by Sofie Laguna
He said, ‘No, no…’ He turned away, muttering words I couldn’t hear.
‘Yes, you do,’ I said, standing straight. I did what my pop said. He was the one to tell me. There was no Ray and no Donna and nobody else. But my Aunty Rita said she would call me, said she would write. What happened to her?
‘I have a son and that’s enough,’ he said. ‘Even that’s too much.’
‘You do have a daughter, Pop.’
‘Shut up, Justine.’
I said, ‘You do.’
‘Justine!’
‘You do!’
‘You’re heading for trouble.’
‘You do. Her name is Rita.’
‘Don’t say that name.’
‘Rita!’
‘I’m warning you!’
‘Warn me!’ I shouted. ‘Warn me! Warn me!’
‘That’s enough!’
‘Rita! Rita! Rita!’
‘No daughter of mine!’
‘Rita! Rita! Rita!’
Whack! Pop hit me across the back of the legs with a stick. ‘Shut your mouth!’ he shouted.
‘No!’ I couldn’t stop. ‘Rita! Rita!’ I threw down my branches and ran to the house and into my room. I put my face on my pillow. Pop did have a daughter. Pop couldn’t choose not to have Rita because she wasn’t natural. It was too late; he already made his choice. I heard crying from inside and outside at the same time. The back of my legs stung.
I looked up to the blade of the fan and I couldn’t see the corner of Aunty Rita’s paper. I couldn’t remember if I had put it back or not. I didn’t even check; I didn’t care. Maybe it had ended up in Pop’s fire. What would I do with those numbers? They were in the wrong order; I could never call them. I got up from the bed, went to the window and looked at the road outside. John Wayne pulled The Miracle Horse in tight circles, waiting for me, gun in the air. I’m going to Missouri with every bull I can lay my hands on. You coming? I leaned my head against the glass. He could save people or he could kill them. He could blow the head off anyone. He could take out a bull or a man or a horse with a broken neck. He could look straight into the eyes of his target and pull the trigger.
31.
It was the first day of fourth class. My shoes were so tight I had to walk with my toes curled. ‘Why are you walking like that?’ Pop asked me.
‘My shoes,’ I said.
‘What about them?’
‘They’re too small,’ I said.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Pop. He drove us into Nullabri and we stopped on Main Road outside Whyte’s. Pop looked up and down the street as if he was checking for the enemy. Then he got out and I followed him into the shop.
‘Hello, Robert,’ the shoe lady said. The shoe lady’s body was in tight rolls that pushed out her shirt. She wore lipstick and her hair was in a high, stiff ball on top of her head.
Pop nodded. ‘Pearl.’ He looked away from her when he said it, as if he was in trouble.
‘Don’t see you out and about too much these days.’
Pop scowled. Everyone in the town could be a Jap.
‘What can I do for you?’ she said, glancing at me.
‘It’s Justine. She needs new shoes.’
‘Right,’ said Pearl. ‘Hello, Justine.’ She smiled at me. ‘You’ve grown. You must be…nine now. Ten?’
‘Ten,’ I said.
Pop said, ‘Haven’t got too much time.’
Pearl shot Pop a look. ‘Take a seat,’ she said to me. ‘School shoes, dear?’
I looked at Pop.
‘School shoes,’ he said.
‘First day back, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Better get a move on,’ said Pop.
Pearl looked at Pop over her glasses. ‘Leaving it all a bit late, aren’t you, Robert?’
‘Could you just get the shoes, Pearl,’ he said, as if he was scared the shelves of sandals and boots and sneakers might take him prisoner.
‘Of course,’ said Pearl, pressing her lips together. She went through a door at the end of the shop, and came back with a box. She put the box on the ground, opened it and pulled out a pair of brown school shoes with a buckle, and tiny holes in the shape of a bow.
She looked at the shoes I was wearing and shook her head, undoing my laces. ‘Try these, dear,’ she said, passing me the new ones.
I slipped my feet into the shoes. There was so much room for my toes. I moved them up and down. There were no laces or Velcro to catch the dirt and cotton. You could choose how tight to do the buckles.
‘Walk around a little and see how they feel,’ said Pearl.
I stood up and walked around the shop.
Pearl said, ‘Look in the mirror, dear.’
I looked in the mirror and the buckles glowed, the brown leather was strong and shiny.
Pop said, ‘Alright, alright,’ and opened his wallet. ‘How much?’
Pearl checked the tag on the box. ‘Twenty-nine dollars,’ she said.
Pop said, ‘Jesus!’
Pearl said, ‘Robert,’ and looked at him over the tops of her glasses.
He said, ‘Alright, alright,’ and gave her the money.
Pearl turned to me and said, ‘How about you keep the new shoes on for your first day.’ She picked up my old shoes with the ends of her fingers. ‘And I’ll take care of these.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
Pearl followed us to the door. ‘You enjoy those shoes, dear.’
As I crossed the road I turned and saw Pearl still standing there. She waved to me but her face looked sad. My new shoes didn’t pinch or dig and they were soft under my feet as if each foot had its own bed to sleep in. I said, ‘Thank you, Pop.’
He said, ‘Highway bloody robbery,’ and started the truck.
I wriggled my toes and looked out of the window at the Nullabri soldier. I wanted to wave to him. I was going to see Michael; we would be starting fourth class together and I was wearing new shoes.
Pop pulled up at the school and looked around at the other kids and parents and teachers moving towards the gate. ‘Out you get,’ he said.
I got out of the car. ‘See you, Pop,’ I said, but he was already pulling away.
‘Justine!’ I heard. ‘Justine!’
I turned and saw Michael getting out of his car. When he waved at me he almost knocked Mrs Hooper with his crutches. Nicky tried to hold on to one of his legs as Michael swung himself up the path towards me. ‘Justine!’ he said. ‘Justine!’ His voice was loud and groaning and happy, and he didn’t care how it sounded or who looked as he shouted to me across the school yard.
Michael and me walked up to the fourth-class room together. Other kids glanced at us then looked away. They didn’t do or say anything to us. They didn’t come close. The room was full of laughter and talking, and Michael and me were part of it. We chose a desk in the middle, and Michael took out his books and put them underneath. I put my school bag beside his. Michael said, ‘No more Mrs Turning.’
‘Thank God.’
‘I prayed every night.’
‘And God listened.’
A woman came into the room carrying a pile of books. She wore flat white shoes and a cream dress. Three of the books slid to the ground. ‘Oops!’ she said and smiled at us. She bent down to pick up the books and put them back on top of the pile, then she stood and smoothed her cream dress. ‘Hello, everybody,’ she said. ‘I am Miss Suzette Frost.’
There was Mrs Turning, Mrs Shendigging, Mrs Thurgood, Mrs Dalley and now there was Miss Suzette Frost. Every kid was quiet, staring at her. She wore little white earrings and her cream dress had a collar made of lace. She turned and wrote letters on the board. ettezuS tsorF. She faced us and said, ‘Oops,’ again. She turned and wrote ssiM at the front of her name.
‘Miss Suzette Frost,’ Michael whispered.
‘Good morning, fourth class,’ she said.
‘Good morning, Miss…’ Nobody knew what name to use.
She said, �
�Miss Frost—please, you can call me Miss Frost.’ Her voice was full of air and nerves.
Every kid was quiet. Matt and Brian and every other boy.
Miss Frost said, ‘Welcome to fourth class. We’re going to go around the room and I want each of you to tell me one thing about yourselves, so we can get to know each other. I’ll go first.’ Her smile would go then come, then go then come again. ‘I am from the city and I have never been to Nullabri before this year, but I am engaged to a farmer so…’ She shrugged, smiling. ‘Here I am.’
The class was stunned. A teacher had never spoken to us before about why they were here. Nobody was sure what it meant.
‘What about you?’ she asked Kelly Dwyer in the back row. ‘Can you tell me your name and something about yourself?’
Kelly looked around the room. She shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘My name is Kelly and I’m fast at running. I can beat my brothers.’
‘Thank you, Kelly, thank you,’ said Miss Frost. ‘That was lovely. Thank you.’
Danny Orbolt said he barracked for the Tigers. Gregory Kent said he rode in the muster for the first time this year. Jeff Yulen said he won the log-splitting competition at the Rochy Show. When it came to Michael’s turn Miss Frost’s face was serious. She said, ‘What about you? Can you tell me your name?’ Somebody laughed.
Michael said, ‘I am Michael Hooper.’
Miss Frost’s face was still serious.
‘And can you tell us something about yourself, Matthew?’
‘It’s Michael,’ said Michael.
‘Sorry?’ Miss Frost looked scared.
‘It’s Michael. My name is Michael.’
Miss Frost was trying so hard to understand him her face creased. More kids laughed.
Someone said, ‘Pass.’
I said, ‘It’s Michael.’
She turned to me. ‘I am sorry, what did you say?’
‘His name is Michael.’
‘Oh, I am sorry, Michael.’ She touched Michael’s hand and smiled. ‘Hello, Michael.’
Michael said, ‘The special thing about myself is that I hate repeating my name.’
Miss Frost looked confused. She said, ‘Oh…it’s lovely to meet you, Michael.’
‘What about you?’ she said to me.
‘Justine,’ I said, without looking at her.
‘Can you speak up, please, in a big, brave voice so I can hear.’
‘Justine!’ I said, too loud. I heard more laughing behind me.
‘And can you tell me one thing about yourself, please, Justine?’ What one thing was there? A quiet opened like a pit. I couldn’t look up, away from it. It was as dark as the ditch around Steve.
Michael said, ‘She’s funny.’
‘What’s that, Michael?’
‘She’s funny.’
‘Did you say Justine is funny?’
‘Yes.’
Miss Frost looked at me, surprised. She said, ‘Oh, good. Good. I like funny people. My fiance is funny.’ She smiled at me, touched my hand and went on to Shannon Patrick, who said it was easy to ride a bull; you just put a ring through its nose.
The class was cool and quiet in the morning but by the end of the day it was hot and noisy. Matt and Brian became louder and the girls giggled. This term we were studying local wildlife and Miss Frost pinned a big picture of a Murray cod on the wall. The cod had a body the shape of a barrel, with a wide mouth and small eyes set forward. Miss Frost said the cod was a predator and ate everything it could and might even eat a duck. Matt said, ‘Like someone else I know’, and threw his rubber at Alan Burns. Everybody laughed. Miss Frost pulled at her lace collar and said it certainly was hot today. Miss Frost told us the cod was part of the river system and was a bottom feeder and Greg Morecroft said, ‘Alan Burns and him both.’
‘Please, class! Please!’ said Miss Frost. The bell rang and she went to lunch with her cheeks flushed and papers sliding from her hands.
‘She’d be better in a kindergarten,’ said Michael.
‘With no boys,’ I said.
At the end of the day Mrs Hooper was out the front waiting for Michael.
When we got to the gate she said, ‘Hello, you two. How was day one?’
‘Ground zero,’ Michael said.
‘That bad?’ said Mrs Hooper. ‘Oh dear. I guess we have to give it time.’ When Mrs Hooper said that—we have to give it time—it was as if Michael didn’t go to school by himself; his mother was there too.
‘Justine, would you like to come to our house on Friday after school? I think Michael found the holidays a bit long without you,’ Mrs Hooper said. ‘We could take you home before dinner.’
I looked at my feet. I wasn’t sure what I said.
Michael said, ‘That’s a yes, Mum,’ and grinned at me.
‘Good,’ said Mrs Hooper. ‘Good. That’s something to look forward to.’
I sat on the school bus home that afternoon, my face close to the window. In four days I would be going to Michael’s house. I had never thought about going to his house before. Dawn and Noreena always went to each other’s houses. I had never been to anyone at school’s house and nobody had been to mine. I heard Worlley cousins laughing and shouting as the bus passed over the potholes. Something to look forward to…Was that why the river flowed to the sea? Was that why the rain fell on the Yolamundi dirt? Was that why Michael and me were friends? Something to look forward to.
Every morning I did up the buckles of my new shoes and there was so much sunshine outside my window I couldn’t see behind it.
32.
Cock-a-doodle-doo! Good morning, Cockyboy! I looked through my window; it was Friday morning and the sky was pink.
At the end of the day Michael’s mother came to the gate carrying Nicky, Michael’s little brother. ‘Hi, kids,’ she said. ‘How was school?’
‘Okay,’ said Michael.
‘How is Miss Frost settling in?’
‘Useless,’ said Michael.
‘Useless!’ said Nicky.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Hooper. ‘That’s not good.’
‘But nicer than Mrs Turning,’ said Michael.
‘A lot nicer,’ I said.
Michael and me sat in the back seat with Nicky as Mrs Hooper drove us back to Michael’s house. Nicky pulled Michael’s hair. ‘Mum! Tell Nicky to get lost!’ he said.
‘Oh, come on, Michael, he just wants to play—he hasn’t seen you all day.’
The car was smooth with no dirt or bark or papers or butts on the floor. I could feel Michael beside me, his body shaking and pushing and jerking as if it was trying to tell me something. Nicky pulled Michael’s hair, and Mrs Hooper sang along to the radio as she drove. Nothing could be righter, than you in my arms, you in my arms, hmmm, hmmmm…nothing could be righter…my sweet love…hmmm, hmmmmm.
We turned off the highway onto Moruna West Road. ‘Not long now,’ said Mrs Hooper. Soon she stopped the car at a house made of white bricks with no rubbish or piles of wood or pieces of car in the driveway. The windows had boxes of red flowers in rows. When we opened the doors of the car a black cat came down the side and rubbed itself against Michael’s leg. Michael picked up the cat and said to me, ‘This is Betty and she is a bitch.’ He kissed her on the head. The cat purred.
‘Michael!’ said his mother. ‘Don’t use that word. Sorry, Justine. Betty is not a bitch. She’s just fussy.’
I couldn’t talk.
Inside Michael’s house there were yellow flowers in a vase, there were pillows and a coloured blanket on the couches. There were paintings on the walls of trees and clouds. Everything was swept and wide with no dirt in the cracks.
When we went into the kitchen I saw a whole wall covered in Michael’s paintings and drawings, all the way up to the ceiling. I saw his lion, his train, his dogs and cats and cods and emus. I saw his Antarctica and his maps. I saw his writing and his bridges and his buildings. My face felt hot. I couldn’t swallow.
‘Coming, Justine?’ Michael said.
>
I followed him through the kitchen to his room. Michael pushed open the door. His bed had pictures of blue boats sewn into the sheets and pillows. There was a poster on the wall of the planets that led to the sun. He had shelves with books and a construction set. There was a fish tank full of goldfish, with real seaweed and a pretend sunken boat. ‘Come and have a look,’ said Michael. I watched as a turtle kicked up from the sand and swam to the surface.
‘That’s Keith,’ said Michael. ‘And sometimes he tries to eat the fish.’ Michael dropped some food into the tank and all the fish swam to the top, their mouths opening and closing. Michael put his hands into the water and lifted out the turtle. ‘Sit with your legs crossed,’ he said to me. Michael rested his crutches on the bed and lowered himself to the floor. I sat too. We leaned against the bed and Keith crossed our laps. When I touched his leg, his head went into his shell. Michael said, ‘He’s still getting to know you.’ I knew all Michael’s words and sounds—it wasn’t hard. The teachers at school could have learned too; then they would have put Michael in the A reader group, not the Fs with me.
Michael set Keith back in the tank and took out some books from his shelf. There were pictures of animals and planets and volcanoes with lava. Mrs Hooper opened the door. ‘Hey, kids,’ she said. She smiled at us and put a plate of watermelon on the floor between us. Then she left.
Michael said, ‘You’re quiet,’ and I couldn’t say it was because he had too many things. He had Keith and fish and books and watermelon on a plate. He had things to look forward to. If the other boys at school knew he spoke and was clever, they would be his friend and then he wouldn’t need to be my friend—he was only my friend because there was nobody else. I couldn’t speak or say it. I was just a friend because nobody knew what I knew about him.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Michael. ‘Why aren’t you talking?’ I shrugged. ‘Betty wants to sit on you,’ he said.
He passed me Betty and the cat went across my lap like a warm silk blanket and purred. Michael picked up a piece of watermelon and passed it to me, but I shook my head—I wasn’t hungry. Michael took a piece for himself and when he tried to eat it the juice went down his chin. He wiped his face and laughed. He threw a piece at me and I laughed and then I took a piece and I could eat it. It tasted sweet and cold and clean. Betty climbed off and stretched. Michael took down his construction set and I made a floor for the garage. Michael said, ‘You can drive these cars with crutches. You press on the accelerator with the end of one, and the brake with the other.’