29. The Bag Of Bricks, and The Paradoxical Priest.
The next day Zack and I were delivered to the railway station in the old Ford Customline – briefly preceded by the noise of the disintegrating bodywork and the pandemonium in the rear seat. Ma Reiff had the extra children on board to help wave us goodbye.
This time Jessica was riding in the front with Zack and me, her face a picture of pride and delight. And this was certainly not the Jessica Reiff I knew. With her hair down, new shoes and the dress her mother had finished making the day before she was very much the little lady and quite pretty.
Ma Reiff was in her wandering tropical garden outfit again, though it was something of a contrast to her disposition. I could see that the prospect of farewelling her son until the Christmas holidays was hurting deeply.
At the station we were directed to the marshalling yard, where our faithful Chariot of the Steel Road stood awaiting our pleasure. It was coupled behind a string of open freight wagons immediately in front of the guard’s van, the whole assemblage being on the far side of three sets of tracks.
When we began bouncing violently over them I naturally assumed the brakes had failed. I was wrong, however; it was Ma Reiff saving us the trouble of having to ferry our luggage across, totally oblivious to the terrible scraping and thumping noises issuing from beneath the car.
On bailing out Zack and I checked underneath for broken axles and pools of essential fluids but to our surprise there were none, so we grabbed a couple of bags each from the boot and headed for the carriage steps.
Jessica came with us to have a look inside. Brian had to stay and mind the littlies until it was time to wave goodbye.
Sash and Doogle were already in residence. Their billeting families had come early, allowing our comrades to grab the front compartment – a coup of some significance as it was next to the toilet and water fountain. They helped carry our luggage onto the train, including the extra bag Zack seemed to have acquired. This was so heavy it needed Sash and I both to haul it up the steps.
“Why are you takin’ a kitbag full of bricks back to school?” Sash gasped as we dropped it against the seat by the door. Zack just gave him an inscrutable stare. I think it meant “Mind your own business”.
We stowed our belongings then watched as Ma Reiff jolted the car back across the tracks and parked it near some other vehicles. As she came to rejoin us we went outside again, after which we stood around jeering at our group’s latecomers as they arrived. Eventually there came a prolonged whistle-blast from the engine, following which the guard blew his own, somewhat lesser whistle and shouted “Aaaaall aboard!”
Suddenly Ma Reiff was upon me. Deep into her ample embrace I was crushed, with such force and feeling I could scarcely breathe. Neither of us was able to speak, though in my case the reason was more physical than emotional. She released me moments before consciousness was extinguished and turned her attention to Zack, her cheeks wet with tears.
Zack was better prepared than I. Even so, he almost disappeared from sight on being swept clear of the ground, engulfment in the vastness of his distraught mother’s arms and bosom leaving little of him visible. I did notice, however, that he’d managed to get one arm up and was breathing from under an armpit.
Lucky him. Before I’d recovered enough breath to even think properly I was collided-with by a flying Jessica. She gave me an amazingly strong bony hug, kissed me unashamedly then fled to the car. On arriving there its rear doors burst open and a living carpet of small screaming children surged toward us.
—He Died Valiantly I thought as I was swallowed by the almost amoebic mass of little bodies.
Jasper saved me. I hadn’t heard his truck arrive as its clattering had been drowned out by the children. Just as I was about to go under he waded in and offered me a hand to shake.
I grabbed for it in desperation.
“It’s been good to have you, Kev,” he said. “You’ll have to drop us a line sometime and let’s know how you’re going.”
Ma Reiff was yet to relinquish her son to the winds of fate and the Queensland Railways. “And you’re always welcome (sniff) to come and see us again you know (sniff), get away from there Cecily!”
A second, more urgent whistle-blast came from the distant engine and the guard again shouted “Aaaall aboard”, so I hurriedly disentangled myself from the last couple of leg-limpets and made a dash for the carriage.
Zack was right behind me. Back in our compartment we found Sash and Doogle leaning half out the open window.
“Hey Zack. I thought you only had five brothers and sisters,” Doogle asked as we stormed in. “I got to twenty-eight and lost count.”
“Yeah, but you’ll have counted a couple of ‘em twice,” Zack replied deadpan. “See they move around so quick you can never be sure how many there are.”
Just then the carriage slammed forward without warning, only to halt just as violently a moment later. The window lean-outerers fell back onto the seating, Doogle hugging his ribs. “He’s havin’ trouble gettin’ it goin’,” he gasped. “…Probably left the handbrake on.
“Either that or the clutch is buggered,” muttered Sash.
Another less-violent jolt left the carriage rolling slowly forward. Hoping it might now be safe I took up one of the window positions overlooking the farewelling committee.
Out amongst the parked cars I could see the old Ford. Jessica’s face appeared in a window and I gave her a wave but she quickly bobbed down again … and stayed down.
As we moved between the strings of other freight wagons the gravity of the moment suddenly filled me with a great sadness. But it wasn’t just me; on dropping back onto the seat I noticed the others had been affected as well. And, like a malevolent mist, this mood of despondency drifted through the entire carriage and enveloped everyone aboard.
Time ceased to have meaning. Streets and buildings drifted by unseen as silent and withdrawn we each of us sat there staring at the floor – The Condemned en-route to the River Styx in this Carriage of the Damned.
Onto the main line we trundled in the afternoon sun, our pace gradually increasing almost to a jogging speed. “Cul-lunk cul-lunk…” drummed the woodwork and the windows and the peeling off-white paint as our bogey-wheels rolled across each joint in the rails. Cul-lunk cul-lunk. It seemed interminable.
It was Doogle who eventually broke the spell. He curled into a foetal ball on the seat and began sobbing. “We’re all gunna die here,” he blubbed. “By the time we get to Ingham all they’ll find of us in the carriage will be the dried out husks of little old men.”
I joined in. “I want my mummy,” I bleated as I slowly collapsed to the floor then lay there sucking my thumb.
“Your attention please!” Sash announced, hands cupped to mouth in imitation of a railway station address system. “The train from Mount Isa and the edge of the civilised world has been slightly delayed,” he advised. “It is now expected to arrive on platform three at twenty-one fifty-five AD.”
Zack jumped up pretending alarm. “AD?” he shouted. “You mean ‘After Dark?!!’”
Suddenly we were shrieking with laughter … which brought the others tumbling out of their compartments to see what was happening, the rest of the carriage being as sombre as a cemetery. Moments later our doorway filled with a mass of jostling boys, their faces pictures of puzzlement.
This only reduced our condition further and the fools soon joined in – laughter being, after all, quite contagious.
Eventually the hilarity subsided and everyone drifted back to their places. Then, a little while later, we had an unexpected visitor. It was Father O’Long, wondering if he might join us for a while.
The “No” option was not exactly available here, but he seemed in a relaxed frame of mind. After sitting down he began with a bit of small-talk – mostly about the enjoyable nature of our visit and the wonderful way we’d been received by the people of Mount Isa.
We were wary of his apparent bonhomie, thoug
h, knowing Father O’Long as we did. This was sure to be no casual visit. There’d be something he’d be wanting to talk over.
Eventually it came. “You know,” he said – changing the subject abruptly, “…I have to admit that at times I find you three older lads somewhat paradoxical.”
We waited in silence for what now seemed inevitable: a detailed examination of some newly-revealed, morally debilitating character deficiency – something which had not previously come to Father’s notice.
“After your trip underground Mr Dunstable informed me that he’d found your behaviour – your ‘inane levity’, to use his own words – ‘inappropriate, improper, inconsiderate and impertinent’. And I must admit I have leant toward that opinion any number of times.
“But let me say this: Farewelling our Mount Isa friends and hosts today brought to us all a profound sadness. And yet, in a way almost magical, you three and Zachariah, with your “impertinent levity”, uplifted everyone’s spirits and brightened their outlook.”
“Gee Father,” said Doogle. “We felt the same way. It’s facing up to the end of a holiday that does it, ay.”
“And you may be right,” Father mused. “The thing is though, you boys just won’t take anything seriously enough.”
I had to protest. “But, Father...”
“On the other hand,” he said, ignoring my objection and getting up to leave, “you have all been blessed with the most wonderful gift.” In the doorway he stopped and looked back at the slowly changing scene outside our window. For a while no one spoke.
“Erm... What sort of gift would that be, Father?” Sash eventually asked.
He turned to go. “Why, the gift of not taking anything too seriously, of course.”
We stared for a moment at the empty doorway. “—And he finds us paradoxical!” exclaimed Sash.
Zack jumped to his feet. “‘Magical’ I believe our Learned Cleric said, and...”
“‘Almost magical’ I think it was,” corrected Doogle.
Zack ignored the interruption and continued with his little scene. “…And so, for my next trick, I shall attempt an incredible prestidigitation; an amazingly amazing creatorial conjuration of the most monumental magnitude imaginable!”
We gaped at the fool in speechless astonishment as he began waving his hands slowly and mysteriously over the extra bag he’d brought on board.
“Yooou weeel obzzerrve, gentlemennzz,” he intoned in an atrocious fake accent, “thatt att noe tieemes doo myee handzzz leeev myee wristsss, nor doo myee legzzz leave myee trouzzerzz.”
“Unlike his brain which left long ago,” muttered Doogle.
Zack threw open the bag and from it produced a newspaper-wrapped parcel. Then, holding it aloft triumphantly, he bore it to his seat with over-elaborate ceremony and set it down there.
“RRREGARDEZ!!!” he exclaimed as he exposed its contents: Four Very Large Jam Sandwiches. We gaped at them in astonishment for about two microseconds then the conditioned reflexes kicked in.
“You’re just as loony as the rest of us, y’ flamin’ drongo.” said Doogle, a moment before taking his first mouthful. “We only brought a couple packets of biscuits.”
“He’ve wite Vak,” guffled Sash, who never could show restraint where food was concerned. “You’re juft av roony af vuh reft of uff.”
“I thought you were just bringin’ extra clothes and stuff,” I said. “What else did your mum put in there?”
“Well, there’s a lot more samitches. There’s a coupla fruit cakes, two tins of Anzac biscuits, a big bag of scones, a box full of oranges and bananas... See Mum was worried about there bein’ no refreshment bar on the train. I said don’t worry about it; me an’ Casey couldn’t sit there stuffin’ ourselves stupid in front of you two, ay ... so she just doubled up on everything.”
By the time we’d finished our little snack the train’s speed had increased to that of a leisurely bicycle ride. Sash and Doogle wandered out to the passage – Sash to the toilet, Doog to an open corridor window. After a while he came back and flopped onto the seat. “I think you two might be wanted outside,” he said.
“What? —How do you mean?” I asked. When he didn’t explain Zack went to investigate.
“Hey Casey,” he shouted back at me. “Come an’ have a look at this.” As I stood up to join him I became aware of a car-horn blaring somewhere and the squeals and shouts of a great many children.
Parked on a bush track near the railway line was the old Ford Customline. All the kids were standing by the car yelling and waving frantically and Brian was tooting the horn.
Ma Reiff had Jessica tucked under one arm like a great mother-hen. Both waved as we went past and Ma Reiff smiled in a sad sort of way.
As I waved and looked back I could see Mount Isa behind us. It was just around the bend.
Doogle was right. We were all going to die on the train.
30. Taking The Air; and The Reluctant Prefect
When Sash came back from his personal errand he didn’t return to his seat. Instead he just stood in the doorway, a great mischievous grin on his face. “Guess what I found out,” he boasted.
“That it’s hard to aim for the bowl with the train swayin’ all about,” replied Doogle. “…I dunno. What?”
“Nah. —Well yeah; but there’s something else. The front door of the carriage; it ain’t locked.”
We all jumped up to confirm his discovery but Sash didn’t move from the doorway. “Wait up,” he said. “We don’t want the other kids finding out, do we – so we just take it quietly, one at a time when no one’s looking.”
He checked the corridor, took a pace backward then disappeared from view.
Doogle went next. He stood up with his hands in his pockets and said in the manner of an idle young English aristocrat-about-town: “I say, chaps. I do believe I might step out for a moment – to take the air, don’t you know,” …and strolled leisurely into the corridor.
Zack was next. A half minute later he leant out and checked. No one was there.
Out he bolted, me right behind him, around the corner to the connecting door, where we quickly let ourselves out. Beyond it was a narrow footplate; when we closed the door it became narrower still.
Our fellow adventurers were standing at the front of the next carriage – an open, wooden-sided affair carrying a single large block of smelted copper. A gaping space lay between the two cars, buffers and a narrow connecting hook providing the only step. Below we could see the track rushing past.
Zack and I lurched across the gap one at a time and clambered into the truck. Then, safely aboard, we joined the others and began taking in the scenery.
Here the panorama was three dimensional and much more satisfying than the one-sided view available from the carriage windows. In the distance ahead we could see the engine labouring away, its long line of rail trucks following faithfully as they traversed the rocky hills and creeks of the Selwin Ranges.
—Ah yes, I thought. This is the life. Sun on your face; wind in your hair... Soot in your eyes.
Eventually, after satisfying our lust for freedom and fresh air, we decided on a return to the second-class section for refreshments – Zack and I to go first. After negotiating the gap without trouble I stood on the footplate and carefully opened the door a crack to see if our absence had been noticed.
No one was about so I stepped inside. Zack followed, closing the door while I checked the corridor. A couple of boys were engaged in a friendly scuffle at the other end of the carriage but that was all. Around the corner we bolted and into our compartment ... only to discover Duffy in residence there, sitting by the window with his feet on the opposing seat while slowly and carefully peeling one of our oranges and flicking pieces out the window.
After some hesitation Zack and I sat down – as close to the door as possible, one each side.
Duffy pretended not to have noticed.
Then Doogle and Sash arrived. At the doorway they
froze. “U-ohhh,” murmured Doogle.
Duffy just kept working at the orange and staring out the window as if none of us existed. Then Doogle and Sash sat down as well, next to Zack and me and as far from Duffy as possible.
No one spoke. All present knew it was Duffy who was going to break the silence. Meanwhile, with great care and without spilling a drop of juice, he divided the orange in half by feel, began splitting segments from one of the halves and, slowly, one at a time, consumed them – all while gazing fixedly out the window.
Eventually, as he commenced work on the second half – still by feel and still gazing out the window – he began ruminating “to himself” … “rhetorically”.
“Isn’t it interesting…” he mused, “how we often seem to find in our midst, individuals who, no matter the situation, appear blessed with unfailing good fortune.
“It’s a particular order of good fortune, too, the sort of good fortune which always manages, somehow, to deliver them from the shit they get themselves into – regardless of its depth or magnitude. And not only does it deliver them, but it invariably does so in a manner which leaves them shining like a newly minted medal.
“They’re easy to recognise. They’re the ones whose cards always seem to fall the right way, the ones who, when caught in their mischief, invariably have things work out exactly as they would wish.” He examined minutely the segment he was currently holding, then put it in his mouth and resumed gazing out the window as he chewed. We just stared at the flyspecks on the walls opposite us
“…These kids are not kids like me,” he continued after a while. “When kids like me go mustering up the backland paddocks they fall off their stupid horses and sprain their wrists. And kids like me do not go wandering off into the bush and find things like machine guns. In fact, were we to do so, kids like me would still be down the cop-shop trying to explain about not knowing how the bloody thing got there in the first place.
“No … these kids are completely different to us common individuals. They can borrow a car in the middle of the night and return it to the shed without getting caught – if you can believe anything you hear – or wander off into the dark and come back with the best girl in Ingham hanging on their arm.”
He turned and looked directly at us. Our faces were the faces of hewn granite: inscrutable; unfathomable.
“And when kids like this stumble on something odd – say – such as a railway carriage’s interconnecting door being unlocked, they sneak out and ride for a while in the open freight wagon in front and expect to return with no one being the wiser.
“And even when kids like this are found out, it’s never by the Father O’Longs of this world. Ah no; for them it’s always a mate who gets onto their little lurk – some poor mug who’d rather be out there with them but is temporarily saddled with responsibility. That’s the sort of person who, on finding the door unlocked, would take a look outside before securing it.”
Just then Li’l Titch appeared in the doorway. “—And you’d have to score a good luck guernsey as well, wouldn’t you, Titch,” Duffy added cryptically, “…but we’re having a conference here so you can piss off.”
Titch considered Duffy’s tone for half a second then disappeared. He never did figure out what the comment about the guernsey might have meant.
“And so,” Duffy continued, “as your school Prefect and by the power vested in me – however misguidedly – I am duty bound, am I not, to appraise the seriousness of this wholesale breach of conduct-standards and then consider appropriate penalties – the full scope of which I am sure you appreciate.”
We each remained mute as we mulled over his “full scope of which”, the clunkety-clunking wheels, creaks and rumbles of the train and screams and shouts of numerous boys at play the only things to intrude on our collective introspection.
After a suitably prolonged silence Duffy continued. “Firstly; I must issue a severe warning about such dangerous and irresponsible behaviour – the precise wording of which I will leave to your own vivid imaginations. Secondly; I will penalise you with a fine. This will be in the nature of a forfeit, whereby you will allocate to me an equal portion of the abundant provisions I discovered in the bag there, the one I investigated while awaiting your return.
“Thirdly, in respect of these matters, you will each remain as paragons of circumspect. So indeed will I, though I might point out that any word to the contrary would be very much to your disadvantage but not mine. You see, I don’t really want the job anyway.”
“But you’re taking advantage of the situation,” I said. “That’s corrupt.”
“Not necessarily,” replied Duffy. “Just think what Rosie would’ve done. Rosie would’ve given you a thick ear each and taken the whole bloody lot for himself. You blokes are gettin’ off lightly.”
“Wait up, Duffy,” Sash cut in. “Circumspect” is an adjective. You just used it as a noun.”
“Don’t get bloody smart with me, Saddlehead. You know what I mean.”
Doogle was feigning an expression of open-mouthed awe. “Great speech!” he gushed. “How about a plea of guilty with extenuating circumstances?”
“Hey yeah! And an appeal for mitigation of the penalty via an outpouring of Prefectal mercy,” added Zack, throwing himself to the floor at Duffy’s feet.
“Get up, you fool. I know how much tucker you’ve got in that bag, remember. And of course it was a good speech. I had plenty of time to practise it while waiting for you idiots to return from your suicidal excursion. And as for any plea, well it’s too late to start thinking about that. Anyway, what extenuating circumstances were you going to claim? Mass terminal insanity?
“Now then, what say we try some more of those delicious vegemite sandwiches.”
And that’s how it was for the rest of the day. We sat in the compartment stewing over our misfortune and Duffy came past regularly to plunder our provisions.
Kevin Cassidy The Cassidy Chronicles Page 30
