by Nene Gare
The children came closer, staring at the strangers with wide almost black eyes, their scrutiny both competent and impersonal.
‘Hello!’ Noonah greeted them companionably.
The faces melted into grins. A bigger girl bent to pick up a small night-gowned figure and settle it over one hip. Two boys stood their ground, alert and sure of themselves. Another small girl maintained precarious balance whilst she scraped with one foot at the back of a leg. ‘Mrs Green’s,’ Trilby said.
‘That’s our Gramma,’ the little girl said. Noonah bent to look into her face and to pat her cheek.
‘We stay with Gramma an go to school,’ the older one volunteered.
‘You don’t go to school yet, do you?’ Noonah smiled at the little girl.
‘Her mother lets her stay here when she goes away working,’ the same older girl said. ‘She’s Bonny, and this is her sister,’ looking down at the very smallest one on her hip.
‘Let me take her,’ Noonah offered. She took the baby girl and smoothed her hair back from her face.
Trilby grinned. Noonah would be busy for an hour now if she knew anything about her sister. ‘Look, I’m going to get washed,’ she told Noonah. ‘I’ve found a tap.’
Noonah only nodded, already engrossed with the children.
Trilby went back to the humpy and searched quietly for something to wash in. She found a basin underneath the table. A skinny grey washer hung over its side. Trilby wrinkled her nose and used it to wipe out the inside of the grey-rimmed basin. Then she took her new washer and soap from her flowered sponge-bag.
When she had washed herself she took the basin to the side of the hill and flung its contents in a silvery sweep over the hillside. A river of rusting tins and trash already littered the slope, and under a wattle just over the brow glinted a stack of amber bottles.
Down in the valley there were signs of life. Voices floated up—the high clear voices of children and the rounder, deeper notes of adults.
She replaced the basin and went into the humpy to change her frock. She was tying the laces in her shoes when sounds of vast yawnings and luxurious stretchings came from the inner room. ‘You girls awake yet?’ called her mother.
Trilby stepped uncertainly towards the coat-veiled aperture. ‘We’ve been up for ages.’
‘Come on in then,’ chuckled her mother. ‘Nobody in here gunna bite ya.’ So Trilby stepped past the coat.
The inner room was thick with gloom. The only opening in its walls was covered by a heavy jute sugar-bag. Occasionally this lifted a little with the breeze and a breath of fresh morning air stirred the atmosphere. In this room a thin strip of linoleum had been laid at the side of the big double bed that took up most of the room. Head and foot of the bed were festooned with garments, and from its sagging middle Mrs Comeaway rose to greet her daughter. Mr Comeaway was still asleep, and as his wife sat up in bed his head rolled down the slope to her back. Mrs Comeaway, using her husband’s chest as a back-rest, looked with pleased interest at her daughter. ‘Aaah! Nnnh! You all dressed up, eh?’
Trilby ducked her head and smoothed the skirt of her frock.
‘Come an sit on the bed a minute while I get me circulation goin,’ Mrs Comeaway invited.
Trilby sat on the end of the bed and looked curiously round the room. Across one corner stood a high, old chest of drawers, its cream paint striped with scratches. The inevitable clothing littered its top and scattered through the debris were two tins of talcum, a brush stuck with a hairy black comb, a xylonite tray from which flashed an assortment of jewellery, and two large white plaster-of-Paris rabbits with pink-lined ears.
‘Ya think ya gunna like it with us?’ Mrs Comeaway asked, wringing a groan from Mr Comeaway as her elbow slipped into his neck.
‘It’s going to be lovely,’ Trilby said, with warmth.
Mrs Comeaway looked pleased. ‘Course, it ain’t much of a place,’ she said complacently, ‘it does us but. Keeps the wet out.’
Trilby doubted that, but she did not care overmuch.
‘Can I have a look at that stuff up there?’ she asked, pointing at the brooches and ear-rings.
‘Me jools?’ Mrs Comeaway said, with a grin. ‘Go ahead.’
While Trilby examined the array, she slipped from the bed and pushed her feet into a pair of black patent court shoes with alarmingly slanted heels. She waddled, lurching a little, to the chest of drawers, selecting a few articles of clothing from its top. When she had donned these over and under the petticoat she had worn to bed, she took down a tin of carnation talcum. Pulling out the neck of her frock, she shook some of the powder down over her chest and with one hand smoothed it across and under each armpit.
‘Take what you want,’ she told Trilby. ‘Never can remember to use it meself. Woulda give it to the kids long ago except it comes in handy if ya run short a money.’
‘How?’ Trilby stopped in the act of screwing on a pair of bright red ear-rings.
‘Playin cards, you can use anything,’ Mrs Comeaway said matter-of-factly. ‘Played for nails before this.’ She unstuck the comb and wrenched it through her hair. ‘Now,’ she grunted contentedly, smoothing the dress against her hips, ‘we better get you girls somethin ta eat. Where you say that Noonah was? My word, you look real nice, Trilby. Come on outside so I can see ya proper.’ She took the girl by the arm and then clapped her hand to her head. ‘The old man,’ she murmured. ‘Did e or did e not say e was gunna go down the wharf this morning? Hey, you!’ She walked purposefully over to the bed, and in one business-like gesture swiped two blankets and an old overcoat from her husband’s peaceful form. Trilby stepped back giggling as her father’s night attire was revealed in all its scantiness.
‘Come on, you!’ Mrs Comeaway said firmly.
Mr Comeaway kept his eyes tight shut. ‘Not this morning,’ he said thickly, his hand groping for and finding the covers. ‘What about them girls? Gotta show em the place, ain’t we?’
‘Didn’t you say today?’
‘Tomorrow just as good.’
Mrs Comeaway raised her shoulders high and let them fall again. ‘E never did like work,’ she told her daughter philosophically, leading the way out to the other room. ‘Now then!’ She swayed over to the black stove in the corner and opened the oven door. ‘Not a bloody crust,’ she said disgustedly. ‘I tell ya what, Trilby. You just nip over an tell Mrs Green we got damn all ta eat an will she let ya have something till we go down town. Ask er fa what ya want yaself, weeties or something. She’ll have it. Has to with all them kids. An say does she want anything down town.’
Trilby was horrified. ‘Gee, Mummy, I don’t like to.’
Mrs Comeaway straightened. ‘Why doncha? She’s a nice ole woman, Mrs Green. Wouldn’t hurt a flea.’
‘You come too.’
‘Yeah well, I suppose I could,’ Mrs Comeaway said, as if she had been presented with some novel idea. ‘Come along then.’ She lumbered ahead, her tremendous bottom hoisting her over the ground with a sailor-like roll. She began hoo-hooing immediately, keeping it up with a sort of absent-minded persistence until they were inside the house. ‘Hoo-hoo,’ she called through another doorway. ‘Anyone around in here? You home, Mrs Green? I’m outa tucker.’
Trilby followed her across the earth-floored porch, and stood behind her sniffing a warm, wonderful smell of food cooking. The inner room was gloomy, but a good big fire burned in the shining black stove and on top of it sizzled a huge frying-pan-full of eggs and sliced tomatoes. This much Trilby saw before she closed her eyes and made a brief wish.
A woman holding a bunch of cutlery in her hand looked over and smiled. ‘This is the other one, eh?’ She had a rich full voice with velvety overtones. Trilby smiled back at her, hopefully.
She saw Noonah, sitting at one end of a big table with a child on her lap. The other children were either already seated or busy dragging chairs out for themselves. The place looked like a home, and the centre of it, Trilby knew, was this elderly woman with the sparse
grey hair whose voice sounded so much younger than she could be. Mrs Comeaway was talking to her and, under cover of the conversation, Trilby studied Mrs Green curiously, a little hesitantly, before she switched her gaze to the room and its occupants.
Against one wall was a horsehair sofa upholstered in shiny black, split a little here and there, showing deep hollows where springs were missing or broken. At the end of the sofa sat an old, old man. He did not look up at the newcomers because he was busy steadying a steaming cup of tea. Trilby felt an urge to go over and steady it for him before he spilt it on his thin shanks. The woman, Mrs Green, followed her gaze. ‘That’s Skippy,’ she said. ‘Don’t you worry about him. He’s all right.’
‘How old is he?’ Trilby said respectfully. The old man’s eyes peered from beneath folded lids. His hands on his cup looked like dark brown claws, and his face was wrinkled and shrunken. He looked across at her as she spoke, growling in his throat, his eyes two wicked pin-points of light.
‘I—I just thought you must be pretty old,’ Trilby repeated.
‘Mumblin away,’ the old man grunted pettishly. ‘An damn kids everywhere shoutin their heads off.’
‘Drink up that tea,’ Mrs Green said pleasantly, ‘or you’ll be grizzling because it’s cold.’
‘Too damn hot,’ Skippy grumbled. ‘Nemind bout ole man, givim tea still bilin hot.’
Mrs Green smiled over at Trilby. ‘You sit down with your mummy an have a cup too.’
‘If ya got some ta spare well.’ Mrs Comeaway lifted the nearest child from his chair and sat down with him in her lap. ‘You take Martin on ya knee or get yaself another chair,’ she told Trilby.
‘Go on!’ Mrs Green nodded. ‘In the room at the back.’
So Trilby picked her way carefully past the old man and went doubtingly along the passage.
‘Don’t take any notice of Honay,’ Mrs Green called after her.
As well as a suite of dining-room furniture in dark oak, the further room held a rickety-looking wooden bed and a woman occupant almost as old as Skippy. Trilby darted one look at the woman’s face, grim even in sleep, and snatched up a chair, returning with it to the warm dark kitchen.
‘Honay still the star boarder?’ Mrs Comeaway inquired, with a twinkle. ‘Her and Skippy,’ Mrs Green smiled.
‘How’d the ole devil get on yesterday?’ Mrs Comeaway asked.
Trilby placed her chair next to Noonah’s and sat down. Mrs Green pushed a cup of tea across to her and laughed. ‘How d’you think?’
‘I dunno how e does it,’ Mrs Comeaway marvelled. ‘Seems e’s got them monarch just where e wants em.’
Mrs Green looked at the two girls. ‘Skippy got picked up for receiving. They caught him with a bottle of conto,’ she explained. ‘He got off all right, but he’s still mad about sleeping down the jail. Said he got cold.’ She turned to Mrs Comeaway. ‘Wouldn’t mind betting he goes to see the sergeant about that.’
‘What happened down the court?’ Mrs Comeaway’s eyes were crinkled with amused anticipation.
‘Let me tell, Gramma.’ A young girl came into the room holding a baby in her arms. Noonah’s eyes went straight to the baby, but Trilby’s mouth opened in surprise. Gramma Green’s roof seemed elastic.
‘You go on then, Lee,’ Mrs Green said comfortably, ‘an I’ll just dish up this stuff.’ She bent to take some plates from the oven where they had been heating.
The newcomer smoothed her long curling hair with one hand and smiled a greeting at Noonah and Trilby. ‘Ya here, are ya? Ya mummy certainly made a fuss bout you two.’ She went over to the sofa with her baby and lay back with it against her breast. ‘The crowd of us went up to the court,’ she said gaily, ‘an we was lucky we didn’t get put out. Ya not supposed to make any noise up there,’ she told the sisters, ‘but we was all gigglin. Couldn’t help gigglin. First of all the magistrate says to Skippy, “Now I want the whole truth, Skippy, in ya own words.” Skippy gives them cops a look, then e says e picked up this bottle off the street an before he’s even opened it ta see what’s inside, e gets picked up. So the boss looks down at is papers and then e says, “But that ain’t the way ya told it to the police last night, Skippy.” An Skippy says to im, “Ah, I tell them pleece anything. I wait till I see the boss before I tell how I got that bottle.” So the magistrate scratches his head and ya can see he’s trying not ta laugh, an then e says, “That’s the truth then, is it?” And when Skippy says that’s the truth, e finishes up dismissin the case. Skippy gets off. An ya know the first thing e says ta them monarch? E turns round on em an yelps, “An now ya can just gimme back that bottle.”’
Mrs Comeaway choked on her tea. ‘Gawd! Wait till I tell me ole man,’ she crowed. ‘There’s a man for ya, eh?’ She looked admiringly over at the old man. At the end of the sofa, Skippy had been listening approvingly, nodding and shaking his head, his wicked black gaze flicking on and off like a snake’s. He was half blinded with trachoma, his ears were so full of wax he only bothered to listen when it pleased him, he was older than anyone could remember, including the department, and both legs had been lamed early in life. But he was known and respected as a fighter for miles around. For his rights, that is. Nobody could stick up for Skippy the way he stuck up for himself.
‘Nobody knows how he does it,’ Mrs Green told the girls, with a shrug and a smile. ‘He just does, that’s all.’
‘Them pleece put there in that horfice ta do things for us fellers,’ Skippy said belligerently, ‘an not go bossin us fellers round.’
‘Skippy!’ Mrs Green shook her head helplessly.
‘They guvmint, ain’t they?’ he demanded.
Mrs Comeaway tittered. ‘Lissen to im. Ya can’t make im understand.’
‘Look, now you’re here, you’d better stay an have breakfast,’ Mrs Green said, her glance taking in the three Comeaways.
‘Okay!’ Mrs Comeaway answered for them all. ‘That suit yous girls?’ Noonah and Trilby nodded.
Mrs Green began serving up the food already cooked. The tomatoes drowned in their own gravy and the eggs were edged with brown lace. Noonah and Trilby exchanged looks and felt their mouths moisten.
‘Went up and seen that partment feller yesdy,’ Skippy said in his cracked old voice.
‘Eh! You think that partment man ain’t got enough ta do thout ole rascal like you wastin is time?’ Mrs Comeaway mock-scolded.
‘E take care a me fum long way back,’ Skippy said complacently. ‘I got card up that office. All things bout me. Yesdy I showim new boots. You see im?’ With difficulty he pulled up his trouser leg and shoved out his foot.
‘More new trousers too,’ Mrs Comeaway said, truly scandalized.
‘An still none to fit him,’ Mrs Green added wryly. ‘We had to turn those cuffs up three times before he stopped tripping over them.’
‘These good pants,’ Skippy said indignantly.
‘Yeah, good pants,’ Mrs Green soothed. ‘And you were probably lucky to get them with that young Mona and Lee here waiting about to give you a bit of soft soap.’ She looked over at Lee, her mouth firming, but a twinkle at the back of her eyes. ‘Pension day Skippy’s that popular he doesn’t know himself. Thinks he must be getting young again, eh, Skippy?’
‘I didn’t ask him for nothing.’ Lee’s eyes were innocent.
‘Ah, young girls all the same,’ Mrs Comeaway said tolerantly. ‘Do the same meself if I thought I could get away with it. Pity you don’t put the nippers in fer a few bob but,’ she accused Mrs Green. ‘Him sittin round here week after week fillin is belly up.’
‘No good tucker down ere,’ Skippy snarled before Mrs Green could answer. ‘Gotta go out in the bush fa good tucker.’
‘Seen a big fat goanna round here yesterday,’ Mrs Comeaway laughed at him.
‘You girls full of plans, I suppose,’ Mrs Green asked Trilby and Noonah.
‘Noonah’s gunna be a nurse,’ Mrs Comeaway answered for her. ‘Trilby don’t know yet what she gunna do.’
&nbs
p; ‘What sort of jobs can a girl get down here?’ Trilby asked casually.
‘Jobs?’ Mrs Comeaway considered. ‘Lee had a job minding someone’s kids a while back.’
‘No kids,’ Trilby said promptly, ‘or housework.’
On the sofa, Lee sat up straight, her face full of interest. Over the table, the older women’s eyes met in a quiet look.
‘You wouldn’t like to be a nurse like Noonah?’ Mrs Green suggested.
‘Nup! What about those milk-bars. Don’t they have girls there?’
‘I wouldn’t set me heart on anything like that,’ Mrs Comeaway said uneasily.
Trilby’s hands were quiet in her lap. ‘You mean they wouldn’t have me?’
Lee laughed scornfully. ‘Ya don’t think they want our hands poisonin their drinks.’
Trilby looked at her, her young face hard, and there was a little silence. Mrs Green entered into the breach, her eyes on the frying-pan she was scraping. ‘What are you, Trilby? Fifteen? Sixteen?’
‘Fifteen, an her sister two years older. Ain’t that right?’ Mrs Comeaway appealed to Noonah. Noonah nodded, serious-eyed.
‘It’s smart, these times, to get some education,’ Mrs Green said pleasantly. ‘What about going back to High School for a while, till you think things over?’
‘Yeah, you could do that easy,’ Mrs Comeaway said eagerly.
The girl’s face stayed as quiet as her hands.
‘Don’t let Gramma talk you inta goin back to school,’ Lee scorned. ‘She tried ta talk me inta that.’
‘I reckon Gramma’s right,’ Mrs Comeaway defended. ‘Wisht I hadda got more schoolin. Can’t get the sense a them comics sometimes.’
‘You girls like some more to eat?’ Mrs Green asked.
‘No thank you!’ Noonah refused. Trilby had not heard.
Mrs Comeaway eased the little boy to the floor and slapped the back of his pants. ‘Spose we better get goin,’ she sighed. ‘Make a cuppa tea fa me ole man.’ She rose cumbersomely. ‘An if ya want somethin down town, you send one a the kids over before we go.’
The girls picked their way through the kitchen and waited at the door. Mrs Green measured sugar and tea into a glass jar and handed it to Mrs Comeaway. ‘That’ll see you through this morning,’ she murmured, ‘and I’ll just butter a bit of bread while I’m at it.’ She buttered two thick slices and wrapped them in newspaper.