by Derek Hansen
Neil and Billy never minded that their sisters did better than them when largesse was being dispensed. Girls needed make-up, nail polish, shampoos, smart shoes and fancy clothes, things that didn’t interest them. If the boys were given the choice between a new pair of pants or a new football, they’d happily play in their underwear. They had no expectation of any reward for their help in mustering, shearing, drenching, plunge dipping, marking or repairing fences. Their help was just part and parcel of life on the land, which, if things went well, won them a trip down the highway to Dubbo. So when their father walked in with a rifle and a box of cartridges just as they’d sat down to dinner, they were stunned speechless.
‘Here you go, boys,’ Braden said. ‘I think you’ve earned it.’
He laid the rifle on the sideboard and sat down at the table as though it was nothing out of the ordinary. The boys’ eyes bulged out of their heads. It wasn’t a birthday, Christmas or anything. They struggled to comprehend the magnitude and suddenness of the gift and wanted to rush over to check it out. But some things were sacred in the Dwyer household and mealtimes were among them. Protocol insisted they finish their dinner and ask permission before they left the table, a fact their father was well aware of and deliberately exploiting.
‘It’s a .22,’ said Neil in awe, when he could finally speak.
‘That’s right,’ said Braden.
The boys had been holding out for an air rifle for the past three years, hoping as every birthday dawned that the day would bring one. Never in their most febrile dreams had they dared hope for a .22.
‘It’s a Winchester!’ said Billy.
‘Right again,’ said Braden.
‘Where’d you get it?’ asked Neil.
‘I got it off the Crowleys. Their boy Sam’s gone to join his brother down in Sydney. They don’t have a use for it. They threw in the box of shells which I thought was good of them.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Billy. ‘I can’t believe we’ve got a .22.’
‘It’s for both of you,’ said Braden. ‘But for safety’s sake, I’m putting Neil in charge of it, okay?’
‘You can put me in charge of it,’ said Neil. ‘But I think it should be Billy’s. It’s only right. He deserves it for finding the opal.’
Billy’s jaw dropped and he held his head in his hands as he tried to come to terms with everything that was happening. He thought he’d died and gone to heaven just at the prospect of sharing the Winchester. Owning it and having the right to say ‘my rifle’ and to oil and clean it was almost too much to take in.
‘Do you mean it?’ he asked, dazed.
‘Of course,’ said Neil. ‘You deserve it.’
‘Yes!’ Billy threw his arms in the air with sheer joy, his face radiant. He couldn’t imagine any kid having a better father or brother.
‘That’s very generous of you, Neil,’ said Millie, her pride evident, and it was also clear she was speaking for the entire family.
Neil’s apparent thoughtfulness and kindness made them all feel good and, once again, he managed to appropriate the limelight even though it was his father who deserved it. What they all overlooked was that Neil’s gesture in no way diminished his control over the rifle or his access to it. It simply didn’t occur to anyone at the time and, even if it had, it would have seemed churlish and petty to remark upon it. It was only later, much later, that Billy realised how manipulative Neil was.
By then it was too late.
The following twelve months were as good as it ever got in the far northwest, helped by regular rain and buoyant wool prices. Graziers in the lush pastures further east tripped over each other in their scramble to buy new cars, tractors and equipment. Those out west picked up their discards for a song. It would have been easy for Braden to sit back and enjoy the good times. His ewes had reacted to the ready availability of quality feed with the best lambing season he’d ever known. The numbers of lambs were up and the losses were down. It never ceased to astonish him how bountiful his normally desperate land could be when the rains were reliable. The wool clip increased to the point where he could start making inroads into his overdraft and still have a bit left over.
The change in the weather pattern blinded them to other changes that were taking place. When Glory finished year eleven, she left both school and home to train as a nurse in Dubbo General Hospital. No one realised it at the time but she was the trailblazer, setting a precedent for the others to follow. Neil began to shoot up as though he, too, had been dependent on the rains. He seemed to get out of bed an inch taller than he’d got into it the night before. His voice alternated uncontrollably between soprano and baritone before settling on a pleasant tenor. His shoulders bulked up and his muscles acquired enviable definition. His size added authority to his ideas and his influence on Braden grew accordingly.
Neil’s ideas didn’t hail from sudden blinding flashes of inspiration or any intuitive understanding of the land. He’d grown up with radio but now he listened to it for news, weather and comment on regional matters instead of just to hear his favourite serials or the latest songs from Slim Dusty or Elvis Presley. Most days he managed to find or scrounge a copy of the local rag, The Spectator, or a day-old copy of the Sydney Morning Herald and read it on the school bus going home. Coincidentally his schoolwork, which had never been a priority, began to show marked improvement and more accurately reflect his intelligence.
He continued to cultivate friendships and contacts among elders in the Aboriginal community and showed respect for their knowledge when not too many in the white community were prepared to show them any respect at all. Alcoholism and violence were rife among the blacks, but not all blacks were alcoholic or violent. Neil chose his contacts carefully and listened and learned from them. He also listened on the occasions when his family visited others on nearby spreads and the men gathered around a few beers to discuss the business of wool-growing. In particular, Neil took keen note of their observations and speculations, learned whose opinions and comments were worth noting, tried to guess their intentions and weighed them against their natural conservatism. It intrigued him that they all promoted the advantages of being first to market, whether they were buying or selling stock or putting aside fodder, but for the most part were content to adopt a wait-and-see attitude. Neil saw opportunity in their hesitancy.
When New Zealand and Argentina stepped up their wool production, he used stories he’d clipped from the papers to persuade his father to diversify into cattle. With the wool cheque due any day, his timing was ideal. The two of them were sitting around the dinner table that had been cleared of dishes. His father was finishing a bottle of Dinner Ale and allowed him a glass. Neil could hear his mother in the kitchen, drying dishes, and knew she’d also be eavesdropping.
‘All our neighbours are talking about doing it,’ he argued. ‘They can see the possibility of a wool glut, particularly as the use of synthetics increases. We should act while they wait to see what happens and buy some steers before they’re in demand.’
‘What do you propose?’ asked Braden.
‘Buy a mob of steers for fattening so we get some income in twelve months’ time, and buy a decent bull and some heifers so we can start a breeding stock.’
‘What are we going to use for money?’
‘If it was up to me, I’d just pay the bank the interest that’s due and put everything else into buying stock.’
‘I dunno, Neil.’
‘Come on, Dad. You know you’re going to have to do it sooner or later. Why wait for the price of cattle to go up?’
‘I don’t know much about raising cattle.’
‘According to Mr Crowley, they’re hardier than sheep, can survive longer on scrub and are a lot less work. And look at these articles I’ve kept.’ He pushed them in front of his father. ‘The papers reckon beef prices are on the up.’
‘You and your papers.’
Neil wasn’t just selling his father on the idea of running cattle but on the pro
spect of breaking the cycle of debt, of getting ahead, of security and a level of comfort other Australians took for granted. Of course Braden listened to him. His own endeavours had barely succeeded in providing for the family in the most basic way, and his greatest achievement amounted to nothing more than not going completely broke and being forced to surrender the property to the bank. Neil’s ideas raised the possibility of improvement in their circumstances and no one else had ever offered Braden that. Of course he listened. Even his mother, eavesdropping in the kitchen, began to listen and dared to dream. Neil was still only fourteen years old yet he came to embody their hopes and aspirations. Braden and Millie congratulated each other on having a son who was so bright. Neil also had other ideas, but he kept those to himself.
Other changes occurred over the following months and these were to affect Billy most. Despite their eighteen-month age difference, the brothers were inseparable, a mutually supportive partnership that seemed unshakeable and eternal. From the beginning, their relationship was integral to everything they did and, as they grew up, life for either without the other was unimaginable. Some things were just accepted. It was a given that Neil, with his advantage in age and size, would always be better than Billy at whatever they did. It was also accepted that Billy could rely on the unfailing support and encouragement of his older brother to help bridge the gap. When teams were being chosen, Neil always picked Billy ahead of older and bigger boys and Billy rewarded his brother’s faith by giving his all. Neil always boasted that Billy fought a couple of divisions above his weight, and his delight when Billy pulled off a tackle against a boy twice his size or scored a try were the moments Billy lived for. He worshipped his older brother and revelled in his praise. But the eighteen-month gap in their ages when one was ten and the other twelve was easily measured in terms of ability. When Billy was twelve and Neil fourteen, however, the differences became more marked and complex. Neil moved into another age group with different priorities and desires. Billy became increasingly left behind. For a while, the .22 Winchester rifle obscured the differences as both boys enjoyed the novelty and explored the possibilities of their new acquisition. But there was another unexpected and profound change in their dynamics to take into account. Skill with the rifle was not dependent on age or size and it was immediately apparent that Billy was not only a better shot than Neil but a gifted marksman.
The boys graduated from shooting rabbits and hares to tracking and shooting feral pigs. More than anything Billy loved hunting pigs and loved it most when a boar turned on them and charged. He became hooked on the frantic rush of adrenaline, standing his ground while Rodney and Neil headed for the nearest tree, calmly releasing the safety and sighting along the barrel at the charging beast, making certain that his shot would strike between the beast’s shoulders and rip through its heart. He stood his ground even as the beast’s momentum carried it to within centimetres of his legs, the extent of its injury and the accuracy of his shot not apparent until its final collapse. Neil screamed abuse at him for the risks he took, but for Billy that only added to the magic. What if his shot had caught the boar’s skull and deflected? What if he’d missed and only wounded it in the shoulder? Everyone knew the damage a boar could do to a man let alone a boy, but Billy only laughed at the danger. He saw the grudging respect in his brother’s eyes and Rodney’s open admiration. For the first time in his life, he was number one and that was the best feeling he’d ever known. Besides, he boasted, the closer the boar came the harder it was to miss.
But while the rifle was Billy’s, Neil was still responsible for its use, and their father imposed rules which Neil was charged to uphold and which would result in the rifle’s confiscation if flouted. The golden rule was that neither boy could take the rifle out on his own, whether to go hunting or just for target practice. It was a sensible rule, made for all the right reasons, but it was also unrealistic.
There wasn’t a day when Billy didn’t want to go hunting and, in the initial bloom of excitement and through the summer holidays, both Neil and Rodney were eager to accommodate him. If one couldn’t make it, the other could and the golden rule was never an issue. But as time passed, things changed. Rodney wasn’t always available, and when his father thought he was onto a particularly promising dig, Rodney had to help sift through the opal dirt and wasn’t available at all. That left Neil, and Billy found him increasingly unreliable and difficult to understand. In the mornings, on the bus to school, he’d make Neil promise to go hunting with him after school only to have him renege on the bus home. This infuriated Billy because the prospect of going hunting was the only thing that kept him going through the interminable, boring lessons. Even worse, Neil’s reasons for not going shooting often beggared belief. How could anyone put homework ahead of shooting? And there were shameful times when Neil ignored the jeers and scorn of their mates and sat with the girls on the school bus. Billy had never felt more mortified in his life and it hurt him deeply that Neil seemed not to care. He got into fights defending his brother’s reputation when other boys baited him by claiming Neil was a sissy or some girl’s boyfriend. The only times Neil was like the brother he’d known all his life were when they were playing football or out hunting. Then he reverted to his committed, uncompromising self. That was the brother Billy liked and that only made him keener to go hunting together.
Things came to a head one afternoon when Neil reaffirmed his promise to go pig shooting while they waited for the bus to pick them up and take them home. Billy ignored the fact that Neil chose to share a seat with a girl called Pauline Pridle because he knew that his brother would be back to normal once they took the rifle out of the rack. He pretended not to notice when Neil held open a copy of the Sydney Morning Herald and Pauline leaned into him so she could read it with him. At least, that was what Billy thought they were doing, although he was darned if he knew how anybody could read fine newsprint at arm’s length with the bus bouncing around. He failed utterly to appreciate that neither was the least bit interested in reading anything. Billy ignored the giggles and whispers of the other girls and the snide remarks of his mates in the back of the bus. Pauline had the best breasts of any girl in the class and they all reckoned Neil was onto a good thing. But Billy had no time for that sort of talk. Both of his sisters had grown breasts and they’d just been a matter of curiosity and no more. In fact he hadn’t even been aware of that particular development until he’d bumbled into the bathroom and caught Glory half naked. Nudity had never been an issue and Billy hadn’t realised that the time had passed when he and his sisters could share baths. He’d looked at his sister and her burgeoning breasts in absolute astonishment. ‘Where did they come from?’ he’d asked, and still smarted whenever anyone reminded him of his remark. But his naivety only served to underscore the fact that he wasn’t the least bit interested in girls and, as far as he was concerned, Neil wasn’t either.
When they got off the bus Neil surprised Billy and his sister by waving as it pulled away. Neil never waved goodbye. It just wasn’t cool. His sister smiled knowingly and walked on ahead towards the house.
‘What are you doing?’ said Billy as they began to follow.
‘Nothing,’ said Neil, but he looked somehow guilty.
‘You’re an embarrassment.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why?’
‘You know. Why’d you sit with Pauline? The guys reckon you like her.’
‘They would. Nah, she just wants me to help her with her maths. I said I’d ride over.’
‘When? You can’t today because you promised to come hunting.’
‘Maybe we’ll have to go hunting tomorrow.’
‘We can’t. Tomorrow’s Saturday and we promised we’d help Dad paint the shed.’
‘Sunday, then.’
‘No! Today. You promised.’
‘Yeah, well, I promised Pauline as well.’
‘That’s not fair! You promised me first.’
�
��I changed my mind.’
‘You can’t just change your mind. You promised. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.’ Billy’s face reddened and he clenched and unclenched his fists in anger and impotence.
‘You’ll just have to do something else. I promised Pauline.’
‘You promised me! You promised me first!’
‘Well, tough.’
The betrayal was too much for Billy. He punched Neil as hard as he could, aiming for his bicep where he knew his punch would hurt but do no lasting damage. Neil wasn’t as considerate in his response. He retaliated with a solid blow to Billy’s solar plexus, dropping his younger brother to the ground.
‘You bastard … you bastard …’ sobbed Billy as hot tears spilled from his eyes. ‘You promised me … you promised me!’
Neil ignored him and continued up the drive, rubbing his sore arm.
‘It’s true, isn’t it? You just want to see her tits, that’s all!’ Billy let his tears run unchecked into the dry red dust where they disappeared in an instant. He couldn’t believe his brother could break his promise for a girl. At least his sister was out of sight around the bend in the drive so she couldn’t see him crying.
Billy waited until Neil had saddled up his stockhorse and ridden off before taking the .22 out of the gun rack and heading off to the stables himself. He saddled up his horse, Grasshopper, and waved to his mother as he passed the kitchen window, making sure he followed in Neil’s tracks so she’d think they were going off somewhere together. His mother was as aware of the golden rule as he was. Once out of sight, he swung west towards the sand ridges. The funny thing was, he’d never really had any intention of trying to hunt down a pig. There was always a chance they’d come across one or two, the way they were breeding up in the good conditions, but Billy had something else on his mind. He’d seen some emus a few days earlier, when he’d ridden out to help his father tension wire in a fence he was repairing to stop his sheep wandering into the lignum swamp and becoming bogged. Billy was certain their tracks would lead him to eggs somewhere in the warrambool. The family enjoyed the occasional emu eggs and, if he ever wanted to get on the good side of his mum, all he had to do was bring a few home. They were about thirteen centimetres long, dark green in colour and had a strong, gamey flavour. Once accustomed to the taste, they became something of a treat, especially in a bacon and egg pie.
