Echo in the Memory

by Cameron Nunn

Pa blinked slowly and released him. He began wiping his hands down his overalls again and again. “You mustn’t say anything. Promise me you won’t say anything,” he said desperately, the agony visible on his face. “You can’t say anything.”

  Will turned and ran.

  Will lay hidden down in the creek bed that marked the edge of the farmland. He couldn’t go inside and he couldn’t go back to his pa. He began planning his escape. He had no phone signal and his grandparents didn’t own a phone. He wondered if he climbed to the top of the ridge, or walked back up to the main road, whether he’d be able to call his dad. Of all people, his dad would know what it was like living here. And yet, his dad was the one who’d sent them there. Deep down, he knew he was trapped.

  A dragonfly skipped delicately across a small pool of water that gathered among the rocks. It was hardly a creek. Just puddles gathered between rounded boulders and the smallest of trickles joining them. A crow called somewhere in the distance and another answered. Everything else was still. There was something really wrong with Pa that unsettled him. It wasn’t just that he was old and forgetful. It went deeper than that. Pa didn’t want them here anymore than Will wanted to be here. It was different for Rosie. She had Gran.

  “So, how long are you planning on sitting down there?”

  Will stood quickly, expecting to see his gran. But instead a stranger stood at the top of the creek bank staring down at him. She was dressed like a man in some kind of blue boilersuit and enormous black gum boots.

  “I saw you head down here at breakfast and wondered if you’d drowned.”

  Will looked at the small shallow pools of water. He knew it was a joke but he felt embarrassed at being caught like that.

  “I can see most of the creek from my verandah up there. I figured I’d see what you’re up to. Here, let me give you a hand up.”

  “Am I on your land?” Will stammered. The stranger put her hand out and Will had no choice but to awkwardly take it. She was a solidly built woman, with grey hair tied back in a ponytail.

  “I’m just a nosey old bugger who takes notice of anything that happens around here.” She smiled with a friendliness that made Will feel more at ease.

  “I’m Will.”

  “I know,” said the stranger. “Your grandmother told me she was bringing you here for a few days. Same name as your grandfather. See, I told you I was nosey. I’m Dot. I live just up on the hill there, but I’ve already told you that. So what are you doing down there?”

  “Just thinking.” Will kicked at the dirt.

  “Bet you’re missing your mates, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.” She made a sweeping gesture, as though everywhere was the middle of nowhere.

  A sudden urge welled up in Will to tell Dot everything he was feeling, and what a jerk his pa had been. But instead he just shrugged.

  “I heard about your mum. I’m sorry.” She smiled gently. “Sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to, if you know what I mean.” Dot raised her eyebrows, inviting Will to agree with her. “Just a thought. I’m about to have a cup of tea and I could use some company.”

  “Gran will worry if she doesn’t know where I’ve gone.”

  Dot tilted her head slightly. “She might, but she’s probably more likely to come up to my place than to search the creek bed for her missing grandson, don’t you think? Besides, I figure the reason you’re down here is because you don’t think anyone is going to miss you. Am I right?”

  Will thought of all the reasons why he shouldn’t go with this woman he’d just met. He thought of what his dad would say. And then, for precisely that reason he said yes.

  There was a small section of fence where the middle strand of rusting barbed wire hung loosely. Dot held it down for Will while he carefully stepped through. Despite Dot’s size, she swung her body easily through the gap in a way that suggested she’d done it many times before.

  “Let’s hope Farmer MacGregor doesn’t catch us. Your grandfather’s not on the best of terms with me.”

  Will laughed as Dot swung her other leg through.

  “You’re on my side of the fence now. So moping is forbidden, okay?”

  Dot marched on ahead. From behind she looked exactly like a man, except for the ponytail that swished side to side as she walked.

  As they climbed the hill, the same sense of unease that Will had experienced when he first arrived gripped him. The closer that he got to the house, the stronger the sensation became. Now even his hands began sweating with a sense of apprehension that he couldn’t place. The only thing that kept him from heading back down the hill was the thought of running into Pa.

  Will could see why the house looked so dilapidated from his grandparents’ property. The roof over the verandah sagged like an old washing line on one side. Someone had made an attempt to prop it up with a pole.

  “One day it’ll fall down, probably with me in it,” Dot said, following Will’s gaze. “But whoever buys the farm will knock the whole lot down anyway. There’s no point in throwing good money after bad. I certainly won’t be around to live in some fancy new cottage.” She marched around to the other side of the house and swung open a wooden door with a flyscreen panel, identical to the one at Will’s grandparents’ place. “This side of the house is fine,” Dot assured him.

  It was only as Will stepped inside that the uncomfortable feeling subsided as quickly as it had arrived.

  “Does your family live here with you?” Will asked out of politeness.

  “I’m the only family here. It’s just me and a couple of hundred sheep.”

  Someone had said that before but he couldn’t remember who.

  “I’ve got a nephew in Melbourne who I wouldn’t recognise if he stepped in front of me, and distant cousins somewhere. But apart from that it’s just me. No husband, no kids, just lots of sheep and more than a day’s work to fit in before sunset.” She flicked on an old electric jug. “I’m assuming you can stay around for a cup of tea. You drink tea, don’t you? I can do coffee but it’s out of a jar. Not a cuppa-cheeno like you’re probably used to.”

  Will smiled. “Tea’s fine.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Nothing like a cup of tea to start a friendship.” She began whistling a tune that Will didn’t recognise. “Your grandmother tells me that you’ve come to stay for a little while, until your mum’s better. She gave me a call from your dad’s house before you left. Got me to run the message to old grumpy bum down the hill.”

  “Just a couple of weeks, I think. I’m not sure.”

  “It’s always a bit difficult when you’re away from home. And your grandfather’s . . . well, he isn’t always the easiest person to get along with.”

  “I guess,” Will said, not wanting to talk about his family. He was afraid Dot might say something to Gran. “He’s just old,” Will added.

  Dot chuckled. “True, but I’m not sure he was a barrel of laughs before he got old. Let’s just say he’s always been a bit of a character.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’d be a terrible old gossip if I started telling stories.” She paused, but only for a second. “Now, where do I begin? Well, you’ve obviously met Nelson. It’s an unusual name for a bitch but Ted Gryce has a dog called Madame Bluebell, so I guess there are stranger names. But every dog he’s ever had has been called Nelson. At one time he had three dogs and guess what he called them all? It’s one thing to be thrifty with names but using the same name three times is just plain stingy.”

  Will laughed.

  “You think I’m joking, but you ask your grandmother. As long as I’ve known your grandfather, which is more than fifty years, he’s done things his own way.”

  Will wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say. “I think he’s, you know, gone a bit demented in the head. And Gran doesn’t seem to notice. She just says he’s old and forgetful.”

  She carried two mugs over and placed them carefully on the table. “Your grandmother is a smart woman. You might be sur
prised how much she notices.”

  “But she doesn’t do anything.”

  “Maybe she’s just doing things her way. We’ve been friends for a long time and there isn’t much she doesn’t tell me. Give her a chance, Will.” She let the words sink in a little. “Have you told her how you feel?”

  “She wouldn’t care. She’s only interested in Rosie.” Will stared down at the table. He knew he sounded like a whiney brat. For a moment Dot said nothing. When Will looked up, she had her arms folded and her eyebrows raised.

  “Now, what was my rule?” She paused. “No moping on this side of the fence.”

  Will nodded reluctantly.

  “So do you take milk?”

  For the next four weeks I stuck with Cain, doing everything he done. He were a patient teacher, explaining things carefully and then making me do whatever it were he’d shown me over and over until I got it right. He pointed out to me the places to draw water where it were safe, the types of trees what made good walls and roofs and furniture, and how to store food to keep it from the possums and ants.

  Cain told me Mr O’Neill had been up to inspect the south run. There were work to be done before the sheep could be moved. They hadn’t used the south run for a time because they’d not had another shepherd. Mr O’Neill were worried about the rains. The storms what followed the hot days hadn’t come and there were talk that the creek might run dry.

  Cain spat into the dust. “The rain, why she is like Fate herself,” Cain told me. “She holds back her favours till a man can’t wait no more and then pours them on him until he can’t get away. Right now she’s as proper as a nun. And you know what we’ve got to do?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. There were times I liked to pretend I weren’t interested just to see how long Cain would last before he gave the answer, whether I asked the question or not.

  “A dam!” He said it like it were the Tower of London. “Do you know what that is?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I’m never sure what you know and what you don’t know,” he continued. “The capacity of the English for ignorance never ceases to astound me.”

  I held my tongue. Cain had played this game before and I knew he were waiting for me to bite.

  “We’ll block the flow and the water will make a pond when it fills up.” He moved his hands like he were doing some dance and then he begun drawing pictures in the dirt.

  I couldn’t picture it the way Cain showed it but I nodded so that he wouldn’t think me stupid.

  Looking back, it were Cain what I really owed everything to. At the time, I didn’t think about it and afterwards when I grew angry and ashamed of him, I forgot all what he done for me in those first weeks, his patience and laughter and kind way of teasing. Mr O’Neill still expected him to do his share of the work, but with me being shown how to do things it must’ve taken him twice as long. He never complained. Not about me. Not about anything. Life were just so and he done the things he had to with a gentleness I’ll not see again.

  “Why do they call you Cain?” I asked one day.

  Cain laughed. “It’s my name.”

  “Like a real name? I thought it were just a nickname.”

  “Saints be praised, you’re not afraid to prattle on. I’m wondering whether your tongue or my ears will fall off first. ’Tis a name right there in the Bible, it is. Of course, I wouldn’t expect a Proddy heathen like you to know that.”

  I looked across to see if Cain were jesting. It didn’t sound like any Bible name. Peter and John, they were Bible names. But I were afraid to show my ignorance, so I stopped short of challenging him.

  “’Twere the priest what give me my name. My mother named my older brother Adam. And then she’d twins, so she goes to the priest and says she wants a good saint’s name for twins. The priest says to call me Cain and my brother Abel. My mother says she don’t know of St Cain and St Abel and the priest laughs and says they were sons of Adam. My mother says that we were sons of Patrick and the priest laughs. But Cain it becomes and each of my brothers were given a name by the priest from then on, including Seth who died, God rest his soul. I think Cain’s a good Bible name. I believe he were a holy man or a king like Solomon.”

  I hesitated, unsure whether I were meant to agree. I’d no idea who Solomon or Cain were, but it didn’t seem to matter. It were only later I found out who in the Bible Cain were and what he done.

  “Do you ever wonder if anyone will remember you when you’re dead?”

  “The Lord remembers the righteous,” Cain said, crossing himself while still walking. I hated it when he done that. It were papist superstition, Amos said.

  “That’s not what I mean. Do you ever wonder if people will remember your name?” I lightly grabbed Cain’s sleeve to get him to slow down. He stopped and turned to me. “I told you I mean to get ahead. I’m going to learn to read and write, Cain. When I can write my name, then it will be my name. It won’t matter what people call me. I’ll write my name and even when I’m gone, the name will still be there as a kind of ’surance that nobody’ll take my name away again.”

  “And who’ll be teaching you to write it? Did you think of that?” He raised his eyebrows. “You’ll get no help from me. Some are called to labour and some to think, but all men must eat. They’re grand plans to be sure, but a poor man can’t eat dreams.”

  “I haven’t worked out how I’m going to learn, but I promise you somehow I will.”

  “You’re a determined little turnip, I’ll give you that much.” Cain scratched his chin again the way he did whenever he seemed to be weighing up something, then he smiled. “I guess there’s no point in talking sense to you when you’re as set on something as you are. I’ll wager that you’ll do it too. Aye, you’re a stubborn turnip. Well, when you learn to read, you can read my Bible story to me. I’m too old to learn, but it will be enough to hear you read my story.”

  The problem of how I were going to learn to read ate away at me like a rat what returns each night to gnaw at a piece of wood. I knew Mr O’Neill could read because I’d seen him mark off lists what he’d written, and I guessed Mr Harrison could read, but they weren’t people I could ask to teach me. I didn’t know if any of the other men could read and I weren’t about to ask around.

  A few days later Cain sent me to the overseer’s cottage to get Mr O’Neill to come and check on a cistern what we’d been digging. I were still very wary of Mr O’Neill with his no-nonsense ways. I walked up to the cottage like a man about to face the magistrate, trying to rehearse how I’d ask him to come down to the river to check on our work. I were just about to knock on the door, when a voice spoke out of the shadows, “He’s not here. He’s gone to the south run and won’t be back until this afternoon.”

  It were Kate, sitting at the far end of the verandah. Although she were only ten yards away, I hadn’t seen her as I approached. She were wearing a dark pinafore and had her hair pulled back in the same way I’d seen on the first evening. I stumbled some sort of an apology, though I weren’t sure what I were apologising for, when I suddenly noticed she were holding a small dark book in her hands.

  “You can read?” I stammered.

  “No,” Kate replied sarcastically, “I was looking at the pictures. Of course I can read.”

  “Is that a Bible?”

  Kate laughed. The sound bubbled. “Why would I be reading a Bible?”

  I could feel my face burning. There must be hundreds of books. I’d only thought of the Bible because of the promise I’d made Cain. Why’d I said something so stupid? I stared down at my dusty boots. Everything in me screamed out to make an excuse and run back down the hill to Cain. Instead I said, “I want to learn to read. Can you teach me to read and write?”

  Kate bubbled with laughter once more. “Why do you want to learn to read?”

  I weren’t about to tell her everything I’d told Cain. I didn’t know if I could trust her with something so precious. Even so, she hadn’t pushed me away, yet. “I do
n’t know,” I mumbled. Then I added, “So I can read the things your father writes.” That were the second stupid thing I’d said. I couldn’t bear to look up and see her laughing at me.

  “If that’s all you want to read, you’d be better off not learning.” She laughed again.

  “I want to understand things what are written down. I want to be able to write down the things I’m thinking.” Then I said what were really burning deeply. “I want to be able to write my name.”

  There, I’d said it. It were out now and she’d laugh and send me back down the hill with her laughter. She’d tell the others and her father and Jack would know what I wanted and there’d be no end to the sniggering. But instead there were silence. I finally looked up.

  “Alright,” she said and shrugged her shoulders as though I’d only asked to borrow a shovel. Then tipped her head down and continued her reading.

  There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask. When would she teach me? How long would it take? Would she tell her father what I’d asked? I were afraid that if I asked, she’d understand the impossibility of what she’d agreed to and take it back. Amos would say, hope is a fragile creature, what has to be nursed not pulled at. A few minutes before the chance of learning to read were impossible, now there were a small taper of light.

  I walked with a sense of hope back to Cain, quite forgetting I’d been sent to find Mr O’Neill. When Cain questioned me I couldn’t quite remember what Kate had told me. If Cain suspected anything, he kept it to himself. It were the only time the Irishman didn’t have an opinion on something.

  Mr O’Neill’s trip to the south run meant Cain had told him I were ready to take care of the sheep soon. I tried to take every chance to run errands to the cottage or wherever I thought Kate might be, in the hope she’d tell me when we’d start the lessons. Kate were friendly towards me but never spoke of the reading. It were as if the promise had never been made. I came upon her one morning while she were milking one of the goats what were kept close to the homestead. As I entered the shed where the milking were done, Kate turned one of the teats and squirted milk across my chest.