Hammers Over the Anvil

by Alan Marshall

  The girls in all the bright colours then fashionable were like lovely flowers thrown into the air by the men. They floated there.

  ‘Yah hoo. Hoo-ee-ee.’

  What could be lovelier than this! O beautiful, beautiful! I wanted to cry.

  Then we heard a soft whistle from Blue Wilson across the hall and we came back to our resolve to produce such a stink that would be remembered as long as the Catholic Ball. We went round to him and received our seeds. Time had gone quicker than we thought.

  We took our places round the hall clutching the black wattle seeds in our pocket.

  When the waltz was in full swing Blue gave the signal and half a dozen of us ground our heels down on the little heap of seeds beneath them.

  The effect was as if a momentary paralysis of thought had seized all those in the hall.

  First of all every bugger started to stare at each other. Then a couple left the dance and made for the seats along the wall. The bloke unloaded his girl there then made for the door.

  It made everyone think he was the bloke that had shit himself. Then the men all started getting shod of their partners. They dumped them against the wall then fled outside.

  The women along the wall started edging away from each other. They didn’t look exactly unfriendly but they didn’t look too bloody friendly either.

  Outside the men collected. Joe and I stood looking. Joe always reckons you can tell what I am thinking by looking at my face.

  ‘Look innocent you silly bugger’, he hissed at me. I looked innocent.

  Big Dave Fraser stood over near the road fence taking a swig from a bottle of whisky.

  ‘What do you think, Dave?’ young Tom Fields asked him.

  Dave lowered his bottle for a moment. ‘There’s no doubt someone’s shit himself going round’, he said. ‘There’s no bloody fart living that could be as big or last as long as that bastard in there.’

  ‘Do you think those bloody kids spilt anything on the floor?’ young Tom Fields asked Dave.

  That was the last thing Joe and I heard. Like well-trained dingo pups we slipped off into the dark and made for home.

  ‘Well’, Joe said as we hurried through the dark. ‘We had plenty of fun tonight didn’t we?’ But he didn’t sound as if he meant it.

  ‘I just don’t know’, I said.

  I felt empty and sad.