Cold Skin
Page 10
and a concrete path leads to the steps
and the brightly painted doors.
I live in a crumbling shack
me and the boys built,
with three rooms for four people.
I light another cigarette
and stand outside his house.
In the army,
fights were as common as parade drills,
only much more satisfying.
My fists haven’t had a good work-out in years.
Mr Butcher
I board the train
in the early evening
and it’s empty, as usual.
We slowly pass farms with run-down fences
and wind-beaten houses.
There’s nothing worth staying for in this town.
They can all go to hell.
I’ll get another job
in a place far away,
where I’m appreciated for my teaching.
I’ll forget what happened here.
Tonight, alone on the platform
as the train pulled in,
I heard a voice shouting at me.
Angry, strangled,
threatening across the fields.
My legs almost buckled as I opened the door
and stepped into this lonely carriage.
Burruga is cursed, haunted.
I take out pencil and paper
and start drafting a letter of resignation.
It’s brief and to the point.
First thing Monday morning.
I don’t care if it looks suspicious.
No one can stop me leaving.
I pat the wallet in my breast pocket
and hope I have enough money
for tonight and tomorrow.
I need comfort, release,
a distraction,
to help me forget.
Mr Carter
It was late at night
when I heard the footsteps
outside my bedroom window.
Albert Holding stood
looking up at the houses.
He was there for a long time
staring at the Holmes house,
or the Paley place.
I couldn’t tell which.
He wasn’t trying to hide.
He was very still, watching,
almost wanting to be seen.
This morning
I think of telling Mr Holmes,
or Mayor Paley,
about their visitor,
until I realise that Eddie and Sally
are friends, good friends.
Perhaps that’s it?
But why would Albert
not want Eddie and Sally . . .
it doesn’t make sense.
I walk slowly into town
going over it in my mind.
Albert’s not the type
to worry about his boys with a girl.
They can look after themselves.
And then it hits me.
Good Lord.
Mayor Paley
That bloody Holding has a nerve,
hanging about my house last night.
I have a right to call Grainger
when I get into the office this morning,
have him warn Holding about loitering
like a common thief.
Wilma hands me my lunch
and kisses me on the cheek.
Well, let Holding come back tonight,
and every night,
for all I care.
He doesn’t worry me.
I’ll do what I did last night:
close the curtain,
pour myself a strong scotch
with no ice,
and drink it in one gulp.
It calms me down.
Eddie
Sally and I start the long climb
up to Jaspers Hill.
I lead her along the narrow track,
overgrown with the banksia and honeysuckle.
We step over rabbit holes
and wallaby droppings.
A chicken hawk fluttering like a kite
casts a perfect shadow across the path.
All our effort is on reaching the top
where the sun heats the granite rocks.
When we finally make it
we’re both sweating.
I lean back against the smooth boulders
and Sally looks over the town.
‘It seems so small from up here.’
She sits beside me
and her hair falls in front of her face.
She leans forward
and wraps the thick locks in her hands,
folding them into a shiny knot.
A long vein throbs in the milk skin of her neck.
She says,
‘It’s good to be away from everyone.
I can’t believe some of the rumours.’
Then she looks embarrassed.
‘About Colleen. Not us.’
Sally asks,
‘Do you think they’ll find who did it?’
I reach for her hand
and pull her gently towards me.
The only answer I can find is to kiss her
and try to forget what I saw last night.
She leans across me and smiles,
‘We’re all alone . . .’
Mr Carter
Mrs Kain comes in early
with a classified she wants me to run.
For a while
I’m distracted from my suspicions.
Who do I tell?
Pete Grainger?
Or should I talk to Albert first?
Get some idea why he was standing there.
Or Paley?
Could it be?
The sleep of a honest man is sweet,
the torture of the guilty endless.
I raise the blinds in the office
and watch the ladies going into the Emporium.
Our mayor.
When I was young
my mother always said,
‘The more money, the more lies.’
It’s why I became a newspaperman.
The truth.
And now, do I know the truth?
I place my cup on the sink,
reach for my jacket and my hat.
When I close the door behind me,
I turn to lock it, then decide not to.
It’s time to start trusting my town again.
I walk down the street to the police station.
Eddie
After I take Sally home,
I wander to Taylors Bend,
where Colleen died.
No one comes here any more.
But I have to.
It’s just a river
where we dived and swam.
The evil is not here.
I hear a shuffling of feet
on the track behind me.
It’s Barney Haggerty.
He stops and looks at me,
trying to remember my name.
‘I’m Eddie, Mr Haggerty.’
He takes a swig of metho
and sways slightly.
He says,
‘I just saw your dad.
Walking by the train tracks.’
My dad should be at work.
Maybe Mr Haggerty’s had a few too many.
‘Carrying a bloody big rope, he was.’
He shakes the bottle,
checking there’s some left
before taking another mouthful.
‘I asked for a few bob.
You know, to tide me over.’
He grins at me and winks.
‘He’s a good bloke.’
Mr Haggerty turns around
like a unsteady sailor,
arms reaching to grab some imaginary rail,
and walks up the track back into the hills.
Eddie
For a few minutes I can’t move,
going over in my bra
in,
trying to imagine what Mr Haggerty saw.
I head for home, slowly,
wondering why Dad would need a thick rope.
Maybe Laycock has a cow caught in a bog
and Dad’s got a rope from the mine to help?
I follow the river for a while.
In the shallows,
a trout twists against the flow,
waiting for an insect to break the surface.
Maybe Dad could use some help?
If it’s one of Laycock’s bulls,
they’ll need as many hands as possible.
I spin and run back down the track,
even though I’m probably on a wild-goose chase
looking for Haggerty’s ghost.
Round the bend I see Dad,
in the distance,
with his hands on his hips,
looking across the river
to the railway bridge.
I can see the shape
of a man on the bridge.
A big man.
Albert Holding
I couldn’t wait any longer.
George Weaver told me yesterday
he’d visited Frank and Betty.
He said Betty refuses to leave the house
and wastes all day sitting in the kitchen
shelling peas, peeling spuds
and cooking meals neither of them want to eat.
Frank spends most of the daylight in the shed,
standing at the bench,
rearranging his tool shelves
and trying to keep himself busy.
George shook his head and said,
‘All those years the Japs couldn’t kill him.
And now this.’
Bugger the consequences!
This morning I marched into Fatty’s shop,
along the rows of brand new overalls
and kettles and boilers and saucepans
and more boots and shoes
than I’ll ever be able to afford.
One of the workers
tried to stop me going up the stairs to his office,
but I pushed him aside.
‘I have an appointment,’ I said.
Yeah, one that Fatty doesn’t know about yet.
He jumped to his feet when I came in.
‘What is this, Holding?’
His turkey chin kept shaking after he spoke.
‘You did it, Fatty.’
He tried to bluff his way through the moment,
accusing me of being rude,
looking nervously around for someone to help.
‘What are they going to do, Fatty?
Make me leave?
You’ve had long enough.
Now I’ll go straight to Grainger
and he can sort it.’
His eyes clouded over
and his fat wobbly legs started shaking.
He could see I meant what I said.
‘You’ve got until one o’clock.
That’s longer than you deserve.’
Looking at him made me sick.
I spat on his desk,
on the papers and the folders
he’s spent his life hiding behind.
‘This afternoon.
At the bridge over the river, Fatty.
You know where that is, don’t you?
Meet me there, or go to Grainger
and see if you can bullshit your way past him.
It’s your choice.
You’d be smarter choosing the copper, Fatty.’
Then I walked out of his neat little office
straight to the hardware counter
and bought some rope.
For once I didn’t mind spending money
in Fatty’s shop.
I kept moving all morning
trying to decide what I’d do if he showed.
Would I have enough guts to end it?
Mayor Paley
The temerity of the man.
Accusing me!
I . . . I . . . I shouldn’t have to face
such vile slandering.
The insolent way he called me
‘Fatty’ was beyond the pale.
I told him,
‘My name’s Kenneth.
Or Mr Paley to you.’
I tried to explain . . .
He was wrong.
Why would I . . .
My hands were shaking
and I could barely control my legs.
He threatened me.
I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m . . . the Mayor.
No one gives me orders.
When he left my office,
I slumped back in my chair
gripping the desk.
What can I do?
What can I do?
Eddie
Mr Paley is on the bridge,
pleading.
The thick rope is around his neck,
circles his hands,
goes down to the tracks
and under the wooden sleeper.
My dad stares across at the bridge
and reaches into his pocket,
taking out his smokes.
He casually begins rolling a fag
as if he’s got all day.
Mr Paley shouts something
I can’t hear over the swirling water.
Then he drops to his knees.
Is he crying?
Or praying?
Why isn’t Dad going to help?
He’s just cupping his hands
as he lights his smoke
in the shade of a tree
beside the river.
Albert Holding
He’s not going to jump until he has to.
I know Fatty.
There were blokes like him in the army,
working in stores,
loading ships,
doing anything to avoid fighting.
All of us cowards
got the cushy home jobs
while men like Frank went off
and faced their own tortures,
for mongrels like Fatty and me.
You could pick us out
when we returned home.
We talked louder
and exaggerated our piddling little army jobs,
or trotted out excuses about physical defects
and doctor’s orders stopping us from fighting.
All bullshit.
Cowards and bullshit.
They’re best mates.
I know Fatty
because
I know myself.
There he is,
whimpering,
blubbering.
I think of that poor girl
and what he must have done.
My hands are steady,
solid as a rock
when I light the cigarette.
The rope flexes.
Cheetham’s knot works.
Fatty can’t escape.
The more he struggles
the tighter it gets.
‘It’s your choice, Fatty.’
I hope for his sake he jumps
and tests the strength of the rope.
Maybe it won’t hold
and he’ll fall into the river below.
Then we’ll let Frank take care of him.
But for Colleen’s sake,
I hope he stands there and faces the train
and gets wiped out.
Disappears.
I flick the cigarette
and watch it get sucked under the whirlpool.
Not long now.
Mayor Paley
I tried to tell him it was a misunderstanding.
The young girl was laughing.
I thought she was interested.
I was drunk!
For God’s sake!
When I tried to kiss her
she backed away into the bushes.
I followed.
Maybe I grabbed at her skirt and pulled
.
Holding punched me!
While I was dazed he tied my hands
and shackled me to this.
‘Let me go!
I’m the Mayor, you know.
What if a train comes?’
What happened with the girl was an accident!
She tried to run past me
and I grabbed her again.
I didn’t know what I was doing.
She screamed.
I thought she’d wake the neighbourhood.
The look of disgust on her face!
Didn’t she know who I was?
Once!
Only once I slapped her.
She stumbled and fell.
Her head hit a rock.
A horrid sound.
If only she hadn’t struggled.
I wasn’t going to hurt her.
When I saw the blood . . .
There was nothing more I could do.
An accident.
‘This is an outrage.
Untie these ropes!
Now!’
Eddie
Suddenly, I hear the train whistle
in the distance.
Mr Paley screams.
He’s shaking the rope
side to side.
Frantic.
He’s running on the spot,
trying to free himself from the noose.
Dad points up the tracks
and shouts across to Mr Paley,
‘It’s your choice, Fatty.’
The whistle answers
and I know the coal train
will soon be bearing down on Mr Paley.
I plunge into the water.
It’s so cold,
my breath catches in my throat.
Maybe I can get there
and loosen the rope
before the train.
Dad shouts something
as I struggle to the bank
and start climbing.
‘I’m coming, Mr Paley.’
I grab tufts of weeds to pull myself up,
my feet digging into the soft soil,
scrambling with every ounce of effort.
Mr Paley is shouting,
‘Hurry up, boy. Help!
For heaven’s sake!’
I reach the track
and see the coal train rounding the bend.
Dad screams from the bank,
‘Jump, you coward.
Jump!’
Eddie