But Old Rod is the opposite to Uncle Ted, ’cause when Old Rod speaks it’s in a sure-of-himself way, like his voice comes from deep inside him, where there’s a lotta power that shines out in his eyes, and seeps outa him. He’s like a big tractor and Uncle Ted’s a pushbike. When Old Rod stands up and walks and moves, it even seems to flow through his arms and legs and when I was real minya I found this frightenin’. I couldn’t take my eyes off him but at the same time I felt scared of him, and was drawn to him at the same time. I didn’t know he was my father back then, course. If I did, would it have made a difference? I don’t know. He was just this big man who was always talkin’ about buildin’ more things, makin’ things work better, makin’ his animals bigger and stronger. But a lota the time we shared together was in silence, too. Like it was enough just to be together so we didn’t need words.
It’s same-way with Uncle Ted, but he and Old Rod are like night-time and day-time. Uncle Ted plods around the farm lookin’ after the animals and doesn’t talk of big, highfalutin’ things. In fact, he doesn’t talk much at all and when he does, us kids often know what he’s gonna say long before he’s finish sayin’ it, ’cause it comes outa his mouth real slow and careful-way, like he has to form the words in his mouth before his voice pushes the words out in first gear. In the quiet spaces between his words he’s in neutral, tryin’ to find first gear again, and sometimes he accidentally hits reverse and has to start again, it’s kind of like that with Uncle Ted.
Even though Eva doesn’t like it, I love the way Uncle Ted says her name, in a real slow and drawn-out-way: ‘Eeeeeevieeeee. Come on, Eeeeeevieeeee,’ he says. Sometimes, Eva gets real moogada and it makes me kill myself laughin’. If I can’t hide my laughin’ from her, Eva gets even more moogada then, and sometimes we end up havin’ a big fight, all because of Uncle Ted’s ‘Eeeeeevieeeee’.
It’s strange that we’ve always called him Uncle Ted, even when we didn’t know Old Rod was our father. And we still don’t call Old Rod ‘Papa’ or ‘Father’, even though we know who he is now. We don’t really call him anything to his face, he’s still Ada’s mudgie when we’re around Nyunga mooga, and Old Rod when us girls talk among ourselves. But we don’t call him by any name when we’re with him. To get his attention we say ‘Hey’ or ‘’Scuse me’ or we just start talkin’ to him or pull at his clothes to get his attention.
‘Okay, it’s time to get this sheep on the truck and back to the farm to be shorn.’ Old Rod rubs his hands together as if they’re cold.
Eva and me know Uncle Ted will be gentle with Dolly so we’re happy for Old Rod to take her.
‘Be careful now,’ we beg him. ‘She’s our baby.’
Old Rod laughs as he ties Dolly’s feet together with a rope.
‘Do you ’ave to do that?’ I ask, seein’ the fear in Dolly’s eyes as she bleats for Old Rod to let her go.
‘Well, it’s either this and she gets back to the farm safely, or no ropes and she ends up being knocked around in the back and maybe hurt.’
I nod and pat Dolly, reassurin’ her everythin’ will be okay and how much better she’ll feel after a haircut, ’specially with the hot weather comin’.
Then Eva whispers somethin’ into Dolly’s yuree, strokin’ her neck before Old Rod slams the back of the truck shut and drives off down the road.
Eva and me wave until the truck is out of sight then we put our arms ’round each other’s shoulders and walk back to the cottage. We aren’t good friends very much, we always fight, but we’re both a bit worried about Dolly and it seems to bring us closer together, both carin’ about Dolly the way we do.
‘You reckon she’ll be all right?’ I ask Eva, a minya bit of doubt naggin’ at me.
‘Yeah, Uncle Ted’ll be extra careful when he knows it’s our Dolly.’
I smile, knowin’ what Eva said is right. Uncle Ted wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’ll be givin’ Dolly the royal treatment, lotsa water and good feed, he’ll probably even be talkin’ to her and givin’ her messages to pass on to us when she gets back.
Dolly’s away for a long time because after the shearin’ comes the reapin’ and everyone’s flat-out on the farm workin’ but still Eva and me don’t worry ’cause we know she’ll be fine. Papa and the uncles have gone to help with the work but Ada and Mumma have stayed to look after the minya babies.
After they finish reapin’ the harvest, Dave, Old Rod’s son, and Aunty Mim announce that they plan to get married. I’m surprised and excited at the same time. I never thought she’d get married because Old Rod and Ada never did and they’d been mudgie mudgie with each other for years. But then Dave didn’t have a wife, did he? So in the end it made sense.
Aunty Mim looks beautiful in her white wedding dress as she walks into the Mission Church, Papa proud-way with her arm in his and Dave looks pretty handsome too, handsome like Old Rod, but in a different, younger-lookin’ way.
Before the wedding, Molly’s dead serious when she tells Eva and me that Old Rod’s been keepin’ Dolly on the farm ’specially for the weddin’ dinner. She says that Old Rod has told her that he thinks now is a good time to eat Dolly because she’s big and fat enough to feed a lot of people but he’s asked Molly not to tell us because he knows we wouldn’t be happy about his decision.
‘But I just couldn’t not tell you,’ Molly says, lookin’ real concerned-way, ‘because I know Dolly is like your baby.’
For a minute, I think Molly is tellin’ the truth. Tears start wellin’ up, I gonna start cryin’. How can Old Rod do such a horrible thing to Dolly? How can he do such a horrible thing to us?
Then Molly starts snortin’. ‘You should see the look on your face, Grace.’ She blurts out words between explosions of laughter.
I run for her then and start punchin’ into her.
Eva joins me, until Aunty Wendy and Aunty Dorrie come runnin’ from one of the bedrooms yellin’, ‘Hey, come on now, you girls. You gonna really hurt Molly in a minute.’
‘Ouch,’ Molly screams as Eva and me both hit her on the same arm at once.
The aunties try to pull us off. Tryin’ to break free of Aunty Dorrie’s grasp under her arms, Eva yells, ‘Goojarb, Molly.’
‘You bloody little shits,’ Molly curses as she nurses her bruised arm.
‘That’ll teach you. You big fat liar,’ I say, straightenin’ up my dress that has somehow twisted up ’round my skinny little body in the scuffle.
Eva and me sigh with relief when Old Rod brings Dolly back to the Mission. It makes me want to punch Molly in the arm real hard again, for bein’ so mean and trickin’ us like that.
When Old Rod lifts Dolly off the back of the truck she looks like a new sheep, all slim and white, now that her dirty old coat’s been shorn off. And it looks like Uncle Ted did a good job of lookin’ after her too, she looks real healthy with nice clear eyes. Dolly is so happy to see us she bleats out a minya song.
‘So what did Uncle Ted have to say?’ I whisper into Dolly’s yuree.
She bleats sheep talk into my yuree.
‘True?’ I say, noddin’ my head with my eyebrows raised. ‘Well, next time you see Uncle Ted, you tell him I said the same back to him.’ I laugh then, and give Dolly a big hug ’cause I missed ’er so much.
After Old Rod closes up the back of the truck, he goes inside and drops off a box of food to Mumma who’s in the kitchen cookin’ up a big stew. Then, as usual, he goes in to see Ada in our room. Later, when he comes out, he talks with us girls, about stayin’ over again in a minya while, after he finishes some big jobs on the farm and has more time to spend with us.
Eva and me nod and smile. Even though it was pretty scary havin’ that big accident in Old Rod’s car, we really like stayin’ on the farm with just him and us ’cause we get spoilt with hot chicory, toast, big feeds and Old Rod singin’ to us while we snugglin’ in between clean shee
ts and warm blanketie. Mrs Williams gets a bit grumpy sometimes, slammin’ doors and bangin’ dishes ’round, but she leaves us alone with Old Rod, and me and Eva always offer to help her with things. I think she’s startin’ to warm to us.
I feel so happy that we goin’ to the farm again that after Old Rod leaves I jump in the air for joy. Eva just smiles and walks off to check on Dolly who’s gone out the back to eat the grass that’s grown while she’s been away.
Dolly’s back but Aunty Mim’s gone, she moved off the Mission and went to live on the farm after the wedding. Her and Dave are now staying in the caravan in the big shed where Ada and us girls stay sometimes but their caravan is big and new. It was real sad to see ’er leave ’ome ’cause it feels like a part of me left with her, like it always does when family move out. It happens all the time, ’cause the weekly Mission rations are never enough to keep us from goin’ hungry. Sometimes the uncles leave to do shearin’, wheat lumpin’, fencin’ and things like that, and the aunties mostly leave to do cleanin’ and washin’ in walbiya houses, and milkin’ cows and the like.
I remember when I was real minya goin’ with Granny Laura, Papa Neddy’s sister, to a Greek lady’s house in Thevenard not far from the shops. Granny would work real hard scrubbin’ her clothes in a big open shed with tubs like the ones at the side of our cottage. Granny would take me with her with the promise of a good feed, so as I watched her scrubbin’ away, my djuda would be rumblin’ and my mouth waterin’ waitin’ for the nice food. Then she’d hang out the clothes on the line and I’d know she was nearly finished. I was too minya to help her so I’d just stand there and watch, hopin’ she’d be finished soon. When it was time for a break, the Greek lady would bring us the nicest food I ever tasted. Granny and me would sit down on the wood pile near the shed in the corner of the yard and ’ave a big feed.
Family come and go, and when they go they always send back money so everyone at home can eat, and there is always enough to go ’round.
But when Dee-Dee Doe left our cottage, it was different. I lay on our bed and cried for days, I felt so empty, and deep down inside I just knew I’d never see her again ’cause she was goin’ somewhere that was a long way away with her mumma, Aunty Rose. It’s a bit the same now with Aunty Mim because I know she won’t be comin’ back, but it’s different too ’cause I’ll see her every time we go stay on the farm and soon the farm will feel even more like home with her there.
So when Old Rod picks up Eva and me to take us to the farm like he promises, I’m lookin’ forward to seein’ Aunty Mim again. And we are pretty sure that we’ll be stayin’ inside the farmhouse, again. ’Cause we figured out that we won’t be sleepin’ next to the pigsty if there aren’t any grown-ups with us, and now Aunty Mim and Dave are stayin’ in their caravan in the big shed. ’Sides, I don’t know what they did with the old caravan.
For the first time I think of Dave as our big brother, ’cause now I know we ’ave the same dad. Dave has been in the background, lived in the farmhouse with Old Rod and Mrs Williams, but I’d never really taken much notice of him ’til him and Aunty Mim started bein’ mudgie mooga. And it seems strange that my aunty is now married to him. I think about that for a while. Ada is always beggin’ Old Rod to get ’er and us kids off the Mission, but he wouldn’t let her live on the farm all the time. Why not, I don’t know, but that’s what he always told her. And now Aunty Mim moves onto the farm to live for good. It doesn’t seem fair for Ada. Me and Eva are goin’ to the farm more often without her and the little ones. I feel sorry for her, but there is no way I’m gonna miss a chance to get off this stinkin’ Mission with these rotten, nasty kids who still callin’ me names all the time. And it’s like those kids’ taunts stingin’ me all the more now because I know what they’re sayin’, and in some ways they’re right. If I can get away from them and the teasin’ remindin’ me of Ada and Old Rod’s shameful sins, I will, whether Ada’s with us or not.
Now that I know everything, I don’t want to know, but it seems like there’s no gettin’ away from it. The kids on the Mission remindin’ us every day of our lives, the Pastor preachin’ about adultery at church and when we go into town, with not only Old Rod but Dave and Aunty Mim now, the whisperin’, turnin’-their-noses-up walbiya mooga seem to be even worse. Sometimes, I just feel like crawlin’ into a hole and hidin’ for the shame. Shame follows me everywhere, ’specially now that I’m startin’ to get older and growin’. I’m no longer a gidja and nearly a teenager. I feel real imbarda and awkward, ’specially with my skinny minya legs that just keep growin’ and don’t seem to fit the rest of me.
Eva and me sleep at the farmhouse for two deadly nights on the weekend. Other than Mrs Williams still bein’ a bit grumpy with us sometimes and slammin’ her bedroom door behind her every now and then and stayin’ in there for ages, it feels real good to be there.
In the mornin’ we catch up with Aunty Mim. She is so happy to see us that we yarn for ages and tell her about everyone back home and what we’ve been up to. She starts to help Mrs Williams in the farmhouse, washin’, cookin’ meals for the workers, all those kind of things that the women do on the farm. Then she gets Eva and me peelin’ potatoes for the tea that night, it feels like we’re at home again together on the Mission, except the kitchen in the farmhouse is real clean and flash and there’s lotsa food and only a couple of people. Not like twenty-somethin’ of us squashin’ together. But the farmhouse doesn’t feel the same as our home. Even with Molly teasin’ us and not enough food to go ’round, there’s still this nice, warm, feelin’, like we belong there with our family. For all its flashiness, the farmhouse doesn’t have that feelin’. Aunty Mim makes it feel warm though, like we’re home even though we aren’t. At night, it feels so nice to be between fresh, clean sheets but still I miss my family back on the Mission so as I go to sleep I imagine they’re here with me.
That Saturday night, when Uncle Ted sits at the dinner table for tea, Eva and me thank him for lookin’ after Dolly. He nods his careful, slow nod that says, ‘You’re welcome.’ It feels weird, all of us sittin’ together at the table, Old Rod, Mrs Williams, Aunty Mim and Dave, Uncle Ted and us girls, tryin’ to remember to use our manners like we’ve been taught to do ’round walbiya mooga. But these walbiya mooga are different from most, ’cause they’re our family. How strange it feels.
The next day we go with Old Rod to check the paddocks. When we drive past where we found Dolly, I think about how much she’s grown since then. I’m missin’ her. She really is the best friend Eva and me ever had. We even go lookin’ for her together, if we get home from school and she’s not there. ’Cause sometimes she’ll go wanderin’ round the Mission, she can be a real adventurous little girl sheep. I don’t like bein’ away from her and worry that we can’t keep an eye on her, or Molly for that matter. So I’m glad when Old Rod drops us off at the Mission that night and we find Dolly at the back waitin’ for us. It feels good to spend time on the farm, but it’s good to be home too, I think, as I cuddle up between Lil-Lil and Sarah in our big old bed.
16
Goin’ back to country, in heaven
One night, a scream for help jolts us out of our sleep. Ada and us kids haven’t long gone to bed when Mumma starts yellin’. We can hear Papa gaspin’ for breath like he sometimes does after coughin’ for a long time. Ada flies outa bed, as Mumma yells for someone to get Sister, quick.
‘You kids stay ’ere.’
Ada’s voice sounds strange, deep and panicky, like she’s talkin’ in her sleep. Us kids follow her to our bedroom door and strain our necks tryin’ to see what’s goin’ on. Next minute, Ada comes runnin’ outa Mumma and Papa’s room, across the kitchen and out the front door, leavin’ it swingin’ open for a cold gust of wind to fly in.
‘Stay ’ere,’ Eva repeats Ada’s words to us and runs across the kitchen towards Mumma and Papa’s room. All the aunties and uncles and some of the kids are rushin�
�� over there too.
Repeatin’ Eva’s words to my minya sisters, I run after Eva.
We squeeze our heads into the room, past the adults crowdin’ the entrance and see Mumma with the help of the others tryin’ to sit Papa up in bed as he fights for breath, his chest risin’ and fallin’ with loud wheezin’ sounds comin’ from his mouth. Papa often has these coughin’ fits but they’re never this bad. His face is goin’ real white and his eyes look like they gonna pop outa his head.
When Papa’s head flops forward and the wheezin’ stops, I panic and run to the front door. I know Ada has run to get Sister. Why is she takin’ so long? I’m so scared, I want to scream out at the top of my lungs, ‘Hurry up. Hurry up.’
Mumma starts to wail then, and as I back away from the front door, I can hear cryin’ comin’ from the minya back room. When I turn ’round slow-way, I see Eva lookin’ back at me across the room. We both ’ave fear in our eyes. Can what we ngulu of be true? Can Papa really be in that much trouble? We dare not believe it, this thought is too frightenin’. We both walk quick-way back to our bedroom, grab our minya sisters still waitin’ at the door and usher them to the bed where we all huddle together. They’re askin’ us questions, but I can’t answer them, I can’t even hear them properly, ’cause I’m too frightened. Maddy and Jane are cryin’ so me and Eva pick them up to comfort them. Whenever bad things happened, it was always Papa who took control of things, who protected us, who reassured us no harm would come to us. But now that it’s him needin’ help there’s nothin’ we can do. It seems like no-one, not even my uncles, can help him now.
When Sister finally arrives it’s too late. I hear her talkin’ to Mumma, sayin’, ‘I’m sorry, Jenna. He’s gone.’
I squeeze my guru mooga shut tight. Maybe he’s ‘gone’ for a walk, I tell myself, knowing deep down inside that’s not what Sister means. I don’t want to believe it, Sister must be tellin’ lies. I try to think of another way. But in my gut that is now churnin’ I feel so angry at Sister. When walbiya mooga come into our house they usually act real boonri boonri, bossin’ us around, tellin’ us what to do, or what we should be doin’, but this time Sister’s voice is all soft and hushed as she speaks to Mumma and asks if she should get Pastor now. It’s like they only act proper-way after we’re dead or when someone dies. I s’pose they can’t boss a dead person around any more, so there’s no point in tryin’. I want to scream and tell ’er to get outa our minya cottage that our Papa built, right now.
Mazin Grace Page 16
