by Peter Docker
He fits his key into the door, and opens it.
Mel?
He can hear the shower going.
Mel! It’s only me.
Matty closes the door and comes into the lounge room. He puts his helmet on her brass Buddha, and plonks on the blue couch, where the TV remote control is. He hits ON, and the Fashion Channel comes on screen. There is a bunch of crazily skinny chicks stamping down the runway in frilly tutus and singlets with sparkles on them. How do they walk in those heels? The shower gets turned off. Matty changes the channel. There is John Wayne in all his glory, going at full gallop, and shouting, ‘Fill your hand, you son of a bitch!’
The bathroom door opens with a cloud of steam, and out steps Mort wearing only a towel around his waist. Matty jumps up as if he’s been slapped. There is shooting on the TV.
Where’s Mel?
In the bedroom.
Matty goes to the bedroom and pushes the door open. Mel is lying on the bed completely naked. It is not the nakedness that is shocking to Matty, but the big red hole right between her breasts, and the spread of blood on the white sheets beneath her body. Matty drops his head. Their last conversation rattles around in his head like gravel in a Milo tin. He can’t say he is shocked. He patrolled through that village in the hills after Smokey and Mort had been there the night before with the Blackwater guys. It was after that sniper attack that killed Ted. Smokey and Mort killed everyone. Everyone. Matty turns back to face Mort. He sees straightaway that Mort is holding a pistol.
What? Did you fuck her, and then kill her?
What would you do?
She’s my sister.
Half-sister.
Which half?
She wanted to.
Bullshit.
It doesn’t matter now.
There is more shooting from the TV. John Wayne is getting all worked up.
You wanna know something, Mort?
Please, tell me.
She never stopped loving Smokey.
You’re a bad liar.
You know it’s true.
Mort shrugs. So fucken what?
I’m glad you’re not going to be a coward this time, Matty.
Matty grins.
This time I really am going to die.
Yep. This time you really are going to die.
Mort lifts the pistol, and shoots Matty in the head.
Bringing Him Home
Queenie and Izzy crouch by the wire. They are both still breathing hard from running the last kilometre or so. The cyclone fencing runs all around the car park at the back of the demountable buildings of the Renal Support Unit. Where they are is the one spot along the fence that is not completely lit up. They naturally find the shadows. And from here, the three white vans parked in the car park shield them from view from the road out the front. Queenie sets her gear bag down and takes out the wire-cutters.
Do you want to do this, Izzy?
I’m pretty sure I crossed the line a while back.
There is no going back, says Queenie.
Izzy looks into her eyes. In the darkness they blaze. Something grips Izzy’s heart. She sees that behind Queenie’s eyes is another person. Also Queenie. But different. The shapes moving below the surface of the flesh. When this Queenie pushes forward, the outer Queenie disappears. Queenie nods, turns back to the high wire fence. Izzy watches her snip into the wire fence.
I’m pretty sure this is not what Macca had in mind for me, Izzy whispers.
Is he your boss?
He’s like my uncle.
Mother’s side, or father’s?
He was in Vietnam with my father. They were soldiers together, then cops.
Mmmn.
But then, you knew all that?
Yes.
They crouch in the dark, looking at each other. Izzy can’t say exactly what passes between them in that moment. Stories connect. After a long time, they turn their attention back to the heavy wire fence.
Macca said I would be embedded.
You are embedded, Aunty.
The hole in the fence is big enough for them to crawl through one at a time. They go through, dragging their bags with them. Then Queenie pulls the piece of fence back into its hole so it doesn’t look disturbed. They cross to the white van parked closest to the front gates. Queenie grabs out a pair of pliers and a screwdriver, and crawls under the front of the van, holding a Maglite in her mouth. Izzy sits on the bitumen next to her.
Car, says Izzy, and drops her head.
Queenie turns off her torch. Izzy watches the cop car’s progress from underneath the van. The car goes down to the end, and turns right, away from the hospital.
OK.
Queenie’s torch comes on again. She finds what she is looking for, and snips a wire. She comes up, and drops the tools back into the bag. She takes out a straightened coat hanger, and applies herself to get the door open.
What’d you do?
Turned off the alarm. Now just gotta get in, and get her going.
Where do you learn all this stuff?
Growing up black.
What, black equals petty crime?
Survival, Aunty. We just trying to survive the white man.
What about the white woman?
She’s not the one trying to kill me or fuck me, and not necessarily in that order.
Queenie gets the door open. She quickly switches off the interior light. Izzy gets the gear bag, and throws it into the back. Queenie pulls down a mess of wires from under the ignition. With her pliers, she cuts two wires, frays the ends, and then touches them together. The engine turns over and starts. Queenie puts it in gear, and noses out towards the gate. Izzy takes the boltcutters and cuts off the big padlock holding the gates shut. She opens the gate, and Queenie drives out. Izzy closes the gates again. She wraps the chain around to hold them together. She takes the now useless padlock and hurls it into the darkness of the vacant lot next door. Izzy climbs back into the van. Queenie drives off.
When you were embedded in Afghanistan, what were the sleeping arrangements?
It’s funny you should mention that, laughs Izzy.
All them fit young fullas, what’s a girl supposed to do?
You don’t know the half of it, Niece.
Maybe they should stop calling it ‘embedded’?
And they laugh as they drive through the night.
Five minutes later they are pulling into the hospital. They both see the big bloke in a blue security uniform standing out in front of the morgue smoking a cigarette. The guard looks up at their arrival. Izzy looks to Queenie.
You’re in trouble ... And you’ve lost your shirt, says Queenie.
Why can’t it be you?
Cause he wouldn’t want to help me.
Fuck you or kill you. I remember.
And not necessarily in that order.
Izzy strips off her shirt in one move, and falls out the front of the van.
Oh, fucking Jesus! Izzy yelps.
The guard looks over to see Izzy sprawling on the ground. He drops his smoke and moves quickly to her.
Oh, fucking Jesus! she cries.
You all right?
No! Fucking Jesus!
The hefty guard bends down to grab Izzy. He gets her by the arm, and hauls her to her feet. Izzy sees his eyes drop to her bra as he pulls her up. Men. Can’t help themselves. And in that moment, Queenie collects the guard a terrific blow on the back of the head with a footy sock full of nuts and bolts from Uncle Wadi’s shed. The guard pitches forward, unconscious before he hits the tarmac.
Wouldn’t want to get on your wrong side, says Izzy.
Only got one side.
Queenie and Izzy grab one leg each, and drag the unconscious security guard back inside the front door of the morgue.
Hey!
The middle-aged bloke behind the counter is jumping up. A half-naked white woman and an Aboriginal woman are dragging the unconscious security guard into the morgue reception.
What’s g
oing on? calls the morgue guy.
He passed out. Lucky we were here, says Queenie.
Who are you?
We’re regular customers here, says Izzy.
I’ve never seen you before.
We knew Larry, says Izzy.
Poorfulla, adds Queenie.
The bloke picks up a pair of glasses from the bench, and puts them on.
Where is your top?
Izzy follows his eye line down to her boobs.
I got hot, says Izzy.
Might as well paint a target on them things, Aunty.
I better call emergency. Get a nurse over here. And the security company. They’ll send someone straightaway.
Don’t do that, says Queenie and moves towards him.
Why not?
Queenie reaches the counter. She holds up the footy sock full of metal. The grey-haired bloke swallows hard.
I hit him with this, admits Queenie.
Are you going to force me to have sex with you?
We’ve come to take a body. We don’t want to hurt you.
But we will if we have to, says Izzy.
What’s this about sex? asks Queenie.
She has got her top off.
Just hit him, says Izzy.
Don’t hurt me. I’m nobody.
Good answer, Nobody, says Izzy.
Izzy goes around behind the counter and opens the door to the office.
In here, she orders.
The man scurries in and sits at the desk. Izzy grabs the phone and pulls it out of the wall. She stands in the doorway.
Stay in here until your shift ends. Otherwise you will get hurt. Badly.
He nods. Izzy shuts the door.
You’re bad, Aunty, says Queenie.
You are, says Izzy.
They turn and go straight down to the end, through the doors, and into the fridge area. Queenie gets a gurney from the side of the room, and brings it over to the fridge. She checks tags, and then opens one body compartment. Inside is a big plastic bag that is zipped up the centre with a wide zipper. She opens the zip a fraction, and looks in. A sob almost explodes out of her, but Izzy grabs her with a firm grip on the shoulders. Queenie catches the sob, and holds it down, not hurting it, but not allowing it to move. The almost-sound goes into Izzy’s gut as sharp as a spear tip.
They quickly manoeuvre the bag full of body onto the gurney, and wheel it out. At the door, Queenie waits, and Izzy goes to bring the van close. Izzy backs the van over. They get their arms under each side of Xavier, and lift the whole bag into the back of the van, and onto a bench seat.
We have to get through roadblocks, says Queenie.
Izzy looks at the body bag. She can see what Queenie means. There is no place to hide in the van. She doesn’t want to know, though. Queenie takes out a blanket and a shawl from her gear bag. They slowly unzip the plastic bag, and slide it out from under Xavier. Izzy concentrates on thinking how he might just be asleep. She creates a whole story that they’ve been out dancing, her and Xavier, and they’ve raged at every club in town. Xavier had a few drinks, and now he’s passed out. She couldn’t get her story to explain why they were wrapping his naked body in a blanket, and carefully settling a nana shawl over his hair. Maybe there is a roadblock to get back into the late disco. The whole time, Izzy is keeping her eyes away from seeing his face – she knows that the exit wound is terrible. She remembers the photographs from the container.
Queenie sits next to Xavier, and holds his cold hand. She pulls the shawl forward to shield the awful wound from prying eyes. But Queenie allows herself to look on what is left of Xavier’s face. Izzy climbs into the driver’s seat. They are both wading through tears.
Did Mort do this?
The tone of Queenie’s voice makes Izzy look at her hard in the mirror. She’s heard that quality of cadence before. Izzy watches Queenie, but she does not look up. She seems like she is holding her breath.
Yeah. Mort.
Queenie nods almost imperceptibly. Izzy would have missed it if she wasn’t looking hard at her in the mirror. Izzy’s eyes go unfocussed.
Mort’s gone, Izzy says.
He’s coming back, says Queenie.
Izzy tries to focus her eyes again. She can’t. Her tonal analysis has broken down. Queenie’s voice comes from another dimension. Izzy looks away, out to the quiet streets of Baal. The lights look all starry.
C’mon, Izzy, Izzy says to herself.
Yeah! C’mon, Izzy, says Queenie.
The van drives off. They’ve been driving for about five minutes before Queenie speaks.
You right, Iz-Izzy?
Yeah, I’m good.
It’s just ... I don’t think the dialysis mob drive around topless.
Izzy pulls the van over, dives into the gear bag, and pulls out the polo shirt. She pulls it over her head, and looks down to note the Renal Support Unit logo. She drives off.
They are still in a daze when they come to the first roadblock. Izzy glances in the rear-view mirror to see the perfect picture of a young Aboriginal woman comforting her sick grandmother, being transported for dialysis treatment. A young copper comes to the window.
G’day, love. Renal support, yeah?
Yeah.
You all right?
Tough day. Long day.
I know the feeling. We don’t have any paperwork for you.
It’ll come tomorrow. Sorry. Bit of an emergency.
Izzy gives the copper her warmest smile. Everything looks right.
You got a long drive?
Out to the community and back. You’ll have our paperwork before we get back.
All right. Drive carefully.
Thanks. Will you still be on when we come back?
Ya never know ya luck in a big city.
All right. See ya then.
And that’s the way it goes. At the second roadblock they get waved through. It’s like Queenie said, the police all know that the real pressure has moved away from Baal to Somerset. They drive out into the night, into the bush. Queenie gives the odd instruction – but most of the trip is in silence. Every time Izzy looks in the rear-view mirror she sees Queenie holding Xavier’s hand, and leaning in, as though expecting him to whisper something to her.
Will Smokey and Sweet One be there?
No.
Izzy watches the bush either side of the dirt road for roos.
Smokey blames himself.
It was me, says Izzy.
Look where blame gets you.
Is this about payback, Queenie?
No, it’s something else.
Are you running it all?
Queenie looks up, and their eyes meet in the mirror for a moment.
I thought you’re ... Izzy begins.
I can see some things. Not others ... I can’t stop it. I’ve tried, Queenie says.
But you are part of it?
Queenie nods.
Yuwai.
Izzy looks out at the dark scrub flowing past. Every small tree by the side of the track looks like a person.
At first I tried to stop it...
And now? presses Izzy.
Bringing it to a head, says Queenie, with that same subtle tone change as when she asked about Mort.
They listen to the night rushing past the van.
It’s good you were kind to Smokey, says Queenie. I always loved him.
Izzy drives. When nothing else comes, she speaks.
How do you bring it to a head?
We do what we always do.
Izzy watches Queenie in the rear-view mirror.
And you sat in that alley in Baal deliberately, knowingly, in order to link up with me?
That’s different, Aunty. We’ve got a connection, us two.
You mean, you could predict my behaviour?
Macca can’t.
They smile, or try to smile. The conversation fades like a sunset.
The dirt road before them is endless. Eventually they come around a long slow sweeping left-hand
er at the base of a big hill. Izzy feels some different energy flood through the van, through her, wringing the last of the tears, and filling her with a kind of warmth.
What’s different? Izzy asks.
We’re in his spirit country now. Can you feel that, too?
It’s different. Here in the car.
You’re full of surprises, Iz-Izzy.
What’s surprising? Because I’m white?
Not really. I spose I never really thought about it.
Maybe it is surprising?
Maybe ‘surprise’ isn’t the right word. English is such a gudi-ella language. What about ‘delight’? You’re full of delights, Iz-Izzy.
Izzy glances into the mirror at Queenie holding Xavier’s hand. Queenie is smiling, radiating joy. Maybe that’s what Izzy felt?
Delight, mouths Izzy.
We’re bringing him home, Iz-Izzy.
Bringing him home, repeats Izzy.
Izzy is driving slower. She winds down her window, and feels the dry bush air rushing through her curls. In the back she hears Queenie start up with a low song, the notes floating around the van like smoke. As the van begins to straighten up Izzy sees two cars parked on the road up ahead. She begins to slow.
Queenie?
Queenie sits forward, the song still tumbling from her lips, and looks through the windscreen. She nods. As the van pulls up, Izzy can see two big fires some way off through the scrub on the right. She pulls up and parks the van, and switches off the engine. Queenie stops her song.
Do not look at the men, Aunty. Their paint-ups might be secret. We don’t use the names of the dead, she whispers.
Why not?
We want his spirit to go to the Dreaming – not be called back to this world.
Izzy is nodding. Forms glide out of the darkness. She hears the drone of the didj start up, and all the hair on her arms and back of the neck stands on end, and her flesh goosebumps. Boomerangs are being hit together in rhythm. The door to the van is opened and a painted-up fulla holding some smoking leaves fills the van with thick smoke. Other men are following him, and taking up the body of Xavier. Queenie gets out of their way. Izzy doesn’t move. She keeps her eyes lowered. The body is laid in the back of a station wagon, which starts up, and drives slowly off towards the two fires in the scrub. Queenie has a rapid exchange in Language with an older man who doesn’t get into the van. All of the men with the smoke, and the didj, and the boomerangs, follow the body in a procession. Queenie climbs through the centre console area to sit in the front of the van.
