The Wounded Sinner

by Gus Henderson

  Matthew went back inside the house to use the phone and rang the pizza parlour, all the time thinking how few problems his wife ever gave him.

  17

  Rastus gave a single tired bark as he attempted to rise up to address the intrusion into his territory. Gravity, however, defeated his efforts and he lay his head back down on the cool lino, conceding that the protective aggression he once exhibited in his youth was long gone. He listened as the unfamiliar boots clumped down the hallway from bedroom to bedroom, bold and unafraid. Rastus heard the drawers and wardrobe doors open and close. There was a muffled rustling for some time and he fell asleep once more.

  —

  The Landcruiser pushed through into the scrub and low mulga woodland until the remains of the old mining town disappeared from view, pressed back down into the desert floor by the weight of the sun. Barren Hills appeared against the blue sky as an incongruent row of humps thrust up in ages past by some mighty force as a creative afterthought. After a few kilometres of red dirt track, at the base of the hills, was an area of low saltbush and grass and little else. Beyond that stood half-a-dozen marble gums, desert sentinels bound together in adversity, defying the elements and guarding a small dam. The ’cruiser pulled up to a stop in the soft sand.

  ‘Dis ’ere’s Barren ’ills.’ Aunt Peggy sounded almost apologetic. ‘Mos’ly gone now, ’ey?’

  ‘Gee, I thought there would be something more here.’ Jeanie was quite unimpressed by the homestead ruins, just the remains of brick foundations, and bent and buckled corrugated iron rusting under a hot sun. Mantraps of fencing wire lay in wait for the unsuspecting; thin metal tripwire snakes were hidden amongst the shrubs and grasses.

  Little Albert was asleep in his car seat. The other kids jumped out, anxious to explore, energy to burn. Jeanie called out as they went: ‘Watch out, you lot!’ Her voice tried to catch them but they were too quick, of course, being driven along on the red dust of excitement.

  ‘Ober dere,’ Auntie Peggy pointed out past the ruins, ‘is der dam. Good water, dat one.’

  ‘Oh, Auntie, you don’t look real good.’

  ‘Yeah, plenny crook, I reckon.’ Auntie Peggy took another swig of the bush medicine.

  Jeanie, however, was not convinced of its curative powers. ‘We’ll leave here soon and head straight to the hospital. You really do need antibiotics, Auntie.’

  ‘Mebby I feel bedder, soon. We’ll see, okay?’ Auntie Peggy opened her door and slid to the ground. Despite her determination, she could barely walk and supported herself against the bullbar. Jeanie stepped down and joined Auntie Peggy at the front of the four-wheel drive. The old woman wiped her arm over the horizon. ‘Was special place, dis. Sacred for long time. Plenny water, plenny cer’mony. Singin’. Dancin’. Forrester come, old man Forrester dat is. ’E kick blackfullas out. Shoot some, too, I reckon. Sad place now for our peeble. Still, special for you.’

  ‘Because my parents worked here?’

  ‘’cause you born ’ere!’

  —

  It had originally been a small cistern chiselled out of granite rock by natural forces or perhaps, as the missionaries had said, crafted by the hand of a compassionate and considerate god. Water, whether through the providence of God or not, became almost as valuable as gold itself and many Europeans perished at its lack. Therefore, the first prospectors who pushed through the scrub into the area of Barren Hills were not averse to locating water by any means available to them. Story is that they captured an inquisitive Aboriginal youth, tied him to a tree and gave him salted pork and no water till he was mad with thirst. When he was released, the boy ran to the nearest waterhole. Desperate men do desperate things.

  ‘Was once liddle.’ Auntie Peggy pointed over to where the kids were playing in the water. ‘Miner fullas makit big, plug up sides, y’know. Bloody big dam, now, ’ey?’

  ‘How long was the town here for? The mine?’

  ‘Ha! Greedy walypala bastards. Dey come, dey go. You know, not long. Coupla years, mebby.’

  ‘What happened next?’ Jeanie was keeping her eye on the kids. They were arms and legs and no thought of tomorrow.

  ‘Der people come back ’ere. ’Ab cer’mony. Make camp, y’know.’

  ‘Sounds peaceful.’

  ‘Bullshit! Dat walypala bastard Forrester come. Big war ’appen somewhere! Big war ’appen ’ere, too. I tol’ you, ’e shoot plenny blackfulla, I reckon.’

  ‘Jeez, I didn’t know.’

  ‘Who lissens t’blackfulla, anyway? You call kids, now. Dis sad place.’

  ‘But you worked here. So did my mother and father. What went on here?’

  ‘You call kids.’

  ‘Yeah, we’d best head back.’ Jeanie went around to the driver’s window and pressed the horn. The only sound was the distant laughter of kids at play. She pressed the horn again. Nothing. ‘Oh, shit! I don’t believe it!’ Little Albert began to stir in his seat. Jeanie got into the driver’s seat and quickly turned the key. On, off, on, off, on. Still nothing, just the bellyache of fear; the land around her suddenly became so vast that she wondered if she was in danger of falling into its mouth and disappearing forever. Off, on, off, on, off. She looked over at Auntie Peggy. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Don’ know. Sad place, dis, ’ey. Sad place for sure.’

  —

  Auntie Peggy was sick. She lay on the ground, feverish and shaking, wrapped in a blanket salvaged from the ’cruiser. Jeanie and the kids circled her, a ring of impotency. The old woman imagined the night chewing away at the edges of the day. She marvelled, in her plight, at the certainty of all creation, for night and day, life and death, they are eternal things and who was she to resist them? The stars began appearing in the darkening sky and she wondered if she too would soon join her ancestors of the Dreamtime.

  ‘Bring me bush me’cin.’

  ‘Oh, Auntie, I don’t think it’s doing you any good at all.’ Auntie Peggy raised herself up on one elbow. ‘Girl,’ to Jaylene, ‘bring me bush me’cin. Den you pray for ol’ Auntie, orright?’ She looked up at the kneeling Jeanie. ‘Your farder, Passor man, tell us to hab fait’. Well, blackfulla hab fait’ in mumbo-jumbo, too, sometimes. Is still God workin’, y’know, jus’ not whitefulla way.’

  Jaylene went over to the ’cruiser. Soon it would be dark. For as long as she could remember, she had always experienced night from the comfort and safety of a house. Now, as the day ran away to the west, she wished it would scoop her up and carry her along. Above her, the sky began to squeeze out the first stars through the changing colour of its fabric. Not for the first time, the weight of the universe pressed in on her.

  Leonora was still and quiet. Little Albert and the other girls were asleep. Jeanie and Jaylene lay down on a blanket and looked up at the night.

  ‘Can you see, Jaylene?’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘Forever. Sometimes when I lie here, it is like my body is falling into eternity.’

  ‘You’re scaring me, Mumma.’

  Jaylene shuddered. She grabbed the bush medicine and an empty water container and headed back. The twins had built a rough, wild dog of a fire, just brush and leaf and momentary incandescence. They stood looking at the ash and freckles of embers, the sticks in their hands limp with disappointment.

  ‘The fire went out.’ Robyn stated the obvious. Obvious, too, that bushcraft was not one of her skills.

  ‘You need to do it properly. I’ll show you. Let me help Auntie, first.’ Jaylene lifted up Auntie Peggy’s head and the old woman took a mouthful from the flagon before settling back down on the blanket.

  A hint of a smile: ‘Ah, good stuff from ’goon, hey.’ The words came out weak and sweaty, strained through a fever. ‘You pray for me, now.’

  ‘Yes, Auntie. All right girls, hold hands and close your eyes.’ Jaylene waited for quiet, then: ‘Dear God, make Auntie better. Help us get out of here. We have faith for a miracle. Amen.’

  ‘Dat’s good. I ged bedder,
soon.’

  ‘Yes, you will, Auntie. You’ll see.’ Jaylene patted Auntie Peggy’s hand and stood up and moved a short distance away. Jeanie followed, Little Albert in tow. He was the colour of the night; she lifted him to her hips and held him loosely. He was getting too big for that, she thought, but here in the bush she was taking no chances.

  ‘Oh, Jaylene. She’s not well. She might die if we don’t get help for her. Her foot looks like … it’s not good.’ She looked at Jaylene in hope. ‘We’ll need water, I suppose.’

  ‘You can forget that. There’s a rotten sheep in the dam.’

  ‘Christ, I don’t believe it!’ One thing after another, she thought. What’ll be next?

  ‘We’ve done what we can. I’m going to walk out to the road.’

  ‘Jaylene, you can’t do that! I won’t let you!’

  ‘Got to, Mumma. How long you think she’s gonna last?’

  ‘But you’re only …’

  ‘Mumma, Georgie’s used up the last match!’

  ‘Liar Robyn-always-dobbin’!’

  ‘Oh, damn! Great blackfullas, we are.’ Jeanie sat down in the dirt, closed her eyes and held Little Albert tight. She cried inside till the tears ran out under her lids and in the dimness of nightfall, the younger children drew close around her. Out in the everywhere of the bush, dingoes howled and yapped, just predators going about their business, teeth and claws and mangy coats. The smell of cooked chicken, the leftovers from the family’s lunch, drew the wild dogs closer.

  Jaylene kissed her mother goodbye and stumbled off towards the road.

  —

  He sat in his ute in the parking bay beside the licorice strap of road that led off into the dark. The day had come and gone in a dozen stubbies and much thought. Thoughts of sexy girls. Dirty, black, sexy bitches …

  He started the engine and moved out onto the road. A rifle lay across his lap and there was comfort in that.

  18

  ‘Not eatin’ much pizza, mate?’ Matthew spoke with his mouth half full while picking up another piece; he eyed Vince’s untouched box of marinara covetously. Too full. He would finish any leftovers in the morning. ‘You want to talk about it?’ Matthew lit up a cigarette, sank some beer and swatted at a mosquito. Ah, Australia, buzzing by day and by night.

  ‘Nah.’

  Matthew’s grandad used to say that getting people to talk was like trying to draw Excalibur from the stone. Sometimes, though, he said, the sword was in there for a good reason.

  ‘Listen, mate, I’m just goin’ to put the old fella to bed.’

  ‘Okay.’ Vince spoke as an automaton, low on battery, the words coming out in a dull monotone.

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’ Awkward. ‘I’ll put the rest of the pizzas in the fridge.’ He stood at the doorway in a strange cloud of inadequacy, of unfamiliar territory that he was totally unequipped to challenge. There was, he thought, a mystery to human nature that he was not quite party to, as if he was being excluded from those things that caught on life as it went along. Sometimes, though …

  ‘What “good reason”, Grandad?’

  ‘Look at these people here. The one thing they have in common is that they’re close to death. Some are holding inside of them the magic of their lives, some sadness, some hatred, and some disappointment.’ He sipped his tea. ‘These old people don’t have much anymore except what’s inside them. They just want to hang onto it. For most, it’s all they’ve got.’

  ‘What about you. Grandad?’

  ‘You say something, Matty?’

  ‘Just thinkin’ out loud, Vince. Just thinkin’ out loud.’

  —

  Matthew had gone to bed but lay there, thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking. He was asleep by the time Vince walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. Cold pizza. He didn’t care. He grabbed an opened bottle of soda water, flat but wet and chilled. The house was in silence apart from the night noises of men: farting and snoring. Vince sat at the kitchen table in the dark.

  19

  Darkness. Mother Earth had closed her eyes but she was not asleep. She felt the rhythmic pad-pad-pad of dusty feet upon her face and wished to draw her child closer to a safer place. The Earth and the World, however, are very different realms.

  ‘Wadda-we-got-’ere?’ The words spilled out as one, fused together by an adhesive of alcohol and poor education. ‘Liddle nigger-girl loose in th’bush at this timer night.’ Ben stood framed in the glare of the spotlights in front of his utility, rifle hipped and pointing up towards the stars. ‘I jus’ knew you lot’d get inter trouble.’

  Jaylene shielded her eyes. ‘We need your help. Auntie Peggy’s really sick.’

  ‘Oh, y’need ol’ Ben’s help, now, ’ey?’ He moved towards her, in wobbly boots and not via the most direct route. An empty stubby was dropped to lighten the load. ‘I love th’ bush. Th’ ’conomy. Barter an’ exchange. You unnerstan’ girl?’ He waited. ‘You unnerstan’?’

  ‘What do y’mean?’

  ‘You’re no’ stupid. Smard liddle nigger-girl. You do summin’ for me an’ I do summin’ for you. Now do you unnerstan’?’

  ‘I understand.’

  —

  The utility wasn’t fitted with autopilot. It rattled slowly forward along the track in a series of swerves and lurches and clunking gear-changes. Ben was suspended in that netherworld between sleep and consciousness, a nodding-dog of drunkenness: he drove accordingly. He was angry, too. Inwardly, in his tangle of thoughts, he cursed the girl, and the grog, for that embarrassing collision between expectation and intake: even before he’d got his pants down the sump plug of his manhood had been unscrewed and all ability had drained away.

  Jaylene sat beside him, dirty with the rough rub of shame. She looked at the rifle lying between them and thought how simple it would be to pick it up. He was a dog for sure, and she would only have to say that it was an accident, that the gun just went off: sorry ’bout ’is ’ead. She decided against it, for now at least. They had to get to Barren Hills and maybe get the Landcruiser started.

  Ben grabbed back for another stubby. ‘Can’ be far now. You say nothin’, orright.’ He patted the rifle and sucked at the beer and knew he had all the aces. She was only a black kid and who was going to believe her. ‘’Sides, I didn’t do ’ardly anything to ya. Y’not a real woman, yet, tha’s why.’

  Jaylene had done everything he had told her to do. She had stood in the glare of the headlights naked and frightened as he waved the rifle about shooting off wild threats and taunts. Some pierced her and she felt the skin that covered her heart for the blood she thought would surely come. When he was spent from his dysfunction, he flopped down on the ground, pants round his ankles, a white comic impotence. She got dressed and wondered if she would ever be clean again.

  The utility rounded a sweeping left-handed bend and the spotlights picked up the shape of Jeanie’s Landcruiser. Ben said nothing, just patted the rifle: a silent slurring transmission of meaning. Jaylene realised that Leonora was a small town and she was only a black girl.

  ‘Ben, you’re a lifesaver! The old truck just wouldn’t start again. No lights, nothing.’ The two vehicles faced head-on, bonnets up.

  ‘Batt’ry not been charged, prob’ly. Alt’nator. Reg’lator, maybe. I’ll ged ya started.’ Ben turned back to his utility. He grabbed jumper leads in one hand and tried to hold the tray with the other but stumbled under the weight of the grog. His arse swung out awkwardly and for a moment he teetered on one leg, but the dynamics of stability met with the law of gravity and Ben Poulson hit the dirt with a thud. He lay still, eyes closed, the lids pulled down by the uncontestable forces of inebriation.

  The younger girls sniggered and laughed.

  ‘Mumma, he’s pissed!’

  ‘Jaylene! Have some respect, girl! What if he’s hurt?’ Jeanie bent down beside him, called his name a couple of times, even shook him. He just lay there, mouth agape and breathing the slurpy snore of one beaten down by the brown bottle
. ‘Okay, Jaylene, what are we going to do now?’

  Jaylene thought. Whenever her father had a problem, he would light up a smoke. It made him think. He said it cleared his mind, freeing up the thought neurons for productive escapism, whatever that meant. Jaylene knew it was crap: he was full of it, her dad, but she loved him nonetheless. Right now, there was a problem. She wished he was here. He might not have been able to start the car but he would have punched Ben’s friggin’ lights out.

  ‘What are these things?’ Robyn held them aloft, those strange rubber and copper serpents, wrested from Ben’s grasp and now looked upon with wonder in the glow of the ute’s cabin light.

  ‘I think they’re battery charger things. That’s what he said, something to do with the battery.’ Jaylene didn’t really know: she had her father’s mechanical ability. ‘Maybe you connect them to the batteries, you know like on Grey’s Anatomy where they have to put those electric things on the dead people to bring them back to life.’

  ‘You’re weird, Jaylene.’

  ‘Shut up, Robyn. You’re an …’

  ‘Shush! I’ve seen your father do it to try to start his car a few times. The black clamp attaches to the black battery terminal, the red one to the red terminal.’ Jeanie snatched the leads from Robyn’s hands.

  ‘Aw, Mumma, you …’

  ‘Shut up, Robyn, I’m trying to get this … Oh, there’s no colours here.’ Jeanie glanced up. Georgina and Nadine were in the cab playing with the rifle. ‘Shit, Jaylene, they’ve got a gun!’

  Jaylene reached around through the driver’s door. ‘Gimme that!’ She took the rifle and flung it, hammer-throw fashion, into the bush.

  ‘I was taking it from Nadine.’ Georgina poked out her tongue, then sat down in the driver’s seat, pouting. Nadine started going through the glove box.

  ‘Oh shit, who’s got Little Albert?’ Jeanie had only put him down for a moment. She looked about frantically, searching for movement, listening for the sound of a child. ‘Baby! Bay-bee!’

  None of them had moved far from the ’cruiser. In Jaylene’s absence, Jeanie had pulled her brood into a rough clutch around the sleeping form of Auntie Peggy. She knew there was safety in numbers. Desperation, though, knows no bounds. All around them had come the howl of hunger drawn from empty bellies, the silky rush of dark phantoms prowling through the still desert air, sharks of the dry, red dust searching out the weakest and smallest. Now, in the excitement of Jaylene’s return, they had become vulnerable.