Mazin Grace

by Dylan Coleman

  ‘Father Christmas’s just a big idiot anyway,’ I curse ’im under my breath then. ‘He’s probably not even left me nothin’.’

  ‘Why you swearin’ like that for? You get in trouble in a minute,’ Dee-Dee tells me quiet-way.

  ‘Nothin’,’ I tell ’er, shakin’ my gugga. Anyways, if stupid Father Christmas not givin’ me present, he’s not givin’ lotsa other cheeky kids nothin’ either. Lotta kids cheekier than me and all of them real dumb, idiot kids, anyway.

  Pastor ask us to pray then. Everythin’ goes real quiet.

  ‘Heavenly Father, we thank you for your provisions here this night, that we can come together in fellowship and praise of your name and give our thanks to you for sending us your only beloved Son, Jesus. And on this day we remember his birth and that he died to save us from our sins. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ all us mob say together.

  Then I jump in at the last minute in case their yuree still open and listenin’ after Pastor finish talkin’ to them. ‘God and Jesus and Father Christmas, if you still listenin’ can you please let me ’ave a nice present and I promise to be a real good girl and not swear for a long time.’

  ‘Please be seated,’ Pastor tell us.

  So we all sit down on the munda and Teacher starts calling out the names. I’m watchin’ them other kids go up and get their present and wonderin’, what’s goin’ on here?

  ‘Hey!’ I say to Eva sittin’ next to me. ‘Real naughty kids gettin’ presents, there.’

  ‘So?’ Eva say, jerkin’ ’er gugga back, lookin’ at me like I’m joobardi.

  ‘Father Christmas only meant to bring presents to good kids, indie? But look there.’ I stickin’ my lips out, pointin’ at them kids out the front. ’Arold’s an arse’ole of a kid. And look at them others, they the rotten kids who call me filthy names all the time. Why Father Christmas givin’ them presents?’

  Eva laughs at me so I punch ’er in the arm.

  She punches me back twice as ’ard in the leg and yell, ‘Father Christmas’s not real, stupid.’

  ‘Shhhut uuup.’ Polly pushes us in the back.

  Teacher’s lookin’ at us, ’er guru mooga gone real small like she ready to growl us.

  I scratch my gugga. I do that when I got gooloo, but this time it’s cause I’m thinkin’.

  ‘If Father Christmas is not real who buys the presents?’ I whisper to Eva out the corner of my mouth ’cause I can see Teacher’s still lookin’.

  ‘Them walaba ladies from Adelaide who got plenty of bunda to send them over for us.’ Eva cough out the answer behind ’er murra.

  ‘How you know that?’ I say through my teeth, so Teacher think I’m ’appy and smilin’.

  ‘Pastor just said so. If you weren’t so yuree bamba you would ’ave ’eard it, too.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Polly say real quiet-way from close up next to me.

  I turn ’round and Mona’s there, with a sad look on ’er wah, noddin’ too. I look for Dee-Dee but she’s gone up the front.

  Sometimes Eva’s wrong, but Polly and Mona, they sayin’ Father Christmas’s not real too. Why don’t they tell me before when we play with our secret-pretty-things? We don’t keep nothin’ secret from each other, ’specially important things like Father Christmas. My guru mooga go all watery and I feel empty inside. Why grown-ups tell us Father Christmas real when he’s bloody well not?

  ‘If you children be good maybe Father Christmas will pay you a visit this year and bring you some presents,’ Teacher say.

  When I think about that, I get moogada then. They lie to us kids and God say in ’is Commandments, ‘Thou shalt not lie’. They all full of goona.

  ‘Grace,’ Teacher calls out.

  ‘What?’ I yell out real moogada-way ’cause I’m still thinkin’ ’bout ’er lyin’ to us kids.

  All the kids laugh at me, then. Shame job.

  ‘Come up and get your present. Quickly, please.’

  I jump up flat-out-way and fall into Dee-Dee comin’ back from out the front with a big present in ’er arms. Stupid bloody kids still laughin’ at me.

  Teacher gives me a real minya present.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Peabody,’ I say. And as I walk back through the kids I say to myself quiet-way, ‘Thank you God and Jesus. But Father Christmas, you can go and get stuffed.’

  Before I sit down my present’s already unwrapped and I’m real ’appy ’cause I got a pretty minya bracelet same colour as my secret-pretty-things. Only Eva, Polly, Dee-Dee, Sandy and Nora know what colours my secret-pretty-things are, except for God and Jesus. It makes me feel real special that God and Jesus give me a special present like that, that they know I’ll like it. They see everything, they can even see inside our hearts and know what we thinkin’. They know all the secrets in the whole wide world. Everybody’s secret. They must know the clues to workin’ out Old Rod, and Mumma and Ada’s secrets, too. Tonight, when I go to sleep, I’ll pray to ask them to share their secrets.

  Dee-Dee’s tuggin’ at me, again.

  ‘What?’ I say real loud-way.

  Miss Peabody looks over at us with moogada look on ’er face again. ‘If you children can’t keep quiet you’ll be sent home.’

  We put our gugga down and whisper real quiet-way behind our murra mooga after that.

  ‘Look, I got a real dolly,’ Dee-Dee say.

  She so excited she bouncin’ on the spot. Dolly bouncin’ too, ’er guru mooga’s jumpin’ openin’ and shuttin’ like she real excited as well.

  ‘Deadly,’ I say, lookin’ and touchin’ dolly’s guru mooga, seein’ how they work. ‘But Dee-Dee,’ I whisper, ‘your peg dolly’s gonna get real jealous now you got a real dolly.’ Then, I smile at ’er silly-way.

  ‘No,’ she say, shakin’ er gugga. ‘Peg dolly’s got Mumma dolly now to look after ’er. Make sure she put ’er bultha mooga on when we go to church so Pastor don’t growl ’er for goin’ nigardi.’

  We close our guru mooga real tight and laugh loud-way on the inside, so Teacher can’t hear us.

  That night, I lyin’ in bed and lookin’ at my pretty bracelet. I move the shiny colour beads round on their string. It’s real special, this bracelet. I feel all warm inside ’cause God and Jesus know me, they know ’bout my secret-pretty-things and they know everyone’s secrets. I pray then.

  ‘Dear Lord Jesus and God, it’s me, Grace Dawn Oldman. Thank you for my bracelet, it’s the most bestest present I ever had in my whole life but I don’t need to tell youse that, do I? ’Cause youse already know that. Youse know everything. I nyindi that. I nyindi that youse know what’s in my heart and Mumma’s and Ada’s and Old Rod’s heart too. I’m just a minya wunyi and I don’t know as much as youse do. Anyways, can you please give me things to work out that riddle, and please show me the secrets that Mumma and Ada hidin’ from me. And one more thing please, can you make me not goomboo in the bed tonight. Amen.’

  Next mornin’ sun shinin’ bright but I pissed the bed again. My sisters are moogada with me, as usual, and Ada yellin’ for us to get outa bed so she can change the blanketie. Well stuff you, God and Jesus. If you not gonna ’elp me with my riddle and findin’ out secrets, I’ll ’ave to do it myself. Maybe youse just big lies like Father Christmas.

  I stomp outa the room then, into the kitchen where Mumma already got ’er turkey and jookie jookie in our old oven. And Aunty Essie and Aunty Mim bringin’ in the red and green jelly from off the top of the water tank at the side of the house. When it gets cold at night it sets the jelly and make it go hard. Those jellies look so yummy jigglin’ on the table there in the kitchen now. I can’t take my guru mooga off them while I walk past goin’ outside to wash my face. I wanna stick my murra in there, to ’ave a taste, but Mumma’s workin’ there in the kitchen with my aunties and
they’ll see me and growl me. So I just take a big whiff of the deadly smells, my mouth waterin’, my djuda grumblin’ as I go outside to wash my wah. Mumma sure is a good cook.

  Eva and Mona run past with all the minya kids runnin’ behind them playin’ chasie. Polly tryin’ to catch ’em.

  ‘You “It”.’ Polly slap me on the back.

  ‘Ouch!’ I yell out, cursin’ her. Then I run quick-way after her. I’m gonna slap ’er real hard like she slapped me, so she’ll be ‘It’ again. She trips and tumbles in front of me. I nearly got ’er now, I dive down and grab ’er. Next minute all the sky and the munda whirlin’ ’round and I feel lotta pain in my jinna.

  ‘Ahhhh.’ I’m cryin’ and grabbin’ my jinna ’cause it hurts like hell.

  I look down, my leg achin’ and goin’ red down there under my knee. I rub it real ’ard ’cause it’s real sore like it’s achin’ from the inside. My guru mooga squeezed tight, tryin’ to make it stop hurtin’. Maybe God and Jesus punishin’ me for bein’ cheeky to them.

  ‘You ’right, Grace?’ Polly’s sayin’ sittin’, up rubbin’ ’er arm.

  ‘Yeah,’ I tell ’er but I don’t really feel ’right.

  All the kids stop runnin’ and come ’round me to see what’s wrong.

  ‘That’s the same jinna you hit on that water pipe on the way ’ome from school the other week,’ Polly say.

  I nod at ’er with sorry look on my face. Then, I look ’round with big smile on my face, ’cause there are one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight kids, all in slappin’ range for chasie and they don’t even know it. So, sly-way I start to get to my jinna. All the kids lookin’ at me real sorry-way and helpin’ me get up.

  Now, who do I want to be ‘It’?

  ‘Ahhh,’ Polly scream out in the distance ’cause I’m already cut it ’round the side of the house, sore jinna and all.

  ‘You’re “It”, Polly.’ I’m laughin’ so hard I nearly can’t breathe.

  ‘Hey, you kids, why you not ready for church yet?’ Papa Neddy growls us.

  He’s standin’ there with ’is stock whip in ’is murra. I keep runnin’ straight through the door behind ’im. Stuff gettin’ hit by that ugly big whip. He cracks it real loud. CRACK.

  All the kids stop dead in their tracks then, and flat-out-way cut into our cottage to get ready.

  ‘What? You want to keep the Good Lord waitin’ on ’is birthday? After all he’s done for you?’

  Papa’s real strict ’bout us goin’ to church and bein’ respectful to God and Jesus. He’d give me a good floggin’ if he’d knew I bin cursin’ ’em. But Papa Neddy can’t look into my heart to see what’s there, not like God and Jesus, if that’s not a lie like the rest of them lies grown-ups bin tellin’ me.

  Us kids all lined up now ready in our Sunday best. I got a deadly minya dress on that Old Rod bought me but I can’t find my boogardies so I go jinna nigardi like most the other kids.

  When we get to the church, I’m real moogada that I gotta go and listen to Pastor and say prayers and thank you very much Lord Jesus for bein’ born and dyin’ on the cross to save us from our sins.

  Instead I curse them under my breath. ‘I’m not thankin’ you, Heavenly Father, for bein’ a pig-head and not ’elpin’ me. You can go’n get stuffed. Amen.’

  After church, our mob crammed into the kitchen, all hot and sweatin’, my mouth waterin’ lookin’ at Christmas dinner on our kitchen table full with Mumma’s fresh cooked bread, turkey, jookie jookie, roast vegetables, steam comin’ up off ’em. And that jelly, that deadly jigglin’ jelly with custard.

  Papa gets ready to say grace. ‘Let’s thank the Lord now.’

  We all put our gugga mooga down.

  ‘Count one to ten, drop your dacks and pick them up again,’ I whisper along with Papa’s grace.

  Sandy elbows me.

  ‘Amen,’ I say real loud-way with everyone else.

  ‘You’ll go to hell talkin’ like that when Papa’s prayin’.’

  I shrug my shoulders. Hell might be a lie, too.

  Wiggle welly, wiggle welly jelly in the plate. I like jelly, it’s good for your belly. Wiggle welly, wiggle welly jelly in the plate.

  Everything goes quiet then, ’cause everyone’s hoein’ into their tucker. Even Yudu’s havin’ a good feed ’cause I’m throwin’ ’im bones under the table.

  Before Christmas, Papa Neddy and Mumma Jenna bin ridin’ in their jinka ’round the farms gettin’ turkey and jookie jookie mooga to buy for Christmas Day. Papa got two boonie mooga, Jess and Bob. One pulls the jinka. They real big friendly horses that got feet like ’airy boogardies. Sometimes Papa lets us kids ride them but only slow-way ’cause he don’t want us to get hurt.

  My most favourite horse is Thundabolt. He’s Granny Hector’s horse. Granny Hector’s Papa Neddy’s brother. He’s not called Thundabolt for nothin’, he’s a real wild boonie. Us kids’re always fightin’ over who’s gonna take Thundabolt for a drink at the trough. One day, not long ago, when it came to my turn, I was gettin’ on but ’cause he’s real thirsty, he didn’t give me a chance to get on properly. He just took off like a thundabolt, just like ’is name. Bloody mongrel. I was slidin’ all over ’is back, hangin’ on to ’is mane tryin’ to stay on ’im.

  ‘Ahh. Look out, Thundabolt,’ I screamed. ‘The berry bush.’

  I could see them prickly berry bush mooga whizzin’ past me, my jinna just missin’ ’em. I tried to slow ’im down, pullin’ real ’ard on ’is ’air, but Thundabolt kept gallopin’ faster and faster. We was goin’ so fast everythin’ was real blurry. I could see the windmill and the underwater tank there at the bottom of the hill, and the big water trough at the end of the path. There was nowhere else to go. I thought, this is it, we gonna crash right through it and I’m gonna die. But right at the last minute that boonie Thundabolt slammed ’is brakes on. Them jinna mooga must ’ave skidded on the ground ’cause there was all this dust flyin’ up in the air and next thing, I was flyin’ like a minya djita – until SPLASH! I landed right in the middle of that stinkin’ animal trough and there was Thundabolt havin’ a real good drink next to me like nothin’ happened. Granny Hector must’ve worked that boonie real ’ard that day, to make ’im that thirsty.

  When I got outa the tank all drippin’ wet the other kids were all laughin’ their ’eads off. I was pretty moogada and wanted to fight them to start with but then I could see the funny side too, and later we all ’ad a laugh.

  Papa Neddy and Granny Hector didn’t think it was funny though. They growled me and I got in big trouble.

  ‘What the hell did you think you were doin’ girl?’ they yelled, like I meant to do it or somethin’. That boonie got a brain in ’is ’ead. I never told ’im to do it.

  When I got ’ome Mumma and Ada growled me too, but then they start laughin’: ‘You won’t need a wash today, will you, Grace?’

  Then, I sneak off to the bedroom, to get outa their way.

  Molly sticks ’er big ugly moolya in then, and cheeky-way reckons, ‘Why you wanna drink from the stinkin’ trough with the animals for?’ She smilin’ at me with ’er gumberdy teeth. ‘When we got fresh water tank out the back there?’

  I chase ’er into the kitchen and I’m gonna kick ’er but my other aunties, Mim and Dorrie, grab me and tell me off, tell me to be good.

  After dinner, Ada tells us girls to come to our bedroom, she got presents for us. We all real excited.

  ‘Look what I found under the bed,’ Ada says. ‘Father Christmas must’ve left these for you kids.’

  My guru mooga goes real small and I stick my nyimi out at her. ‘Why you lie, Ada?’ I yell at her, ‘Father Christmas’s not real.’

  She grab me by the yuree and pull me outa the room.

  ‘Why are you spoilin’ this for your minya sisters?’ ’er b
reath real hot in my yuree. ‘You so bloody naughty, Grace,’ she say to me.

  My yuree’s still hurtin’ like hell so I’m hangin’ on to it, now.

  ‘You bloody liar, too,’ I yell back. ‘The Commandments say, “Thou shalt not lie”, and you lie so you gonna end up in hell ’cause Father Christmas, he’s not real.’

  Ada slap me then, and I run outside cryin’ and go an’ sit near the laundry tub hidin’ in behind the big drum. It smells like piss. Probably my piss from our blanketie. I get more moogada then and stomp me feet on the munda real hard-way. Why Ada tell lies to me all those years? Father Christmas didn’t give us girls those presents. Ada got no bunda to buy us presents, where did she get ’em? Then, I remember Mumma sayin’ Old Rod came over and dropped off some boxes of food for us for Christmas when I was playin’ out in the scrub the other day. Old Rod again. He’s the one who gave us ’em.

  Ada comes out after to talk to me, sits down next to me to say sorry for hittin’ me and tell me that, as usual, my cheeky minya mouth got me in trouble again.

  ‘I know Old Rod bought them presents for us,’ I tell her. ‘And I know you keepin’ secret from me and I’m gonna find out.’

  ‘What ya talkin’ ’bout?’ Ada say, gettin’ moogada again. ‘You talkin’ joobardi now, Grace.’

  ‘No I’m not,’ I tell ’er, shakin’ my head. ‘You the one lyin’ and keepin’ secret, that’s why you growlin’ me.’

  Ada throw ’er murra mooga in the air then and say, ‘I give up, I bloody give up with you. You cheeky filthy mouthed minya wunyi. If it wasn’t for you kids I’d ’ave my freedom.’

  Then she took off out the house. She always says that when she moogada with us kids, it’s like we always to blame for her bein’ stuck with us. When she say that I always think, ‘Go on then, go. ’Ave your freedom. I don’t care. Good riddens.’ But I never say it out loud ’cause I’d get a floggin’.

  I know now I can’t get any clues from Ada, Father Christmas, God or Jesus, so now the only one to ask is Old Rod but this time I ask him the question right-way.