Hey Brother

by Jarrah Dundler

  ‘A tad inappropriate,’ said Jessica. ‘That’s what he was. Well, more than a tad.’

  ‘Yeah, he sure was!’ I glanced at Jessica. Her eyes were wide with excitement. I locked my gaze on Leith. ‘Say it again, Leith. Go on. Say it.’

  ‘C’mon, Trysten,’ Leckie said, in a soft pleading voice like I was a cat he was trying to coax inside. ‘C’mon now.’

  ‘Alright then, Trysten.’ Leith said. ‘I’ll say it again. They are murderers, and if your brother’s over there then he’s one too.’

  I leapt up, kicked my chair back.

  ‘Trysten Black. Sit down. Now!’

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Don’t think so, boss.’

  Bilko nudged Leith. ‘Go on, Leith. Get him—smash that fucken hick.’

  ‘Leith!’ Leckie shouted. ‘Stay seated!’

  Leith rose, slowly. He didn’t look sure that he wanted to fight. Or, from the way he was holding his arms by his side, that he was ready for one. But him not really wanting to wasn’t going to stop me.

  ‘Sit!’ Leckie yelled. ‘Both of you sit back down!’

  And Leckie’s words weren’t going to stop me either.

  I charged at Leith, my fist raised, ready to swing.

  7

  After my lecture the principal, Mr Carroll, phoned Mum to tell her about the fight and that I was suspended for three days—‘effective immediately’—and someone needed to collect me from school. Well, didn’t he get a fright when Mum’s voice tore out of the phone and struck his ear like a cat’s claw! His hair, shaggy and thick like a mop head, went flying as he reared his head away from the receiver. I couldn’t catch what she was saying, probably giving it to him for waking her up, or interrupting another drinking session.

  ‘Yes,’ Carroll said, bringing the phone back to his ear once she’d eased off a bit. ‘Okay…I understand it might not be a convenient time…Yes, I know you’re a long way out of town but someone needs to collect him…Okay, great…And what time will he arrive?’

  He? What? Ah fuck! She was sending Trev.

  ‘Okay, thank you, Mrs Black.’

  ‘BLACK?’ I could hear Mum’s cat-claw voice loud and clear this time. ‘I never married that deadhead! I’m a McCormack!’

  Carroll apologised for ‘the misunderstanding’, hung up the phone and watched the receiver warily, like he was afraid it might leap up and smack him across the face. Then he looked at me, nodding slowly. I could see the cogs turning behind his slate-coloured eyes. Probably wondering about the best way to discuss Mum’s before-recess drinking with me.

  ‘Your mother is…um…she’s busy. So she’s sen—’

  ‘Yeah, she’s sending my uncle. I know.’ I sighed and slumped further in the chair, mumbling, ‘Probably ’cause he ain’t as pissed as her.’

  ‘What? What was that?’

  ‘Nothin’.’

  Carroll studied me, scratching his bristly bulldog jowls. His face’d been a ball of fury when he’d been lecturing me but now it had softened to the point of almost kind. I knew what was coming: sympathy. Well, I didn’t want a bar of it. Not from Old Mop-head, and particularly not from the school counsellor, Mr Peaceful-Warrior Edwards, who Carroll would send me to if I didn’t act quick.

  ‘Trysten, is there anything else you’d like to—’

  ‘Yes, sir. Actually there is. There is something else.’

  ‘Okay, good.’ Carroll nodded. ‘Yes. Go on then. What is it?’

  ‘Ya reckon I could go and wait outside?’

  When Trev pulled up across the road in the Corolla I raced out and dived straight in.

  ‘Drive!’ I said, slamming the door. The recess bell would be ringing any second and I didn’t want any of the kids spotting me in our little shitbox, especially not Jessica.

  ‘Excuse me!’ Trev flicked his head to the left, fixed his eyes on me—a rusty brown colour, heavy, like old fishing sinkers. ‘Yer in no position right now to be barking any orders.’

  I huffed as he put the car in gear and eased onto the road, and then I sat with my arms crossed, fuming silently as we drove up to the main street. Just before the big clock in the centre of town Trev pulled up and parked in the middle rank.

  ‘Just gotta run into the chemist, get some Panadols for yer mum.’

  ‘Why don’t you go to the supermarket? Cheaper there. That’s where Mum always gets ’em.’

  Trev mumbled something about the supermarket not having the right ones and shuffled off across the road.

  About ten minutes later he strolled back across to the car, singing and grinning. He kept this up till we reached the hundred-k sign at the town limits, then shifted the Corolla into fourth and said, ‘So, who’d ya fight then?’

  I kept my arms folded and kept staring out the window, pretending not to hear.

  ‘Oi!’ Trev snapped. ‘I asked you a fucken question. Who did ya fight?’

  ‘Some hippy kid,’ I said.

  ‘Got a name?’

  ‘Yeah…Leith.’

  ‘Leith…Leith…Mmm…Oh yeah, Sacher boy, right?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Yeah, I know his old man, I do.’ Trev chuckled. ‘Bit of a tripper, that one, hey.’

  His lighter flickered. Smoke curled past my face, whipped out the window, and vanished like a ghost. ‘So, y’gonna elaborate? Why’d ya belt the young Sacher boy? Hey? Why’d ya give it to him?’

  ‘’Cause he said the boys off fighting in Afghanistan were murderers.’

  ‘Murderers? That so?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Mmm. Did you flog him?’

  ‘Yeah. Course!’

  ‘That so?’

  I smiled. ‘Yep.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Trev said, nodding. His eyebrows shot up like two arrowheads.

  I reckoned he was keen to hear all about it, so for the next couple of ks across the flats and up the foothills of the ranges I was like an announcer calling a boxing match. I didn’t leave out a single hit—booj, booj!—the two uppercuts to Leith’s guts. Crack, the left to his jaw. Thoooomp! Leith’s fist slamming into my chest, winding me.

  ‘…But once I got my breath back I tackled him, pinned him to the ground and kept smashing him in the face and chest—anywhere I could get the fuckhead—and I kept going till Leckie finally grew the balls to tear me off and then I was just punching the air but as Leckie dragged me away I managed to lay a boot into Leith’s side. Was a fucken good one, too!’

  All the while Trev kept nodding, saying, ‘Mmm, that so, that so?’ He seemed to be enjoying the story so much that I told it again. By the time we reached home I was wrapping up the story for the fifth time or so, and I was beginning to think maybe Trev wasn’t that much of a dickhead after all. Maybe if I got on his good side I’d be able to get him to help Mum lay off the booze and stay good till Shaun got back.

  I opened the car door, recalling the faces of everyone in class after I was pulled off Leith. Only a few kids were cheering for me and while Jessica wasn’t, her big brown eyes certainly were, as wide and wild as when she’d egged me on.

  Yeah, I’d done the right thing. Trev thought so, and so would Mum.

  Trev switched off the engine, turned to me and smiled. ‘Hey, Trysten.’

  ‘Yeah, Uncle Trevor?’ Here it comes. A good on ya, a pat on the back. Some words of encouragement for a job well done.

  ‘Yer an idiot, y’know that?’ His smile slipped away. ‘A real fucken idiot.’

  Stuff him! Trev mightn’t think I done the right thing, but once Mum heard the full story she’d be chuffed. Maybe a bit revved up at first, though.

  Halfway across the front lawn I looked up.

  Mum stood on the verandah holding a shoe. Yep, I was right.

  ‘You little shit,’ she yelled and she pegged the shoe. I ducked just in time and it sailed over my head.

  Thump! The shoe had got something, though. I turned. Uncle Trev was curled over, clutching his hollow gut.

  HA! Sucked in, ya old piss-head!


  ‘Owww. Watch it, sis.’

  ‘Ah, sorry, Trev.’ Mum’s voice was slurry—seven to eight cans slurry. ‘I…I didn’t mean to getchyaaa…’

  Then she fixed her speary eyes on me and leapt down the steps and rushed across the front lawn, her thongs clapping against the soles of her feet. I stood my ground. I wasn’t worried. The only person who had ever laid a hand on anyone in our house was Dad. He did it to Shaun, and only once, when they’d had that big blue.

  ‘Can’t believe you, Trysten! A bloody suspension. And for what? A fight! In class and everything.’

  ‘But, Mum! Leith said Shaun was a murderer.’

  Mum’s head flung to the side as if I’d slapped her. She stood still, swaying. A slight pickup in the breeze and she’d timbaaaahhh to the ground.

  ‘He said what?’

  ‘He said all the soldiers over there were murderers, and that if Shaun’s over there that makes him one too!’

  Mum continued towards me, slower than before, as if not entirely sure what to do next. Her arm was raised but her speary eyes had blunted, and I swear I saw the faint trace of a smile forming. Proud? Yep, for sure!

  Two more steps towards me, Mum tripped on one of her thongs and stumbled, and with her raised hand grabbed my shoulder. Then she wrapped her arm round my back, kind of patting me.

  ‘Well,’ I said, steadying her as she pushed her hair back off her face. ‘Pat on the back, hey, Mum? Should I take that as a job well done?’

  ‘NO!’ She flicked the back of my head. ‘Now, git to your room.’

  I scooted inside, feeling half proud and a little bit shit.

  The lounge room stank like the back room of the bottom pub—beer-soaked carpet, old durry ash and a dash of vomit. Mum was plank-straight on the couch with that sheet tucked under her chin. Under the sheet she cradled the radio to her chest. Classical music blared. There were that many crumpled cans on the coffee table I couldn’t even see its surface.

  I’d obviously slept right through a real big one. I was so tired that after being sent to my room I’d just laid round for a couple of hours before crashing out.

  Seeing the mess now, I wondered if Mum’d hit the piss harder last night because of me mucking up. I remembered Shaun’s words, take care of Mum. I was failing. Maybe I was even making her worse.

  I shuffled past the coffee table, closer to her.

  ‘Sorry I ballsed up, Mum,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll try harder from here on in. Chin up. Shirt tucked in. The works.’

  As I moved my hand down to pat her head, I spotted something sticking out from under her pillow. A small cardboard box. I prised it out.

  The pills from the chemist. And they weren’t Panadols.

  Their name was familiar, but it took me a few seconds to remember why. Old Peaceful-Warrior Edwards had arranged some do-gooder youth worker to come and give us a spiel about drugs. He’d given us info about every drug under the sun, even the ones from the chemist that he said could be just as bad as the illegal ones. OxyContins. The whole class had chuckled when he told us their street name: Hillbilly Heroin.

  But why did Mum have them? I read the name on the label. Trevor J. McCormack.

  Uncle Trev. That shifty fucker.

  I looked back at Mum, panic-struck. I couldn’t hear her breathing over the radio. I couldn’t even tell if her chest was rising and falling. Her face was gaunt, pale as the sheet. Shit! What if she’d taken too many of them?

  I placed my cheek under her nose. After a second her breath tickled me.

  Phew.

  I turned the pill packet over in my hand, read the name again. Trevor J. McCormack. Nah, I wasn’t making it worse for Mum. It was all Trev.

  I headed straight to the shed.

  Shaun’s shed was trashed. Boxes of his stuff looked as if they’d been rummaged through. The framed photos on his bedside table of him and Amy were face down. The pool table was like the coffee table inside—covered in empty cans and an overflowing ashtray. Shaun’s rug had a big purply-red stain in the middle of it and the air was thick with the stench of red wine and beer and Trev’s BO. Stinky fucker.

  I strode towards Trev, ready to fling him off the sofa and lay a boot into his side. Warn him to keep his drugs away from Mum, or else. If he arced up I reckoned it’d be a fairly even match, but the closer I got the more uncertain I became.

  There wasn’t much to him—couple of inches taller than me, maybe a bit heavier, not by much, though—but his arms folded over his bare chest seemed bigger than they had yesterday. Plus, there were his tatts. His arms and chest were inked up—skulls and swords and guns and knives and naked chicks and fire and barbed wire, all mean tough-looking shit that came from a time of his life that I still knew little to nothing about. I remembered how scared Dad’d looked when I mentioned Trev’s name; Shaun telling me once that he’d done time. Trev might look like a scrawny piss-head, but there was more to him than that. There were those sinker eyes. Always shifting, rolling here and there like he was waiting for someone to come at him.

  Trev grunted and turned onto his side so his back was to me. His lips smacked noisily together as if he was chewing gum.

  I flinched.

  Yeah, might just give it a while. Wait till he was awake, then we’d have a chat. Yeah! A nice calm chat.

  Trev rolled over again, facing me this time. Eyes still shut. I turned towards the door. One step. Two. Three. I was almost out of there, but on step four Trev yawned—a monstrous yawn, sucking in all the air in the shed and heaving it back out.

  I froze.

  ‘Oi. What ya doin’ in ’ere?’

  I spun round. Trev sat up, stretched his arms above his head, linked his fingers together and slowly cracked his knuckles.

  I swallowed. ‘Nothing.’

  He looked me up and down. His eyes narrowed as he locked his sights on my right hand.

  Shit. The pills! I was still holding them.

  Trev eyeballed me, considering his plan of attack.

  I had to make the first move.

  ‘These are yours.’ I lobbed the pill packet at him. ‘Mum had ’em.’

  Trev flipped the packet over and reached around and rubbed his lower back with his other hand. ‘Yeah, they are mine. They’re for me back. So?’

  As I sized him up again, I remembered Ricky’s words. Find his Hercules Eel. Trev’s back, was it? If it came to it I’d hit him where it hurt.

  ‘If they’re yours then you should hold on to them,’ I said. ‘Be more careful with your stuff. Right, Trev?’

  Trev got steadily to his feet. I moved my hands behind my back, curling them into fists in case I needed to use them, and to stop the shaking.

  Trev prised a packet of ciggies from his jeans pocket. He lit one and blew the first puff of smoke straight in my face.

  I stood my ground, but my shaking spread from my hands to my arms down to my legs and to my feet till it felt like there was a tiny earthquake under me.

  Trev cleared his throat. ‘I don’t fucken need you telling me to be more careful with my stuff.’

  I blew out the breath I’d been holding, took another deep one and managed to steady my shaking a bit. I looked at Trev’s arm, twisted behind his body, hand braced against his lower back.

  ‘Just saying, Uncle Trevor, I wouldn’t want you to lose your pills. What if your back got worse? What if you tripped or slipped or had some kind of accident and fucked it again? Uncle Trevor, if that happened, you’d be stuffed if you didn’t have…’

  Voosh! Trev shot through the smoke like lightning from a storm cloud. His face two inches from mine, he took another drag on his ciggie—the tip of it almost singeing my nose—and blew the smoke out the side of his mouth.

  ‘Listen here, smartarse. Yer lazy sack o’ shit dad sits down the creek doing fuck all, all fucken day, while I’m up here helping out yer mum the best I can. Helping her to be strong while yer brother’s at war. And you? What have you been doing? Getting into trouble. Giving yer mum more headaches. T
hat’s fucken what.’

  I opened my mouth. I wanted to say something like At least I wasn’t dealing drugs to her, but the words wouldn’t come. Nothing came. I shook all over, worse than before the fight with Leith. The earthquake under my feet was getting bigger. I wanted to scream. Wanted to punch Trev. Wanted to smash his face in, but I couldn’t do anything but shake.

  ‘Ha! Thought so. Just like your old man,’ Trev said, shaking his head with a tsk.

  A thump sounded from outside. Then lots of quick slaps: Mum racing up the concrete steps. I was saved!

  She burst into the shed clutching the radio under her arm, her eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, a massive grin plastered across her face. Her hair was a tangled mess and she still stank like sin, but with those wide eyes sparkling and that ear-to-ear smile, well, Mum looked like a million bucks.

  She cast her eyes over Trev and me without changing her expression, not even blinking at the sight of us, as though there was nothing unusual about the way we stood, nothing unusual about the looks on our faces—me looking like I was about to shit my pants and Trev looking all guilty like he’d already shat his.

  Mum strode forward, tossed the radio onto the pool table and threw her arms around both of us, squeezing us all together like a pack of footy players in a scrum.

  ‘The boys!’ she said. ‘The boys are coming home. The Defence Minister just made a special announcement—says they should all be back by Christmas. Shaun’s coming home!’

  8

  Mum took the phone off the wall and placed it in the middle of the kitchen table, and for the rest of the day she sat and stared at it like a praying mantis watching its prey. Occasionally she’d mutter under her breath—he’s coming home…so much to do…what a mess!…gotta mop the floors…scrub the walls…better make a list —which would set her off fidgeting and squirming like she wanted to leap off the chair and get started, but then she’d take a breath, place her left hand on top of the table, her right hand on top of her left hand and resume her staring. She was like that while I made myself a toasted cheese sandwich for lunch. When I made the same for dinner. And when I ducked off to bed saying, ‘Night,’ and getting a curt ‘Yep’ in response.