Jack & Harry

by Tony McKenna

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  'Good, eh, Jack? Harry spoke through battered flake and chips he had just stuffed into his mouth.

  ‘Better than I remembered, mate.’

  Sitting beside the creek at their old favourite spot in the park they had the newspaper-wrapped meal between them.

  ‘Blimey I’m full, Harry. Can’t eat another thing.’ Jack up-ended a coke bottle to wash the salty fish away then lay back on the grass, staring at the sky.

  ‘How’s your mum and dad now that yer home?’

  ‘OK, I guess.’ Harry didn’t sound convincing. ‘They act a bit strange though. I mean it’s good to be here and all, but they treat me like I’m a little kid.’ Harry drained his coke and layed beside Jack on the grass.

  ‘How do you mean, Harry?’

  ‘Oh, just little stuff … you know, ‘don’t forget to clean your teeth son,’ or ‘make sure you wash your hands as you’ve been pattin’ the dog.’ Mum and Dad want me to go back to school too.’

  ‘They what?’ Jack sat up. ‘School, ya must be jokin.’ Glad my mum hasn’t said that to me. What are ya gonna do?’

  ‘Dunno. Mum insists that I go to see the headmaster. She got an appointment for tomorrow so I suppose I’ll have to go along. Don’t wanna go to school but.’

  ‘Me neither. Dad says he wants to talk to me tonight about me future so I hope he doesn’t suggest school. After all we got a mine to run.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever get back there, Jack? To Coober.’

  He didn’t answer and they were quiet for a time watching the brown water flow sluggishly past their feet, ducks paddling in wary circles just out of reach, hoping for a tossed crumb. They could hear traffic on the streets and watched two council workers weeding garden beds while another stabbed loose paper and lolly wrappings with a pointed stick like some hunter gathering food with a spear then tucking his catch into a big green bag slung over his shoulder. A man with a mower was noisily cutting grass and red and green parrots called ‘twenty eights’ explored branches above them for seeds but their foraging sounds were lost in the noise of passing cars. Although the sun was shining and the day warm, a haze in the sky gave it a grey appearance rather than the vibrant blue they had become accustomed to.

  Jack looked around him. ‘This place doesn’t seem as big as I thought it was, Harry. I never remembered seein’ the cars or the buildings so close did you?’

  ‘I thought the creek was bigger than this. It’s pretty tame compared to some of the waterholes we camped on and the rivers we seen out back. Do you think we should try for some yabbies later?’

  ‘Maybe. You goin’ out to the beach, Harry?’

  ‘Not sure. I asked Dad but he said it was too cool for beach weather. Said he’d take me when the weather warmed up. What say we go to the pictures tomorrow after I get this school appointment over with?’ Jack agreed, saying that they might as well, as there was not much else to do.

  The family finished tea and Jack’s brothers and sisters were plying him with questions about his adventures and what it was like in Coober Pedy, as they had done most nights since he had arrived back. Tim was especially interested in the droving but when Jack began to describe the mob and the drovers in detail his father stood up. ‘That’s enough about your time away, Jack. Go and do your homework, Tim, I need to have a discussion with your brother.’ He nodded at Alice who hustled the younger children from the table and went out to the kitchen.

  ‘What are your plans then, son?’ He nervously tapped fingers on the tabletop.

  ‘Probably go and see a movie tomorrow with Harry after he’s finished down at the school. He’s got an appointment with the headmaster.’

  ‘I didn’t mean just tomorrow, Jack, but it’s good that Harry’s going to finish his education.’

  ‘I didn’t say he was goin’ to go back to school, just seein’ the headmaster ’cause his mother made the appointment.’

  His father scowled ‘You should be going back to school too, Jack, but I suppose you’re old enough to leave and I don’t see much point in it, but you have to plan a future.’ Jack went to speak but his father held up a hand. ‘Wait till I finish, son I’ve got some good news for you.’

  ‘Good news? What, Dad?’

  ‘You start next Monday at Elders. You have a job, mate, in the stock-yards.’ He saw concern crease Jack’s expression. ‘Don’t worry, Jack, I know you’re a bit nervous about working but they won’t expect a lot until you find your feet. The money’s not bad either, as you should start on almost a quid a week. You’ll have to pay a bit of board to Mum, say five bob a week but you’ll be able to put some away and make a future for yourself.’

  ‘But, Dad.’ Jack shifted uneasily on the vinyl chair. ‘I told you, Harry and me, we got a mine back in Coober Pedy.’

  ‘Yeah, so you mentioned but that’s a mug’s game, Jack. Hot, dirty and a huge gamble. You blokes had a bit of beginner’s luck that’s all. Don’t expect it to last.’ He shook his head knowingly. ‘Anyway, those blokes out there are a rough lot and you don’t need to get mixed up with that kind.’

  ‘They’re tough, sure, but not rough, Dad and they’ve become good friends and …’

  ‘Don’t argue, Jack! Your mother and I have discussed it and we know what’s best for you. Elders it is. You can have a few days to relax and have some fun until you start working for a living.’

  ‘But, Dad, you don’t understand, we …’

  ‘Don’t tell me I don’t understand. It’s you who don’t understand. You’ve had your little adventure while your mother and I worried sick about you. Now I’ve been able to offer you the chance of a good solid job. A job, by the way, that a lot of young blokes your age would die to get. This ‘whatshisname’ … Paddy, he can look after it for you no doubt. Sounds like it’s more his type of lifestyle than yours and the young black kid can help him out.’

  ‘Reynold, his name’s Reynold, Dad.’

  ‘Yeah, Reynold. Don’t get me wrong son, I don’t have a thing against Aboriginals, Jack, come across a lot of them in the stock game, but you don’t have to mix with them.’

  Jack stared blankly at the table. His father took his silence for agreement and standing up, pushed the chair back. ‘Well that’s settled then. I’ll tell your mother … she’ll be pleased about it. Congratulations, Jack, you’ll love it once you get started. Good bunch of blokes to work with.’

  Jack was staggered and when his father left him he went out past the back verandah and onto the grassed area beside the barbecue where he sat to think. He unconsciously reached into his pocket and brought out the tobacco pouch and papers and expertly rolled a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked in front of his parents since being home and hadn’t told them that he’d been rolling smokes since half way out on the drove when Tom Cooper offered him his tobacco after Wandoo’s accident. He sat looking at the sky, smoke drifting lazily about his head in the cool night air. Why can’t I see the stars? He thought. There are hardly any stars here. He had never been aware before that the glow of the city lights dimmed their brilliance unlike the desert where, at night, the sky was a mantle of intense and vivid sparks.

  Mr Wallace, the school principal, was bald except for a few strands of greying brown hair he kept plastered with Brylcream so they wouldn’t blow out of place. It was a joke amongst the students that his hair wouldn’t budge in a cyclone as it was glued down. He had a perpetual nasal quality to his voice and rimless glasses that he constantly pushed with the tip of a forefinger to slide them back up his long nose.

  ‘So, Turner, you want to come back to school do you?’ Wallace shuffled with a file on the desk. Harry said nothing so he looked up. ‘Well? Answer me, young man.’

  Jean Turner frowned at Harry and replied for him. ‘Of course he does, Mr Wallace. Harry knows he’ll have to work hard to catch up on his lessons don’t you, dear?’

  Harry had objected strongly that morning about wearing his old school uniform to the meeting with the headma
ster and was glad when his mother eventually agreed. ‘Wear something decent though, Harry,’ she had said. ‘After all, it’s important that you impress the man because we want him to see that you haven’t changed and are still the same boy so he’ll let you back into classes.’ Sitting on the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of the principal’s desk, Harry was pleased he had worn a long-sleeved check work shirt tucked into dungarees secured with a leather belt. He had made two concessions though; he hadn’t worn his bush hat and he had polished his riding boots. His mother hadn’t commented but clicked her tongue in disapproval at his mode of dress as they left for the appointment.

  It had felt strange walking back into the schoolyard and Harry had been glad that lessons were in progress so none of the kids were outside to talk with him. As they had walked down the path toward the office past classrooms, many familiar smells had drifted to him. Smells like orange peel mixed with stale sandwich crusts in the bins, blackboard dust and unwashed, sweaty kids’ bodies. It was strange, he thought at the time, how a smell could remind you of something, transport you to another place, another time. Now, seated at the headmaster’s desk, Harry caught a whiff of the leather dressing he had used on his boots that morning and it immediately reminded him of his saddle and bridle and his mind placed him on Brumby galloping through the desert in hot pursuit of a runaway steer.

  A nudge brought him back to reality. ‘Harry, Mr Wallace asked you a question.’

  ‘Er … sorry. What was that again?’

  ‘Again, sir!’ Wallace glared over his glasses. ‘Let me tell you something, young man, it is a privilege to be allowed back here. A privilege you don’t seem to appreciate and if it wasn’t for your good results previously and …’ he smiled without warmth at Jean, ‘… your mother’s wishes, I wouldn’t be considering taking this unusual step. I had to convince the board to accept you after your mother spoke to me.’

  Harry looked at the floor, wishing he could become invisible as Mr Wallace went on. ‘Now, if you promise to be punctual, not discuss your misdemeanour with the other students and …’

  ‘What misdemeanour? We didn’t steal no bike.’

  ‘Any bike, Harry, not no bike and I was referring to you running away, not the bicycle incident. Another thing, you must promise not to take any revenge against young William Munse. He’s a model student here and plans to go on to university. If you can work hard I dare say you could follow in young William’s footsteps. Make your mother and father proud.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be like him, Mr Wallace, that’s for sure,’ Harry replied with disdain. ‘He’s nothin’ but a liar.’

  ‘I’ll have none of that here, Turner. You will agree right this instant that there will be no more talk of this nature. There will be no more criticising a fellow student.’

  Harry was angry ‘You only think he’s good because his dad’s a lawyer and got lots of money. He’s also on the school board isn’t he?’

  The headmaster turned purple and tugged at his collar as if his tie was choking him. Almost standing he glanced at Jean Turner, then regained control of his anger and sat back in the chair but when he spoke there was vehemence in his tone, ‘Young man, I’ll disregard that comment. It’s obvious by your conduct that you’ve been exposed to ruffians wherever it is you’ve been and I will do all in my power …’ he looked at Jean with a forced, thin-lipped smile ‘… to bring about a change in your manner that will be necessary if you are to make any future for yourself at this school … and in life.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s come over him, Mr Wallace. He’s a good boy but I think older children influence him.’ She refrained from saying ‘like Jack Ferguson’.

  ‘Quite understandable in the circumstances, Mrs Turner.’ His voice had taken on a reconciliatory manner and he stood to indicate the interview had concluded. ‘I’ll be expecting you in class on Monday morning, Harry,’ he said nasally.

  The office door had hardly shut behind them when the smile his mother had farewelled Wallace with vanished and she turned angrily on her son. ‘Harry, that was most embarrassing. What’s come over you all of a sudden? You’re not the same boy.’

  ‘You seem to blame Jack for what’s happened and everybody thinks that Billy Munse is a bloody hero because he’s goin’ on to university. Big deal! I can make more money now in a day than Billy Munse’ll make in a year.’ He unbuttoned his top pocket and pulled a roll of notes from his shirt and waved them in front of his mother. ‘There’s a few hundred quid here and Jack’s got the same.’

  Jean was taken aback at the size of the bankroll and could only say weakly, ‘don’t swear, Harry, it’s not nice.’

  They didn’t go to the pictures as planned. When Jack telephoned Mrs Turner she said that Harry had gone to visit his aunty and wouldn’t be back until later that evening. ‘I’ll tell him you called, Jack,’ she said sweetly and hung up, but she never did.

  He moped about the yard for the rest of the afternoon then went down to the creek but found it didn’t feel the same without Harry so he returned home. Taking a shovel he began to dig up the vegetable patch behind the garage to fill in time. The tomatoes and other summer crops were withering so he pulled them out and turned the soil over quickly wishing, as he did so, that the dirt at Coober was as easy to sink a shovel into as this was.

  Even though it was coolish it was sheltered behind the garage so he worked up a sweat and took his shirt off, hanging it on the fence, working only in his trousers. Raking the tilled soil into rows he stood back surveying his work when his mother walked around the corner. ‘Good heavens, Jack, aren’t you cold working bare chested.’ She took in the well-developed muscles and was surprised by his mature physique.

  ‘No, Mum, it’s good to be able to take the shirt off. Too darned hot where I live to take your shirt off.’

  ‘You don’t live there, Jack, this is your home.’ She picked his shirt up from the fence. ‘I’ll pop this in the washing for you, son.’

  ‘No, that’s OK.’ Jack reached out quickly for his shirt. ‘My money’s in there.’

  Before he could retrieve the garment, his mother pulled out a wad of notes from the pocket that she gaped at unbelievingly. ‘My God, Jack, where did you get this?’

  ‘Told you, we sold a few stones, Mum.’

  ‘There must be …’

  ‘About three hundred quid, Mum.’ He took the notes from his mother, unaware that she reached into the other pocket after feeling something in it.

  ‘What’s this then, Jack?’ She held out a leather tobacco pouch. ‘Who does this belong to?’

  ‘It’s mine, Mum.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you smoke? Oh, Jack, what’s happened to you?’ There was anguish mingled with anger as she stood there, the tobacco pouch in her hand.

  ‘Been rollin’ smokes for months now, Mum. All the blokes smoke on the drovin’ team.’

  ‘Children don’t smoke, Jack. How could they let you smoke? What irresponsible people they must be.’

  ‘They never thought of us as kids, Mum. We did a man’s work and were treated as such, me and Harry.’

  ‘Well!’ She turned on her heel, taking the pouch with her ‘You are still a child here and I won’t tolerate smoking. I’m glad your father doesn’t know as he’d be ropable. And as for the money, you best give it to your father for safekeeping. You’re too young to have that amount of cash on you.’ Jack stood in shock as his mother stormed off toward the house.

  It was Saturday and Alice had just returned from shopping with her husband and they were packing the groceries away when there was a knock at the front door. ‘Can you get that, son.’ Jack called.

  ‘He’s down the back yard digging in the vegie patch, Jack, I’ll get it.’

  ‘No, you’re busy there, Alice, I’ll go.’

  He opened the door to see a stranger, immaculately dressed in a cream suit with a blue shirt and wearing a Panama hat. The man was short but solidly built and was smiling broadly as he whipped the hat fro
m his head with a flourish. ‘Meesta Fergoosun?’

  ‘Yes, I’m Jack Ferguson what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’ma look for Jack. You musta be the father. He tella me you name Jack too.’

  ‘Pardon me? You’re looking for my son? Who are you?’ Jack stood with his arms folded in front of the man.

  ‘My name isa Bruno Boccelli.’ The man held out his hand but Jack ignored it. ‘What do you want my son for?’ He noticed a hardening in the man’s eyes that disturbed a little.

  ‘Isa Jack here, sir.’ Bruno spoke politely but there was a hard edge to his voice. ‘I would lika to discuss business with him.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why would you want to discuss business with my son, he’s only just turned sixteen? Still only a lad and if you want to do any discussing you’ll do it with me.’

  ‘Perhaps to you Jack isa boy but to me Jack isa man. You see Jack and his friend Harry they sava my life. Now can I talka to him plis? Is he at home or do I comma back?’ There was a determination in the man’s tone that made Jack aware that he would persist.

  At that moment Alice came out the door behind her husband. ‘What’s the problem, Jack?’

  ‘No problem. This bloke says he’s a friend of Jack’s and wants to talk business to him but he won’t tell me what it’s about.’

  Alice smiled politely at the man and was about to agree with her husband when there was a shout behind her and Jack burst through the door and onto the verandah. Pushing past his parents, to their utter amazement, he launched himself at the stranger and threw his arms around him, ‘Bruno! It’s you. You’re OK, mate.’

  ‘Jack, itsa so good to see you, my friend. The police sergeant he tella me what you do inna mine, Jack. You anda Harry anda Rennol. You sava Bruno life.’