.

  Queeny herself came back with the enamel pannikin of tea, saying that Nelly was busy preparing the ducks for supper. He muttered, ‘Tell ’er I wan’ ’er.’

  Still Nell didn’t come. He flopped back on the bed, to toss again. So for another hour. Then sounds in the house told of the women’s coming from the kitchen to their room. He rose quickly, and clad just as he was, in pyjama shorts, slipped off the verandah as last night, and round the house, but this time to go to the dunny. He entered it, pulled down his shorts, sat on the box above the pit, blew off to rouse the flies in the pit below, while leaning so as to see through the slit of the sacking curtain. At long last there was what evidently he expected, Nell going with towel and clean dress to the shower.

  He waited a little longer, then rose, pulled up his pants, peeped out, at the house first, then at the shower-room. No one looking. He came out, this time to head for the shed, for the back of it, which would take him past the back of the shower. Water was tumbling into the tank from the pipe from the pump. Coming level with the shower, he swung towards it suddenly. There were chinks where the sacking was sewn together. He applied his eye to one.

  Nell stood under the streaming shower with arms raised as she squeezed water through her hair, so that the pale skin of her armpits with curl of glistening hair was to be seen in contrast to the gleaming chocolate rest of her. She ran the squeezing hands down over small breasts, slight curve of belly, slim loins, turned as she reached for the soap, to reveal her back in all the slender grace of form and carriage of Australoid womanhood. Breathing heavily, Knobby stole round to the front, took another look at the house, then lifted the screen.

  Soaping an armpit, she was transfixed at sight of him. His eyes were popping, his mouth agape. Then as he met her eyes, he grinned, reached for the elastic of his pyjamas, pulled them down, leapt out of them. She gasped, ‘No-more . . . no-more!’ But he flung himself on her, went under the shower with her, snatching at her flailing arms, forcing them behind her, hissing in her face, forcing her down to the streaming floor, put an arm on her throat when she tried to cry out, in a moment had her overpowered, got to her. It was over in seconds. ‘Christ!’ he gasped. Then lying panting, while the water hissed over them, he chuckled, ‘Done it . . . some places . . . me time . . . but never under shower . . . yaaaah!’ He added, ‘Wonder we wasn’t drownded, eh? Aaaaah!’ He got off her, reached for her hand to pull her up. She snatched it away. He scowled: ‘’Ere . . . that’ll do you! Yo’ me girl now.’ He looked her over with darting little eyes as she drew away to where her dress hung. He said, still panting, ‘Okay . . . finish yo’ shower. See you tonight, eh? You should ’a’ come las’ night like you promised . . . then I wouldn’t ’a’ been rough. Anyway . . . gi’s a kiss goodbye.’

  She tried to avoid him; but he took the kiss, mauling her all over in the process. Then he let her go, and picking up his pants and stepping into them, said, ‘That’ll do till tonight. I’ll look after yo’ well . . . buy yo’ anything. I’ll take yo’ ’way. I’ll get a job on the road again . . . plenty money. ‘Bye, tweet’eart!’ Grinning wide
, he slipped out.

  ‘Bastard!’ she muttered as he vanished. ‘Bloody bastard!’ She continued with her bathing, soaping the front of herself savagely, as if to wipe off contamination, now and again moaning, but with exasperation more than self-pity by her expression.

  When she got back to the house the look she got from Queeny showed plainly that Queeny knew what had happened. She asked, ‘Where dat bloody bastard?’

  Queeny said, ‘Go down creek now.’

  ‘I kill him dat bastard he come humbuggin’ me more.’

  ‘Don’ mek trouble, Tchister.’

  ‘I wan’ ’o go ’way from here.’

  ‘Wait lil while. Wait’ll after Nugget go Town.’

  ‘Bloody puggin bastard!’ Angrily Nell set about putting on the dinner. Queeny went off to bath.

  But it was like old times at supper that evening, with Knobby adding his leer to the jollity of his brother. Even Nell giggled a couple of times when forced to it by Nugget’s insistence. He called her Miss Modesty, because she hung her head over his lavish praise for her cooking of the ducks. The word modesty tickled them all. Prindy wanted to know what it meant. Nugget found he couldn’t tell him. All he could say was: ‘She’s the best dook-cooker in the world . . . but she don’t brag ’bout it . . . not like Knobby, ’ere, who’s the best dook-plooker, an’ got ’o tell everybody . . . aaaaah!’

  Out on the verandah after supper, with the full company there, the radio news over and the musical arrangements made according to taste, a momentary revelation was given of the fact that things weren’t so happy as Nugget in his simple way liked to have them, when he reminded Nell of that walk and talk they were to have, to be answered by silence so taut that he looked around, asked, ‘Why . . . wha’s wrong?’ He had to ask of Nell herself, ‘Don’ you wan’ ’o come?’