by Cameron Nunn
When Cain came to deliver more provisions I had to ask him again about the savages. I weren’t going to let him know about shutting Nelson outside because I were whey-faced.
“You’re not to be worrying about the blacks.”
“No,” I said a little too defensively. “I were just wondering if you’d come across any around here.” I think I had in my mind something like the brown snakes. You’d be clearing land and all of a sudden a group of them would run out with spears and clubs in hand.
“I ought to be heading back, but since you asked, I guess there’s no harm in spending a couple minutes in telling you a few truths.” Cain were the kind of man what liked the tune of his own whistle, as Amos used to say. He could talk the leg off a donkey when he’d the mind to give his opinion. “I’ll tell you about the savages, seeing as you want to know. The black knows naught about farming and he can’t be taught neither. If you give a black a hoe, he won’t know which end from which. He just wanders as a heathen on God’s earth spearing kangaroos and such, and getting up to all sorts of wickedness. He don’t know about hard work. He don’t want to know about it.” He tapped the bowl of his empty pipe against my chest for added effect. “That is, until he sees someone doing work clearing and farming and then he wants that piece of land. He could have any land he wants but he only wants to take what a white man has worked to achieve.
“You see, they’re not like you and me. They’re more like,” his eyes roamed looking for a comparison. “They’re more like the beasts of this land. There are do-gooders what think they can be civilised, that they can be trained and taught Christian ways. But you can’t change the heart of a savage. It’s like the wild dogs. There are them what’ve tried to raise them as pups, but a wild dog’s still a wild dog and a savage is a savage whether you dress him in men’s clothing or not. I seen too much killing to know otherwise.”
“Killing here?”
Cain spat on the ground as though he’d tasted something unpleasant. “On the Hawkesbury. On the Nepean. When I first come to the colony. I’ve known those what tried to befriend the savages, have woken up with their houses burning around their ears and the sounds of their women and children being clubbed to death. In the end it weren’t the Christianising do-gooders what brought about peace. It took muskets and courage to put a stop to the murdering. That’s all the blacks understand.”
“Were there black people here when you first arrived?”
“Aye, but when they seen we meant to stay and we were going to bring God’s order to the land, then they disappeared back into the bush again. We’d see their camp fires every now and then but they’d not dare to show their black faces around here.” He stopped for a moment and wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “I’ve not seen the likes of them here for years now.”
“You think they’ve gone for good?”
“Aye, I think they have.” He ruffled my hair. “It does you no good to worry about the savages. Not leastwise while there’s so much work to be done.”
Cain’s words brought me some comfort. But at night I still thought I could see their eyes at times, burning like the coals of hell through the brush, or hear their claws scratching at the outside of the hut, their hot breath heaving through the cracks. I’d wake up and look around in the darkness for Nelson, before falling back to an uneasy sleep.
There were signs the savages had been around. But day is as night to a blind man, as Amos would say, and I hadn’t noticed it. Eventually I seen traces here and there. A little further up the creek in an area where it bent heavy to the right, there were a natural clearing. A group of ewes had wandered off along the creek edge, and when I found them they were happily eating away in the small opening. I noticed one of the trees had had bark removed, about the length of a man’s arm and in the shape of a huge egg. Someone had carved a maze of lines in a regular pattern, like giant overlapping letters. I found four more trees where bark had been cut off but the strange shapes had been hacked at by someone determined to remove all traces from the tree.
Pa’s nightmares continued, and Will noticed what no one else would say. Pa was fading. He’d wander around mumbling, as though he’d mislaid something. Some days he seemed to be able to shake the memories loose and then he’d be himself again, grumpy and impatient. Pa’s mind was a series of rooms, joined by a long corridor. On some days the right doors would be opened and he’d move in and out of thoughts without even being aware of the other doors. But increasingly, he’d find himself fumbling in one of the rooms where the doors were meant to be shut. He’d stumble around groping for the door that would lead him back into the corridor of the present.
“Pa’s really sick,” Rosie spoke softly to Will at breakfast when Gran had left the room. “When I came home from school, she was talking to Dot in the kitchen. She said he needs to see a doctor but he won’t go. I think Gran might’ve even been crying.”
Will tried to sound reassuring. “She’d tell us if she was worried.” But even Rosie didn’t seem convinced by the explanation. Gran came back in and the conversation quickly ended.
Gran was the glue that held everything together. “I’m not worried,” she said one day when Will tried to broach his concern. “Your grandfather’s just a bit more forgetful than usual. Dot tells me that there’s some nasty bugs going around at the moment. In a few days he’ll be right as rain.”
But the rain never came. Will noticed her explanations getting longer. Dot told him to just let her be. “She has her own ways of dealing with these things. Don’t underestimate how tough she can be.”
Dot was right; Gran was strong in her own way. She could drive the truck and she understood the farm, even when she pretended that she didn’t. But she couldn’t mend fences or dig out fireweed all day. She wouldn’t be able to hold the ewes for drenching or crutching, let alone the ram.
The blisters on Will’s hands had long ago turned into hard calluses. But he was still learning about the farm. In the midst of Pa’s mind disappearing was the overwhelming anxiety that if Will didn’t learn soon, then everything would be lost. Everything.
Dot organised for a contractor in Canowindra to have the sheep shorn and Pa called her an interfering cow who should mind her own business. Dot told him to put it in his pipe and smoke it, and Pa stormed off, disappearing for most of the afternoon. Will wanted to go and look for him, but Gran clucked that some men just need space to sort out their silliness. The next day he’d forgotten about who’d organised the shearing contract and seemed back to his grumpy self again.
Three days after the contractors left, Pa wound himself into a particularly bad mood. At breakfast Will sensed it was going to be one of those days. Pa was complaining that he couldn’t find a bloody thing in the house but didn’t seem to know what he was looking for. When Will caught the bus that morning, he was glad to be away from the farm. Callum greeted him like he did every day on the oval with a grin that said the only thing that mattered in the world was footy. “Hey, want to come over to my place tomorrow and play on the Xbox.”
“Can’t. I’ve got to help my pa.”
“He can’t need you all the time. And anyway, you said he’s got the shits with you or something.” He passed the football with the conversation as they walked.
“We get on pretty well most of the time.” He wasn’t about to explain their connection to Callum.
Callum shrugged.
Will thought for a moment about what Pa had been like that morning. “I’ll ask Gran if she can pick me up.”
“We can drive you home. Dad already said it’s cool.”
Will shuddered at the thought of Callum meeting his grandfather. “I don’t want to cause any hassle.”
Callum lived on the edge of Canowindra. His dad owned the mechanics workshop and their home was directly behind. Most of the houses in town were old weatherboards but Callum’s was a large new brick house. “Pays to be the only good mechanic in town,” Callum remarked.
Everything in Callum’s hous
e was neat. Will thought back to the wreck that was his grandparents’ house, with its piles of broken rubbish. He’d grown used to the way they lived but he suddenly felt deeply self-conscious, that he was standing in a home that belonged in a magazine.
“What’s your farm like?” Callum asked, as they were playing Xbox.
Will shrugged. “It’s just a farm I guess. My grandparents are old, so only part of it’s under pasture. They’ve let the rest go back to scrub.” He didn’t like talking about the farm to anyone at school in case they asked too many questions.
“It must be strange coming from the city and getting stuck that far out.”
Will tried to concentrate on the screen. “I guess everything becomes normal after a while.” There was nothing normal about his grandparents’ house.
“Do you have Netflix?”
A zombie ripped Will’s head off. “Don’t think my gran and Pa have even heard of it.”
“You should get them onto it.”
Will thought of telling him that they actually didn’t have the phone connected. That there was no phone signal or wi-fi. They probably didn’t even know what a computer was, let alone the internet. He didn’t even have electricity in his room. How do you tell your friend that the slums of Mumbai were more likely to have Netflix than him? “Yeah, I should,” he said.
“Hey,” Callum said. “Concentrate. I’ve got a shitload of zombies on my arse and you’ve pissed off somewhere. Either give me the flamethrower or start torching the mothers.”
The screen went blood-red and Callum tossed the controller onto the desk in disgust.
“Sorry,” said Will. “I couldn’t work out where you were.” He held out the controller to Callum as though it was a peace offering.
“You want to try again?” Callum asked although his heart didn’t seem in the question.
“Do you mind if we get our homework done? The internet’s dodgy at my place.”
“You on satellite?”
“Yeah.” Will tried to sound convincing.
“That sucks. I was wondering why you always try and get stuff done at school.”
“You know, bloody Telstra.” Will tried to sound as natural as possible.
“Yeah. Bloody Telstra.”
It was nearly dark when Callum’s mum interrupted their studying. “Will, your grandmother just called us from your neighbour’s place. She’s having a bit of bother with the car and wondered whether we could drive you home.”
Will stood up quickly. “No! I mean, I’ll catch a bus.”
“Don’t be silly. Even if there’s still a bus to Eugowra at this time, it’d take hours to walk back to Murga. It’s no problem. Callum’s dad can have a look at your gran’s car and see if it needs to be towed.”
Will was caught. He didn’t want Callum to see where he lived. Most of all he didn’t want him to see his pa. “Okay, but please don’t worry about Gran’s car. She wouldn’t want to cause any trouble.”
“Honestly, Callum’s dad’ll be offended if you don’t let him.”
Shit! Will thought.
As they drove Will tried to think of ways he could convince them to drop him at the top of their dirt access road. Callum’s dad kept asking questions about the car. What make was it? How old was it? Had his gran had trouble before? He’d grabbed a bunch of tools from his workshop and thrown them in the back of the dual cab.
Eyes in the night gleamed, lit up by the headlights as they drove. Callum was chatty but Will was struggling to come up with responses. His mind was treading water on the same point. Eventually they reached the access road. Will made one last attempt. “The road’s in bad condition. I don’t want you to damage the ute.”
Callum’s dad laughed as they turned down the road. “It’d take more than a dirt road to damage the ute.”
Gran’s car was parked out the front, its bonnet still up. Callum’s dad manoeuvred the car so that the headlights lit up the engine bay of the stricken vehicle. All around, shadows of broken junk created a forest of scrap metal and furniture and parts of farm machinery that the house had vomited out. Callum said nothing but Will knew what he must be thinking.
They’d just got out of the ute when the front door flung open and Pa appeared. He was wearing nothing but a singlet and his underwear, the light from the hallway lighting him from behind. “Get the hell off this farm. I know why you’re here. If you don’t turn that car round now I’ll shoot the lot of you bastards.” He raised a long black weapon.
“Shit. He’s got a gun.” Callum’s dad grabbed the boys and dragged them behind the car.
He pulled them down but Will caught a glimpse of what he was holding “It’s not a gun,” Will felt sick as he spoke. “It’s the broom that Gran keeps by the front door.”
“It looks like a gun,” Callum said. His eyes were wide. Callum’s dad poked his head briefly over the bonnet of the ute.
“He does this kind of stuff. I’m so sorry.” Will couldn’t bring himself to look at Callum. He just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
Just then Gran appeared at the door. Her voice was loud and commanding. “Get inside now. Stop being so ridiculous. It’s Will and you’ve probably embarrassed him, standing there in your underwear.”
If Will’s grandfather said anything, Will couldn’t hear it. All he could think about was what Callum and his dad were thinking. He stood up slowly.
“I’m so sorry about that, Mr Davidson,” Gran called out. “My husband gets a bit confused sometimes and does silly things.” She trotted down the stairs as though nothing had happened.
Callum’s dad moved out from behind the car. “We just brought Will home. Your husband startled us,” he said haltingly, glancing up to the lighted hallway of the house.
“I’m sorry about that. Will, you run along inside.”
Will knew instinctively that Callum’s dad wanted him to look at him and make sure everything was alright. Nothing was alright. Nothing. He couldn’t bear to look at either of them. He stood fixed to the ground. Pa had disappeared inside.
“Are you okay, Mrs Richards? Your husband sounded very angry.”
“Bill? Don’t you worry about him. I’ve got his measure. He’ll be inside sulking and have forgotten everything by tomorrow.”
Mr Davidson didn’t look convinced. “But are you alright?”
“Me? Of course I’m alright but it was nice of you to ask. We’re perfectly fine.” She put on that voice that sounded like a margarine commercial.
There was an awkward silence. “Would you like me to have a look at your car? My wife said that you couldn’t start it.”
“That’s very kind of you Mr Davidson but I’ve already phoned a mechanic in Eugowra and he’s coming out tomorrow. I’d hate to put anyone out by messing those plans. Thank you so much for the offer.” If Gran could have pushed them in the car and shut the door she would’ve tried.
Mr Davidson was a big man and the thought of Gran forcing him into his car would’ve been funny at any other time. Now, Will just wanted them to go.
Callum and his dad got back in the ute. Will couldn’t stand it any longer and walked up the steps. Inside, Pa was sitting slumped in his chair in the lounge room. Will had walked back out when Pa called softly, “Will. Will, I’m sorry.”
He stopped. The words hung in the air like the smell of hopeful rain. Will turned back and walked into the lounge room where Pa was sitting. He wanted to hate him, to tell him that he’d ruined his life. Surrounded by so much rubbish and mess, Pa had shrunk into the chair like a small child.
“They were your friends, weren’t they? I embarrassed you, didn’t I?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Will lied. It’d be around the school by morning. Will’s mad grandfather had run out in his underwear and tried to shoot Callum and his dad with a broom.
“I thought they were someone else. I thought they were taking you away.” His voice had crumpled in on itself.
“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”
&n
bsp; “Will,” he said. “The broom wasn’t loaded. I checked.”
Perhaps it was Will’s imagination, but for just a second Will was sure he saw a grin twist across his pa’s lips, and then it was gone.
Will would have done anything to stay home from school. Everyone would be pissing themselves laughing.
As he entered the main quad, he felt that there were hundreds of eyes watching him, laughing. Will planned to crawl into the library and try and hide out the storm of laughter. How long would it take for everyone to know? How long until everyone forgot?
He was halfway up the stairs when he heard his name. He knew it was Callum. Ignore it, he told himself. Don’t let him think you care.
“Will!”
“Piss off!” Will turned accusingly.
“I wanted to see if you’re okay. Why’ve you got the shits with me?”
“Have you told everyone yet?”
“Hang on, mate. I just asked because Dad was worried about you.” He paused. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Will snarled. He wanted to escape but instead he just stood there. He wanted to tell Callum that nothing was right. Instead he said, “Just piss off, will you. Go tell everyone about my pathetic pa and our pathetic house and how shit my life is.”
“Dad wants me to tell the school counsellor about last night. He’s worried and . . .”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Are you going to?”
“Shit. I don’t know. I guess it depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you tell me that things are okay?”
“And what if they’re not? Then what?”
“I don’t know. I guess your mum and dad will have to come and take you back to Sydney.”
“You don’t get it do you? My dad’s an arsehole. Do you think he’d have left us there if he wanted us? He’s the reason my mum killed herself.”
“Shit. I didn’t know. You said your mum had cancer.”
“Yeah, well now you know. She couldn’t stand Rosie and me any more than my dad could. Now you can go and tell everyone about that as well. My pa may be screwed in the head sometimes but he’s all I’ve got and I’m all he’s got. I guess that means we’re both screwed.”