Bitin' Back

by Vivienne Cleven

  ‘Might.’ I throw me hands on me hips.

  ‘Bye, Missus Dooley,’ He gives a tiny smile, then hurries out the door.

  I jump to me feet and race to the window, watchin as he turns and stares back at the house with somethin like fear on his face.

  ‘Queero,’ I whisper, noticin he walks the same way as Nevil. Silently I curse meself for being so straight out when I shoulda conned him long. Shoulda asked him a lot a questions. Yep, shoulda kept him here.

  I turn me head when I hear the sound of a car tearin up the road, comin round the corner full-bore. Booty’s ute speedin long down the street, black smoke spewin from the tailpipe, the motor soundin like it gonna give up the ghost any minute, n the dogs in the back barking wild. Suddenly Booty brakes so hard the pig carcass on the back flies off the hooks and lands at Trevor’s sandal-wearing feet.

  Trevor stumbles backward, falls on his arse, and screams woman-like when the bloodied pig head—dead eye hangin outta one side a the skull, ears torn, big mouth barin its dirty long gnashers—lands smack in his lap. Hollerin like a madwoman he’s tryin to get to his feet when the dogs come tearin cross the yard towards him.

  ‘Back! Get back, ya fuckas!’ yells Booty, his face grey as he jumps from the car and runs after the dogs. ‘Deadman down! Deadman down!’ Sweat is pissin down his face, spit flyin from his gob, arms flappin wild in the air as he gallops over to the blabberin bawlbaby.

  Knowin Booty’s command, the dogs back off, tails between they legs. They whimper over to the ute and slide underneath.

  Nevil races forward, his face clouded over whit a look a horror n like he can’t believe his eyes. ‘You right, mate?’ he asks, reachin down to haul Trevor to his wobbly feet.

  ‘I—I—I think so,’ Trevor heaves, blood and pig gut clingin to his jeans.

  Poor scared crapper. ‘Bring him inside,’ I yell, feelin a ripple of sorry for him. The boy looks goonary. Probly shit hisself n all.

  Nevil puts an arm around Trevor and walks him into the kitchen. ‘Get him a towel, Mum,’ he says, leading Trevor to a chair.

  ‘Fucken mutts. That’s the problem with em, chase anythin. Get that smell a blood an they off like fucken rockets.’ Booty sounds cross but there’s a lotta pride in his voice. ‘Best fucken pig dogs this side a the black stump,’ he adds.

  ‘Ya right, love?’ I look at the shakin, white-faced Trevor. He definitely not right.

  ‘Well, Mum, he’s just nearly had his bloody guts ripped out.’ Nevil shakes his head whit a look of disgust and scowls at Booty.

  ‘They would’na hurt a fly. Don’t be a pussy, son,’ Booty booms, grinnin from ear to ear.

  ‘Nevil, take your friend and show him where the bathroom is. He’ll need to wash all that off him.’

  Nevil mutters angrily and motions for Trevor to follow him.

  ‘How’d it all go?’ I turn to Booty.

  ‘Yeah, all right. Anyway, who’s that fella at all?’ He nods towards the door.

  ‘Nevil’s city friend. Ya know, friend.’ I walk to the fridge and haul out a bottle a Coke.

  ‘Poofter mate, hey? Man oughta get to him too. He got that wussy look bout him.’ Booty reaches for the Coke and pours hisself a glass.

  ‘See the sandals?’

  ‘Nuh! He’s wearin fucken sandals?’ Booty scratches his head, knowin, as I do, the boy’s got some serious problem. Specially out in this town. ‘Be fucked,’ he grumbles, lookin at the door.

  ‘Poor bugger. Those dogs scared the shit outta him,’ I laugh, then wipe the sweat from me forehead.

  ‘Dunno what’s gonna happen whit the game, Mave. If Nevil don’t pull his head in then the Blackouts’ll be fucked right up. Jeez, that’d be a real shame, eh?’

  ‘Reckon so. Ain’t no one plays like Nev.’ I let out a big breath then shove a Tim Tam into me gob. Ahhh, ain’t nuthin like a Tim Tam to clear ya scone.

  ‘Thinkin bout teaching him to box. What ya reckon?’ Booty pats his big gut.

  ‘Geez, Booty, boxin?’ I scowl at him. ‘I ain’t sure if that’d be the right thing to do whit Nev.’

  ‘Yep, a man thing. No pussy ever took to boxin. Might get his girlfriend in on the act too,’ he laughs, his fat gut shakin like a plate a gelatine.

  ‘Booty, people startin to get a bit suss bout Nev. I’m tellin lies to everybody. Can’t keep this up. Then Dotty Reedman tellin the stinkin town, n Missus Warby spottin him in a dress!’ I shove another biscuit into me mouth and wonder when all this’ll blow up in me face. Knowin in the bottom a me gut that it’ll be soon.

  ‘Can’t help em stickybeaks, Mave. Only thing is keep a real close eye on him, keep him away from grog and smokin that weed. He’ll come outta it. And for God’s sake, keep that fucken brainwashin Ricki Lake off the TV.’ Booty picks at his teeth with a matchstick.

  ‘I’m thinkin bout takin him to Doctor Chin. Whatcha reckon, hey?’

  ‘Dunno, Sis, thing is I don’t think the doctor can fix him.’ Booty pushes the chair in. ‘Ah, well, a man’s gotta get over n see what Brenda’s up to. Ain’t been over fer a while, she’ll have the shits fer sure. If you have any trouble whit em in there, come n get me, eh?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I will.’

  Nevil sidles in and stands near the fridge. ‘Can Trevor stay here? He’s sick.’

  ‘Spose so. No funny business in this house or I’ll get Booty over, understand?’I point a finger at him. No homo business is what I wanna say. But I can’t be sayin that, not to me own kid. A woman don’t wanna mess whit his head any more than it’s already messed. No good puttin any more ideas in it.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I think ya know. Might be a nice boy, Nevil, but he sticks out. Fellas in this town’ll do him over. It’s like they can’t stand strangers. Specially men that get round wearin sandals!’ I feel so shamed bout it. What’d drive a grown man to wear friggin sandals out in this country! City ideas. Fucken city fellas n all their fancy ways. Nevil outta his own territory on this one, fer sure.

  ‘Mum, he’s a friend, that’s all. If this town wants to pick on someone cos they’re different, well let them. Look at the way they treat us. Yeah, Mum, they treat us like shit cos we’re blackjacks! Seems to me like you’re just like them now. If it’s not one thing it’s another,’ Nevil says, soundin depressed.

  ‘Why’s he here, Nev? Is this something to do whit Jean Rhys?’ I hurl the question, soundin unreal to me own ears.

  ‘Oh, Mother! If I could—Never mind. One day you’ll find out what this is all about. It’s just that I need some time out for me. I’ve lived my life doing what everyone else expects me to do. And I’ve had enough! Sometimes I wish we’d never ended up in this place. But, oh no, had to fuck off on dad real fast, didn’t we?’

  ‘Hey, now don’t ya blame me for ya father! He’s the one that fucked off on us, Nev! He was no good for us, boy. A woman didn’t want ya to be growin up like him—drinkin grog n bein a no good bastard.’ I watch Nevil closely. He’s nuthin like his ol man. Then again, right now, I sorta wish he were.

  ‘Mum, I don’t blame you for Dad, you know that. But do you ever think about life? I mean do you wish you could of done things you never tried?’ Nevil asks, gazin at me whit a serious-type look.

  ‘Well, love, I dunno. Spose I always wanted to find us a nice place n have a decent life. I jus wanted for ya to have a good life, boy. Not like me own shitty fucked life. Everythin I do is for you, son.’ I rest me face on me hands n watch him.

  ‘Mum, I mean if you weren’t black, poor, whatever, do you think it would of changed anything?’

  ‘Can’t answer that, Nev. I always been black n I always been poor. Sometimes I sorta wished I coulda had a proper schoolin like. Ya know, be sorta smart. A woman feels stupid, I spose.’

  ‘Don’t talk shit, Mum, you’re not stupid. You’re smart. Now look here, there’s people out there with all their fancy degrees and diplomas, and, let me tell you, when it comes down to it, put them in your s
ituation and they’d fucken freak, cos your life experience is a special education all its own. A lot of people, even smart ones, wouldn’t know fuck about life. Yeah, too up themselves to stop and smell the coffee. Too concerned about appearances. Yeah, smart people, eh. Don’t make me laugh, Ma.’ He grins at me.

  ‘Nevil, where ya learnin that sorta talk?’

  ‘Nowhere, Mum, I always talk this way,’ he says, reachin for a biscuit.

  ‘That’s a barefaced lie! Gee, sometimes I wonder where ya get this stuff.’

  ‘Ma, I do more than run wild, you know.’ He laughs.

  ‘Is that why you’re this Jean Rhys?’ I watch the way his face muscles move, like I done hit a raw nerve.

  ‘No, not really. There’s more to life than this town, is what I’m saying. They can’t help the way they are round here. Born and bred in one spot, this is all they know. Shit, none of them been past the friggin Four Square!’

  ‘So, that’s why Trevor’s here, cos he’s not like the others. Is that what ya mean?’

  ‘In a way, I suppose. Look, Mum, I don’t really want to talk about this any more.’ He yanks the fridge door open.

  ‘Ya know, I’m here if ya wanna talk. Yeah, n I nearly forgot. I gotta book from the library, Wide Sargasso Sea.’ I lay me cards on the table, watchin as he turns round slowly n stares bug-eyed at me.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yep, Jean Rhys.’

  ‘Mum, you don’t read books.’

  ‘I do now. Maybe you’ll tell poor ol Mum why ya wanna be Jean Rhys. Ya hate yaself, that it? I believe Jean were a sad sorta person too. Or maybe you think yer goin mad, like that woman in the attic? Yeah, love, I done taken a lot a notice a that book.’

  ‘Oh shit! Mad! Hate myself?’ He laughs hard then says, ‘It’s nothing. I can’t ... Forget it, Mum.’ He throws over his shoulder as he walks out the door.

  ‘Ya can’t be Jean, Nevil. There was only one Jean in this ol world! Ya hear me! Jean’s dead as a doornail!’ I yell me guts out. ‘Ya not the woman’s ghost! I’ll find out, Nevil Dooley!’

  Sighin I get up, put the cups in the sink and wash them out. As I stand there thinkin I look out the window.

  Missus Warby stands on the kero tin starin over at me joint. Hangin from her neck there’s some eye spotters. I push the window open wider to get a better view. Then, as I turn my head, I see the copper, Max Brown, stride through the front gate, whistlin as he moves along.

  ‘Oh no,’ I groan, then turn back to Missus Warby, who by this time has the eye spotters up to her eyes. Jeesussuuuschhrrisst! It never rains but it pours! What that copper doin here?

  I hear the knock on the door n I rush out before Nevil has the chance to open it.

  ‘Mavis, how are you?’ Max Brown coughs, then runs his eyes behind me, over me shoulder, like I done got somethin to hide. Which I have like, har, har.

  ‘Good, Max, and yerself?’ I give me best honest-person smile. See I a good citizen. I’m no law breaker.

  ‘Oh, in this job things never get better, only worse,’ he says, slappin a smile on his face. ‘Look, I’ve received a missing persons complaint and thought I’d better come around and sort this out.’ He looks at me, his sunburnt face wrinkled up into a frown.

  ‘Yeah, who’s missin?’ I chew on me bottom lip. What the hell now?

  ‘Nevil. Isn’t he?’ He asks, openin a notepad.

  ‘Well, he was, but he’s back home now.’ I shrug me shoulders hopin he don’t wanna see Nevil. That’d knock the piss outta him fer sure.

  ‘Can I see him?’ It’s like the man’s readin me mind.

  ‘Well, Max, he’s definitely here. But he’s in the bathtub. Anyway, who made the complaint?’ I part me lips into a smile. Who the fuckery would do somethin like ring the cops! Could it be—Nah, even she wouldn’t be that cracked.

  ‘Gracie Marley claims Nevil disappeared and that you don’t know where he is.’ Max looks at me whit somethin like a flicker of sussin.

  ‘No, no, she got it all wrong. I didn’t say that,’ I lie. Gracie gonna be dead meat when I get holda her.

  ‘Okay, Mavis, I believe you. Tell Gracie to stop wasting my time when you see her,’ Max walks back through the gate, but not before Missus Warby spots him.

  ‘Max! Max, over here!’ she cries, wavin the eye spotters at him.

  ‘Bloody silly ol bugger,’ I whisper under me breath, then slam the door shut. I can’t help but wonder what she’s gonna say, what gossip she’s gonna spread.

  At that moment I feel a sickness in me lower gut. Like a premmanishon, what’s that word? I realise all this business whit Nevil is like a deck a cards ready to fall. That there probably are no aces in me deck. That I be doned over like a dinner.

  FIVE

  Another Lie

  I lay back on the couch and watch as the crowd moves in one long unbroken line down the street, like a black centipede creepin along on its gut.

  ‘Whadda we want—Land Rights!’

  ‘When do we want em? Now!’ The mob chants as they push and shove past the police and TV cameras. For an instant the screen flickers and the picture goes snowy like.

  ‘Bloody thing,’ I mumble and get up to fiddle whit the knobs.

  ‘Mum, Mum, don’t worry, I’ll find him.’

  I swing round at the voice.

  ‘Gracie? Gracie love, is that you?’ I peer round the lounge room.

  ‘Yeah, Mum, I’ll bring him home, I promise.’

  ‘Gracie, whatcha talkin bout?’ I try to locate her voice in the semi-darkness.

  ‘No, he was never one to do things like this ... Yep, just disappeared ... Yeah, from Mandamooka.’

  ‘There are grave concerns for his safety?’ I swing wildly round at the man’s voice.

  Suddenly realisation dawns on me. I smack the side a the TV and bend down to look at the screen. Gracie stands in front of the protestors holdin a big sign whit the words: Have you seen this man? and a blown-up photo of Nevil holdin a stubbie in one hand and a fish in the other.

  ‘Jeessuuss Christ!’ I burst out and scramble full-tear down the hall. ‘Nevil, Nevil!’ I bang on his door. ‘Open up! Yer on TV! Gracie’s tellin everyone ya missin.’

  He opens the door. ‘What?’ He looks at me like I’m the one whit head trouble.

  ‘TV, yer on TV! Gracie, she tellin everyone!’ I blabber, me hands flyin mad through the air as I point to the lounge room.

  ‘Gracie on TV? What’s wrong with you, Mum? Been on the piss, eh?’ He grins, comin closer and sniffin round me face.

  ‘Don’t talk stupid,’ I shout, grabbin him by the arms n pushin him like a shoppin trolley so fast down the hallway that he stumbles n loses his thongs.

  ‘Hurry up!’ I shove him forward. ‘There, look!’ I point to the screen.

  ‘Oh yeah, a march. Land rights,’ Nevil says, his voice flat n low as he turns to look at me.

  ‘Get outta the way!’ I push him aside and stare at the picture. ‘She was there. Holdin a big sign n a photo of ya.’ I race over to the TV and switch channels. ‘On the news. She was on the bloody news. I tell ya, Nevil, it’s true.’

  ‘Port. You been drinking port, Mum?’ He shakes his head, disgust paintin his face.

  ‘Talk bout friggin mad. Ain’t touched that shit for years.’

  ‘Mum, maybe you should go to Doctor Chin and have a check-up.’

  ‘Why don’t ya believe me?’ I walk past him and sit down on the couch.

  ‘Mum, I’m not a missing person, am I?’ He sits down beside me.

  ‘It were her. I seen her. It were Gracie all right. Standin in front a that mob a land rights fellas. Know that voice anywhere.’ Now why’d a woman go n tell her what I did? Stupid. I shoulda told her the truth. Maybe Gracie woulda understood. Stupid. Mavis Dooley, dickhead. Gee, what a friggin crazy thing to do! Now Nev thinks I been drinkin again.

  ‘Fellas from round here don’t go on TV telling lies about people. Is this your way of telling me something, Mum? Is this abou
t Jean Rhys?’ Nevil asks, reachin for me hand.

  ‘Bloody dumb question. Orrhh no, don’t worry bout it.’ I look back at the screen, wishin her to come on again.

  ‘Mum, Nevil’s not missing. He’s just gone away for some time. He’ll be back,’ Nevil says, in a sure tone.

  ‘Son, don’t talk to me like I be the one whit problems! Was you started all this!’ I let me trap loose n jump up to me feet, rage grippin a woman.

  ‘Yeah, how?’

  ‘All this shit talk bout bein a dead woman! Yeah, Nev, Jean Rhys carked it long time ago. Seem she had a lot a trouble too. But that’s no reason to be goin round tellin the world that you is her!’ I explode, me heart thuddin.

  ‘Don’t you dare say those things! Shit, Mum, I thought you understood!’ He punches the air with short, sharp little jabs of his finger.

  ‘Ya know what they do to homos in jail? Yeah, that’s right, Nev, homosexual. Gay! They bash em! I’m sure yer little mate in there’d know bout that, eh!’ Take that bit a truth, Nevil.

  ‘Gay? Gay? You think I’m gay!’ he snorts, his mouth droppin open as he looks at me and shakes his head. ‘Oh Mum, I’m not gay.’

  ‘That’s what they all say. Yeah, Nev, I watch Ricki Lake n know nough that a lot a fellas deny it.’

  I walk over to the wall and look up at the photo of Dave. ‘Spose it weren’t all yer fault, Nev. It were all that bastard’s there. Wouldn’t make a good father even if he tried. If I coulda got a dad for ya I woulda. Ya gotta know that, Nev. And remember ya like a son to Uncle Booty.’ I try hard to hold back the fast comin tears.

  ‘Don’t blame Dad, Mum. Don’t blame anyone, okay? You’re just stressed out is all. One day I promise you’ll look back on all this and say, wasn’t a woman silly. I’m just going through some stuff now. Just trying hard to do things my way,’ he says, and pats me on the shoulder.

  ‘Sorry, love. A woman’s a bit stressed out is all, jus too much catchin up to a person. Been so tired lately, must be the blood pressure. Time for me to go to bed, eh.’

  Nevil stands on top a the bar, singin n dancin. He wears one of me dresses, his face is covered whit make-up. I sit at the back a the crowd and watch whit a chill in me heart as he slides his hips at the men. I glance down at his feet: he’s wearin high heels and stockins. His voice rises, shrill and girl-like as he belts outta tune bout bein a woman in love. Trevor struts in, wearin a mini skirt, a cropped tee-shirt and a pair a poshy sandals.