Storyland

by Catherine McKinnon

  ‘There are, what shall I call it, aspects, there are aspects of this world that we don’t know about because we see in a particular way.’

  I want to make a serious point but Constable Black laughs.

  ‘We don’t know about but the horse does know about?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, looking ahead and trying not to be offended.

  ‘Because of the way the horse sees?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you talking about ghosts?’

  ‘A sensing of a world that is different to our sensing,’ I say.

  Constable Black turns to me now, his face suddenly animated.

  ‘So would you go to Madame Vichy’s séance?’ he asks.

  ‘Madame Vichy is a sham.’

  ‘You had me worried,’ Constable Black says. ‘So you believe in science?’

  ‘Science is how we’ve improved our butter. But there are things science don’t know,’ I say.

  ‘But will know.’

  ‘No, Constable Black.’

  ‘Call me Joe.’

  ‘Some things are unknowable, Joe. Like evil.’

  ‘Things can be forgotten, I’ll give you that,’ Joe Black says. ‘They once had great waterways in Rome. Systems for getting water to houses where there was no well. No river nearby. Aqueducts they were called. But the knowledge of how to build them got lost.’

  ‘Aqueducts? I’ve not heard of them.’

  The two shrikes have been darting back and forth across the grass but now, suddenly, they fly away.

  ‘A civilisation is built too,’ Joe Black says. ‘We build it. We make our minds up to right and wrong. Good and evil. Evil is not a thing that exists before we decide. But once we decide, once we have named it, it is there.’

  ‘Good and evil exist before we decide on names,’ I say.

  ‘But naming is powerful,’ Joe Black insists.

  ‘Evil don’t come from being powerful, it comes from being weak,’ I say.

  I am not one to give up on my own ideas easily. I got well used to arguing when Otto were courting Mary.

  ‘Weakness yes, evil does come from weakness, but from someone weak who wants to feel power in their own hands,’ Joe Black says.

  ‘But why do they need to feel that?’ I say. ‘That’s the mystery I’m talking about.’

  Suddenly, I want to tell Joe Black the secret I have held inside me for three years. Tell him about the many fathers of my child. Tell him my shame. Tell him how these men grabbed me as I walked home one night after finishing work at the hotel where I’d been employed as a cook’s assistant. Oh, I knew them all, I had been at school with some of them, but I didn’t know their evil, not until that night.

  ‘I think you’re making too much of mystery,’ Joe Black says. ‘There’s good fruit and bad fruit. People are like fruit. Sometimes they go rotten, sometimes they are born rotten. It just is. There’s no mystery about it. The cause can be not good soil, or it can be weather, it was too hot or too cold say, and this delicate thing, this fruit, had a time when it tasted good but then it went bad. The way I see it, there’s been a lot of bad weather lately and the fruit is not tasting good.’

  Black and purple clouds drift across the sky. The yellowed moon is rising. Joe Black takes depositions from Mary and me in the Duncans’ kitchen and we sign them. He says a court won’t take any notice of what Toorung or Yardah might have to say, but he listens to what they tell him. After, Toorung and Yardah leave to walk home. Joe Black says he will go to their camp tomorrow, in the morning. They have agreed to help him trace the shooter’s tracks up Hooka Creek and see where he might have come out of the water. Dempster has not arrived, so Mrs Duncan shuts up the washhouse, says she’ll go over to his place and see if he is all right. We give her our thanks. As we mount our horses, Tommy Lin comes rolling through the gate at speed. He pulls his cart up alongside us.

  ‘Trouble at farm,’ he says to me.

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ Joe Black asks.

  ‘I meet Mr Farrell on road. Mr Farrell say Dempster went around and around. Tell everyone they got to help him get justice for daughter. Now they all go to Lola and Mary’s farm.’

  Tommy Lin lifts up his shirt. He has a pistol stuck through his belt.

  ‘Never shot gun,’ Tommy Lin says. ‘Had gun since cousin got held up in shop. Remember?’

  ‘Don’t shoot it now,’ I say.

  ‘Might need,’ Tommy Lin says. ‘Saw Niall Farrell walking across paddock to farm. He had rifle.’

  Joe Black loads his rifle. Mary and I do the same.

  ‘I don’t want you shooting those,’ Joe Black says.

  ‘We been shot at already today,’ I say. ‘We got to defend ourselves.’

  ‘Have them, but don’t shoot unless I say. Agreed?’ Joe Black says to me and Mary.

  ‘Agreed,’ we say.

  Mrs Duncan calls out to her husband to get his rifle and then climbs up into the cart next to Tommy. Mr Duncan comes running, rifle in hand, and hauls himself up next to her. Nellie comes running behind him, but he tells her to stay put. ‘I’m too scared to stay put,’ Nellie says.

  ‘Lock yourself in the storeroom,’ Mr Duncan says. ‘Don’t move until you hear my voice.’

  We kick into our horses and gallop out through the gate and along the road, Tommy Lin’s cart rattling behind us. A possum scrambles up a darkened tree. Kangaroos thump through the shadowy bush. A wombat, its squat tub body brown like a rock, waddles off the road.

  We make good time and soon we see our farm up ahead, lit up as if for a gathering. I look to the paddocks and see neighbours trailing across, lamps or firesticks guiding their way.

  ‘There’s a mob there already!’ I call back to Tommy.

  We gallop through the gates. I see a circle of men and women forming in front of the kitchen. The flames of their firesticks are bright orange. Grey smoke drifts into the night sky. As we ride closer I see that some carry lengths of wood, some rifles, one an axe. Bartholomew Winter is on the verandah, holding Aunty. He has one hand clapped over her mouth. I can hear Bud barking from behind the kitchen door.

  The mob turns to us, as we ride up. Ghost snorts and flicks her ears back. There’s a howling from inside the circle. Thwack! Thwack! I can’t see what is happening. Do they have Abe? I search for faces I know, spot Mrs Farrell and Niall and Padraig, and the two youngest Farrells, Seamus and Donal. There are people from the estate I recognise but also people I don’t know.

  Joe Black, rifle in hand, nudges his horse forward and the circle opens up. Thwack! Thwack! I see Dempster whacking Abe on his leg with a length of wood. Abe cries out in pain, limps, holds his leg.

  Mary and I yell, ‘Stop!’

  Dempster wallops Abe on the back. He falls to the ground. Joe Black shoots his rifle into the air. Bang! The horses rear up and neigh. I aim my rifle at Dempster while Joe Black reloads.

  Niall Farrell steps into the centre of the circle, yells at Joe Black, ‘This is a father’s revenge.’

  ‘He’s got the wrong man,’ I scream at Niall.

  There’s blood running down Abe’s face. He sinks into the dirt.

  Dempster goes to hit him again. I shoot just above Dempster’s head. No time to wait for Joe Black’s permission. Dempster turns and stares, eyes yellow in the flame light. I reload. There is so much human noise, it crashes around us.

  Mary shoots her rifle into the air. Bang!

  The horses snort and neigh.

  Someone calls out from the crowd, ‘There’s more of us than them.’

  A sharpness.

  Everyone taking a breath in.

  Niall and Padraig point their rifles at us.

  Mary yells at them, ‘Niall and Padraig Farrell, we are neighbours.’

  Joe Black aims at Niall.

  ‘I am ready to shoot you dead, Niall Farrell,’ Joe Black says. ‘You want to go to gaol. Go ahead and shoot me. This boy ain’t the murderer.’

  I see Mr Farrell and Connor running across
the paddock. Mr Farrell yells and it breaks the spell on Demspter who has been staring at us. He swings around and hits Abe again and again with his length of wood.

  Thwack! Thwack!

  I shoot at the ground near Dempster. Dirt spurts up.

  Dempster stops hitting. Which is lucky, because I’m ready to shoot him dead.

  He stares at us again, saliva dripping down his chin. I reload.

  Joe Black, holding his rifle steady, shouts to Dempster. ‘Enough.’

  Abe is lying on the ground, moaning, gripping his leg. Blood pooling.

  ‘Abe needs help, he is bleeding bad,’ I say to Joe Black.

  ‘You let his Aunty go,’ Joe Black calls to Bartholomew Winter. ‘She needs to get this boy bandaged.’

  Bartholomew Winter holds Aunty tighter, like he’s going to defy Joe Black’s order.

  Mr Farrell and Connor climb over the fence and come up on the verandah, alongside Bartholomew Winter.

  ‘Let her go,’ says Mr Farrell.

  I hold my rifle steady on Bartholomew Winter, who tries to stare me down.

  There’s snarling and muttering from the mob.

  Bartholomew Winter pulls his hand away from Aunty’s mouth, but he still don’t let her go.

  Aunty wails. Her cry is sharp and violent. It pierces the night. Stirs the mob.

  Suddenly, Bartholomew Winter releases Aunty and stretches his arms out wide, like he is a victim.

  I lower my rifle. Aunty starts down the steps, shaking her fist at the mob. She kneels beside Abe.

  ‘You people all go home now,’ Joe Black yells, keeping his rifle aimed at Niall.

  The men and women don’t move.

  Our horses, restless and wary, pin their ears back.

  Mary dismounts and walks over to Abe, glaring at the faces surrounding her. She turns to Dempster.

  ‘Any one of these men could have murdered Jewell. It don’t take long to get to Mullet Creek from any of these farms hereabouts. We found the footprints. It were a big man, bigger than Abe. If it weren’t you, Mr Dempster, then who? It could have been Niall or Connor? They’re both tall. How about Mr Winter? No one is a match for him in size. Or one of you others here.’ Mary points to men in the crowd. ‘Maybe one of you knows what happened and is not speaking up.’

  ‘You were at the creek, Connor Farrell. You said you saw men from the smelting works hunting, it could have been one of them, couldn’t it?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes,’ Connor says.

  ‘What about you, Niall, you see anyone?’ I ask.

  ‘Not there,’ Niall says. ‘So I couldn’t say.’

  ‘You were there!’ I say, affronted. Connor told me you were hunting with him. He showed me the rabbits you caught.’

  Niall looks to Connor. I can’t tell what is passing between them, but something is not right.

  There is a hush now.

  Everyone is looking at Connor.

  ‘Connor? You said Niall were there,’ I say.

  Connor’s face is flushed and I remember it were like that last Wednesday.

  Suddenly, it is like the smoke has thickened the air. I can’t breathe so well. I keep my eyes on Connor.

  ‘Were it you, Connor?’ I say, quietly.

  Connor stares at me. He goes to say something but no words come out.

  ‘Speak up,’ Joe Black says.

  ‘Were it you murdered Jewell?’ I ask.

  Connor shifts his weight from one foot to the other, as though he don’t know how to settle. The light catches his eyes. But there is nothing there, blankness. Were it him or not?

  ‘It was not my Connor,’ Mrs Farrell cries out.

  ‘Then why can’t he tell us what happened?’ Mary asks.

  ‘Connor, was it you that killed Jewell Dempster?’ Joe Black asks.

  ‘Or were it Niall?’ I ask, because maybe Connor is protecting his brother.

  Connor glances at Niall.

  ‘Were it you that shot at us over at Mullet Creek?’ I ask.

  ‘Or Niall?’ Mary asks.

  ‘Were it you I shot, Connor?’ I look to his chest. Both he and Niall are wearing jackets and I can’t see if either is hurt.

  Connor’s eyes are on mine again now. Sad. Soft. Not like a murderer’s eyes. He can’t be the one, can he?

  ‘Were it an accident?’ I ask.

  Tommy Lin runs forward from his cart and points his pistol at Connor. ‘Take Connor Farrell to gaol.’

  Niall turns his rifle on Tommy. ‘Don’t dare point a gun at my brother, Mr Yellow Swine.’

  ‘You leave him alone, Niall,’ I say, swinging my rifle in Niall’s direction.

  ‘Shoot me, shoot me,’ Padraig sniggers, and raises his rifle at me.

  ‘All of you, hold fire!’ Joe Black yells, trying to calm us down.

  ‘Someone here is a murderer,’ I scream at Joe Black.

  ‘And you are not the law!’ Joe Black shouts at me. ‘Rifles down, rifles down,’ Joe Black orders everyone.

  We don’t let them drop completely, but we lower them slightly.

  ‘Did you see Jewell on Wednesday morning, Connor?’ Joe Black asks.

  ‘No,’ Connor says.

  ‘Were you down there hunting?’ Joe Black asks.

  ‘Yes,’ Connor replies.

  His eyes seem to want to say more, or am I just inventing?

  ‘Niall, were you down there hunting?’ Joe Black asks.

  ‘No,’ Niall says.

  ‘See, someone is lying!’ I say.

  ‘It was not one of my boys hurt young Jewell,’ Mrs Farrell shouts, her big body heaving with emotion.

  ‘Someone lying or looking guilty is not the same as someone guilty,’ Joe Black says to me. ‘You should be the first to know that.’ He turns back to Connor and Niall. ‘I’ll want both you boys to go home now. I’ll be over shortly to take your depositions.’

  ‘You can’t let them go home!’ I say.

  ‘My boys have nothing to hide,’ Mr Farrell says.

  ‘Then they’ll do what I say,’ Joe Black says. ‘Now all of you, go home! There’s a young girl been murdered and it’s my job, and only my job, to find out who murdered her. But it’s your job to mourn her.’

  Grimaces. Still no movement.

  Aunty stands. ‘Go home,’ she says. ‘There’s already been one murder, we don’t need any more.’

  There is such authority in her voice that people begin to step away.

  Niall and Padraig let their guns fall to their sides. They turn and walk to the fence. Seamus and Donal follow. Donal picks up a lamp that has been left in the yard. They stand and wait for Connor. He follows, giving me a final look as he leaves, a look that is unreadable. Then all five boys climb over the fence and walk across the paddock into the darkness. Soon the lamp Donal holds becomes a bouncing glow.

  ‘It’s one thing to protect your brother,’ Mr Farrell says to me sternly. ‘It’s another to slander our sons.’

  ‘It was not one of mine done anything to Jewell,’ Mrs Farrell says.

  The Farrells leave, walking the long way home, out through the gate and along the road. Some of the neighbours walk off along the road, back to their houses. Others go to their horses and mount up. Some ride off but a few sit and wait for Dempster. Dempster stays put, like he don’t know how to move.

  ‘Dempster, you’ve stirred up enough trouble for a lifetime,’ Joe Black says. ‘Your daughter is waiting for you over at Duncan’s dairy. She’s waiting for you to do your mourning. You go do that now and don’t do more damage to your name.’

  Dempster twists around to face Abe.

  ‘You might not like that boy,’ Joe Black says. ‘But he ain’t your killer.’

  Dempster turns to Joe Black, his lips pressed tight.

  ‘The clues point in other directions,’ Joe Black says.

  Dan Dempster glares at Joe Black, then he shakes his head, walks to his horse and mounts up. He rides to those that have waited for him, and they gallop off down the track.

&
nbsp; I dismount and run over to Abe.

  ‘You all right there, Abe?’ I say, crouching by him.

  One of his eyes is swollen and won’t open. He turns his head so he can see me with his good eye.

  ‘Jewell really dead?’ he murmurs.

  ‘We found her in Mullet Creek.’

  Abe moans for the loss of Jewell. Aunty checks his body for broken bones.

  ‘Warm water,’ Aunty says to Mary. ‘Brandy and bandages.’

  Mary rises and runs up the steps to the kitchen.

  ‘Does this hurt?’ Aunty asks, touching near Abe’s stomach.

  Abe rears up in pain.

  ‘There’s crimes been committed here, more than murder,’ I say to Joe Black.

  ‘Let me handle it,’ he says.

  ‘This beating is a crime,’ I say.

  ‘I heard you the first time, Lola,’ he says. ‘And I know who was here.’

  ‘This boy needs a doctor, now,’ Aunty says. ‘He has bones broken and his kidneys are damaged.’

  ‘Can you take Abe in your cart, Tommy Lin, take him to the hospital?’ I ask.

  ‘I can take,’ Tommy Lin says.

  Aunty settles Abe in the back of Tommy Lin’s cart. Tommy waits, reins in hand. I sit in the saddle and stare into the trees. Joe Black checks the footprints in the yard. None match those by the creek, although some are the same size.

  ‘I’ll come by tomorrow,’ Joe Black says, mounting his horse.

  He rides up to me.

  ‘This will be sorted,’ he says.

  ‘I’ll make sure of it,’ I say.

  He half grins, reaches out and touches my hand. He kicks into his horse and rides off through the gate and along the road to the Farrells’ place.

  Mary mounts Night and rides up to me. ‘You think Connor did it?’

  ‘He’s not saying all he knows, that’s for sure,’ I say.

  Perhaps it were both brothers. But how come there were only one set of tracks? Perhaps one of them did it, and the other watched, unknowingly as far as the murderer were concerned. Or perhaps that morning I met Connor, he made up a story about Niall being with him, and he alone killed Jewell.

  ‘Bad man,’ Tommy Lin says.

  ‘But which bad man,’ I say, because maybe it were someone else and not either of the Farrells. But why won’t Connor speak?