A Prayer for Blue Delaney

by Kirsty Murray

  ‘But it doesn’t say anything about God,’ said Colm.

  ‘It’s by a famous poet called Lee Po. It doesn’t have to say anything about God. It’s still beautiful.’

  Colm examined the plaque.

  ‘I suppose it’s nice to remember someone with a poem about music,’ he said.

  There were so many interesting things piled up on the altar, it was hard to stop looking at them. He brushed his fingers across a pile of brightly coloured fruit.

  ‘Don’t touch!’ said Lily, pulling his hand away.

  Colm blushed. ‘Sorry. Why are they there?’

  ‘They’re for Great-Uncle Kow Gong. He liked to eat them when he was alive, so every morning we put some extra fresh things out ‘cause it’s meant to earn good things for his soul. And the paper money is for him too, though it’s just pretend. And there’s a pipe there and some tobacco. You put out the things your ancestor will need in the next world to make sure he has them.’

  ‘That’s weird,’ said Colm.

  Lily shrugged. ‘When you get confirmed, you have to eat bread and drink wine because that’s the flesh and the blood of Christ. Now that’s weird.’

  ‘No it’s not. I’m a Catholic’

  ‘Well, so am I. When it’s not holidays, I go to boarding school in Darwin at Our Lady of Good Counsel.’

  ‘But you can’t be a Catholic and be this as well,’ said Colm.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You just can’t.’

  Lily shrugged again and stood up. ‘My knees are hurting. Let’s go and play.’

  Colm hadn’t played a game with anyone since that summer day nearly a year ago when Rosie had been taken away. When Lily tied a string between two mango trees and challenged Colm to kick it, he knew he wasn’t going to come out of this game looking good. At first, the string wasn’t set high, but after each challenge Lily edged it up a little further until they almost had to leap in the air to touch it with their foot. Lily had obviously practised a lot. She would run at the string and then spin on her foot until she jack-knifed in the air. When Colm tried, he brought the string down and landed in the dust.

  Lily sat beside him. ‘Sorry. That was mean to pick that game. I don’t know anyone who can kick as high as I can. But you were pretty good. I reckon anyone else would have given up four inches lower.’

  Colm smiled and handed her the broken tangle of string that had caught about his ankle.

  ‘Do you know how to play cat’s cradle?’ asked Lily.

  ‘A little.’

  Lily bit the string into two pieces and knotted it into loops and then handed him his cat’s cradle. She knew dozens of different shapes. Colm especially liked the one she called ‘head-hunters’. They sat for hours in the shade of the mango trees, making intricate shapes and laughing when the grubby string got hopelessly tangled. It was easy being with Lily. She didn’t need to talk all the time but the long silences were like conversations - never awkward, never uncomfortable.

  One afternoon when Colm went down to visit Lily, he found the shack empty. On an impulse, he stepped inside. He knelt in front of the altar and looked at all the things set out for Great-Uncle Kow Gong. What would he put on an altar for his mother? What had she liked, what had been special for her? He tried to imagine a picture of his mother in place of Great-Uncle Kow Gong. But whenever he tried, all he saw was the photo of Blue Delaney burning on the campfire and Bill shouting at him.

  He looked around the simple tin shack with its louvred windows and clean-swept earth floor. There were two narrow beds and a table set with a tiny teapot and two small cups, waiting for Lily and Granny Hum Lee’s return. Colm felt a stab of jealousy. If only he and Bill could live like this, just the two of them.

  Colm thought that Bill would be on his way soon after persuading Mrs Mahoney to take Colm on, but the weeks went by and Bill never talked about leaving. They stayed in the big white house in rooms at separate ends of the building to each other. Colm kept his fingers crossed that Bill would change his mind and that soon they would leave Tara Downs together, but Bill didn’t seem to be in a hurry to do anything.

  One sultry evening, shadows stretched across the ground as Colm wandered back to the white house from Lily’s place. Music drifted across the garden. He climbed the stairs onto the verandah and followed the sound around the side of the house.

  Through the louvres, Colm could see Bill and Mrs Mahoney in the lounge room. Mrs Mahoney was standing by the shiny mahogany stereo. She took a black record out of its slipcover and changed the one that was on the turntable. A man’s voice, smooth and silky, reverberated across the room, with the sound of violins. Mrs Mahoney sashayed across the shiny wooden floor towards Bill. Bill watched her with a half-smile on his face. Colm wanted to rattle the louvres to stop Bill being so pathetic. Why was he smiling? It was embarrassing. Didn’t they know that old people weren’t supposed to dance and do this sort of stuff? Colm would never be able to get Bill to take him away from Pine Creek if the old man wanted to keep dancing attendance on Annie Mahoney for ever.

  Colm sat down on the verandah and stared out into the dark, humid evening.

  24

  Wild boar country

  Next morning Colm managed to corner Bill when he went out to the ute to see Rusty.

  ‘Grandad,’ said Colm, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Mrs Mahoney wasn’t within earshot. ‘Grandad, please don’t make me stay here. Take me with you. And let’s go soon. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t get in your way and I won’t hide your bottle-opener or anything. I’ll do everything you say.’

  Bill reached out and tousled Colm’s hair. ‘I’m not in a hurry to move on. She does me good, that old gal Annie. But when I do move on, you have to stay. Haven’t quite talked Mrs Mahoney around to the idea, but she’ll see the sense in it soon. You oughta take an interest in the place. Get to know some of the jackeroos, they’re great blokes, not keep moping around the garden with that little vixen, Lily. You won’t learn anything mooching around with the Chows.’

  ‘They’re not “Chows”. Lily is Australian and Granny Hum Lee is from China.’

  ‘They’re Asian. Don’t you know the Japs tried to take this country over? They bombed Darwin, killed hundreds of people.’

  ‘They bombed Lily’s family too. And her dad, he was in China and he was killed by the Japanese, too. Just like your son.’

  Bill’s face clouded. ‘Who told you about Clancy?’

  ‘I heard you telling Mrs Mahoney. Why didn’t you tell me, Grandad?’

  Bill sat down on the running board and leant back against Tin Annie.

  ‘Bleeding hell, I’m too old for this caper.’

  ‘What caper?’

  ‘Looking after you and answering all your bloody questions.’

  ‘No you’re not!’ shouted Colm, angrily brushing away tears.

  ‘Listen, Colm, you need a proper home and a school where they can give you some book learning. Clancy, my son, he needed that too. Instead, I dragged him around the country with me. He missed out on all the ordinary things a boy should have: a mother, a home, a decent education.’

  ‘I reckon he would have been happy, if he was travelling around with you.’

  ‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere,’ said Bill dryly. ‘You’re staying here and I’m heading south again. That’s the plan.’

  ‘But Mrs Mahoney doesn’t want me to stay here.’

  ‘You don’t know what that woman is thinking from one day to the next. You can go up to Darwin, board up there during the term and come down and work on Tara Downs in the holidays. That’s the sort of life Clancy should have had.’

  ‘But it’s not the sort of life I want to have!’ said Colm.

  Bill stood up and dusted his hands, signalling the end of the conversation. ‘C’mon. I’ve got a job to do. Can’t sit around jawing all day. There’s a wild boar been making trouble just south a bit. They foul up the dams, mess with the fences. I told Annie I’d deal with it. Get in the
ute and you can help.’

  They drove out into the landscape where the scattered stumps of blackened trees looked like charred bones. Tin Annie struggled over the dry creek beds and Rusty stuck her head out the open window, squinting as the fine red dust swirled up around the sides of the ute.

  ‘This is where Annie thought the trouble was. We’ll track the bugger on foot from here. You stick close by me.’

  Colm followed Bill through a clump of thick scrub that edged the dry creek bed. A hot, foul smell was in the air and Colm had to cover his nose with his hand. As the stink grew stronger, Rusty put her head down and stepped out in front, as if she was stalking something. She led them to the remains of a steer. A cloud of flies rose into the air.

  Bill squatted down beside the arc of ribs that still had rotting flesh hanging from it. ‘Looks like he’s had a fine old time mutilating this here carcass. He’s not long gone.’

  They climbed up a nearby rise and scanned the surrounding countryside. Apart from a family of wallabies scudding over a rise, there was nothing to be seen.

  ‘Damn, he’s heard us coming and made himself scarce.’

  Bill turned to walk back to the carcass. There was a rustling in the scrub and the black boar was on them. Colm dived behind a rock as the boar slammed into the old man and sent him flying. It slashed at Bill with its tusks, tearing his boot in half and ripping open his leg. Bill let out a sharp cry of pain.

  Blood spurted from Bill’s wounded leg as the boar attacked again, and the old man struggled free, shouting and cursing. Rusty sank her teeth into its hind legs but the boar turned and slashed at her with his tusks. Rusty yelped and fell.

  Colm jumped out from behind the rock. He had to do something.

  Bill’s face contorted with fear. ‘Run, Colm, get out of here,’ he shouted. ‘Get help!’

  Colm turned on his heels and bolted down the track. He had nearly reached Tin Annie when he heard an earsplitting scream, more animal than human. He stopped and spun around. What if Bill was gored to death before he could raise the alarm? What should he do? Run back to Tara Downs? Try and save Bill by himself? Suddenly, he realised there was only one answer and there was no time to lose.

  He ran back to Bill, snatching up a fallen branch along the way. As he came over the rise, he charged at the boar, walloping it on the rump over and over again. It took a dozen blows before it turned to face Colm. Its tusks were covered with blood and its mouth was slimy with drool.

  Bill tried to pull himself away, clawing at rocks and earth, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Colm raised the stick high and brought it down across the boar’s snout. The boar snorted, but instead of charging Colm, it turned its attention back to Bill.

  Colm flung the stick down and dived for Bill’s rifle. Trembling, he raised the gun to his shoulder. Colm knew that if he hit the beast in the rump, it would only make it wild. He let out a scream, a long, piercing war cry that made his own ears ring. The boar whirled around. For a moment it stared at him, its small black eyes glittering. Then it lowered its head and charged. Colm aimed straight between its eyes.

  The kickback from the gun made Colm feel as though his shoulder had been torn from its socket. He staggered backwards, landing in the dirt beside Rusty.

  ‘Colm, my cobber,’ said Bill, stretching one bloodied hand out, a half-smile on his lips. Then he lay back in the red dust and passed out.

  Suddenly, everything was quiet. Blood soaked into the dry earth around Bill, spreading in a dark circle. Colm could see the bones of his thigh where the boar had gouged open the flesh. He would have to stop the blood flow or Bill would bleed to death. Colm ran back to the ute and grabbed an old shirt to bind Bill’s wounds. Then he took off his own shirt and tore it up for Bill’s hands. When he was sure he’d slowed all the bleeding, he sat back on his heels and tried to think. He had to get help, but how? The flies were gathering thick, drawn by the scent of blood. He would have to get Bill into the car for shelter.

  Colm took Bill’s arms and drew one over each of his own shoulders and then tried to haul the old man to his feet. It was almost impossible. He’d never be able to travel any distance this way. He laid Bill down again and ran to Tin Annie. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he tried to recall the exact sequence to get the old car started. There was a knob under the steering column that needed to be pulled out first. Colm took a deep breath and turned the key. Tin Annie started with a roar. He had no idea how to put the car in reverse so he edged forward carefully, bringing the vehicle as close to Bill as he could manage. Somehow, he found the strength to haul Bill back on his shoulders and into the cab of the ute. Then he ran to the creek and scooped up Rusty. He could feel the dog’s heart beating faintly and it gave him hope. He put Rusty in the back and partly covered her with a piece of canvas to keep the flies off.

  The dust billowed up around the car as Colm careered along the dirt track. How could he have even contemplated running all the way back to Tara Downs? He gripped the steering wheel so that his knuckles glowed white and willed the miles to pass away beneath the car. Every time they hit a bump Bill would groan, but at least that meant he was still alive.

  When they drove across a dry creek bed, it felt as if Tin Annie was going to shake apart completely. She struggled up the rise, shuddered and stalled. Colm tried to start her up again, desperately pressing the accelerator hard to the floor. Even as his foot pushed to the floor, he knew it was a mistake. The old ute died completely.

  They were just at the crest of the rise, and Tara Downs homestead was in view, but there was still at least a mile to go. He tried to start the car again and again, but it was no good. There was a singing in his ears and a tightness in his chest, like a vice around his heart. He would have to go on by foot and leave Bill and Rusty in the car.

  He looked at Bill lying crookedly on the seat and wished the old man was conscious and could tell him what to do next. Bill’s face was ashen, the pain etched into every feature. Colm went round the back, lifted Rusty into his arms and placed her on the front seat beside Bill. Then he began the long run to Tara Downs.

  Colm’s heart pounded and his temples throbbed, but the ground sped away beneath him. He took the steps up to the verandah two at a time and banged on the door. For a terrible moment he thought maybe no one was at home, but then Jessie came to the door. Colm grabbed her wrists in his urgency to convey what had happened.

  ‘It’s Bill. An accident. He’s bleeding, real bad. A boar ripped him up.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘He’s in the ute, on the road in.’

  Then Colm sank down on his knees. People appeared from nowhere and Jessie began repeating what Colm had said. There were footsteps running, an engine started up and strong arms helped Colm to his feet and guided him into a bedroom. For a moment, he struggled against them. ‘I have to be with Bill.’

  ‘It’s all right, young tacker.’

  ‘Bill needs me,’ said Colm. He gladly took the glass of cold water that the stockman offered him. ‘Where’s Mrs Mahoney?’

  ‘She’s on the wire, getting the Flying Doctor out here. We don’t know if the old man will make it if we have to drive him down to the hospital in Katherine. Best to fly him to Darwin.’

  Colm felt the blood drain from his face. ‘He will make it. He has to make it.’

  25

  Dragon stone

  A hot wind whipped across the airfield as they loaded Bill into the light aircraft.

  ‘Can I go too?’ asked Colm.

  ‘Sorry, sonny, no passengers,’ said the medical officer.

  Mrs Mahoney and Colm watched the tiny plane take off into the blue sky, becoming smaller and smaller and then disappearing over the horizon. Bill was gone. The future was a dark chasm.

  ‘C’mon, boy. Don’t stand around like a drongo. Get in the Bentley.’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘We’re driving up to Darwin. You don’t want Bill coming to and finding we’ve abandoned him, do you?’
>
  The night was black and moonless as the Bentley sped north. Compared to Tin Annie, the Bentley was like a spaceship, the leather smooth and polished, the engine quiet as the night.

  Finally, Mrs Mahoney spoke.

  ‘You did a good job rescuing Bill.’

  ‘I should have picked up the gun sooner.’

  ‘You picked it up soon enough to save him. He could have bled to death. I worry about that old man rambling around on his own. He needs to settle down in one place.’

  ‘Are you going to make him marry you?’

  Mrs Mahoney shouted with laughter.

  ‘I like the way you put that. No one has ever been able to “make” Bill do anything he doesn’t want to. Stubborn as a mule and always has his own way in the end.’

  ‘But he wanted me to stay with you,’ Colm said. ‘And he couldn’t make you say yes, could he?’

  Mrs Mahoney laughed again. ‘Once upon a time I wanted him to leave Clancy with me, but he hummed and hawed about it and then the two of them cleared off together. They were thick as thieves, the rascals. But with you, it’s different. I reckon Bill took you on ‘cause he was trying to make history repeat. See, Billy was once a stray himself. My old auntie Bridie took him in and loved him as if he was her own, but then again, he was easy to love.’

  She glanced across at Colm and he got the uncomfortable feeling that she didn’t think he was lovable at all.

  ‘When you get old, you start to realise that every good thing you do comes back to you - and most of the bad as well. Your grandad, he understands that.’

  ‘He’s not really my grandad,’ said Colm in a small voice. ‘And he wants to leave me behind. He wouldn’t want to do that if I was really his grandson.’

  The silence in the car grew heavy. Colm wished Mrs Mahoney would say something, tell him that of course Bill was his grandad, of course Bill wouldn’t leave him, but she kept her steely gaze on the road. It was as if they were driving into a dark maw. Colm hummed a tune under his breath, trying to push away his fear. Suddenly, Mrs Mahoney spoke again.