by E. M. Reapy
She nodded.
I said, ‘Sometimes,’ and stopped. I sighed. I didn’t really want to tell her but knew that I had to. She’d stay sulking otherwise. ‘Sometimes when home is brought up, I go funny. The way things went with the buildings.’
‘You’re grand,’ she said and got up to leave.
I put my hand out to stop her. The cloth of her hoodie was thin but fleecy. ‘No, wait. Stay where you are.’
She didn’t move.
‘Stay,’ I said and nodded. ‘Will you stay with me?’
She didn’t move.
I sat down and she sighed before going back on her seat. When she was settled, I asked, ‘What’s your surname anyway? And which part of town are you from? Did things work out okay for your father? Are you okay? Are things okay for ya here? Your room and that? The work?’ My voice was gone fast. I gulped. ‘I’m sorry.’
She touched her neck and pursed her lips. She wasn’t listening to me. ‘I’d love a decent cup of tea.’
I laughed. ‘That’s Shane’s chat up line, I’ll warn ya now. “I’ve Irish teabags and a pack of condoms.” It works some of the time too.’
‘And does he?’
‘Does he what?’
‘Have the teabags?’
‘Does he fuck.’
★
We sat for hours that passed like the snapping of a finger, small talking about nothing much, joking over even less and drinking the piss tea from the kitchen.
She checked her watch. ‘Damn. I gotta head to bed, not used to this place or getting up early.’
I nodded and dragged myself away from her. ‘Sound.’
She shouted at me as I walked down the courtyard. ‘I’ll see you soon?’
I gave her a wave yes.
‘Oíche mhaith,’ she said.
‘Oíche mhaith,’ I repeated and plunged my hands in my pockets again.
I tried to remember exactly the sound and look of her laugh, to stamp it onto my brain and I was half-smiling as I went to sleep.
★
Next day, I began hounding Henk and the workers about whether a new Irish lad had started and Fiona started hounding me at the breaks and end of shift.
She latched onto me.
I sometimes wasn’t sure if she had a thing for me or Shane. Obviously, like all the women, she asked me if he was single. Shane the Superstar. He always won out so I didn’t really compete.
‘Yeah, he’s single. Go for it,’ I said in a flat voice.
‘I actually might,’ she said and looked cheerful.
But I knew she liked being around me. She came over to me first, she spoke to me first, she checked things with me first. Maybe it was that we were both from Mayo and Shane was that touch exotic, alien even, being a Galwegian.
But it was more than that. She was drawn to me.
It had been so long since we’d a girl as a friend that one of us wasn’t deliberately trying to hop.
Fiona said mad stuff like, ‘you show people how to treat you.’ Her philosophies made me laugh and made me think while I was on my own, driving.
I found her more refreshing than any of the people I’d met on the farm. More than anyone I’d met in Australia really. But I’d never say that to her. Especially if she was going to try Shane. Wasn’t going buttering her up for him to eat. Fuck off. But still I hung around for her or she hung around for me.
She was making the days go faster.
★
Me and Shane walked to the courtyard and heard some shouts. We quickened our pace and saw John Anthony, Henk and an Indonesian worker in a circle arguing. We got close enough to hear the action without getting involved in it.
‘Henk, believe me,’ John Anthony said. ‘This article doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.’
‘He try kill me.’
John Anthony made some high pitched sounds and sighed. ‘He wasn’t working. He was lazing in that tree. I didn’t think the branch would break.’
Henk stopped him. ‘Shut your beak, boy. This is the third complaint. Intimidation. Do you know how much a new cherry-picker would cost me?’
I beamed at Shane.
John Anthony was clasping his hands in a begging way. ‘They needed a shaking, Henk, that’s all. You can’t have an eye on everyone and this crew were doing no work. I wasn’t trying to hurt them or make them fall off the tree. They were up there chattering. Bunch of monkeys.’
‘Tractor hit tree. Me in branch. He shout. Branch crack. He laugh. He say, up, up, fuck up you work now. You work for me.’ The Indonesian mimed the events as he spoke them.
‘Alright, alright, son. I follow. You can go,’ Henk said and pointed towards the farmhouse. ‘And you? We’ll see how you like being the one in the trees.’
John Anthony took a step back, his mouth wide open. ‘What?’
‘You heard me, boy. You’re on a week’s suspension from driving. You’ll be picking the fruit instead.’ Henk took a notebook out of his back pocket and scribbled something. Then he noticed us and beckoned us over.
John Anthony stamped on a passing cockroach. Me and Shane edged over to them.
‘Which one of you is out near the nursery?’ Henk asked.
Shane coughed. ‘Me. I am.’
‘Show this boy out to the fields tomorrow and allocate trees.’
Shane pressed his lips.
‘What? Henk? You can’t be fucking serious with me?’ John Anthony asked with his arms out wide.
‘Boy, you haven’t seen the half of it. Shane, I want you to report back to me. No slacking off. On my farm, we practice empathy, it’s how we keep a system like this running.’
John Anthony took a deep breath and blew it out. He turned and said, ‘Fucking drunk cunt.’
Henk caught him by the neck. ‘What was that?’
John Anthony squealed. ‘Nothing.’
Henk seized him tighter. ‘Better be nothing, boy.’ He shoved him away.
John Anthony skulked off.
Shane was smiling but he’d his hands in his pockets and was looking at the ground. I knew from hanging around with him that he was nervous.
I struggled not to burst out laughing, but as soon as John Anthony was out of sight, I exploded. ‘That’ll learn him.’
Henk whipped out his hipflask and offered us both a slug. ‘He has a fucking attitude, that boy. I’m doing him a bloody favour.’
★
On the Friday lunch break Fiona told me how she was looking forward to the Saturday night. I think we hyped it a bit too much but she said this wasn’t the first farm she’d been on. She’d briefly done pumpkins in Victoria and worked in a garlic factory. She said she’d already got the second visa sorted.
‘Are you stone mental?’ I asked. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I kind of like the work. The picking. As long as there is work. In Ireland I was a boring letting agent stuck in an office, complaining about the shite they were complaining about on the radio. Everyone fucking complaining. Then with the crash, I’d nothing and spent the days applying for jobs and trying not to be more depressed. Here, I’m outside, chatting to loads of new people. Getting a tan. Getting some cash. It’s a great life.’
‘I can ask Henk to get you put in the packing sheds, better pay.’
‘Ah, no, I’m okay for money now. Have saved. I prefer picking.’
‘What about the bites?’ I often saw the pickers comparing their red swellings on smokos.
Fiona smiled. ‘From the green tree ants? The weaver ants? They’re amazing. You know how they got no bees here in this part of the world? So the ants pollinate the mango trees. They work together in a colony, building up to like a hundred and fifty nests between trees, recognizing each other by smell and eating all the pest insects.’
I whistled and drew a circle around my temple with my finger. Crazy lady. How did she even know that? And the humidity outside was shocking too. Though our tractors were old and shite, we’d get some breeze driving back after dropping off the fru
it.
‘Days off in these isolated places, they’re worse than any of the rag weeks I’ve been to,’ she said. ‘Everyone goes wrong, like.’
John Anthony was sniffing when he saw her with us. We’d been staying out of his path all week since he got suspended.
He sometimes smoked at work and he made these elaborate inhalations and talked while smoke was coming out of his mouth. The more I thought about or looked at John Anthony, the more certain I was that I despised him. He stood beside Fiona and asked me who she was.
‘I’m right here, ask me yourself,’ she said.
He didn’t make eye contact, he went red and said, ‘So who are you?’
She told him her name and where she was from and asked him where he was from and asked him if he knew a list of people that she knew from Donegal. A customary thing but she was gone to town on it. She was asking him about people that she didn’t even know the name of, just they were from Buncrana or Gweedore or Letterkenny or had red hair or she’d met them in the Blue Campsite at Oxegen and they were sound.
‘I didn’t say I was the Donegal census collector.’
Shane stood and checked his wrist. ‘Well look at the time, isn’t someone supposed to be up a tree?’
‘You’re a wee ballbag,’ John Anthony said.
Fiona gave him a huff. ‘Shouldn’t talk like that.’
John Anthony’s eyes opened wide. He glanced at her before jumping his view between me and Shane. ‘Oh look it, another fan for ye. Is she sucking Henk off too?’
Fiona looked stunned. Her neck and cheeks flushed.
‘Apologise,’ I warned John Anthony.
‘Hah,’ he said. ‘Have her. Sometimes I’m ashamed to be Irish when I see the likes of ye.’
He quenched his cigarette by crushing it into the ground and hocked a good ball of spit.
‘Yuck,’ Fiona said and he did it again, this time it landed close to her feet.
Me and Shane shouted at John Anthony but he bulldozed in between us to walk to his field.
‘My tree awaits.’
I had to hold Shane back from going after him. But he wasn’t putting up much resistance. It was more for Fiona’s benefit. He crouched down beside her and asked if she was okay.
‘I knew I got a bad vibe from him. Was just playing around with the Donegal thing.’
‘It’s not your fault. He’s a shithead. Hope he gets gate from here soon.’
‘Actually, no,’ she said and pushed herself off the ground. She stomped down after John Anthony. I couldn’t help the grin that came on my face watching her. Hands on hips. Calling him to turn round. Her about a quarter of his size.
We watched as they had an exchange. She kept her hands on her hips and he had his arms folded. She nodded her head and waved her palm over to where we were and John Anthony put his hands in his pockets.
He said something back to her.
‘Wasn’t that Pirate Queen from round yer parts?’ Shane asked me.
I nodded.
‘D’ya think she’s a descendent?’
I laughed and kept watching as John Anthony put his head down and offered his hand out to Fiona. She let it hang for a moment and shook it. She gave him a closed mouthed smile and strolled back to us. John Anthony went out of sight down the fields.
Shane woo-hooed her. ‘Did you get that ape to apologise?’
She shrugged. ‘Ara, he’s probably not the worst.’
Shane bit on his bottom lip looking at her. She curled her hair behind her ear. I tried not to sigh.
‘So, is there any more Irish here or just ye guys?’ she asked.
‘Just us really,’ I answered.
She nodded. ‘You know what the Aussies say about us? They say we’re good workers but we just disappear. One day, on site, the next, vanished. I’ve fucked off from a few places myself to be honest.’ She started tracing letters and shapes into the red dirt. ‘So who’s Hopper anyway?’
Me and Shane traded a glance.
‘Why?’ Shane asked.
‘Because ye keep talking about him and you, you’re always inspecting the place as if there’s snipers about. A few days ago I would have thought you were special but now I realise it’s because you’re looking for something. Someone. Who is he?’
Shane put his hands in his pockets. I looked at the holy medal on the chain around Fiona’s neck. St. Christopher. When you’re travelling, you make gut judgements on people. Like Shane, my gut said – he’s one of your own. But John Anthony, my gut said – kind of a wanker but had something we needed. Fiona – one of your own but try not to fuck her or fuck her over.
‘Hopper’s this fella we’re waiting for. I thought he was here last weekend but haven’t seen him since,’ I said. ‘We’re waiting for him to show again.’
‘I thought ye were going to give me a big story about some madness that had happened.’
Me and Shane looked at each other.
The sun was on the rise over the mango fields and we’d only another five hours of work left.
★
Henk asked me to help him with a job at the sheds. We’d to throw out an old machine and install a new one. They had engineers on site and I asked why couldn’t one of them do it?
‘Flaming heck, here we go again with the questions.’
After the machine was in and operational and noisy as fuck when turned on, and we were sweating like absolute lunatics, Henk said we were going to the river to cool off.
I grinned. That had been another fake job so he could get me out fishing with him. We went in the ute. On the ground of the passenger seat, he had left a five litre bottle of water and an esky filled with tinnies.
‘Don’t be shy, son. Grab us a beer.’
I stuck my hand in the icy water and passed one to Henk. He opened it with his teeth and sang while he drove. It was only a dirt road so it didn’t matter that he wasn’t going straight. The river was half an hour from the packing sheds which were twenty minutes away from the farmhouse. He had shown it to us through the window in our first week but we hadn’t got out to explore it.
‘Over there on the right is the river, ace place to hide.’
But now, I got to see it up close. It was a vision of Australia. Shaded swamp, flies buzzing, birds, virgin grasses, big heavy-leafed trees, sun lighting the water, the fields. A smell of earth and riverbank and forest. The sky endless blue.
Henk rubbed my head and said, ‘Now, son, get the spare rod, bring the esky over and let’s take a breather.’
★
We caught seven flatheads. Henk thought they were shite and was disappointed with them but I was buzzing from it. They were so much heavier than they looked. Plus I had got fairly merry at the river and was in love with the whole situation. Dossing, fishing, boozing. A perfect afternoon. Henk told me about Strayan waters and some of the lunkers he’d had in his time. Barramundi. Giant trevally. A baby speartooth shark that he released again, because the nipper was ‘endangered’.
Henk was even more emotional when he told me about a half-brother in Darwin who he’d reconnected with over the last three years after the man survived skin cancer. ‘Good can always come of bad, son.’ He also had a daughter who worked in Brisbane. His grandson was ‘a little galah’ but he’d die and bloody commit mass murder for the kid if he had to. Henk loved his grand statements and gestures. When he asked me about my family and my Australia, I fobbed him off by bringing the subject back to the great outdoors.
‘Kakadu, that’s the place to go, son,’ he said and took a gulp. ‘Before you leave, make sure to spend some time there. You gotta see the billabongs in the Banggerreng.’
I just nodded along and pretended to know what he was on about.
‘I get homesick for Ireland,’ he said later when we were going into our sixth tin and the evening breeze came.
‘Did you live there before?’
‘Nope. But it’s in me blood. When I hear your talking, you and the boys, I pine for my ancestors.’
>
I couldn’t brood over ancestry because the mozzies were out at dusk and they loved my Irish blood as well. I slapped my arms and face and legs constantly, tormented. They were even going for my eyeballs. Henk eventually noticed this and said we’d get some grub in and would barbeque our catch the next evening. I drowsed in the ute the whole way back. Instead of dinner, I had two slices of bread and went to bed early. The fish would be a treat tomorrow.
The sleep in, the feast, Fiona’s first piss up with us. The weekend was shaping itself nicely. If we could fucking find Hopper, I’d go as far to say I was beginning to enjoy this mango life.
★
Shane knocked hard on my room door in the morning. He came in and his cheek was puffy, the start of a black eye was forming.
‘Here, where were ya last night?’ Shane demanded.
‘I was out fishing with Henk and went for an early kip. What happened to your face?’ I sat upright in the bed and could see swells on my own skin from the mosquitos.
‘John Anthony hit me.’
‘Were ye drinking?’
‘No, it was after work. He was hanging around, waiting and when he saw me alone he cornered me.’
‘Why?’
Shane sat at the end of my bed. He opened the curtain and a blinding white ray came through the window. He closed it again. ‘He said you and me were asking for it. That we were plotting against him since we got here. Making Henk hate him. Making the new women hate him. He said he’d find you later.’
Who the fuck did John Anthony think he was?
Another knock at the door.
‘Who’s there?’ I shouted towards it, angry, thinking it was him.
‘It’s Fiona. I’m coming in,’ she said and let herself inside.
She was holding two plastic bags filled with silver goon pouches and a Tayto six pack. Shane brightened up as she pulled the crisps out.
‘Where d’ya get these?’
‘My friend gave them to me before he went back home a few weeks ago. I’ve been kind of saving them for other Irish people. To share the joy. No one else would appreciate them.’
I got out of bed in my jocks and grabbed her head and kissed it. ‘You’re a legend, Fiona.’ I took a pack and had a look at the cover before opening. I sniffed inside and smelt teenage discos, lunchtimes during Junior Cert, buses home from galas, hangover porn days. I ate the crisps slowly, letting them melt on my tongue.