by Tim Winton
Ah, it’s helpin the boys, I know, but I read the newspaper, Lester. They’re tellin us lies. They’ll send boys off to fight any war now. They don’t care what it’s for.
But, but the good of the country—
Oriel put a blunt finger to her temple: This is the country, and it’s confused. It doesn’t know what to believe in either. You can’t replace your mind country with a nation, Lest. I tried.
Lester almost gasps. It’s one thing for him to say it, but for her to admit such a thing, it’s terrifying.
You believe in hard work, love.
Not for its own sake, I don’t. We weren’t born to work. Look at them next door.
There’s always the family, says Lester.
Families aren’t things you believe in, they’re things you work with.
Don’t you believe in … love?
No.
No? Lester bites the ends of his fingers.
I feel love. I’m stuck with the love I’ve got, and I’m tryin to work up the love I haven’t got. Do you believe in love, he says. It’s like sayin Do you believe in babies. They happen.
What about goodness, lovingkindness, charity?
They’re just things you do, you try to do. There’s no point believin in em.
So what do you want? says Lester.
I want my country back.
The tent?
I wish I could lace it up an never come out, she says with an unexpected laugh. You could slip food under the flap and I’d never see a soul, never say a livin word.
Lester shakes his head. Why?
Then I could get on with the real war.
You want a miracle, don’t you?
I want the miracle finished off. I demand it, and I’m gonna fight to get it.
So you do believe.
Lester, I believe in eight hours’ sleep and a big breakfast.
Oriel gets up and goes to her tent.
Lester sits out on the stoop and watches the lamp waver into life inside the tent. The scabby arms of the mulberry tree reach around it so that from the upper floors Oriel’s silhouette looks like it’s moving about inside the ribcage of some sleeping animal. From where Lester is, though, it’s just a woman going through her drill before bed. I’ll bet she even prays, he thinks. But the light goes out, the sight of her diminishes in the gloom, the dew chills him.
Keeping Watch
Day by day Quick began to fade, until by the end of the week he had no light in him at all, and he slept thirty-two-and-a-half hours with the snores of an explorer. A tall, pale woman he’d never met sat on his bed with a rosary and a hangdog look and took turns with Fish to keep watch.
In the Poo
Sam Pickles came home a week after the wedding with grass on his sleeve, blood on his collar, and a tooth in his pocket. His hat looked abused. One eye was oystered up with swelling. There was bark off his nose.
My Gawd, murmured Dolly who was still in her dressing gown. That’s what I call a day’s work. What the Christ have you been into?
Me luck’s runnin uphill.
Runnin out yer arse by the look.
Sam eased himself into a chair at the table.
You’ve lost a tooth.
Sam fished it out of his pocket and put it beside the teapot.
Geez, look at the colour of it. That’s smokin, doin that. It’s as yeller as Tojo.
Pour us a cup.
How much do you owe? Dolly said as she poured him the strong metallic tea.
I could make it back on a quinella or just a decent run of luck.
That much.
The stove fizzed and snapped with the kettle working back up to the boil. Next door creaked with the business of closing the shop. That slow kid was laughing; the sound got on your nerves, made you wish they’d put him in a home with his own kind where he’d be happier.
Wincing, Sam drank his tea.
Could you eat a chop?
Sam nodded. Dolly got up and slipped the pan onto the stove. She was in an unaccountably decent mood tonight, he thought.
How many blokes dyou owe?
One fella who owns all the fellas. He’s a nasty cove.
What’re they gunna do?
Work it out of me, I spose. There’s plenty of shonky jobs they’ll want done.
Oh gawd. Haven’t you got some union mates to back you up?
Sam smiled: They are the union.
Jesus.
When he was eating, Dolly took his gladstone bag and shook the Daily News final out of it, the horseshoe, the rabbit’s foot, the breadcrusts, pennies, watch parts, peppermints and old train tickets, and went upstairs with it. She came back with it full of clothes and shaving gear. He looked at her across the table, pushed the plate away. There was a knock at the door.
Godalmighty.
Sam got up, found the crooked old poker by the stove and went to the hallway door. Before he turned the knob, he looked at her and saw what a handsome woman she still was, despite all. He opened the door with his bung hand and had his good one ready.
Gday, said Lester Lamb. I’ve got some old caulies. They’d be good for a soup. I had too many too quick and … you orright?
Yeah, yeah, come in Lester.
Lester put the two greyish cauliflowers on the table. Evenin Mrs Pickles.
Cauliflowers.
Yeah, I just—
Thanks, that’s beaut.
Lester saw the open bag on the table. He looked at Sam’s face and the blood on his shirt.
You off, then?
Yeah, said Sam. I’ve got some business to do.
You’re in trouble.
The stove spat and swallowed. Someone thumped up stairs.
The bookies?
Sam squirmed against the door. Well—
The union, said Dolly.
Ah, the flamin unions, then is it? That bunch of grovellin bullies. By crikey, I can’t … He trailed off and went thoughtful. Need to find a bit of tin to crawl under, eh? Listen, gimme ten minutes. Grab some blankets.
Rose came down the station ramp and saw the Lamb truck going. She waved dutifully and then stood there in the little gust of wind it left in its wake. The old man; that was the old man in the passenger side with his hat pulled down over his eyes. And the cocky, the bird on his shoulder and all. Rose swung her handbag and tried a quick trot but her feet were just too sore from dancing. He’s in the poo, she thought; he just has to be.
Lester drove out north and before either of them spoke the city was behind them, vibrating in the rearview mirrors.
What’s the story? Lester asked.
I gotta keep me lip buttoned, really.
Fair enough.
Sam lit up a smoke. It was something to see, a man with so few fingers rolling and lighting like that.
Your missus clean your face up a bit?
Yeah. Gave me the shock of me life, Sam said with a wetlunged laugh.
What you bring the bird for?
It agrees with everything I say.
What’s she really like, Sam?
The bird or my old lady? Jesus, I dunno. Like she looks. She’s just a rough broad. She used to be … I dunno … softer. We had a lot of bad luck you know. She used to be easier to get along with. She wasn’t such a piss artist in the old days.
Heard from your boy?
How’d you know about that?
Come on, mate, we live between the same walls.
Sam dragged so hard on his smoke, the cab lit up till they could see each other a full few seconds. He’s not so bloody stupid as he seems, Sam thought. He’s the sort of bloke you’d never know what he was capable of. He might come good in a blue, for instance, though he might be a dobber, too. Didn’t he used to be a copper once? A man should never trust an ex-copper.
I haven’t heard from Ted yet. Silly bastard. He’s gonna find his dick in the wringer before long. He’ll end up married to some big bellied girl lookin down the barrels of a shotgun.
Bad way to start a marriage.
Sam sno
rted. Tell me about it.
Is that your story?
Doesn’t it bloody show?
Lester shrugged politely.
He’s got Sunday School written all over him, thought Sam.
They drove into the dry, capstone country where ragged banksias showed up in the headlamps and groups of roos stood in paddocks, motionless as shire committees.
Where we goin?
A fishin shack. How long will you need?
A week maybe.
Will it blow over or do you have to blow it over?
I reckon I have to do the job meself.
Trouble is, said Sam, thinking as he spoke, that a bit of action costs money. To get things done.
I can’t lend you any, said Lester, the wife wouldn’t have it. He thought: he sounds like a little crim all of a sudden.
Wouldn’t necessarily be a loan. Rent in advance, maybe.
Well, we’re paid up for years already.
Lester turned off towards the coast at a clump of black-boys on a rise. The sky was littered with stars.
You ever thought of buyin it?
Lester sniffed. Cloudstreet?
It’d be a money spinner.
Hardly made you a rich man, mate, said Lester.
I’ve had a lot of bad luck.
I thought about buyin it once. A long time ago before the old girl moved out the back. But it’s too crowded.
Christ, yelled Sam, it’s hardly deserted. There’s your whole mob and us. And that flatchested Cathlick sheila your missus took in.
No, I mean it feels claustrophobic. Even when it’s empty it feels overcrowded.
Jesus. You believe in luck, Lest? You remember that horse Blackbutt? Luck!
Mm.
It’s like that lighthouse out there. Pointin the finger, like the Hairy Hand of God.
Lester drove silently until he couldn’t bite his tongue any longer. Come clean, Sam, how much do you owe the bookies?
Sam sighed. So the bastard had known all along. Two hundred quid. Some blokes in the union paid it for me.
When was this?
January.
Coo. No wonder they’re a little punchy. Will they just take the money if … you come up with it?
Yeah. I reckon. But I gotta come up with it.
They rolled down between balding dunes where a small river was dammed up behind the beach. A half dozen tin shacks stood concealed from one another by peppermint trees. No lights showed. There were no other vehicles except a rusty old Fordson tractor that looked like it was used to haul boats out of the water. Upturned dinghies stood beneath trees, with the frames of chairs, kerosene tins, broken rope swings from summer. Lester stopped outside a little corrugated place, left the headlights on and got out to work at the padlock with a bunch of keys. Sam stood out of his light, smelling the sea, wondering how it could all go this far.
There’s a coupla crates back in the cab you can bring in, Lester said, getting the door open. A stink of dust and ratshit wafted out.
I didn’t know you had a beach house.
It’s Beryl’s. That flatchested Cathlick sheila you were bein so nice about.
Inside, in the broken beams of light from the Chev, Lester found a lamp, fooled with the wick for a bit, and got it lit. In the sick yellow glow, swimming and bobbing in the uncertain light, the big bed appeared, and the bench, the deal table, the bits and pieces. Sam came in with two boxes.
There’s a fuckin revolver in this crate.
Old army days.
Whatm I sposed to do with that?
You got enough fingers to pull the trigger, haven’t you?
Yeah. But a gun …
I was operatin under the idea that it was a union matter. Keep it here anyway. Shoot rabbits. You’ll need the meat.
You goin?
Lester felt disgust come on him in a rush.
I got a family to get back to. I’ll be back in a week. No one’ll find you out here. Those blokes’ll be back, and I’ll pay em off and come back for you. There wasn’t much camaraderie in his tone, and even he was a little surprised by it. Orright?
Why? Sam said, snaky all of a sudden. What’s in it for you?
What’s in it for me is I don’t have to worry about bruisers hangin round my kids or my house. It buys me some peace of mind.
And a warm feelin, eh, Lester? Sam said bitterly.
Yeah, if you like.
Fair dinkum, said the bird.
Sam swatted it from his shoulder and Lester went out the door to the Chev.
Lester waved and drove off. Sam looked in the boxes. Bread, polony, toilet paper, fruit, vegetables, flour, tea, sugar, a book about John Curtin, a Reader’s Digest and a Smith & Wesson, six shells.
There’s always Russian roulette in the evenings, bird.
Yairs!
Wallpaper
Red Lamb liked Beryl Lee. She was a hard worker and kind. She treated Fish as though he was special. She’d just arrived one day with a teachest of clothes and no explanation. Apparently the old girl had invited her in, and in the weeks after Hat got married Red was especially glad someone had come along. Her mother had foresight, she knew. Right back then, before Hat fell in love, her mother was recruiting a reinforcement.
Beryl didn’t say much. She ate with the mob, worked with the mob and on Sundays she went to Mass. Red couldn’t tell if maybe it was the changing seasons, but day by day, Beryl seemed to grow paler. It was like seeing someone fade like wallpaper.
That, thought Red, is what happens when you wait for men. Red knew the story. Beryl’s hubby had gone down in the Perth and no men had looked at her since.
Red thought that Beryl Lee didn’t know how lucky she was.
Morning
But no one explained to Quick just who Beryl Lee was. He needed to know because she kept arriving on the end of his bed at dawn to stare at him. One morning she pulled a dandelion to bits and left the petals on his blanket. She was kind of longfaced and horsey, maybe a bit crosseyed even, and when she was around Quick she flounced about a lot, as though she had worms or something. For a couple of days after he came good, he didn’t get out of bed, and the days began with this strange woman turning up. He wondered if perhaps she climbed up the drainpipe or crept up through the house while everyone was asleep. Maybe she was a relative. She never said a word and he pretended to be asleep.
One morning he woke to the familiar pressure on the end of the bed but when he peeped through his eyelashes he saw it was his mother. He opened his eyes.
Gday, he said.
Hello.
Quick doubled his pillow beneath his neck. He looked at her. Her square jaw, the arms muscling out of her cotton dress, the bigdialled watch on her wrist. She had long distance eyes. Now he knew where he got his aim from.
I thought you wouldn’t speak to me.
I’m your mother, you know.
Geez, how can I forget it.
Not by runnin away.
Quick looked at the ceiling. Great shales of paint hung only by spiderwebs. Waterstains spread map-like across the plaster.
How old are you, Mum?
She cracked her knuckles. I’m fifty-four.
I never knew. You don’t look it.
No. But one day I will.
He smiled.
Hat got married last week.
Oh. Good old Hat. Be nice to see her.
She’s in Pemberton. Hubby runnin the mill now.
I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Do we fly to the moon yet?
Only on the wireless.
They looked at one another, and then Quick saw business come into her eye.
What did you see? she asked.
What do you mean?
You saw something.
I don’t know.
I’m your mother.
I don’t know, I said.
You broke Fish’s heart, Quick. People aren’t like furniture.
He closed his eyes.
I’m sorry, she said, I didn’t want to go croo
k.
He felt her hand on his face. He opened his eyes again.
What did you see, Quick?
Why are you out in that tent?
I asked you first.
What’s for brekky?
Quick.
I saw myself runnin. That’s all.
Well, that’s enough I spose.
You bet.
Fatted Calf
Down in the kitchen the old man is at the stove, ducking and weaving as fat snipes at him from the pan. He looks old and exhausted, damn silly with his hair all on end and his lardspattered specs up on his brow. Fish is at the table where two china bowls roar and roll, teetering and toppling as gravity gets hold over motion. His big, soft hands hover over the bowls.
Keep it down, says Lon in his morning sulks.
They’re up. I keep em up.
Brilliant, just flamin brilliant, Fish.
Rain falls against the window. Outside looks glum and unavoidable.
Cut yer grizzlin, Lon, says Lester. You’ll be late for work.
I’m waitin for me eggs.
You’ll be wearin em if you keep that up.
The bowls slide to a stop like pranged hubcaps.
Jesus, Fish!
In a moment Lester is at the table with the lobe of Lon’s ear between thumb and forefinger and Lon’s squealing like a cut cat. He’s small and hoarse, these days, muscly enough, but still no match for Lester who’s thin and tall and angry. Lon wriggles and lurches, squinting with pain.
If your mother was here she’d wash your mouth out, boy. It’d be Trusol paste at least. Don’t let me hear you talk like that again. Now eat your eggs.
Lester lets go and slides the fried eggs and tomato in front of Lon whose face is lit up red and nasty.
He makes a racket!
It gives him pleasure. Can’t you cope with him havin a bit of fun? In case you hadn’t thought about it, his prospects aren’t as … brilliant as yours, you know. If you can’t show him any respect—
Respect! He’s a Clydesdale. A monster! He should be put away.
Lester expands, you can see his flesh taking on ballast. His arms quiver. He steps out of his crushedheel carpet slippers and puts down the egg slice. Smoke begins to rise from the pan behind him. He’s never seemed bigger or meaner than he does now, not to himself, not to the others, not to the room he’s in. Lon gets up and backs off.