by Ali Lewis
At the tip, we soon got the bags of rubbish unloaded and thrown into the pit with the other stuff we’d left there over the years. I hadn’t been to the tip since we’d found the birthday card from Jonny, and it made me wonder what else was out there of his. I was having a quick look around and I guess Liz knew what I was up to because she said, ‘I think it was a bit further down.’ When I asked what she meant, she said, ‘Jonny’s card.’ I felt a bit awkward then, like she’d caught me doing something I shouldn’t have been.
Liz was real different to everyone else I knew. Not just because she was a Pommie, or that she was a girl, or because of her weird accent. It wasn’t that she was nosy, or rude, or mean, or anything, but it was to do with how she’d talk about stuff, even if no one else would – like about Jonny.
As we both looked at the bits of rubbish around us, right out of the blue, she said, ‘Where’s he buried?’ Just like that. It sounded like she was asking where we’d left the keys to the ute, or something. I looked at her and said it wasn’t far from the house.
The Pommie was lifting up an old magazine with the toe of her boot to see what was underneath it when she said, ‘Oh right, so it’s not in a churchyard or a cemetery or anything then?’ I shook my head. She thought about that for a minute and then looked up and said she reckoned that seeing as there wasn’t a church anywhere nearby, Mum and Dad had probably decided to bury Jonny at the station, so he was nearer home. I felt sick.
As she stepped over a battered, empty oil drum to get a better look at something on the other side of it, she said, ‘So do you ever go to see Jonny’s grave – you know, put flowers on it, or anything?’ My belly felt like it was about to turn inside out, so I bent over and tried to breathe. The Pommie looked up when I didn’t answer and said, ‘What’s up? Don’t you feel well?’ I couldn’t answer her. She came over to me and rested her hand on my back, like Mum did when we were crook. She asked if I was OK and said I should get in the shade behind the Old Rover. She helped me over to where the it was and said I should sit down, so I did.
We were both sat in the dirt with our backs against the Old Rover’s wheel. After a minute or two Liz said she was sorry she hadn’t brought any water with her. I said it was OK – I’d feel better in a minute. That’s when I told her about the funeral. I just came right out with it all, like whatever made her ask all those questions had somehow got into me too.
I explained about how they hired this big black car to carry Jonny’s coffin from the house to the hole in the ground, which Dad had dug. I hated that black car. Jonny would’ve hated it too. I didn’t know why we couldn’t just put the coffin in the back of the ute and drive him there like that – like normal. That’s how Jonny had always ridden round the station. He liked it.
Then there was everyone’s clothes. Dad was wearing a black suit and Mum had on some black trousers. Aunty Ve had a black dress and Sissy was wearing a black skirt. Aunty Ve had brought me some black trousers to wear especially. I hated them. They were hot and itchy and I couldn’t move in them. We looked like we were out of a bad dream or a real old movie, or something. The only thing that wasn’t black was all the flowers. I dunno why, but people kept saying how beautiful they were. They weren’t. They were the ugliest, stupidest flowers I ever saw. Jonny would’ve hated them.
The Pommie listened – so I kept talking. I told her about how at the funeral no one said anything. We all just sat around waiting and being quiet and polite to each other, like we didn’t really know each other, like you do with strangers. I caught Sissy’s eye and we stared at each other for what seemed like ages. It felt like we could read each other’s minds. Her eyes looked kind of empty, which was how I felt – empty and alone. I wanted to scream and shout, but I couldn’t because I knew I had to be invisible.
Then, when it was time, we had to follow the stupid black car, which had Jonny’s coffin inside it, surrounded by those ugly flowers. It made me mad thinking about it. When we got to where the hole in the ground was, we all got out of the cars and that’s when the funeral happened. There was a priest and he said some stuff I didn’t get. We sang some songs I’d never heard before and then they put the coffin into the hole. I hated that bit more than anything else. Mum cried. I’d never seen her cry before. Aunty Veronica cradled her in her arms, like she was a big baby. Dad was stood next to them. He didn’t do anything – just stood and stared. It felt like I didn’t know any of them any more.
After the funeral, when everyone had gone, Dad went out and ripped up the fence post Jonny had fallen on. He was still wearing his suit. I saw him through my bedroom window. He kicked the post with his boot; one way, then the other, then back again, but it wouldn’t budge. The dry ground had swallowed it along with the blood. It was getting dark by the time he gave up and tied a chain around the post so he could yank it out with the ute. Sweat rolled off his face, like tears. Once he’d pulled out the post, he turned the engine off and rested his head on the steering wheel. He seemed to pant real hard. It had been so hot.
I looked at the Pommie then. She was crying. Why do girls always blub at everything? I didn’t want her to cry. ‘Bloody pack it in, will you?’ I shouted at her. She wiped her face with her hand and said, ‘I can’t help it.’ I wasn’t angry with her, just kind of sick of her, and everyone else. I wanted to be somewhere where none of that stuff had happened, where it didn’t matter. I wanted to be with Jonny, I guess. We set off back to the station, but then the Pommie told me to stop. She said she wanted to see Jonny’s grave. I didn’t know what to do. I hated it there, so I dunno why I turned round and started to drive the Old Rover towards where Jonny was buried.
When we got there, the sky was pink and blue from the sun, which had turned bright red. It looked like it was somewhere near the end of the world. The grave was exactly where I knew it would be, but it looked a lot different to the last time I’d seen it. It looked older, like the desert had taken it over again. The stones round the outside were still there, as well as the bigger one, which had Jonny’s name on it. Someone had put some flowers in a little bucket on the mound of dirt. I reckoned it would have been Mum. They’d gone brown.
I guess I’d wanted something to happen – for something to change. But it didn’t. Jonny wasn’t there. I knew he wouldn’t be. He’d gone to heaven long before they’d put that wooden box in the ground – just as well really because if he’d seen the black car and those bloody stupid flowers, I reckon he’d have really kicked off. We didn’t get out of the Old Rover. We just looked at the grave from where we sat. I guess there wasn’t anything to say. After a few minutes I asked the Pommie if she’d seen enough and she nodded, so I started the engine and we drove home.
When we got home, I went to my bedroom and sat on Jonny’s bed for a bit. It wasn’t the same though since the Pommie had tidied everything up. I slipped down onto the floor and wriggled under the bed, where it was dark and smelled dusty. I wondered if that was how it felt to be in a box under the ground.
Fifteen
The radio in the kitchen fizzed and Reg Evans’s voice filled the room. Dad knew Reg was meant to be arriving at the station that day, so we were all waiting to hear the rumble of their truck and the utes and bull catchers. When Reg radioed and we heard him say, ‘Reg Evans to Timber Creek – you read me, Timber Creek? Over,’ we all cheered. That made him laugh. He said he reckoned there weren’t many places in the Territory where you got a welcome like that. Dad said they’d sink a few cold ones when Reg and the fellas arrived. Reg laughed and said he reckoned he’d be ready to blow the froth off a couple.
When we heard the truck horn honk twice and then give a much longer belch, we knew Reg and the fellas had arrived. We all ran outside to see them. A cloud of dust surrounded them as they pulled into the station. The farm dogs chased after the wheels on the bull catchers as they drove into the yard and skidded to a stop, like they were giving a show, or something. Dad went over and shook Reg’s hand. Reg gave Mum a kiss on the cheek and said it was good
to see her. I guess he knew Jonny wouldn’t be there – I dunno if Mum and Dad told him, or if he’d just heard on the bush telegraph. Either way, no one said anything about Jonny. I guess it was just easier that way. He pretended to give me a dead arm and then picked Emily up, turned her upside down and pretended to drop her. She giggled like crazy. He nodded at Sissy. There was no way he could lift her up, her belly was way too big by then. I dunno if anyone had told Reg about Sissy and the baby before he arrived at the station. Sissy looked embarrassed and stared at the ground the whole time. Reg tipped his baseball cap at Bobbie next – he remembered her from the year before, but he’d never met the Pommie. Dad explained who she was and Reg said, ‘You’re a long way from home out here then? You finding it OK?’ The Pommie said she reckoned she could handle life on the station – like it was the easiest thing she’d ever done.
Reg nodded, smiled and then pointed at his mob of fellas. He said, ‘Well, this is Rick Smith.’ Rick said g’day. He was about Dad’s height, but had fair hair and real brown skin. He tipped his hat at us all and I saw the scar he had on his cheek. I dunno how he got it. Then Reg pointed at Ed and Spike Barron – they were brothers. They both said g’day. They were about the same age as Lloyd and Elliot, and while Spike had a happy expression all the time, Ed looked like he was thinking too hard. They were both taller than anyone else I’d ever met. The Pommie and Bobbie grinned like idiots. Lloyd and Elliot shook hands with the fellas too. Reg lifted a box of VB beer out of the back of his bull catcher and handed it to Dad. Dad smiled and said it was just what the doctor ordered.
It was real noisy at the station that night. There were so many people, all talking and laughing. It felt a bit like a party. We had dinner in the garden. We’d taken the tables out to make room for everyone. It was nice, even the mosquitoes didn’t spoil it. Everyone was thinking and talking about the muster. Dad said he wanted to make sure it went smoothly. He said, ‘I don’t want to have to shoot any cattle because they’ve got stressed in the races.’ That’s when the Pommie said the stupidest thing. She said, ‘I thought the idea of mustering was to catch the cattle, not race them.’ There was a moment when no one said anything at all, like we were all trying to work out what the hell she was talking about. It was Reg who started howling first. He laughed so hard he began to choke. Mum was so concerned about him she got up, ready to whack him on the back. The Pommie just sat there, looking embarrassed, but not knowing what she’d said that was so funny.
Once he’d calmed down a bit Reg took out his tobacco tin from under his tattered cap. Seeing those leathery hands delicately make a durry, made me think of Dad, before Jonny died, when he sometimes played the piano. Reg lit the durry, took a drag and picked a stray bit of tobacco off his lip.
Liz’s face was blank. I ignored her at first. She was being such a dumb Pommie, I couldn’t be bothered with her, but then she looked at me like I should help her so I explained that the races are the narrow walkways we use to guide the cattle from the yards onto the road train, when they’re being trucked. I don’t think she understood, so I said it wasn’t an actual race – we didn’t care which cow was fastest. The Pommie pretended to understand.
If I was the Pommie, I’d have kept quiet after that. I’d have just got on with clearing the plates, or something, but she didn’t. She started asking all kinds of questions about how we decided which cows to truck and which ones to set free. She wanted to know how we could tell if we’d mustered them all, what happened if we went out to muster and there weren’t any cattle there. She was pretty clueless when it came to how a cattle station worked. I don’t think Reg minded; he and the fellas were real patient, answering all her questions. Mum wasn’t happy. After a bit she said the Pommie could go out with the fellas one day to see what the muster was like for herself, but then she added, ‘Right now, we need to get these plates cleared.’ Even the Pommie wasn’t too dumb to take that hint.
I guess Reg had had enough muster talk because he tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘So what’s this about you having a camel to break in, Danny?’ I felt a bit shy then, like when you want to say something, but don’t because you’re scared someone will take the piss out of you. I just said, ‘We’ve got a way to go before I’ll be able to ride him,’ like Buzz was more trouble than he was worth. Reg knew more about me and Buzz than I expected. He said, ‘Sounds like you’re making good progress though. Elliot reckons you’ve got the camel eating out of your hand.’
I looked round and everyone was listening to me and Reg – wanting to hear what I thought. I felt this big smile fill my cheeks, like when I shoved too much food into my mouth. I said he could come and see Buzz if he wanted. That’s when Reg told me about this place down near Uluru. He called Ayers Rock that, just like the Blackfellas. He said he’d been mustering at a station down there, when he met a fella who kept camels and made good money at it. Reg said this fella had a whole bunch of them, all broken in and easy to ride, and that he used them to take tourists on desert safaris. They didn’t go anywhere special, just to see what the desert was like – for fun. Reg said I should ask Dad to take me down to meet that fella, to find out how it was done. He said it could be a money spinner. He reckoned I could be the first Dawson millionaire.
I looked at Dad to ask if we could go, but his eyes didn’t meet mine. He looked down at the ground, kicked at the dirt, then looked up at my chest and smiled. ‘We’ll see, Danny,’ he said. I reckoned it would cost a lot of money to go all the way to Uluru – and who’d look after the station?
The fellas watched the Pommie clearing the table, like they were waiting for her to drop a plate, or something. Then Mum told Emily and me it was time for bed – in front of all the fellas, and Liz, like I was a little kid. It was embarrassing, and I was going to say something, but Dad knew I’d kick off, so he stared at me, with his don’t you dare – not if you want to stay out at stock camp look. So I just said goodnight and went quietly.
Sixteen
When I woke up, it was still more or less dark. The muster was whirling round in my head. I knew I wouldn’t go back to sleep, so I got up. With everyone else still in bed, the house felt funny, like a stranger. I took a piece of bread from the kitchen to eat on my way to see Buzz. When I got there, Liz was already feeding the poddies. She smiled when she saw me coming and said, ‘Excited about the muster?’ I nodded and she said she was too.
The Pommie didn’t know anything about mustering, so I started right at the beginning, by telling her about Reg. He’d mustered cattle from station to station in the Territory, all his life. He was the best in the business. Liz said Reg reminded her of a desert version of a snow leopard. I didn’t know what she meant. She reckoned animals in snowy places are nearly always white, so they’re camouflaged. She said it was to do with survival of the fittest and that Reg was the same, except he’d gone orangey-brown to match the desert. I kind of knew what she meant. He did look a bit like his skin was made from dust and dirt, all craggy and hard, like a boulder.
His team changed from year to year, except for one Blackfella, called Jack Black. Dad reckoned Jack was named after a card game he won when he was a kid. Jack and Reg had worked together for ever.
The Pommie was real interested – wanted to know everything about them. So while I fed Buzz, I explained how Reg lived a different kind of a life to most whitefellas. He was about Dad’s age, maybe older, but he didn’t have a wife or kids, or anything and he didn’t like being in the house much. He looked itchy whenever Mum invited him inside – that’s why we always ate outside when he came over, even if we weren’t having a barbie. He preferred to be out at stock camp with the fellas. Some people said he was more like a gin than a whitefella. Dad reckoned it didn’t matter when you were as good at your job as Reg was.
Jack Black was a bit of a legend. Everyone in the Territory had heard of him. He wore this great big black hat and had these teeth, which were whiter than any whitefella’s, but real crooked, like someone had broken a fence up in his m
outh.
The Pommie brought the empty calf feeder over to be rinsed and said she wondered why Jack hadn’t come to the house for dinner, so I told her it was because he’s a Blackfella. She didn’t get it, so I told her how Blackfellas didn’t come to a whitefellas’ party. Even when they were mustering, Jack didn’t camp with Reg and the others. She wanted to know why Jack didn’t sleep or eat with the others if he and Reg had worked together for so long. I shrugged and said it was just how it was. I tried to explain that it was like that with Mick and Davy – they never came into the house. They only ever sat outside with Dad. Liz asked if anyone had ever invited them inside. I shrugged. I didn’t know the answer to that. Then she asked about Gil. She wanted to know if he came into the house when he used to come over and play with Jonny. I nodded – they often played together in our room when they were little. I guess maybe because Gil was a kid, and because he was Jonny’s mate, it was different. The Pommie agreed.
She didn’t ask me anything else about Jack, so I told her about how Reg chose his team real carefully. He made sure his men were all decent, trustworthy fellas because of a nasty incident that happened a few years before. Reg had had a fella called Gibson working for him who was a drinker. Reg didn’t know that, though. Gibson had been drinking whisky this one day and because they were at opposite ends of the yards, Reg hadn’t noticed. They were trucking the animals up the race onto the road train, but Gibson couldn’t count how many animals he’d let through onto the trailer because he was so drunk.
Liz didn’t know what a road train was. I told her it was a big truck with three double-deck trailers behind it. She said they didn’t have them in England.
Getting the cattle onto the trailer could be tricky. They could get scared, so you needed to lead them on slowly, one at a time, to let the drivers load them safely. The cattle stayed in the trailers for days while they were driven across the country to a slaughterhouse, so they needed to be loaded properly. It was a dangerous job being a road-train driver. If you were inside a trailer and a bull kicked off, it was bad news. But that wasn’t the problem on this occasion. It was Gibson’s job to count how many had gone through his section of the race onto the trailer, only he wasn’t really awake. One after another they went into the trailer, faster than the driver could manage them. It was pretty noisy, with all the hooves stamping around and the cattle braying at each other, so no one heard the driver. By the time Reg and the others realised what had happened, the road-train driver was nowhere to be seen, but they could hear him crying out. It took them so long to get the cattle, crammed like sardines, back out of the trailer, that by the time they found him, he’d been trampled to death. The Pommie’s eyes grew wider when she heard that.