by Paul Howarth
“I was his proprietor, Tommy: like it or not, your father worked for me. I gave him chance after chance . . . him and your mother had no right carrying on the way they did. Bloody well turned on me in the end. Lack of basic gratitude, of well-earned respect. And I’m sorry to say it, boys, but I’m starting to feel something similar from the pair of you.”
“No, we’re grateful,” Billy told him. “For everything. Thank you.”
Sullivan wagged his finger slowly at Tommy. “I’m not so sure about your brother here, Billy-boy. Makes me wonder if I’m not being a touch hasty, if I’ve judged the pair of you wrong. I take you in, care for your sister, petition Noone on your behalf, even pay his bloody fee. Hell, I just rode half the colony to get justice for your family and—”
“That was for you, not us,” Tommy said. “Joseph wasn’t even there. You’re the one that wanted the Kurrong dead. That’s what you paid Noone for.”
Sullivan leaned back in his chair. The leather creaked. He drained his glass.
“Now we’re getting to it. Alright, Tommy, let me make this crystal fucking clear. You two owe me. If you’ve any sense between you, you’ll see your debt paid. You don’t seem to recognize the position you’re in. It’s a good life I’m giving you, better than you could make on your own. But if you turn down this offer, there won’t be another in its place. I fucking own you. I could have you arrested, locked up, hanged for false testimony and what you did to them blacks. I could put you to work slopping out the dunnies and shoveling horseshit, and no one would even wonder where you are. If you run I’ll have you hunted down—you’ve seen what happens to them that cross me; don’t make the same mistake yourselves.”
“He didn’t mean nothing,” Billy blurted. “Tell him, Tommy.”
“Yeah,” Tommy mumbled. “It came out wrong.”
Sullivan considered him a long time, sighed, and said, “Well, good. I’m pleased to hear it. We can’t work together without trust. I think that’s where it broke down with your old man. Trust. Too many things unsaid.”
“We trust you. We’re grateful. Honestly, we are.”
“I know that, Billy. But it’s him whose word I need to hear.”
Tommy scratched at his dressing with his thumb. He nodded his head.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Then it seems we have a deal.”
“Thank you,” Billy said. “I mean it. We won’t let you down, I swear.”
Tommy looked up suddenly. “When’s Noone leaving?”
“Noone? Tomorrow, I expect, day after maybe—why?”
“What if he left Kala, as a housemaid or whatever, help us around the place?”
“You mean that young gin?”
Tommy nodded. A smile spread on Sullivan’s face. “Christ, if you wanted to fuck her you should have. You’ve missed your chance by now. Besides, you know the kind of state she’ll be in, once those troopers are through?”
“He’s selling her. You could buy her for us.”
“We don’t want her,” Billy protested. “She ain’t no good.”
“But you could do that? Buy her? Talk to Noone?”
“Tommy, that’s enough! I’m not buying some fucking gin!”
Sullivan was shaking his head. “Noone would never let you have that girl.”
“He’d let you.”
Sullivan seemed to be mulling on it. Hurriedly Tommy added, “I’ll agree if you do it. Be your agent, or whatever you just said. Those are the terms. Or else no.”
He held Sullivan’s eye. The silence hung and hung.
“Well, well, at last the runt gets ahold of the tit.” He let go a deep sigh. “Alright, young Tommy, I’ll talk to the inspector, see what I can do.”
Sullivan half rose in his chair and offered a hand across the desk. Billy jumped forward and grabbed it and they shook. Sullivan turned the hand to Tommy. When he gripped it the skin was plump and clammy and soft. He tried to pull away but Sullivan held him there, not even shaking anymore, staring at him until Tommy finally stumbled free. Sullivan flopped back into his chair. He waved them toward the door, reached for the decanter, and poured himself another drink.
32
“I still see them, you know, be coming at me my whole life is how it feels. Like we’re back there, never left—I’ll be doing something and look up and I see it all again. Smell the blood and the powder, hear them scream. Earlier, in the washroom, they were in the bottom of the bloody tub. I fucking saw them, Billy, and us too with our revolvers, shooting them one by one. I thought after, that must have been how God saw it, and maybe Mary if she was watching with him, though I’m hoping Daddy was right about all that. I think he was. We ain’t worth shit to God.
“The dreams are the worst part. Reliving it bit by bit. Most of the time it’s as it happened and we’re sitting out that dust storm, or hunting that first lot, or waiting out the night in the rain, but then it jumbles all together and I go from squatting by that roo Rabbit clubbed to drowning on my back in the mud. That native’s on top of me and I can never get him off, my arms are weak as twigs. He’s painted from his dancing and he’s pressing me down, then either he bites me or I bite him, it changes dream to dream. I don’t know how I do it but I get his fingers, his lips, his nose, and I can feel them crunching in my mouth. I don’t stop, though. Tear into him like a dog. Then he pulls out a knife and slits my throat and I feel the blood run warm. It’s happening backward, you see. Like I’m him and he’s me, whatever that’s supposed to mean.
“Only I don’t know that I’m dreaming; it always feels so real. Noone’s watching me shoot that woman in the back but she’s moving. . . . I thought she was already dead but what if I was wrong? I had six shots in that revolver, could have used them on the troopers, on Noone, but I did nothing. The idea never even came to me before now. I went along with it all like the rest of you, killed three of my own, and that’s the only truth that counts. You’d say that’s one for Ma, Daddy, and Mary, but how can that be right? Three plus three makes six, Billy. It doesn’t take it back to none.
“That’s how you think these days, though, isn’t it? Sullivan’s twisted your head. I’ve seen you more chewed up about putting down a horse than you are about what we did. They’re still people, Billy. If you talked to them you’d see that they’re not that much different to us. Arthur started out the same as that lot . . . even Rabbit, Kala; you know Rabbit only joined up because his family was killed? Whites killed his family so he took our side, figured he was safer with us than them. It’s like me and you joining a fucking Kurrong tribe.
“Throwing yourself at Sullivan makes no more sense—didn’t I tell you he was a snake? Kept Daddy on a short leash all his life with this debt, what else was there between them you and me don’t know?
“And we won’t be no different. He’ll treat us just the same. Daddy would be spitting if he saw the deal we made. We could have done all this differently, still could, but I know your mind won’t be changed. Think about it. If we’d taken Mary to Shanklin instead of coming up here, told MacIntyre about the killings and let him bring in Noone. We’d have been free of Sullivan, could have done anything, me and you. Leave this place, work our way south on whatever stations would take both of us, keep a bit aside, then when we’re old enough, put in for a selection of our own. Victoria, maybe, somewhere that gets the rain. Be nice, that. Later we could have put in for another run and had the two of them side by side. Sheep and cattle, maybe a few crops if the soil was right. Get married, have families, not answer to anyone but ourselves . . . I can’t live like this, Billy. Stay if you want. I’ll do it on my own.
“See, that’s what I was thinking with Kala: I don’t mean to set her on at the house like I said, I mean to turn her free. Soon as Noone brings her I’ll ride her out Bewley way, to those camps they have out there. Figured she could take up with that lot instead. I saw girls there once, Kala’s age, families and all that. Course, they might be a different kind of black—they don’t all
talk the same, Rabbit says—but she’ll be better off there than wherever Noone has planned. Did I tell you that he fiddled with her? That night in the ranges, same night you . . . well, I just thought if I could help her before I left it was worth trying, that’s all. I don’t expect you’ll agree with me, but I ain’t asking, so don’t start.”
In the quiet darkness he lay on his back, listening to Billy sleep. The rhythm of his breathing, slow and steady, catching in his throat, that little ticking sound he made. Tommy rolled onto his side, hugged the blankets, and stared across at him, the shape of him. His family. Only a brother left. He slept so soundly, that was the thing. All this time Tommy had been talking, his brother had not so much as stirred. And yet here he lay awake, into the early hours, afraid to close his eyes.
33
He sat on the front steps, watching the west for signs of Kala coming in. Noone had agreed to sell her. Tommy didn’t know the price.
He waited, idly stroking his bandaged hand, feeling the stubs of his fingers beneath. Tender to the touch, the skin as tight and stiff as unworked hide. It wasn’t but half a hand. Still took him by surprise when the fingers weren’t there. So many everyday tasks that would need to be relearned. Or done differently, anyway. He doubted he’d given a single thought to those fingers until they were gone. And isn’t that the way of things. You only miss the missing, don’t value what you have.
From here he had a view of the workers’ camp, thin smoke trails rising from the scullery and the embers of last night’s fires, all the way across to the cattle yards and sheds. Men wandered between the buildings and some rode out on horseback and their calls carried faintly up the hill. Too small for Tommy to make them out but there might have been one or two that he knew: Locke; the watchman, Jessop; and Weeks, not forgetting Weeks, who couldn’t keep Mary alive long enough for Tommy to say good-bye.
He wished there’d been more between them. Wished he’d made more effort, given her more of a chance. When she was little she’d looked up to Tommy in the same way he did Billy; Tommy had been too distracted to care. She was always trying to prove herself, to join in, but Billy had never been able to see past the fact she was a girl, and Tommy was too young or too weak to decide for himself. He supposed he’d assumed she would always be there, that they’d have time. Now all he could do was miss her. There was plenty of time for that.
Tommy leaned against the balustrade and rested his head on the warm wood. The sun was high but clouds were gathering and threatening rain again. It went like this some years: a cycle of broken storms, then a downpour that lasted for weeks. He’d heard of families, up north mainly, who got it so bad they’d be cut off by floodwater for whole months at a time, needed a raft just to get across their yard. What cattle they’d not sold or put in the sheds, they’d find drowned the next time they rode out, floating in the creek or even stuck up a tree when the water went down. And yet they stayed there, year on year, everyone did out here. Clinging to whatever scraps of a life they were born into, no matter the cost. That’s all Billy was doing, sticking with what he knew and to hell with everything else. Dumb as bloody cattle: a cow finds herself in a dried-up paddock and doesn’t think to leave, next thing she’s been hollowed by the dingos and finished by the birds.
Had Billy thought what it would be like, going back to Glendale and its ghosts? Nothing was living there now, no cattle, no horses, even the dogs were dead. Had he imagined them, sleeping in their bedroom, eating a meal at the table, looking out of the window and seeing two white crosses thinly coated in dust?
Footsteps sounded behind him, light footsteps, toe rather than heel. Tommy turned to find Mrs. Sullivan coming down the stairs, her skirts raised in her hand. She was dressed all in white. Her dark curls gleamed. She smiled at Tommy. He hunched forward again, his forearms on his knees, picking at his nails. She flicked out her skirts and sat down beside him with a sigh.
“These steps weren’t made for women’s shoes. They’re too steep by half.”
Tommy nodded vaguely, lifted his eyes to the view.
“How’s your hand?”
“Fine.”
“How’s it really?”
“Sore.”
She took his wrist, examined the hand, turned it back and forth. “So long as there’s no rot, you’ll survive. A couple of fingers can be compensated for—you’ll have the measure of it soon enough.”
“Billy says I won’t can work.”
“And what do you think?”
He sniffed and stared out. “I reckon I’ll be right once I’m used to it.”
“I think so too. And John’ll see you’re looked after.”
“Yeah. I’m sure he will.”
There was bitterness in his voice but she ignored it. “Well, I’m certainly glad we’ll be neighbors. You’re welcome to visit anytime. It would make a pleasant change to be on good terms.”
Tommy’s jaw clenched.
“I didn’t mean anything, of course,” she said hurriedly. “Other than I’d like it if we could be friends. You know, when I first came out here I was going to be at the heart of a whole community, until I found there wasn’t one, and not even enough people for one to be formed. I had so many plans: you see down there, at the bottom of the steps, I thought I’d put a rose garden on either side, little hedgerows in boxes, with vines twisting up through these rails. Along the track I planted conifers, evergreens.” She laughed and touched her lips. “Everything died. All of it. Not one thing survived. It’s like the soil is poisoned. Only that awful scrub grass grows.”
“Rain’s coming,” Tommy said flatly. “That might help.”
“Oh, I’m past even trying now. Roses. Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? John thought I was mad.” He felt her watching him but kept his eyes on the view. “Have you been sleeping?”
“Not really.”
“You should try. You look very tired.”
In the silence, Tommy picked at the bandage on his hand. He said, “Do you know what went on out there? What we did?”
“I was against you going from the start. It’s a terrible thing for a child.”
“I’m not a child.”
“No, I don’t suppose you are.” She sighed, glanced behind her, up the stairs. “Would you prefer to be alone? Only, I saw you and thought you might like some company, perhaps talk about Mary—you must be upset?”
He took a long time to answer: “How did it happen? How did she die?”
“I told you, she just—”
“No, I mean exactly. What did it look like? I should have been there.”
“It was all very peaceful, Tommy. Mr. Weeks kept her comfortable with his drops. We were waiting for Shanklin the day you rode out. I sent the telegram that morning myself. He never came.”
“And she died when?”
“Late the same night. I intended sending a boy into Bewley the very next day, fetch him out right away.”
So they were camping, Tommy reasoned. That first night in the scrubs. Noone woke him. Leaning against the myall tree, whittling the cross for Locke.
“Did he come the day after? Shanklin?”
“No. Nothing. I don’t know what happened.”
They sat in silence a moment. Tommy said, “She always looked peaceful.”
“Oh, she was. She was as comfortable as a person can be.”
“Did you sit with her?”
She nodded. “For as long as I could.”
“But . . . was she on her own?”
“Yes, Tommy, but listen—that’s only natural, we’re all alone at the end. She knew you and Billy cared for her and would have been there if you could.”
“Least you were.”
She reached out and cupped his knee. “Are you hungry? Shall I ask for an early lunch?”
“I’m waiting on Noone,” he said.
“Noone? Whatever for?”
“He’s fetching over Kala, one of them we found. For a housegirl.”
“A housegirl? Goodness—is she trained
?”
“What in?”
“Cooking, cleaning, laundry, and such. She won’t be any good to you if not.”
Tommy shrugged. “She’ll be alright.”
“No, that won’t do. John should have told me. I’d rather lend you one of ours. You can’t just take on anyone, Tommy. She’s wild. Might not even be safe.”
“Safe how?”
“Well, what if she means to harm you? No, you must have one of mine, while we train the new girl here. When she’s capable we’ll swap them. How does that sound?”
“Thank you, no. It’s not really for that. I don’t care if she’s trained or not.”
Mrs. Sullivan sat there scowling, then snatched a breath and said, “Even you, barely a man, I just don’t understand it sometimes. It’s really no better than fucking a dog. You know, John’s been with so many his cock doesn’t work. He’s all dried up and limp as a leaf. Watch yourself, Tommy, or you’ll end up the same, and bloody well deserve it too.”
If she was shamed by her language she didn’t show it. She stood and flicked her skirts and marched back up the steps. Tommy listened to her go. He wanted to call after her, to explain what he had planned, but he was learning. He’d asked for her help once and she’d scolded him, then given him a bag of boiled sugar sweets. The sweets had been a godsend, but she wouldn’t have thought to give them to any of the men. Might as well have scrubbed his hair and pinched him on the cheek.
34
They brought Kala around the back of the house, meaning at first Tommy missed her coming in. He was still on the steps when he caught a burst of male laughter and what sounded like a muffled scream; he came down the stairs, followed the noise around the homestead to the rear yard. Rabbit had her. She was naked on his horse, bound, her head covered with a feed bag, but it was Mallee who was laughing and causing her to scream. He leaned from his saddle to poke and tickle her, putting on a show for the housemaids and kitchen hands who were gathered in the yard. They watched his performance vacantly, only their heads moving, slowly tracking the horses as they crossed from left to right.