They're a Weird Mob

by Nino Culotta

  ‘Textures? Against all those trees? Yer mad. Face bricks an’ oiled timber.’

  ‘Wattle bark an’ a tin roof,’ Pat said.

  ‘No timber matey. Too much danger o’ fire.’

  ‘Not if yer clear all the big stuff orf ’er. She’s a big block.’

  ‘Get a fire in the top o’ them trees and she’ll go.’

  ‘Get a fire in the top o’ them trees, and a brick house’ll go.’

  ‘Better make ’er all fibro,’ said Pat.

  ‘No matey. Not fibro. No matter ’ow you do ut, fibro looks like a shack.’

  ‘Not if yer paint ut.’

  ‘Anyway fibro’s too much work.’

  ‘Yeah. There’s a lot of work in ut.’

  ‘I will build in brick and timber,’ I said, ‘and I will have face bricks inside, up to the window sills. And I will have vertical timber panelling above that. And I will put my ceiling above the rafters and I will dress and paint my rafters.’

  They thought about this.

  ‘Cost y’a packet,’ Joe said.

  ‘I will build it myself at week-ends,’ I said.

  ‘Gees matey, ut’ll take y’a year or more.’

  ‘Yes, but I will bring water and electricity to the block, and we will live in a tent while I am building.’

  ‘If she falls fer that, she’s no chiseller,’ Dennis said.

  Joe said, ‘One o’ the timber yards’ll be glad ter take these trees. Yer’ll ’ave ter grub the stumps out, but.’

  We were sitting on the grass, amongst these trees. I could see in my mind my house being built. I could see it standing amongst lawns and shrubs, and flowers, with the bush behind it. I wanted to start. I wanted to get married. Joe put his hand on my shoulder, and stood up. ‘Hope she doesn’t turn yer down matey,’ he said.

  I was remembering his words all the week. I did not want her to turn me down. I was sure now that I wanted her for my wife. I wanted her for my wife, very much. But perhaps she would not want me. What had I to offer? I was a foreigner. No one of my blood was in this country. I was alone. I was proposing to ask her to marry a foreign bricklayer with no family. To live in a tent in the bush, whilst I cleared land and built a house. There would be metal and sand and brick-dust and sawdust and cement and mess everywhere. What would her parents say to this? If she agreed, they would say she was mad. And she would be mad. She could not possibly agree to it. I was mad. I was calmly proposing to ask this of a girl whom I had known only for a few weeks. I was certainly mad. So sure of myself that I had even bought the land. And planned the house. I was frightened. I could not believe that she would agree, and yet I hoped she would. I could not sleep. I worked and I worried. I walked and I prayed. When Saturday came I felt incapable of fighting even three Meridionali. I was no longer a man. I was inadequate. I was useless. I was a conceited fool.

  I stepped off the ferry at Manly and saw Kay waiting for me. She was wearing a black suit, with an emerald green scarf at the throat, and not a hat. She looked beautiful and dignified, and unapproachable. I wanted to get back on the ferry. I wanted to go home. To Italy. To my mother and my father and my sisters and my brothers. Where I would not be lonely and useless and foolish and foreign. Where it would not matter what I was, because I was of their blood and therefore theirs, and I would always be welcome there. I knew I would be welcome there at this moment. Now. When I was walking so slowly towards God’s finest creation, whom I had dared to think could be my wife. Nino Culotta’s wife. Nino Culotta who wasn’t worthy to touch even her gloved fingertips. Nino Culotta who wished he was home with his mother. But it was too late. She had seen him. Should he jump into the water? It would be wet and cold, and under the wharf it would be dark and he could hide amongst the piles. But his feet kept moving slowly forward, and she was approaching. Too quickly. She was moving towards him. Her shoes were bringing her. He looked at her shoes. Only at her shoes. They stopped in front of him. Her gloved hand touched his arm. He heard her voice. There was concern in it.

  ‘Nino, what’s the matter? Are you sick, Nino?’

  ‘I am useless and foolish and conceited. You could not possibly marry a foreign bricklayer who has no family and only a tent to live in.’

  The other gloved hand was under my chin, and pressing it up. ‘Look at me,’ she said.

  I looked. She smiled. ‘Poor Nino. Was it a bad week?’

  ‘Yes. It was bad.’

  ‘Nino, are you proposing to me? Here, amongst all these people?’

  ‘I am very foolish. I wish to go home.’

  ‘It was a bad week for me, too, Nino. I was afraid. I was afraid you wouldn’t like me enough. And I wanted you to like me enough. Do you like me enough, Nino?’

  I looked at her, and could not answer. But I must have answered without words.

  She said softly, ‘You and I are good for each other, Nino. I will be with you whenever you want me. And always, if you will let me.’

  I could not speak. I could feel tears in my eyes.

  She put her hand under my arm. ‘Let’s walk,’ she said.

  We walked all the way to the beach, and neither of us said anything. We looked at the waves breaking in the cool sunshine. I found my lost voice again. I said, ‘Kay, did you mean what you said? You will marry me?’

  ‘You know I will,’ she said. ‘No more tears?’

  ‘I am sorry about that.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m glad I saw them. And I’m glad you didn’t see mine last night. What was that about living in a tent?’

  I told her my plan.

  She said, ‘Dad won’t like that. But I will. You can show me what to do, and I’ll help.’

  I said, ‘Kay, there is something else you should know.’

  She looked worried. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  Her laughter was bright as the sun and the sea. I laughed with her. We ate steak and eggs at the café where we first met.

  Italy was a terrible place. Who would want to go back there? My parents would probably be horrified if I arrived home to stay. They liked to think of their brave son amongst the savage Australians. All their friends would be reading his letters. I would send them a picture of Kay. Perhaps one day I would take her home for a holiday.

  She interrupted my thoughts by saying, ‘To-morrow night you will be having tea with my family. Scared?’

  ‘Not now. Do I ask your father for his daughter’s hand?’

  ‘Good grief no. He’d die of shock. I’ll tell him about it in the morning.’

  ‘He will not die of shock then?’

  ‘I think he knows. At least I think he’s been hoping.’

  ‘He need not worry. I will take care of you, Kay.’

  ‘I know. I’m a very lucky girl.’

  ‘How much costs an engagement ring?’

  She laughed so much that she could not eat. The Australian sense of humour is sometimes very difficult to understand. I still have trouble with it at times.

  When I told Joe and Edie on Sunday morning, Edie was very excited. Joe just said, ‘Knew ut all along, mate.’ But he went next door and told Pat and Dennis. They came in to congratulate me. They brought two bottles of beer with them.

  Joe said, ‘Wot time did you get up this mornin’, Nino?’

  ‘About half-past five.’

  ‘Went to Communion, eh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yer got ut bad, mate.’

  Dennis said, ‘When do we meet this paragon of feminine pulchritude?’

  Pat said, ‘Der woids. Cop der woids.’

  Edie said, ‘Bring her out next Sunday, Nino.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Edie. I will do that. And perhaps we could go in Joe’s truck and show her the land?’

  ‘One loo
k at that patch o’ scrub and she’ll wipe yer,’ said Pat.

  ‘No, Pat. She knows all about it.’

  ‘About livin’ in a tent?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Gees, she must have ut bad, too.’

  I shaved my face again, and put on my best suit to visit Kay’s parents. Pat and Dennis wished me luck very solemnly, and asked me what kind of flowers I want on my grave. I wondered whether it was the custom in Australia to take flowers on such occasions. They answered me it was. They were going to town, and accompanied me on the train. I bought the flowers at Central. They gave me careful instructions about carrying them, and said that immediately I met Kay’s mother, I was to bow deeply and say, ‘Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady.’ Then I was to kiss her hand, hit her over the head with the flowers and say, ‘To hell with all mothers-in-law. Workers of the world, unite.’ I promised I would do this, and got on a tram for the Quay. When I looked back, they were standing together, looking very serious. Dennis called out, ‘Good luck mate.’ I felt sad, as though I were leaving them forever. This was foolish. When I saw the people on the tram smiling at me, I felt foolish also.

  When I met Kay at Manly, she said, ‘Flowers, Nino?’

  ‘For your mother,’ I told her.

  ‘Sweet,’ she said. ‘She’ll love them.’

  ‘Should I take a gift to your father also?’

  ‘Of course not. Is that your best suit?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Dad’s all done up in his too.’ She took my arm.

  ‘Have you told him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And have you told him about the tent?’

  ‘No. I’ll leave that to you. But I told him we were getting married in September. Is that all right with you? I’d like to be married in the spring.’

  ‘That is very much all right with me.’

  ‘Good.’ She pressed my arm. ‘Gee, Nino, I can’t believe it.’

  When we reached her home, I began to feel a little nervous. Her mother came to the door.

  Kay said, ‘Here he is,’ and introduced us.

  I said, ‘How do you do?’ and gave her the flowers.

  She said, ‘For me? They’re lovely. Come inside. Dad’s waiting in the lounge like a cat on hot bricks. He’s already smoked four pipes since lunch. You said he was big, Kay, but not that big. Dad will get a surprise.’

  We had reached the lounge. She opened the door; Kay’s father was sitting by the fire. He got up. He was big, also. She said, ‘Dad, here’s Nino. He brought me some flowers. Aren’t they lovely?’

  He grunted and held out his hand.

  ‘Glad to know yer,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’

  I took his hand and said, ‘How do you do, sir?’

  He turned his chair away from the fire and sat down. Kay sat on the sofa, and her mother took the chair on the other side of the fire. I sat beside Kay. Both her parents looked at me, her mother with a polite smile, and her father as though I were applying for a job. I looked at Kay. She seemed confident, and pressed my hand. The silence became embarrassing. I began to get irritable with her father. Finally he said, ‘Heard a lot about you.’

  I said, ‘I have had heard a lot about you, too. You are a builder, and you think writers are parasites, and you do not like bricklayers, and you can’t stand Italians. I am a writer and a bricklayer and an Italian. I am going to marry your daughter.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Kay. ‘That’s telling him.’

  Her mother looked worried, she stood up. She said, ‘I’ll just put these flowers in some water, and make a cup of tea.’

  ‘I’ll help you,’ Kay said. She pressed my hand again, and went out with her mother.

  ‘Close the door,’ her father said.

  She put the tip of her tongue towards him, smiled at me, and closed the door. I could hear their voices fading as they went towards the kitchen. Then there was silence again.

  ‘Pretty sure of yourself aren’t yer?’ her father said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Kay seems ter think a lot of yer.’

  ‘I think a lot of Kay.’

  ‘Hurt her in any way an’ I’ll break yer neck, d’yer understand that?’

  ‘If I hurt her in any way, I’ll break my own neck, d’yer understand that?’

  ‘Hm. Wot sorta writin’ der yer do?’

  ‘I wrote for Italian magazines. Now I lay bricks.’

  ‘Mug’s game.’

  ‘I do not agree.’

  ‘Reckon my daughter c’n do better than marry a brickie.’

  ‘She has chosen to marry a brickie.’

  ‘September she tells me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Got a house?’

  ‘I have the land. I will build a house.’

  ‘Not by September, yer won’t.’

  ‘We will live in a tent until it is built.’

  ‘In a tent? Wotta yer plannin’ ter do? Dump my daughter down on a bit o’ land an’ build a home around ’er?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not if I c’n stop yer.’

  ‘You can’t.’

  ‘H’m. Dago ain’t yer?’

  ‘No. I am Italian.’

  ‘Dago. Yer bigger than most of ’em, but yer still a Dago.’

  ‘You should be pleased.’

  ‘Pleased? Why?’

  ‘You have a picture of one on your wall. In the place of honour.’

  ‘The Pope?’

  ‘Yes. Eugenio Pacelli. We are both Italians. If I am a Dago so is he. So also are most of the College of Cardinals.’

  ‘H’m. Reckon we’ll ever have an Australian Pope?’

  ‘It is possible. If Kay has a son, perhaps he will be the first.’

  ‘Cripes. Don’t think much of yerself do yer. Born in a tent?’

  ‘The Founder of the Church was born in a stable.’

  ‘H’m. Gunna be a brickie all yer life?’

  ‘Perhaps. I do not know. Australia is a good country. A man can be whatever he likes here.’

  ‘Yer right about that. Reckon yer might take on buildin’?’

  ‘It is possible.’

  ‘Ut’s a hard game. I c’n give you a few hints might save yer a lot o’ headaches.’

  ‘I will remember that. Thank you, sir.’

  ‘No need ter call me sir, son.’ He got up. ‘How about a drop o’ whisky? Sorta celebrate the occasion, eh?’

  ‘I could do with a drop of whisky,’ I said.

  ‘So could I, be cripes. Gettin’ acquainted takes ut out o’ yer.’ He was at the sideboard. ‘Take yer coat an’ tie orf. Ut’s warm enough in here. How do yer like ut?’

  ‘With water, thanks.’

  ‘So do I.’

  We removed our coats and ties. When Kay and her mother returned we were drinking whisky and discussing building. They carried trays with scones, cakes, sandwiches and tea.

  Her mother said, ‘Well. Look at that.’

  Kay said, ‘Told you it wouldn’t take them long.’

  They removed the whisky and set the tea things down.

  Kay’s father said, ‘First bloke that’s stood up ter me fer years.’

  ‘About time, too,’ said her mother.

  ‘Yer gettin’ a man here,’ he told Kay. ‘Reckon he’s gunna be the boss.’

  ‘I hope so,’ she said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I took her out to Punchbowl. Jimmy and his wife Betty were there. Pat and Dennis were there. They wore their suits, with collars and ties. They were all very polite, and Edie served afternoon tea. With cake forks. When they weren’t looking at Kay and saying nothing, they talked about the weather. I had told Kay about my frie
nds, and she said she was looking forward to meeting them. She said they sounded fun. They weren’t fun. They behaved as though they were at a funeral. Joe said it was colder than usual for this time of the year. The others agreed. Pat said it would probably be colder next month. Dennis said there was a very heavy frost yesterday morning. Yes, they had noticed that. August was the worst month, with those winds. Yes, it was. They were getting on well with the new school. Yes, they were. Campbell and Smith had a good team. Yes, they had. Building was a cold job, this weather. Yes, it was. Kay was saying nothing, but once she winked at me. I began to get irritable. Edie said, brightly, ‘Nino and Kay are getting married in September.’ Betty said that would be nice. Joe asked each of us in turn if we would like some more tea. Edie asked each of us to eat some more cake.

  I said, in a loud voice, ‘Bring out the bloody beer.’ This was followed by complete silence. They all turned their heads quickly, and looked at Kay. They became quite still. Even Jimmy’s brown fingers, holding a half rolled cigarette, became motionless.

  Kay said calmly, ‘Bloody good idea.’

  ‘Whacko,’ yelled Pat, and rushed out the back door, closely followed by Dennis. They went over the back fence. Joe went out the front door, and around to the side of the house, closely followed by Jimmy. Edie and Betty disappeared into the front room.

  Kay put her hand on my knee. ‘Thank you, Nino. Poor dears. They were trying so hard.’ She smiled at me.

  I said, ‘I was getting mad at them.’

  ‘They were only waiting for a signal to relax. It was a beautiful signal.’

  We both began to laugh.

  Edie called out, ‘What’s so funny? Kay, come in here a minute.’

  Kay went in. I went to my room and changed into an old pair of trousers and sweater. Joe and Jimmy returned carrying bottles of beer. They put them down. They looked at me. Without saying anything, they went out to the garage, and came back wearing their old winter working clothes. Joe said, ‘’Owyergoing Nino—orright?’

  I said, ‘Orright mate.’

  ‘She’s easy on the eyes,’ he said.

  Jimmy agreed, ‘Not ’ard ter take at all.’

  Dennis yelled from the back, ‘Hey Nino . . . give us a hand.’

  I went out and he and Pat passed more beer over the fence. ‘Got ’is drinkin’ togs on,’ Pat said.