They're a Weird Mob

by Nino Culotta

  ‘Course I meant ut. Man’s a bloody nuisance from the time he starts. Howlin’ fer tucker, an’ dirtyin’ his nappies, an’ gettin’ sent ter school, an’ doing everythin’ wrong, an’ gettin’ belted. Then ’e grows up an’ starts workin’. If ’e don’t work ’e don’t eat. Workin’ an’ eatin’ an’ sleepin’. Workin’ an’ eatin’ an’ sleepin’. Then ’e drops dead an’ some other poor coot’s gotta bury ’im before ’e starts ter stink. An’ the bloody maggots get him, an’ that’s that. Wot’s good about ut?’

  ‘But Dennis, that is when a man begins to live. After he is dead.’

  ‘How der yer know? Has anybody ever come back ter tell yer wot a lot o’ fun ’e’s havin’ playin’ a harp?’

  ‘Do you not believe in God?’

  ‘Look around yer an’ see this grass. Growin’ an’ dyin’. Look at the animals. Growin’ an’ dyin’. Look at us. Everything an’ everybody growin’ an’ dyin’ an’ bein’ et by something else. If there is a God, He’s got a bloody queer sense o’ humour.’

  ‘There is a God, Dennis. This grass—these animals. They do not happen accidentally. These hands with which we work. They are wonderful machines. A man could not make them. The brain which directs them, and with which we think . . . what a wonderful machine is that.’

  ‘Yeah. I know. I know. Ut’s bloody marvellous. An animal’s brain’s bloody marvellous too, ain’t ut?’

  ‘Indeed it is.’

  ‘Well I ate a coupla them fer breakfast yesterday.’

  ‘I do not understand what you are trying to prove Dennis.’

  ‘Not tryin’ ter prove anything. The whole thing stinks, that’s all. Don’t make sense.’

  ‘You would not expect an animal to understand what is in the mind of a man, so how can we understand what is in the mind of God. He is much further above us, than we are above the animals.’

  ‘Why don’t you hire a hall?’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Yer orter be on a soap box in the Domain. Ut’s all bloody marvellous, but if we don’t get the rest o’ them bricks out, Joe’s liable ter give us the sack, an’ then we don’t eat.’

  ‘Why do you work Dennis, if there is only death at the end of it? Why not die now?’

  ‘Because I like eatin’, that’s why.’

  He maintained a gloomy silence as we worked during the afternoon, getting the bricks out with great difficulty. I too was silent. I lost my enthusiasm for smashing things. The afternoon sun was unbearable, as it poured its heat against the wall, and cement and brick dust joined with perspiration to make our eyes very sore. When the last brick was laboriously separated from the concrete foundation a few inches below the ground, we went and sat on the shaded grass at the back of the house and rolled cigarettes. Dennis watched me roll mine. He watched me light it. He watched me draw the smoke in. He heard me sigh with content as I blew it out. He said in a very gentle voice, ‘Good?’

  ‘Very good.’

  ‘D’yer ever hear the story about the Irishman hittin’ himself on the head with a hammer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Somebody asked ’im why ’e was doin’ ut, an’ he said because ut feels so good when I stop.’

  ‘Yes, it is good also to stop after what we did this afternoon.’

  ‘Yer supposed ter laugh.’

  ‘It is not funny. I understand that Irishman. Happiness is the absence of pain.’

  ‘Yer wrong there. Happiness is when pain stops.’

  ‘Yes. I was wrong. That is true.’

  ‘No pain, no pleasure. One balances the other.’

  ‘I think that is true.’

  ‘Reckon God invented pain because he wanted us ter be happy.’

  ‘I could discuss that in Italian. It is too difficult for me in English.’

  ‘Yer a good mate ter work with Nino.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Yeah, you am. When a bloke doesn’t want ter talk, yer don’t earbash ’im. Yer don’t winge, either.’

  ‘I am glad I do not winge. It must be terrible.’

  ‘Don’ know wot ut means, do yer?’

  ‘No.’

  He chuckled, ‘Got a sense o’ humour too.’ There was a shout from the front of the house. ‘Who the hell’s that?’

  We got up to investigate. It was a man with a load of bricks. He said, ‘Where der yer want ’em?’

  ‘Right there’ll do matey,’ said Dennis.

  The man started to unload them onto the footpath. Dennis said, ‘Hey, take ut easy. Those textures chip if yer look at ’em.’

  The man said, ‘Orright, I won’t look at ’em.’ He continued to unload them.

  Dennis said, ‘Come on, Nino. We better give ’im a hand. He’ll break half the bastards.’

  The man said, ‘Thanks. I’m in a hurry. Got another delivery yet.’ We helped him.

  Dennis said, ‘Not that way, Nino. Textures up.’ He saw I did not understand. ‘Don’t stack ’em smooth side up. Stack ’em texture side up. Like this.’

  I saw, and thanked him.

  The man said, ‘New Australian?’

  Dennis said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Reckon ’e’ll ever learn?’

  ‘He’ll learn a bloody sight faster than you, yer dill.’

  ‘Wodda yer mean?’

  ‘If yer can’t handle textures, yer shouldn’t be cartin’ ’em. Yer breakin’ half the bastards.’

  ‘Wodda yer want me ter do? Handle ’em two at a time as if they was eggs, like yer lame brain mate?’

  Dennis leaped at him, a brick raised in his right hand. His left hand clutched the man’s shirt. The ferocious expression on his face was frightening. He said fiercely, ‘One more crack about me mate an’ yer’ll get one ground into yer dial.’

  The man said, in a pained voice, ‘Orright, orright. No need ter get shirty.’

  ‘Lay orf ’im, understand?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Orright.’

  We continued the unloading in silence. Dennis signed the receipt in silence. The man drove away, Dennis standing still and gazing sternly after him. Another truck arrived. The driver said, ‘Where der yer want ut?’

  Dennis said, ‘In me hat, where der yer bloody think?’

  The man grinned and said to me, ‘Ut’s the heat, gets a lot of ’em that way.’

  He backed his truck up to the bay for mud, and tipped out a load of evil looking black stuff. It splashed everywhere. I said to Dennis, ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Bloody black mortar. She’s a bastard.’

  He signed another receipt.

  The man said, ‘Hot, ain’t it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The man winked at me and drove away.

  Dennis said, ‘No doubt about old Joe. He’s a good organiser.’

  I was silent. He said, ‘Wot’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Dennis it was not necessary, the fighting. I was not insulted. If I am insulted I fight for myself.’

  ‘Know that mate. Just needed an excuse.’ He started to laugh. ‘Gees, did yer see his face? He thought I was gunna kill him.’

  ‘I thought so too.’

  ‘Wouldn’ve touched ’im. Just lettin’ orf steam. Now we’ll clean up an’ hang around ’til the loam turns up.’ He was whistling cheerfully as we gathered up the tools and put them in his bag. Joe had said he was a moody bastard. Joe had said the same thing about Jimmy. I reflected that Dennis and Jimmy were the two I liked best. Perhaps I was a moody bastard also.

  ‘Do you think I am a moody bastard?’ I said.

  ‘Wouldn’t say that. Yer don’t laugh much, but y’ain’t moody. Why?’

  ‘Joe said you were a moody bastard.’

  He laughed, ‘That’s Joe. Not a thing i
n ’is head except buildin’. Says the same about anybody who thinks about somethin’ else now an’ again. He’d reckon you were if he heard us talkin’ at lunchtime.’

  ‘What is loam?’

  ‘Gees you’re hard ter foller. Yer jump about all over the place. Loam’s just dirt. They get ut out along the river. Mix ut with cement, an’ ut sets like a bloody rock. We use ut up ter the dampcourse. Joe’ll probably only use ut fer backin’ up on this job. He’ll put black mortar in front. Looks better.’

  I understood some of this, but did not ask any more questions. ‘Hope ut doesn’t rain. Bill’ll get a nice wet wall if ut rains.’

  ‘That will be bad?’

  ‘Yeah, soak right through an’ wet all ’is plaster.’

  ‘I do not think it will rain.’

  ‘Neither do I. Wot’s the time?’

  ‘Half-past three.’

  ‘We’ll give ut till four an’ then shoot through. Round the back in the shade.’

  We were about to sit down when there was another shout from the front.

  ‘There she is,’ said Dennis.

  It was Joe, ‘’Owyergoin’mate, orright?’

  ‘Orrightmate.’

  ‘’Owyougoin’ Nino—orright?’

  ‘Orright Joe.’

  ‘That’s the ticket, got ’er all down?’

  ‘No,’ said Dennis. ‘Haven’t started yet.’

  ‘Time yez did. Well, how was she down the bottom?’

  ‘Easy day, he says. Hate ter see ut tough.’

  ‘Yeah, they c’n be bastards. Break many?’

  ‘Most of ’em.’

  ‘Don’ matter. We’ll use ’em up fer rubble. Need a ton o’ rubble fer them steps on the other job.’

  ‘Get all the face in?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re in. You an’ me and Jimmy’ll work ’ere ter-morrer.’

  ‘Wot about me mate?’

  ‘He c’n play with Pat up there gettin’ the commons in.’

  ‘Easy day eh?’

  ‘Yeah, easy day.’

  ‘Where’s the loam an’ cement?’

  ‘Comin’. Got the gear on. Give us a hand.’

  We unloaded the wheelbarrows, a forty-four gallon drum, kero tins, jam tins, mortar boards, shovels, and a thing called a ‘larry’. We took them all around the back. Dennis said, ‘Wilson’s bringin’ the loam?’

  ‘Yeah. We won’t wait for ’im.’

  ‘Wot about the cement?’

  ‘I’ll bring ’er down ter-night, matey. Gotta see Bill.’

  ‘Where’s Jimmy an’ Pat?’

  ‘Down the rubbity.’

  ‘The bastards. Wotta we waitin’ for?’

  ‘Nothin’. Hop in.’

  We hopped in. I said, ‘What is a rubbity?’

  Joe said scornfully, ‘Rubbity-dub.’

  I said, ‘Oh. Thank you.’

  Dennis laughed, ‘You’ll find out wot ut is when we get there, Nino.’

  I found out. Five schooners later I left, to a chorus of ‘See yer ter-morrer matey,’ and ‘Don’t forget ter-morrer night.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Pat and I wheeled and stacked ‘commons’ all day Friday.

  We only saw Joe once when he came to pay us at lunchtime. He said they were ‘goin’ like a train on Bill’s job’, and they would, ‘Drop the last one in this arvo.’ He also said, ‘Bring all yer gear out ter-night, Nino. She’ll be a late session. There’s no need ter go back ter the Cross. Yer c’n doss on the sofa fer wot’s left o’ the night. Move in ter Jimmy’s room Saturdy.’

  ‘Your wife will agree, Joe?’

  ‘Who, Edie? Won’ be there, matey. She takes orf to ’er sister’s place when we ’ave a bucks’ party. See ’er at the weddin’.’

  ‘Very well Joe. And thank you very much.’

  ‘She’s right, mate. Want a hand with yer gear?’

  ‘I have only two suitcases, Joe. I will get a taxi.’

  ‘A taxi? All the way out ’ere? Cost yer the world, matey. Run y’in in the truck soon as we knock orf. Only take us an hour.’

  Pat said, ‘If that boneshaker o’ yours c’n do the Cross an’ back in an hour, I’ll eat dirt.’

  ‘Nothin’ new. Look as though yer been eatin’ ut all day. Orright, hour an’ a ’alf. Be back before six.’

  I said, ‘This is very kind Joe but it is not necessary.’

  ‘No arguin’, mate. Pick y’up about arf past four.’ He drove away.

  ‘No use arguin’ with ’im,’ said Pat. ‘Yer c’n talk yerself blind, but yer still do ut the way ’e says.’

  It was nearly five o’clock when Joe returned. He called out, ‘Yer ready Nino?’

  ‘Yes, Joe.’

  ‘Been sittin’ on our dings the last ’alf hour waitin’ for yer,’ said Pat. ‘Thought yer could lay bricks.’

  ‘Got ’eld up matey. Dropped me level down the cavity. Took us an hour ter get ut out.’

  ‘Yer always doin’ that. Y’ought ter hang ut round yer neck on a string.’

  ‘Hang meself if I do ut again. Hop in. Drop y’orf on the way past.’

  But Pat decided to come with us, ‘In case she conks out,’ he said.

  ‘She won’t conk out, matey. Best truck on the road.’

  ‘Wot road?’

  ‘Any bloody road.’

  ‘Alice Springs ter Darwin, if there was no one else on ut.’

  She didn’t conk out. We got back to Joe’s place. Edie had gone, and Joe said, ‘Dump yer gear in Jimmy’s room. Unpack ut ter-morrer.’

  ‘Is it possible for me to have a bath and shave before this party?’

  ‘Course. Yer don’ want a shave, but. There’s not gunna be any sheilas.’

  I had a shower and changed my clothes. When I came out of the room, Joe and Jimmy were sitting in the lounge drinking beer. Jimmy whistled two notes, softly, and Joe said, ‘Gees, Nino, yer done up like a pox doctor’s clerk. Yer don’ need no coat an’ a coller an’ tie. Too hot, mate. Take ’em orf.’

  I took them off. He said, ‘That’s better . . . ’ave a beer.’

  He poured beer without waiting for my answer.

  I sat down with the glass in my hand, and said, ‘There will be many men at this party?’

  ‘’Bout thirty or forty, if they all turn up.’

  ‘Who’s bringin’ the niners?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘Old Ned. Should be here any time now.’

  ‘Who’s doin’ the supper?’

  ‘Old Wong. Bringin’ ut at arf past ten, when ’e knocks orf.’

  ‘Long time ter wait fer a feed,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘We ain’t waitin’. Soon as we knock these two bottles over, you an’ me an’ Nino’s gunna get stuck into a pad o’ fish an’ chips. Edie left ’em. Only gotta warm ’em up.’

  ‘I’ll go an’ start ’em warmin’,’ said Jimmy. He went into the kitchen.

  ‘’Ow yer likin’ the job, Nino?’

  ‘Very much, thank you Joe. The exercise is very good for me.’

  ‘One way o’ lookin’ at ut. Yer doin’ orright, though, yer worth yer chips. Gettin’ on orright with Dennis an’ Pat too, I notice. Couldn’ say the same o’ the last bloke we ’ad. Think yer’ll stay with us?’

  ‘If you will have me.’

  ‘Good-o. Teach yer a bit about the game later on. Hey Jimmy. Yer beer’s gettin’ cold.’

  Jimmy came in, drank his beer silently, and returned to the kitchen. Joe refilled his glass. ‘Taught Jimmy all ’e knows. Got ’im top money in six months. Did five years apprenticeship meself. That was in the tough days. Anybody c’n get a job layin’ bricks ter-day, long as ’e proves ’e c’n lay ’em, nothin’ to ut only p
ractice. Yer need speed on the corners. Give y’a go when we catch up a bit. Gotta ’ave me bath now. You an’ Jimmy clean up that bottle. See yer later.’

  He went to the bathroom. Jimmy returned and sat down. ‘’Bout five minutes,’ he said, and proceeded to roll a cigarette. I did the same.

  ‘Yer gettin’ the hang of ut,’ he said.

  ‘Are you excited to be getting married to-morrow Jimmy?’

  ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘I should think I would be excited.’

  ‘Been engaged two years.’

  ‘That is a long time.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I understand your fiancée is a very nice girl.’

  ‘Good as anybody y’d get.’

  ‘You have the house ready?’

  ‘Near enough.’

  ‘You go for the holiday?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Where do you go?’

  ‘Kiama.’

  ‘That is which way?’

  ‘South.’

  ‘It is a nice place?’

  ‘Good enough.’

  I liked Jimmy, but conversations with him were difficult. I was thinking of something else to say, when he got up and went to the kitchen. He returned with a large plate of fish and chips, which he put on the floor in the centre of the room.

  ‘Come an’ get ut,’ he called.

  Joe answered, ‘Comin’ matey.’ He appeared, clad only in a towel, which was wrapped around his waist. He sat cross-legged on the floor. ‘Bog in Nino,’ he said, and took a piece of fish in his hand. Jimmy did the same. I would have liked a plate and a fork, but I bogged in, with the others. ‘Help yerself if yer want some bread an’ butter, Nino,’ Joe said. ‘Plenty out there.’

  We emptied the plate, and Joe invited us to wipe our greasy fingers on his towel. Jimmy got himself some bread and butter and an open tin of jam.

  ‘Yer good on the fang, mate,’ said Joe.

  Jimmy asked, ‘Anybody want a cuppa tea?’

  ‘Not me mate,’ said Joe. ‘Wot about you Nino?’

  ‘No thank you Joe.’

  ‘Wot we’ve ’ad ought ter hold us till supper time.’

  ‘Won’t hold me,’ said Jimmy. ‘Gonna make a cuppa tea.’

  The sight of Jimmy eating bread and jam was too much for us. Joe and I had some too. And some tea.