Soldier on the Hill

by French, Jackie

  ‘Help!’ he screamed. ‘Help!’ Even if no one heard it was something he could do.

  His shirt — he could use his shirt. The sleeve maybe to make a tourniquet. Joey struggled with the buttons. Why did buttons always slip when you needed to be fast?

  ‘Hold on, Joe,’ he whispered. ‘Hold on.’ Joe’s face was grey. He didn’t move. ‘Don’t die, Joe. Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die.’

  The blood oozed across Joe’s chest.

  Where should he tie the tourniquet? How should he tie it? It all looked so simple at school — practising on each other. They never said that there’d be so much blood. That it would be warm and thick and slippery.

  ‘Dousita. Sakebigoega kikoetazo.’

  Joey froze. For a moment he was too scared to look up. There was the shadow before him, the voice above. It was almost as though the soldier on the hill had become a fantasy, as though he’d forgotten he was flesh and blood, real. That he’d be watching the farm and everyone below …

  The soldier knelt beside him. He grabbed Joe’s hand. Of course, thought Joey, the soldier would be used to blood.

  ‘Oi bouzu, kokowo osaerunda.’

  Joey shook his head. He didn’t understand. He felt sick, the world was much too bright.

  The soldier took Joey’s hand. He pressed it down on Joe’s, tying the shirt around Joe’s hand, on Joey’s too, still pressing down. The blood stopped pumping.

  Suddenly Joey understood. He began to press where the soldier indicated.

  ‘Souda. Umaizo.’

  Joe moaned something. For a moment Joey thought he might come to. Then his head slipped back again.

  ‘Sikkariosaetero. Tisaetomareba, sinuhodonokotoha naidarou.’

  It wasn’t real. It had all been too fast to be real. He’d shut his eyes and when he opened them Joe would be chopping wood and the soldier would be hidden again, up on his hill …

  Joey opened his eyes. He watched dazedly as the soldier stood, then ran across the dying grass, up the stairs, into the room on the verandah.

  The radio — he was going to use the radio! Was he going to call a submarine? A plane? Was he going to call for rescue?

  He should stop him. He had to stop him. But if he left Joe now, if he lifted his fingers off the blood pulse in Joe’s hand, then Joe would die.

  Joey knelt there in the sun and blood. He was still kneeling there when the soldier came to crouch with him again.

  The soldier pressed his hand on his and Joe’s. He was still there when the sound of a siren lashed down the road.

  Then he was gone.

  chapter thirty - one

  Mum Decides

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  CLOTHES RATIONING

  You must act quickly!

  Clothes rationing starts June 15th. Rationing means fair sharing.

  The government is giving to each man, woman, and child an equal right to a reasonable share of clothing and footwear. Next Saturday, June 15, and Sunday, June 16, from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. ration books will be issued to all holders of Civilian Identity cards or Aliens Registration cards who were over the age of 16 on March 15, and to their dependents who were under the age of 16 on March 15.

  * * *

  ‘Then Sergeant Williams came,’ said Joey.

  Mum shook her head. ‘Fancy you having the presence of mind to put out an SOS on Joe’s radio thingummy like that. I’m so proud of you Joey. So proud. How ever did you know how to send an SOS?’

  ‘Er … we learnt it at school,’ said Joey guiltily. He felt terrible taking all the credit for saving Joe. But he couldn’t betray the soldier now.

  Sergeant Williams had removed all of the radio equipment. They’d picked up the signal at the RAAF base at Wigawheela, and at another base as well, had immediately pinpointed its location and then called Sergeant Williams. Ten minutes later he’d been at the farm. Joe was safe in hospital now, his hand stitched up.

  ‘Sister said he’d be in hospital for a few days at least,’ said Joey. ‘He’s lost a lot of blood.’

  ‘Poor Joe,’ said Mum. ‘After all he’s been through. He shouldn’t have been out there all alone, that’s all I can say, trying to do things with his bad hand. Someone should have been looking after him.’

  ‘It’ll be even worse for him now,’ said Joey. ‘Sister says it’ll be months before he can use his hand again.’

  ‘He can’t manage out there one-handed!’ exclaimed Mum, horrified.

  ‘I don’t know what he’s going to do,’ said Joey despondently. ‘I can’t see Joe staying in hospital. Mum, he couldn’t stay here, could he, Mum?’

  ‘I don’t see how,’ said Mum slowly. ‘There’s no more room.’

  ‘He could use the boys room.’ Even though they were men now, Bruce and Merv were still known as ‘the boys’.

  Mum shook her head. ‘Aunt Lallie wouldn’t like it. She might agree out of duty, but she’d hate it really. And what if Bruce or Merv come back on leave, or even Uncle Don? It’s bad enough with us here.’

  Mum stood up. ‘No, Joey, there’s only one thing for it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We have to move out to Joe’s place. I don’t care how people talk. He needs help just like any of our boys overseas. Just till he’s better. You and I.’

  chapter thirty - two

  Joe in Hospital

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  Sign on an RAAF truck: This truck stops for all railroad crossings, redheads and brunettes; it will back up half a mile for a blonde.

  * * *

  Joe had the hospital room that Joey had been in, the iron bedstead still at right angles to the wall, the blanket still firm across the bed like it was tied there, the green linoleum cold and shiny. Out the window two old, permanent patients sat in cane-bottomed chairs by the rose garden and watched the children and dogs play across the road.

  Joey watched Joe anxiously. ‘Joe, are you sure you don’t mind?’

  Joe’s grin looked faded, but still wider than Joey had ever seen it before. ‘No, cobber, I don’t mind. I’d have given a bit more than a couple of pints of blood to have you and your Mum out there.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Sure as sure.’ Joe smiled up from the pillows.

  ‘Just till you’re well.’

  ‘Far as I’m concerned you can stay there for the duration. Or for as long as it takes,’ added Joe cryptically.

  ‘Mum’s planning to move out there this afternoon, so she can get the place ready for you when you come home.’

  Joe nodded, his eyes half closing. He opened them with effort. ‘I know. She told me this morning. She looked goodoh. Hair like a birch broom in a fit, no one else had hair like Feemie …’

  ‘She’s got boxes of cleaning stuff, enough to clean the whole Memorial Hall. Aunt Lallie’s going to help her, and the Gleesons. Mr Gleeson said he’d chop enough wood to last for a while.’

  Joe nodded absently. His eyes kept drooping, as though he found it hard to concentrate. But he looked happy, strangely happy for someone with only one hand that worked, stuck in hospital.

  ‘Joe?’ he said finally.

  ‘Mmmmm?’ Joe’s eyes half opened.

  ‘Sergeant Williams took the radio equipment away.’

  Joe nodded sleepily. ‘He came and told me he had. Gave me a bit of a dressing down about it. But not too bad. He’s all right, Sergeant Williams.’

  ‘You don’t mind?’

  ‘Nah. You were right, cob. What with that bloke up there and everything. I was kidding meself if I thought I’d hear anything anyway.’

  ‘That’s all right then,’ said Joey relieved. Sergeant Williams had sent the Constable in to get the radio while the Sergeant carried Joe to the car and fixed the tourniquet again. There hadn’t been any time for the soldier to use it again.

  That was the second time, thought Joey, that the soldier had saved someone’s life. He must ha
ve been nearby, watching, watching. Maybe he was always close, just waiting for his chance. And then his chance had come — and he’d saved Joe’s life instead.

  Joey wondered if he should tell Joe. But somehow he couldn’t. Not now. It would be rubbing Joe’s nose in his wrongdoing now he was weak.

  ‘How’s Meg?’ asked Joe.

  Joey grinned. ‘She was asleep on the verandah when I went out yesterday afternoon, but she woke up to eat her dinner. Then she went to sleep again. And she was asleep this morning and this afternoon.’

  ‘But she’s eating all right? She’s not pining?’

  ‘She’s fine,’ Joey assured him. ‘Aunt Lallie gave me this great bone for her, too. Really smelly, just the way she likes them. I’ve left her plenty of food today as well.’

  ‘Meg likes her woofer bones,’ said Joe drowsily.

  Joey had also taken Vegemite sandwiches and an orange up the hill. They were his lunch — he hadn’t time to forage for anything more. He didn’t have time to walk all the way up to the rocks either, so he’d left them on a fence post, and yelled before he went back in to feed Meg and to collect the eggs.

  The sandwiches were gone when he came back.

  ‘You sure you’re all right?’ asked Joey again.

  ‘Right as rain. Give me a few days and I’ll eat a horse and chase the rider. You know,’ said Joe wonderingly, ‘I don’t think your Mum even saw the scars this morning. She was too busy bossing me over coming out to stay. As though I was going to argue with her …’

  ‘They don’t look as bad as they did,’ said Joey.

  ‘That right? And there’s an emu dancing the polka in the bathroom.’

  ‘No, I mean it. They’re sort of faded now, and not so stretched looking.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Joe.

  A trolley clanked in the distance. ‘You look after your Mum,’ said Joe at last. ‘She may seem like she’s in control and all, but that’s just her way of covering up things. Don’t you let her work too hard out at the farm.’

  Joey shrugged. Who could stop Mum doing anything … ‘I hope I brought in everything you wanted,’ he said. ‘I found the pyjamas and shaving stuff all right, but I couldn’t find your dressing gown.’

  ‘Don’t have one,’ murmured Joe.

  ‘I didn’t think so. That’s what I told Aunt Lallie — she wanted to make sure I’d got everything properly. She’s going to make you one. She found a pattern in the Women’s Weekly yesterday about how to make a dressing gown from an old blanket and she’s dying to try it out. It’s going to have red blanket stitching round the collar and …’

  ‘Whacko,’ muttered Joe. ‘Just what I need.’ His eyes closed again, and Joey realised he was asleep.

  chapter thirty - three

  Joe Comes Home

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  Biscuit Creek Central school children will be holding a stall in aid of the Red Cross this Friday afternoon. The children will be selling flowers and vegetables that they raised themselves in the new gardens below the oval. According to Miss Pringle the children have been working hard every afternoon, and even with the dry weather have managed …

  * * *

  Aunt Lallie had scrubbed the verandah last week till the worn wood was almost splintered; but the chooks kept roosting on the railings in the midday heat, and Meg had left a dusting of fur around the doormat and a bone under the old cane chair, and already leaves had blown up against the wall.

  It looked better now, decided Joey, as he scratched Meg’s back with his foot. Joe’s place looked wrong when it was tidy. ‘Hey, Meg, guess what? Your master’s coming home today!’

  Meg opened her eyes, then shut them again.

  ‘Joey, is that you? Have you got the eggs?’

  Joey stepped over Meg and into the stove heat of the kitchen.

  ‘Eighteen today,’ he said, putting the basket on the table. ‘Two more than yesterday. I think the chooks like me.’

  ‘I think they just like being fed regularly.’ Mum wiped her hands on her apron. It had been clean this morning, but already had a splash of orange juice along the front and butter stains down the sides, and a splodge that might have been orange cake batter that looked like it had been licked off. ‘I don’t know what Joe thought he was doing. There was no wheat in the shed, or corn or …’

  ‘It’s too heavy to bring a sack of wheat out on the bike, and no one’s delivering anymore.’

  ‘Well, someone would have brought it out for him. I don’t know, these men sometimes … There’s a couple of bowls in the sink and the beater to lick if you want them.’

  ‘What sort?’

  ‘Chocolate ripple and orange cake.’

  ‘Goodoh,’ said Joey. He ran his tongue along the edge of the wooden spoon. ‘Hey, Mum. Joe said yesterday that Ferguson’s have got a pony no one’s riding, and would I like it for my birthday. But I had to ask you first. Please, Mum. I could ride it into school and everything.’

  ‘You’d have to learn to ride first,’ said Mum. ‘Pass me the dishcloth will you, love? Eerk, I forgot! I wiped up the cracked egg with it. There’s nothing more disgusting than egg and dishcloth …’

  ‘I can ride the bike,’ said Joey.

  ‘It’s not the same,’ said Mum. ‘A pony’s a lot of work, too.’

  ‘But Joe said every kid needs a horse,’ argued Joey. ‘All the farm kids have got them at school. And Myrtle says …’

  ‘All right, all right, I’ll think about it.’ Mum lathered the soap in the dishwater. ‘It’s ages till your birthday anyway. Here, if you’ve finished the bowls you can dry.’

  Joey caught the tea-towel. ‘Mum …’

  ‘Mmmm …’

  ‘It’s funny …’

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just, it’s sort of like we’ve been here for years …’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Mum softly. ‘Like things are starting again.’

  ‘Sort of like that,’ said Joey.

  ‘Your Dad always used to say … oh blast, look at that dog. She’s left her bone right smack under the chair, and I’ve been trying all morning to get the place looking good when Joe comes home this afternoon!’

  ‘Joe won’t notice,’ said Joey.

  ‘No, but Lallie will, and she’s giving him a lift. And there’s leaves, too, I’ll have to sweep again.’

  ‘More’ll just blow down. Mum, can I go for a walk if there’s nothing else you want me to do? Just up the hill?’

  ‘But it’s nearly lunchtime. Oh, all right, but don’t be too long, will you. Lallie said she’ll be here at three and you know how punctual she is.’

  ‘No fear,’ said Joey. ‘I won’t miss Joe’s homecoming. Can I take some lunch up with me?’

  Mum nodded. ‘There’s the last of the tomatoes in the bowl on the table, or there’s fish paste, I don’t know why you’re so keen on fish paste all of a sudden, you used to hate the stuff. And there’s fresh bread, but mind you wipe up the crumbs. You know what Lallie’s like if she sees crumbs, she’d be sure we’ll have mice all over the kitchen.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Joey. ‘Meg’d catch them before they came in the door.’

  Mum shuddered. ‘I don’t even like to think about it. We had a cat once used to leave them on the doormat …’

  ‘I know. You told me. Lots of times. Mum, can I take a piece of cake too?’

  Mum hesitated. ‘They’d look better whole for afternoon tea.’

  ‘I can slice one up so no one notices any is missing. Anyway, we’ll never eat two whole cakes for afternoon tea. Even with Joe. They’ll just go stale before we finish them and then the chooks will get them …’

  ‘Greedy guts.’ But Mum was grinning. ‘All right, take your cake. But I want you back here on time.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  It was warmer up on the hill, as though the autumn sun still shone fully on it, while it only brushed the house below.

>   Joey climbed up to the clustered rocks, then paused to catch his breath. ‘Helllooooo!’ he called.

  ‘ellloooellloooo ellooooo …’ The echo washed across the hill.

  ‘It’s me!’ Joey added, then felt silly. Who else would it be? Besides, the soldier would have seen him coming.

  Joey bent to place the cake and sandwiches down on the rock, then stopped.

  There was something on the rock. Sticks, laid out in a strange pattern. A bit like a puzzle perhaps, thought Joey.

  A map … but a map of what? Not the town … A map of the hill, maybe, or the district … Or a stick drawing of a house perhaps, though no house looked like that…

  And suddenly he knew, knew as clearly as if the words were spoken. It was Japanese writing … what did they call it, hiero-somethings, or was that just ancient Egyptian? Japanese characters saying, ‘thank you’ or ‘hello’, or something else …

  Joey looked around, but there was only silence; a spiral of hot air almost oily above the rocks, the shudder of leaves against the blue behind the hill, the tree trunks almost yellow in the midday light.

  Was he watching?

  Of course he was watching. Joey was the only person now he knew.

  Was that why he stayed now the radio was gone? Joey wondered. Would the soldier still be here five years from now, ten years, watching him grow up?

  Would the war still be going on when he became a man?

  Maybe … when the war was over … the soldier could come down from the hill. Maybe he’d even like to stay in Biscuit Creek. Have a farm maybe … or did he have a job like Dad’s, in an office, when he wasn’t being a soldier … had he always been a soldier …

  Joey sat down on the rock, beside the writing and the cake and sandwiches. He pitched his voice so it would carry to the rocks, to anyone listening inside.

  ‘Joe’s coming home today,’ he said. ‘Mum’s made two cakes and a peach pie and there’s roast lamb with mint sauce for dinner. She was going to ask Aunt Lallie to stay, but Joe’ll probably be tired, his first day out of hospital, and …’