On Cringila Hill

by Noel Beddoe

  ‘You like the clothes, Jim? An’ was like ya said. Gotta shower atta yacht club. Then that barber, that Italian barber, he looked like he weren’t too sure to start, whether he even was gonna touch my hair. But then he thought this how my hair should look. What do ya reckon? Suit me?’

  ‘Scarcely knew ya.’

  ‘Yeah, well, gotta look sharp. Work for Feizel now.’

  ‘Sure. Heard some stuff about that. Didn’ too much like what I heard.’

  ‘No? Well, there ya go. Things change. An’ I come ta see ya off. Come to say hasta la vista. An’ say coupla other things. Things I thought about. Things need sayin’.

  ‘Thing one: You called me “Piggy”. An’ tha’s okay, Jim. Call me what ya like, you got the right. But look at me. Look at me now, Jim. I work for Feizel now. An’ that ain’t all tha’s changed.’

  Dimce can see his friend’s lips tremble, see the tremor of his hands.

  ‘An’ there ain’t gonna be no more Piggy no more. Not gonna be no “Piggy, Piggy, Piggy” an’ me runnin’, some of ’em grab me, get me down give me a kickin’. No more of that. I’m Clint now! Clint! Anyone wanna give me a hard time they gonna get one big surprise. An’ they only do that shit to me once, I can tell ya that!’

  ‘Ah, Piggy!’

  ‘Yeah. Well. Tha’s alright cos is you, sayin’ that name. No one else gonna call me that no more, not ever. An’ ’nother thing. You get some grief up there, someone given’ you shit in Queensland, you get a message to me, I’m there. An’ I bring a little somethin’ for you to have.’

  ‘Pig, you ain’t got this fucken thing with ya, have ya? You know the shit you can catch, jus’ for havin’ it?’

  ‘Is with my Lord. Is safe with my dark Lord. So tha’s the other thing. Now. ’Member this. ’Member this forever. I’m there for you. Ya never alone. An’ one more thing, one las’ thing I should say to ya.’

  Dimce watches Piggy’s shadow. ‘I love ya, Jim. Decided bes’ I say that to ya here, maybe not too many more chances. Don’ mean in no poofter way, don’ wan’ ya should fuck me up the arse nor nothin’. But you saw me, who I was, not what other people said ya was supposed ta see. Never gonna forget that.’

  The three young men stand together in the cold darkness. Piggy says, ‘Now, comin’ by, I look in that room they got back there wit’ people sittin’, waitin’. Saw your mama in there, by hersel’. Gonna go an’ sit near her, be sure she’s okay. Gonna keep an eye for her. An’ Jim, gonna do that, now on. She needs somethin’, I’m the one keep an eye out.’

  There’s no handshakes or touching – they’ve never been ones to touch each other. Piggy turns and walks towards the entrance to the waiting room.

  ‘Shit,’ Feizel says. ‘Another one. Like a fucken daisy chain! Like a fucken conga line!’

  Dimce sees Samuel Solomona, shuffling along, seeming ill at ease. He realises then what that means, and then he sees Luz, who’s a way in front of Samuel, already close by. She has on tight jeans, a pink cotton pullover jacket with its hood down at the back. Her hair is caught in a band tight across her head, her hair flows out wide across her shoulders. When she’s close he gets the good, clean, sweet smell of her, then they hold each other and he’s got the hot, wet saltiness of her tongue in his mouth. After a while of kissing he feels the palms of her hands pushing him away.

  ‘Now, you step back a bit, calm yousel’ down, boy. Cos I see you mama sittin’ in the room back there, gonna come out, watch you get up onna bus. An’ you gotta be lookin’ like a gentleman for you mama, an’ way you is now, that ain’t how you look.’

  Dimce steps away, stands close enough to still get the good smell of her. ‘Good you come. Didn’ think of that.’

  He hears her light laughter. ‘We been lookin’ an’ lookin’. Samuel thought he knew where this place was but he didn’. Hadda ask people. Coulda missed ya.’

  ‘Well. Seein’ you is good.’

  He doesn’t know what to say then. He hears Feizel shuffle in the darkness. Luz says, ‘Stay in touch, Jimmy.’

  ‘Yeah. Gonna.’ He laughs. ‘So. You gonna go ta school?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Luz is smiling at him, though her lower lip trembles, and she has tears in her eyes.

  ‘Tha’s good. Good thing. Tell ya what. Get to the end that school, I’m gonna come down, be your partner to that Year Twelve formal. Gonna have on a white dinner jacket, collect ya inna big stretch limousine, in we gonna go, make eyes pop.’

  She laughs happily at the thought. ‘Fun,’ she says. ‘That be fun. Good thing for me ta think ’bout. Nice daydream.’

  He reaches for her hand. Then there’s a rumble, they’re bathed in strong light – the bus is rolling in. It shudders by, there’s the stench of diesel fumes. The lights inside the bus go on. Dimce looks desperately around. Folk are out of the waiting room carrying luggage, there are passengers standing inside the bus. The driver is out, followed by a line of people whose journey is over. Feizel has the luggage, is walking to the boot of the bus. Dimce can see his mother has emerged. Piggy stands to one side and slightly behind her. Dimce reaches to touch Luz’s cheek, leans and kisses her again.

  ‘Wait for me,’ he says. ‘I’m gonna sort myself out. You wait for me. Come on up wit’ me, when you ready.’

  There’s enough light from the bus that he can see her smile. ‘Be nice, Jimmy,’ she says. ‘Soun’s real nice, if that happens.’

  He can see Feizel handing his bag for stacking in the boot. Dimce steps away from Luz, looks at his mother. He sees her push the ball of a thumb to her lips, turn it towards him. He nods, waves.

  He hefts the bulging sports bag, waves to his mother again, kisses Luz one more time then makes his way to the open coach door. He stumbles up inside, finds a vacant seat, swings his ­mother’s gift up onto a high shelf, seats himself at a window. He feels a stab as the driver swings in, shuts the door, starts the ignition. Luz and Samuel are already walking towards the street. The bus is reversing, pauses, swings about, starts for the exit of the staging area. His mother has turned away, covered her face in her hands, is hunched, her shoulders shaking with her sobbing. He sees Piggy reach out and touch her arm. Then they are out in the street, the coach interior lights still on. Jimmy looks down onto the footpath, and there is Jose Barradas, and, behind him, the tall figure of old Lupce. For just a moment the eyes of Lupce Valeski and Dimce Rodriguez lock, before the cabin lights are extinguished and the bus sweeps around the corner.

  As Dimce heads north, he looks through the bus window at the city through which they’re passing. Momentarily the lights inside the cabin switch on and he finds that he’s staring at his own reflection in the glass. No one has occupied the seat beside him and he sees himself isolated, alone. And what he thinks is, ‘Yeah. Is good, no one else. What I got now is what I ever had, jus’ me. Is enough.’ And then he thinks, ‘Oh, it would be good if Luz come, but. That’d be good.’

  As the bus is swinging down a hill towards the start of Mount Ousley, Jose Barradas has Lupce in the old Brougham and they are running along the western edge of the steelworks. It has been silent in the car since they left the bus station.

  ‘I guess you’re going to miss Jimmy, now he’s gone,’ Jose says. Then, foolishly, the young man does not take the message of Lupce’s silence, but repeats his question. ‘Lupce? I guess you’re going to miss Jimmy.’

  ‘Jose Barradas,’ the old man says, quietly, ‘when it seems to me like what I think about Jimmy is any you business, I’ll tell ya.’

  MORE COMPELLING FICTION

  THE YALDA CROSSING

  Noel Beddoe

  New South Wales, 1832.

  Captain James Beckett and his lover, Harriette, leave behind the ­proprieties of Sydney society and pioneer far west of the Blue Mountains to the Morrombidgee River, and deep into the lands of the Wiradjuri. Harriette’s daughter, Emily, and The Captain’s son,
Young James, have no choice but to join their parents’ struggle to establish a love and holding in alien country.

  When new settlers destroy sacred sites and hunting grounds, the hard-won understanding between the Becketts and the Wiradjuri is shattered. The shocking events that follow will torment Young James for the rest of his life.

  ‘Compelling and important – a major Australian novel.’ Ross Fitzgerald

  ‘A heartbreaking, yet inspiring story.’ Daily Telegraph

  ‘A brave, insightful and important novel.’ Weekend Australian

  ISBN 978 0 7022 49396

  CLOSER TO STONE

  Simon Cleary

  There has never been a deserter in Bas Adams’s family – from the Somme to Vietnam. So when his brother, Jack, is reported missing from his peacekeeping contingent in Western Sahara, Bas knows he must be found. Their father demands it.

  From Queensland’s Lockyer Valley to the mountains of southern Algeria, Bas follows Jack’s trail deep into the Sahara Desert, and into a world apart.

  Nothing could prepare him for what he finds.

  ‘A compelling narrative, [Cleary uses] evocative prose … and [has] an exquisite eye for detail.’ Weekend Australian

  ‘An engaging, page-turning adventure that takes a disturbing twist.’ Sydney Morning Herald

  Cleary’s prose is simple, elegant and highly accessible. A highly readable novel, intelligent and confronting in an unflashy way.’Adelaide Advertiser

  ISBN 978 0 7022 39229

  THE TOWER MILL

  James Moloney

  In 1971 the South African Rugby team came to Australia. It was the ­apartheid era and young demonstrators gathered in protest. Near the iconic Tower Mill, a relic from convict days, they clashed with police. The events of that shocking night would reverberate for the next thirty years through the lives of Susan Kinnane and her son, Tom. When Susan returns home in 1988 for an inquiry into police corruption, she must confront a past she has never ­reconciled and a son she has never truly known.

  The Tower Mill is a story about anger and grief and the bond between mother and son. It’s also a story about politics, when two decades of backroom deals and shady powerbrokers prompted an entire state to question what it valued.

  ‘Moloney expertly crafts a damning picture of Queensland's past.’ Sunday Age and Sun-Herald

  ‘An intriguing and troubling tale.’ Courier-Mail

  ISBN 978 0 7022 49327

  First published 2014 by University of Queensland Press

  PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia

  www.uqp.com.au

  uqp@uqp.uq.edu.au

  © Noel Beddoe

  This book is copyright. Except for private study, research,

  criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act,

  no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

  or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior

  written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.

  Cover design by Luke Causby

  Cover photograph by J Christian

  Typeset in 12/16pt Bembo by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane

  Printed in China by 1010 Printing International Ltd

  National Library of Australia cataloguing-in-publication data is available at

  http://catalogue.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 0 7022 4997 6 (pbk)

  ISBN 978 0 7022 5207 5 (epdf)

  ISBN 978 0 7022 5208 2 (ePub)

  ISBN 978 0 7022 5209 9 (Kindle)

  University of Queensland Press uses papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The logging and manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.