by Derek Hansen
‘Relax, we’re not going back to gaol. We’ve spent enough time with the guilty. I think we should now spend some time with the innocent.’ Neil acknowledged the quickening of interest with a slight smile. ‘There was a time when we were all innocent, even Ramon. I’m not going to bore you by taking you right back to my earliest childhood, but I want you to understand what my brother was like when he was a kid. I was only eighteen months older but I couldn’t wait for him to grow so I had someone to play with. It can get bloody lonely growing up on an isolated station. My sisters weren’t good at many things but they were bloody geniuses when it came to ignoring my existence. There were times I got so lonely my dad used to tie a bone to my leg to see if the dogs would play with me.’
Chapter Nine
Billy lay in bed too excited to sleep. He looked forward to his elder brother’s tenth birthday as keenly as if it were his own. And he had every reason to. Money was tight and his parents tended not to waste a birthday on a present that would only benefit one of the boys. He couldn’t wait for morning to discover what the present was. His eldest sister had got a hairdryer on her birthday, a gift clearly intended to be shared with her younger sister, and some clothes, which really didn’t count. Just the thought of clothes made Billy shut his eyes tighter, cross his fingers and make a wish so he didn’t put the mockers on his brother’s present. Clothes were the worst thing that could happen. The worst! Clothes were a total waste of a birthday. Things were tough when Neil turned nine and his parents had given him a new pair of jeans and a sweater. They thought it was a neat way to solve two problems: Neil got a birthday present and his younger brother got hand-me-downs to replace the jeans and sweater he’d worn holes through. The boys could hardly credit the scale of the disaster. They’d pinned their hopes on a second-hand air rifle a kid two properties away was selling. Billy tried to banish the thought of clothes from his mind because Neil had warned him that just thinking about things could sometimes make them happen.
The build-up to his brother’s birthday had been nerve-racking. They couldn’t give their father a list of presents to choose from because they knew from experience that it would only make him angry. To the boys it was a wish list, but to their father it was a catalogue of his failure to provide them with things other kids took for granted. The best the boys could do was contrive conversations in the kitchen in which various desirable items like a new cricket bat, Monopoly set and a new football featured. Their mother pretended not to hear them but they reckoned the smile she tried to hide was a dead giveaway.
A new football was top of their list because the one they used at school had finally split its seams and burst. When they played rugby league at playtime they had to make do with a prune of a basketball the netball team had discarded. They managed, but only a proper football could make the game real and make it feel right when they dummied, sidestepped and pretended they were playing for South Sydney. A football was definitely top of the list, but it had to be a proper one not a kid’s one, leather not rubber. There again, an air rifle would be fantastic.
Both boys knew how to handle guns. So long as he had guns in the house, their father insisted they know how to handle them so they’d hold no mystery and they’d not be tempted to play with them when he wasn’t around. All the same, he let the brothers know that if he ever found out that they’d so much as touched his guns without permission, he’d belt the living daylights out of them. But that hadn’t stopped the boys sneaking looks at them in the cupboard and imagining an air rifle on a rack beneath them. Billy finally fell asleep diving over in the corner for the winning try.
Neil woke him up by shaking him.
‘There’s no present.’
Billy sat up, stunned. He looked over at his brother’s bed, leaned forward so he could see around the foot of it. There was no sign of a present. No wrapping paper, nothing.
‘Have you looked under your bed?’
‘Of course.’
Billy stared at his brother in horror. His parents always snuck into the bedroom in the middle of the night and left their birthday present on the bed or alongside it. Except … except when it was clothes. Billy fell back on his pillow in disappointment, unable to look his brother in the face. He sensed Neil was close to tears.
‘They might have forgotten or got the day wrong.’ It was the only thing Billy could think of to say that would give his brother some cause for hope.
‘Your shoes are okay, aren’t they?’ said Neil.
‘Yeah. And my boots.’
‘What about your shorts?’
‘I’ve got lots of good shorts and shirts.’
‘What about your jacket?’
‘Mum sewed it up.’
‘Can you think of anything you need?’
‘No, honestly, Neil.’
‘Maybe they did get the day wrong,’ said Neil unconvincingly. ‘Let’s go get breakfast.’
They wandered through to the kitchen, half expecting to see new jeans or a jacket draped on Neil’s chair at the kitchen table, or maybe, if they were really lucky, a big present like a bike resting up against the wall. There were no clothes and nothing that looked remotely like a present. Their mother, Millie, was making toast. There wasn’t even anything special for breakfast, just Weet-Bix as usual.
‘Happy birthday, Neil,’ said Millie. She gave Neil a big kiss and a hug.
‘I didn’t get a present,’ said Neil. ‘I looked everywhere.’
‘Your father thinks you’re too big now to get presents in bed. That’s for little kids. You’re ten now.’
‘Where is Dad?’
‘He’s out in the yard somewhere. You can go look for him after you’ve had your breakfast.’
Neil stared down at his bowl and splashed milk over his Weet-Bix. Neither boy was a cry-baby but Neil didn’t want anybody to see his face just in case. Why hadn’t they warned him, he wondered, why hadn’t they told him he was too old for presents? His sisters, Gloria and Kathleen, still got presents and Glory was thirteen. It wasn’t fair. Maybe his dad was teaching him a lesson. He was always saying things were tough and that if people wanted to get on they had to learn to handle disappointment. Well, if it was a lesson, Neil decided he’d show his father he was up to it. They could all get stuffed.
‘He’s not too old, Mum,’ said Billy. ‘Honestly, he’s not too old to get presents in bed. You’re not too old, are you, Neil?’
‘Hush, Billy,’ said his mother. ‘Are the girls awake?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When you finish, go wake them. And remind them to wish Neil a happy birthday.’
Happy birthday? Billy couldn’t believe the way things had turned out. How could a birthday possibly be happy if there wasn’t a present? He finished first and ran to wake the girls. When he came back, Neil was pulling on his sandals at the kitchen door.
‘Wait for me,’ he said. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I’m going to look for Dad.’
‘I’m coming too.’
‘Please yourself.’
The late summer rains had been and gone and the ground outside had returned to its normal hard dusty condition. Grass had given up trying to grow anywhere near the house and the only green came from the orange and lemon trees, the rose bushes and their mother’s gardens. Keeping them going was hard enough without trying to grow a lawn.
Neil looked around defiantly, squinting in the glare of the morning sun. He had a point to prove and he was determined to prove it. He wanted to find his dad, look him in the eye and show him he was as tough as he was. Then he heard the sound that changed everything, clear and unmistakeable in the morning air. His spirits soared as his eyes turned skyward, searching for then picking up the flight. Billy had heard it too and was already screaming in rapture.
‘Get out of my way!’ Neil yelled.
Billy backed away as was only right. It was Neil’s birthday and he was entitled to first go. The football reached the apex of its flight and began to arc dow
nward. Neil raced into position, his eyes firmly on the ball. He backed up so he wouldn’t be caught inside the line of flight and rose on his toes, ready to dash forward if the ball swirled and changed its angle of descent. Even with the ball falling, the boys could see the shine on it and realised it was a new one and a real good one. It hit Neil high on his chest and his arms wrapped around it in a grip that threatened to burst it.
‘Mark!’ screamed Neil.
‘Yes!’ screamed Billy. He ran to his brother, desperate to examine the football and find out exactly how good it was. He stopped short, his eyes filling with awe. He guessed he had the same dazed look on his face his brother had. Seconds earlier he thought Neil wasn’t even going to get a present. Now they had this. And it was nearly almost partly his.
‘Can I hold it?’
Neil handed the ball to his brother. Billy ran his disbelieving fingers over the stencil, over the brand name and the magic words ‘Official NSWRL’.
‘Will that do you?’
Billy looked up as his father stepped out from behind the chookhouse. Neil was already racing over to hug him. Would it do? Billy had never seen a better rugby ball in his life, never thought the day would come when he’d even hold one as good. It wasn’t just good, it was the best you could get. He glanced over towards the kitchen. His mother and sisters were standing out on the veranda with big smirks on their faces. Billy thought Neil’s birthday was the best day of his life.
‘Make sure you look after it,’ he heard his father say.
The school bus picked the boys up a kilometre away on Stony Creek Road, directly opposite their letterbox. The boys ran ahead of their sisters, passing the football all the way. They practised long raking passes from the scrum base, little flicks behind their backs and palm-offs, honing their skills for the big test that would come when they reached school. By happy coincidence, Neil’s birthday also happened to be sports day, when the bus taking the kids home arrived an hour later than usual. The boys thought they could talk their teacher into having a City versus Country match instead of normal skills practice. The City kids were the Walgett kids and anyone else who lived within eight kilometres of the town. The Country kids were those who lived further out.
On the strength of his football, Neil became an instant hero to all the boys already on the bus and even more so when it stopped to pick up Rodney. The nature of Neil’s birthday present had been the main topic of conversation for more than a week and Rodney had become almost as excited as Billy as the day had drawn closer.
‘Id a bew-dy,’ said Rodney in awe. ‘And thad a-fiddle.’ Damn right it was official.
Neil let Rodney hold the ball for a couple of stops. The fascination with the football continued throughout the two-hour journey into Walgett and right through the day. In the entire history of rugby league, no football was more admired or handled with greater reverence. Even their teacher was impressed enough to grant their wish to play City versus Country. Country won a fiercely contested game, but it was only a last-ditch tackle by Billy on a kid twice his size that clinched the victory. Billy was a hero momentarily, but it was Neil’s day.
They left the school to wait for the bus, which pulled up outside a house alongside the school. The house had a special place in school lore because its yard housed what everyone agreed was the fiercest mongrel in the far northwest. It was a big brute of a thing called Blackie. Its owner kept it on a long chain, not just because it was vicious but because it could chew through a rope in minutes. The kids knew exactly how long the chain was and which parts of the yard the dog could reach. Sometimes, when they got bored waiting for the bus, they did what they called ‘Blackie runs’, which involved dashing across the yard as close to the limits of the chain as they dared. This, of course, drove the mongrel insane. Every kid had to do the Blackie run at some time, and those who were brave or smart gained extra kudos by timing their run so that they made a fleeting incursion into Blackie territory. That really drove the mongrel nuts and the boys all knew that if they ever got caught there’d be nothing left to bury.
The boys weren’t interested in teasing Blackie as they waited for the bus because they had the football to play with. They concentrated hard on their behind-the-back passes because they didn’t want to drop the ball on the sealed footpath and scuff up the shine. They were concentrating so hard that they didn’t notice the older black kids until they were almost upon them. Rodney shouted a warning but it was too late. Both Neil and Billy recognised the threat instantly.
There were plenty of Aboriginal kids from the Dewhurst Reserve in the school and the boys got on as well with them as they did with everyone else. They saw them as mates, not much different to themselves, except that some of the black kids could run like the wind and had the fastest, slickest hands of any of them. They were great league players and the boys envied their skills. In fact the only thing they didn’t like about them were the head clashes. When you bumped heads with a black kid you knew it. Their heads could crack concrete. But for all that the boys got on with their mates in school, the older black kids were from the Namoi Reserve and they were something else altogether.
‘Hey, good footie,’ said one of the blacks. He was about fifteen and towered over Billy. His mates were all about the same age and size. Neil and Billy knew they were on a hiding to nothing.
‘Gis a look at it,’ said another of the boys.
‘It’s just a footie,’ said Neil defensively. ‘You can see it from where you are.’ Neil knew that if he handed the ball over the black kids would take off with it and he’d be lucky if he ever saw it again. He also knew that if he was lucky enough to get it back, it would be battered, scraped and unrecognisable from the shiny football his father had kicked to him earlier in the day.
‘We jus wanna look at it,’ insisted the first boy. He put his hands around the ball and tried to wrench it out of Neil’s hands. He pulled so hard Neil’s feet lifted off the ground, but he managed to hold onto it.
‘What you worried about, mate? Tole ya, we jus wanna look at it.’ He pulled again, this time more fiercely. Neil hung on grimly, but everyone could see it wasn’t a contest he could possibly win.
‘Leave him alone!’ said Billy. He pushed the kid trying to steal the football. The black kid let go of the ball to shove Billy aside. Billy staggered backwards but kept to his feet.
‘Pass!’ he shrieked.
Neil didn’t hesitate. He unleashed a pass any first-grade halfback would be proud of. Billy took it on the fly and kept running but the black kids were on him in a flash.
‘Pard!’ shouted Rodney.
Billy passed, even though he knew Rodney was hopeless at league and just about every other sport. He threw a bit of a floater, what commentators called a ‘Hail Mary’ pass, but Rodney took it cleanly and continued running down the road, the black kids hard on his heels. Neil sprinted after him, out wide onto the road.
‘Pass!’ he screamed just as Rodney was about to be tackled.
Rodney threw a wobbler, a real shocker back over his head, but Neil managed to pick it up off his shoelaces. As he regathered his balance he could see instantly that all their heroics had got them nowhere. He was surrounded.
‘Kick!’
Neil heard the desperation in Billy’s voice, had no time to look for him and had to guess his position from the direction of his shout. He kicked, a spiralling torpedo punt back over his shoulder towards the first house by the school. Blackie’s house.
As soon as he saw the trajectory of Neil’s kick, Billy knew he was in trouble. He began to back-pedal. He thought he could take it if he jumped. He had images of Aussie Rules players in his mind as he leaped, but barely managed to get his fingertips to the ball. The football, their precious official football, glanced off his fingers and cleared the fence into Blackie territory.
‘No!’ screamed Neil. He stood in the road, too stunned and horrified to move. They’d lost a footie over the fence into Blackie’s yard once before and the mongrel had ri
pped it to shreds in seconds. If the black kids had taken his ball there was always a chance that he could get it back. But there was no chance of getting his ball back off Blackie. His despair had no sooner taken hold when he saw Billy leap the fence. Even the black kids froze. They knew that was the wrong place to jump. That was right in the middle of Blackie territory and Billy had too far to run before the dog reached the limit of his chain.
‘No, Billy!’ Neil rushed towards the yard in a crush of black kids all heading in the same direction, all thoughts of nicking the football forgotten. Rodney, who’d already started running back towards Billy in support when Neil had kicked the ball, reached the fence first and climbed on top of it.
‘Run!’ he yelled. ‘Run, you tu-pid bar-tid!’
But Billy wasn’t running anywhere. He stood defiantly in the middle of the yard, feigning attacks on Blackie who stood drooling over the football, uncertain which to maul first. In the end it was an easy decision. The ball was just a toy. The boy was one of his tormentors and flaunting himself in his territory. Blackie spun around and charged.
‘Get the ball!’ screamed Billy as he began to sprint for his life.
Rodney didn’t hesitate. He jumped down from the fence and grabbed the ball.
‘Run!’ screamed Neil.
The advice was good for both boys but Neil only had eyes for Billy. It didn’t seem possible that his little brother could reach safety before Blackie got him, but fear and the dog’s bloodcurdling snarl put wings on his feet. Billy had never run faster. He got past the roses and was level with the geraniums when disaster struck. Billy tripped on a discarded plant pot and went flying. Neil knew exactly where Blackie’s territory ended and it was a good metre and a half past the geraniums. He knew with absolute certainty that his brother hadn’t made it. All the boys knew.
‘Billy!’ Neil’s shriek said everything, expressed all their fears. He was about to shut his eyes so he didn’t have to witness his little brother being torn apart when Blackie pulled up like he’d hit an invisible wall. Neil knew instantly what that meant. They’d seen it happen a million times before. Blackie had reached the end of his chain. But how? He spun around to see that Rodney had had the presence of mind to toss the slack in Blackie’s chain around an old tree stump his owner used to chop kindling on, and was sprinting away with the footie tucked under his arm as fast as his spindly little legs could carry him. Rodney’s quick thinking had saved Billy. The dog was beside itself with fury, its slavering jaws centimetres from Billy’s feet. Yet, above the cheers and the mongrel’s snarling frustration, he could hear Billy’s laugh. Their mother often said that when Billy laughed it was a sound so sweet even the angels stopped to listen. For the first time Neil understood what his mother meant.
