What a good idea. And so little pieces of each crab were placed into Thomas’s food bowl. He sniffed them, and then daintily proceeded to eat them and lick his bowl clean so that not even a smidgin of crab remained.
An hour later Thomas lay snoozing peacefully in the armchair. The all clear was sounded and Andrew and Mabel tucked into the fragrant white meat with a glass of white wine to wash it down while the plaintive strains of Edith Piaf warbled away on the gramophone. And what a sumptuous feast it was – until Andrew happened to glance down, lips parted in expectation, the last piece of crab halfway to his mouth, only to see Thomas writhing in pain at his feet.
It was the quickest trip they had ever made to the infirmary. Sister de Lourdes’ quick doses of Ipecac certainly did the trick as they sat gasping on the infirmary bench with a bucket between their knees and the taste of fresh vomit in their mouths. Thank God for Thomas’s timely warning, although there was no wasted emotion from Andrew as he envisaged Thomas rigid on the kitchen floor in his final food-poisoned death throe while Mabel blubbered helplessly next to him into a tissue. As for the bush mob, that would definitely be the last time they’d take anything from them. The bastards must have stomachs of cast iron.
But where were we, revenge is best eaten cold, isn’t it, and so while Andrew and Mabel were busily heaving up their guts under the watchful gaze of Sister de Lourdes, Thomas’s griping stomach pains gave way to five multi-coloured kittens, the result of a last-minute fling with a neighbour’s cat before she was bundled off to Andrew. Poor presumptuous Andrew had already sent Mabel to unlock the front door and locate the unfortunate Thomas and was just reaching for the shovel to excavate a hole for the cat’s burial when Mabel’s excited squeals reached him from the laundry. Had grief completely taken her senses? And what the hell was she doing with the laundry basket?
And so presumptuous Andrew who was not at all happy when he learnt about the new additions to the household quickly became cunning and cranky Andrew and, as soon as Mabel wasn’t looking, it was off to the bush for the kittens without so much as a by your leave to Thomas. But that didn’t deter Thomas and one by one they were carried back again. What a situation! No matter where Andrew dumped them, either Thomas or the bush mob kids would bring them straight back. In the end he just gave up and did his best to ignore them. But cats will be cats and as one had become another five, so then did the six become thirteen and the nineteen become forty-seven.
Soon no-one could keep count anymore and it wasn’t long before the cats began to be seen in the homes of the bush mob, like old Leah the widow who since being given three kittens by the desperate Andrew had developed a great fondness for the cheeky little things. And didn’t the cats flourish in the company of this old matriarch until in the end her house was worse than Andrew and Mabel’s because the Mackenzies were now throwing the cats out the doors and not letting them back in so it was only natural they’d go to Leah’s place where they were appreciated. And they were everywhere, climbing up trees, snoozing on the railings, taking turns sitting on Leah’s bony little lap, lapping cold tea out of the billy. In the end the dogs, fed up with having their ears chewed by kittens when they were trying to sleep and having their tucker stolen by marauding posses of cats, gave up and moved out.
And as the numbers of lizards and mice diminished or left for safer surrounds the cats moved in a silent wave past the rubbish dump and further into the bush where all manner of gastronomic delights awaited them. Did these descendants of Thomas care as they crunched on the bones of the last of a species of gecko that had existed unmolested for millennia? No, it was the survival of the fittest here and nothing was going to stand in the felines’ way.
Then the rumours started that cats as big as camp dogs and just as mean were being spotted in the bush when the men went hunting.
‘And it jumped out of a tree and had me like this,’ exclaimed the wide-eyed Ephraim, hands gripped tightly around his throat while he lay on the ground, his legs flailing wildly. ‘True! But then the dogs came and it bolted.’
‘And what about Caleb who was minding his own business having a piss when one came flying out of nowhere and tried to attack his willy,’ said Matthew. ‘It must have been looking for a mate or something.’
And so a hunting party was organised to sort out these pesky cats before someone suffered a serious injury. It was headed up by Andrew, of course. After all he was the one responsible for the scourge in the first place so it was the least he could do. And what a time the hunters had with their five shotguns and three twenty-two calibre rifles, quite an arsenal in those days. Cat after cat was blasted into oblivion while the men cheered and jumped up and down like a bunch of kids before seeking out their next victim. Sadly for Andrew, none of the cats that appeared in his sights or anyone else’s was Thomas, and even though a bounty had been placed on the wily creature’s head Thomas eluded them all.
But did the killing stop there? Trigger-happy shooters drunk on success blasted their way through anything that moved, be it feathered or furred. Finally the ammunition ran dry and the men returned triumphantly to their homes and life returned to the bush. But it was a different sort of life now because yet another invader had arrived in their country and whether the bush mob liked it or not, it too was there to stay.
The Castaways
Although no-one could doubt their devotion to the cause, the mission mob were an odd bunch to say the least. And dear old Brother Angus, with his propensity to have conversations with himself or start laughing for no reason or get up in the middle of a discussion and walk off, was no exception. With his head stuck in books from an early age, Brother Angus had not grown up in a particularly religious family, in fact they seldom went to church at all, but there was something about the ecclesiastical way of life that had drawn him like a magnet. It had nothing to do with God or saving heathens, it was the inner peace and the solitude that Brother Angus found as he sat on his pew in his own little world or wandered in the garden, listening to the silence in his mind while the years and the sermons and the faces slipped unobtrusively by. And didn’t the bush mob love him with his kind smile and hands that would always reach out to gently touch the head of that old one or the satin cheek of that baby one or the heart of the sad and lonely.
And so it came to be that a new truck was bought by the mission after the last one had been destroyed in the cyclone. And there were some very strict rules about its use including rule number one that decreed no black arse was allowed to sit in or upon it. And it was in this truck that Brother Angus, knowing the rules and having told Father Macredie that he was going to check the fish traps, discreetly picked up Caleb on the bend in the road past the rubbish tip so they could go fishing. But hang on, where did Judy and Fatima appear from? They weren’t there a few seconds ago, nor was Rebecca and Lazarus with their three kids. And just look at them, happily climbing into the back and making themselves comfortable just like Brother Angus had personally insisted that they come along too. Meanwhile Caleb hopped in beside him, pleasantly bidding Brother good day while his beaming smile radiated to every dark corner of the truck cabin.
Despite his funny ways Brother Angus wasn’t stupid. He knew he’d been had. He should have just ordered everyone out and turned right on around and driven back to the mission in a huff like anyone else would have done. But he just couldn’t bear to see those happy smiling faces turn sad could he, so he just tucked that ungracious thought away, put the truck into gear and off they all went.
And what a place! The deception was immediately forgotten as Brother Angus gazed at the beautiful white beach where no other murantani had set their clean white shoeless feet before. On the right was a tidal creek that ran into the ocean and on the left was another smaller one. But wait a minute, something wasn’t quite right. What was a yacht doing moored there in the middle, that wasn’t supposed to be there, was it? They could see from the broken mast and the deep gouges down the side that t
he trip over the reef must have been a bumpy one indeed.
‘Might be lost or something,’ volunteered Lazarus.
They’d certainly never seen anything like it. Nor had Brother Angus seen anything like the two naked murantanis locked in the throes of noisy passion, totally oblivious to their audience. The woman was the first to notice the spectators and, shoving the poor bloke off without any warning, rushed to embrace and frantically kiss the mortified Brother Angus, declaring loudly to the world that they’d been saved. The man, only seconds behind, grabbed Lazarus and, picking him up, proceeded to dance around in the sand while the others looked on in stunned silence. Shoving the woman aside, Brother Angus turned to flee, only to bump into Lazarus and the man, sending them sprawling in a heap on the sand. Undeterred, the strange pair grabbed each other and with boobs and male genitalia bouncing every which way kicked their legs wildly into the air in a sassy imitation of the cancan.
Later that day, after they’d all made it back to the mission, Father Macredie questioned Odile – he was unsure of where to look as the woman’s breasts threatened to pop out of her sarong – and Jean Claude in their native French. Having sailed from the Big Joint they were on their way to New Zealand but had somehow gotten lost, they claimed, as they puffed away on some strange-smelling, weedy-looking tobacco that they’d grabbed from their boat before throwing themselves on the mercy of their rescuers. What an amazing feat of seamanship, thought Father Macredie sarcastically as he reflected on the fifty nautical miles that separated the Big Joint from where the castaways had landed on the beach. It didn’t take much skill to cover that narrow strip of sea especially if the currents were running like they did at that time of year.
Discussion over, the pair were bundled off to Andrew and Mabel’s place until they could get a lift on the barge the following week. Their silly grins and dreamy faraway eyes were really starting to give Father the shits so he was thankful for Mabel’s kind offer. Their dress sense left a lot to be desired as well. It was quite obvious that neither of them were wearing anything under their artfully arranged sarongs, not that the good Father was looking, of course.
But there’s no accounting for taste, is there, or how the chemistry between people works. And over one of Jean Claude and Odile’s smelly cigarettes the four became friends. And then Andrew developed quite a fondness for the weed too, and Mabel soon followed suit, until it was nothing unusual to see the lot of them walking around with dreamy eyes and silly grins. And when Mabel insisted that they stay a bit longer everyone was so happy that they celebrated by making a really big fat cigarette from the large bag, and it was passed around like a peace pipe until nothing remained but a lovely aromatic cloud of smoke that they inhaled deeply into their lungs until it was totally absorbed into their hearts and souls, cementing their friendship forever. And wasn’t it a stroke of luck that Odile had thought to keep the seeds that she’d found among the weed with a mind to planting them one day just to see what they looked like.
And that was how Noah became their best friend. With his green fingers the seeds naturally took root and grew into the most magnificent plants that any of them had ever seen. Then someone had the bright idea of picking the leaves and drying them to see if they could be rolled into a cigarette and smoked. And look at that, it tasted just like the other stuff. They must have been doing something right because no-one died or got poisoned, they just got really, really happy and their smiles got even bigger.
But it wasn’t all plain sailing. The damned thieving wallabies managed to sniff the plants out and developed a fondness for the stuff too. And they were very good at getting inside the fence that had to be erected, although not so very good at getting out again. And then after the fence had been made bigger and stronger to keep the wallabies out, the bush mob started stealing the crop because word had somehow gotten around that the crappy stuff that the mission handed out in their rations paled into insignificance against this stuff. Until in the end, after Sister de Lourdes had complained to Father Macredie and he in turn had complained to Andrew about the large numbers of bush mob turning up at the infirmary with buckshot in their arses, they grew it in pots in the spare bedroom where nothing, furred or otherwise, could steal it.
But that wasn’t the end of the dramas for Father Macredie, now that Jean Claude and Odile were firmly ensconced in the Mackenzie household. His efforts to have the pair sent on their way had been met with a resistance from the foursome that he hadn’t expected at all.
‘But Odile is helping me with the women,’ Mabel would insist despite Father’s protestations that the women didn’t really have a use for French lessons.
And his discovery when he wandered into the kitchen one morning of the now trousered Jean Claude showing Sister Jerome and Sabinas number one and two how to make the perfect croissant didn’t go down at all well either. And silly Father, you’d think he’d know better than to take on Sister Jerome when it came to anything to do with her kitchen. But no, he had to open his big trap and order her to send Jean Claude on his way. And even though Jean Claude stayed, Father was always made to suffer for his insolence. After that he always got the meanest cuts of meat and smallest servings of dessert that Sister could find.
But what a hit Odile and Jean Claude were with the bush mob. With their funny accents and their love of the cast-off clothes, the two hippies were right at home. They would often be seen wandering around the bush with their new friends collecting pandanus to weave baskets or looking for bush tucker – a practice completely frowned upon by the mission mob who felt it was an affront to their superior race to have muruntani mixing so closely with the bush mob.
But the now heavily pregnant Odile wasn’t bothered one iota as Dinah and her two sisters Mary Magdalene and Epiphany arrived for a cup of tea and a chat. Now these women were notorious for their constant fighting and acts of sabotage towards each other, and they didn’t spare any other poor bastard who happened to get in the way either. And naughty Odile, always on the lookout for a bit of fun, had always longed to see them in action, her hopes of such fuelled by the stories that abounded of their undisciplined and disorderly behaviour.
What a lovely time they were all having. Mary Magdalene and Dinah sang dirty ditties in voices like two cracked saucepans while Odile and Epiphany joined in on the parts that they knew. But they say that patience is always rewarded and Odile didn’t have too long to wait for the first blow up when Dinah decided it was time to go home.
‘No, more,’ said Epiphany as she kept drinking her tea.
‘Yes!’ screeched Dinah. ‘Your ear blocked or something?’
‘You only want me to go because you half blind and can’t see your way home,’ said Epiphany.
‘Don’t talk rubbish, you’re the blind one who threw stone at cheeky dog and missed and hit your grandson,’ sneered Dinah.
‘You’re so blind you can’t see your husband looking at other womans,’ retorted Epiphany, her voice rising.
Well, that hit the spot, didn’t it, as Dinah delivered a resounding blow to the back of Epiphany’s head while Mary Magdalene, in Epiphany’s defence, thumped Dinah in the stomach. Jumping up from her seat and placing herself between them – surely they wouldn’t hit a pregnant woman, would they? – Odile landed heavily on Mary Magdalene’s foot. They all turned on Odile then.
‘What are you trying to do, break my leg?’ wailed Mary Magdalene, bent in half and rubbing her sore foot while the other two gave Odile filthy looks.
She was beginning to see what everyone had been talking about now and wasn’t liking it one bit.
‘Make her go home,’ said Epiphany, suddenly switching sides.
‘Don’t pick on me,’ said Dinah. ‘At least I’m not sneaking around with your husband like she is.’ She glared at Mary Magdalene. Deathly silence. If there was one thing you didn’t do to Epiphany it was mention her husband, a small wizened ugly old man who was
renowned for his chronic infidelity. What allure the man possessed was totally beyond Odile’s comprehension but women of all shapes, ages and sizes pursued him relentlessly. And, being a gentleman in every sense of the word, he was only too willing to indulge them. Odile chewed her fingernail in anticipation as Mary Magdalene glared defiantly at Epiphany. Dinah smugly watched on. To her credit Mary Magdalene didn’t deny it, but instead turned to Dinah.
‘At least he’s a better root than your husband,’ she hissed.
Odile waited with morbid fascination for Dinah’s response.
‘Well at least my husband doesn’t have a dick like this!’ Dinah angrily threw back, waving her little finger in front of Mary Magdalene’s face.
That one cut to the bone and Dinah bolted as Mary Magdalene charged after her, swinging her digging stick around her head in the most fearsome manner. They disappeared from sight with Mary Magdalene gaining ground. Next minute they heard screaming, first one voice and then both. Then silence. Not sure what to do, Odile looked at Epiphany who sat nonchalantly sucking on a piece of grass.
‘Oh, that’s right we came to tell you that baby be here soon,’ said Epiphany before slurping down the rest of her tea and heading off in the direction of the others.
And, wouldn’t you know it, the baby was there soon alright. So soon in fact that Odile didn’t have time to be taken to the Big Joint where she could have her child in the safety and comfort of a proper muruntanga birthing suite. Oh no, she had to put up with what the bush mob had to put up with as she huffed and puffed away in the little room at the back of the infirmary and waited for sister to tell her to push. And it was turning out to be a night of revelations as Sister de Lourdes and Sister Euphemia watched the little one emerge with an enraged squeak, his little crumpled ear flattened against his head from lying too long on his left side.
And the surprises just kept growing as the three of them looked at the tiny woolly head and little black eyes looking right on back at them, his deep honey-coloured skin a lovely contrast to his mother’s peaches and cream. But it’s amazing what people don’t see when they don’t want to. And even Jean Claude’s momentary start when his eyes landed upon his son for the first time must only have been the surprise of seeing the little smidge wrapped in a pink bunny rug because they didn’t have any blue ones. And of course Odile’s offhand remark that the child was a throwback to their Rift Valley australopithecine progenitors was just what everyone was thinking.
Every Secret Thing Page 10