Of course the soldier wouldn’t understand. It didn’t matter. He’d understand enough. He’d listen to the tone of voice and know that Joey was telling him about everyday things, home things, the sort of things he’d write to Dad about, maybe, the things the soldier no longer had, up here on his mountain …
‘… and then Myrtle said, in a pig’s eye we will. You go form your own committee if you don’t like our rules, but of course they didn’t, no one can organise things like Myrt—’
Joey glanced at the shadows. They were starting to lengthen. He’d been here longer than he thought.
‘I’ve got to run,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow … I mean, I’ll come tomorrow, if I can …’
The shadows shivered in the breeze.
The dust from Aunt Lallie’s car was just rising above the trees as Joey dashed around the corner of the house.
‘Joey, there you are. You promised you’d be back … oh, look at your hair, and you’re dripping with perspiration. No, there’s no time now, they’re nearly here. Run and open the gate will you … no, I don’t care if you’re puffed, it’s your own fault.’
Joe’s hand was bandaged, and his sling was very white. His face had more colour, thought Joey, as he opened the car door.
‘Thanks, mate. What you been doing to yourself? You look like you’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards.’ He peered in the driver’s window. ‘Thank you for the lift, Mrs Dennison. You sure you won’t come in?’
‘Not this time. Oh, maybe just for a minute.’
Joe looked Joey up and down. ‘Well, mate, you going to give me a hug or not?’
Joe’s good arm was strong and warm, and suddenly Mum was kissing Joe’s cheek and saying ‘Welcome home!’ and even Aunt Lallie … Aunt Lallie! was kissing Joe’s cheek, and Meg was barking as she probably hadn’t barked for years, and everyone was laughing talking crying, as though this was an excuse for other tears and laughter …
The hill was silent in the sunlight above it all.
chapter thirty - four
One Month Later
* * *
From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942
MILNE BAY LOSSES A BLOW TO JAPAN
Port Moresby, Sept 6. For the first time a Japanese landing force has been pushed back into the sea. After two weeks of intense jungle fighting, two Australian brigades have worn down the enemy units that landed at Milne Bay last month and forced them to withdraw.
It is a vital victory. Milne Bay, on the southeastern tip of Papua, with its airfield, would have given the Japanese an invaluable point from which to bomb northern Australian bases and aid the drive to Port Moresby …
* * *
The hens sang out the window, Meg snored like a shaggy doormat at the head of the stairs. The hill glowed as the sun began to sink behind the opposite ridge, the day’s dust filtering the light so even the trees shone faintly orange.
Joey shoved his homework back into his school case and picked up the paper. At least that was finished. He was free now for the rest of the weekend.
He turned to page sixteen. The serial should be nearly coming to an end now. Yes, there it was: The Fangs of Sha! To be Concluded Next Issue …
The hero, Captain Savage, had returned to the African caves and found the treasure beneath the waterfall with the help of the python priestess, Gla. But the cannibal Tiger people were waiting with their spears and poison darts and … Joey scanned the column quickly.
Joey put the paper down. It was easy for Captain Savage. So easy for him to know what was the right thing to do, or the wrong. The Tiger people were all bad, so it didn’t matter how many you killed. If Captain Savage met a Tiger man up in the hills he’d have beheaded him with his scimitar … slash, swish slash! … and never given it a second thought. He wouldn’t have left him peach pie or fish paste sandwiches.
Joey glanced up the hill. The trees swayed almost imperceptibly. You’d think nothing moved up there at all. But once you went up there you’d find wallaby tracks and wombat droppings on every bit of rock or fallen log, and bandicoot scratchings and even, once, the smelly droppings of a native cat — at least that’s what Joe had said they were when he brought some home.
Up on the hill the soldier watched and waited for rescue that now would never come.
You’d never know from here, thought Joey, that anything was up on the hill at all.
Joey skimmed through the paper again. There wasn’t much that was interesting. The Biscuit Creek Gazette didn’t have any comics like the Sydney papers; but then you didn’t know everyone in the Sydney papers.
Sergeant Robert Stephenson home on leave — that’d be Mrs Stephenson-down-at-the-chemist’s son — and Daphne Hale’s twenty-first birthday (her sister was in the class behind his; she was a drip, her skirts always sagged behind), and Lewis’s the Grocer apologising for the shortage of potatoes — not that it mattered, they’d still got plenty in the garden. Joe must’ve thought he was feeding an army, with all the veg he’d put in. Or maybe he’d just been looking for something to do.
Joey gazed out the window again. The road shimmered in the heat, though it wasn’t even summer yet. Mum and Joe should be home soon. It was Joe’s day to have his dressings changed up at the hospital, and Aunt Lallie had given them a lift.
The clouds were gathering. They looked like gobs of cotton wool at the edges, snot-green towards the middle. There’d be a storm by tea-time. He hoped Mum and Joe got back before it hit.
What did the soldier do in a storm? Did the overhang protect him when the rain buffeted and twisted in the wind?
If only there was a spare tarp somewhere. The soldier could stretch it out like a tent … Maybe there was one in the shed …
But Joe would miss a tarp. And if someone found a tarp up on the hill they might suspect someone was hiding there.
The soldier was safer as he was.
He crossed the kitchen and bent down to check the stove. Mum would give him whatfor if he let it go out. She wanted the oven hot when she came home. It was rabbit and potato pie tonight, she said, with a suet crust made with mutton dripping saved from the roast the week before.
Joey shoved a log into the firebox. A spider scuttled out of the bark, and dropped onto the floor. Joey stamped on it automatically and shut the door of the firebox. That should keep the oven hot till Mum got home.
Mum was proud of her pastry. She made it in the laundry, because the heat from the stove would make it tough. Mum’s pies always looked sort of lopsided, and they always collapsed so that the pastry rose in the middle looked more like a wombat dropping than a flower. But they tasted better than Aunt Lallie’s, even if Aunt Lallie’s pastry roses had leaves and stems and all. Aunt Lallie never had enough gravy in her pies.
Joey had skinned the rabbits himself, with a little help from Joe. Joe had shown him how to set the rabbit traps, too. He set them early, before he had to leave for school, but he set less than a quarter of the number Joe had.
It was funny, mooching round up there with the traps, not knowing if the soldier was watching or not. It had been sort of spooky before, when the soldier was just an enemy. But now it was almost like the soldier was the guardian of the hill.
An engine rumbled. Joey ran to the door just as Aunt Lallie’s car drew up in the drive. Mum got out of the passenger’s side, then opened the back door for Joe before he could reach the handle. ‘Come in for a cuppa?’ she asked Aunt Lallie.
‘If the kettle’s on.’ Aunt Lallie swung her legs out of the door. She was wearing her heels, and bright red lipstick, and her going-to-a-meeting suit, and the hat with black net across her forehead. She must have had a committee this afternoon.
‘It should be hot. Joey’s been feeding the fire. I told him to light it as soon as he got home from school. Joey …?’
Joey nodded. ‘It should be just about boiling.’
‘Well, there you are then,’ said Mum, handing him a string bag full of shopping. ‘And you’ll never guess who was on the
Red Cross stall outside Muttons! No Joe, don’t you bother with that. You know Sister says you weren’t to do anything strenuous. I’ll take it … oh Joey, can you manage it? Thank you.’
‘Who?’ asked Joey, hefting the other string bag.
‘Miss Tidcombe! I bought a pot holder (just what we need, thought Joey) and she sent you a message. Said to tell you she was doing it for the cats.’ Mum raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s all right,’ said Joey hastily. ‘I understand.’
‘Well, then …’ Mum climbed the steps briskly. ‘I’ll just stick some swaggie’s wood in the box and she’ll be on the boil straight away. Joey, just put those down in the other room and get the cake tin, there’s a love. I made an apple tea cake this morning. Oh, and Joe, can you manage the milk from the cool safe? Lallie, sit down. Not that chair, it’s almost sprung — that one over there is better. I’ll just take off my hat.’
‘How’s your hand?’ asked Joey, as Mum bustled into the bedroom and Aunt Lallie (refusing to sit down) began to put out the tea cups and check the teaspoons for stains.
‘Goodoh. Another couple of dressings and it’ll be right, they reckon,’ said Joe. His beanie was new, with only a faint lip of scar showing below the red and blue. Mum was knitting him a green one. ‘Sister said I can start to move it in a couple of days. No, the milk’s through here,’ he said to Aunt Lallie, who had the milk jug in her hand. ‘You leave it to me, Mrs Dennison. I’ll get it.’
Aunt Lallie sat down reluctantly at the table. ‘Well, if you’re sure there’s nothing I can do …’
‘Nah, she’s right.’
Aunt Lallie took out her knitting. It was khaki wool again, and four thin needles. Looked like another sock, thought Joey. Aunt Lallie untangled her wool and looked across at him, her fingers clicking.
‘How’s school going, Joseph?’ she asked sternly.
‘It’s all right,’ said Joey politely.
‘Working hard?’ Aunt Lallie looked at him steadily. ‘I’m on the P and C Board you know, (Yeah, I know all right, thought Joey) and if I hear …’
‘Really truly, Aunt Lallie, I’m doing all right.’
And I am, thought Joey. Somehow things just seemed to go right at school now. Like a new school was like a song and once you learned the tune you could join in. ‘We made three pounds and twelve shillings last week selling flowers for the Red Cross. And I came top in the maths test this morning,’ he offered.
‘Did you now? Well …’ Aunt Lallie preened as though she’d come top herself. ‘Of course, you get that from our side of the family. We O’Connells were always good at numbers. And spelling, too. I remember when your Aunt Genie came second in the whole State in that spelling bee (I know, thought Joey, you’ve told me three times) and … Feemie, did you hear? Young Joseph here was top of the class in his maths test this morning …’
‘Good on you, matey,’ said Joe.
Joey grinned. He got up to pass the apple cake to Aunt Lallie.
chapter thirty - five
The Storm
* * *
From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942
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* * *
The storm broke just as Joey shut the gate behind Aunt Lallie’s car. He dashed through the grey, thick as a sheet and cold as creek water. As though someone had tipped a bucket over up in heaven, thought Joey, and it all came pouring out at once. The smell of wet soil and warm, wet grass suddenly rose around him, mixed with wood smoke from the stove.
Joey squelched up the stairs. ‘Hey, Meg, don’t you want to go inside?’
Meg lifted her nose two inches from her paws, then dropped it again. ‘Can’t be bothered,’ she seemed to be saying. ‘I’m dry enough up here.’
‘I suppose your fur keeps you warm,’ said Joey, as he opened the door.
‘Shoes!’ cried Mum from the stove. ‘Joey, take off those muddy shoes and put a dry shirt on before you catch pneumonia.’
She peered out the window at the darkening grey anxiously. ‘I do hope Lallie’s all right. She should have stayed till the storm was over. I told her it looked like it was about to pour, but you know Lallie …’
‘Your sister’d drive through the whole German army and tell them to mind their manners,’ said Joe comfortably, leaning back in an old kitchen chair with his feet on another, the paper in his good hand. ‘A bit of rain won’t hurt her. Don’t you worry about Lallie. It only takes ten minutes to drive back to town anyway. She’ll be halfway there already.’
Mum cast a final glance out the window and turned back to the stove.
‘Off you pop. Dry clothes,’ she reminded Joey.
Thunder growled somewhere behind the hill as Joey walked down the corridor. The bedroom was dark, a greenish–grey light. Not at all like the darkness of night, thought Joey, as he stripped off his wet clothes and watched the water spurt over his window from the hole in the gutter.
How come wet clothes always stick to you, like they don’t want to let go? The clean shirt felt good against his skin. He hadn’t realised he was chilled.
The rain pounded on the roof, a million small fists beating at once, but the kitchen was warm and light; Joe with his newspaper and Mum stirring the rabbit in the old blue enamel pot. She’d made stews in that pot as long as Joey could remember. Auntie Sheila had sent it down from Sydney with their other stuff now they’d moved into Joe’s.
He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the old blue pot, thought Joey, or the rag rug that Aunt Genie had given them the Christmas before Dad went away. (Joe was right, it didn’t hurt so much to think about that now. And it felt good to remember.)
Mum had put the rag rug under the table and now Meg considered it her own, a comfortable spot to sleep on while she rested her head on someone’s toes.
‘Joe, do you think you could manage to pod peas with one hand?’ inquired Mum.
‘No,’ said Joe contentedly.
‘Then Joey will have to do it. Joey …’ She handed the bowl to him.
Joey began to shell the peas, opening each thick case and sliding his thumb down inside to send the peas bouncing into the bowl. It was sort of fun to see how fast you could do it, to see the level of peas rise slowly in their bowl, to flick out the tiniest ones and try to catch them on his tongue.
‘Hey, did you read this?’ said Joe. ‘There’s been another Japanese loss up at … Crikey, what was that?’
Joey ran to the window. ‘Hail!’ he exclaimed. ‘Joe, come and look! I’ve never seen hail as big as that! It’s like golf balls …’
Joe strolled over and joined him. ‘Usually comes later in the season,’ he remarked. ‘This is going to play merry heck with the blossom. ’Struth! That was close.’ The lightning flashed again, lighting the kitchen a strange blue white.
Joey grabbed the windowsill as the thunder crashed above them. He could feel it vibrate all through the house.
‘Oh!’ cried Mum, as the kitchen flashed again. The thunder laughed across the hills, almost like it was rolling from hill to hill to hill. ‘Oh Joey, shut the curtains!’
‘But it’s not dark yet!’
‘I don’t care!’
‘But Mum! I want to look at it!’
‘Joey! Do what you’re told!’
‘Do what your Mum tells you, cobber,’ added Joe. ‘Can’t you see she’s scared?’ He reached over and twitched the curtain shut.
‘Meg!’ cried Joey. ‘Meg’s still outside!’ He flung the door open. ‘Meg, you dumb dog, get in here.’
Meg strolled in, shook herself languidly as Joey shut th
e door behind her and lay down by the stove. The smell of wet dog filled the kitchen.
‘I reckon it took that last burst to wake her up,’ said Joe. ‘Listen, there she goes again. You can hear the windows rattle, can’t you?’
‘I hate it,’ muttered Mum. ‘Pull the other curtain, Joey.’ She shivered as she switched the light on. ‘It’s one of my nightmares to be caught outside in one of these. There, that’s better, isn’t it? All bright and cosy.’
‘Pretty good,’ agreed Joe, sticking his feet back up on the chair. ‘Look Feemie, you forget about dinner for a bit. There’s nothing to worry about, not down here, all sheltered by the hills. Pour yourself another cuppa and come listen to this eh?’ He began to read aloud again.
Joey crept down the corridor and into his bedroom. He could see the hill from here, a dark smudge behind the grey. The lightning screamed again, but all it flashed on was the rain. The world was silver white, all other colours leached out by the storm.
Another flash, a crack that made his ears ring. It was as though the sky split open, showing just a glimpse of a too-bright world behind. Only for a moment, then it was gone.
From the other room came a muffled shriek from Mum and Joe’s reassuring murmur.
Joey gazed out at the storm. He half expected to see the hill slashed right in half, to see boulders crumbling through the grey, an avalanche perhaps.
But there was only rain.
Joey grabbed a cardigan and wrapped it round his shoulders, even though the room was warm. There’d been something about that last bolt of lightning that had made the whole world shiver. The storm must be right above, he thought, as another rumble hurtled across the sky.
Joe must know what he was talking about, he reassured himself. Lightning would never strike the house down here. They weren’t like Lee Chong’s cow, alone in a bare paddock.
Surely the soldier would be all right, too. He had to be all right! He’d shelter under the ledge among the rocks. He might be cold and wet, but he’d be safe …
Soldier on the Hill Page 15