Small Mercies

by Richard Anderson

  It had taken a couple of years for him to get back to it being easy between himself and Finnie.

  A tall man in a soft hat walked past them and stopped, turned back, looked at Dimple, and said, ‘Dimple Travers! How are you, mate?’ The man directed a large hand on the end of a long arm at Dimple. Dimple half got up, took the hand, and said with a grin, ‘Mal bloody Wilson!’ They shook hands vigorously, beaming.

  ‘I haven’t seen you forever,’ Mal said, pushing his hat back. ‘Ten years?’

  ‘Probably. You remember Ruthie?’ He pointed at his wife, and Mal said, ‘Yes,’ and stuck the hand out at her. She took it, felt small in its grip, and said, ‘Sit down, please.’

  Mal took off his hat, put it on the table, and pulled out a seat. ‘What the hell are you doing in Burraga?’ he asked.

  ‘Just travelling through. Decided to stop off. Only cattle feeding to go home to.’

  Mal lost his wide smile. ‘Yeah. Know what you mean. Not good. But good for me, though, ’cause otherwise I wouldn’t have bumped into you.’

  ‘Do you want a coffee or something?’ Ruthie pointed at her own.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m on my way to a meeting.’ He checked his watch.

  ‘How’s Kirsty?’ Dimple said.

  ‘Kirsty is really well. We live in the city now, so she’s close to her family and a lot of old friends. That makes her happy.’

  ‘You’re in the city?’ Dimple asked.

  ‘Yeah. We sold the machinery dealership in the last drought. It was starting to go backwards and we didn’t have the capital to stay with the big boys, so we got out. I’ve got a little drone business now.’ He nodded his head in recognition of the unlikely nature of everything. ‘They’re getting to be a big deal out here: checking water, pumps, aerial surveillance of huge paddocks. It’s going well. It’s a national business, and most of the time I’ve got to go to my clients rather than them come to me, so Kirsty suggested a move to the city, and I agreed. You guys are obviously still on the ranch?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dimple and Ruthie said at once.

  ‘Are you up here buying more country?’

  ‘No. We, ah, heard Wally Oliver on the radio talking about getting rid of the poorer farmers, and we went to give him a piece of our minds. We’re on our way home.’

  ‘Seriously? Wow. You two. I’m impressed.’ He gave one clap. ‘I bet I know how it went. He would have tried to charm you, invited you into his massive home, served you drinks or whatever, asked you reasonable questions. So you start to think he mightn’t be such a bad guy — someone who’s open to ideas, and maybe your original assessment was wrong.’

  Dimple and Ruthie nodded, realising that what they had thought was a unique experience was actually commonplace. They both felt slightly cheated.

  ‘Problem is, he’s a sociopath. It’s all a weird act. He likes to feel like he’s a statesman or something. He wouldn’t have listened to a word you said. He’d just as easily knock your head off and kick you down the stairs.’

  Dimple and Ruthie looked at each other. Ruthie said. ‘Sounds like you’ve had dealings with him.’

  ‘A few. He’s a very big player. If you’re in business out here, you can’t really avoid him. One time, he thought my drones were spying on him, and we had a fair bit of “negotiation” over that. Scary bloke. He shot at some journalists last year. Over their heads, I guess, but still. I wouldn’t suggest going back for a second helping. He might show his other side this time.’

  ‘Were you spying on him?’

  ‘No. We don’t do that stuff. He’d shoot them out of the sky anyway. It can be like the wild west out here. I have to deal with people like him, though, because they’re the only ones with money.’

  ‘He said the politicians would do whatever he wanted, especially over water.’

  Mal shrugged and rolled his eyes. ‘Not just him. No one challenges the big water users. There’s a bit of a stink, and then it blows over. I always used to think corruption at the top was rare: a bad egg once in a blue moon. I was wrong. Out here, the money going places it shouldn’t is mind-boggling. Certain politicians, bureaucrats, and big operators, all working the system together. Eventually they’ll fuck everything, but they will have made their money to look after themselves.’

  Dimple and Ruthie shook their heads, dismayed.

  Mal sat back and scratched his head. ‘God, I’m serious, aren’t I? Sorry. We should be laughing and joking, sharing old times, not listening to me carry on about my load. How are things for you two?’

  Between them, they did their best to describe a happy life where things had been tough but not so tough they couldn’t handle them, with two well-adjusted sons they were proud of. To Dimple, it felt like cheating to paint such a rosy picture. But he was part of a team with Ruthie, and the team said you had to ‘put your best foot forward’.

  Mal picked up his hat, spun it in his hands, and said, ‘I really must keep going. I was on my way to an appointment when I saw you, and now I’m late.’ He stood up, and they remembered he was tall and impressive. ‘So nice to see you two. I’d say we should try to catch up again somewhere, but that seems unlikely. Anyway, all the best.’ He shook Dimple’s hand, and bent to kiss Ruthie.

  They watched him walk away, sad that they couldn’t have more time with him.

  ‘Nice guy,’ Dimple said, bobbing his head to agree with himself.

  ‘Nice man,’ Ruthie agreed. ‘Should we hang around and see if he wants to have dinner or something?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know how to find him. He didn’t say where his meeting was, did he?’

  ‘No. Pity. It might have been fun.’

  ‘Do you want to hit the road?’

  ‘Let’s go to the dam.’

  They packed up their things and carried them back down the staircase to their car. Dimple gave the room keys to the barman, and they pulled out onto the wide, empty street, feeling like it was a new day on a different planet.

  On the edge of town, Ruthie said, ‘It just occurred to me that the cabins at the lake probably won’t have any food or drink or whatever. I imagine we’ve got to take everything we need.’

  Dimple turned around and took them back to the small supermarket he’d noticed on the way out.

  The car park was only half-full, and the supermarket less so. They bought meat, vegetables, and some things for breakfast, as well as grog and some water. Even Dimple noticed the prices were all much higher than they were used to. ‘Only one supermarket in town,’ he said looking at the beer prices. ‘They can charge what they want, I guess.’

  They bought ice for the esky, and packed in as much they could of what they had bought, on top of it. ‘I hope they’re powered cabins,’ Ruthie said. ‘Otherwise your beer is going to be warm.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure the website said they were.’

  The road to the dam took them away from the plain and into undulating country. It was still dry, but there were trees and sometimes greenness in the bottom of gullies.

  ‘I hate the way you don’t squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom,’ Ruthie said, as if it were a revelation.

  ‘I know, but I can’t stand it when you never shut cupboard doors and you leave forks in the knife tray.’

  ‘You walk in the house with boots on when I’m not around.’

  ‘You leave hoses on in the garden overnight and pretend it’s a mistake.’

  ‘You never remember what I say. And you never cook.’

  ‘You refuse to understand how the TV remotes work. It’s a nightmare just watching you in action. And you hate it when I cook.’

  ‘You can’t pick up after yourself, and you never clean the toilet properly. It’s like living with a 15-year-old.’

  ‘No matter how many jobs I do around the garden or in the house, you’ve always got another long list for me to do. I could work fu
ll-time in the house and garden, and you’d still be insinuating, “Nothing gets done around here.”’

  ‘Your feet are too big.’

  His laughter exploded. ‘That’s the best insult I’ve ever had. And for the record, I like everything about your body.’

  ‘Ooh. Smarmy is even worse than nasty.’

  ‘Not smarmy. Just the truth.’

  ‘The truth. Wally said he was telling the truth. I’m not sure the truth is all it’s cracked up to be.’

  A sign read, ‘Welcome to Langen pop. 1500’.

  ‘This looks nice. Can we stop here for a bit?’

  Dimple found a place next to a white post that held up an awning in the main street. The buildings were old and somehow stately, and the street was winding and narrow, making it feel historical. They got out and crossed the road.

  A sign on a brick building read, ‘Historic Langen Inn est. 1865’. It didn’t seem terribly historic to Ruthie, but small towns had to grab at what they could.

  ‘1865,’ Dimple repeated, pulling his pants up just a little bit. ‘Ned Kelly was already ten years old. Not exactly first-settlement stuff, is it?’

  ‘You’re a Ned Kelly buff?’ Ruthie said, suspecting a trick.

  ‘No, I just remember his birth date. June 1855. I don’t know why. Can’t remember the boys’ birthdays half the time.’

  Ruthie tapped into her phone. ‘Says December 1854 here.’

  ‘What? You sure?’

  ‘Yep. Another says June 1855, and adds that no one is really sure of the actual date.’

  ‘There goes my credibility for the day.’

  Dimple’s phone rang, and he answered it. ‘Wally? I’m all right. What can I do for you?’ He looked at Ruthie — his eyes wide, eyebrows lifted — covered the phone, and mouthed ‘Wally Oliver’ dramatically.

  ‘No, we’re not home yet. Just taking our time. Well, it’s important to stand up for what you think is right. We don’t think you’re right.’

  Ruthie grinned, and pulled a clownish face.

  ‘You want to buy our place?’ Dimple listened, his face now showing confusion. ‘It’s not for sale. I don’t think you quite understood us. We’re battling, but we’re not going to the wall. We didn’t come to defend our own case. We came on behalf of the farmers who are at the end of their tethers. That’s not us.’

  Ruthie could see Dimple was insulted and starting to be very annoyed.

  ‘I don’t want your money. I don’t care if you’re prepared to pay double market value. It’s not for sale. Goodbye.’

  Dimple squeezed his phone and gritted his teeth. ‘What the fuck was that all about? Says he wants to buy our farm. Scotty told him it was in good order and well run. How Scotty would know, I’ve got no idea. Offers me double whatever the local agents say is market value. Hasn’t even seen the place. Wouldn’t even know the district. The man’s a fucking lunatic.’

  ‘Why would he want to buy it?’

  ‘I haven’t got a clue.’

  They walked up a slight incline towards what looked like the centre of town. Every car space was taken. Banners fluttered from the streetlight posts. A market day was taking place in a small park next to the street.

  ‘Double the value?’ Ruthie asked, pretending she hadn’t properly heard. ‘Maybe we should consider it?’

  ‘Are you for real? This is the guy we just travelled halfway across the state to give a piece of our mind to. He’s one step off being the devil. It’s tainted money.’

  ‘But who can afford to go past something like that?’

  ‘I bet it’s not even a real offer. He’d probably pull out at the last minute, or never pay. It’s just a way of letting us know how insignificant we are. As far as he’s concerned, everybody is a small farmer except him, and he can buy and sell us with his spare change.’

  ‘I think he’s trying to prove his point. You and your type will disappear. He’s going to “disappear” us. Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take the offer seriously.’

  Dimple looked at his wife. It was impossible to keep up with her. She had been so beautifully, righteously angry at Wally, and now?

  ‘You don’t think he’s one of the bad guys?’

  ‘He certainly is. But if he pays double, we’d be able to get out and buy a better property than our own. If you wanted to. The drought will mean plenty of willing sellers.’

  They stopped at the edge of the market. There were pop-up tents set up in a square around a patch of green grass. There were earrings, women’s clothes, handmade toys, pottery, and a couple of food stalls. The atmosphere was lighthearted and happy.

  ‘Let me get this right — are you suggesting we take advantage of the people we just defended?’

  ‘We defended their right to dignity. To not be cheered on in their downfall. But we can’t save them. Wally’s offer would mean we could pay above their reserve. Or you could pay me out and still have enough to buy a good place.’

  The conversation had shifted, and Dimple knew he was being outplayed. She was so much further down the road on this stuff than he was.

  He turned and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Ruthie, you’re serious about leaving me, aren’t you?’

  ‘No. I won’t leave while this drought is on. But after that, I’m not certain I’m staying either, so it’s just practical to keep the possibility of a sale in the mix.’

  Dimple clenched and unclenched his fists. This might be a game, but he couldn’t treat it like one.

  ‘You’ve got to understand, if you’re planning to leave me, it changes everything. If I knew you were leaving, I would be forced to find out if Wally was genuine and then seriously consider what he was putting on the table.’

  ‘And if the drought breaks this time next year, it wouldn’t be fair to you for me to say, “I’m out — give me my share of the farm.”’

  ‘Wow.’ Dimple’s mouth stayed open as he watched his wife walk over to a stall displaying dresses on coathangers in a line down one side. She began flipping through them, occasionally pulling one part-way out to admire it, then putting it back.

  He turned and strode back down the street the way they had come. When he got to the bottom of the rise, he crossed the street and walked back to the top. Then he crossed the street and walked to the bottom of the hill again, and returned. Then he did it again.

  He did not want to sell his farm. He did not want Wally Oliver to own it. Double the price would never be enough. But his management brain, the part of his brain that forced him to make hard farm decisions, practical decisions, was telling him that Ruthie was right. They couldn’t afford to ignore an offer like this — if it was real. He stood back, and watched Ruthie find her way around the stalls. He took his phone out of his pocket, and took a deep breath. If he didn’t call back now, the offer would probably disappear. And if he did call, he would be giving Wally whatever twisted satisfaction he desired. But the positive outweighed the negative — only pride was in the way. He dialled.

  ‘Hi. Dimple Travers. Were you serious just now? Double market value?’

  ‘Of course I was. I wouldn’t ring you just for the joke.’ Wally answered like a trusted old friend.

  ‘Why would you make the offer?’

  ‘We’re always seeking to buy good country. Scotty said you have a nice place that is well set up and that you seem to have done well on. I could see you are an honest couple, which means there wouldn’t be any surprises if we bought the place.’

  ‘Surprises?’

  ‘You know: telling me a creek is permanent, and me finding it’s not permanent when the big droughts are on; exaggerating the carrying capacity of the place; falsifying crop history and yields; and so on.’

  Dimple wanted to ask him if this sort of thing really happened, but he knew he needed to avoid casual chat. ‘What makes you think we want to sell?’


  ‘I didn’t think you wanted to sell, but times are tough. The future might be a little rough. Who wouldn’t sell at the right price?’

  It was something Dimple joked about with his mates. When mining companies and overseas investors offered inflated prices, the question they asked was, ‘How much would it take to get you to leave?’ The answer varied, depending on the mood his mates were in and how the season was progressing. Sometimes they said, ‘Whatever they offer. I’d be out of here.’ But they never meant it.

  Dimple explained that he had rung back because Wally’s offer had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t meant to be rude. ‘We might even be interested,’ he said. ‘Just not right at this minute.’

  ‘The offer stands and will for a while, so give me a call when you’re ready. Bye.’

  When he got back to the market, Ruthie was waving him over to look at something she’d found as if there was nothing unusual in their world. He had the sensation that he was dreaming his existence: a phone call from the devil making an offer he might not be able to refuse; a fun, friendly trip to a market and a dam with a woman who might be leaving him. But what was the alternative? Nothing he could think of doing changed anything. If he screamed at Ruthie in a rage at her duplicity, it would not change her mind. If he hadn’t talked to Wally, it would only have narrowed his options. Tomorrow Dimple would be feeding cattle and checking weather forecasts. Nothing would change that for the better, either. He strolled across the grass to his happy-faced wife.

  ‘What do you think of this?’ She held a brightly coloured top up against herself. ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. I like it.’ He thought he probably did like it, but he wasn’t very good at judging these things, and besides, his opinion wouldn’t matter either way. It was just part of a female ritual: asking for an answer, but only listening to the right response, whatever that was.

  ‘I think I’ll get it. It’s only $49.’

  ‘Sounds like a deal.’

  ‘Who was on the phone?’

  ‘I rang Wally back to keep the offer open.’