Heni Hani and the Magic Pendant: Part 1 (Heni Hani and the fears of the unknown)

by Peter Ness

  ‘Is it safe though?’ Andrea queried. ‘Don’t they have terrorists in Mumbai?’

  ‘Safe? Of course it is. India’s still a Commonwealth county. Anyway, I learned kick boxing so I can handle myself. I’m more concerned about the local food though, I don’t want to get diarrhea. So I bought these Chinese medicine tablets made in Japan called Serogan, recommended by Kirin to seal up any leaky bowel movements.’

  ‘What’s die horrier?’ Peter piped up, ‘Is it something to eat? Can you bring me dome die horrier back Mom?’ Jo tried not to laugh. Andrea grinned. Edward just smirked. Peter crossed his legs tightly now, moving about uncomfortably. ‘I have to pee. I have to pee. I have to pee.’ Peter jumped about holding it in. Then he stopped, a perplexed look covering his face. ‘Mommy, whose bowl is leaking? I have to pee.’

  ‘It’ll be yours if we don’t get to Heathrow soon,’ Edward spoke now. ‘Oh look! Here’s the entrance coming up now. Hold on tiger, and bite down on your lip. We’re almost there.’

  Chapter 10: Brian, Art of War

  Five months later, at Cassiopeia Farm: Sunday, September 16th, 1973

  We moved to Cassiopeia Farm not long after Mom and Dad were married. A large elongate calcrete ridge to the north of our house, with a saddle in its middle, obscured our view of Gullabilly National Park. Small groves of trees were tucked in behind the eastern, western and National Park sides of that ridge. A small red brick chimney and a silver television antenna from Ashton’s house poked, wavering over the trees some distance to the north-west, abutting the National Park. To the west of Ashton’s house a fault escarpment defined a northerly-trending ridge, with an old abandoned mine, obscured behind a line of pines and poplars. A road headed south from the Gullabilly National Park, past Ashton’s house, all the way to the school bus stop several kilometers further south. A track from our house extended some distance due west, intersecting the T-junction. From there, if we turned north the road led to Ashton’s house and if we turned south we ended up at the school bus stop.

  A large wooden barn stood just to the east of our house, an outside long-drop toilet partially blocking our view. A recently built haystack sat perched to the right side of the barn. On its southern side several swings hung suspended from a large motley Morten Bay Fig tree, blowing back and forth in the gentle breeze. The bleating echoes of young pigs reminded us of a pig pen further east, down the hill, while on the house side of the fig tree a cow shed and a hen house ensured a constant dribble of animal chatter.

  Several maps are appended at the back of my diary, both of the house lay-out but also of the farm, just so you don’t get lost when you come to visit.

  #

  Not far away, parked just south of the T-junction, a clean-cut man with large bushy eyebrows and pale brown matt of hair sat in a brand new dark-green Jaguar car scanning a geology map. The sun reflected off its bonnet. The map showed an extension of lead-zinc mineralization and a gold-copper halo extending from Ashton’s house near Gullabilly National Park all the way down south past, and below Jack Henton’s house. The Henton’s lived to our south, near our school bus stop. The map also showed several blobs marked to the east of our house, marked as brown-coal. The stocky, late-fifties or early-sixties something Martin Dunbar smiled, rolled up the map, slid the Jaguar into gear and drove off slowly south towards town. Gravel spun up behind as the car took off. As the vehicle bounced, vibrating on the calcrete-infected road Martin strummed his fingers on the dashboard to his favorite country and western song, plotting his latest get rich quick scam.

  #

  Ashton and Rosa Hani only had two children, not for lack of trying. The peninsula serial killer had abducted and murdered their daughter Amy a few years earlier. And, Brian was almost seventeen now. Both Ashton and Rosa were forever changed; the loss of a young child is like losing a part of your own body, or soul.

  I considered Brian my best friend. Brian treated me as the younger brother he never had. He often buzzed over on his prized, brand new, Honda 100 cc motorbike to play with Jo and I after school or on the weekend, or puttered across at pedestrian pace in his parent’s Datsun utility. However, if he ambled over through the adjoining paddocks on foot it was half the distance and probably just as quick.

  His mother Rosa sometimes implied that Brian was intellectually challenged. Yet, if you thought Brian was stupid you were dead wrong. What Brian lacked in intelligence he made up for, both in creativity and brawn. I watched in awe as this athletic hulk in grey trousers and a dark blue T-shirt sliced yet another baseball over the Morten Bay Fig tree. It was a long hit. I know. I had to chase the ball.

  ‘Brian, next time you can go get the darn ball yourself,’ I said, out of breath.

  ‘You shouldn’t swear Heni,’ Jo said, looking up from her comic as she swung back and forth in the warm spring breeze under the Morten Bay Fig tree.

  I pitched the ball. Brian lined it up, thrashing it onto the cow shed roof. Thud!

  ‘Go get it Heni,’ he ordered hand on hip with a broad grin, peering at the shed beyond the Morten Bay Fig tree. ‘Wow! Another home run! That’s four in a row.’

  “I’m tired of chasing your blasted balls all the time. It’s your ball Brian. You smashed it. Go get it yourself,’ I said, confronting him. We argued. Brian, stocky rather than chubby and built like a brick shit house, constantly got into fist fights at school. His huge bulk shirt-fronted me now, his arm flicking me aside, like swatting a fly. Getting hot and flustered I rushed at him, bouncing off. The blood rushed to my head as I crawled my way off the sandy loam. Brian sneered down at me, laughing now, his square face covered with large furrows. A dimple formed in his rather fat cheek. I focused on the gap in his front teeth as his distorted face, enlarged like a baboon, peered down mockingly at me and my blood dripping nose.

  ‘See what happens when you get mad?’ he grinned, dragging me to my feet. ‘It’s not good to get mad, Heni. Wait here. I’ll get it, this time — but you owe me a favor.’ A few minutes later Brian came rushing back towards me at full pelt, ball in hand, the bull storming after him. Tossing me the ball, he jumped the fence laughing, and turning poked fun at the bull. I passed his bat back.

  ‘Brian! Leave the prize bull alone!’ Ashton bellowed from inside the barn.

  Plans; we all have them. Uncle Ashton wanted Brian to leave school to help on the farm next year. Brian had no intention of doing that. He planned to join the army the day he turned eighteen. In preparation, he joined the Boy Scout brigade at age fourteen. After several years of induction and training Brian became well versed in finding his way around a map. They were a useful tool for those who liked to find food, or so he told us; and he sure loved food, any food. But Brian loved war movies even more.

  ‘I’m a well-oiled fighting machine,’ Brian said proudly, as he skipped another rock at a chook and subsequently missed. ‘Crikey — I missed.’

  ‘Nope, you are just a raving looney,’ I teased him. Scowling, Brian slapped me on the bare arm. ‘Ouch! Brian. That hurt!’

  Each year, during school holidays, the Boy Scouts held a Jamboree camp where they taught bush survival skills. Then when Brian returned, we fought mock wars with wooden sticks shaped to look like rifles, carrying backpacks filled with fake ammunition. We chased, killed and shot at mock enemy, blew up old used army tanks (44-gallon drums) using water bombs. Brian broke the odd arm, started a few bushfires and ate a lot. Life was never dull with him around.

  Brian told me about his last Boy Scout camp. I cocked my ear, listening attentively.

  ‘The movie was tops,’ he said, waving hands about. ‘The US marines hunted down and killed lots of Charlies. They blew up heaps of tanks — blood and gore everywhere—. You should have seen it Heni. It was great!’ He licked his lips.

  ‘So, you enjoyed it, anyway?’ I replied, rather enviously.

  ‘By crikey, it was fantastic. The marines walked into the ambush like this — Suddenly — bullets flew all over the place — K-pyow! k-pyow! k-pyow! Marin
es screamed “Hit the deck!” — loud enough to burst your ear drums — and then the gunner, the one with the big M60 machine gun — Brrr, brrrr, brrrr! The hero started to fire back — and he plowed those Charlies down, like sardines, like a Samurai blade slicing through raw jelly — Swish — swish — with blood spraying the air — pouring down over the rocks and gurgling down, engulfing the river. Well you should have seen those Charlies. They just hit and run, like chickens — vamoosed — swark, sqwark, sqwark—.’ Brian acted it out, then at the end stopped and snapped his fingers. ‘Just like that. I’m going to see if Dad will let me go to see it again next week.’ He paused, out of breath. ‘Wanna come?’

  ‘I have to ask Mom and Dad first,’ I screwed up my face, head moving sideways in the negative, shrugging my shoulders. ‘They’ll probably say “No”. Sorry.’ I already knew their answer.

  ‘Are you a man or a mouse? Just tell them you’re coming,’ was Brian’s advice.

  Who was this Charlie? I hadn’t the foggiest. Perhaps it was the bar tender at the local hotel? He looked like a Charlie. Perhaps it was Mr. Thomas’s first name. He looked like a Charlie, or perhaps it was our cousin Charlie Henton from just down the road? Brian kept beating up on him at school. I could imagine them all being the enemy in the film. So I did. Perhaps it was Charlie Snow. Brian had a reputation as a bit of a school bully. He liked to taunt Charlie Snow and he often called him a Como because Charlie’s father wore a pinstriped suit with a red tie and worked at the local bank. Reggie was the local bank manager. Actually, Brian meant communists, I guess. I never knew. I am not convinced that Brian did either. He was too naive to know.

  ‘Anyway, you gonna come, or what?’ Brian asked. Slap! ‘Well?’

  He hit me on the arm, almost knocking me over.

  ‘Ouch! Brian!’ I exclaimed rubbing my stinging arm, and dropping my pocket knife. The blade pierced the ground next to my feet, like an arrow. ‘Cripes, Brian, you hit me on the arm. Look! I cut my finger,’ I complained, sucking my throbbing finger to try to stop the blood squirting, pouring everywhere. Pouring? Well, dripping maybe.

  ‘Here. Give it to me.’ Brian snatched the knife up from on the ground, wiping the soil off on my shirt sleeve, with a grin. My face cringed. Jab! The blood oozed out of his finger. I winced for him. My finger was throbbing now, just a cut, but the matted blood made it look much worse. Brian spat blood onto the ground, stood up and held his finger with fresh blood dribbling down the side into the air. We glanced at each other. The adrenalin rushed to our heads. The throbbing suddenly stopped.

  ‘Blood brothers! Friends for life,’ we both hooted, rubbing our cut fingers together and then throwing our fists into the air, ‘Blood brothers!’ The pain dissipated fairly rapidly after that.

  ‘Wanna come? Wanna come where? Brian?’ My ten-year old sister Jo jumped off the swing, pushing him in the rear. Then she whacked him with her comic. ‘Where?’

  ‘Do you guys want to come to the movie with me next week?’ Brian replied.

  ‘Of course I wanna go. Is that a date?’ Jo asked, hopping up and down excitedly.

  ‘Yeah—. Why not—?’ Brian agreed. He then taunted me with a broad grin from ear to ear. ‘Maybe Heni can bring his new — girlfriend — Amanda Thomas.’

  ‘Yes — but,’ I interjected, ‘Huh? — How’d you know?’

  Even I didn’t know! Amanda was our neighbor, and in my class at school.

  ‘But, but what? No buts. Just tell your parents you’re going. That’s all,’ Brian commanded, interrupting my thought patterns. ‘But you may wanna wear some decent clothes. That yellow T-shirt is full of holes and your brown daggy shorts — what can I say?’

  ‘That’s not how it works in our family. We have to ask Mom and Dad first,’ I replied as if it were a foregone conclusion that they would say “No”.

  ‘I wanna go too,’ Jo added, jumping up and down excitedly, tapping and slapping me on the shoulder. ‘I wanna go too Heni.’

  Brian picked up the bat again, shouldering it as a rifle.

  ‘Okay. I’m the military commander, a sergeant. Heni, you’re my corporal. And Jo. You’re the Como, the red, the enemy, or the alien—. Let me see —? Today you’re — the Como.’

  ‘Why do I have to be the bad guy? I don’t want to be the Red Injun anymore either,’ Jo complained. We tied her up with imaginary rope, pushing her around like a prisoner.

  ‘Shut-up, you’re not a Red Indian. You’re a Red Como,’ Brian ordered.

  ‘What’s a Como?’ Jo asked quizzically.

  ‘Shut up or I’ll whip you,’ Brian replied, holding up a shoe lace tied to the end of a stick. I poked at her with a water pistol.

  ‘Don’t do that. It tickles,’ Jo giggled.

  ‘It is no laughing matter. Bring the prisoner over to the firing squad,’ demanded Sergeant Brian Hani. Brian and I were the firing squad now.

  ‘Aim weapons! Fire at will!’ he hollered. Brian fired my old cap gun. Bang! Bang! Bang! And I fired Jo’s water pistol. Swish! Swish! The water spray hit the prisoner in the face. Wiping it off, falling over in a delayed pitch of faked agony, Jo played dead. It took her some time to die, and several tries to fake the death properly.

  ‘Oh! Do it again. That’s real wimpy,’ I groaned, ‘Bang! Bang! You’re dead!’ Swish! Swish! The water sprayed, oozing down her tiny face.

  ‘Agh — agh — oooh—.’ Plop! Jo fell over in a pile onto the sandy orange loam.

  ‘Well. The enemy’s dead now. We’d better dig a hole and bury her—. Otherwise, she’ll just stink the place out,’ Brian said.

  ‘Why not just place some hay over her instead?’ I suggested, walking towards the hay stack.

  Mother’s voice echoed from the house in the distance.

  ‘It’s dinner time kids,’ then louder, ‘Tea time—,’ she yelled. Like all kids, we were too engrossed playing to answer. An irritated voice barked out, ‘Food! Right now!’ Our fantasy world tumbled down like a stack of cards. Annoyed, I turned waving, signifying that we understood.

  Brian suddenly slapped me over the forehead with his wet sweaty palm, dragging my head by the ear across to his. The large pimple on his forehead was a beauty. Full of big yellow slimy puss it sat fair and square in front of my eye. His face stunk from a plaster of vegemite, astringent cologne and from bad breath. Recoiling from the pungent odor, I pushed him away coughing and spluttering, wiping what I imagined was yellow puss off the side of my face with my hand. Grinning from ear-to-ear Brian looked at the vegemite smear on my face. The hole between his front teeth projected his amusement. Turning, he tapped the now standing dead prisoner on the shoulder. In his clumsiness he accidently knocked Jo over onto the ground. Dragging her to her feet by the scruff of her neck one-handed Brian raised his other hand in salute. Then, leaving us, he swung around heading towards the road.

  ‘What was that for? I’m already dead,’ demanded Jo indignantly.

  ‘Yeah and why’re you saluting dead Como’s?’ I queried.

  ‘You’re in charge now, Corporal. Release the prisoner and go eat dinner. We’ll execute her again later,’ Brian barked a final military command, coming back to tap Jo on the chest.

  ‘But—, the prisoner’s already dead,’ I said hesitating, hands in the air.

  ‘Torture her again anyway. Poison ivy’ll do the trick. I heard it kills all war criminals — real dead.’ Toying with Jo now, he swung a kick, deliberately missing her.

  Jo looked back at him surprised, mouth open, while Brian tortured her with an evil laugh. Seeing the huge gaping hole in his front teeth would be enough to scare anyone — even a hungry lion would think twice and run — but not the resilient Jo.

  ‘I’ve a loose tooth too,’ she said in a matter of fact way, ignoring his taunts ‘See?’ Jo tried to wiggle it. Then, ‘Brian. What’s a Como? Is it something to eat?’

  Caught off guard now Brian stopped, scratching his head.

  ‘A Como—? A Como—’ he paused, decidedly, ‘is the enemy. Like
, someone — someone — from the other footy team,’ he said hurriedly — as if he knew.

  ‘Ra — abbish! I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘No. It’s not.’

  ‘Yes. It is. I’m sure. Yes. Absolutely,’ and then he looked away a bit embarrassed, immediately changing the subject. ‘Maybe you should put it in a jar for the tooth fairy?’ he said, spinning back having regrouped, pointing to Jo’s tooth.

  ‘Good idea,’ I agreed, feeling my teeth to see if any were loose. Darn, none were.

  Brian laughed at me. He pointed to his own missing tooth.

  ‘See this tooth. I pulled it out with some pliers last week. I wouldn’t recommend it though. Blood gushed out everywhere. Still hurts like hell. But, it looks real cool—. Mom did her nana — getting ticked off about it, but the girls at school sure love to talk about it.’ He placed his finger in the gap.

  ‘I’m sure they do,’ I said with a smirk. Jo giggled, jiggling her tooth again.

  Turning around now, she started walking back towards the house still trying to wiggle it loose. Brian began to follow her. After a few steps he turned back towards me.

  ‘That Anna Sapp is a strawberry cutey pie. Maybe if I pull out another one she’ll go with me to the movies?’ Brian grinned. ‘Well I’m off now. It’ll be dark soon.’

  ‘Off? Where to—?’ I asked. ‘Are you deaf Brian? I asked “Where to?”’

  ‘Home, you silly. Crikey! Look at the time!’ Pointing at his watch, Brian shuddered involuntarily. ‘Look. I have to go now. This place gives me the creeps at night.’

  ‘Oh! Yes. Well, don’t do nothing stupid — like getting lost, stepping on the chooks, or killing yourself, or nothing,’ I said in a sarcastic tone, kicking the grass.

  ‘Yes. I’ll try not to. And—, you can execute the prisoner later,’ he replied.

  ‘See yah later alligator. Don’t forget the chip potatoes,’ Jo called after him. ‘Scrap that. Just bring us some chocolate Freckles again next time you come. They’re just so scrumptious. You’re my best cousin.’