by Rohan Wilson
At length the hooded man sat up in a strange movement, as stiffly as a corpse. He sat and stared ahead and said not a word. Hall chewed her stick and studied him and she saw how the eyes inside the hood were dissimilar in appearance, the right being ringed by white and unmarred skin, the left by hard red scabs. She stopped chewing. When she leaned to get a better look the hooded man switched his gaze onto her. Hall tossed the stick. She leaned close to him. Finally she grasped a corner of the hood and tugged at it.
Why don’t you take this off?
It caused the hooded man to burst into life. He rolled to his feet and backed away to the fence where he drew the pistol and brought it up trim. Hall flinched. She raised her hands. The barrel was scored and weathered as if it had seen a lot of killing. She held her hands before the muzzle.
Sorry! she said. Sorry. I’m sorry.
The hooded man stood with the gun out. He was breathing heavily.
I come to help, Hall said. I know where he’s going.
The hooded figure swayed as if he might fall. You can’t help me, he said.
How about you put that away?
For a moment he didn’t move. The gun remained steadily upon her. Then his shoulders slumped and it dropped. He reset the action and wedged it behind his back. There was a looseness to his movements as he stepped into the sun, the strength gone from him in full, and he moved into the sun and stood gazing around himself at the bushes of gorse, the scotch thistle that wore each a purple flower, and he lowered his head and walked forward along the lane that led from the river behind the tin fence of the brewery. Hall rose in a sequence of hops with her bad leg.
Oi, she called. Where you goin?
The hooded man kept on walking.
Oi!
She limped after him. She came alongside. Wait, she said. Listen. I know where he’s lodged.
I don’t care.
He’s killed your mate and you don’t care?
The hooded man shook his heavy white head.
Then where you goin? Hall said.
To find my father.
Forget visitin right now. You have a chance to settle with Toosey. A chance to get your money. I know where he’ll be. I know how to do the deed.
I don’t care.
So what? So he robs from you and kills your mate and you just let him? A hangman afraid of justice. What a story.
I’m not a hangman.
Well whatever you are, I’ll tell you one thing. There must be plenty of food in your cupboard for you to turn your back on a sum of money like that.
The hooded man pulled up. His shoulders straightened and when he turned his head the eyeholes grew misaligned so that the eyes inside appeared to belong to some imprisoned thing peering through cracks in a wall. He took a long steadying breath and let it out loudly. There was the pealing of beer bottles, the cries and calls of dockmen, and these two staring at each other in silence. It was the hooded man who looked away first. He put his hands under his armpits like he was cold.
That man, he said and he stopped. His voice broke a little. That man, he said but he could not continue.
I know, Hall said. But here is your chance to settle with him.
I want to see my father.
Don’t worry about your father right now. It’s your money and your mate Flynn is what should concern you.
It happened then that a pair of police came by from the muster at Invermay and they saw Hall standing in the untenanted backlot beside the brewery and saw the curious figure beside her and they crossed the road from the river, walking with an easy calm like the world for them held no fear. The taller of the two leaned towards his companion to whisper before pointing out the shaved-headed girl limping about in the sun. They were locals and wore the municipal crest on their caps and carried on their belts long and heavy billyclubs. They stopped and briefly conferred there in the road and then one called out. A sudden booming sound.
I aint forgot about you, Hall.
She swung about and was startled. Constable Beatty, she said and tried not to frown. Yes sir. I know, sir.
Damn my livin soul if I aint.
I’m easily found, sir.
Found? Beatty said. They won’t find you when I’m done. Not a chance. I will bury you so deep the devil will bump his horns on your arse.
Very well, sir.
Your miserable little body here, your arms and legs somewheres else. You hear?
Yes sir.
Beatty leaned his head around. His hat was too large and it folded down the tops of his ears. He was staring behind Hall at the hooded man. At the sight of the two municipal men the hooded man had stiffened and reached one hand to his back in nervous fashion. Hall slapped the hooded man on the arm and shook her head.
Would you look at that, Beatty said and nudged his mate with the point of his elbow. Now that there’s a sight for a new man like you.
Who’s this fellow with you, sir? Hall said and grinned.
This is Constable Webster.
Afternoon, Webster said.
He’ll be in charge of floggin the arse off you once I shift to sergeant.
Hall smiled at him a little too broadly. No one flogs quite like you, sir.
Shut your mouth.
Yes sir.
They both studied the hooded man.
What’s on his head? Webster said.
Thinks he’s Jack Ketch, sir.
Does he now.
But he’s no bother, sir. None at all.
Beatty moved closer. Each pace he took set the billyclub swinging like the weight in a clock and he moved about and stood and stared hard at the hooded man. Is there somethin amiss with him? he said. In the brain, I mean.
The hooded man was poised with one arm cocked behind his back, his eyes flicking between the two municipals.
No sir, Hall said. Just drunk.
Drunk. Oh deary me.
And how is Mrs Beatty, sir? Hall said.
What?
The missus, sir. How is she? I was two years under her tutelage at the rough school at St Leonards if you remember.
Mention my wife again and you’ll come in for a proper floggin. By Christ you will. A floggin from arsehole to breakfast.
Yes sir. Sorry, sir.
Beatty let his shrunken eyes hang on Hall. He had a hand on his club and was twisting it on the leather thong securing it to his belt. Course you could spare yourself, he said. If you know what I mean.
There’s nothin I know worth tellin, sir, she said and held up her palms. Honest.
A fellow was killed, he said. Last night. In the troubles. Not far from the police house. Old cookin knife in him. What do you know about that?
Hall looked sidewards at the hooded man where he stood head bowed and round of shoulder.
You hear what I said, Hall?
Yes sir.
Know anythin about it?
No sir.
She’s a good one for gabbing, he said to Webster.
I’ll remember that, Webster said.
Give her a bit of stick. Makes her talkative.
I bet.
Beatty pointed his club at Hall in an offhand manner. You’ll hear somethin, won’t you? A smart young lass like yourself.
Hall licked her lips. Do you know his name? she said. This dead fellow?
No. He was quite elderly. Wearin a woman’s gold ring too, so it wasn’t no robbery.
You’ll be first to know it, sir. When I hear who done it.
I better be. Or I’ll flog bruises into you like tiger stripes. Won’t I?
You will, sir. You’re a gem for floggins, you are.
Beatty stared at her for a time. He twisted his billyclub. Then he clapped Webster on the shoulder and walked off along the esplanade with his arms crossed loosely behind him. Standing in the shade of the tall sheet-iron fence Hall watched them amble away and once they’d covered some distance she spat in their direction and dried her chin.
Wonderful how I tracts the bluebottles. Come round me
like flies they do. Tract em wonderful. Even when I’m well behaved.
A long spell of quiet passed between them. When Hall turned again the hooded man had crouched among the thistles with his head pressed in the crook of his arm. He was squatting there, staring at nothing.
Hear them two just now? Hall said. You hear it? They don’t know who killed your mate.
The hooded man looked up and his eyes were shot with blood.
Toosey will escape this, Hall said. He’ll get clean away.
That seemed to put off the hooded man a little, for he dropped his head.
Don’t you even care?
The hooded man could not answer. His head hung low between his arms.
If you won’t go get your money off him, I’ll tell Beatty. Tell him who killed Flynn. Tell him where to find the fiend.
No, the hooded man said. No police. We don’t yield to the Crown. Not ever.
You what?
The hooded man was rubbing his arms. He stood and he pushed back his sleeves. Hall could see the foul scabbed scarring that ran to his right elbow and stained also the skin of that hand. You need to understand something, he said.
What? Understand what?
The hooded man took a breath. He lowered his head, grasped the point of his cowl, and drew it off.
Hall’s eyes grew round with wonder. Jesus Lord fuck almighty, she said.
BATTEN STREET
BATTEN STREET IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON. A lane of hovels in plain hardwood board, rooved some of them in slate, some in sheets of rusted iron. Set hard upon the footpath in the London manner was one lower and meaner than most. Toosey could feel his heart beating in his arm, a throb that slowed the mind and made him feeble. He stepped onto the verandah of this place and knocked at the door. He moved back. William came beside him, so close their shoulders touched. A child’s face appeared in the window by the door and then another and they were boys, unwashed, their hair still rough from the bed. They watched him cautiously.
Who are you then? the first one said and his voice was stifled by the glass. He wouldn’t have been more than eight and was missing his front teeth.
Is your father about? Toosey yelled.
The boy turned. Pa, someone’s here, he called.
A reply came from deep in the house.
Chap with a bad arm, the boy called.
The reply, indistinct.
Like a bushman or somethin, the boy called.
There were more sounds, the thundering of boots, a wailing child. The door opened. It was Brother Payne standing in the hallway and he smiled when he saw Toosey and his son on the verandah, but Toosey did not return it. Payne stepped into the street and looked up and down and then he turned and took stock of Toosey, the crust of blood on his shirt, the black and lifeless arm.
You don’t miss trouble, do you.
I’ve had kinds you’ve never heard of.
Found your boy though.
Was him as found me, Toosey said. Out by the Star.
Payne clapped William on the shoulder like an old friend. Good man, he said. Your father needs some lookin after.
At the rear of the house was a square of ungrassed earth, an outhouse standing open to the day. Either side each of the neighbouring yards had such outhouses. You could see them through the low paling fence that had in part been removed for firewood. Payne led them along a side lane into the yard and closed the gate. He was like a landed vulture with his craned neck and his rounded hump pressing the cotton of his shirt taut. In the yard his hawking cart rested on its shafts and Toosey walked to the pool of shade it threw and crouched in it fully. He removed his hat and tossed it. His arm hung monstrously at his chest, throbbing with an evil heat. Listen now, he said. I need your pistol.
Oh I need your pistol he says. Just like that.
Toosey rubbed the perspiration from his neck. He looked sick.
What in the name of buggery is goin on? Payne said.
Ask me where the money is.
Why? Where is it?
Lost.
You what?
All of it. The entire two hundred.
Oh my bleedin Lord.
She’s under the care of a Chinaman. Hidden somewhere.
So you want me pistol to square him away?
The sun was drubbing down. Toosey dried his chin on his sleeve. Well, he said, that will be a start.
Brother Payne closed his eyes, turned and walked off. After a while he pulled his pipe from a pocket and tapped it out onto his palm and ran his palm down the long drab stain on his pants produced by this habit. We are told to put back our swords, he said. For all who take the sword shall perish by the sword.
It’s me or him.
No, Thomas. It will be the both of you.
Crouching there in the shade, swaying, sweat darkening the folds of his shirt, Toosey felt ready to fall. He could not look at Payne. William knelt beside him in the cart’s slanted shadow and it was a comfort, just the heaven-sent sight of him. He rubbed the boy on the head and felt well.
I shouldn’t need to tell you there is only one who bears a sword, Payne said. He does not bear it in vain.
A gate somewhere far off slammed. A dog started up.
Now you are meant for history, Payne said.
Toosey was grinning as he looked up, but it was a grin of pain. Even with one arm I’m twice what that Chinaman is. Show me your pistol and I’ll give him hell.
So this is a dust-up now?
Brother, I either fight or I die. Aint no middle ground in this. Not no more. Here, Toosey held up his crook arm. This was not lightly earned, he said.
Payne put the empty pipe in his mouth. He chewed the stem.
Catch my drift? Toosey said.
If I aint replied, it’s because my mind’s at work on the problem of how you’ve lived this long.
I hear that a lot.
Don’t reckon you’ll live long enough to hear it again, so enjoy it.
Listen now, Toosey said. I know I’m a fool—
Worse than that.
I know. I hear you. But we have passage booked at four. The Derwent. Bound for Melbourne. We must have the sovereigns by then. Miss that boat and we’re buried.
Payne crossed the yard in his bent hobble as if he was forever at the hilt of his cart and he stood beside Toosey, patted him on the shoulder, and he squinted, curious man that he was, squinted down at his brother-in-law, the creases of his eyes as deep as knife scars. It always worried me, he said. The way you revered the lad. Like it was only him making you whole in God’s eyes.
It is.
Well, Payne said and the pipe bobbed up and down. It’s led you to this. Your reverence. I hope you see that.
Toosey quietly stared at the dirt. He had no answer.
What do you say, young William? To your father’s scheme?
William was fingering something from the mud and when it came loose it was a long splinter of iron broken off from a cart spring. A point at one end that would pass clean through you. He wiped it on his pants.
There’s another fellow will give us a pistol, he said. If you won’t.
Payne nodded. He chewed his pipe and looked first at Thomas Toosey and then, with a slow tilt of the head, his son. The apple aint fallen far, he said.
This is done that we might live, Toosey said.
Yes, live. But how? With him seein the world along the barrel of a gun?
We do it, or he’s an orphan. That’s a hell of a way to see the world.
Payne grunted. He shuffled over to his cart and bent and riffled through the loose and rusted implements in the tray, lifting things, setting them aside, and he pulled free a twisted bundle of cloth. It was yellow muslin used to boil puddings and he unwound the length of it around his knuckles and revealed at the centre an antique firelock pistol. The mechanism and the stock guard were ornamented in brass and a thick jade-green patina covered these parts. It was Scotch in design and had a flared crown-shaped butt fitted with a vent pick that formed t
he topmost jewel. He held it out to Toosey.
You won’t be talked out of it, he said.
No.
Then put this under the Chinaman’s nose. See what he thinks.
Toosey took the pistol. He turned it. Does it fire?
No. But there’s safety in an appeal to lead and powder.
All right, Toosey said, looking the pistol over. All right. He stuck it in his pocket. It will have to do.
Besides which, the police are occupied. They will not hurry to help a Chinaman today.
He don’t need them. He’s armed.
Is he?
Bastard gives it fire at every chance too.
Well, Payne said. Better keep your head down.
Not this time. This time I’ve out-thought him.
Payne fished a stem-winding pocket watch from his trousers and snapped it open. I make it two, he said. You’ll need time. An hour. That don’t leave you long.
Both turned then to the boy. He was picking rust off the shard of iron. His head bent, the mop of his hair cast across his forehead. When he looked up his hair parted and he saw them staring at him and his face fell. He rose to his feet. What? he said.
I’ll see him aboard the steamer, Payne said.
Now I aint asked you to do that, Toosey said.
But Payne just waved him away. Be sure and get that gold. I’ll have him at the wharf when you come.
William’s eyes jumped from one to the other. No, he said. I’m goin too. With Pa.
Stay with your uncle, Toosey said.
No. You promised. You said you would keep me near.
I know.
So I’m going with you.
No.
Pa. Please.
Come on now.
Please.
Come on. You saw what that Chinaman done last night. He’s as likely to shoot the both of us.
Then don’t go. We’ll take another boat. We’ll find somewhere to hide.
Toosey gave a gentle shake of the head. This put the boy all in a work and he clenched his fists and frowned. He turned away from his father.
You’re my soldier, Toosey said. You’re my fighter.
His boy folded his arms.
See this done and we’re free. We’re gone.
