Wiremu Laughed. “Yeah like ‘round the table when you’re just about to sit down to a big feed of curried sausages or black pudding.”
“Aw, crikey you’re bloody foul Kotare!” Giggled Jack.
“Nah, this is foul!” said Wiremu, as he let rip with a fart.
“Aw, yuck you bastard!” Both Rex and Jack yelled, and all three of them, and the dog, dived in the water to escape the stench.
They came up for air, eventually, and Jack tentatively sniffed the air giggling as he asked “Have we got the all clear, Pwivate Woberts?”
“Yes Sir. As far as I can tell the enemy has moved on and the mustard gas has cleared. Sir!” replied Rex.
“Not yet!” Chuckled Wiremu as he let rip again. This time underwater and the bubbles rose from beneath and exploded on the surface around him, releasing their deadly gas.
“Dive, dive, dive!” Jack managed to yell before escaping beneath the surface in a loud splash, followed quickly by Rex and even Wiremu, disgusted by what he had produced. Jess swam quickly away to the shore and shook herself off and snorted a couple of times, as if she was trying to get rid of the stink from her body.
They surfaced again and Rex said, “That one burned the back of my thwoat. It weally was like mustard gas.”
“I reckon,” said Jack. “You sure you don’t need to take a crap Kotare?”
“Well, I’m a bit worried I already did! But just to be sure I think I’ll go and visit the nearby bush,” said Wiremu as he swum to the shore and walked awkwardly into the bush. Jack and Rex carried on swimming until they both surfaced near each other. Then Jack asked, “How’s your Dad, Rex?”
“Aw, you know, better I s’pose.”
Rex’s father, Rex (senior) had proved all the doubters wrong. All the cynics who said that he had chopped off his right hand to escape the war had well and truly been put in their place. Rex (senior) had recently managed to chop off three fingers from his left hand leaving him a grand total of two, a thumb and a forefinger. A funny sort of accident when you looked at it because Rex (senior) was actually a foreman at the mill, and therefore he never used the big circular saws nowadays. Not after his first accident. He just did the office work and supervised staff. But as their regular tutor was away sick, Rex volunteered for the role of training some new blokes who had just started at the mill. He was giving them a live demonstration, on how to mill a log and how to keep safe when he was distracted, for whatever reason, and he sawed through three of his fingers. Sawed them clean off. They put them on ice and rushed him and his fingers straight to Wakeford hospital, as fast as they good. The doctors managed to reattach them but they didn’t take. So they had to take them off again, real fast, in case they turned gangrenous and he ended up losing more than his fingers. But it was heard that Rex Roberts (senior) wasn’t that upset at his loss as finally, he had proved all the gossipy, nasty, rumour spreading, God fearing folk of Putumu wrong and had shown them, that on both occasions, they were indeed accidents. As he said, time after time, who in their right mind would chop off his hand to get out of going to war. Hell, like most, he wanted to fight for his country. And now they believed him. But there were still a few, a very small few who had small minds and pathetic lives and just thrived on stirring the pot, who reckoned he chopped his fingers off just so folks would think that he accidently chopped off his right hand, just before war broke out. And he knew they were a wasted cause; that he would never win them over, even if he chopped off his head.
“Jeepers, it must be hard with only two fingers left,” said Jack.
“Dad weckons it could be worse.”
“Really? How? How could it possibly be worse?”
“Well, he weckons that if he hadn’t chopped off his fingers he would’ve spent the west of his life being tweated like a leper. Now he says he can hold his head high and people show him wespect and even shout him dwinks at the pub. He weckons it’s because they all feel guilty for saying nasty things about him, things that weren’t twue.”
“That just shows you how mental grownups are.”
“I weckon,” agreed Rex.
Wiremu exploded from the trees and came running towards them. He leapt off the bank and tucking his legs up and wrapping his arms around them, bombed his mates, landing between them with a, WHUMP! And causing an almighty splash.
“GET HIM!” Yelled Jack, and both he and Rex pounced on Wiremu as he surfaced and they all wrestled clumsily in the cool deep water, attempting, but not succeeding, to drown each other as they ducked each other’s heads under the surface. Jess was growling and barking on the shingle side of the river as she tried to add to the ruckus. The boys were yelling and screaming and laughing and swearing as they tried their best to kill each other. Togs were ripped from bums and thrown away and gallons of water were choked on and breathed into lungs causing coughing fits and snotty noses until Rex, being the weakest of the three, and who was coming off the worst, climbed wearily from the water, naked, to retrieve his togs from a blackberry bush. The other two, laughing so much they were hiccupping, grabbed chunks of mud from the bank and threw it at Rex until one hit him in the side of the head and almost brought tears to his eyes. “Bloody stop throwing that shit you bastards.” Cried Rex and sensibly both Jack and Wiremu stopped what they were doing and got out of the river. Rex stood with a towel wrapped around his body, shivering, while the other two had to use a long stick to retrieve his togs from the tangle of blackberry. Eventually they settled down and went about the task of sunbathing again and continuing their conversation so rudely interrupted by Wiremu’s farts. Jack said, “So, whatta you reckon Rex?”
“Whatta I weckon what?”
“Does my mother have polio?”
“Aw, nah, pwobably not eh.”
“Told ya,” said Wiremu. “It’ll be that she’s not eating enough spinach.”
“Why do you say that though?” said Jack.
“My Dad’s always telling me, ‘eat your greens or you’ll get sick. You won’t grow up big and strong like me’. So it makes sense. You said she hardly eats anything, so therefore its gotta be that.”
“Sounds weasonable to me,” agreed Rex.
“I dunno...” said Jack doubtfully.
Wiremu argued. “Look at ‘Popeye’. Ever see him sick? No. What happens when he eats spinach? He gets super strong and can take on anyone. It keeps him healthy. Spinach is the answer, Jack. Just tell her to start eating it more and she’ll be fine. I guarantee it.”
Rex said, “Mind you I don’t eat spinach. Can’t stand the stuff.”
“Well there you go then,” said Wiremu, as Jack laughed.
“Whatta you mean by that?” Whined Rex.
“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Chuckled Wiremu.
“Aw, thanks vewy much,” said Rex.
“You’re Welcome.”
Jack said, “What about silver beet, would that work? We eat more silver beet than spinach.”
“Nah, it has to be spinach. Spinach’s got something special in it. A bit of magic prob’ly,” replied Wiremu.
“Yeah alright I’ll tell her about it,” said Jack.
“Got nothing to lose,” said Wiremu as he rolled over on to his back.
Jack said, “I got another question for you... How long does it take to have a baby?”
Wiremu laughed. “Hey Jack you can’t have a baby, you aint got any boobies!”
Rex giggled. “Yeah, have you looked in the mirror lately, Jack?”
“Yeah good one, dickheads. Not me, my mum, she’s going to have a baby.”
Wiremu looked up and rolled his eyes. “Aw you idiot Jack, that’s why she’s sick all the time. Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?”
“Ladies always get sick before they have babies,” added Rex.
“Yeah, but she’s been having this baby for over a year now.”
Exasperated Wiremu said, “What’s your point Jack.”
“Well, I thought it didn’t take that long to ha
ve a baby.”
“Of course it does Jack. It takes almost two years before it comes out,” said Wiremu.
“That’s an elephant, you dick,” corrected Rex.
Wiremu scratched his head. “Aw, yeah, you might be right. How long does a woman take?”
“That’s what I’m asking you, dimwit,” said Jack.
“Nine months, I think,” said Rex.
“Yeah, that sounds about right. Yeah, nine months Jack,” confirmed Wiremu. “How long did you say it was?”
“Over a year, I think.”
“Hmm, sounds like it’s stuck in there. That’ll be why she’s crook,” said Wiremu.
“I thought you said it was to do with the spinach?” Said Rex.
“It’ll be both. A stuck baby and not eating enough spinach.”
Jack shook his head realising he was getting nowhere. He would just have to ask his mother because now he was starting to think that maybe there wasn’t going to be a baby after all. In fact he was pretty sure that the baby had somehow disappeared, and as a smile broke out on his face he hoped with all his heart that this was true. He suddenly stood and before the others knew what he was doing he was running and jumping out over the water, yelling, “Last one in’s a rotten egg!”
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Jack asked his mother that afternoon. They were outside on the veranda enjoying the late afternoon sun. Doug was off somewhere up the back of the farm and Jack noticed that his mother looked quite relaxed. He wondered if it was the beautiful weather that made her look at ease or the fact that Doug was some miles away and wasn’t due back for hours yet. He saw her lift her glass to her mouth and take a swig of the tea coloured liquid. She grimaced as she tasted it, then swallowed it down and let out a long ‘Ah’. He realised then, it was both of those things that put her at ease, but mainly, it was what she was drinking. The booze was numbing her mind and uncoiling her knotted nerves. He waited till she lit a cigarette before he asked, “What’s wrong with you, mum?”
She almost choked. “What do you mean Jack?”
“You don’t look very well.”
“Don’t I?”
He watched as her eye twitched and her lip trembled and said, “Not for a long time. And what’s wrong with your nose.”
Her hand automatically came to her nose. She touched it briefly before she realised what she was doing and took it away. “I had an accident,” she lied.
“What sort of accident?”
“Aw, Jack it’s really none of your business,” she snapped. There was silence as she dragged on her cigarette. Then she added, “If you must know I tripped on the bloody cat and hit the floor. I broke my nose, okay?”
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Lambs could be heard bleating somewhere far away. A lonely, sad sound, as they cried out for their mothers, across the hills and valleys.
Jack asked, “What about the baby?” And Ellen’s head dropped, almost instantly, as the words were uttered. Her hand came to her brow, supporting her head, her elbow resting on the arm of the chair in which she sat. And she sat there, in silence, until she could contain it no more and it flooded up through her body and spilled out in uncontrollable racking sobs, the grief and the pain, for the loss of her child. And she couldn’t stop crying. It was like someone had turned on a tap, had chopped through a water main and the tears poured out and she bawled and moaned and rocked like a child herself, as her only son came to her, a frightened look on his face and tried to comfort her. He wrapped his arms around her body and held on tight. Her skinny body. Where was his mother? Where had she gone? This weak and emotional wreck was not her. This mouse. This pathetic terrified thing that shook and jumped with every noise. Who had let her appearance go. Who no longer laughed. No longer took charge. No longer stood firm and tall and strong. Who once looked the world in the eye and welcomed all of life’s challenges. Who shunned adversity. Who held fast like a boulder in a raging storm, as the destructive elements destroyed all around it. Where was Jacks rock now? Who did Jack turn to when he needed to cry and he was upset. Who now, would make everything all right. Who would comfort him and chase away the monsters in the middle of the night when they had invaded his sleep. Where was the person who cared for him when he was sick and where was the person who Jack could always rely on, to always be there for him, forever and ever, when everything and everyone else in the world had disintegrated or turned topsy-turvy or had fallen, crashing down around him. She was gone and replaced by this. This shell. This worthless husk...
But Jack knew what was destroying his mother. He knew right there and then what was eating her soul. What was ripping out her heart and devouring her very being. And if he was honest with himself, he always knew. He just didn’t want to know. He had tried to kid himself that it was nothing to do with him. That he didn’t care what happened to his mother anymore. That he didn’t want to know what went on behind closed doors. What went on when he wasn’t around. Their dirty little secrets. So he asked her, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He grabbed her face and brought his face only inches away from hers and looked into those tear filled eyes and said, “It’s him isn’t it? He’s killed the baby and now he’s killing you!”
And her eyes went wide and she swallowed and sucked in air, noisily, through her damaged nose. She tried to shake her head back and forth, to deny the accusation, but she knew she couldn’t keep on living like this anymore. That it all had to end. Now.
And exhaling through her mouth, she answered in a rush of breath, “Yes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
D
oug came through the door right on dusk. To an empty house. He was tired and full of aches and pains from a hard days fencing and all he wanted now is a nice cup of tea, a smoke and then a good feed. But no one was around. There was no dinner cooking, no fire going, no sign of life and he was confused, perplexed. This was odd, this hadn’t happened before. Well it had, if he was honest, but only when she was crook in bed. Only then had he come home to nothing being done; nothing cooked and no sign of life. But he hadn’t beaten her for ages. It would be a good month since he dished out his last hiding and that was nothing like his previous beatings he had given her. No, she really hadn’t needed to be beaten lately, she had been pretty good in fact. Done exactly as she had been told. But if he didn’t find her soon she would get it. Get it big time. Maybe break a bone or two. Hard to prove it wasn’t an accident if it was done right. He’d done it before of course. In the POW camp to those stinking Japs. Yeah, she’d better have a bloody good excuse for not having his dinner ready especially when he’s been out there working all day. And he wouldn’t hide it anymore either. Was sick of trying to keep it secret from the brat. He would beat his mother senseless if need be and he would do it in front of him, from now on. No need to hide it. In fact he needs to see what could happen to him if he doesn’t behave. If he doesn’t tow the line. It was strange and he didn’t know what it was but he hadn’t taken a hand to him, yet. Didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve a hiding, because he most surely did, the little whining arsehole. But there was something that held him back. Couldn’t put a finger on it. Maybe it was... Fear? Nah that’s silly. How could he fear a snot nosed little kid. A big man like him, it couldn’t be possible, could it? Could it...?
But it was fear and he knew it. He knew that if he was to harm Ellen’s son in any way then she would turn. She would fight back. She wouldn’t accept that. She would be like a lioness protecting her cub and she would die for him. He would lose his hold on her if she was forced into a situation. A situation where she would only fear for her son’s life and not her own. No, harming him would be a bad idea, very bad indeed. In fact the only way he could ever hope to harm Jack would be if he was willing to kill them both, and that wouldn’t do. Too many questions. Or, if he made Jack’s killing look like an accident. Hmm, have to think about that one, but not today, today will be just a matter o
f dishing out the punishment to the bitch. If he could find her. So he shouted ‘Ellen!’ As he walked through the house, still carrying the rifle, as he looked in every room, hoping she would miraculously appear, his patience well and truly gone.
Doug was looking out onto the veranda from their bedroom window. In the dying light he could see a glass and a cup, sitting on the table, half full, both of them. A magazine, ghostly fingers turning its pages over one by one, as the wind picked up outside. And they had been abandoned. Its owners had vanished. In a puff of smoke they had gone. No explanations, nothing...
And then it happened again. While staring at these items wondering what it all meant he drifted away and was lost. These fugue states were happening more and more often now and he was powerless to stop them. It was if someone had flicked a switch and shut down his brain and he stood like a zombie, dead to the world, totally unaware of his surroundings until CRASH! The rifle slipped from his grip and fell to the floor, startling him awake. He shook his head and tried to work out how long he was out, but he didn’t know, could’ve been hours or minutes or seconds. All he knew was that it was lighter before, that it was pitch black now. He wondered what had woken him, remembered the rifle. He picked it up, checked it still held a round, and propped it in the corner of the room. He sat on the bed, rolled a cigarette by touch - a practised hand - and lit it, inhaling deeply. He lay back, smoking in the dark, ash dropping on his clothes and bed as the cigarette burnt down. He was thinking about his father, about the bastard touching him, doing those filthy things to him. He remembered his mother, his mother who really did love him, but didn’t want to know. Who turned a blind eye. Who just wanted to keep the peace and play happy families. And even when Doug had killed him she said nothing. Just carried on like nothing at all had happened. And he wondered if, because of his father, because of what he did to him as a boy, that that was the reason he turned out the way he did. Why he took pleasure in hurting things and killing things. Why he was such a terribly naughty boy who really should be punished. And he wondered if he would ever change, for the better. But he doubted it. Knew he couldn’t. And as the cigarette burned to the end, and into his fingers, he never noticed the pain, but thought, probably, yeah, probably he’s the reason, and he thought, so what? I am who I am and I is what I is, and he smiled to himself and tried to remember, who had said that? He couldn’t recall so he dismissed it from his mind and thought, besides, it’s way too late for a leopard to change its spots. And after a little while, as the exertions of the day overcame him, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.
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