Land of Milk & Honey

by William Taylor

  Clearly the wedding of Pamela, the niece, was an occasion of some importance. It was the first time since he’d arrived at the farm that he’d seen them use the car. So far, the old farm truck had served their every transport need, from Mrs Pearson’s weekly shopping trip into the town Jake had never seen, to Mr Pearson’s almost daily two or three hours in the pub.

  ‘Just don’t you forget, boy, to pull your weight and do as Darcy says,’ she cautioned yet again. ‘You’re here to work, not lounge around eating us out of house and home. Come along, Darcy. If you want a ride to town to meet up with Gary get a move on. Dad and me are just about late.’ She nodded at Jake. ‘And you get out and get on with that ragwort, boy. We’ll be checking Sunday afternoon you haven’t been shirking.’

  What a bonus! The three of them gone—even if the worst of the three would be back far too soon. In how long? An hour? Two hours?

  Jake stood in the driveway as the car drove off and out onto the road and away. A smile spread across his face. At the top of his voice he yelled out after the fast disappearing vehicle, ‘Bugger your bloody ragwort!’

  He went into the kitchen, cut himself a large slice of bread, found butter and jam in the safe, spread both very thickly on the doorstep of bread. He took his morning tea back to his room and found Little Black Sambo. Together they sat outside in the sun and enjoyed the feast. Well, the kitten didn’t sit for too long. Jake returned to the kitchen, made himself a sizeable bread lunch and, as insurance, tucked into his pocket a couple more slices and a crust or two still lying there from the day before. Next best thing to Christmas, he thought to himself.

  Jake’s holiday lasted for almost a day because Darcy Pearson didn’t come home until late on Saturday morning. Not quite a holiday, of course. Would have been more of a holiday if Jake had been given some idea of how long Darcy was going to be away. It was most certainly a working holiday. With just about the whole herd in full milk it meant that most of Jake’s time was spent in the milking shed. He knew what to do. For weeks, now, he’d been doing the lion’s share of the labour and, back-breaking, exhausting as it was, the very simple fact of not having to keep an eye on the whereabouts of Darcy Pearson meant that for two whole milkings he could relax, let his guard down and have more serious conversations with Big Brown Eyes—numbers one through to sixty-three!

  But all good things come to an end, and they came to an end for Jake at lunchtime, Saturday, with the arrival home of Darcy, accompanied by his good mate, Gary. Gary and Jake hadn’t met before but Gary was clearly looking forward to the event. ‘This ya bloody pom, Darce. He’s a weed, eh? Old Hitler sure starved them poms.’

  Gary was not a weed. Pleasant of face, big, blond, blue-eyed, thick-set and very thick of mind, at six foot he was a couple of inches taller than Darcy Pearson. Close friends since their very first days at school, the two shared similar interests, most particularly the enjoyment they found in inflicting misery on anything—human, animal or bird—smaller or weaker than themselves. Darcy was the leader and Gary his very willing follower. ‘What we gonna do to ‘im? When can we start?’ he asked pleasantly, after de-capping with strong white teeth the first of the two dozen bottles of beer left for them by Mr Pearson. ‘You said we could have us some good fun. You promised. Otherwise we coulda stayed in town, ‘cept for the beer.’ This was a long speech for Gary, whose abilities were slightly over-taxed in his job as apprentice motor mechanic. He gargled down a good quarter of the bottle of beer and passed it to Darcy. ‘Got any smokes?’

  ‘You’ve got your own,’ said Darcy.

  ‘Aw, geez,’ said Gary, ‘have I?’ He patted his clothing. ‘Oh, yeah. I do,’ He lit one and smoked enthusiastically for a minute or two.

  ‘I’ve had my lunch,’ said Jake.

  ‘He’s had his lunch,’ said Gary, ‘That’s nice, eh? Please, Darce, can I do ‘im now?’

  ‘Like how?’ Darcy was being difficult. A few too many bottles of beer the night before had taken a slight but headachy toll.

  ‘I dunno,’ said Gary, wrinkling his brow and thinking very hard. ‘Yeah!’ Inspiration struck. ‘Stick him down ya dunny? Be good fun, eh?’

  ‘Look,’ Darcy said, patiently, and as if to a small child. ‘My old man says it doesn’t matter a shit what I do to the pongo…’

  ‘The pongo! That’s a good one,’ said Gary, grinning, smoking, lounging casually in the doorway so the object of their debate couldn’t escape. ‘Pongo! Stink! Now I geddit,’ he giggled.

  Darcy sighed. ‘Just shut up for a minute, and listen. My old man says he doesn’t give a shit what sort of hard time I give the pom but we have to remember one thing…’

  ‘What’s the one thing to remember, Darce?’

  Darcy sighed again. Sometimes his friend was just a little too much to bear. ‘If we knock him up too much, my old man says he’ll be good for nothing, and guess who’d have to do all the work?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Gary look sorely puzzled. ‘Who?’

  ‘Like me, Dumbo.’

  ‘Don’ call me Dumbo,’ said Gary. ‘Yeah. I geddit,’ Gary scratched his head. ‘Couldn’t you get another one? Another pongo?’

  Darcy Pearson had learnt a valuable lesson in farm economics at the knee of his father. ‘Farm workers don’t grow on trees these days…Not seeing it’s after the war, and all. There’s next to no one looking for work these days. Even useless shits like the pongo sure as hell don’t grow on trees.’

  ‘No they don’t,’ said Gary, helpfully. ‘They wouldn’t, would they? Grow on trees, that is. So what you mean is,’ he gradually gathered his wits and spoke quite slowly. ‘We can’t do nuthin’ to ‘im.’

  ‘Didn’t say that,’ said Darcy, grinning. ‘There’s things we can do to the bugger.’

  ‘Right. Gotcha,’ said Gary, shaking his blond, curly mop. ‘Like what?’

  Jake, waiting patiently for the blow to fall, breathed a very tiny inward sigh of relief. It was comforting to know he was unlikely to be killed outright or, indeed, maimed for life or drowned down the dunny. His good sense, however, was fully alert to a wide variety of other less permanent but very painful probabilities.

  ‘You just wait and see. I’ve got a few good things lined up for him. But, for now, you and me will have another couple of beers and then take your bike and go up the outcrops and kill us some rabbits. I feel a deep and powerful need to kill something. What d’you reckon? Then, don’t forget we’re going down the hall for the tennis club dance and we’ve got to get spruced up. That’s tonight, remember? We’ll take the beers and hide them in the bushes out the back so the old ladies don’t know and tell Mum. Come on. Let’s go and give those rabbits hell.’

  ‘Yeah. OK,’ said Gary, happily. ‘Might kill somethin’ else as well, eh Darce?’

  ‘And don’t you worry,’ Darcy comforted his friend. ‘I got plans for the pongo. It’ll be good, you’ll see.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Use your brain, Dumbo,’

  ‘Don’ call me Dumbo.’

  ‘Can’t tell you now with him listening,’ Darcy shook his head again.

  ‘Yeah, Pongo,’ Gary spoke to Jake for the first time. ‘You stop snoopin’ and spyin’ on what good blokes say. Go on, ya bugger. Get out!’ And he and Darcy spent a pleasant five minutes tripping up Jake every time the boy tried to leave the room.

  ‘And start getting those cows in,’ Darcy yelled after him.

  Tired? He was always tired. Aching? He often ached. Bruised? Quite frequently. What could he do to escape from this prison? This thought increasingly occupied his waking hours. They couldn’t keep him a prisoner. Could they? Well, there were no bars on this prison. But what could he do? What could be done to him if he simply walked out that gate, down the road to…where?

  Jake scarcely knew where he was. Somewhere in the heart of this country that could not all be, surely, as bad as this corner they’d found for him? Where was he? If he got caught, what then? If they stuck him in a real prison it couldn’t
be all that much worse than this place. Hard labour. Well, he was now fully trained for that. Send him home? No. They wouldn’t do that—much too much to hope for!

  What about Little Black Sambo? What about him? Did the cat matter? Not all that much. The cat would take its chances. It would either live or die. Sheer chance, a fluke indeed, that the black kitten hadn’t been spotted already. Some sixth sense seemed to tell the kitten to stay out of the way, live under the floor of his room during waking hours, not follow him around. Maybe Little Black Sambo was a survivor.

  Was there any point in escape? Commonsense told him it was unlikely he would be sent to prison just for walking out of this hellhole. But why bother? It was probably no better and no worse for him, here, than it was for the others, wherever they were, who had crossed the oceans of the wide world with him.

  He milked the cows. Separated the cream. Sent the skim milk down the long chute to the pens of pigs that fattened on the stuff. Stored the cream in the cool room for the following morning’s pickup. Cleaned up. Back-breaking work for his slight frame. Only one good thing on this afternoon and evening; he hadn’t had to put up with the attentions of Darcy Pearson and his good mate, Gary.

  As Jake trudged down the race to close gates after the long-gone cows, he wondered what it was that Darcy and Gary had in store for him. Well, at least there was only one day left for them to put Darcy’s plan into action. Jake made sure he didn’t go to the house for his dinner until he heard the motorbike take off and away down the drive to the tennis club dance at the local hall.

  A restless night.

  Jake tossed and turned, slightly feverish in his apprehension that at any moment the axe might fall. At sometime after midnight he came wide awake as he heard the motorbike come up the driveway to the farmhouse. He was fully dressed and had dozed. They wouldn’t take him unaware. He pulled back the sack covering the broken windowpane and watched, alert, as the two revellers dismounted and staggered towards the back door. They were drunk. Both stopped, unbuttoned trouser flies and pissed into the weeds Mrs Pearson called her garden.

  ‘Did so get ‘er in those bushes out the side,’ Jake heard Gary yell at the top of his voice, clearly continuing with a conversation that had started as they had ridden home. ‘She’d do anything for me, old Joyce would. She did, too.’

  ‘Aw, yeah?’ said Darcy. ‘Only problem would be, you wouldn’t know what to do back!’

  ‘She got good fingers, Joyce.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’

  ‘Yeah,’ and Gary started re-buttoning. ‘Good feed, eh?’

  ‘Get a move on. Need to go to bed. And don’t talk about food,’ said Darcy. ‘Makes me feel like chucking up—again!’

  Their voices lowered and Jake could hear nothing more of their conversation. He watched intently as they weaved a path into the house. He saw the light come on. He went on watching, wary, until the light went out. He stayed at his window for another ten, fifteen minutes before allowing the sacking curtain to flap back into place and then he crawled into his bed and slept for what was left of his night.

  VII

  They got him.

  ‘Got ‘im, Darce.’ Gary was jubilant. One strong arm around the boy’s neck and the other forcing Jake’s arm up his back. ‘Now what?’

  ‘We tie the bugger up,’ said Darcy. ‘Here’s the rope.’

  ‘Only got two hands and I gotta use them to hold him,’ said Gary, reasonably. ‘I’m doin’ me best. We don’ want him to escape. That wouldn’t be fair, eh?’ Gary shook his head.

  ‘I’ll tie him, Gary,’ said Darcy, patiently.

  ‘Then can I punch ‘im? Please, Darce, please let me punch him?’

  ‘Sure. Reckon you’ve earned it,’ Darcy grinned at his mate. ‘But not too much and just for a little while. We don’t want to knock him out. Got to make sure he’s fully alive to enjoy the good bit. Wouldn’t be fair if he’s out of it.’

  Jake struggled with every ounce of his strength. It was futile. Useless. Gary chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the struggles of his much smaller victim, controlling Jake with absolute ease.

  In a small corner of his mind Jake realised, far too late, that he’d let down his guard too soon, grown unwary, maybe even thinking it had been nothing more than idle talk and that nothing worse than a bit of mean-spirited bullying, pushing, tripping, shoving would be his lot. He’d got through the milking, the cows had gone, the cleanup almost over and nothing had happened and they’d forgotten about him as they slept off their late night and too much beer.

  How wrong he’d been. The looks on the faces of both his captors told him something far more vile than another round of idle bullying was about to take place. He started to tremble and this served to increase the enjoyment of the one who held him. ‘Think he’s gonna piss hisself,’ giggled Gary. ‘Looks like it. That’d be good, eh? Ya dirty little bugger.’ He forced Jake’s arm further up his back and shook him. ‘You piss on me, you’ll be sorry,’ he hissed in Jake’s ear. The stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke added to Jake’s feeling of nausea.

  Darcy said nothing, busied himself and quickly and efficiently had Jake tied, spread-eagled against the framework of one of the milking bays. There could be no escape. No way out.

  Darcy and Gary stood back to enjoy the sight of their handiwork and have a smoke, lounging casually and congratulating each other on the results so far.

  ‘Geez, I feel good now,’ said Gary. ‘Fresh air’s got rid of me hangover.’ He lit himself another cigarette.

  ‘Oh, you’ll be feeling even better soon,’ said Darcy. ‘He won’t be,’ he nodded at Jake.

  Gary laughed happily. ‘Good one, Darce. He sure as hell won’t be feelin’ better.’ He laughed some more. ‘You gotta good sense of humour. Now what?’

  ‘I think now’s your time for a bit of a punch up while I go and drag in his girlfriend,’ said Darcy.

  ‘His girl…Oh, yeah. I geddit. Great,’ said Gary. ‘Take ya time. I’ll just punch him sorta soft and gentle. Like you said, we don’ wanna knock him out. Not yet. I’ll be very, very careful, I promise. But I don’ have to be too gentle, do I?’

  ‘You just have a good time, mate. I’ll only be a couple of minutes,’ said Darcy.

  Jake shut his eyes and clamped fast his mouth and waited for blows to fall. God help him but he wouldn’t give this swine the satisfaction of hearing him call out.

  Gary thoroughly enjoyed the light exercise provided by a well-trussed up and live punching bag and experimented with several good moves he’d observed in the one live boxing contest he’d attended. It was certainly good to have an opponent who was completely unable to return a blow or put up any sort of a fight. Much safer, that way. A pity, though, that his mate wasn’t there to observe these fine moves of his. Great exercise, but not all that exciting without an audience! ‘Geez, you’re a dumb bugger,’ was all he said to Jake. ‘You just wait till Darce gets back. He’s sure gotta good surprise for you. I’ll have me another smoke. Bet you need one.’ He grinned.

  There wasn’t long to wait.

  ‘Bugger didn’t want to come,’ announced Darcy, returning. ‘Wonder why?’ he laughed. ‘Had to be a bit nice to it, seeing as we want the sod to do its job. Come on, sucker,’ he urged, and then he laughed. ‘And that’s just what it’s going to be. Geddit? Sucker?’

  ‘Nah. Don’ think so,’ said Gary, the fog of his mind as dense as his cloud of cigarette smoke. ‘Oh, yeah. See what ya mean. I think.’

  With unaccustomed care and gentle urging, Darcy Pearson steered a new-born bull calf towards Jake.

  ‘Geez, you’re sure bein’ nice to it,’ said Gary.

  ‘Yeah. But not for too long. It’s all yours to kill after it’s done its work.’

  A wide grin spread across Gary’s face. ‘Your dad won’t mind?’

  ‘Hell no. He gave it to me. Was due to go out the gate. Told Dad I wanted it for its skin for my room. You know. Another floor mat like the two I already got. It’s all mine
to do what I like with,’ and Darcy tenderly stroked his prey.

  ‘Yeah. You can do what you like with it, if it’s yours. Fair enough, eh?’ said Gary ‘No one can say nuthin’. I’d like a calf floor mat for my room at home. Any chance of you giving me this bugger?’

  Darcy looked at the calf. ‘Don’t see why not. It’s nothing special. It can be your Christmas present,’ he smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Darce. I’ll make sure I torture it gentle so’s I don’ hurt his nice skin. Sure gonna be nice’n soft on me toes on cold mornings,’ said Gary. ‘He’s quite a fluffy bugger, eh? Must be his little baby furs.’

  Jake was frozen still. Tied still. His mind couldn’t grasp what possible horrors there could be that would involve both himself and the bewildered calf. The fate of the calf was as clear as day.

  ‘I’ve starved it for just about two days,’ Darcy smiled. ‘It sure as hell needs a good feed,’ and he stuck out two fingers of one hand and the hungry calf took them, sucked avidly.

  Gary giggled. ‘Stupid sod thinks you got milk in them fingers. No milk there, sucker.’

  ‘No’ said Darcy, laughing. ‘But I reckon I know where there’s some. Pull the bloody pongo’s pants down.’

  Gary was suddenly reluctant. ‘Dunno if I wanna do that.’

  ‘Then get in there and bring out one of the jugs of house milk,’ Darcy nodded towards the milking shed. ‘Might need a bit to use as bait. I’ll do his pants,’ and he advanced on Jake. ‘Reckon you’re not going to enjoy this one little bit, Pongo. Ooohh, it’s going to hurt bad. Real bad.’ He knelt, tore open the fly of the old trousers Jake was wearing and pulled them, and the boy’s underpants, down around his ankles. He whistled tunelessly as he worked. ‘Come on, Gary. Where the hell are you? Didn’t tell you to milk a bloody cow.’

  ‘Good stuff,’ said Gary, smacking his lips and wiping away whiskers of milk. ‘Just had a swig. Here.’

  ‘Right,’ Darcy took the jug. ‘Grab that sodding calf and bring it here.’ He sloshed the contents of the milk jug over Jake’s private parts. ‘Come on, calf. Suck!’ he ordered. ‘Pongo’s only got one tit but it’ll have to do and it’s the last one you’ll ever get.’ He nudged the calf’s nose and mouth to Jake’s penis.