* * *
“Kinda work?” Shoomba was demanding. “I thought he wunt up to work?”
“Uh . . .! I don’ know. Have you seen my mum?”
Shoomba
What a gal that Tina is! Hubby’s got more shell-shocks ‘n a earthquake fulla oysters an’ her kid’s spooked like nobody’s business. But she keeps soldierin’ on! I give ‘er a lotta credit. Lotta support too, comes to that! Keepin’ an eye out for the boy, for one. Give ‘im the benefit o’ me wisdom. Boy needs a man to keep him on track, see. Boys an’ women both. An’ her ol’ man, as I say’s been about as useful as a fork in a soup factory. Ever since comin’ back from the war.
Not that I’m in their house offen enough to know but, like I said, I’ve took it on meself to keep an eye out for both of ‘em. For the good o’ the whole neighbourhood, really. Neighbourhood Management, ‘at’s what I call it.
Hughesy’s little woman, she says I shouldn’t be out there but far as I’m concerned she don’ know her arse from a pelican. Fine to be a Do-Gooder but if ye don’ know what good needs doin’, what’s the use’ve ye? Like why, f’r instance has that kid took to gettin’ out after dark? Ramblin’ about the neighbourhood with his little ‘Ghani mate from ‘round the back? Which is dangerous, innit? I mean, if they were older, I’d reckon it was shaggin’ shenanigans an’ say good on ‘em! But bein’ the age they are, I’d bet me hair piece they’re up to real mischief!
When I say ‘mischief’, what I mean is, for one thing, the little buggers’ve been playin’ about in the ol’ Lightnin’ Bug an’ for another they flogged an iron bar from under me house! Which didn’t have no particular value except that it’s mine, so there’s a principle involved, innit! An’ who knows what kids’ll do next when they start gettin’ away wi’ stuff like that, eh? Steal the dust off a bunny, ye give ‘em half a chance!
Little girl claims to be a ‘Ghani witch, ye know? An’ by God, she corners ye for long with them green eyes, you’ll well believe her!
I knew a girl once really was a witch. Owned a ferret. She’d talk to that ferret an’ that ferret’d run up her arm an’ whisper in her ear an’ she’d tell us what it said an’ it was stuff no ordinary kid should know about, I can tell you! End o’ time kinda stuff sometimes. Irma, we called her. Irma-geddon. World endin’ today, Irma-geddon? Don’t remember her real name. Had the same sorta eyes as the little ‘Ghani, ‘cept hers were black ‘cause she was Viet-manese. Had a lot o’ the Cong around in them days, after that war. Weird how things change but kinda don’t, all at the same time. Me, I reckon we all do our bit to hold things steady, the better off we all are.
Anyways, Neville (‘the Less’, I call him; poor sad little fart of a character) . . . he gets on wi’ the ‘Ghani like a house on fire, an’ more power to him, I s’pose. Might be just the ticket for throwin’ some good Australian values into her - an’ all the rest of her mob as well!
I’ve heard ol’ Neville, the ol’ fella, shoutin’ an’ carryin’ on in the night, sometimes. When I was on me patrols, like. Couldn’t tell for sure if he was targettin’ Tina or the Less or just the heebie-jeebies in his head. What I can’t get through to Hughesy’s little woman is, that’s why I pop through the trees an’ have a squiz in the window sometimes; jus’ to see he’s not doin’ neither of ‘em no harm, see? Part o’ me civic duty as Neighbourhood Watcher, as I see it. Anyways, fine lookin’ woman like that deserves a bit o’ watchin’ ‘f ye ask me.
Anyways, reason I’m talkin’ about her is, last night I’m out in the paper barks, listenin’ to the Flyin’ Foxes - that wop-wop sound o’ their wings ‘n’ all that crazy-woman screechin’ they do - I kinda like that. When suddenly, the whole neighbourhood starts comin’ apart! Stuff like what woulda made Irma-bloody-geddon light up like a Christmas tree - ferret an’ all!
First up, there’s this bangin’ on Tina’s door (which naturally tells me to creep a little closer) an’ it’s that snotty little Hayley sheila from Ass-bestos Central nex’ door, yellin’ about someone bein’ shot! That brother o’ hers, she reckons. An’ I’m none too surprised ‘cause any one o’ them Boogers’d shoot a fly off your finger, they’re so hot to kill stuff. So I listen a bit an’ I see Tina go off over that way to help an’ I’m just about to follow on across their yard - to see what’s what, like. ‘Cause I got me First Aid bandage ‘n’ all, though it’s a few years outta date.
But before I get outta the tree-shadows, out creeps this other little arrangement from Rahimi’s side. It’s flickin’ a torch beam around an’ I see it’s the witch, so I pull back ‘cause, for all I know, she could be callin’ in the ghostly horde, eh? Well she don’ see me but she don’t linger neither. Whoop! She’s straight around t’other side o’ the house, outta sight! Now I can’t be sure what she’s up to, but I start to reckon, like usual, it’s the Less she’s after; temptin’ him out for one o’ their night time preambles again! Which I’m satisfied to be thinkin’ to myself: ‘That’ll be yer last, young larrikins! ‘Cause I already got the wreckers comin’ tamorra to haul that ol’ wreck of a Lightnin’ Bug off to the tip!’
The kids don’ know that, o’ course, but that’s what I’m thinkin’; an’ I’m also thinkin’ that in’t the only surprise the little buggers‘re in for. ‘Cause in a coupla minutes, they’re about to run smack into the Neighbourhood Watcher! An’ sure enough, minute’re two later, out comes the Less. Carryin’ me iron bar, no less! An’ he’s off around t’other side where the witch went.
So I’m very cunning then, ‘cause I deke down the back fence line, through the banana palms an’ over to Hughesy’s corner so’s I can see what’s cookin’ without lettin’ on I’m there. I remember bein’ distracted by the sound of a night goose goin’ over an’ when I look back down, jus’ like that, the witch is there, right in the middle o’ the yard! Alone! Jus’ standin’ there, waitin’, torch off! And I reckon she’s prob’ly like, usin’ some kinda mind power thing or somethin’! Maybe talkin’ to that goose! Maybe gonna get it to shoot back an’ lay a gold egg on her shoulder!
It didn’t, o’ course but . . . an’ here’s where the nutso bit cuts in . . . all hell did start breakin’ loose! First, there’s this bangin’ starts up in Tina’s house. An’ I know the only one left in there is ol’ Neville, who’s s’posed to be coma-toast! But there’s this bangin’ an’ then there he is, up an’ runnin’! Out the back door an’ across the veranda! An’ the witch - like this is what she’s been waitin’ for - she winks the beam of her torch on him, jus’ for a sec’, an’ I nearly drop me bundle an’ make a run for it meself, he’s so wild. Down the steps! On the gallop! Never a pause! He snatches her up under an arm an’ he’s off around the house where the Less’s gone!
What the criminy? I says to meself.
An’ then, straightaway, there’s this almighty crashin’ an’ bangin’ in the shade house down there! Stuff bein’ broken! Kids shoutin’! An’ part of it’s this ‘Mohammed Ali’ gibberishy stuff an’ I’m thinkin’, Holy Bloody Dooley! Them kids really are possessed! An’ he’s killin’ ‘em! An’ I’m lookin’ around for a weapon I can use to go save ‘em ‘cause what’re ye gonna do bare handed against a trained killer? So what’m I findin’? Nothin’! Some chokos hangin’ over from Ass-bestos Central! But ye can’t go up against a trained killer with a bloody choko! A bit o’ the vine, I says to meself! Use it as a garrotte! Once knew a man useta garrotte drop bears up in the Warrumbungles! Ye can do it if ye take ‘em by surprise!
So I’m there, tryin’ to twist off or bite off a bit o’ bloody choko vine but they’re tough as nuts, see, an’ that’s when I realised . . . I need to put together a survival pack! If I’m gonna be facin’ a neighbourhood that’s comin’ amuck like this, I need supplies! Coupla knives, maybe. Bit o’ rope, (case I have to go up a tree). Big torch. Some apples. Stuff like that!
Anyways, I’m there tryna chew me way through the bloody choko vine but pretty soon I think it’s too late anyways. ‘Cause
it’s all gone quiet! Not totally quiet, but quiet enough. Just some cryin’ goin’ on an’ it’s kids so I figure, at least he hasn’t killed ‘em. In fact, for a bit I wonder if maybe it’s the other way ‘round! Maybe they killed him! With me iron bar!
I don’t mind tellin’ ye, I’m about piddlin’ in me boots by this time an’ mentally, I’m addin’ a walkie-talkie to me survival kit. ‘Cause if I had one, I’d be buzzin’ the missus and gettin’ her to set up a diversion o’ some sort. Set bloody Bill on fire or somethin’. Maybe even call the police!
(Actually, not that. Not when folks’ve already got problems enough. An’ which, the Missus prob’ly wouldn’ do anyways ‘cause she’s not sympathetic to me patrols. Even when I told her this mornin’ - ‘You coulda been raped an’ murdered in your bed, woman!’ I told her - ‘f I wasn’t watchin’! Maniacal bloody perverts o’ one persuasion or another, wanderin’ all over Hell’s half acre out there!’ An’ did I get so much as a thank you? No sir! Just asked me to pass the marmalade! Bloody woman!)
Anyways, long story short; I hear Tina leavin’ Ass-bestos Central, she gets to passin’ the shade house an’ ol’ Neville hisses out her name an’ next thing, they’re all under the house an’ whisperin’ an’ everybody’s cryin’. Naturally I creep down as close as I can, an’ you know what I think I’m hearin’? Bombs! Talk about bombs! An’ I’m reminded ol’ Neville’s got some trainin’ there so I mentally add maybe some kinda shield to my survival kit, in case I gotta disarm some bloody banger he’s cooked up.
I don’ know how long this goes on for. Don’ ask: I can’t tell ya! But after a bit there’s an ambulance shows up in the Boogers’ yard, for whichever one of ‘em is shot, I guess. An’ I gotta pull right back into the vegetation an’ lie down flat to stay outta everyone’s sight. So I’m there an’ after a bit the ambulance goes an’ eventually Tina comes out from under the house with the Less an’ it appears they’re takin’ the witch home. BUT, outta the banana palms pops Riff Rahimi! Which, who knows how long he’s been lurkin’ there?
( Actually it can’t o’ bin long, ye’d think, or he’d o’ come runnin’ to save his kid! Though who knows what t’expect from a ‘Ghani? I mean, foreigners got their ways, haven’t they? I mean to say, if their kid thinks it’s a witch, what ignorant sort o’ thinkin’ might be goin’ round the parents’ heads?)
(Which in’t to say there’s anything wrong with ‘em, o’ course! No sir! Fine people! Good people! Can’t blame foreigners for bein’ ignorant, bein’ born without our advantages ‘n’ all. Be good if all ‘at foreign baggage got confiscated at the border, though. ‘At’s my opinion. Like they say: When in Rome, do what the Pope does! Clue in, move on, catch up. ‘S a new country. Which is why, though I prob’ly shouldna, I couldn’ help meself makin’ a little foray into their yard after all the rest o’ this kerfuffle was over. I mean, if the Lightnin’ Bug’s gotta go, why should their little raft get a reprieve, eh? But there ye go. An’ anyways at’s a different story.)
So the final kicker las’ night is, (an’ this is right outta left field) while they’re handin’ over the witch, I see this other shadow come slitherin’ over Hughesy’s corner and it’s got this package in its hands an’ I can see it’s Hughesy himself! An’ he steps out an’ kinda coughs a little bit an’ shows a pistol! A pistol! Kee-rist on a cracker! Ye gotta respect a man who backs up his cough with a pistol!
Now, thinkin’ back, I don’t reckon the others actually saw Hughesy at all, ‘cause he backed away pretty quick an’ they were pretty involved with whatever story the witch was makin’ up. But o’ course, this mornin’ I’m thinkin’, what do I gotta add to my survival pack if the bloody religo’s’ve taken to carryin’ guns?
Naturally, I laid low ‘til the coast was clear. I was out at the crack o’ Doom this mornin’, though, to see the wreckers load up the Lightnin’ Bug. Tina come by an’ apologised: “In case you heard any uproar in the night,” she says. “We had a bit of a drama,” she says. Like maybe the popcorn’d gone off or somethin’ an’ not bloody eructations about bombs an’ all.
“No no!” says I. “Well maybe I heard a ambulance one point! Over at Booger’s was it?”
“Just the start of it,” she says and then she says she’s off over to Rahimi’s to “check on things” but I doubt she knows the half o’ what there is to be checkin’ on in this neighbourhood!
Someone’s under the house over there. I thought at first it’d be the Less an’ I was thinkin’ o’ goin’ over to squeeze his version o’ the story out’ve him. But then he come out from inside. So it’s ol’ Neville, the returned bomb specialist, under there. The Less says he’s “finishing some work”. ‘What kinda work?’ I says, an’ the kid clams up. I’m gonna go get started on me survival kit.
9. Interregnum
Yet another day went about its job of passing. At Boogerville, Hayley cruised out to her derelict bus, slipped inside and locked out the world, while Beau the Bum limped down to the green shield of the choko vine and did the same. They’d concocted an elaborate explanation for his foot wound - an ambitious tale involving the juggling of various sharply pointed objects - which the ambo’s had accepted with eye-rolling incredulity.
Sometimes lies are just necessary. For example, if the ambo’s had heard the word ‘gun’ - even if it was only ‘pellet gun’ - they’d’ve had to call the police, who’d’ve had to see requisite gun licenses, one of which no Boogervillean for generations past, would ever have deigned to acquire. There’d’ve been hell to pay. In the event the ambo’s had merely administered, along with a tetanus shot, a lecture on the need for proper footwear when juggling potentially piercing objects.
The lie, of course, would also have the added benefit of soothing the parents when they returned because, no matter how convinced they might be that a brother-sister squabble was at the heart of things, they would find strange comfort in the spectacle of even a sullen agreement between their off-spring. And that would surely make it easier, just this once, for them to overlook the presence of civil authorities on their property.
So. A quiet victory. But for Hayley, one tainted by weirdness. Sure, she’d had the pleasure of Beau’s surprised howl when she shot him. And sure, the plan to lure the Less’s mum out of the house so he and Afsoon could tend to their monster hunt had worked a treat. And sure, they (at least on Hayley’s side of the divide) had gotten away with it.
But there’d been creepinesses that required further thought! First, the whole of the Less’s family had flipped out and finished in a weeping huddle under their house! Even the old dude, who was supposed to be virtually catatonic. That was, to say the least, unexpected. Enough so to send her, after seeing the ambo’s off, creeping amongst the mossy butts of the bottlebrush; just to check the extent of the flippage.
A number of things.
First, from behind her chosen tree, she’d seen the Less, his mum and Afsoon emerge from under the house in a sniffling little cluster. So - no big surprise - the monster hunt hadn’t gone well. Secondly, while they were crossing the yard, she’d seen a sinister shadow materialize at the back fence. A large and significantly Hughes-ish form, climbing up and over, out of the chokos!! Her first thought was that he was secondary to the main event; just an old God-botherer caught out pinching chokos!
But then it occurred to her that he was going in the wrong direction! Into the Less’s yard instead of into his own, which clearly suggested an intent to spy on the distraught threesome! Which, to be fair, was exactly what she was doing herself though she was doing it out of concern, not nosiness, and had absolutely no intention of intervening. Hughesy, on the other hand, might well have it in mind to unload a heap of self-righteous disapproval, in which case her neutrality could no longer be guaranteed.
Her dander, in other words, was rising even as Hughsey stepped forward and uttered his plaintive little cough. The threesome were almost to the banana palms and were so involved in their own drama that they’d n
ot yet noticed him but Hayley was barely a millisecond away from moving to their defence. Then the third thing; Hughsey’s presentation of a pistol! A real pistol! A morality lecture, she could deflect, but a pistol? Maybe not!
Following immediately on that was the materialising of Riff Rahimi out of the palms. Happily his appearance (perhaps because of Riff’s not-so-distant experiences in a war zone) seemed to cause Hughesy to re-think whatever plan he’d had in mind and to melt unnoticed back into the shadows.
And the weirdest thing of all - the last thing - was the audible heart-stopping gasp that came not from any of the exposed and vulnerable people in the yard, but from a towering philodendron, only half a dozen metres off to Hayley’s right.
And so she’d allowed her dander to be overruled by curiosity. She’d waited. Waited until well after Riff and ‘Soon had disappeared through the palms; until well after the Less and his mum had fetched their returned soldier back upstairs; until well after Hughesy had slithered back into his own yard. A good half hour; shivering with the effort of stillness, aching with the need to pee. Pondering the improbabilities of life in this neighbourhood. Until finally the philodendron’s leaves had parted and yielded up the rotund figure of Dennis Shoomba.
In the new light of day, those were the three creepinesses that Hayley was puzzling over when her raging little brother, Beau the Bum, began to beat on her door.
* * *
Over the back fence, in the drab little kitchen of Cookie Camp, Mrs Hughes was seeking telephonic guidance from Pastor Paul.
Neville the Less Page 30