The Wounded Sinner

by Gus Henderson

  Jaylene walked back from the highway and off towards the northern end of town. She moved quickly along Gwalia Street, a street spread with the dappled shade of the ordinary and mundane, breathing in the air of an expectant loneliness where each day might be the turning point and the people waiting in the shadows of the empty shops and houses would come to life once more. The whole town was that sort of lonely. It called out to the land for companionship, and fulfilment and purpose. It had stood by and seen Gwalia wither and die. Leonora had cried then. Maybe it is still crying, crying the tears of expectation. Jaylene ran on. She passed Hope, who sat on a veranda in an old chair, smoking; the kids were at school, there were bills to pay. Christmas was approaching, and still no job. December was always so deceptive.

  There, the old church building. Jaylene slowed to a walk. Empty lots full of nothing but straggly, struggling scrub and native grass. Broken glass and rusty tins, too, to prove that here there once was life, more than just a dead, red desert floor. From it came the rhythmic sound of footsteps drumming, or was it just the pounding of her heart? Jaylene fumbled with the padlock. She heard the swish-swish-swish of walking denim rustling up somewhere behind her. Could be anyone. Could be …

  —

  Marie rang from the school office: ‘Just checking up on you. Everything okay?’

  ‘Mum’s pretty crook. I’m waiting for Ben to come around to fix the ’cruiser then we’re off to Perth.’

  ‘You be careful with that Ben Poulson. Don’t ditch one dud to get another. Remember, they’re only after one bloody thing.’

  ‘Marie, it’s just like Matty’s never going to change. What’s the term again?’

  ‘Snafu?’

  ‘That’s it. With Matthew I’m eating apples; Ben’s like an exotic fruit. I just haven’t picked it, yet.’

  ‘Just be careful. You can pay a lot for a mango and it could still be rotten inside. Better the devil you know, girl.’

  ‘Relationships are so complicated sometimes. If Matty were here it might be different.’

  ‘Would it, Jeanie? When you get back we’ll have dinner together. A night in, just the two of us. I’ve got some really nice Margaret River plonk. I’ll do candles and everything. Oops! Boss is coming. See ya.’

  Marie kissed into the phone and Jeanie kissed back unconsciously. Just so complicated.

  —

  ‘I can’t tell Mumma. I can’t tell anybody.’ Despite the heat inside the old building, Jaylene was shaking.

  ‘You can tell me.’

  ‘No offence, Bill, but you’re not real good at keepin’ secrets.’

  His eyes searched out his feet in the gloom. ‘Maybe I’m not. But I knew something was wrong. That’s why I come lookin’ for ya. We’re friends.’ Then sadly, ‘You’re the only friend I’ve got.’

  Jaylene lit some candles. Stuff inside her was bubbling up. She had to tell somebody.

  35

  ‘Can I keep you company?’ Delores had calmed down. She always claimed that housework was somehow therapeutic. Matthew saw it as shit that had to be done, one more mundane task in his passage through life. THE WOUNDED SINNER wore several generations of neglect.

  ‘Are you feeling better?’

  ‘I wasn’t unwell, Matty, I was expressing emotions. There’s

  a difference, you know.’

  They said nothing for a minute or so. Delores took out a cigarette and said jokingly, ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

  ‘Ha! Doesn’t worry me. Go ahead.’ Matthew heard the lighter flick into action and he caught the wafting smell of burning chemicals and dubious tobacco as it passed on the breeze.

  ‘What time’s Jeanie getting here?’ Delores had three puffs of the smoke and then flicked it into the garden.

  ‘She’ll probably ring at Merredin,’ he said lazily. ‘She drives like a woman.’

  ‘No, she drives cautiously, Matty. Don’t be a chauvinist!’

  ‘Is that what I am? Really?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said.

  And she left him there on the veranda, with his thoughts and the ghosts of Andrews past. He sat under the sign of THE WOUNDED SINNER and felt the long, strong arms of an unwanted legacy tying him to the bricks and mortar, to the stone foundations, dragging him into the sandy Guildford soil till the only goodness he possessed was choked from him. He wondered what new problem Jeanie would bring with her, what new decision he would have to make as if the world spun on his finger.

  Still, he would start treating Jeanie a lot better, though he realised that was an unquantifiable sum, a whim figure drawn from the hot Guildford air. A lot better: there was no substance in it, being just a vapour, a figure of speech, a fart without meaning, and Matthew really didn’t understand what she meant to him anymore. ‘Build, don’t destroy,’ his Grandfather used to say. Jeanie is a good woman, he thought. Probably needs some money spent on her or something. They would talk about it. They would assess the needs of their relationship. He would even consider moving the family back to Perth, though he thought Leonora was good for her and the kids.

  But his father was dying, indeed that was imminent and, once he had passed, Matthew would be exposed. He had lived an existence directed by his genealogy, forged under the banner of THE WOUNDED SINNER but now, as the new millennium rose in a more enlightened sky, even Matthew himself saw through his own façade. Jeanie was motoring towards Guildford and, if things ran true to form, shit would probably happen. Matthew realised he was a dying breed, a type of man who had had his time in the sun, now reduced to an ever-decreasing genetic pool, soon to be extinct.

  Matthew wished he had a cigarette.

  —

  The sun never changes. When Vince was very young, Leo told him that on cold days God pulled a lever behind the sun and turned down the heat, and on really hot days … Well, for a long time everything was that simple for Vince. As he matured he never overworked himself with complex philosophies and left the workings of the world and beyond to greater thinkers, greater powers. Today he remembered the imagination of his childhood and knew that God was not sitting on a chair behind the sun, cranking that handle upwards. Yet he knew that God, somewhere, was in control. How it all happened, he didn’t know. It was enough to know that the sun never changes and that Leo was full of shit. Vince got out of the twin-cab and walked across the bitumen. Leo’s BMW was parked in the RESERVED – DOCTORS ONLY space. He was a prick across such a wide, wide spectrum.

  It was cooler inside. Vince bounded up the steps. He just needed to talk with his dad and, as he stood outside the ward, he tried to control his anger. Vince imagined Leo was in there telling the old man all his crap, how his, Leo’s, life is a bloody shambles thanks to Vince. Bugger Vince for spoiling everything. Well, bugger Leo, he could just piss off. Vince pressed the red button.

  Helen opened the door with sadness in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Vince. Your father passed away a short while ago. Mr Romano is with him. He’s been trying to contact you. You can go in if you like.’

  Vince slid down onto a vinyl chair. It whooshed under his weight. He brought his hands up to his face and sobbed, ‘I’m too late. I needed to talk to him. I wanted to hear him say it was gonna be okay.’

  ‘You know he hasn’t said anything for weeks, Vince.’

  ‘But he spoke to me.’

  Helen didn’t understand anything but that she was to nurse the empty shell of Eddie Romano till the undertakers came. ‘I imagine you’d want to spend some time with your brother and father?’ Vince got up slowly and walked towards the exit. She didn’t understand very much at all.

  It was early afternoon. Vince stood in the sand off North Mole Drive and gazed out to Rottnest Island. A small breeze the colour of a spirit blew over his shoulders, caressing his head, rustling his hair. Despite the teachings of the Church, Vince knew it was his father taking the trip for one last time across the shimmering blue ditch to the poor man’s Paradise. He pulled out his hanky and wiped his eyes and laughed the laugh his father would ha
ve wanted. His arms waved madly, joyously, and he saw his father waving back. One final visit via ethereal currents and then away to God-knows-where. Eddie would enjoy the trip.

  —

  Delores made sandwiches and a pot of tea. Archie sat in silence in the lounge room. He looked up when Delores placed his plate before him, tiny squares of Vegemite and cheese on plain white bread, full of salt and fat and guaranteed to do him no good whatsoever: his favourite.

  ‘I’m not … hungry.’

  ‘Come on Archie, you need to eat.’

  ‘I’ve … been thinking.’ The words, these days, came out in measured doses, the bottle nearly empty. ‘I … have no … legacy … but this … house.’

  ‘Don’t tire yourself out.’

  ‘I need,’ breath, ‘to talk … to Matthew.’ He tried to straighten in his chair. Age and illness fought against him, pressing in on all sides, swords drawn, relentless, winning the battle. ‘I need,’ breath, ‘to tell …’ Archie couldn’t go on.

  ‘I think you’ve done enough talking, Archie.’

  ‘But not … the right … words.’

  Delores walked out to the veranda. She spoke to Matthew. ‘You’d better come in now.’

  ‘Can I bludge a smoke off you first?’

  36

  Bill had left half an hour ago. He had promised not to tell anybody and Jaylene hoped for once he’d keep his word. She prayed. Maybe God was listening, if He wasn’t too busy. Suffer the little children, He had said and she had come, groping her way through a darkness heavy with myth and legend. Her grandfather had said He was the light of the world. In the meantime, candles would have to do. She prayed for His guidance; she thought that she could hear His voice. He would tell her what to do.

  Footsteps approached through the scrub. The wire gate swung open with a rusty whine. ‘Aw, shit! Forgot the flashlight. Can’t see much without it.’ From the outside, the building looked uninviting, boarded up against the elements and vandals. A real estate agent’s nightmare.

  ‘You always leave the gate open like this?’ The client ran his hand over the chain.

  ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t check on the place very often. Not even the blackfellas would be bothered coming here. I’ll go back to the car and get the torch.’

  ‘Look, I’ve seen enough. A bit of paint and handiwork will bring it up to scratch. It’ll make a great little church. What do you reckon?’

  ‘Hey, I don’t have much to do with churches; I guess it will do the job. This God-forsaken place needs saving. No offence, Reverend, but Leonora’s …’ The voices and the footfalls trailed off into the distance. Jaylene breathed again. God was moving; so was she.

  —

  ‘Here’s a cold lemonade, Ben.’ Jeanie stood beside the ’cruiser, smiling. Ben lifted himself out of its guts and accepted the can. It would have to do. A VB would have been so much better. Stupid, dumb, black bitch was playing at happy families but, hey, he was enjoying this, being in control, stringing Jeanie along for all it was worth.

  ‘Just about done, anyway. You shouldn’t have a problem, now.’ He wiped his hands on a piece of rag and then stepped back to the cabin to fire the motor up. ‘Should go once …’ a-chug-chug-a-lug, then it kicked into life. ‘There you go. Shit, I’m good.’ He listened to it for a moment, thinking it was a heap of shit that would prob’ly get ’em halfway to Perth if they were lucky and he laughed inside: it was a hell of a trip in summer.

  ‘Thanks Ben.’ Jeanie glanced around to see if the kids were watching. Nadine and the twins were in the dirt playing bush hopscotch. Little Albert was walking back and forth, getting in the way, spoiling everything. ‘You haven’t told me why you’re leaving so suddenly.’ She dusted Ben’s hand with her fingers. ‘I thought we might have got to know each other a bit more.’

  Jaylene appeared, walking up the driveway. She stopped at the corner of the house. Shame glued her to the ground. Jeanie moved away from Ben: a respectable distance.

  ‘Where have you been, girl?’ Jeanie scolded.

  There was no answer but Jaylene and Ben exchanged furtive glances. Ben picked up his tools and threw them into the back of his utility. ‘I’m off!’

  ‘Jaylene, what’s going on?’ Her silence smacked Jeanie hard across the face. Jaylene turned and ran back down the driveway. ‘Oh, no. Ben, you didn’t?’

  ‘She come onto me at Barren Hills the other night, showin’ me all her bits and doin’ stuff. Only by the grace of God that I restrained myself.’ He hawked and spat out on the ground the phlegm of wickedness, flecked with tobacco. ‘That wasn’t the first time. Anyway, what are the cops gonna do? They’re never going to take the word of a little black girl.’

  ‘Oh, God, I can’t believe it.’ History is such a bitch sometimes.

  ‘It’s true. She was all over me, the little fox.’

  ‘Jaylene wouldn’t have done such a thing.’

  ‘Why not, her mother wanted to.’ He was in his ute now, ready to roll, motor idling. ‘Oh, you can give these back to your little girl.’ He leaned over and pulled a small bra and equally small panties from his glovebox: the brief flags of femininity. ‘If I’m not mistaken, these belong to her. A souvenir, she said, from Sund’y night. Poor girl, a virgin no more. Just a bit of proof for you.’

  ‘Sunday night?’

  ‘Yeah, she’d been hangin’ around outside my place waiting to pounce, biding her time till I was less resistant. Between you and me, anytime would have been okay. Eventually, though, she came in and I gave her what she wanted. Boy, she was a real little screamer.’

  ‘Did you say Sunday night?’

  ‘Yeah. She come onto me. Hungry for it.’

  ‘You were too drunk, Ben, too drunk to do anything. You couldn’t have raised wheatgrass.’

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘It was me, Ben, and I didn’t leave you any souvenirs.’

  ‘You!’

  ‘Yes, me! What an idiot I’ve been. Jaylene was trying to protect me from you, you slimy bastard.’ Jeanie kept an eye on Ben and called across to Robyn, ‘Get Dad’s gun!’

  ‘You wouldn’t have the guts.’ He tilted his head back a little and stuck his jaw out in a blustery, bull-shitty defiance; he quivered, however, when he saw the anger and resolution in Jeanie’s face and the blood soon drained from his own. Robyn turned to go into the house and Ben thought it wise to beat a hasty retreat. He’d had more than enough of mad women with firearms the last couple of days. The utility reversed down the driveway at speed and skidded onto the road. With a screech of tyre and a final cry of ‘Arseholes!’, Ben rattled away into the distance. Shit, he thought, he was havin’ a bad week.

  ‘Did I do good, Mumma?’

  ‘Yes, Robyn, you did good.’ Matthew didn’t own a gun or even believe in them. Robyn had done good. ‘Girls, he must have been in the house while we were away. Get all your clothes out of your drawers. Anything lying about on the floor, too, I’ve got to wash it all.’

  ‘Why Mumma?’

  ‘Just do it, Georgie, please. Just do it.’

  It took an hour and a half for the first load to be washed and dried. They had showers, youngest to the oldest, soap and shampoo and an innocent wonderment; it was only 2:30. Somehow Ben had buggered up their afternoon and Mumma got the cleaning bug, at least that’s what she said. When they’d finished showering, they sat on the lounge-room floor on newspaper, watching TV in their undies while their Mumma whirled around the house with Glen 20, checking every surface, occasionally spraying and cursing Ben to hell and back. Finally, satisfied the house was clean to her satisfaction, she stood under the shower, lathering up under the pissy little stream, scraping her skin with a loofa, back and forth, working away at the pain and humiliation that gripped hard and dug in like bush ticks.

  Jeanie dressed. She would borrow some money off her father tomorrow. They would all buy new clothes. She would have to tell him the truth about Mr O’Leary, about Ben, about Jaylene. No, not about Jaylene.
That was her story, hers to tell, if ever she chose. One day she might.

  —

  Jaylene heard the motor idling at the edge of the block where the road runs into gravel and brave grassy tufts turned brown by the sun. She snuffed out the candles. Footsteps approached and she held her breath as the wire gate swung open with a squeak. Seconds later the back door of the old building creaked ajar. Sunlight shot in. Jaylene shielded her eyes against its sharpness.

  ‘I should have guessed this is where you hide out. Can I come in?’

  ‘How did you find me, Mumma?’

  ‘The Kelso boy. Knows nothing but knows everything.’

  ‘You can come in if you want. It’s pretty hot.’

  ‘Do you want to come to Perth with us? Maybe get your dad to take us to Hungry Jack’s or maybe pizza.’

  ‘Is Ben gone?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jeanie opened the door wide enough to enter. The heat wrung perspiration from her body; guilt and foolishness flushed out, too. It glistened on her face. Jaylene could see it.

  ‘I’m so sorry, girl.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mumma. Pizza sounds good.’

  ‘Jaylene, did he … ?’

  ‘Pizza sounds good, Mumma.’

  FINIS