by John Clanchy
I look then where she’s looking and there’s a man at the edge of his group – and he’s older and not the drunk one – in fact he doesn’t look drunk at all, and he’s got white whiskers which look so stark against his black skin, and at first I think he’s frowning, his brow is so pulled together, but then I realize he’s not, he’s staring but not frowning and his eyes are so intense, and fixed on Luisa, and then on me, and it’s more he’s puzzled than anything and it’s the sort of look someone gives you when they think they know you but can’t place you and they really look and search your face and then they usually give you a small smile, like in apology, and look away, but he doesn’t, he just keeps looking and staring till even I feel a bit uneasy, not scared but more wanting to say something to him, because he is asking us something and I don’t know what it is, and then I see him looking at Luisa again and turning his wrist, cocking it so that his palm is turned upwards and one finger shoots out and it’s almost like it’s pointing at me even though he’s still looking at Luisa. And then he turns his wrist and palm again, and this time he pushes out his lips as well and points with them. And I understand then, and we’ve been warned about this in the briefing before we started and told not to give, it only makes things worse, and they only spend it on drink anyway.
‘He’s asking for money.’ I take Luisa by the shoulder because most of the kids are back on the buses now and their engines are starting. But it’s not that easy to turn her. Her body is frozen suddenly, and my hand seems to make no impression on the hard, fixed bone of her shoulder.
‘Luisa, c’mon.’ She finally hears me and looks up.
‘Laura,’ she says, and I don’t know who she expected, but her eyes are wide.
‘C’mon,’ I say, leading her away. ‘He’s only asking for money.’
‘No. He was asking about you.’
And I’m too astonished to say About me? and think I must have misunderstood her, and by then Sarah’s taken her by the hand and they’re clambering back up the steps of the bus.
‘Not as interesting as I thought,’ Miss Temple is saying to Dave as she counts us on, and this time – first time – she gets the number right and we can go. ‘Besides, we were late getting away this morning.’
And Dave doesn’t say, And whose fault was that?, but he raises his brows at me and the door hisses shut and Miss Temple plumps herself down in the front seat like she’s totally exhausted all of a sudden and says, ‘Go to the back again, will you, Laura, dear? That’s a good girl,’ and then looks at me in amazement at what she’s just said.
And from the back, as we pull away from the curb, I look out and see the same black man standing and gazing after our bus with the same intense look of puzzlement and inquiry still on his face.
‘I didn’t like that one,’ says Sarah from the seat in front of me, and I realize she means the town and not the man I’m still looking at as we turn the corner and head for Broken Hill and the mines. ‘Did you, Luisa?’
8
‘This incident at Broken Hill …’ Mr Jackson says, and picks up a document from his desk. It’s not a newspaper, I can see, just a normal collection of pages stapled together, so I guess it must be a report from the teachers.
‘Which one, Mr Jackson?’ I say. And curse myself for my stupidity.
‘The one involving Miss Darling, of course.’
‘Oh.’
‘It’s clear from these statements,’ Mr Jackson says, ‘that Miss Darling was bent on mischief from the outset. It defeats me why she was ever allowed to go on the trip in the first place.’
‘Quite,’ says Mr Murchison.
‘Well, it had nothing to do with me.’ For the moment Mr Jackson’s forgotten me completely. ‘The teachers organized the trip, they had total autonomy.’
‘Did they?’ Mr Murchison makes a note of something on his pad.
‘Of course, as Principal …’ Mr Jackson’s getting red himself now. ‘I have final responsibility for anything that happens in the school. But you can hardly –’
‘Of course not,’ says Mr Murchison. ‘I understand. I was a Principal myself once.’ He smiles. Which only seems to make Mr Jackson redder than ever.
‘This incident,’ Mr Jackson shouts at me, ‘with the union official at the Trades Hall.’
‘Oh, that.’
‘Yes, that. The union was kind enough to arrange a tour not just of the mine but of its historic buildings.’
‘It had this huge conference hall. It was very beautiful, with all these green and white inlaid tiles in the ceiling.’
‘I am not interested, Miss Vassilopoulos, in the tiles on the ceiling of some union building in Broken Hill! Will you please try to concentrate. I am interested in the misbehaviour –’
‘But it was all just a simple misunderstanding, Mr Jackson.’
‘Not according to the teachers who were there,’ Mr Jackson taps the index finger of his right hand on the document in front of him.
‘The union official was just explaining to us about mining, and how dangerous it was.’
‘And?’
‘And he said in Australia seven thousand miners had given their lives to the industry.’
‘And?’
‘And Toni, who maybe couldn’t hear properly, said “Their wives?”, and the kids all started giggling and some of them were bored with the talk and deliberately went on laughing and even hooting – that wasn’t Toni’s fault – and the teachers couldn’t control them, and the union man said he wouldn’t go on talking in front of a pack of hyenas and ordered us out of the building.’
‘And later in the street when Miss Temple reprimanded her?’ Mr Jackson says. ‘Instead of being remorseful at making such a fool not only of herself but of the entire school, Miss Darling was equally rude to Miss Temple as well. Isn’t that so?’
‘I don’t know, Mr Jackson. I wasn’t there then.’ Though, of course, Toni did tell me all about it later. As soon as they got outside the hall, Miss Temple went totally hormonal: ‘I suppose you thought that was funny, Antonia?’ she said. ‘No, Miss Temple,’ Toni said back. ‘Then what on earth did you think you were doing?’ ‘I was making a feminist critique, Miss Temple,’ Toni said, ‘cos it couldn’t be much fun just being a miner’s wife in those days, could it?’ And Miss Temple – this is all according to Toni, of course, so I don’t know if she really said that or made it up later – she couldn’t speak she was that breathless. And that must have been the first time in her life that ever happened to Miss Temple.
‘And what about this?’ Mr Jackson is holding up a copy of The Barrier Times that’s got a headline Sydney Schoolgirls Get a Lift Underground and a picture of Toni on the mine tour, and she’s being kissed by one of the miners. And they’re both in hard-hats and Toni’s skirt’s so short even she got a shock when she saw it.
‘Can I see that?’ Mr Kovacs says, and Mr Murchison’s reaching for the newspaper too, but Mr Kovacs gets there first.
‘But that was all just the reporter and the photographer, Mr Jackson,’ I say. ‘They suggested the photo, and everything.’
‘It’s obvious to me, Miss Vassilopoulos, that from day one …’
‘Broken Hill was day two, Mr Jackson.’
‘That from day one, there was nothing on Miss Darling’s mind but disruption and mischief.’
‘We are here,’ Mr Murchison says quietly then – and he’s still got his hand out, waiting for Mr Kovacs to pass him the newspaper – ‘to see whether there are reasonable grounds for believing that to be so, are we not? And whether anyone else was involved?’
‘Very well,’ says Mr Jackson. ‘Let’s leave Broken Hill for the moment then.’
And that’s when I realize he doesn’t know what really happened at Broken Hill at all, and hasn’t heard about the younger teachers and Toni and me going to have a look at the town after the kids were all fed and safely stowed in their tents for the night. And the reason we could go was because everything was quiet by then. Mrs Harvey was the
teacher-in-charge for the night, and Miss Temple and Mr Jasmyne were invigilating as well – though, whenever I saw them, they were mostly invigilating each other or the moon.
Broken Hill had lots of hotels and these weird facades that looked like buildings but had nothing behind them, and it was clean and boring and not like Wilcannia at all and had more policemen than black people, so we went into a hotel in the end and the teachers had whisky and wine – this was Mr Tremblings and Mr Prescott and Miss Plummer – and Toni and I had pub-squash, and there was a band, so we started dancing and it was already half-past eleven when Mr Tremblings noticed and said, ‘Christ, look at the time,’ and said we had to go back straightaway, and Mr Prescott said they’d all be asleep by now and there was no point one way or the other, but Miss Plummer was really worried and said we should all go back then, that second – she was sober suddenly when she was all drunk and dreamy five seconds before and I wondered if she was keen on Mr Tremblings, even though he was a teacher, but drink can do funny things – and in the end I went back with them, and Mr Prescott said he and Toni would have one last dance – the band would be packing up soon anyway – and they’d get a taxi straight back after us.
I could see how worried Miss Plummer was, though, because two or three times she said ‘Dwa-yne’ in a pleading way and nodded in the direction of Toni who was standing beside Mr Prescott and had hold of his hand, though she needn’t have held it so hard or in both hands, I thought, it wasn’t going anywhere or anything, and when we left they were dancing again but not like the other dancers, moving about the floor, but locked together with Toni’s arms around Mr Prescott’s neck and it was “Moon River,” or something equally wet, and if the two of them got any closer, you’d have needed a chisel to part them, especially at the hips. Though it wouldn’t have been so bad, I thought, if you didn’t know them, you’d just have thought they were a normal soppy couple. But Miss Plummer, I could see, was tense and upset all the way back and looking out of the window of the taxi and not talking even to Mr Tremblings, who said at one point, ‘It’ll be all right. Dwayne’s not a fool,’ and Miss Plummer just snapped, ‘You’re all fools,’ and wasn’t in love with Mr Tremblings in the slightest.
And when we got back to the campground, it was just as Mr Prescott had said it would be, and everything was quiet and there were no lights at all except on the paths and in the toilets and things, and even Mrs Harvey’s tent was dark, and I thought then everything would be all right, but it was two hours before Toni came back, and she was so quiet and careful, I couldn’t even pretend she’d woken me. So I just lay and listened to her undressing and sliding into her sleeping bag, and she folded it around her so she wouldn’t have to zip it up, and I knew she must be lying with her face towards me because I could smell the wine on her breath.
‘You went on to Port Augusta –’
‘Yes, Mr Jackson,’ I say. And I realize, for the moment, Toni’s safe, and there are things the teachers haven’t put in their report at all, and I wonder what else they haven’t reported.
‘And nothing happened there, I suppose?’
‘No, Mr Jackson.’ And I don’t think it did – except I told Toni about me and Philip, and hoped it wasn’t too late.
‘And you persist in maintaining that, to this point, you never observed Miss Darling and Mr Prescott alone?’
‘No, Mr Jackson.’
‘No, you did, or no, you didn’t?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he says, and I can easily see how frustrated he is because he snatches the newspaper back from Mr Kovacs and slams it down on the desk in front of him. ‘I simply don’t believe you.’
I don’t say anything, just look straight back at him, but all the time I’m aware of Mr Murchison, sitting, and watching and thinking, in the corner of my eye.
9
‘But, Lolly, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I don’t know. I was always going to.’
We’re at Port Augusta, and we’ve come down through these funny, round, green, little hills which Mr Jasmyne has told us are part of the Flinders Ranges, and he’s explained their geology and that, talking over Dave’s microphone, and how they were formed and their age and structure – their uplift, he calls it, and I’m just glad Toni wasn’t on the bus with us then – and it’s sort of interesting if you’re a rock nerd or something which most of the kids aren’t, and you can tell that because most of them haven’t taken their earplugs off or stopped making faces or throwing things. Some of them, I notice, have even turned their Walkmans up, which really upsets Miss Temple who’s pacing up and down the aisle now and glaring at the kids and making them take their Walkmans off. ‘Pearls before swine,’ she mutters once when she stands with her back to the toilet door and won’t let anyone in or out until we’re down from the hills and on the flat next to the water, which is Spencer Gulf, Mr Jasmyne explains. It turns out he’s an expert on water and its salt content and tidal patterns as well as rocks, and in the end Miss Temple has no choice but to move, there are so many kids queued up waiting to go.
And now we’re camped on the flats by the Gulf and the breeze off the water is cold, and the sun’s gone in and it’s cloudy and grey here and there’s no sand, just grey marshy land and dried salt and a few wading birds – one type I know are ibises – and the place is all boats and bridges and factories and concrete and industrial and yuk, and I’m already missing the red earth and the open space and even the road and feel it’s unfair and we’ve been robbed of something, and that’s when I tell Toni about Philip and me.
‘But you should have told me,’ Toni says.
‘I know.’
‘As soon as it happened.’
‘I wanted to.’
‘So why didn’t you?’
‘I was too hurt, I suppose. And ashamed.’
‘Oh, Lolly, that’s so –’
‘Stupid. I know.’ And it’s funny but I feel more ashamed now, telling her and not having told her before, than I did when I was keeping it a secret. And I can tell she’s upset with me and she’s upset for me as well, but just at the moment, while we’re sitting here on these concrete blocks or stumps or whatever they are and looking out at the grey water and the dry salt and black sand and watching the kids running about and playing cricket and tossing stones in the water, she mostly just wants to know the story of what happened.
‘What did he say?’ she nearly shouts.
‘Well, that’s the thing. I’d already guessed, you see. He just phoned and said he had to talk to me and it was important and that.’
‘This was from Canberra?’
‘Yes, and he was coming up specially to see me. And I knew then and I’d sort of felt it before that but I didn’t want to admit it to myself.’
‘But why? You were all over each other in the holidays. I hardly saw you.’
‘I know,’ I pull a face of apology. ‘We just never seemed to have time.’
‘That’s all right,’ Toni says. ‘I didn’t mind. I wasn’t meaning that. I’d be the same.’
‘Would you? Really?’
‘Of course. But what did he say?’
‘Just that he was sorry but he’d met someone else. He said it wasn’t me that was the problem, it was just him, he’d changed, being at uni and away from home. And I know the girl and that, and she’s very smart and pretty …’
‘Lolly, he’s crazy. She might be pretty but he’s never going to find someone like you. Someone who looks like you.’
‘Dark, you mean? Like a Greek, you mean?’ And I’m just saying this, I realize, because Toni’s so sympathetic and this lets me feel sorry for myself. And it’s weird because I’m sort of enjoying it where I thought I’d be so ashamed and upset telling even Toni. ‘Her name’s Jenny.’
‘Jenny, Jenny, two a penny,’ Toni says then. ‘But that’s all ? He just came home – all that way – and said: “Oh, sorry. I’ve met someone else and she’s pretty, and why don’t you jump
off the Gap?” ’
‘No, he was upset and everything.’
‘Oooww – was he, poor little Philip.’
‘No, he was really. He could hardly speak. But I had this poem I showed him.’
‘A poem? He’s telling you to take a flying leap off a cliff, and you’re showing him poems?’
‘Just this one poem. It’s by Philip Larkin.’
‘Not another Philip?’
‘No, it’s a real poem, and Larkin’s English and that. Anyway he’s got this poem that’s about two lovers – it’s called Lying in Bed – and it’s a pun on lying and it says how the feeling between them has gone dead, and when Philip didn’t know what to say, I just showed him this poem, and it ends about how difficult it is to find words to say, and it goes, Words at once true and kind/Or not untrue and not unkind. And when he saw that, he just said Yes –’
‘Oh, Lolly, don’t you see, you let him off. You just made it easy for him.’
‘And then he told me about Jenny and how they have this fabulous relationship.’
‘What an arsehole.’
‘And how they share all these similar interests even though she’s doing English and he’s doing Forestry, and he said he’s even started to read some of her books like Camus and de Beauvoir and others, and that gives them so much to share, and he didn’t even seem to remember …’
‘Lolly, I’m so sorry.’
‘And he kept going on about how it wasn’t me, I was still the same person and he still loved me and that, but not quite in the same way, and how I wouldn’t respect him if he wasn’t honest.’
‘Did you kick him in the balls?’
‘And Jenny is so smart. Toni, you should see the clothes she wears.’
‘You’re the one who was offered the modelling contract, not stupid Jenny.’
‘Plus they’re the same age.’
‘And you wouldn’t even take it. And why? Because it would interfere with your study. Yeech!’