Heart of Gold

by Fiona Palmer

  ‘So are ya gonna help me through this or am I going in blind?’ she queried.

  ‘I’ll let you know,’ Lindsay said with a wink.

  She pushed the ewe’s leg through her legs until it was resting against her bum. He nodded his approval.

  CJ grabbed his handpiece off the floor and pulled the rope, bringing it to life.

  ‘This should be interesting, girl,’ said Irene, who came to stand in front while the rest of the shed emptied for their afternoon smoko.

  ‘If ya gonna watch, keep your mouth zipped.’

  Irene did a scout’s honour salute, trying to look serious.

  CJ started with the belly. She knew that much. You didn’t watch people shearing and not pick up a thing or two. Except it’d been so long since she’d held a handpiece; it felt strange and weighty in her hand and the vibrations put tingles in her bones. Carefully she pulled the ewe’s skin tight and she sent the cutters through the belly wool. She winced as she did it, hoping not to cut the ewe. The wool felt warm against her hand as she buried the handpiece further in, almost like silk brushing over her skin. Lindsay leaned over and rested his hand on hers to guide the handpiece and help her gauge the pressure. She started to think that the shaking in her legs was more from his touch than from the novice shearing. Irene took the belly wool when CJ moved on to the crutch and the first back leg. She knew she was being too gentle and a little clumsy, but the handpiece was feeling heavier with each blow. Lindsay gave her pointers on her feet positioning and helped ensure her blows followed the leg line. Soon she was onto the bit on the ewe’s head called the topknot, and she gave the ewe an army-style hair cut.

  ‘Now, the neck is one of the hardest parts because of the wrinkles, especially with these merinos,’ said Lindsay, showing her how to pull back on the jaw to stretch the wool tight.

  CJ could see she was being too careful and not holding the cutters close to the skin. This sheep was going to look awful. She tried to cut closer – it looked better but she managed to nick the ewe in a few places, drawing blood. Straightaway, she said sorry. The ewe decided she’d had enough at this point and began to thrash about, and Lindsay stepped in and helped her get control. Meanwhile the ewe had kicked the wool about, mixing it up and making it harder to throw onto the table for skirting. Starting up again, she continued on to do the face and final shoulder, down to the flank and remaining leg. By now Dave and Jules had wandered back in with their cakes to watch her. She blew out a breath to shift some hair hanging in her face. Buzzing off the last bit of wool, Lindsay pulled the rope for her so she could put down the handpiece and push the ewe down through the chute.

  ‘Well, that wasn’t so bad,’ said Lindsay with a smirk.

  CJ looked down at the jumbled pile of wool that Irene was trying to get into order. ‘You think so? It looks like shit.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s good, considering you don’t shear. I was actually impressed. You must have done some before?’

  ‘Not for a few years and even then it was just for a muck about.’

  ‘I still think you did well. Come on. Let’s get cleaned up for smoko.’ Lindsay clapped CJ on her back.

  ‘Thanks for that. It was fun. But I’ll just go help Rene finish this fleece, seeing as I made the mess.’

  Lindsay nodded and headed out the sliding door while she joined Irene at the skirting table.

  ‘So what compelled you to do that?’ Irene asked curiously.

  ‘Lindsay saw a picture of me shearing when I was young. No doubt he thought it’d be hilarious to see me do it again.’ She paused. ‘You know, it wasn’t that bad.’

  ‘You two are getting on well, then. Driving together, him at your house and all. Sounds very cosy.’

  ‘Irene, don’t.’

  Irene didn’t say anything further but CJ could still see the teasing in her green eyes.

  The last run of the day went by quickly and CJ found herself watching Lindsay shear. She admired the way his strong legs held the ewe in place and how the handpiece glided over the ewe’s skin. He was a gifted shearer and made it look magical. Over two hundred sheep a day was the norm for Lindsay. She watched the way he moved his feet and tried to take note of the things he’d told her. He would make a great teacher: calm, patient and guiding. CJ realised just how much she’d got a kick out of shearing. She remembered her dad leaning over her, as Lindsay had done, his encouraging words softly spoken close to her ear. ‘Check out my daughter,’ he’d told a mate. ‘Ain’t she a natural.’ CJ headed towards the wash basin, keeping her head very low, hiding tears that threatened to expose her moment of vulnerability.

  At the end of the run, the cockie came down with his workman for the cut-out to celebrate finishing his shed. Mr Atkinson pointed to the fridge where all the tables and chairs were and told them to help themselves. Five minutes later they sat around the table with a beer in hand. Dave, Jules and Irene shared an old brown sofa while CJ and Lindsay sat on old vinyl chairs. Kate and Dee fought over a black foot stool and Marty sat on a bale along with the farmer and his worker. CJ looked around and smiled at all the faces of the crew, except Marty. She recalled the snide look on his face when he’d seen her with a handpiece.

  They were all enjoying their cold beers with relish as the afternoon breeze blew through the shed, cooling them off.

  ‘Bloody good shed, this one,’ Kate said to Lindsay. ‘A five-star shed.’

  Lindsay looked back to CJ and raised his eyebrows curiously.

  CJ laughed. ‘Chairs, sofa, table, well-stocked beer fridge —’

  ‘Toilets, kettle, microwave…’ cut in Kate.

  Lindsay still looked at CJ like he was lost.

  ‘Haven’t you ever shorn in a crap shed?’ she asked. ‘We had this one a while back that didn’t have water or a loo.’

  ‘Yeah, that was a one-star shed,’ Kate agreed, ‘and that was only ’cos it had a beer fridge. But it’s nowhere near as bad as that shed we did a few years back – that was a minus five.’

  Lindsay laughed. ‘How could you have a minus five?’

  ‘Easily,’ answered CJ. ‘We turned up at this shed of some smalltime farmer in the middle of nowhere. We walk in and the smell that greeted us was bloody foul. I mean, we’re talking spew material. We soon found out why. In the holding pen was a dead sheep.’

  ‘Yeah, with maggots crawling around under the skin,’ Kate added, pulling a face.

  ‘Rank,’ said Lindsay.

  ‘And…’ CJ put her hand on Lindsay’s arm but withdrew it, as she couldn’t cope with the electricity sparking through her body. She lost her train of thought, ‘Umm… oh, yeah. And we all fought over who was going to move it. Johnny managed to get it out the back door before he threw up. Man, it was the worst start to a day ever. We couldn’t wait to get the hell outta there.’

  Kate laughed, ‘We haven’t been back, that’s for sure.’

  CJ went to the fridge and handed out the next round of beers, saving Lindsay for last. As he went to take the cold glass stubbie from her she held it for a second, holding his gaze.

  ‘Thanks, hey… for today. You would make a great teacher.’

  ‘Well, you’d make a great student,’ he replied, bashful. ‘Have you ever thought about taking up shearing? I could help you.’

  CJ choked on her mouthful and some beer ran out her nose. She wiped it on her sleeve as Lindsay thumped her on the back. Luckily Kate asked him a question and she didn’t have to answer him, but his words rotated through her mind, planting little seeds. How did she feel about learning to shear? It had given her a surge of adrenaline, shearing that sheep today. She’d felt invincible and strong at having a go at something she thought of as such an art form. Could she truly do that?

  When it was time to drive home, they were both quiet and away with their thoughts, until they pulled up outside CJ’s house. She was about to get out of Lindsay’s ute when he held her arm, stopping her. His long fingers curled around her slender arm in a caress, his short nails blac
kened with dirt lodged deep.

  ‘You know, I was serious before. You’d make an excellent student. If you wanted to, I’d be happy to teach you how to shear.’ He could see her mind ticking over as he let her arm go. ‘Just think of the extra money you could earn. I can push out nearly three hundred steady and it’s big bucks if you can. It might take you a while but I reckon you’d get up to two hundred soon enough. And I could teach you on the weekends so it doesn’t affect work.’ He knew CJ wouldn’t take time off work as he was sure they counted on her pay each week. ‘Would you be interested? I think you’re strong enough. I had a great teacher and I’m sure you’d do all right with me.’

  CJ smiled back at Lindsay. ‘Oh, I’m sure you’d be a great teacher, Linds. I don’t doubt that for a second. You’re the best shearer I’ve seen in my ten years of working in the sheds. It’s just I’ve never really thought about it before.’

  ‘Well, you think on it and let me know. I’d like to teach shearing one day, so it’d be good experience for me too. And I think I might have a way worked out so that we’d have our own sheep to shear, instead of doing it at the end of each run like most people. So think about it and I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Okay?’

  ‘Yeah, righto,’ CJ said. She climbed out of his ute, got Sam off the back and watched him drive away. Me, a shearer? she thought. Why the hell not?

  9

  CJ sat at the dining table, Mum on her right, Dad on her left, and looked deep into her lamb stew as if she was seeing the finer ingredients that made up her gravy. The only sound was the sucking noise her dad made as he tried to chew, due to having bugger-all teeth left. Apparently, he’d lost some of them to boxing and the others when he fell drunk onto the concrete pathway and hit his face on the kerb. A mouth plate with six false teeth sat on his bedside table covered in a centimetre of dust. She wished for the chatter of the TV or the background noise of a radio – anything but the gnashing of her father’s gums. She glanced at her mum, who looked like she was counting every chew up to the recommended thirty before swallowing. Her dad looked the same as ever: same checked shirt and black trackies, same receding hairline and haggard skin, same belly – which was now resting on his lap – and the same vacant look on his face. More silence. Whoever said silence could be deafening wasn’t lying.

  ‘It’s good having you home for dinner, Mum,’ said CJ.

  Dot dragged her tired blue eyes towards her and shrugged.

  ‘How come you had to swap shifts?’

  Dot sighed, as if it pained her to talk. ‘Betty’s got a party to go to.’

  Things went quiet again, except for Tom’s eating. She just wanted to tell him to stop it – stop eating or go eat somewhere else.

  ‘Guess what?’ she said with a sigh, knowing they both probably weren’t listening. ‘I’m thinking of learning to shear. Lindsay said he’ll teach me.’

  ‘That’s nice, dear,’ said her mum a little too quickly, then CJ saw her finally register what she had said. CJ could see the concern – maybe even fear – in Dot’s eyes. Would that mean less time at home? More time with Tom alone?

  She looked to Tom, curious for his reaction. What would he think about her shearing, just like him? Would he be jealous? Would he even care? She studied the wrinkles around his eyes, looking for the slightest twitch of comprehension and emotion. His cheeks drooped like old lamb chops and gravy drops sat on his chin.

  CJ gave up and returned her attention to her meal. Smack, suck, chomp. CJ cringed. She couldn’t stand this any longer.

  Tom put another mouthful in and chomped away. He hated sitting at the table and much preferred it when Dot left his meal out for him. He would take it to the lounge and eat in the comfort of his sofa. He snuck a glance at Dot, her hair like a mangled wire brush and her once smooth porcelain skin covered in lines that he’d helped put there.

  Tom glanced at his daughter without moving his head. He struggled to see her as his daughter any more. She had become this annoying person who spoiled all his fun. He didn’t know where the years had gone but these women at his side – well, he didn’t know them any more. Maybe he didn’t want to. As he brought his fork up to his mouth he had a flash, a memory of showing CJ how to shear. He remembered the pride he’d felt but now it was like a knife in his heart twisting deeper until he had no heart left. He wished he could say, ‘That’s great about the shearing, CJ,’ or, ‘Thanks for the meal, Dot.’ The words wafted through his thoughts but never made it to his tongue.

  CJ hastily got up and put her plate in the sink, saying something about repairs to her ute. He used to care for her, and maybe he still did deep down, but it was as if someone else now inhabited his body. He’d become a monster, and as the monster had grown, it had taken all his memories and feelings and turned them to black.

  10

  CJ stood by the skirting table with a smile from ear to ear. Jules was shearing away on the end stand and singing his heart out to ‘Khe Sahn’. It was his favourite song and he reckoned singing it at the top of his lungs made him more Aussie and less like a Kiwi. CJ thought it just made his sheep twitchy and difficult to manoeuvre, but she couldn’t help laugh anyway.

  Today she’d taken notice of all the shearers and their techniques. She delighted in picking up where they did things differently and comparing their different styles. None shore as cleanly as Lindsay or had his patience and ease with the sheep. It was like the sheep felt his inner calm, which settled them, making them almost his puppets.

  Lindsay’s offer constantly occupied CJ’s mind. She figured she’d have to shear over a hundred sheep a day to earn enough money. If she could get to two hundred, she’d be rapt. It would mean almost double the pay.

  She felt a shoulder bump her arm as she pulled a staple of wool from the fleece in front of her.

  ‘Hey, you.’

  She looked up into Lindsay’s eyes and lost her train of thought. They were the blue of the wide sky on a bright sunny day and seemed as immense.

  ‘What ya doin’?’ she asked playfully.

  ‘I’ve finished my run,’ he said.

  Scanning the shed, CJ saw Jules heading to wash his hands and Happy waiting for Marty’s fleece, while Tweedledum and Tweedledee ran around with scrapers.

  ‘Oh.’ She quickly graded the fleece and threw it into the sectioned bin. ‘So, what’s up?’

  Lindsay leaned against the skirting table, his arms folded and bulging with shaped muscles. ‘Have you thought about my offer?’

  She smiled as Happy threw the second-last fleece for the run. ‘You’ve been dying to ask me that since you picked me up, haven’t ya? I can see the effort it’s taken to keep quiet,’ said CJ. ‘To tell you the truth, it’s all I’ve thought about.’ She snuck a glance at him and was rewarded with his grin of approval.

  ‘You’re hooked, aren’t ya?’ Lindsay asked.

  ‘Just a bit,’ she said excitement in her voice. ‘I’ve been stuck watching you all shear today and longing to hold the handpiece again.’

  Lindsay moved so she could bundle the fleece away. ‘Did you pick up much?’ he asked.

  The shed was now almost empty except for the noise of hooves as the farmer refilled the pens for the next run.

  ‘I was trying to.’

  ‘So does that mean I’m going to have my first student?’ he asked with a twinkle in his eye, full of confidence in her reply.

  CJ wiped her dirty hand against her jeans and held it out to Lindsay. ‘I’d say you are. I’d be honoured if you’d teach me.’

  Lindsay’s wide hand and long fingers enclosed hers as they shook. Tingles shot up her arm – but that was just the excitement, she told herself. And the way he was looking at her now, so intensely, raised her blood pressure. But she wasn’t going to fall for his playboy charms. Life was messy enough, thanks very much. ‘How will it work?’ she mumbled, trying to stay focused.

  ‘Um, don’t worry about that. Keep your weekends free and when there’s a gap between sheds, we’ll shear then a
lso. I’ve got it all sorted. We can start this Saturday if you’re keen.’

  CJ turned and put away the last fleece and hoped he wouldn’t see her fear. This weekend. So soon. What if she wasn’t good enough? Taking a deep breath, she composed herself before walking out to the wash basin with Lindsay.

  Lindsay tapped her shoulder lightly as a thought came to him. ‘Oh, that’s if you’re not too busy on the weekends.’ Maybe she had a boyfriend. It suddenly irked him that he didn’t know. He watched her carefully.

  ‘No. Usually I’m just at home catching up on bills or visiting Irene, so I’m ready to go when you are.’

  ‘So I’m not stealing you away from boyfriend time?’ he asked.

  CJ answered with an unladylike snort as she choked on her laugh. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Why is that so funny?’

  She smiled at him. ‘You’re sweet, really, but come on. You’ve seen my life. Blokes just don’t fit into the equation.’ She shook her head. ‘Besides, all my spare time will be taken up with learning how to shear. I can’t wait.’ She jiggled on the spot like a nervous schoolgirl waiting for her favourite band to come on stage.

  Lindsay hadn’t met a girl before who wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, and in a way he was both relieved and disappointed. He saw the anticipation on CJ’s face and couldn’t help but share her excitement. Her blue eyes sparkled and her face glowed with an endless energy that he wished he could harness. Her chest rose and fell quickly and he knew her heart was racing, but he couldn’t get past the swell of her breasts under the blue singlet and quickly tore his gaze away before he was caught. She had this way about her that was frighteningly attractive. The way she tried to hide in the background without realising how great her presence really was. The way she was so sure of her job and what she was doing, without ever worrying about what others might think.

  He had picked up a lot in the last few weeks working with her. They had the same sense of humour and he never once felt like he had to escape her company. CJ grabbed the soap and washed her callused and dirty hands. They were the hands of a hard worker, and Lindsay was surprised how much they interested him. They had a story to tell, not like the baby-soft, manicured hands of the girls his mother introduced him to from her church group. They were all too polite, talked around in circles, or about stuff he was not at all interested in. They were all the same.