by Rohan Wilson
You better ship that thing, he said.
Do not come any closer.
Get it off me or be called upon to use it.
Chung, suited and gloved as ever with his black hair slicked back, stepped from his office in the panelling at the rear. He saw Toosey and his face clouded.
Get out, he said. Get out.
I want me gold, you yellow mongrel.
But Chung took the pistol from the clerk and raised it and levered back the hammer. I shoot you, you dog fucker. You pig fucker. Get out.
Don’t come that caper with me. We had an agreement.
Agreement? Chung said and then followed it with few phrases of Chinese. You break agreement, Chung said. You take everything. You take my money.
Like hell I did, Toosey said and came a pace closer.
Chung fired a round into the floor that splintered up the boards. The clap in that high wooden hall was immense. Toosey froze. He raised a palm. Steady on, he said.
I shoot you. Right there. Shoot you like dog you like to fuck.
Toosey stood with his good hand upraised.
Shoot you in balls. Chung directed the muzzle downward at Toosey’s crotch. You want I shoot balls? How you fuck dog then, huh? How you fuck pig?
Toosey switched his eyes from the proprietor to the clerk to the handgun and back as he gauged his dilemma, hounded by a pansy and a foreigner armed with hardly more than a toy. What exactly have I done wrong here? he said.
Mr Chung was robbed last night, the clerk said and he appeared the most nervous of them all. They took everything in the strongbox. Our banknotes. Coins. The whole lot.
Your friend, Chung said. Your friend take it.
What? Toosey said. What friend? Who?
They break my door. Break my window. Your friend. They use axe. They take my money. They take everything. Here Chung bent down and pointed at something behind the desk. You see? he said.
Toosey leaned to get a look. There was a strongbox standing open at floor level that held some sheets of paper tied with ribbon and envelopes. Nothing else. His eyes when they cut back to Chung had a wild quality to them. No, he said. No no no. They was sons of bitches. Not my friends, not at all.
Chung looked confused. He still had the derringer trained on Toosey. He cupped the butt now with both hands.
I tried to stop them, Toosey said. I tried to help. Why would I steal me own money?
Oh you lie. You lie.
Damn me, I’m not lyin. They was at your door with an axe. I wasn’t about to let them in here so as they could take what they like. Take my gold.
A moment passed where the three of them stood staring, each unsure, each taut with anger. Toosey lowered his hand. Was it the same fellows? he said. Are you certain of it? Cause I saw a couple of territorials properly clean them up.
I see, Chung said. I see with my eyes.
And they come in here and opened the safe?
They make me open safe.
Why didn’t you shoot?
I shoot bullet, I miss. No more bullet in gun.
Toosey was breathing hard through his nose. His eyes cut from one to the other. You cockless bellycrawlers, he said. Couldn’t keep a horde of children from robbing us blind. Sweet Christ.
I wasn’t here, the clerk said. I went home at six.
Toosey ignored him. The brim of his hat had cast his whole face in shadow. You ought to bend a knee and thank God I’m impaired, he said.
Chung glared and that was his answer.
A round railway clock on the wall ticked in the quiet. Toosey took a deep breath and let it go. So listen to me, he said. Are you sure it was them? Cause if it was them, I’ll soon find out. This town’s too small to hide in.
I get the police, Chung called. Bring them. We see about money.
No. No police.
Get police. They find money.
No. Not yet. We don’t need em. I’ll find the bastards. Just answer the question. Was it the same men?
Same men, Chung said. Same. I see them.
No need for the law to stick his nose in then, Toosey said. I’ll have our money back. Just give me time before you have the law involved. Just a bit of time.
Chung said not a word, his narrow eyes dark and unreadable. The fall of light through the window lit him grimly pale. At length he lowered the gun.
With a last long glare at them Toosey turned and left. Outside on the footpath the Chinese boys emptied buckets of glass into the horse cart. He stopped in the sun and stood and let the heat steam the damp from him. A hot wind was coming up the river. It heaved over the rooves of the city where like stalks of barley the chimney smoke bent before it, a desert wind from out of the red heart of the mainland lifting the dust off the road into little devils and setting the weather cocks all acreak.
He looked along the road and looked back at the lane where he’d slept. The wind stirred his hat. He closed his eyes. His arm pounded in time with his heart with a pain that shut his thoughts to all else. He felt ill. The heat in the air and the heat in his arm seemed part of the same devilment. He swallowed with great effort and considered sitting in the street but he knew he would not get up again. He kept his eyes closed a moment longer. He could not summon the courage to face what he had to face. A life in which he’d traded away his last hope at peace.
He breathed in and breathed out. He opened his eyes and began to walk. Among the folk in the street were men full of drink and holding one another in comradeship, men asleep in doorways like sick and needy vagrants. Toosey walked towards the part of the road where he’d seen the territorials warring with the louts who stole his money. He thought he might find there some sign, some intimation of who they were or where they’d gone. He walked holding his arm to himself, cold sweat streaking down his backbone.
He’d come along the street a dozen doors, past shops, past tea rooms, before he looked up and saw standing beside the road, in the maturing daylight, the boy from the lane. He was tall, thin, angular. He just as brazenly stared at Toosey as he had in the laneway. But in this light he was somehow changed. Toosey tugged down his hat. He headed towards this lad and the lad fingered the ends of his shirt like he was nervous about it. As Toosey walked he began to see things that unnerved him too. The lad had a brace of moppy hair but lightly coloured, like grain. His face beneath the grime was softly shaped and familiar. He came towards the lad and stopped some yards short.
The lad fingered his shirt. I’ve found you, he said.
Toosey nodded his head. He looked away. He blinked and blinked and his eyes ran anyway.
The lad continued to stare.
I’d say you have, said Toosey.
For a moment he dared not look at the boy. His boy.
I remembered you, William said.
After a while Toosey turned back. His eyes wet and narrow. He said, You’ve grown.
The lad looked down at himself. He let go of the hem of his shirt and pocketed his hands.
Toosey nodded some more. He was pressing his mouth tightly shut. He could hardly see. I would not have picked you, he said.
Ma is dead. I sent a letter.
Here, Toosey said and he fumbled for the innards of his coat. He pulled out the letter. I still have it.
Wasn’t sure it was the right thing. Sendin you a letter.
You needn’t be afraid. I’ve quit the drink.
William seemed unmoved by this. He wiped his nose on his sleeve.
My boy, he said. A rotten man would not come. I have come.
Yes. You have.
Look at you. All grown by now.
More or less.
I pictured you as you was. Little, with short hair. Three years has altered you no end.
A faint expression passed over William’s features, brief as spark. Regret or remorse or something else. Then it was gone and he hardened over again.
How did you find me? Toosey said.
Stewart told me where.
Stewart. I was going to knock in his teeth.
William was studying the blackened arm Toosey carried. Could you even do it with that?
I would school him, Toosey said and lifted it tenderly. Arm or no arm.
I thought they had shot you. Them last night.
Who?
The ones outside the hotel.
Beneath his moustache Toosey’s mouth pulled sidewards. I went round the whole town yesterday after you. Then here you are, right where I was sleepin all night. What a lottery.
The Chinaman said you would soon be back. Said you had money in the safe. So I waited.
Oh my boy. Come here. Come here.
William came. Toosey hugged him one-armed around the shoulder and held him close. They were moments full of nothing else but the feel of his boy breathing and the feel of his blood slamming like something at the cell bars of his ribcage. It was done, he was found, and they would not be split. He held the child tight and it was close and it was wonderful.
She went quick, his boy said. I had the doctor there. But she went.
We’ll miss her.
I tried. I brought the doctor.
She was called away. When we are called, we go. No one can help it. Certainly not no doctor.
No.
We shan’t be apart now. Not never.
No.
I’ll keep you near. I promise that.
The boy was holding him tight now. His arm hurt and he did not care.
I promise.
I promise too.
Listen though, Toosey said and he leaned away. We have a task. We must get moving.
He began along the street and the boy followed.
Today. You and me. We are leavin on the first boat.
Good, the boy said. I’ve had enough of this arsehole place.
Toosey smiled at him. Aint we a fine pair, he said.
• • •
George Fisher kept office at the river end of the city among the breweries and rows of warehouses, the granaries mounted with great flywheel elevators for the lifting of sacks and barrels. It was a ground-floor office, red brick, sashed windows dressed with curtains of stale yellow, the glass in the door stencilled in gold with George Fisher Agent TSN Company. Toosey clutched his arm to himself and stood gazing up and down the empty street. Mid morning. There should have been people everywhere. Instead there were level towers of black rising from the fires in town. Everywhere the signs of damage. He stepped to the door and beat on it.
There was silence. Then came a call: There’s no money in here.
The voice was hard-sounding. Toosey shifted about. Are you Fisher? he said.
More silence. There were bootsteps and the curtain was pulled back. A bald man in the window frowned out. He was elaborately whiskered save his chin being shaved naked. He looked around the street. I suppose you think I’m going to let you in, he said through the glass. Just throw back my door.
Don’t bother me how we do it.
There’s not a penny in here, you know.
Toosey pulled a sovereign and showed it. Passage is what I want, not your damned money.
Fisher’s expression moved. He leaned into the glass.
Next passage out, Toosey said, wherever it bloody goes.
Why should I believe you?
A long silence. Toosey sighed. He bent down and slid the sovereign under the door. Take that as goodwill, he said.
He heard the bolt being knocked back and the door cracked open an inch or two. Toosey cleared the sweat from his forehead. William pushed back the door for his father and held it while he stepped inside.
Fisher was sitting at a blackwood desk behind stacks of manifests and bills of goods and receipts for duties paid and notices of duties owing. He was made small by these various piles, small and old. He rocked forward in his chair and removed his pince nez and tapped his chin with it.
Have a seat then, he said.
He squinted as William shut the door and they crossed and took seat.
Nasty business, he said. That last night.
Don’t reckon it’s done yet neither, Toosey said.
Fisher nodded once, like he was winking. Nor do I.
There was a pencil in his shirt pocket, which he produced. He began to scratch something on a pad. You want passage then?
If you would.
For the pair of you?
That’s right.
Fisher dragged a pocket watch from his vest and snapped it open and read it. The Derwent steams out for Melbourne this evening at four, he said, provided that her crew present fit and healthy. That leaves you not very long at all.
Sooner the better, Toosey said.
Fisher brought a ledger book off a pile of such books and such papers. He thumbed through it. He sat his eyeglasses on his nose and leaned down to the book near-sightedly. He licked the tip of his pencil and began to write. Very good, he said. Now. Tell me your names.
Smith.
Fisher looked up. His eyes were oversized through refraction. Mr and Master Smith?
Mr John Smith and son.
Fisher filled out the ledger. When next he spoke he did not look up. John Smith?
That’s it.
I get a lot of John Smiths.
Toosey snorted.
If you’re an old government man, Mr Smith, I need to see your papers.
Toosey sat his hat in his lap. He was still for a moment. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a fistful of coins, and picked through them in his palm. He sat on Fisher’s desk a pile of six gold sovereigns and pushed it forward.
There’s me papers, he said.
Fisher took off his glasses. The coins among the books and inkpots on the desk had the look of something arcane. He studied the coins and he studied Toosey. He laid his glasses on the ledger and leaned forward. I need to see your pardon, he said. A full pardon. Signed and official. I can’t let you leave the island without it.
Six vickies says you look the other way.
But Fisher was growing angry. It’s always a bellyache with you government hands, he said. Think you can buy your way through? Think the rules don’t apply? Well, I am sorry Mr Smith. They do.
He stood from his chair and moved around into the office as if to show Toosey the door but Toosey had spread his legs and was sitting back cradling his arm.
What’s this? he said.
You had better leave.
Toosey gave a grim sort of smile.
My next move is to fetch a constable. See if it isn’t.
They told me you was a hard man, Fisher. Told me well.
Mr Smith, if you kindly please. Fisher opened the door and gestured outside. William stood and started for the door but his father caught him by the arm.
Let me make it seven then, Toosey said. The seventh being payable upon my touchin the deck of the Derwent.
Twelve.
Eh?
I want twelve, Fisher said and he shut the door and stared hard at Toosey.
No.
Then you need to find yourself another passage.
This here is all I have. The whole of it.
And it doesn’t cover me for the risk I’m taking.
Toosey watched him for a while. A real bloody hard man, he said. He stood and replaced his hat and came forward with his hand out. Twelve it is, he said. Keep them six, plus the one I slipped under the door. Five more payable as of when I reach the deck.
Payable at the wharf, said Fisher. To me. In person. Or else you don’t sail.
Toosey’s hand hung unshaken between them. At the wharf then, he said. He lifted his hand a little and Fisher took it.
The agent wore a scowl as he shook Toosey’s hand and he turned away, perched once more at his desk and picked through his piles, making notes. Toosey was leaving when he spoke again.
I don’t have to tell you that our arrangement is a confidential matter, he said and he raised his huge owl’s eyes. Do I?
But Toosey did not look back. Just get me on that boat, he said and herded William out the door.
&
nbsp; • • •
He stood in the road with his arm giving him hell. Sweating and suffering. The boy was staring at his arm and looked concerned. Toosey hauled it closer. A queer feeling was growing in his chest. It might have been the pain or it might have been the heat, but he took a few staggering steps and halted, and stood swaying. Miss that steamer and they’d be left in town without tuppence to their name, and soon to be sought by police. He gritted his teeth for the satanic fire in his arm. He squeezed shut his eyes.
You don’t look well.
Just let me have a moment.
Want some water?
No.
I can find you some.
He had to sort it out. The whole plot had come unlaced in his fingers until he was left with only the rankest of choices. Have the sovereigns by four or place his neck squarely in the noose. It was a choice but no choice at all. When he opened his eyes it was to a different world. He took a long breath and let it out. He drew his hat low over his forehead. He set off.
Where we goin?
To see your uncle.
He won’t lend you no money, you know. Ma asked him plenty of times.
He’ll lend it to me or I shall burn his house down.
William followed at a small remove. He took a hop-step now and then to keep pace with his father. What about the money you left with the oriental? he said.
Gone. Stole by them cocklickers last night.
Them ones chased by the territorials?
The same.
They walked southward into the town’s heart. Small groups drifted in the streets and the smoke and they kept clear of them, watched them pass, before venturing forward. A chestnut mare came cantering riderless along. It was panicked and wore a lather on its flanks like soapsud. It circled and cantered back. It had on neither saddle nor headstall nor bridle but was as naked as a brumby. They stepped to let it by. It left dust where it had been and soon the dust settled and the way was empty. They walked on and when they crossed into Brisbane Street they were presented with a pandemonic scene.
Before the taproom on the corner close to fifty men lurched about, sodden in liquor. The publican had taken to giving away pots of grog that his establishment might escape the general destruction levelled upon other venues. It was a sight to behold. Toosey and his boy lingered outside watching drunks clamber across the counter for the taps and kegs, more animals than men, flailing about in the spilled beer, rough-looking rogues with beards and broad hats and behind the bench serving girls working like the infernal damned at the task of refilling cups. They stepped over a man lying in the road, fouled with vomit. Stepped over broken bottles, broken chairs. There were men swaying in the shade, near at the level of catatonia. On a bench seat Toosey found a pint mug dosed with whiskey, which he picked up, swirled, and held under his nose.
