As Johnno started down I cast a last glance on the houses and their rising smoke and on the few streets, and the Palais, the longest building in the town. This was where Mrs Peters played on Wednesdays and Saturdays. There was some sort of mystery about the distant town; some sort of apartness, as if now that the holidays were over it was closed to us. Once on the ground we began to run.
“Where would you go anyhow?”
“When?”
“If you ran away?”
“England—or maybe row across the bay to the Otways.”
“You mean the You Yangs.”
“The Otways are out there somewhere, too, not far across the Bay—forests they say, where a man could hide.”
We had started up the hill and talking was no longer easy. “I wouldn’t mind going with you,” I said. But I knew that if it came to the point I would probably back out, nor did I realize Johnno had heard and would remember.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It must have been around this time that Johnno came to “Thermopylae” one Saturday morning. He seldom appeared at our place, probably because he sensed that my father thought him a ne’er-do-well.
He sat on the veranda steps. No, he wouldn’t come in.
“Have you had breakfast, Fred?”
“Yes thanks, Mrs Reeve.”
Behind us my grandfather was stepping slowly up and down the veranda, his glasses round his neck.
Johnno said, “Good morning, Captain McDonald.”
Grandfather stopped and growled that it was no damn’ good at all. After staring at us a while, he went on with his measured striding.
Johnno said quietly to me, “I’ve got bad news.”
I led him round the side of the house away from Squid’s place.
“I’ve got to go to a dance,” he told me.
“Why?” It was hard to imagine anything more distasteful.
“My old man says I have to take Eileen. It’s at the Mechanics’ next Wednesday.”
I said, “She’s older than you are, why can’t she take herself?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s to do with her—her honour.”
“Her what?”
“Her honour.”
This was something I had never heard mentioned outside poetry books.
“How?”
Johnno flung out his hand. “I don’t know. I tried to ask my old man, but he got queer—said Eileen’s sixteen and there are chaps round who might chase after her. I didn’t get the hang of it at all.”
I said, “Eileen could fight most chaps herself, anyhow.”
“She’s not bad,” Johnno admitted. “Goes to pieces, though, when she loses her temper.” He pondered glumly, then suddenly came to the point. “Would you come with me, do you reckon?”
I subsided slowly on to the ground. “Me? I don’t know. I think dad wants me to . . . .” I couldn’t think of anything he wanted me to do. I finished lamely, “I don’t think I’d be allowed.”
The idea filled me with horror. I saw a dance floor filled with couples expertly gyrating and Eileen and I . . . . It was impossible!
“Do you reckon you could ask?”
“My grandfather doesn’t believe in it,” I found myself saying. And this was true; at least he had once told me that the woman who had started the circular waltz had asked for John the Baptist’s head on a plate.
“But how about your mother and father?”
“They wouldn’t mind at all, Fred,” said my mother’s voice from the veranda. She was making my bed and I hadn’t even seen her. “I think it’s very nice indeed to find a boy taking his sister out.”
As I groaned aloud I heard the breath come out of Johnno with relief. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, Mrs Reeve.”
I couldn’t speak; I sat huddled on the lawn.
“And you see that you dance with Eileen, Charlie,” said my mother as she went inside.
I looked at Johnno. “That was a lousy thing to do. You saw her and I didn’t. How do you dance when you’ve never been taught anyway?”
Johnno didn’t even answer this. “Hell, I’m glad you can come!” he exclaimed.
Unfortunately my father agreed with old man Johnston. I was to remember that Eileen had no mother to guide her. In any case it was right for a boy to escort his sister, and besides it might teach Fred a little pride in his manners.
“In my day a boy thought it a privilege—”
I didn’t listen any more; I had heard it all before. When he had finished I said, “I thought you didn’t want me to go out with Johnno.”
“That’s enough of that!” he snapped.
I dragged to Johnno’s on the Wednesday evening in my best suit, my hair brushed and my boots cleaned. Johnno and his father were in the sitting-room, Johnno in his uncle’s blue suit, his hair slicked back, his expression more than usually glum. Eileen hadn’t appeared, but I could smell her perfume, an unnerving, overpowering smell. Old man Johnston rocked back and forth on his heels and toes studying Johnno narrowly. He was a good deal shorter than Johnno, but squarish-looking, his shining blue chin cloven at the centre. On his watch-chain was a medallion showing two boxers shaping up to each other.
“You understand now?”
“Yes sir,” said Johnno, nodding anxiously.
“I’ve seen girls, young girls at that, leave the hall with men. It’s no good.”
“No,” said Johnno vaguely.
“Remember now, she’s your sister and a man should defend his sister’s honour to the limit.”
“Charlie,” he said, turning his gimlet eyes on me, “I’m sure you will watch too that Eileen isn’t prevailed upon—”
Eileen came out in the middle of this. I looked at her with my mouth open. It seemed ridiculous to think she was only two years older than I was, or to think I had boxed with her hardly a year before.
Mr Johnston gazed at her a long time, then he said in a quieter voice, “All right, now, home by twelve—and Eileen, be the woman your mother was.”
All the way to the hall we walked reluctantly one on either side of her, our feet stirring up the dust. She said once to Johnno, “Do I look nice, Fred?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “I haven’t noticed.”
“Charlie,” she said, ignoring him, “how do you think I look?”
“Terrific,” I admitted.
“Thank you. See, Fred?” Johnno didn’t answer.
The night was calm and filled with moonlight, a good night for floundering or sitting on the end of the pier; a good night for almost anything but going to a dance. As we walked across the football ground, Eileen hummed “The Red Red Robin” and every now and then skipped as if she couldn’t wait to get to the hall. In the moonlight I could see a smile on her face and see Johnno looking despondently at the ground.
“You boys really needn’t worry about me,” she said condescendingly.
“I’m not worrying about you,” said Johnno morosely. “I’m only worrying what will happen if dad reckons I haven’t looked after you.”
She patted his cheek. “Dear brother!”
“Cut it out,” he said. “You smell terrible.”
“It’s eau de Cologne,” she said happily.
“Well, don’t come too near us.”
As we reached the other side of the football ground and walked across the park we could see the lights of the hall, ironically gay through the trees, then we heard the alarming boompa, boomp, boomp of music and a voice yowling,
“Yes, sir, that’s my baby
No, sir, don’t mean maybe,
Yes, sir, that’s my baby now.”
“Gawd!” muttered Johnno.
“Which of my partners will dance first with me?” asked Eileen.
I felt my stomach tur
n.
“I only said I’d bring you, “said Johnno immediately.
“I’m sure Charlie will dance, won’t you Charlie?”
“I don’t know how to,” I said, scarcely above a whisper.
“Oh, you can foxtrot; anyone can foxtrot.”
“No,” I said, “No.”
“I’ll show you, Charlie.”
My voice had deserted me. We were at the door by this and I could think of no way of escape. We handed in our tickets and went into the glare of lights. Half the town was there mooching now to something slow, the girls all eyeshadow and lipstick; the men expert-looking, among them some blazered public-school boys with long hair and pained accents.
“What’ll I do-o
When yo-u
Are fa-r
Awa-y-”
“Wait now while I do my hair,” ordered Eileen.
“It’s done already,” muttered Johnno.
She screwed up her nose at him and sailed towards the ladies’ cloakroom.
Johnno looked after her bitterly. “I’d like to see her sit fair on her backside in front of everyone, that’s what I’d like.”
Finding my voice I said, “Johnno, I feel sick—”
“No,” he said, grasping my arm. “No; you can’t go, Charlie—”
“It’s my stomach—”
“No, Charlie. Here, sit down.” He pushed me into a seat at the edge of the crowd. “Afterwards we’ll go to the supper-room—”
“I couldn’t eat anything—not a thing.”
The number ended and the crowd clapped. Eileen still hadn’t appeared. Perhaps she was sick, too, I thought; perhaps it was something going around.
Everyone had left the floor when she came regally across to us, smiling right and left. She looked anything but sick.
“And how are my partners?”
“You’re a damn’ skite,” said Johnno.
“Dear brother! Never mind, Charlie will look after me.”
My voice had gone again.
“Take your partners for a foxtrot. This will be a tap dance.”
The music started again, but I remained fixed to the seat. I had no idea what a tap dance was. The floor filled quickly with self-assured couples.
“Charlie, aren’t we going to have this dance?”
I stood up in a trance and let Eileen lead me on to the floor. I raised my arm as if it belonged to someone else.
“Other arm,” she whispered.
We shuffled away, her knees bumping mine and our feet tangling unbelievably. I had misunderstood the tap dance. Half-way down the floor a blazered collegian decorated with oars and Roman numerals tapped my shoulder.
“Your partner, if I may.”
Eileen flung herself into his arms. “Thank you, Charlie.”
I started back to Johnno, feeling suddenly better.
“Terrific,” he breathed. “Terrific.”
I wasn’t sure what had been terrific, getting rid of Eileen or my performance, but I said, “It’s easy enough once you get the idea.”
This was all we had to do for Eileen. She became the centre of the public school circle and didn’t so much as look our way. We drifted off to the supper-room and guarded her honour from a distance for the rest of the evening. She only came near us when the group came to supper. The oarsman took her arm and she moved unnecessarily close to him. Johnno looked at them and frowned, as if trying to decide whether or not this amounted to a threat to her honour. Eileen didn’t even see us. She talked in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice about dances and parties she had attended.
“Wouldn’t she make you sick? If it wasn’t for the old man I’d clear off.”
“She wouldn’t care much,” I said.
“. . . a Riley,” the oarsman was saying. “Had her up to eighty coming down . . . . Of course, any time—tonight if you like . . . . No, no, not at all . . . .”
I glanced at Johnno, but his face was submerged in cream cake. When I looked round again Eileen had gone. I touched Johnno’s arm. “She’s gone.”
“Outside?”
“Must have.”
We hurried to the door, but as we reached it a red Riley exploded beside the hall and went roaring up the road with a dramatic changing of gears.
Beside me Johnno groaned. “I’ll be killed for this.”
We went outside and began wandering anxiously up and down the road, hardly saying a word, Johnno with his shoulders bowed like an old man.
“When they come back I’ll say, ‘I’m here to defend—’”
“No,” I said. “No, don’t say that.”
“Well what?”
“I don’t know.”
We sat in the black shadows of tea-tree on the far side of the road and cursed the whole arrangement. It was already half-past eleven, and by twelve we were supposed to be home. Johnno kept standing up and peering uselessly down the moonlit road.
At a quarter to twelve we heard the Riley coming. It rocketed up to the hall, skidding into the parking area in a cloud of dust. The engine stopped and we heard Eileen laugh, a high-pitched excited laugh. Then the lights were switched off and we could hear them murmuring. Johnno waited undecidedly, clenching and unclenching his fists. Then plainly we heard Eileen cry, “No, no, certainly not!”
Johnno bounded across the road and flung open the driver’s door.
“I say—” exclaimed a surprised voice.
“I give you three to get out!” shouted Johnno. “One, two—”
The oarsman leapt out quickly and seized Johnno by the coat front. “Now, look here—”
That was the beginning. Johnno knocked his hand down and they were at it fiercely. Indoors the band was playing “Tiger Rag” as if trying to keep up with the blows. It was a fight worth watching; in fact I forgot Eileen until I heard her call out, “He’s my brother! Stop it. Stop it! Oh Charlie, please stop them!”
She should have known Johnno was safe. He was rolling and dodging in his best Billy Grimes style, waiting patiently for his chance. Suddenly the oarsman doubled up and fell on his hands and knees, gulping horribly.
Eileen burst into tears. “It’s all right,” I said catching her arm. “Fred’s beaten him.”
She broke away from me and ran towards Johnno who was bending concernedly over his adversary. All at once she yelled at him, “I hate you! I hate you! I’ll beat you myself.”
I realized then that the band had stopped and that people were coming to the doors.
The oarsman staggered to his feet and lowered himself into the Riley. Eileen having seen the people was suddenly silent.
Johnno said, “Listen, I’m sorry—I had to protect—” He began again. “She’s my sister,” he said lamely.
“Take her away,” begged the oarsman.
So we took Eileen home. All the way she cried and told Johnno he had ruined her evening and told us both we were common louts.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nothing much came of the fight that I can remember. Johnno told his father he had tripped over a root on the way home and of course Eileen had to corroborate it. I don’t think either of our fathers ever heard the truth.
Life was fairly normal after this—a depressing round of school and homework with Moloney and our fathers picking at us constantly.
The first term was about half over when there were two happenings on a day I’ll never forget.
By now it was mid-April and the nights were closing in; often they were still and cold. On one of these evenings I said at the dinner table, “Tomorrow Johnno and I are going for our Bronze Medallions.” I hadn’t mentioned Johnno’s name at home for some time.
My mother glanced at me quickly. “It’s very late to swim, isn’t it?”
“Well, we did the land drill and the duck-diving last month,” I said, “b
ut then the examiner was called away and he hasn’t been able to come back till now.”
My father must have had a bad day that day. He said irritably, “I wish you would pay as much attention to your work as you do to swimming. What did Mr Moloney say about the problems you were doing last night?”
What he had actually said wouldn’t have borne repeating. “He said I used the wrong method,” I answered.
“In what way?”
“Does it matter just now?” asked my mother uneasily.
“It matters a great deal,” said my father. “This year is a critical one. I know Charlie can do the work and Mr Moloney knows he can. Why he must concentrate on medallions, bronze or otherwise, instead of keeping up with his class, I don’t know.”
“But I promised I’d be Johnno’s patient and he’s to be mine.”
“Johnno! Johnno! That’s about the only name we hear. What do you suppose Fred Johnston will be doing next year?” Here it was again. “He’ll be digging drains, or assisting the nightman, I’ll warrant.”
“George!” said my mother.
“He’s going to run away,” I said challengingly.
My father put down the carving knife. “Going to run away, eh?” He leant over the table. “And I suppose you’re going with him?”
My mother said quickly, “Look, this is all very silly. What do you think it’s like for me to prepare a meal—”
“Are you?” asked my father looking at me.
Grandfather, who had been staring angrily down at his hands, exclaimed suddenly, “In six days the Lor-rd made heaven and earth—six days, mark you. And this upstart declares that man made himself; made himself out o’ monkeys—”
“Evolved, father,” said my mother loudly.
“Evolved? Evolved? Very well then—who made the first monkey?” He was glaring challengingly at my mother. “Did the first monkey make itself?”
“I don’t know,” said my mother hopelessly. “I don’t know. All I can say is this: if we don’t settle to our dinner like human beings, I’m going to leave this table.”
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