by Tony Black
The whistle shook Joey out of his memory and he saw Macca come out, smiling and waving for the men from the transport section to follow. “G’day, Bluey,” he shouted.
Joey flicked the hose in a salute and Macca tapped twice on the packet of cigarettes in his shirt pocket to show it was time for smoko. “Come on, Bluey,” shouted Macca. “What’s the story today, mate?”
Joey knew he had become a bit of a legend for his stories. The men who took the ore out and the men who moved it about never tired of hearing his stories. Joey thought the stories were nothing special, just the way people talked all the time in Ireland. He knew nobody back there would think they were anything special.
When the men had their afternoon smoko they were forever saying what a rare treat it was to see Bluey Driscol jumping down from the rig, a grin on his face, saying the words, “Fellas, ye’ll never believe this one …” He felt more at home with Macca and the men from the transport section than anywhere else in the world, and when they looked at him for a story at afternoon smoko he always felt it was his duty to think of something.
“So there I was, five minutes off the boat from Ireland,” he said, “and I swear to you fellas, I’d never had the shits like it before.”
There was laughter and back slapping. Some men sat back to savour Joey’s story like it was a fine wine he was serving them, and others sat forward with big expectant grins on their faces, waiting for the next line to follow.
“So, I’m running and taking off my belt at the same time, and my dukes are dropping,” he said.
“Your what?” said Pando the Greek, scrunching up his eyes.
“My dukes, trousers … pants, man. Anyway, I find the dunny in the terminal and I dive in there – I swear before the Holy Mother I was about to explode, so I was – and I plank myself down on the lavatory.”
“And?” said the men together.
“And nothing … well, not quite nothing. No sooner had my arse touched the rim of the porcelain but this bright green, slithering mass of thorns and teeth and horns and a forkey little tongue runs right under the door … and then the bugger spits at me.”
“Ha-ha-ha,” broke the men.
“What a welcome, mate,” said Macca.
“I swear, I thought it was some mickey biting bog lizard and it was gonna have my old fella away in those teeth of his. I froze. I swear, I bloody froze, and do you know what the little bleeder did? From nowhere it opens up this bright red umbrella thing around its neck and starts the spitting again and snarling too. By God, I thought I was a goner.”
Pando the Greek had tears in his eyes with the laughing and Macca and the other men were grabbing each other for support. It was a good story, the Lizard Story, thought Joey. Didn’t it always get a laugh? Sure, they liked a laugh, the fellas, and wasn’t there no harm in that. It would be a long day, the working day, without a bit of a laugh and a joke. Wasn’t laughter the greatest medicine on earth?
Joey laughed with the men but he knew his heart wasn’t in it. Truth be told, he hadn’t felt like laughing for a long time. Wouldn’t you know it, bloody Shauna’s tricks were creeping up on him. He thought the sun would do her the power of good, and it did sure, for a while there. For ten years they had been in Australia, but a fresh start cannot last forever, that was the fact of it. You could leave the old troubles behind and start again but sooner or later they’d catch up and scare the b’Jaysus out of you.
“Bluey, you’re not yourself, mate,” said Macca.
Joey Driscol hated hearing the obvious. Of course he wasn’t himself, who would be? If he wasn’t himself it was because he didn’t particularly want to be himself right now.
“Is it the television you’re in training for, Macca?” he said.
“What?”
“The television … some game show or other. It’s mental gymnastics you’re at, giving the old brain a workout, no?”
Macca closed his mouth and gave a little shake of his head, and Joey felt a sudden pang of guilt. It wasn’t Macca’s fault. It wasn’t his fault either, he knew that well enough, but it was the way of things, so it was. People bark when they feel like dogs.
“Macca, mate … I’m sorry,” he said. “I have my fair share of problems at the minute.”
“Mate, we’ve all got them,” said Macca. He was staring to the front. Joey felt he didn’t even want to look at him.
“Macca, I know it, but sure mine are bad, real bad. Look, can you spare an hour for a few beers tonight?”
“Bluey, you’re supposed to be keeping off the grog.”
Joey knew he had sworn himself off the grog again. Couldn’t he spend weeks off it, months even. It wasn’t a problem, wasn’t it only a little vice he had. He leaned into Macca’s shoulder and directed his words carefully. “It’s my wife.”
Macca looked Joey squarely in the eye and Joey at once knew there was an understanding passed between them. He didn’t like talking to Macca about his problems – they should stay his own, surely – but if Macca took a drink with him tonight then maybe he could forget about the problems for a little while. It was getting all messy again, he thought. Shauna had been the grandest catch of them all, with the face in a million, the black hair and half of Kilmora chasing after her. She was a beauty; they all said it. But weren’t her lot known for the wildness, far and wide, as well. None of it mattered now though. Ireland was past, Marti was the future and Joey knew he had better start pulling himself together, for the sake of the boy. He checked himself suddenly. There was pity in him and that would never do.
“Fellas, ye’ll never believe this one …” he said, and there were eyes dried around the table.
“You know the first day I got the trailer was the first day I ever sat behind the wheel of any vehicle.”
“Nah, it is not possible,” said Pando the Greek.
“I swear to you, I had never so much as honked a horn in my life. I had my driving test in the morning and my interview at the top office in the afternoon, and if I hadn’t passed my test, I wouldn’t be standing here beside this trailer today. Sure wasn’t it a stroke of luck entirely. You see, the fella doing the test was from County Kerry and recognised my brogue. He came over with a wife and five chisellers and landed the job the day he got off the boat. Isn’t this a marvellous country?”
“Oh yeah, it’s the best country in the world, mate,” said Macca. “We know.”
“I won’t fault you there. I won’t. I won’t.” Joey leaned forward and the men followed. “Sure the Kerry man told me the test consisted of five questions on general road safety and if I got the majority of them right I could drive a car that day with a new licence in my back pocket. Now, I tell you not a word of a lie here, I got three of them wrong … but didn’t he pass me anyway!”
The men laughed at Joey’s story, and Macca said, “You Irish, bloody mongrels.”
Joey laughed too. “Sure, we are, we are, but I think the Kerry men are the worst. But now, maybe I’m lying there because couldn’t I still never drive a car in my life, and when I got the job with the trailer that afternoon I had to ask the Kerry man to drive it home for me. I didn’t know another soul in the whole country. He did as well, and do you know what he told me?”
“I wouldn’t like to guess, mate,” said Macca, his face was the colour red with all the laughing he’d done.
“He said, ‘Set out in the early hours when there’s no traffic about, to get a bit of practice.’ So I did. For the first couple of weeks I drove into work at five in the morning and arrived for the job two hours early. Christ, they must’ve thought I was keen, or retarded, I don’t know which.”
Macca laughed so hard his face was wet with tears and sweat and he had to take off his hat and scratch his head. The whistle blew again for the end of the afternoon smoko and Joey found himself with a wide smile sitting on his face as he watched the men from the transport section head back to work. They were a grand bunch of fellas to have around, he thought. They were mostly gone when Macca pu
t on his hat and turned to Joey. “Bluey Driscol, you are a bloody rogue, but a man after my own heart,” he said. “You have no need to be going on the grog when you can laugh like that.”
“Don’t I know it,” said Joey, his smile fading.
His work was done for the day and he went back to the trailer and parked it in the shade of the depot to save the paintwork and keep the fuel tank out of the sun, then he punched his time card and headed for home.
The house looked deserted when he approached it from the road. The curtains were drawn and the front door and the mozzie screen were both closed tight. He looked up and down the street. All the other houses had windows open and doors jammed with gumboots and shovels and crates to let the rare and blessed breeze pass through whenever it could. Joey put his key in the door and turned the handle, but there was no sound.
“Marti, are ye here, son?” he called out.
There was no answer and then Shauna showed herself in the hallway. “Oh, you’re home,” she said.
“I am. Where’s the boy?”
“I don’t … I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know? It’s gone five o’clock.” Joey slammed down his keys and felt his teeth clench tightly. “He should have been home hours ago.”
“Well, I heard him come in. I told him to feed himself. He must be playing.”
“Jaysus, Shauna, you should be feeding him. You’re his mother.” Joey shook his head. He could barely bring himself to look at his wife, standing there in her nightclothes. “Has this been you for the day, ye haven’t even dressed?”
“Oh feck off, will ye?”
“The boy needs looking after. He needs his mother.”
“He can mind himself.”
“Isn’t he only eight years old … Christ Almighty, will ye ever take a look at yeerself, woman.” He grabbed Shauna by the arm and forced her to stare into the mirror hanging in the hallway. “Look … look, would ye?”
“I won’t, I won’t look,” she said and struggled to free her arm from Joey’s grip.
“Look, look at what you’re doing to yourself.”
“No. I won’t. Leave me. Leave me.”
Joey watched Shauna in the mirror, her face contorted, and then he threw her arm aside. “Gladly,” he said and snatched up his keys, showing her his back as he walked for the door he had just come through.
2
When Mam and Dad had a fight Marti always missed what the fight was about. It was like someone had said, “Ready, steady, go,” and they did. He knew he could listen forever, but there would be no clue to explain the fight. It was just what Mam and Dad did. Sometimes after a fight one of them walked off and slammed a door. If it was Dad who slammed the door, Mam would curl up on the sofa, start the bubbling with the tears and call for Marti to come and give her a hug. But if it was Mam to slam the door, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and smoke the cigarettes called Majors until she came home and say, “So, is that your tail between your legs now?”
This time it was Dad who slammed the door. Marti had come home to find Mam curled up on the sofa crying. He tried not to make a noise and creep past but Mam heard him and said, “Come here, come and give Mam a hug.”
He didn’t want to give Mam a hug. He felt too big to be giving her hugs all the time. He didn’t want to feel too big to have Dad show him the trick with the green flower thing dancing but he wanted to be too big to give Mam a hug. Some boys at school were always getting hugs from their mam at the gate and they were called Mummy’s Boys by the others, and he didn’t want to be one of the Mummy’s Boys.
“Marti, will you come over to me,” said Mam. She was all puffy in the face and had black stuff round her eyes. There was some snot too, some snot and a lot of wet tears on her big red puffy cheeks. She would probably give him a kiss with the hug and he might have to get some snot on him then, which wouldn’t be nice, he thought.
“Marti,” said Mam.
“I’m coming,” he said, and when he walked over and put his arms around her she grabbed him and started the hard bubbling with the tears. Marti wondered why he had bothered, but he thought she would have started the even harder bubbling if he hadn’t given her the hug. Mam hugged Marti so tight that he couldn’t move, and when he even tried there were more tears and little cries like bird noises. Mam hugged him for a very long time and it started to get dark outside. He could feel his eyes closing but his mind was awake and wondering if Mam had the sadness that Dad called the Black Dog.
One time when Mam had the Black Dog Marti asked them what it was. “Sure, it’s the curse of the Irish, son,” said Dad. This made him confused, because when Dad had fallen in Pete’s swimming pool with the leaves in it Mam had said something else was the curse of the Irish. “I thought the drink was the curse of the Irish, Dad?” said Marti.
Mam and Dad had both started to laugh very loudly.
“Sure, we’re a very unfortunate nation altogether, son,” said Dad when the laughing was stopped, and then he looked at Mam and spoke again. “Haven’t we curses just queuing up for us.”
When Marti woke in the morning Mam was still sleeping and hugging him tight. He thought maybe he should wake her to get him ready for school. Then he remembered Dad had said it was sometimes better to leave her when she had the Black Dog, because it was a bit like an illness, and when you have an illness, rest is the best thing for you.
He left Mam to sleep. He thought about saying a little prayer for her. That’s what they would have said to do at school, but he knew they didn’t say prayers in the Driscol house anymore. Dad said they were all a long way from a state of grace and that saying prayers at this stage would probably bring the roof down on their heads. Marti didn’t want to damage the roof so he blew a little kiss to Mam and promised to be a good boy.
He washed and dressed himself and tried to make his lunchbox up and then Jono, who lived out the back, appeared at the kitchen window. “Shhh, you’ll have to keep quiet. My mam’s not well,” said Marti.
“Okay, is that why you’re so late today?” said Jono.
“I’ve got to make my own lunchbox.”
“I wish I could make mine. You could have heaps of choco.”
“I don’t think we have any choco.”
“Well what are you going to do? You can’t make a lunchbox with no choco, Marti.”
He looked around the kitchen. He could see his Mam’s purse sitting up on the counter next to the empty biscuit barrel. He really wanted some choco now Jono had started on about it.
“Jono, you’ve got to keep quiet about this,” he said, and started to reach for Mam’s purse.
“Marti, what are you doing with that?”
He opened the purse and took out a blue ten dollar bill. He had never held a ten dollar bill before and it felt strange to have it in his hands. “Wow, ten bucks…”
“What are you gonna buy, Marti?”
“Choco!” he said, and the two boys ran out the kitchen door.
At the supermarket they filled their arms with choco bars and the counter woman looked at them like they were trouble. The most Marti had ever bought before was a big box of Froot Loops the time Mam had given him five dollars, and even then he had had to take the change back to her. When the counter woman leaned forward and asked him where the money had come from, Marti froze.
“He’s buying for the whole week,” said Jono.
The counter woman looked down at Jono and said, “Who’s pulling your strings, matey?” Then she started to ring up the money on the till and Marti and Jono smiled. When they got outside the boys started laughing and cramming the choco into their mouths until their cheeks were full and their teeth turned brown. It was a great laugh, thought Marti, watching the choco squelch about in their mouths, and then Jono said they had better run or they’d be late.
School was all about Ned Kelly and his gang who were bushrangers, which was like outlaws, and they had armour made from ploughs like the kind they used to
have in fields in the olden days. Marti liked the stories about Ned Kelly and his gang who went around robbing and shooting in the armour made from ploughs. He had heard all the stories about Ned Kelly and his gang from Dad, who said some people were down on poor old Ned.
“But sure wasn’t that just because he had the good Irish blood in him,” said Dad, and hadn’t he seen the same himself. “No, Ned was just doing his bit. He was stopping the English getting the whip hand on this country, and isn’t there many a man would thank him they never did.”
Jono told Marti he thought it would be great to be like Ned Kelly and his gang, robbing and shooting and wearing the armour made from ploughs. Marti agreed and they both said they would like to be like Ned Kelly, then Jono said, “Do you feel a bit like a bushranger after stealing the money from your mam’s purse?”
Marti felt his head go all hot. “No,” he said. He knew he had been wrong to take the money and he knew he had eaten too many choco bars and now he didn’t feel very well at all.
He still had four choco bars left, which would get him into trouble when he went home because Mam would say, “Where did you get them from, or do I not want to know?”
He opened up the last of the choco bars and started cramming them into his mouth, one after the other. The first two were hard to eat and the third was beginning to hurt his jaws because he had to chew so fast. When he tried to swallow the third choco bar it wouldn’t go down at all, and then there was a funny feeling in his stomach that made him lean over and he was sick all over his jotter and all over his desk.