Raw

by Scott Monk

  ‘Where have you been?’ Frog whispered, spooked by the sudden appearance of his roommate.

  ‘Go to sleep, Frog!’

  ‘But where have you been? Sam’ll ground you if he finds out —’

  ‘FROG! SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP!’

  The kid started whimpering but he didn’t say another word. Brett knew he’d been hard on him, but he didn’t care. He fell onto his bed and crawled under the sheets, curled up in a ball and forced himself to cry.

  The homestead’s screen door slapped open and nearly flung Brett back down the front steps.

  ‘Sorry, mate. You okay?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Yer. You scared me, that’s all,’ Brett answered.

  ‘Nearly gotcha, didn’t he?’ a stranger said with a yellow toothy grin.

  Brett nodded and half-smiled back, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Brett, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine,’ Sam said to fill the pause. ‘Brett Dalton, meet Charlie Walker.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Brett.’

  Brett raised his hand to shake the stranger’s and say hello but there was no hand to shake! Charlie didn’t have any arms!

  Clumsily, Brett pocketed his and said, ‘You too.’

  ‘Well, I can’t stand round here any longer,’ Charlie said. ‘My missus is waiting for me. I’ll see you in two weeks at the rodeo, Sam. Give me a call if you need any help organising that ride to Boomi.’

  He said goodbye and slid inside his ute where his wife was waiting. Brett watched them leave before asking, ‘What happened to his arms? Was he in a war or something?’

  ‘No,’ Sam said, opening the screen door. ‘He smokes.’

  Brett froze. He looked at Sam but the old man’s eyes said he wasn’t lying. A stinging sensation snaked down both of Brett’s arms and he had to ball his fists to make sure he still had them. Smoking did that?

  He followed Sam into the homestead. The old man was waiting for him just inside the door. ‘Got something for me?’

  Brett’s shoulders sank. He reached into his top pocket and pulled out three smokes he’d traded off one of the guys. He slapped them into Sam’s rough hands, hating the way the old man kept reading his mind.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  He led Brett into the kitchen and picked an envelope off the table. He handed it to him and Brett flipped it over to see who the sender was: MAUREEN DALTON. Mum! Quickly, he ripped the top off and pulled out the letter. On two small pieces of paper in blue ink she had written:

  Dear Brett,

  I haven’t heard from you yet so I thought I might write. How is your stay going? Have you met any new friends yet? Is it hot in Mungindi at the moment? It’s boiling here.

  The doctor says your sister is going to have her baby very soon now. Everyone’s arguing over whether it will be a boy or a girl. Your father’s hoping for a boy, but I’m not fussed. As long as the child’s healthy that’s the main thing. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to be a grandmother yet. It’s good to start feeling like a family again.

  I heard the other day your friend Rebecca is missing. She left home with a man and her mother hasn’t seen her since. Do you know where she might have gone? Her mother is worried about her (when she’s sober that is).

  Four letters arrived for you last week. They were all from companies you applied for jobs with. I hope you don’t mind that I opened them. You know I wouldn’t normally but because you’re so far away I had to just in case they offered you a position. Their answers were all the same, however. They said they didn’t have any jobs available at the moment and that they’d put your details on file. I’m sorry. Something will come up soon. Maybe you can go back to school when you come home or even try looking for work there at Mungindi.

  I hope to see you soon. Lots of love. Mum.

  ‘Good news?’ Sam asked.

  Brett nodded and tucked the letter into his back pocket. The letter was exactly what he needed right now. ‘I’m going to be an uncle.’

  ‘Congratulations. I’m sorry I don’t have any cigars to pass round.’

  Brett paled and Sam — was it? yes! it was! — he grinned under his brown moustache. The sly, old geezer.

  ‘How are the guys?’ Sam asked, walking over to the fridge.

  ‘Some are pretty rapt. Others aren’t. They look like they would’ve preferred it if their parents stayed away.’

  ‘Like Tyson Jones?’

  ‘Yer. His parents would’ve slapped him into a coma if Mr Andrews hadn’t stepped in. He’ll have a headache for the next week.’

  It was open day at The Farm. Parents and families had a chance to catch up face-to-face with the guys. Like Brett said, for some it hadn’t been hugs and kisses. His own parents were allowed to come, but he didn’t pass on the message. He didn’t want them to see him in here. He knew it would upset them. It wouldn’t make it any easier for him seeing his mother break down, then watching her go home again.

  It would remind him too much of his parents’ three year separation.

  ‘What did you want me for?’ he asked.

  ‘Sit down,’ Sam said, offering Brett a lemonade. They did so and started drinking.

  ‘Did you get those cuts on your head looked at by Mary?’

  Brett instinctively reached up and ran his hand over his bald head half-hidden by one of Frog’s caps. ‘They’re only shaving nicks.’

  ‘Why’d you shave it off in the first place?’

  ‘Most other guys here have tough haircuts. I thought I’d get one too.’

  ‘We do cut people’s hair every four weeks here, you know.’

  ‘Yer, I heard that. But I couldn’t wait.’

  Brett had heard a lot of other things too, like: “Egghead”, “Chrome dome” and “Skinhead”.

  ‘Can I go now?’ he asked, starting to rise.

  ‘Not yet. I want to know who did that to you.’

  ‘Nobody. I did it myself. I wanted a change, that’s all.’

  Sam sighed. ‘Brett, don’t lie to me. I know someone did that to you. I want to know who.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So I can deal with it.’

  Brett stood up and pulled his cap low. ‘Sorry, Sam. Leave it alone.’

  ‘Why do you boys always protect each other?’ He was on his feet too now. ‘Can’t you see, it just lets those who do it keep on doing it?’

  ‘Why do you think, Sam? You’re smart enough. You know the score. You figure it out.’

  He charged out the screen door and headed towards the stables. Sam chased him as far as the verandah and shouted, ‘Don’t shut me out, Brett. I do know the score and that’s why I’m worried about you.’

  DINGALINGALING!

  The big Brahman bull bolted from the holding chute, kicking and rearing to buck the rider clinging to its back. Hot rage snorted from its rubbery snout as it snapped its muscles up and down. Dust choked the air already thick with the cheering of the crowd. Clowns scrambled for their lives. The announcer’s ringing voice counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. Another five and the cowboy would be a thousand dollars richer tonight. But no man had bested Sweety Pie the nine hundred kilogram bull yet. With one last flick, the animal shook the rider off smack onto the hard ground. The crow sat down again with a disappointed sigh then clapped politely at the announcer’s begging. The bull had won again. But that didn’t stop other suckers lining up to have a shot at the unattainable prize.

  The rodeo was in town and all the town was at the rodeo. And that included the guys from The Farm. Sam had been planning on taking them to the Mungindi show for months now. He did it every time the rodeo passed through. It was a reward for everyone not killing each other in the meantime — not to mention a great excuse for a night out.

  Brett had never been to a rodeo before. The only ones he’d seen were on TV — and that was before he grabbed the remote. He always thought they were for hicks, country singers and wannabe cowboys: sideshows of Wi
ld West freaks. And he was right. Young and old men dressed in jeans, checked shirts, boots and big, broad hats circled the main arena shoulder-to-shoulder, talking wisely about the world. Bow-legged riders flailed their bodies back and forth in remote corners, readying themselves for their turn on Sweety Pie. Linedancers bootscooted in front of a stand, clapping and kicking. Vendors sold leather goods and pictures of John Wayne, while nearby handlers steadied fretting steeds. The salty smell of battered Pluto Pups mingled with the stink of musty animals. Light towers glared warmly down on the centre ring in the fading purple twilight. And a hundred gorgeous girls walked round the showground flirting with more than their eyes!

  This was going to be a fun night out.

  Brett hadn’t thought that way a couple of hours before though. Paying to see a bunch of guys riding broncos and lassoing calves sounded boring. That was until Frog changed his mind.

  ‘You going tonight?’ the kid asked about lunchtime, watching Brett pull wet laundry from a washing machine. It was Saturday. Wash day.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Everybody else is.’

  ‘Not me, kid. It’s not my scene. Besides, I stayed up late last night. I’m tired and I need the rest.’

  ‘That’s too bad then,’ Robbie shrugged, barely hiding his smile. He jumped down from the top of the dryer where he was sitting then walked into the midday heat, whistling.

  Now Brett wasn’t stupid. He knew when someone was baiting him. But the tone in Frog’s voice said he should chase after him or never find out what little secret the tadpole was keeping.

  ‘Robbie!’ Brett growled, dropping his washing to chase after the kid. He didn’t have to go far though. The brat was hiding next to the doorway, grinning.

  ‘You looking for me?’

  ‘What do you mean by “That’s too bad then”?’

  ‘Oh, nothing.’

  ‘Tell me or I’ll peg you up on the clothes line.’

  The kid’s smile widened. ‘Guess who’s gonna be at the rodeo tonight?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That girl.’

  ‘What girl?’

  ‘The girl with brown hair from Thompson’s store. The one you helped unload the ute a couple of weeks ago. The one that you like,’ Frog sang.

  Brett felt his cheeks grow hot. ‘Her? Why would I like her?’

  ‘Because I saw you perving at Caitlyn Douglas from the shed.’

  ‘Caitlyn? Is that her name?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Don’t toy with me, kid, or you’ll be the first man on the moon without a rocket!’

  That was her name and, needless to say, Brett was on the bus come seven sharp!

  Dressed in his familiar jeans, boots and overshirt, Brett stood at the ticket booth, hands on hips and looking round impatiently. Sam was holding out for the manager’s okay to let all the boys in for free. When the nod came, Brett, along with the thirty-nine other guys, stampeded though the gates. The old man tried to stop them but everyone was too busy running in all directions.

  ‘You all better be back here at nine-thirty or there’ll be trouble!’

  Brett walked anxiously round the rodeo ring, searching for Caitlyn. He homed in on every girl with caramel hair to see if it was her then double-checked every face when he found out it wasn’t. The further he walked the more distressed he became, however. He couldn’t find her anywhere. She wasn’t leaning against the fence talking to some old farmers or sitting in the stands watching the show. Nor was she lining up at the hot food vendor waiting to be served. He tried outside too just to make sure, but all he saw was a muster of seedy-looking cowboys laughing and cursing and talking dirty about their girlfriends. Heading back inside, he didn’t want to admit it, but he realised Caitlyn was a no-show. His excitement faded. He really wanted to see her. But now he felt lousy. A part of his mind was laughing at him for being such a fool, and all he could do was tell it to shut up.

  Food was a great pick-me-up, so Brett headed for the hot food vendor. Ordering a steak sandwich with lots of onions and barbecue sauce, he dragged his feet back to the stands to eat it. The crowd thickened and he had to fight his way through it. Munching and licking sauce from his lips, Brett was nearly free when he bumped into a girl walking in the opposite direction. He dropped his steak sandwich onto her nice clean orange T-shirt — and she dropped her cool exterior.

  ‘Oh, sorry —’

  ‘Why you —!’

  Their eyes shot up at each other beaming hate. Brett looked at her and she at him. Instantly, their anger turned to shock. The last person he expected to see in Mungindi was —

  ‘Rebecca?!’

  ‘Brett?!’ they said at once.

  He lifted his best friend off the ground then set her back down laughing. Whoa, he thought, stepping back and giving her the once over. It really was her! Long red hair crashed about her shoulders and low-cut neckline. High cheeks glowed under the same flirting green eyes. And enticing lips shamelessly promised a wicked time for the guy with the smoothest pick-up lines.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You first!’ Rebecca said, when they stepped over each other’s words again.

  ‘This is where they sent me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The courts.’

  ‘The courts? What happened? Did you get into trouble again?’

  ‘Yer,’ he said, scratching the nape of his neck. ‘The pigs caught me breaking into a bottlo. As punishment they sent me here to this farm about twenty kilometres out of town.’

  ‘Unlucky.’

  ‘Yer, well,’ he shrugged. ‘But how about you? Why are you here?’

  ‘I’m here with the rodeo.’

  ‘What? You work for it?’

  ‘Yer, selling leather necklaces, belts, jackets …’ Rebecca turned and pointed across the showground. ‘See that stall? Yer, that one. That’s where I work. Jenny’s covering for me for a couple of minutes while I grab some food.’

  ‘Looks like you already have,’ Brett said.

  Rebecca looked down at her T-shirt and smiled hopelessly. ‘Don’t worry about that. It’ll come off. Just think, if we hadn’t bumped into each other we wouldn’t know we were both here. Trippy, huh?’ They smirked and their eyes lingered maybe a little too long on each other.

  The crowd pushing past started to get more and more aggressive so they made their way to a safe spot near the showground’s fence. There, he handed her one of his serviettes to help her clean the mess off.

  ‘I can’t believe it’s you,’ Brett said.

  ‘Same here,’ she answered, dabbing herself.

  ‘I’ve missed you.’

  Rebecca looked up. ‘Have you?’ she asked, grinning. She looked like a naïve schoolgirl and Brett fought back old feelings. ‘You found yourself a girl round here yet?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  She sidled closer and purred, ‘You looking for one?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he answered, wolfishly.

  The crowd roared with delight as another rider shot out of the holding chute. Like the rider, Brett felt out of control. He was caving in as he stood so near to Rebecca, remembering all the good times they’d had together. She always made him feel good — especially on lonely nights like this.

  ‘Are you here by yourself?’ he asked, getting closer.

  ‘No, I told you I’m here with the rodeo.’

  ‘No, I mean are you here with someone?’

  Rebecca paused. She pursed her lips and half-smiled. Brett knew that look. She was deciding whether to lie to him or not. ‘His name’s Joe,’ she said. ‘He’s one of the riders with the show.’

  Conscious of their closeness, Brett winced a smile and stepped back. ‘Really? Good for you,’ he said. ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Handsome. You should see him. He’s tall with black hair and he’s got this amazing body. And you know how much I go for men like that.’

  ‘Yer,’ Brett said.

  No sooner had she finish
ed talking about Joe than she squealed in delight and waved to someone walking past them. She yelled out his name and said, ‘Here he is now.’

  Dressed in black jeans and a white and grey checked shirt, a tall lean man about twenty-five with long, wavy black hair and a thin goatee stopped at the sound of his name, turned round and saw Rebecca. Cutting through the crowd, he strode towards her then greeted her with a long, passionate kiss.

  ‘Hello, kitten,’ Joe grinned with big, shiny, white teeth, when they finally took a breather. ‘Miss me?’

  ‘Of course,’ she answered with another kiss, arms draped over his shoulders.

  ‘Been watching the show?’

  ‘Bits.’

  ‘Only bits?’

  ‘I’m waiting until the “star” finally makes his appearance.’

  They laughed and kissed and all that other lovey-dovey stuff. Meanwhile, Brett started looking for a bucket. He wanted to be sick. Unable to find one, he cleared his throat instead.

  ‘Oh sorry,’ Rebecca giggled, red-faced. ‘Joe, I’d like you to meet Brett. He’s a friend from Sydney.’

  Smiling Joe and Brett quickly shook hands and gave each other a curt hello. The cowboy wasn’t just big. He was strong too.

  ‘Here to watch the show, Brett?’ he asked. Then privately aside with a snigger, ‘Or are you after a little action?’

  Brett tried a grin.

  ‘There’s plenty of it if you know where to find it,’ Joe winked.

  ‘Hey!’ Rebecca said, punching him on the shoulder.

  He cracked up and they kissed again.

  ‘When are you on?’ Rebecca asked.

  ‘In a couple of minutes,’ Smiling Joe answered, his eyes skating all over her body. ‘I better get over there now. The other guys will be waiting for me.’

  ‘Can’t you stay a few minutes more?’ she said, holding onto his hips and giving that sad kindergarten look of hers. ‘I’m lonely.’

  ‘I can’t stay, kitten. The show, okay?’

  ‘Then I’m coming with you,’ she said. ‘We can hide behind the trucks and —’ She whispered something dirty in Smiling Joe’s ear before they both laughed. Brett felt his cheeks grow hot.