He’s a fucken retard. It could all be bullshit.
No way I’m going to fucken camp at Ruby’s fucken Bore with him tomorrow and pretend everything is fucken sweet.
The image of his mother’s haunted face will not leave him. Maybe ever.
It could all be bullshit. I’ve had enough of fucken riddles.
Maybe Rosa knows something. Too late to go up to hers now.
Fuck. We’re supposed to be taking off at daybreak.
Fuck you Riley!
Eventually he slowed down enough to head back up to the house and throw himself onto his swag on the verandah. There was movement inside. Two Bob coming and going. Riley’s bedroom door opening and closing. He heard the pop of the tobacco tin opening. Half a minute later the flywire door creaked. Two Bob lowered himself onto the front step of the verandah and lit up. He took a few drags before speaking.
‘You still right for tomorrer?’
No answer.
‘You can’t growl him, Dancer. Even when you want to, you can’t growl him. It just makes things worse.’
Two Bob finished the smoke in silence. He flicked the butt, hard. They both watched it soar and land, and glow there in the dirt.
‘Riley’s gunna stop back. I’ve sorted his tucker for him for the next coupla days.’
Dancer loses track of the hours. Shifting occasionally in the saddle. Rolling his shoulders to loosen a back muscle that is starting to make itself felt. Watching the country slide past at the pace of a walking horse.
The campsite is perfect, under a spreading bauhinia tree with a pair of willy wagtails skittering and chirping. Tim has the billy boiling when they arrive, and he’s raking the coals over the camp oven to finish off the damper. Tim and Jimmy take charge of the horses, unloading the packs, watering them at the trough, then hobbling them out, with Two Bob happy to just keep an eye on things. Dancer doesn’t even watch. He cradles his tea and stares at the hills.
Fuck you Riley.
He can’t put it aside. He has no idea what Two Bob has or hasn’t said to the other two, but he can feel them giving him space, and their disappointment. He was not the only one who’d expected camaraderie tonight. ‘Good damper, uncle,’ is the best he can offer before they all turn in to their swags just after dark.
The knot in his guts is not quite so tight in the morning, and he joins the others in getting the day moving. He gives Buddy an ear rub and some nuts, tells him he’s got the day off, then saddles up his second horse, which he has not found a name for yet.
‘They’re goin’ well, Dancer,’ Two Bob says as he runs his eye over the horses standing quietly by the trough. ‘If we get back to Highlands today with no balls-ups, I reckon we’re gunna be good to go.’
A quick breakfast of damper spread thick with jam, and they are ready to ride.
Two Bob pulls up the packhorses and string of spares and dismounts for a piss. He times his remount for Dancer’s approach so the two fall in together. ‘Feelin’ any better today, jaminyi?’
‘Little bit.’
‘Want to talk?’
‘About what?’
‘Anythin’ … Riley …’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die! We’re not fucken kids.’
‘He’s got this thing about secrets.’
‘Rosa reckons you like ’em too.’
‘Does she just. Whatever secret he gave you, Dancer, it means he trusts you. That’s a big thing for Riley.’
‘I get that. But he only gave me half the secret, see. Which means he doesn’t really, really trust me. Or maybe it’s just some dream, or some mad thing in his head. That’s what I’m starting to think, but that’d be worse.’ He sniffs, and shifts awkwardly; suddenly the horse is skipping sideways, and he has to concentrate for a few moments on settling her. ‘I’m pretty cranky with him, Grandpa. I’ve been wondering if I should ask Rosa if I can put my swag on her verandah.’
Two Bob winces. They ride on in silence for a while.
‘They wanted to take him away, one time.’
‘Riley?’
‘Yeah. They reckoned he needed some kinda treatment. Can’t remember what they called it. He can sing. He can walk. He can draw. There’s not much else Riley’s good for, I know that. But they’re three good things. Just think about Riley in some fucken hospital or whatever it was they wanted.’
The old man lip-points at a bush turkey. The bird watches them warily, but does not take flight. Two Bob looks back to check on the packhorses. Lets some more time pass.
‘We used to go bush every time Rosa told us the special doctor was comin’ out an’ wanted to see him. She didn’t give me a hard time about it, so I figured she must’ve been on my side. He’s got no-one else. An’ I’ve got him. What’s that thing they say when you get married?’
‘Uh … oh, you mean “for better or worse”?’
‘That’s the one. There’s a bit of both in it, Dancer.’
Dancer looks across at him, and there is an enigma in the slightest of smiles that he gets back.
‘I know you’ve got this big argument goin’ on inside your head, boy. We can all see it an’ feel it, even if we don’t know what it’s about. I’m not you, but if I was, I’d keep his secret. It’s a heavy thing to break …’
He leaves a silence for Dancer, but when he gets nothing, he continues. ‘If you really need to say somethin’, talk to your dad when he gets back. Don’t tell me. If Riley stops trustin’ me, I don’t know what’ll happen.’ Suddenly he is coughing loudly, thumping his chest as he reins his horse in. He gives his horse a rub. ‘Sorry Nellie. You right there?’
Dancer suspects he’s manufactured it, but halts his horse and turns in the saddle. ‘You ok?’
‘Now I’ve stopped, I might check those packs. You keep goin’. Jimmy’ll be at dinner camp by now I reckon. I’ll join you there.’
There is a half stumble as he dismounts. He grabs at his calf.
‘You sure you’re all right there, Grandpa?’
‘I’m right. Go on.’ Dancer is unsure. Two Bob gives him a backhand wave as if to say get going.
Dancer flicks the reins, and the mare breaks into her slow walk.
‘Move camp to Rosa’s if you have to …’ Dancer turns in his saddle again. ‘But I’d like you to stay.’ They watch each other for a couple of moments, until Two Bob repeats his get going wave.
‘Hey Sally, there’s a good girl. We’ve made it.’ He dismounts, feeling foolishly pleased. He found her name on this last leg between dinner camp and the station yards. She ain’t no mustang, but it feels right. He opens the gate for Two Bob to lead his string through, then closes it behind, leading Sally.
Jimmy has been back a while already, and has Falcon’s saddle on a rail, and the horse rubbed down. The horse prances round the yard, clearly pleased with himself for leading the expedition. Rosa has joined Tim and Jimmy, all sitting on a rail beside the saddle, watching them come in.
Two Bob makes no allowance for his aches and pains as they go through the business of unsaddling, rub-downs and kind words and nuts for the horses, and loading gear back into vehicles. All the talk is upbeat. They’re good to go is the consensus. Jimmy is only half joking when he points out that they still have ten good horses, they could take an extra rider on this trip. Dancer is caught up in the mood. When Rosa asks him in a quiet moment, with a meaningful look, how he’s going, he tells her he is fine.
‘Want to come round for dinner tomorrow night?’ she asks.
‘That’d be great.’
44
‘We’ll unload the ute in the mornin’ eh?’ Two Bob suggests as he eases himself stiffly out of the ute.
‘I reckon,’ Dancer agrees.
They notice the ground in front of the verandah has been raked. The grooves from the spokes are still showing; not a cigarette butt or a stray leaf in sight. The verandah has been swept, Dancer’s stuff is neatly stacked beside the bed frame, just waiting for his swag. They look at each other as they
step inside.
The living room is spotless. The TV is off. A spaghetti tin on the table holds a slightly limp arrangement of yellow flowers from a cotton tree. Riley is humming edgily to himself as he scoops ice-cream fresh from the freezer into bowls of tinned apricots.
Two Bob and Dancer look at each other again, and sit at the table. Riley says nothing and refuses their urgings to join them as he serves a three-course meal of ice-cream and apricots, baked beans, and braised beef. When they are finished Two Bob disappears to his room yawning. Riley vanishes too. Dancer is left to do the dishes, get his swag from the back of the ute, and wonder what the hell.
He almost stands on the sheet of paper when he gets up. The drawing is held down by a pebble on each corner. A coucal whoops its throaty ‘frog in a drainpipe’ call. It is still too dark to see properly. Dancer picks up the sheet and heads down to the boab tree, catching a glimpse of the bird with its improbably long tail as it flies off.
He makes a fire and fills the billy, waiting for the light to strengthen. He doesn’t want to look. When he has warmed himself with a first gulp of tea he gives it a glance.
What the …?!
Andy’s truck. Right down to the dent in the bullbar where they hit that bullamon coming into Willare on the way up. Through the windscreen he can see Andy at the wheel and himself in the passenger seat. The truck is swooping down out of the sky, top right to bottom left, with a pair of angel wings extending on either side.
There is a small panel in the top left corner. A black hat on the ground. Andy taking off his black shirt. In the bottom right there are two more. Dancer and Andy – in white hat and shirt – emerging from the truck. Then four figures walking towards the horizon.
45
‘How are you this morning?’ Dancer asks as Two Bob settles on his flour drum.
‘Little bit sore, jaminyi, but I’ll be good. You?’
‘Yeah, ok. Back’s a bit stiff. Anything planned for today?’
‘Day off I reckon. I’ll check the horses later on.’
‘Your washing machine work?’
‘Little bit.’
‘What you mean little bit?’
‘He can do that back and forwards, back and forwards part for washin’. That spin around part, he don’t like that much. I just take ’em out after the washin’ part an’ hang ’em on the fence.’
‘Sounds good. Rosa’s asked me round for dinner tonight. Thought I should clean myself up a bit.’
Two Bob is trying to look at the drawing without being too intrusive. Dancer passes it across. Watches the old man deep in thought as he traces the drawing with a finger. He is hoping for a comment, an explanation, perhaps even some sort of enlightenment, but when Two Bob finally turns to him there is just a question in his eye.
Dancer can only shake his head. ‘He’s saying sorry, maybe? I don’t know. I’m hoping it means he’ll stop giving Dad such a hard time at least.’
‘I like that last little picture.’
He hears the Hilux start up while he’s busy tending the washing machine, wringing out clothes, and hanging them carefully over the dilapidated fence to avoid them dragging in the dirt. When he goes in he realises that Riley has disappeared along with Two Bob. He idles through the day, deciding to wash the grotty sheets in his swag as well, and beat the dust out of the blanket, and polish his boots. He even doodles for a while with the guitar he has not touched since arriving at Highlands.
Maybe he’s taken Riley for his dose of walking down the river.
He reads through the Phantom comics again. The thought occurs that perhaps Two Bob is managing the situation, keeping him and Riley from having too much time together. Eventually the sun starts to dip. His clothes are dried stiff, he has to shake his jeans and shirt out to loosen them up. He feels strange dressing up for a date with his auntie.
‘I’m not too early am I?’
‘You’re fine.’ Rosa runs an eye over him. ‘Looking good there, Dancer. All spruced up.’ She looks again. ‘You’ve even had a shave?’
He blushes. She flicks the hose, spraying his feet lightly. ‘I like it, nephew. Making an effort. Dinner’ll be a little bit. You know where the kettle is.’
She joins him up on the verandah as he’s making the tea, and they settle into the comfy chairs. ‘D’you like goulash?’
‘Don’t think I’ve ever had it.’
‘Hungarian stew. Lots of paprika. I learned to make it when I was down in Perth. Good winter tucker – a potful would last me a week. I still make it now, even though there’s not much of a winter here.’
‘When were you down there?’
‘Round the time you were born. When I came through Broome on my way back up for summer holidays at the end of my first year, Milly’s stomach was out here, fit to burst,’ Rosa holds her rounded palms in front of her stomach. ‘It was only three or four days after that you popped out.’
She leaves a silence for him, but he can’t think what to say.
‘I never saw her again. Flew out of Derby going back. I think about her a lot though. And you wouldn’t know how many times I’ve wondered about you over the years.’
This time she lets the silence hang, waiting for him. But he can’t meet her eye.
‘So you knew Mum – I mean of course you knew her, but …’
‘We grew up together. Cousin sisters. And you are making me remember her. That slow, gentle voice of yours.’
This time he meets her eye. ‘I’ve got no memories of her.’
Rosa wipes a tear. Squeezes his knee briefly. Wipes the other eye. ‘She used to camp with us, back when we were little, when Two Bob was out on the stock camp and Marj had to go away for meetings. It changed a bit after I went to the hostel in Derby – I was a couple of years older than her. But we were close.’
‘Didn’t she go down to the hostel?’ asks Dancer.
Rosa laughs. ‘Yeah, but not by choice. I was the opposite, I loved it. Don’t get me wrong, your mum was sharp as a pin, she just didn’t give a bugger about school, and she couldn’t hack the hostel at all. She missed this place and her family so, so much every day she was there. She was out of there the day she turned fifteen. Auntie Marj didn’t approve, but she knew there was no use arguing about it.’
Rosa pushes out of her chair. ‘The goulash should be just about ready. Can you light the mossie coils under the table there. Plenty of cold water in the fridge if you want some.’
The table sits under a boughshed with a roof and one wall of spinifex held by chicken wire. A jasmine creeper is making progress towards enveloping it all in green. She has sprayed the spinifex, and the breeze blowing through creates wafts of cool, scented air. There are two glasses chilling in the fridge with the cold water. He pours them one each and sits at the table, thinking. Rosa has opened a door for him. He is going to walk on through, but that doesn’t stop him being apprehensive. What are the right questions to ask?
She makes a couple of trips in and out rather than asking him to help. He senses that indoors is a private domain, and is glad he didn’t ask to camp here. When she eventually seats herself there are not only the bowls of goulash, but a salad, pita bread, and dips. He can’t help a big smile.
‘What?’
‘This is the first meal since Broome that I won’t be eating off a tin plate.’
‘I don’t think your grandpa’s ever got past the stock camp school of cooking.’
‘Riley does a line in ice-cream and tinned apricots.’
‘Yum. Mind you, I prefer black cherries to apricots. That’s dessert.’
‘He does it for first course. Then tinned spaghetti.’
‘Don’t criticise the cook unless you’re willing to have a go yourself.’
‘Ooh Auntie, this is good.’
As he eats he can feel her watching him, waiting. He decides to go straight to the point. ‘Tell me what happened. I mean I know the basics, Dad’s version. But you mob. Her family. What happened, Auntie?’
Sh
e seems to evade the question. Is she trying to spare his feelings? He feels kind of angry; she has opened the subject up, after all. But he begins to realise that this is hard for her too, that she has to work her way into the story.
‘When I got into the nursing course, I can’t tell you how happy I was. Mum and Dad were pretty pleased too. Everybody here. First kid from Jimbala Wali to get past high school. I was fine with the studies. Good at them. For a while there I even fancied the idea of doing a bridging course, trying to get into medicine. That would’ve been something hey! Doctor Rider. But all that time down there I was sitting on a secret. I had my eyes on the big wide world. I was going to leave this place behind.’
She pushes her empty bowl aside, tears at her pita bread, almost angrily. ‘There was a white boy I thought I was in love with. Medical student. Then he dropped me. Cold. Not a word. I think he figured a blackfeller wife and Kimberley munjons for his in-laws was going to be too complicated for the smart young doctor he was planning to be. But he never had the balls to say so. Bastard. All of a sudden the Perth dream didn’t make so much sense.
‘Then your granny died. That last spell she did in Perth on the dialysis, I don’t know how many hours I sat with her. In the hostel. At the hospital. Didn’t do much for my study routine, I can tell you. I organised for Two Bob and Riley to come down when the end was near. Don’t think the poor old feller even realised I was there. I came back up for the funeral. The Greyhound all the way from Perth to Derby. I couldn’t not come.’ Rosa blinks hard.
‘Sitting here with Mum and the aunties crying for Auntie Marj … Oh, I dunno. We don’t honour people like her enough. The ones who led the way. But I wasn’t only crying for her. I was crying for myself. And angry at myself. Proper wild. For thinking I was too good for this place. For thinking I could leave my family and my country behind.
‘I went back down and finished the course, but my heart wasn’t in it any more. I never did my last prac. Never became a nurse. I came home, and here I am. And I don’t regret it … much.’
The Valley Page 16
