by Olga Masters
“Never!” said Hector.
Mrs Henry fanned her face with her hand worrying now about the condition of the corned beef in the hamper strapped to the back of the car.
The Went children by this had dropped down onto the verandah edge so they were as before but because of the hour they did not expect to see any more cars on their way to the sea.
They thrust their feet among the geraniums and caught the leaves between their toes and in a little while Isabel and Elsie the youngest Henry slipped down and sat on spaces left.
“Take off your shoes and do this,” said Katie.
“Don’t you!” said Mrs Henry. “We might be going any minute.”
Hector made a noise through his nose.
“Which way will we be goin’?” he said very loud for Mickey and Joe to hear. “We’ll be headin’ for home—walkin’.”
“I must say I like me Sundays at home too,” said Horrie careful to keep the end of his cigarette clear of his trouser knee.
The young Wents rustled the geraniums with a gentle whispering, slithering sound. They glanced at their father anticipating a reprimand but Horrie appeared to be smoking in utter content.
“What about dinner for us all, Bertha?” he said and Bertha put out a hand in time to stop herself from sinking onto a verandah bed.
“No, no,” said Mrs Henry. “Ours is in the hamper.”
“The butter will be running into everything,” said Mary the big Henry girl.
“We might get going any minute,” said Mrs Henry beating at the heat near her face.
“Weeks they spent on that damn thing,” said Hector. “Weeks and weeks and weeks.”
“We shoulda been grubbin’ or fencin’,” called Mickey who had stood for a moment and moved towards some shade. He drew a hand down the side of his face leaving a great grease streak. “He had to do a bit instead of sittin’ on a log yellin’ out his orders!”
Joe clamped the bonnet down.
“Now see what happens!” called Hector. “We all know what’ll happen!”
“Leave them alone,” said Mrs Henry. “The poor things in all the heat!”
Mickey and Joe stood a little away from the car not attempting to get in or gather up the tools.
Mrs Henry stood too.
“Will we all get in in case it goes?” she called.
The younger Henry girls jumped to the ground and ran and climbed in the back.
They arranged their features into a look of smugness just in case.
Mrs Henry left the verandah and halted in the gateway prepared to go forward or back depending on the action of the Buick.
“Come and see the crop of tomatoes I got down the back,” said Horrie to Hector getting up and slapping the dust from the seat of his pants.
The young Wents looked towards their mother in astonishment. The vegetable garden was all her work.
Hector stood slowly but did not move.
The big Henry girl with a show of dignity walked down the verandah steps and stood between her mother and the car displaying a shade more optimism than Mrs Henry.
As if there was no need for a verbal agreement Joe wrapped the tools in a piece of hessian and flung them on the floor in the front and got in behind the wheel and Mickey went behind and gripped the rack holding the hamper.
Mrs Henry and Mary got in squeezing their arms to their sides and their legs together trying to shrink themselves to a lighter weight.
They strained forward, those on the back seat pushing at the front seat until Joe angrily flung them off with his shoulders.
The Buick moved but it was due to Mickey stretched almost horizontal grunting and straining sliding on the gravel.
“Come and help, you old bastard!” called Joe to the verandah.
“See the way they talk to me,” said Hector sorrowfully to Horrie.
“Terrible, terrible,” said Horrie. He tried but didn’t succeed in being sorrowful too.
The Buick phut, phut, phutted then was silent, then phutted some more with a tinge of purpose. The phutting died away then started up again mixed with a roar. The Buick started to move hopped twice then charged forward and Mickey ran from behind, jumped on the running board and tore a door open nearly upsetting Joe’s driving by falling half on top of him. The Henrys in the back helped straighten him up.
Hector leapt to life as if shot and went through the gate with his navy blue suit coat flying behind him. Horrie jumped to the ground bypassing the steps and went after him.
The Went children rose from the verandah edge and watched the old car rock about and swoop to the right and left then straighten up and move not too fast and with a certain air of sedation with Hector running hard behind and Horrie running too and not quite keeping up.
The Wents on the verandah were speechless until a bend took the car and the pursuers out of their view.
Seven year old Tommy spoke first.
“Our Dad’s gone to the sea on a Sunday,” he said and there was a little sorrow, some amazement and a lot of reverence in his voice.
But while they stared at the road trying to digest this and wondering why it all looked so empty without the Henrys Horrie came around the bend trotting towards home as if he was a brumby broken away from the mob and aware of the best place to be after all.
He came through the gate looping the wire over the post.
“Gate swingin’ open as usual,” he said.
He looked up at Bertha.
“Must be our dinner time,” he said.
“Not too long, love,” said Bertha on the trot to the kitchen.
At the table Horrie helped himself to Bertha’s tomatoes, lettuce and shallots and she passed him the vinegar and bread. When he had eaten some he held his knife and fork and shook his head several times while everyone waited.
“It’s a wicked, wicked practice,” he said swooping on his food again.
“A fine man like Hector Henry,” he said, an emotional tremor in his voice. “Treated like that.”
Errol sitting by his mother looking up at her. “But our Dad nearly went to the sea on a Sunday, didn’t he Mum?” he said.
He was only five. No one paid much attention to him.
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