‘’Ere come them ’Owes, budda. Time we was movin’.’
Half-drunk Elgin stares away, with his quiet eyes in some far-off thought of his own.
‘You c’n go, Jimmy. I’ll wait ’ere. Go later, yeah.’
‘Doan’ you get in no fight, Elgin, that’s all I ask, or else ya ’istory. None of our people around tonight, ya know, ’cept Murry— an’ ’e’s gone somewhere—an’ this silly little prick.’
‘Yeah. Well, see ya, J.O. See ya t’morrow, then.’
‘Yeah.’
Jimmy disappears.
Just Caesar and Elgin and the city left.
‘Ya gunna fight Mantan again, Elgin?’
‘Naw. Fightin’s stupid. Where’s fightin’ get ya? In jail, that’s where, brother.’
‘If ya get me gun, ya can shoot bloody ole Mantan full of ’oles.’
‘So ya truly ’ave got a gun.’
‘Course. An’ jewels an’ a necklace an’ everything.’
They puff away on another cigarette.
Some Howeses wander by and look the two over with hard Oriental eyes.
‘Goin’ to be a smash, directly, Caesar. Let’s get goin’ and find Murry.’
Elgin, the boss, climbs off the seat. Everything is going hazy, but he still walks with a sort of pride. His grubby little page boy swaggers behind him.
Big cousin Elgin who held up a bank and has stolen a dozen cars and beat up two munadj. Big Caesar who broke into a house.
Black boys who idle along. Shy of the bright white lights that expose them for what they really are.
They go up Murray Street.
Past the fire station where the firemen whistle and shout and jeer.
They sit down on the low wall outside the nurses’ quarters where girls in short, tight uniforms glide between the iron gates, comfortable in the knowledge of their whiteness and virginity.
No one notices the two Nyoongahs in the shadows under the huge Moreton Bay fig tree that erupts from the footpath in a green volcano, It leads a doomed life, one day to be chopped down by the hands that nurtured it. Just like the people it shelters now.
‘Hey boy, ’ow’d you like ’er?’ Caesar grins and spits as a pretty, buxom, young nurse walks past.
‘Roasted, with two eggs,’ Elgin grins.
Eyes follow her as they would a dream.
‘Yeah, just like I was thinkin’.’
Elgin glances at his little cousin and bursts into laughter.
‘Listen to ’im talk. Ya couldn’t ’ave a moony to save yaself. Don’t try foolin’ me. I’m almost ya brother, yeah.’
‘I done all right with Jenny Doolan.’
‘Garn. Y’never touched ’er, even. I was there.’
‘Any rate’ Caesar sulks, ‘I thought we was lookin’ for Murry. What we doin’ up ’ere?’
‘Walkin’,’ Elgin grunts.
Staggers to his feet. ‘Let’s get goin’.’
‘What we goin’ up ’ere for? I wanna get me gun before some jerk finds it, ya know.’
‘I’m goin’ to say a prayer to turn me white.’ Elgin smiles, and his eyes take in the cathedral that looms down upon them, its spire silhouetted against the sky. The Virgin Mary looks out over the city that surrounds it like broken eggshells.
‘What ya reckon we steal the cashbox, Elgin?’
‘Don’t talk silly. ’Ow’d ya know God won’t blast ya to bits, eh?’
Caesar laughs loud and young, while Elgin gives a mocking smile.
They leave the cathedral with its awesome shadows and tranquillity up on the hill.
Past the now-silent school. In the daytime (with all its blue heat and flies and dust) green-clad schoolgirls shout in play and hide their self-conscious womanhood behind starched uniforms.
Past the mint, looking like a caged animal behind the iron bars and twisted barbed netting. A snarling white man’s animal.
The two descendants of the kings of the old civilisation glance from hooded eyes as a police car swishes past.
Elgin digs his hands deeper in his pockets, and his sharp eyes flick over to the taxi parked beside a block of flats that rear up into the sky. It taunts him with its sleek whiteness. The sleek white owner is upstairs in the flats, fondling his white girlfriend between white sheets.
‘Ya can’t even pinch a car, Elgin,’ Caesar sneers, still sullen from Elgin’s gibes about his sexual prowess.
Elgin’s eyes flash.
‘Couldn’t I, ya little jerk? Just you keep watch, budda, an’ I’ll show ya ’ow one Nyoongah can steal a car.’
The wiry youth crouches beside the taxi and his teeth pull back in a grin. His thin fingers find a crack where the window is wound down and he heaves with all his might. Puts in his hand and unlocks the door.
Caesar stands, tense and afraid, under a tree.
A utility glides past.
Elgin leaps onto the other side of the taxi, while Caesar melts into the tree.
Door open. Silver paper on the fuses.
Two shadows pushing a taxi down the hill. The gentle crunch of tyres on cement. A sudden kick, and the engine bursts into life. Doors slam and Elgin lets out a howl of laughter as he screeches around the comer.
Caesar clutches the door in fright.
Elgin Mortimer Broppo lets all his drunken frustration bubble out in one long whoop of joy.
‘Now we’ll get ya bloody gun an’ shoot bloody ole Mantan so full of ’oles ’e’ll look like a piece of lace, yeah,’ Elgin cries.
Caesar lights a nervous cigarette.
‘Not so fast, couz. I wanna live, ya know.’
A faint, persistent thought hammers at Elgin’s mind.
Back to jail; back to jail
E.M. Broppo back to jail
The wheel between his thin agile hands whisks the thought away. It bobs with the coloured lights here, then is gone.
Down in the cool peace of the gardens, Murry lies beside Lynette. She smiles serenely at him and he rubs a calloused hand through her hair.
She has become a woman tonight. In the way she dreamed about, down at the dusty camp, when she was small, and read, over and over again, the tattered book on ‘Sleeping Beauty’.
Caressed and kissed and loved on this hot night. And her man is still here beside her, tracing patterns in her hair.
‘We’d better go soon, Murry. The ‘Owes’ll be everywhere.’
‘They won’t bother us,’ the giant rumbles.
The girl realises he is still white, in many ways as well as in his manner of making love. She sits up and takes out cigarettes for them both.
‘They will if they know ya one of Elgin’s people.’
They finish their cigarettes. The incense-like blue smoke drifts around them and the tree squats above them like a buddha. They kiss again, never wanting to leave.
But there are Lynette’s father and three brothers to think about—and her uncles and cousins. Just as everything is going well, Murry doesn’t want to start a feud of his own.
‘Better go.’
They amble up into the lighted city that is becoming dark and empty now.
The buses are all gone.
The Howeses are all there. Too many glowering, hunched Howeses stalking the streets for gentle Murry and feminine Lynette to fight.
They slink back the way they came and down towards the river.
‘We’ll get a taxi, if there’s any goin’. I got the money,’ Murry murmurs.
Elgin and Caesar, on their way to get the .303, find them.
The squeal of brakes rips out the guts of the night. The taxi reverses back to gaping Murry and surprised Lynette.
‘Shut ya mouth an’ open the door, Murry,’ rasps little Caesar, eyeing Lynette. He feels more sure of himself now, and happy that—at last—he is going to get his rifle.
Elgin cocks his head over his slight shoulders. Bright eyes twinkle at Murry.
‘Where ya been, Murry?’
‘Where ya think, Elgin? Down Supreme Court Ga
rdens, unna, Murry?’ Caesar says before Murry can answer.
‘Ya wanna punch in the ’ead, Caesar Jackell, ya big prick?’ Lynette snarls.
‘Da’s true,’ returns Caesar, and nudges Elgin. Their teeth gleam as they shudder in silent laughter.
Lynette glowers.
‘Ya steal this taxi, Elgin?’ Murry mutters as he slides in.
‘Nah! ’E bought it, unna?’ Caesar cackles.
Elgin smiles a superior smile.
They drive over the bridge. Elgin idles along the riverside slowly.
‘Where ya goin’, Elgin?’ Lynette asks from the back. She is the only girl there. She has heard about these sort of rides before. After all, the two in the front are Murry’s cousins. Share and share alike is their code.
‘Just gettin’ some of Caesar’s stuff.’
‘’Ere. Turn off,’ Caesar orders. He is the boss again, just as he was up in front of Crystal’s.
The taxi rocks and bumps down the gravel track until it reaches the water’s edge.
Caesar leaps out and searches in the long grass until he finds the .303 and the bag. He holds them up and shouts a challenge to the soaring flats and the dancing moon and the cold, white, impassive stars.
The cab screeches back onto the main road, spitting dust and gravel in defiance.
Caesar produces the flagon of riesling. Drunk and happy again, he hands out pieces of jewellery to everyone. He keeps the .303 on his knee and the watch and two earrings in his pocket. He takes a long swig of the flagon, then hands it to Elgin.
‘Ya smart little bugger. ’Oo’d of believed it, eh?’ Elgin gives Caesar a proper grin. A man-to-man grin for the new hero of the clan.
Caesar aims his rifle at buildings and boats and the occasional bird, Murry and Lynette snuggle up close to one another and take the odd sip of wine from the offered flagon.
Elgin drives, drowning in bitter riesling and his own thoughts.
They will be looking for the cab by now. When they catch him, they will make sure he goes to jail for a long time, if Big Pig Fathers has anything to do with it.
He thinks about his woman, lying alone in their tent out at the camp. Her round, bright eyes and quiet voice, and the gentle smile that can calm his wildness.
A still part of town.
A tired sign above a building, flashes blue and red: LAWSON HOT L.
He swings the taxi into the gloom of the parking area.
Two o’clock in the morning. No one around.
The others stare at him in curiosity as he grins around the dark cab.
‘We just goin’ to break into ’ere an’ get some beer. ’Ave one big party, when we get back to camp.’
‘Yeah?’ Murry, uneasily.
‘Nothin’ to it, Murry. Wait ’ere a bit, you mob. Be back d’rectly.’
Elgin slips out and scuttles over to the wall. A sharp crack as the window breaks. Protesting squeaks as it jerks open.
A low whistle.
Murry clambers out noisily, not used to this sort of thing. Caesar floats beside him, holding his .303. Lynette huddles in the cab, with just a cigarette and the riesling to keep her company, feeling terribly alone, without big Murry beside her.
Elgin’s head peers out of the window like a fox glancing out of his lair. A sly, thin, black fox, about to grab the fluttering white chickens and make them squawk.
‘Come ’ere, Murry. Caesar, keep watch.’
The two coloured boys stand inside the murky lounge, while their eyes become used to the gloom. Elgin leads the way as they sneak into the storeroom.
‘We right now, baby,’ Elgin whispers. ’Fuckin’ Christmas, unna, out at camp, when we deliver this little lot.’
Murry is afraid. It is strange that he is here, in someone else’s place, taking all this beer. The pictures on the wall scowl down at him. He passes out the carton to drunk Caesar, who staggers over to the cab.
Carton after carton of bottles and stubbies and cans.
Murry is a criminal now. If he gets caught, it’s an end to all his dreams. And all he wanted to do was go home.
‘Grab some gnummerai, Murry. Geeze, do ya ’ave to be told everything?’ Elgin hisses as he dashes past with an armload of spirit bottles. Murry gets a small cardboard box and quickly fills it up with cigars and packets of cigarettes. His strong hands wrench open the till and he stuffs about $200 in notes into his pockets.
‘Come on, Murry, ya ole woman!’
He rushes over to the window and leaps out.
They roll start the taxi. Head for home. Home amongst the gaunt trees, beside the wide river flat.
They weave through the streets, keeping clear of police vehicles and taxis. Out on Guildford Road, Elgin pushes his foot down hard and lets the power and freedom of his body and mind echo in the taxi engine.
Reedy voices crackle feebly over the two-way in a vain search for the cab. Black Elgin is supreme once more. For the second time in his life he has the radios of Perth spread like a spider’s web to catch him as he buzzes along.
‘What ya reckon they’ll say out at camp when we roll up?’ he grins.
‘’Appy birthday,’ Caesar laughs.
A train roars past and Elgin tries to beat it.
The only car on the whole lonely road.
Caesar pretends to shoot the people in the train.
Lynette sniggers, ‘Look ’ere at Clint Eastwood!’
Caesar turns and laughs with her. All he can do now is laugh. If he stops laughing, he will spew up. He sways and rolls and clutches his .303 even tighter. His smile is a fixed one.
Lynette is only happy-drunk. She leans against broad Murry and his big hand covers her child’s breast. He broods about the crime he has committed, then thinks about the money that will buy his woman a lot of joy.
Elgin is remote from the others. Just him and his car and the road.
They are almost at Guildford when they zoom past a speed trap.
Caesar hears the eerie wailing and jerks around.
‘Hey couz, bloody munadj ’ave got us!’
Fear settles like a mist over the remnants of the tribe.
‘’Old tight. When I tell ya to run, ya bloody run—understand?’ Elgin says, through clenched teeth.
More cars join in the chase: two blue vans and a CIB car. They bay and howl like hounds after the fox.
‘I’ll stop ’em!’ screams Caesar, and loads the magazine of his .303.
Six bullets.
He leans out the window of the swaying cab so the wind whips his hair back and shrieks through the curls.
He fires the rifle and the bullet whines away. Fires again and again.
On his last shot, the bullet smashes through the windscreen of the foremost van so it slews to an abrupt halt. The RTA car also stops, but the others come relentlessly onwards.
The CIB car comes up alongside them. They think they are Starsky and Hutch, in their olive-green Kingswood. Elgin sees the fat, pale face of Detective-Sergeant Fathers peering in at them.
Slides over to the other side of the road in an attempt to block off the CIB car.
It only comes up on the other side of the road, so Elgin rams the taxi into it.
Twice he smashes the taxi against the car, desperately trying to escape. He has visions of smirking Fathers and his mates, like white toadstools growing on Elgin’s black rotting body, down in the forest of Central police station.
The second time he rams the CIB car, Caesar Jackell’s arm breaks with a snap like the click of his stolen rifle bolt.
He gives a cry of pain.
Just over the Swan River bridge, Elgin slams on the brakes. The taxi careers up onto the footpath.
‘Run! Run!’ he yells, and is out sprinting even before the car has stopped. Down over the bank and towards the river.
Caesar stumbles across the road, in the headlights of the pursuing CIB car. He scrabbles painfully down the opposite bank from Elgin, and staggers across the paddock, trailing his .303.
Dul
l Murry is stunned for three vital seconds and Lynette clings fearfully to him. When he explodes from the taxi, the area is surrounded by police.
He has more to lose than the other two boys. He has his pride at never having committed a crime and his good job and his girl whom he does love. He pushes Lynette down the bank after Elgin. Turns to face the approaching horde with the anger of a cornered wildcat.
He lifts one policeman off his feet with a powerhouse right and smashes huge Fathers in the mouth, rocking him.
Six police pounce on the giant Aboriginal and grapple him to his knees with punches and kicks. Hurl him into the van where he crouches in the corner with dead eyes.
‘Who’s your mates? Who was drivin’? What was the girl’s name? How old was she, sonny? Do you know what carnal knowledge is all about? What’s your name, arsehole? You ’ad the gun, eh, Jesse James? Well, who did, then? Where did you get all this beer and grog, matey? By Christ, you’re in the shit now. Tell us who the others were, or we put everything on you. Hey, sarge, one went down along the river. Where’d that bloody girl go? I wouldn’t mind arresting her, eh, Billy? ... Hey, sarge, Central want you on the radio: Get every man you can down here, a mob of Abos have split everywhere ... one of them is fucking dangerous ... got a gun ... took a shot at one of our cars ... No, no one is hurt, only shaken ... Listen, Jacky, yer better start talkin’ soon, before I belt yer bloody ears off ...How’s Mai? Pretty crook, that boong’s got a hard punch. Yaaah! They all think they’re Baby Cassius.’
Words, words. Going round and round inside Murry’s battered head. He drops his eyes and chews on his bottom lip while white faces gaze in at him as though he were a monkey in the zoo, not a human at all. Hard eyes, contemptuous eyes, wondering eyes: slit mouths and Hitler moustaches.
White faces, blue uniforms.
Being the only one caught is such a bitter feeling. The loneliness is more acute. He remembers Caesar joking and Elgin grinning, and Lynette smiling and pressing against him—so close—in a world so far away.
They take him to Midland lockup.
Caesar huddles, moaning, down beside the river. He stares at the blank brown water. His arm hurts now and tears run down his face. He sniffs noisily and wonders if he has killed anyone. The excitement of the chase wears off and he feels sicker then he has ever been. Leans over and vomits all over the ground. Fades among the trees as he hears the droning of a car bouncing over the paddock. Two yellow eyes stare out of the darkness and pick him up, cringing against the tree.
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