by Sofie Laguna
In the morning the sun was shining on the tent, turning it gold. Michael said, ‘Can you help me, Justine?’ His legs were shaking and stuck, and it was hard for him to get out of the bed. A piece of the foam had fallen to the ground. I picked up his crutches and he said, ‘Give me your arm.’ I gave him my arm and helped pull him out. He said, ‘Ouch! Ow! Ow!’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’
Then we heard Mrs Hooper. ‘Are you alright in there?’
‘Yes, Mum,’ said Michael.
I opened the flaps and there was Mrs Hooper with the bright sun of morning behind her.
She held Michael’s arm as we walked slowly up to the house. Michael gasped and puffed. He was shaking more than yesterday.
Mrs Hooper said, ‘Are you okay, darling?’
Michael said, ‘Don’t call me darling. Yes, I am okay.’
‘Alright, alright.’
We went into the kitchen. Mrs Hooper gave Michael pills and a glass of water. I watched as she stirred oats in a pot with a wooden spoon. She mashed a soft pear and put it in the porridge, and then she dripped over the honey. Me and Michael took our bowls outside and ate in front of the tent with Nicky. Porridge fell in the grass and the ants climbed on and sucked. Everything at the Hoopers’ had enough to eat.
We played ball with Mr Hooper and he said, ‘Nice work, Justine,’ when I threw to him. Michael stood in front of the goal and stopped the ball with his crutch. He shouted, ‘Take that, you bugger!’ Mr Hooper said, ‘Michael!’ Mrs Hooper said, ‘Where do you think he learned it, David?’
Nicky came to me, put his small hand on my neck and sat on me. He was holding toast. His hand was warm. He took my hair and put it over my eyes. He said, Eyes eyes. He touched my cheeks and said, Tine Tine. He tried to feed me the toast. He said, Yours yours.
When I was coming out of the toilet, I heard Mrs Hooper talking to Michael. ‘Are you sure you’re up to it?’
‘Yes, Mum, I already told you.’
‘You can stay home, watch something on the telly.’
‘No, Mum, you promised.’
‘I said it would depend on the night.’
‘The night was good!’
‘Yes, but…But you have to tell me if it gets worse.’
‘Okay, Mum.’
‘Guess where we’re going?’ Michael said when he saw me. ‘The movies!’
I had never been to the movies before. Sometimes kids at school talked about what they saw there. Seen Phantom? Seen Robin Hood? I didn’t know what it would be like; I didn’t know if I wanted to go. But Michael said, ‘It’s Black Beauty, Justine. We’ll be the first to see it!’ I had to go.
‘Okay,’ I said.
Mrs Hooper drove us to the Echuca cinema. I didn’t know what would be inside, what you did in there. I couldn’t ask. Everybody else had been before. There were a lot of cars driving past, and people walking up and down the street. I wanted to stay in the car.
Mrs Hooper parked at the front and opened the car doors. Michael pulled himself out and I followed. We walked into the cinema with Mrs Hooper. I smelled popcorn. There was a counter with a man and a girl behind it wearing little white triangle hats. They stared at Michael. All around the walls were pictures of superheroes and ladies wearing make-up.
Mrs Hooper walked up to the counter and said, ‘Two tickets, please.’
The man looked at Michael.
Mrs Hooper said, ‘Is there a problem?’
The man said, ‘No, no problem.’
Mrs Hooper said, ‘Then I’d like the tickets, please.’ Her voice was strong. It didn’t belong to one small woman; it belonged to an army with tanks and cannons and spears. ‘I will come in and get you settled,’ she told us, ‘then I will be out the front to pick you up after the movie.’
‘Mum…’ Michael sighed.
‘Michael,’ I said. ‘Let her.’
‘Not you too,’ Michael said.
‘Me too.’
‘Thanks, Justine,’ said Mrs Hooper.
Michael huffed and didn’t say anything more.
Mrs Hooper said, ‘Come on. You don’t want to miss a minute.’
She came with us through the carpet doors. It was a big dark room with stairs going up between row after row of seats. At the front was a huge screen that took up the whole wall. Mrs Hooper whispered, ‘What about here?’ She pointed to two seats together with no seats on either side. Mrs Hooper took Michael’s crutches and lay them in the aisle close to our chairs.
Michael said, ‘Thanks, Mum. Can you go now?’
Mrs Hooper whispered. ‘Yes, Michael, I am going. Enjoy yourselves.’
The seat was soft with padded armrests. The lights came down and the carpet walls and floor closed around us, like a cocoon. The whole world was gone but this one. We were joined in the darkness. It was our movie.
The shining black horse raced across the screen, faster than any other horse, stronger, more brave, and he had a friend—Joe Evans. Joe cared for him and did everything for him, there was no better friend and boy than Joe Evans. They jumped the fences, swam the dams, shared the apples. But then Black Beauty was stolen by the squire and he didn’t feed him; he tied him to a cart and the cart was too heavy so the squire whipped him. I gasped. Michael groaned. It was as if Michael and me were Black Beauty—it was our backs being whipped, our legs breaking, it was us missing Joe Evans, needing him. Where did he go? I heard Michael crying and then I cried. Black Beauty had lost Joe, his good friend, the one he loved the most. How could it be? The squire said, Useless mule! Better off dead! Michael cried out, ‘No!’ and somebody said, ‘Shhhh.’ But then the squire died and Beauty was sold to the circus. He was so good at the tricks they taught him that Sir William sent him to fight in the war. Beauty was so brave that he charged the enemy with Gervaise on his back. But then Gervaise was killed and his friend who was drunk sold Beauty to the coal man who made him carry such heavy loads he caught pneumonia like Lizzy in 1952. Tears dripped down my cheeks. Michael put his hand over mine. What if Black Beauty died from the pneumonia? I could hardly look. But then a woman called Anna, with white hair, rescued Beauty and took him to her farm and the man helping Anna on the farm was Joe Evans! The same Joe Evans! When the mud sprayed up it was us racing across the field towards Joe, us eating the apples and us with our black, shining coat as Joe rubbed his brush over our skin. We were Black Beauty, we were Joe Evans, we were the circus and the war and the fight, and we were together again. There was no separation.
When we came out at the end of the movie, the light was bright in our eyes. ‘How was it?’ Mrs Hooper asked. Michael and me couldn’t talk. Mrs Hooper said, ‘That good, hey?’
That evening we sat at the table: Mr Hooper, Mrs Hooper, Nicky, Michael and me. Mrs Hooper put a big bowl of long noodles and meatballs in the middle of the dinner table. ‘Spaghetti,’ said Mrs Hooper.
‘How do you eat that?’ asked Michael.
‘Like worms,’ said Nicky.
My spaghetti flipped all the way to my mouth and sauce was on my nose and Michael and all over Nicky and the floor.
Mrs Hooper wiped the table and said, ‘You have to try everything once.’
After dinner Mrs Hooper said to me, ‘Justine, would you like a bath?’
I wasn’t sure. I only had baths when Pop remembered. He said, Get in the bloody bath, Justine, you’re starting to stink. Did I stink now?
‘Let me show you,’ said Mrs Hooper leading me into the bathroom. There were pictures of ducks on the wall, there were plastic toys in the bath and a pile of striped towels on a stool. Mrs Hooper said, ‘I have the best bubble bath. It’s roses. You can have the first one and the boys can go after you.’ The Hooper’s bath was white without a ring. ‘Would you like that?’
‘Okay,’ I said.
Mrs Hooper filled the bath almost to the top, then she squirted in the roses. ‘Enjoy,’ she said. She closed the door and left me with a striped towel. I lay in the bath and swished the hot rose
water with my hands so it turned around me in pink waves. I closed my eyes and I was in Black Beauty again, right at the beginning when he had Joe and all the things they did, the rides they took, the races, the time they swam the dam, the time they jumped the fence…I squeezed the sponge over my head. Beauty had to work so hard for the coal man that he got sick and was going to die. But Joe Evans came back. He cried out, Beauty, Beauty! and even though Black Beauty was old, and had the scars on his back from the whip, they were together and always would be. I got out of the rose bath and dried myself with the striped towel.
Mrs Hooper knocked on the door.
‘Yes?’ I said.
She peeked around the door. ‘You can wear this if you like.’ She handed me a nightdress with a blue ribbon at the front. It felt soft and smooth in my hands. I couldn’t say, Thank you, Mrs Hooper. I couldn’t say anything; the words were never there when I needed them. She closed the door. I put the white nightdress over my head. It fell down over my legs all the way to the floor and smelled of roses.
Michael and me slept in his room so Michael could get a better rest. Mrs Hooper pulled in an extra bed. We lay in the dark and Michael said, ‘Beauty should never have left the Evanses. They shouldn’t have lost the farm. It wasn’t fair.’
‘But he found his way home in the end.’
‘Joe never forgot her.’
‘Never.’
35.
In the morning Mrs Hooper said, ‘It’s time to take you home, Justine.’
Michael and me both went quiet.
Mrs Hooper said, ‘Anyone would think you two hadn’t had a good time.’
Michael said, ‘We have had a good time, Mum. And now it’s over.’
‘I can’t argue with that, Michael. It’s true. That’s life for you.’
Michael said, ‘Damned life.’
Mrs Hooper frowned at him. ‘Don’t swear, Michael. I’ve talked to you about that.’ She said, ‘I am going to take you to your house today, Justine.’
I said, ‘No, it’s okay.’
Mrs Hooper said, ‘Justine, it’s important.’
Michael said, ‘No, Mum.’
‘Michael, it’s the right thing to do.’ We knew in her voice it was happening.
I said goodbye to Mr Hooper and Nicky. Nicky kissed my cheek and said, ‘Tine Tine.’ Mr Hooper said, ‘Please come again, Justine. I need practice at ball catching.’ I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t say thank you.
I felt my heart sinking as we drove down the Henley Trail. We went past the houses at the top until there were no more houses, only bush and red gums. ‘Just there.’ I pointed to Pop’s. I could see it clearly, as if a veil had been lifted: the broken bricks, the trucks and tyres and woodpiles and paint cans and pieces of truck, all lit up bright for the eyes of Mrs Hooper. My throat felt dry. The Hoopers were from one world and I was from another.
Mrs Hooper drove up to the front and stopped the car. I could see smoke over the roof from the back yard; Pop would be out the back with the chooks. Mrs Hooper turned off the engine. ‘Looks like your grandfather has land,’ she said. She turned around to me from the front seat. ‘Does he have land, Justine?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How much?’
‘Three acres.’
‘Lucky,’ said Mrs Hooper. ‘It’s a beautiful spot. You must be close to the river.’
Mrs Hooper opened her door and we got out of the car. We walked up the path and I saw everything with Mrs Hooper’s eyes—peeling paint, cracks in the bricks, the hanging screen door, broken wire. We went out the back and there was Pop at his fire, drinking a beer with a White Ox in his mouth.
Mrs Hooper said, ‘I hope we’re not disturbing you, Mr Lee. I am Michael’s mother.’
We walked towards the fire. Michael was shaking and jerking and Pop looked up from his camp chair, taken by surprise. He stood and ash fell from his White Ox. I bit down on my lip. Pop had run through the jungle, hunted like an animal, he didn’t have the Mauser or the brother pistols, he didn’t have anything, not even food in his belly. His only friend was Sandy. When Pop and Sandy found the tunnel the Japs smoked them out and tied them to the grille. Pop didn’t like visitors; the last visitors he had were the police.
Mrs Hooper said, ‘Thanks for letting us have Justine; she and Michael have had a good time.’
Nobody moved but Michael; the strings of his body tugged one way and then another.
Pop came over to Michael and I didn’t know what he would do, what he would say. He held out his hand. Michael took it. Pop held Michael’s hand steady and said, ‘Want to meet my chooks?’
‘Yes,’ said Michael.
Michael and me followed Pop to the chooks at the bottom of the yard. Pop said, ‘This here is Missy, this is Lady, this is Cockyboy. This pretty one is the other Lady. And this is Madame.’
Michael asked, ‘What kind are they?’
Pop frowned and said, ‘What?’
My chest squeezed.
‘What kind of chickens are they?’
‘Isa Browns, best layers around.’
‘How many eggs do they lay?’
Pop said, ‘Ah, the Isa Browns lay all year round and plenty too. Let’s have a look.’
Michael and me went with him to the chook run.
I said, ‘It’s my job to get the eggs.’
Pop said, ‘It sure is.’ The chickens pecked around us as Michael and me looked in the straw. I lifted out an egg and gave it to him.
Michael held it in his hand. ‘Still warm. What do you feed them?’
Pop said, ‘What?’
Michael said, ‘What do you feed them?’
Pop said, ‘Seed if they’ve been good girls. Scraps, toast. Shell grit to make the eggs tough. Justine feeds them.’
Mrs Hooper watched from the middle of the yard. Michael carried the egg out of the run. Pop went into the kitchen and came back with a carton that held twelve eggs. The eggs had shit and feathers stuck to them. Pop passed the carton to Mrs Hooper. He said, ‘This week’s.’
She said, ‘Thank you, thank you. Justine has been such a good friend…’ She was sniffing.
They went down the side and out to the car, Michael carrying his egg as carefully as if it was the first one he’d ever been given. He said, ‘See you Monday, Justine.’
I looked right at Mrs Hooper. I said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Hooper.’
I went back into the yard. Pop was raking the grass. I stood and looked at him, his body hooked as he dragged the rake, his head with hair only on the sides, his neck and arms lined with the track between the jungles. I went to him and put my arms around him. He stopped raking and stood hard and still against me.
36.
It took four months for the trial. There were delays. Pop could only go to Melbourne for some of the days because of his gut trouble. Since the cops took Dad, the bug had grown hungrier. It fed from Pop’s lining as soon as he woke. Before he caught the train for Melbourne he told the chooks, If I could let you at it, Cockyboy, you’d tear the bloody thing to shreds. He left his truck at Relle’s and caught the train into town. He stayed in a hostel in the city where the men slept in a row. If I have to listen to another fella fart I’ll top meself. He made sure he was in Melbourne for the verdict. I had to stay at Relle’s with Kirk and Steve until Pop heard.
Kirk and Steve and me were in the kitchen eating leftover donuts from the bakery, and Relle and Dean were smoking. The donuts glowed green and pink. Relle took a long last suck. ‘They can’t pin it on him,’ she said, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘It’s bullshit.’
Kirk took a green donut from the plate. He leaned back and put his boots against the edge of the table. ‘They shouldn’t mess with Dad.’
‘Boots off the table, Kirk,’ said Dean.
‘I don’t have to do what you tell me,’ said Kirk.
‘Yes, you bloody do,’ said Relle.
Dean said, ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’
Relle said, ‘He’s still the
ir father,’ then she started crying.
‘You’re still into the bastard, aren’t you, Narelle?’ Dean said. He turned to Kirk and me and Steve. ‘Out.’
Relle’s yard was made of concrete with cigarette butts growing like little white plants in the corners. There was an ashtray on a stand, a chair and a Hills hoist, with pegs lying on the concrete underneath. Kirk held on to the top bar of the Hills hoist and swung it. Pop said he would call us as soon as he heard. ‘Danny and me are going to bust Dad out after his uncle shows us how to shoot,’ Kirk said.
‘Yeah,’ said Steve, holding on to the other side of the Hills hoist. It squeaked as he pulled down. ‘We’ll shoot the walkietalkies out of the guards’ hands so they won’t be able to call for back-up.’
‘I’ll bring his truck. I’ll get the keys from Pop’s belt and, Justine, you can wait out the front with the doors open and the engine running. We’ll drop him in Sydney to put the cops off the scent. Then he can hitch to Cairns. That’s where Danny’s uncle hitched.’ Kirk picked a peg up from the ground and pulled it in half. He threw the pieces across the concrete. ‘Cairns,’ he said.
We leaned against the fence. A weight hung over us. It was as if the sky was made of the same concrete as Relle’s yard. We heard the telephone ringing. Kirk looked at me.
We went back inside. Dean passed the telephone to Relle.
Relle took it. She said, ‘No. No way.’ She turned away from us, pressing her forehead against the wall. She hung up.
Dean said, ‘Relle?’
Relle turned around to us. Her eyes were red, make-up dripped in green tears down her cheeks. ‘Guilty,’ she said.
Steve cried. It was as if a hand had taken hold of his face and twisted it.
Kirk said, ‘Fuck.’ He picked up Relle’s cigarettes from the table and threw them at Dean. There was screaming but not from outside, from inside.
Late that afternoon Dean picked Pop up from the station in Echuca and brought him back to Relle’s.