by Nene Gare
Suddenly Trilby was restless. Something more was needed. She thought of the cool rapture of water against her skin. Remembered the first tingling shock of its touch and the calmness as it rose higher and higher.
She rose in a lovely fluid movement. Phyllix sighed and prepared to rise too, but she pushed him back. Behind some bushes she stripped off her clothes and walked to the edge of the water. She felt the splash of a tiny wave at her feet and walked through it. When she was far enough out she began to swim. And the water was as she remembered it, like the touch of hands.
She heard Phyllix’s call. ‘Trilby, where are you?’
She stopped swimming and floated on her back. She would not exert herself to call. Phyllix must come to her. She closed her eyes and waited, and opened them to find Phyllix swimming close.
‘Take my hands now,’ she said when they both were tired from swimming. ‘Pull me in. Please!’ But Phyllix placed his hands instead over her breasts and drew her smoothly through the water. Until the water became shallow. And then he picked her up and carried her over the beach to the bushes.
Trilby learned that that was how it was. Peace flowing through every limb, and languorous weariness. She turned to her lover and sighed, the smallest fluttering breath. At her side Phyllix breathed deeply and quietly.
The air was like a kiss on their bodies.
But not all of Trilby’s vitality had been used up by the walking and the swimming and what had come after. When she had rested a while she felt a desire to talk with Phyllix and question him a little. She wanted to hear him murmur again the things he had murmured against her ear.
‘I’m glad it was you,’ she whispered.
After a while she raised her head and stared down at him because he had not answered. She put her face close to his. ‘Phyllix! Phyllix!’
Still there was no answer. Phyllix slept deeply.
Trilby was conscious of shock. How could he sleep, when she was so near?
She rolled over, took his shoulders in her two hands and shook him. ‘Phyllix!’
She put her mouth to his and waited for the response. There was none. Sitting, she gazed unbelievingly down on him. He could lie there and snore after saying those things. After…
She sprang to her feet, her hands on her hips, her mouth thin with temper. Viciously she kicked him in the ribs, but Phyllix only moaned and curled himself tighter.
Now—she would teach him a lesson, this snoring fool. But first to cleanse herself from every trace of her foolishness. Like a shadow she slipped into the water again, swimming far out, diving deep, threshing furiously at the water with strong young arms and legs. She had to search for her clothes when she came out at last, and her clothes were covered with sand. Uncaring she pulled them on over her wet body, intent only on her outrage. She would leave him sleeping, and he would wake to find her gone. That would teach him that Trilby Comeaway was not—in the act of tying her sash, she froze.
Would that be a punishment? Would he care if she went or stayed? Now?
She began to run, but her thought kept up with her and it was not her exertion that made her feel hot. Her hair streamed away from her face and the sand flew from her feet, but the waves of shame kept coursing through her body. She had thought to use a man and he had used her instead.
And he must surely have known, Phyllix, that this was the way of it.
She was gasping for breath when at last she slowed her pace to a staggering walk. But the needles of agony in her side did not hurt half so much as the humiliation in her heart or the tears that stung her eyes.
Overhead the moon hid its cool loveliness behind a trail of clouds. And the beach grew dark.
TEN
‘I dunno! Seems like an awful waste,’ Mrs Comeaway said doubtfully, surveying the humpy. ‘We’ve kep adding bits and now we got it real comfortable. I went an promised Charlie e could have it, too. Till they get their own money saved up. An after that I thought the Thomases. They got all them kids an nothin but a bit a canvas to keep em dry when it rains. Mrs Green wouldn’t mind. She an Mrs Thomas been friends a good while now.’
‘Nup!’ Mr Comeaway shook his head. ‘The partment man says e’s gotta come down less other peoples moves in. Says e don’t want that.’
‘No time ta pull im down now well,’ Mrs Comeaway said practically. ‘You’ll just ave ta come up some other time, when we get set down there in the Wild-Oat Patch.’ She looked at Mr Comeaway with limpid eyes. ‘Spose they ain’t no harm in Charlie livin here till we get the time, isn’t it?’
‘Ya want wood ta burn, don’t ya?’ Mr Comeaway pointed out what had been craftily pointed out to him. ‘Ain’t no bush stuff round the Patch. All been bulldozed. You take them uprights now. Good wood there.’
‘Yeah! Yeah! Well, we ain’t got the time, I tell ya. I gotta get this stuff sorted out.’ Mrs Comeaway destroyed nothing and threw nothing away.
‘What ya gunna take?’ Mr Comeaway asked. ‘Tim an me better get busy.’
‘There isn’t much worth taking,’ Trilby said contemptuously. ‘Why don’t we just take the new beds and chuck the rest of that junk away?’
‘Don’t tell!’ Mrs Comeaway said, shocked. ‘Ya think I’m gunna leave me good safe an me chester draws and them chairs? I like my ole bed. Fits me. Wouldn’t sleep so good in no other now.’ She ruminated a while, kneading her chin with one hand. ‘Joe!’ she called. ‘Best thing you can do—bring everything out an I’ll look it over. Go on, now. An you come ere with me, Trilby.’
Trilby followed her parents into the humpy. She was sulking. She did not care much now if they went or stayed. The thought of the new house no longer enticed her.
Mr Comeaway made a great business out of heaving the table through the entrance. At one end of the precious bed, Mrs Comeaway heaved and pulled and hammered until the rusted spring came free. ‘Get on one end, Trilby,’ she ordered, ‘and we’ll get it outside.’
They stood the mattress against a tree and Mrs Comeaway bent to peer at it. ‘Been gettin bites some nights,’ she said critically. ‘Maybe fleas, or else it’s them sand-flies.’ She chuckled suddenly, diverted. ‘That Annie. She tole me a man came out ta the place where they was livin in Perth an bought a jar of fleas offa one a her lations. Paid a pound a hundred for em. This man trained them fleas, so he said.’
‘Ugh!’ Trilby said disgustedly. ‘Where did she get them from?’
Mrs Comeaway shrugged. ‘Offa the dogs, offa the blankets, out of er ead. She said the man liked yuman fleas the best. Smarter! Easier to train.’
‘They make me sick,’ Trilby snapped. She looked suspiciously at her mother’s hair. ‘Why don’t you give your hair a good comb? You’ll be getting fleas in your own head if you’re not careful.’
‘Not me,’ Mrs Comeaway disclaimed.
‘How do you know?’ Trilby sneered.
‘I don’t itch,’ Mrs Comeaway said cheerfully.
‘This bed looks awful,’ Trilby frowned. ‘All broken. Why don’t you get another one with the money the department gave you?’
‘We are gunna,’ Mrs Comeaway said. ‘Fa Stella and Bartie. Gee, I bet them kids is gettin excited bout comin down.’ She straightened to beam at her daughter. Everything was turning out most happily. There were drawbacks. So-called friends who accused her of getting too uppity, guessed she would be too proud to speak to them when she had gone into her new house. At one stage—when it was pointed out to her that she would be a far walk from a yarn or a game of cards—she had almost been ready to back out of the deal. But Joe seemed real set on it, and she hardly liked to think what the girls would say, particularly Trilby. Besides, there were always taxis.
Her only regret now was that all her friends and relations were not moving down to the Wild-Oat Patch with her, though this had been partly solved by generously distributed invitations to come down and visit.
‘Young Tim should be here by now,’ she pondered aloud. ‘Bet something’s gone wrong with that ute.’ Tim was Blanch
ie’s ‘boy’, whose offer to move their furniture had been sought and accepted.
‘Ya don’t wanta worry bout Tim.’ Mr Comeaway sat down to rest from his labours. ‘That one can make a engine go with more parts out than in. Last time I seen that ute e’d ripped the engine cover off. Said it kept fallin on is ead when e was working on it like.’ He brooded for a while. ‘I tole im but, you bring one a ya pals along ta do ya windin for ya. I ain’t takin any more chances with that handle. Damn thing about knocked me out last time. Needs a expert at the game.’
‘When do they get married, him an Blanchie?’ Trilby enquired, with the faintest show of interest.
‘They was talking bout it last time I seen em,’ Mrs Comeaway said. ‘Pity him an Blanchie can’t get into a house like we got. Could start off all nice.’
‘They won’t get married,’ Trilby said tightly.
‘May not! If they change their minds. An there ain’t no hurry for a girl ta get married, that I can see.’
Trilby shot her mother an irritable look.
Mrs Comeaway was examining the food-safe. ‘Ya know, ya might be right bout this safe. E seems to ave broke it up a bit gettin it out, clumsy great elephant. Ya think it might do Charlie and Hannie?’
‘It stinks. Burn it.’
‘I’ll take it,’ Mrs Comeaway decided. ‘I can still put things in it. An ya never know.’
Tim and his mate appeared, ploughing their way through the sand.
‘There they are,’ Mr Comeaway said unnecessarily. ‘Tole you they’d come.’
‘We ain’t half sorted out here yet, Timmie,’ Mrs Comeaway said. ‘You come right in the nick a time ta help us get these things out an look em over.’
Tim chuckled. ‘Reckon I’d a come in the nick a time if I’d left it another week.’ He grinned at the recumbent Mr Comeaway.
‘Im! Gawd, yes. E ain’t much help.’ Mrs Comeaway did not even glance at her husband. ‘Thing is, we dunno what ta take and what ta leave, eh, Trilby?’
‘Ain’t seen ya round lately,’ Tim ventured to Trilby. ‘Whatsa matter? You too busy learnin books down that school?’
Trilby walked back into the humpy without replying. Most of her resentment was directed at Phyllix, but there was enough of it to cover the rest of the boys who had formed part of the group.
‘What’s bit her?’ Tim enquired of her mother.
‘Dunno! Gits like that. Doesn’t do ta ask questions but. Comes down on ya like a ton a bricks. What ya think a this safe, Timmie? Ya think I should leave it now its legs is broke off?’
‘Take anything ya like,’ Tim said generously. ‘Plenty a room on the back.’
‘Ya want me ta give ya a hand?’ Mr Comeaway asked anxiously.
‘You make im help ya,’ Mrs Comeaway said strongly. ‘Don’t tell me! Ow e gets on down that wharf I dunno. Hides isself behind the stuff, I suppose. Get up there! You get that safe on ya shoulders an be off down that hill. An don’t do it no more damage either.’
‘I offered,’ Mr Comeaway said, with dignity. ‘Anyone think I didn’t offer.’
Trilby came out with some cups on her fingers. ‘No school today?’ Tim asked, passing her.
‘I’m home to help,’ Trilby said coolly.
‘Don’t ya like swimming no more?’ This was from his mate, Albany Bell.
‘Just don’t get the time,’ Trilby said loftily. ‘I’m taking my exams end of this year.’
‘Whadda ya know well,’ Albany grinned, nudging Tim.
‘You wouldn’t know anything,’ Trilby flared, glaring at him.
‘I know some things pretty good,’ Albany grinned again. ‘You ask Audrena.’
Mrs Comeaway had trundled off down the hill with some things, and Trilby was glad. Perhaps both these boys knew. Perhaps Phyllix had told them.
‘Don’t see Phyllix no more now, neither,’ Tim said casually. ‘Think e musta went off ta Meekatharra with a shearin team.’
Trilby felt weak with relief.
Mrs Comeaway returned with Mrs Green in tow. She struck an attitude before the humpy, hands on hips, mouth turned inward. ‘You see any sense in it?’ she asked of her friend.
‘Well I could use it myself, for the overflow like,’ Mrs Green said, feeling her way delicately, ‘but I think I see what he’s getting at.’
‘See a damn sight more than I do well,’ Mrs Comeaway said sturdily. ‘Place like this wouldn’t go beggin long. Them Thompsons—got six kids parked under that ole bit of tarp.’
‘Mrs Green might not want a lot of kids here,’ Trilby interrupted angrily.
‘She don’t mind kids,’ Mrs Comeaway said. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I hear they’re putting up some more of those little places down the camp,’ Mrs Green said gently.
‘That’s the lot fa this trip,’ Albany called, passing them with the table balanced on his head. ‘Anyone comin down?’
‘What about you comin down?’ Mrs Comeaway urged Mrs Green. ‘See the house. These boys gotta come back ta pick up the rest a the junk.’
Mrs Green looked pleased. ‘You sure there’s room for me?’
‘Plenty,’ Mrs Comeaway said magnificently. ‘An there’s no need runnin back an changin ya dress. No one’s gunna see ya.’
‘I’ll wait here,’ Trilby said coldly.
‘Please yaself,’ Mrs Comeaway said. The two women went over the sandhill and down to the road.
‘Well!’ Mrs Comeaway said admiringly. ‘We got more stuff than I thought.’
‘It ain’t too secure,’ Tim warned. ‘Didn’t have enough ropes. You two better sit in front with me an the other two on top a the load ta keep a eye on things. You think ya can climb up there?’ he asked Mr Comeaway, grinning.
Mr Comeaway eyed the load. He placed a foot on the running board, steadied himself on a chair and worked his way carefully to the top of the load. Two saucepans, insecurely balanced, crashed noisily to the road.
‘Look what ya doin,’ Mrs Comeaway said indignantly. ‘Them’s new from the second-hand shop.’ She picked up the saucepans and dusted them off. ‘Here, ya better hold em,’ she ordered, handing them up to her crouching husband.
Mr Comeaway moved slightly but inadvisedly. The already damaged safe collapsed with gentle cracks and enveloped him.
‘E meant ta do that,’ Mrs Comeaway said with conviction. ‘E had it in is mind ta do that all along.’
Albany leaped with agile grace to restore the threshing limbs.
‘Ya wouldn’t know why,’ Mrs Comeaway said sarcastically, pushing Mrs Green ahead of her into the front seat.
‘Will it start?’ Mrs Green asked, her eyes on the naked engine.
‘She got up here,’ Tim said. ‘You two just hang on while I get er goin. Ignition’s on, I think.’ He went round to examine the engine.
‘Don’t blow us all up,’ Mrs Comeaway giggled. ‘Don’t strike no matches around here,’ she called to the two at the top of the load.
A car or two passed while Tim worked. The occupants peered curiously, especially at the assorted furniture. The car engine started up with a powerful deep-noted roar and the whole load swayed backward as it jerked off in top gear.
‘Always like a hill ta start off on,’ Tim grunted contentedly, after he had landed with a crash in the driving seat.
There was another crash from behind. ‘Them chairs wasn’t tied on proper,’ Mr Comeaway yelled.
‘Can’t stop for em now,’ Tim yelled. ‘That all right, Mrs Comeaway? Pick em up on the way back.’
‘Less they gets run over,’ Mrs Comeaway said dubiously. ‘Never mind, Timmie. We just gotta take the risk.’
‘Hang on up there,’ Tim warned as they breasted the second hill and dived down the curving road to the township.
‘Take it easy fa Gawd’s sake,’ Mr Comeaway wailed. ‘It ain’t safe up ere.’
Mrs Comeaway turned a threatening glare on her husband. ‘Shut that big mouth a yours an stop worryin Timmie. E’s busy.’
The ut
ility took a corner dangerously wide, and there was a sharp crack at the back. Mrs Comeaway’s irritation got the better of her. ‘You broke something else? What’s got inta the man?’ she inquired of nobody.
Mr Comeaway, with Albany’s help, regained an upright position. He looked as irritable as Mrs Comeaway.
‘We’ll fix it,’ Tim comforted Mrs Comeaway. ‘Ya lucky the ole man didn’t fall off.’
‘Would be just like im,’ Mrs Comeaway snapped. ‘Right in the middle a movin. Don’t you go fallin off now,’ she warned her husband.
Mr Comeaway grinned. ‘I’m trying hard not ta.’
‘This here’s the house, ain’t it?’ Tim asked. ‘Come on, stop, you ole bastard.’ He pumped at the brake, and the utility drew to a reluctant halt, only three houses past the right one.
‘Gotta get them brakes relined,’ Timmie murmured, leaping out. ‘Don’t seem ta grip good any more.’
‘We’re here!’ Mrs Green said.
‘You men can bring all the stuff in,’ Mrs Comeaway directed, ‘while me and Mrs Green has a look round.’
They climbed out of the utility and walked up the footpath. Mr Comeaway, slapping his pants, followed them.
‘You get back an help them boys,’ Mrs Comeaway said sternly, when she was opening the gate. Mr Comeaway went sulkily back.
The two women stood for a while admiring the house. Then they walked up the wooden steps and Mrs Comeaway unlocked the front door. She preceded her friend into the living-room.
‘This here’s the sink,’ she said, walking over to it and running her hand admiringly over its glittering surface. ‘It’s stainless steel. What ya think a that, eh?’
Mrs Green touched it, also admiring. She turned on the tap over it and there was water. ‘That’ll save your legs.’
‘What ya think a this stove?’ Mrs Comeaway asked, leaving the sink for the green enamelled stove that was set midway between the walls. ‘Nice an clean, eh? New, that’s why.’ She pried the iron circles off the top. ‘See? Never been used.’
She walked over to the louvres. ‘See these here? You want some air you put em like this. It’s cold, ya shut em up.’