The River Baptists

by Belinda Castles

  The midwife continued to leaf through the papers. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she muttered, ‘Where is it?’ before snapping her attention onto Danny. ‘World’s not going to end. You know, she could have a go at feeding it herself.’

  ‘No, look, she says her milk hasn’t come in.’ He barely knew what he was saying, merely hoped that it made sense to this woman. That it would galvanise her in some way so he could leave and do what was required of him elsewhere.

  The woman sighed. ‘All right. Which room is it?’

  ‘That one,’ he pointed. ‘And please—could you tell her—I had to go. I’ll be back soon.’

  She rolled her eyes and put down her papers. Danny crossed the corridor quickly, hoping Rose wouldn’t see him through the open door. He couldn’t speak to her now. He needed to think. As the double doors out of the ward slid open, he heard footsteps behind him. ‘Excuse me,’ said a woman’s voice. It was the tall midwife, the one who had been at the desk when he arrived. She peered down into his face, thinking about what she was going to say. ‘You’re a friend of Rose’s, right?’ He nodded. ‘Do you know anything about that bruise on her face?’

  ‘I think I know who it was, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘You can report him, you know. It’s easier, when there’s evidence. It’ll be too late if you don’t do it now.’

  He held her gaze for a few seconds, before walking out of the building and into the rain.

  Chapter 20

  Tom sat on his disintegrating pier in the dusk. The mozzies were out but it didn’t bother him; he was two thirds of the way down a bottle of Jim Beam and wasn’t intending to leave a piddling little bit in the bottom. There’d been no rain now for a couple of days and there was none on the horizon. Be dry enough for a fire tomorrow. Good the girl was away. Be a pity if he burned down her house when she’d just had a baby, but he wouldn’t be sorry if he took the old place with him. It’d be a proper end to things. He’d leave nothing behind him. Burn it all to the ground and the world could start again.

  The letter lay in his lap. He could just burn it, the thing itself, but everything else was falling to pieces around him anyway: the jetty, his body. Do it all at once, neat and clean. He had read the letter once, yesterday morning, and would not read it again. But he couldn’t help carrying it around with him, touching it. He didn’t want to let it out of his sight. Didn’t trust it. It carried the truth, a small, deep part of him knew that, and he feared unleashing it upon the world.

  When a letter from the government arrived he’d assumed it was something to do with taxes. When he got letters like that he laughed. His disease was a joke on them. The only money they’d get from him they’d have to prise from his stiff fist. The more they wanted the better. ‘Carn, Dog,’ he’d said, ‘let’s give ourselves a laugh,’ and opened it. But it wasn’t about taxes. It was the police. What did they want with him? But he knew. He knew. Wished he’d stopped himself before he read it, but he couldn’t help himself. Even when it was clear what the next page contained, he still looked. Read the whole thing. It was a transcript of a confession, from that man. That rapist from up on the ridge. ‘Why now, you old fucker?’ Tom said. In his transcript he called his Molly ‘the slut’. She was ‘the ugly slut down at the river. The last one before they got me. I didn’t rape most of them,’ he’d said. ‘You can’t call it rape, when they act like that. That one at the river fought like an alley cat, though.’ That’s my girl, Tom thought, the letter clenched in his lap.

  Why hadn’t Mancini ever defended himself? Why had he let him think this thing of him? Just disappeared, quietly gone away, back to Italy, never saying a word. The wife had had a few words to say, though, when she was left to pack up and take the boy to her relatives in the city. She’d left the boy and the boxes on the garbageman’s barge and presented herself on his verandah—a beautiful Italian woman, losing her figure perhaps, but not her fire. ‘I want you to know that you’ve ruined our lives and I will never forgive you.’

  ‘Your mongrel old man ruined your lives, love,’ he’d said. ‘I don’t need your forgiveness.’

  ‘How do you sleep at night?’ she’d shouted.

  ‘How do I sleep at night? Christ, I’m not the one to ask that. Why d’you think he ran off? Guilty as sin.’

  ‘He couldn’t stay here, after what you’d said about him. You ruined his business. No one would look him in the face.’

  ‘If he’d done nothing, he might have mentioned it.’

  ‘He didn’t believe he should have to.’ She swore at him in Italian, and marched down her jetty to the barge and the boy, who was watching everything.

  Nothing had been right since the night it had happened. He’d been wrong then, wrong ever since.

  Tom woke to the sound of a motor on the water beneath his jetty. The sun was full in his face and he’d been savaged by mosquitoes. His neck was sore from lolling over the back of his fishing chair. ‘Tom!’ some bloke was shouting from a boat. The sun was in his eyes. ‘Tom!’ Dog started barking at his side.

  ‘Jesus. Hold on, fella.’

  ‘Tom, it’s Danny. I need a word.’

  Tom creaked to his feet and shuffled the few steps to the edge of the jetty, hand shielding his eyes. Danny was looking up at him from the water taxi. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair slept on, clothes crumpled.

  ‘You look worse than I feel, mate. And that’s saying something.’

  ‘You seen Kane?’

  ‘Not since the incident with your mate next door.’

  ‘What incident would that be?’

  ‘When he smacked her in the chops the other day as she was going into labour.’

  Danny nodded. He handed up the water-taxi business card. ‘Call me if you see him, will you.’

  ‘Listen, fella. What you gonna do?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that.’

  ‘Not worried. Like to help, that’s all. Alf’s always a good man in a sticky spot, too. You need my keys for anything, they’re on a hook on the frangipani.’ He nodded at the barge. Danny eyed him for a moment, squinting in the sun. He nodded, engaged the motor and headed for the island.

  ‘You could get into a heap of trouble, Rob,’ Maggie said quietly. She, Rob and Danny were sitting in the dark on the deck of the yacht, camping chairs in a semicircle faced towards the boatshed.

  ‘You think he’d really say something to the cops?’ Danny said.

  ‘If he lives to say anything to the cops,’ Rob laughed.

  ‘Don’t even joke about it, Rob,’ she said. ‘Listen, Danny. He’s a little shit. But you’ve got to be careful with this stuff. You could try the police.’

  ‘They don’t do anything. It’s her word against his, and then there’s endless legal fucking around that she won’t want to go through with the baby. If she even reports him. Let’s just sort him out now and be done with it.’

  ‘Don’t you think you should ask her about this?’ Maggie said.

  ‘She’s got enough to think about with the baby. And she’ll never do anything. She thinks she can have a friendly chat and he’ll suddenly stop punching everyone in sight. He’s our problem now.’

  ‘You said it,’ Rob agreed.

  ‘He’s not—predictable,’ she said.

  ‘There’s two of us,’ Danny said. ‘And there’s Tom, and Alf.’

  ‘You’re kidding me,’ she said.

  ‘The barge’ll be handy, anyway,’ Rob said.

  ‘That’s what I reckon,’ Danny said.

  ‘Do me a favour,’ Maggie said, to both of them. ‘Just let her get home. See what happens. See what she wants. He may be gone for good, anyway. No one’s seen him in days. Danny, if you want, you can stay here to keep an eye on her. Then if he tries anything, you just have to call Rob, OK?’

  Rob waited for Danny’s response. Danny nodded, his gaze never leaving the boatshed. ‘He won’t touch her again, though,’ he said, eventually. Maggie gave Rob a look, and went below to fetch more beer.


  I’ve given birth, I can do anything, Rose said to herself as she stepped across the churning water between the wharf and the ferry, clutching the baby. Steve hopped back up the stairs and fetched the bag of nappies and food she’d bought at the marina when the taxi dropped her off. Who knew when she’d get out again?

  She was home a day early, desperate to leave the hospital, the endless changing shifts of bossy midwives. She wondered now whether she’d been wrong to do it. What did she know about looking after a baby? This was the school ferry home, and the children seemed huge and insanely boisterous, their movements exaggerated and dangerous. And it was so hot. She held the baby close and watched her sleep, letting her hair fall forward over her fading bruise. The older girls in short summer uniforms wanted to touch her, but Rose tucked her further inside her blanket. ‘She’s sleeping. I don’t want to wake her.’ Though it seemed impossible that she would continue sleeping in this racket. Even as she thought this, the baby began to stir. Then the engines started up, and her tiny lids closed and she was still again. A woman from the island plonked herself down next to her. ‘Oh, she makes me feel funny! Mine are all so big now. What’s her name?’ The question she dreaded.

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t decided. I’m not really getting anything from her yet.’

  The woman nodded. ‘That happens. Sometimes it takes a few days to know whether they’re an Arthur or a Martha, if you know what I mean.’

  Please go away, Rose thought. When the baby had stirred, her breasts had leaked. She had to hold her close to cover them up. And now the ferry was moving, the wood beneath her bottom was vibrating. The effect on her stitches was making her eyes water. And always there was the thought, is he going to be there? How strong do I need to be? Haven’t I already done more than should be asked of anyone? What am I paying for now?

  The woman got off at the island, along with ninety per cent of the kids, and she let out a deep breath. Thank God the rain had stopped. She couldn’t imagine how she’d manage an umbrella, even if she had one, which she didn’t. She wondered about her gear in Maggie’s boat. Perhaps Danny had salvaged it for her. But then he’d disappeared pretty quickly when he’d seen her face.

  After the ferry dropped her at the wharf she picked her way past the houses towards her place. There was no one around. The baby was waking now; she’d have to feed her as soon as she got in. For once she was disappointed to see no sign of Tom as she made her way through the scrap in his front yard and onto her property. ‘What is your name?’ she whispered as she climbed her steps. ‘Here you are, baby. You’re home.’

  Leaning against the glass doors was a guitar. She drew closer, studying the shape in the shadows. It was her father’s guitar; there was the nick from when she’d dropped it when he was teaching her to play, when she was thirteen. He hadn’t shouted. She’d burst into tears before he got the chance, but he wouldn’t have anyway. There was a note hanging from a ribbon around the neck. She crouched awkwardly with the baby, putting the shopping down, and untied it. ‘Rosie,’ it said. ‘Kane has gone. James served him an eviction notice. I’ll come and see the baby when I’ve calmed down. Ben wants to come, too.’

  Rosie brought the guitar to her nose briefly, breathed it in. She opened the door; it was unlocked. Had she not locked it in the chaos of leaving? She couldn’t remember. Her heart thudded. Calm down, she told herself. You are a mother. He’s gone. She laid the guitar on the dining table and carefully began to unstrap the baby’s carry pouch, laying her on the sofa, but as soon as she began to feel the relief of separation the baby wailed, her face turning red, her mouth suddenly huge. ‘Shhh, baby,’ she said. She picked her up again. Tea would have to wait. She fed her. It took almost an hour. She watched the light on the trees, the water, the island. She had stepped into her future. What now? She felt dozy and closed her eyes for long moments, drifting in and out of the room, the baby warm on her lap, eyes closed, sucking, dozing, sucking.

  Now what did she do? What did you do with your life, once they took away work, friends and family, and it was just you and this tiny person? She’d change her. Then she’d have a cup of tea. Then maybe she’d try and give the baby a bath, like they’d shown her in the hospital. She didn’t have a baby bath, but they’d said the kitchen sink would do. Was the sink clean enough? Anyway, that was three things: changing, tea, bath. She’d worry about beyond that when she got to it.

  After her feed, the baby was fast asleep, so she laid her in her crib for the first time, then wheeled it out of the baby’s room, into her own and placed it next to her bed. She had this whisper of a thought that they were supposed to feel closer somehow, that she should need her baby nearby, so she would act like that until it seemed normal, and real. Perhaps others would be convinced in the meantime. ‘Who are you, little baby?’ she said as she tucked her into the crib, and moved quietly through the house back to the sofa. She’d just sit down for a minute, then make a cup of tea. Who knew how long the baby would sleep for? She thought about finding a magazine or a book, but then she sank into the soft sofa, a hot breeze blowing in through the flyscreens, and was asleep instantly. When something woke her, the deepening of the light in the room or the breeze on her face, perhaps, she realised with a lurch of her stomach that there was a figure on the other sofa. In the moment before she recognised his tall, gangly frame, the angles of his face in the fading light, he was an unfamiliar demon, an apparition in her home. Billie had told her he’d gone. She couldn’t speak.

  ‘We need to talk, Rosie.’ He sounded teary, shaken.

  ‘How did you get in here?’ she said, pulling herself up slowly to a sitting position.

  He glanced at the door. Didn’t I lock it? she thought. Where is my head? ‘Can I see the baby?’

  She stared at him. He looked calm, in spite of the tremor in his voice, but concentrated somehow, like a sniper lifting his gun.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘She.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  She paused. ‘She stayed in hospital. She’s sick.’ She hoped she wouldn’t cry. She’d need to get rid of him quickly now.

  ‘She all right?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘I want to show you my new place. We need to talk, Rosie. We need to be alone for five minutes.’

  ‘We’re talking, Kane.’

  ‘No, no.’ He stood quickly. ‘You need to come with me. Bloody Danny or one of the others’ll barge in on us. We need to go somewhere private. Got my own place now, up the river a bit. Nice and quiet. You got to come and see it.’

  ‘I’ll talk to you here, Kane. I can’t go with you. I’ve just given birth.’ Don’t panic, she told herself. It’s not time to panic yet. ‘Do you want a drink or something? I’ll see what there is. Let me get a light on.’

  ‘No, Rosie. You gotta stop avoiding me now.’ He leaned over and took her wrist.

  ‘Don’t touch me, please,’ she said, staring at his hand.

  He pulled her off the sofa so that she was standing, close to him. He put his arms around her waist, laid his head on her stomach, still holding onto her wrist. ‘I can look after you, Rosie. You can’t do this on your own. We can—we can make our lives how we want them. It don’t matter about anybody else.’ She looked out the window; the river was quiet, the lights were coming on over at the island. She couldn’t see a single boat out there. The hot wind was gusting, rattling the flyscreens, rustling the leaves of the jacaranda and the gums behind the house. He stood and faced her, keeping hold of her wrist. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ll go now, before it gets too dark. Left my torch back at my place.’

  She stood her ground. ‘I can’t come with you, Kane. Why don’t you come back in the morning, when I’ve had some rest?’ She thought she heard the beginnings of a whimper, from the back bedroom. ‘Please, I need to go to bed now.’

  ‘No, Rosie,’ he said. ‘I’m not gonna mess around. We’ve got to go now.’ He began to pull her towards the sliding door, pulling it back.

 
‘I’m not coming, Kane. Get off me!’

  He yanked her back towards him, putting a hand over her mouth. It smelled of pot, the hydroponic stuff—earthy, overwhelming. ‘Shhh!’ he whispered. ‘Stop fighting. You’ll see.’ She couldn’t stop herself from pulling backwards, away from the meaty reality of him, his crackling, wired body. Then she saw—a knife glinted in his hand, finding the last of the light from outside. The baby let out a sharp wail and they both froze. ‘You said she was still in the hospital. Why’d you lie to me?’

  She said nothing, merely watched him, motionless, waiting to see what he would do.

  ‘We can take the baby, too,’ he said, his face inches from hers.

  No, she thought. No, she’s just been fed. She’ll be OK for a little while. If he gets me out on the water, I’ll get help, and get back. Or she’ll keep crying and someone will find her. Tom, or someone. He can’t be near her. ‘No, leave her,’ she said. ‘I’ll come and talk to you, and then I’ll come back and feed her. How far is it?’

  ‘Someone’ll hear her,’ he said. ‘Go and give her a dummy or something.’ She moved swiftly across the living room. ‘I’m coming, too,’ he said. He grabbed her wrist as she made her way down the dark corridor to her room.

  ‘Please, stay here,’ she whispered as they reached the door.

  He leaned in the doorway, watching her. The baby was wailing rhythmically, her face crimson. Rose found a dummy on the dresser and gave it to her, stroking her cheek. She closed her eyes and sucked. Rose faced him from the opposite side of the crib. ‘Kane,’ she whispered. ‘This is crazy. We can talk in the morning. You know where to find me.’