by Peter Ness
‘All these people have a “J” somewhere in their name and some have it twice! How bizarre is that?’ I said. Bending down I picked up a rock and hurled it hard at the Henton’s mail box. It missed and bounced, ricocheting off of a tree, whistling past my sister Jo’s legs. Her head flicked around and her death rays hit me, ripping, into my exposed flesh.
‘Hurry up and get your bike Heni,’ Jo grated, climbing ungainly onto hers. She wore the standard grey school skirt with a white shirt and long white socks.
My eyes flicked back across to our fridge and then at the square mail box stuck on top of a star-shaped iron dropper hammered into the ground through an old car tire, with the words W.J. & J.S. Thomas — Norlinga Estate written on it in red.
‘I wonder why Amanda never got on the bus today—?’ I queried, spying a nice shaped a rock, a large one this time. Our neighbor, Amanda Thomas, also got off at this bus stop. I like her a lot but that’s our secret. Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want everyone to know.
Jo raised her eyebrows at Brian, who had green couch grass scuff marks from sliding on the school oval on his grey trouser knees; his standard school attire.
‘See. He is keen on her,’ he said, grinning back. A dimple formed in his cheek.
Bending down to pick up a rock my face flushed and I became defensive.
‘Am not,’ I said, measuring its weight in the palm of my hand. ‘Yep, it’s a beauty. Just the right shape and size to extort maximum carnage.’
‘Am too,’ they both replied. Embarrassed, I turned away and flung the rock hard at the Henton’s mailbox to vent my annoyance on the enemy. Clung! My rock crashed into the old rusted metal which vibrated back and forth noisily.
‘Hurry up you two,’ Jo said, revving up her push bike ready to go.
Brian nodded at me and gave me a thumb’s up, acknowledging the size of the hole I had gutted and then deftly flipped the subject.
‘Wow! Top shot Heni! Anyway, I already know what A.J. & R.J. Hani stands for,’ he announced dancing around doing a fake guitar jig, ‘Ashton Jams-a-lot and Rosa big-jugs.’ He pitched a rock at his parent’s 44-gallon drum mailbox. Clang! It cut into fresh metal, leaving a fresh deep ding.
‘Jams-a-lot?’ I scoffed. ‘You mean that terrible noise your dad plays on the base guitar in the shearing shed?’ Brian laughed and nodded.
‘Dad’s lead guitar in the Wandering Misfits,’ he explained. ‘It’s a heavy-metal rock band he formed with Jack Henton, Jesus Revierra and Lance Abbott. Lance is real gifted. I often see him play the violin, trumpet, trombone, guitar and the Didgeridoo.’
‘All at the same time—? Wow!’ Jo said.
‘Der,’ I said. ‘I think—, not.’ Brian slid his baseball bat back into his school bag.
‘Dad’s a big fan of the Billy Winter Group,’ He began to strum one of their anti-Vietnam war songs on his school bag — out of tune.
‘I heard that the Jesus man is a reporter for the local rag — and he hasn’t been drunk for ages, not since he joined Alcoholics Anonymous,’ I said.
Jo giggled as I mimed the Jesus man opening windows, and slamming one shut. Brian stopped his singing. He grinned. A gap formed in his top row of teeth. I frowned.
‘What does big-jugs mean?’ cut in Jo, disrupting my thoughts.
‘Dad says he likes Mom’s big-jugs,’ Brian made hooting noises and gave a demonstration in Jo’s face like a big kid.
‘Oh! How sick! You nitwit! You’re just being silly again Brian!’ Jo pushed him away.
‘Hey. Look. Here comes the second bus—. The white one.’ Brian hooted as the bus passed. A rosy pink buttock suddenly appeared, flashing out a side window. Jo poked out her tongue. My head swung around, as I dragged my bike out of the scrub. I smirked. ‘It’s that dork Johnny Christian for sure,’ Brian said, answering my question, his hands held up defensively. I smelt his thoughts. They smelt like chewing gum. He held his hand out, so I flicked a packet of PK-chewies across. Jo’s eyes watered so I pulled the last packet out, with learned helplessness, reluctantly handing the last few over.
‘Ta,’ she said, snatching them, and then thumbing several into her gob. We turned to watch as a brand new open-topped jeep drove down the road towards us. It slowed as it approached. Jo stood, legs on the ground now, holding her bike as the jeep drew to a grinding halt. The dust caught up with the jeep, then circled us lapping at our legs. The driver was in his thirties, with a young, cheerful disposition.
‘Hi guys. This is the road to Gullabilly National Park?’ Tom Fargo asked in a half-smile, lifting his Air Force glasses off his face. I noticed he was wearing jeans and neat open neck green shirt.
‘Yeah sure,’ I said, as Jo lifted her finger pointing. ‘You’re a yank, aren’t you? Haven’t we met before?’ I frowned.
‘I was just thinking the same thing,’ Tom replied ruffling his hair. ‘Perhaps. You know, I never forget a face.’ He waved his finger in the air at me. ‘Yes. I think we may have met before — but you were much younger. Hello again then padre.’
‘Hi. How come the steering wheel is on the wrong side?’ I asked.
‘It’s an American car, you silly,’ Jo piped up. ‘Why do you wanna go to the National Park?’ Jo quizzed. ‘Are you a Park Ranger?’
‘No. I’m just interested in Karri forests, that’s all,’ Tom replied. His white teeth displayed a broad grin. ‘Time is on our side so I guess we’ll meet again in the future. Bye.’
‘Catch ya later, alligator,’ Jo smiled.
Dropping his glasses over his eyes Tom nodded at us, clicked the jeep into gear and drove off slowly with a final wave of the hand.
‘I’m sure I’ve seen that guy before,’ I said, scratching my ear.
‘Oh yeah? Fat chance that is Heni — like — you don’t even remember what you ate for breakfast. See? You can’t. I’m right. Anyway, you pair of dorks, let’s get our dumb asses on our bikes,’ Brian said.
‘Is dork a swear word Heni?’ Jo asked. I looked at her as if she were stupid so she added, ‘well, you pair of dorks, are we heading off now, or what?’
Brian grinned, stuffing chewing gum in his mouth, glancing at his cheap and nasty wrist watch. It was 3:40 p.m.. He climbed onto his push bike and we pedaled up the small windy road covered in lateritic colored sandy-orange soil in the direction of home.
‘You can’t catch me, slow pokes,’ I yelled, standing up, peddling rapidly past the long curved driveway to the Henton house on the left. Aunt Denny, out on the verandah, waved at us as we went past. Jo and I waved back. ‘What’s that irritating grating sound?’ I said loudly, glancing over my shoulder at Brian.
Brian rasped out an out of tune Billy Winter Group song about rain on a sunny day. His bike sped past me now kicking up dust grains into my face. His singing sounded like a wounded bull getting cut in half with a blunt wood saw. It was catching though, so I joined in.
The road cut a swathe through lateritic oxidized sand dunes, which draped over calcrete and limestone. The bike tires vibrated on the corrugations as we bounced our way up the winding road dodging the calcrete potholes. Having no front mud-guards, my bike wheels spat brown-yellow laterite pebbles and thin orange sand grains intermittently into my face. As we came around the first major bend Brian stopped abruptly, the dust spurting up behind him. I hit the brakes to avoid missing him, sliding off the road into the sand, knocking him over. Clambering to our feet and wiping the dust off, we stood mesmerized staring at a small brown thing wriggling in the middle of the road. It appeared to be trying to take a nap. Good luck with that.
‘What is that thing?’ Jo asked, climbing off of her own bike, struggling with sand too deep to ride through. This section of the road was partly covered in rows of loose sand drift, truncating the road.
‘A snake,’ Brian’s said the obvious. Picking up a small stone he flicked it at the object. It wriggled towards the center of the road leaving a small narrow streak in its wake.
‘Yep, it’s a snake alright,’ Jo confi
rmed. ‘A young one, it must be, coz it’s small.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed with Jo. ‘It’s no more than a few months old.’
Dragging our bike wheels through the sand drift Brian and I moved warily past it. Brian picked up a stick of wattle off the sand. Much to my ire he dropped his bike, walked back and began poking at the thing.
‘Brian, what the heck’re you doing?’ I asked quizzically, looking over my shoulder with a shudder. My hand slid into my backpack feeling for something.
The small snake looked back at me as I sunk my teeth into an apple. It smiled with an enticing “Pick me up. I won’t bite you — much” look. I shivered as goosebumps formed on my arms. No way!
‘Wow! It’s so cute,’ I still said, mouth agape, biting off another chunk.
Jo stood in the middle of the road next to her bike.
‘The sand’s too deep. I can’t ride my bike,’ she complained. Her fuzzy voice came into focus, slamming me back to reality. ‘I can’t get past it.’
‘Get past what?’ I replied, dropping my bike, turning and nearly walking over the dreaded snake. Panicking, I jerked backwards, dragging my bike with me. Dropping it on the soft sand, I turned back towards Jo. She climbed back on her bike.
‘Look Jo, the sand is too deep. Get off the bike and walk around. The snake won’t bite if you leave it alone and stay well away,’ my voice dropped on the last few words. Glancing down at it, I shuddered now, stepping hurriedly past it, hurrying across to her.
‘Here!’ Brian pulled a baseball bat out of his bag and brushed the small snake out of the way with it. ‘You can get past now.’ He liked baseball. Actually, to be honest Brian liked any sport, provided he could get dirty. He’d be into cricket soon too, once the season commenced. ‘Can’t wait for the cricket season to start,’ he mused, as if reading my mind. Lines of green scuff marks, forensic proof, smeared his knees and elbows. I wondered how Aunt Rosa managed to keep his clothes clean. She seemed to just patch up the holes, making them appear trendy.
‘Oops!’ I grabbed Jo and pulled her ahead of the snake, which slithered gamely after us. It abruptly stopped, cocking its head, its tongue flickering out trying to smell us.
I scowled, biting at my fingernails nervously as Brian continued to poke at it. The snake raised its small torso off the ground almost in attack mode, head up slightly. Its flickering tongue unnerved me. Jittery now, I moved away keeping a watchful eye on it. Feeling naked and threatened, I just wanted desperately to escape. So too did the snake.
The small snake searched for an escape route. Its tiny dark eyes were darting around like jewels at these giants looming above it. But, these stupid humans kept moving across, blocking its path. As we stood there watching it, it stared us back with renewed interest, slithering forward seemingly offering friendship as we backed away in case it attacked. Brian poked at it again, laughing. Its tongue flickered, sensing another dead end.
‘You’re just being mean Brian. Leave it alone,’ I said, taking another bite of the apple. Picking my bike up now I pushed it forward through the remaining drift, back onto the gravel in rough, jerking motions. Climbing on, I kept a wary eye on the snake.
Jo giggled, dropping her bike. She picked up a stick and began poking at the snake as well. My eyes narrowed. I bit my lip, shaking my head in annoyance.
‘Crikey. Look at it sniffing out the bat,’ Brian said, prodding the snake to deliberately elicit a response. Just then, the snake struck at the bat sharply.
‘Stop being mean Brian! You’re just making it get angry,’ I said, rolling my bike backwards. Grabbing Jo by the arm one handed, I nearly fell off. ‘Come on. We have to go.’ Brian eyed off my apple, so I took another bite and passed it across.
He took a large chunk out of the side, handing the remains back. Climbing off my bike I reached out tentatively. I bit off a piece and, arm outstretched, passed the apple back to him. With a cheeky grin Brian bit off one last chunk. He held the apple out in his outstretched hand. As I reached for it he smiled again, and laughing withdrew his hand sharply, lobbing the apple core towards the baby snake.
The snake’s head recoiled, striking at the apple core with an angry hiss. My body reeled backwards with horror, face screwing up. Brian chuckled, enjoying this moment. He smiled at me. Standing, he turned and slid his bat back into his bag. Returning he poked at the snake again, this time with a thin branch. The snake tried to avoid the stick. It just wanted out of here.
Jo turned and picked up her bike, walking ahead some five to ten paces.
‘Did you see that? I broke the stick,’ Brian laughed.
Spinning around on his words, Jo dropped her bike and ran back towards him. With a quick glance, and dismissing my daggers of disapproval, she squatted down next to Brian mesmerized by the snake. Then she said it.
‘Can we pick it up?’
‘Can we — what?’ my jaw dropped. ‘No! No! No.’ I couldn’t believe it.
‘Yes. Yes of course,’ answered Brian, ‘Why not?’ he flashed me a broad grin, moving towards the snake in a squat.
‘Don’t be stupid. You’ve really pissed it off enough. It’ll probably bite you,’ I spat out in disgust, turning my head towards home. Goose bumps rippled up my back in waves of shivers and I shuddered, keen to leave.
‘You shouldn’t swear Heni,’ Jo said, giving me a death ray glare. She stood up, snatching the stick from Brian’s hand with a giggle. I shook my head at their stupidity, picked up my bike and started to move away.
‘You’re a right pair of idiots!’ I spat out, ‘I heard that children who taunt animals turn into psychopathic serial killers as adults,’ I said. ‘Only a fool taunts a snake. It might be a Death Adder or a Tiger Snake for all you know. Leave it alone Brian. Come on, let it be,’ I pleaded. He sighed in passive agreement.
‘Yes. You may be right Heni. Pretty sure it’s not though. Look at its markings. We’d better leave it alone,’ Brian replied seriously, with an inkling of doubt creeping into his voice. Standing upright, he turned and wandered back to his bike. ‘Jo. Leave it alone. It may bite you. You might get hurt. Jo, don’t!’ he said, common sense afflicting him for once. Brian reached down and dragged up his bike. Jo remained hunched gazing open mouthed at the snake, focused on its mesmerizing, darting eyes.
‘What’re you looking at?’ Brian asked me. ‘What the heck is that thing?’ We both stood staring, mouths agape, at the strange metallic saucer-shaped craft bouncing around erratically, wobbling from side to side, to our front. Then, it dipped down below the tree line into the Ghost House paddock, out of sight. And then, Brian turned his attention to the noise coming from behind us. Dust drifted up above the road in the distance to our south. A Land Rover kicked up a soup of dust as it bounced around the corner. It slowed down as it meandered across the sandy yellow calcrete-infested road, trying to avoid potholes. The roar of the vehicle increased as it approached, horn blaring at us several times. Still squatting by the snake, Jo looked up. The driver wound down his window as the vehicle groaned with a loud and agonizing creaking of brakes to a sudden stop.
A teenage girl around my age with sandy-blonde hair stuck her head out the window. Gazing at me now she smiled. My eyes lit up as I recognized Amanda Thomas. Then the swirling dust caught up, engulfing us. Our heads turned away from the billowing, choking, dust as it thrust forward into our faces. The dust slowly cleared. My hand slid through my hair. Then I checked that my shirt buttons — and my zipper — were done up. With a rev, the vehicle pulled out of the wheel ruts. Its wheels spun in the soft sand, then gripped as the vehicle revved a second time, halting on the right-hand side of the road.
‘What do we have here? Hey, missy! Leave that snake alone. It may be dangerous,’ the fifty-something year old Bill Thomas called over the idling engine as he stuck his elbow out the driver’s side window.
Jo stopped abruptly, the stick slipping out of her little fingers, bouncing onto the sand. She stood up, hastily beating a retreat. And then she wandered across,
to lean against the vehicle’s bonnet while eyeing off the driver. Glancing back she watched the snake wiggle some distance away from us, where it remained on the other edge of the road.
‘Don’t I know you?’ Bill Thomas yelled, pulling the Land Rover’s handbrake on and taking the vehicle out of gear. It stalled with a stutter. Clambering out of the vehicle, he searched for a shovel on the back tray.
‘I don’t think so. Hi. I’m Jo Hani,’ Jo nodded at me and then at Brian. ‘This is my brother Heni and my big, tough, kick-ass cousin Brian. But, I’m starting to think he’s a sissy though. He’s too scared to pick up a baby snake, even,’ Jo mocked, pointing at the snake and then at Brian.
‘Am not,’ replied Brian bashfully, flushing.
‘Am too,’ taunted Jo, poking her tongue at him.
‘It’s just a tree python. It looks cute because it’s a baby. But, it’s not a good idea to tease any animal. It can be dangerous. Most snakes pack a nasty bite,’ continued Bill Thomas.
‘See. I told you so!’ I tossed in my ten cents worth. It confirmed my thoughts.
‘And—, that makes you, what? A hero?’ Jo spat out sarcastically, glaring at me. Ignoring me now she turned, surveying the man by the vehicle. ‘We live just up the road,’ Jo stated as a matter of fact, hands on hips. In case Bill Thomas did not know, she pointed in the direction with a stick and then threw it toward the now distant snake. Jo then pointed her finger in the general direction in a waving pattern to depict the meander of the road.
‘Yes. I know that,’ Mr. Thomas replied, turning his attention to the snake.
‘So—,’ Amanda was suddenly standing next to me. ‘Has your father finished your new house yet?’ Her glittering blue eyes delved directly into mine.
‘Yes. Mostly,’ I fidgeted nervously looking down at her slender bronzed bare legs. ‘And—, and we moved from the caravan into the house last week. It’s not properly finished as yet, it’s not even painted — mostly just grey cement really — but, you know?’ I stammered.
