by Peter Ness
Then Rich turned away, jumping into a waiting car with his mates. The occupants made hooting sounds. The driver beeped the horn, gave us the finger and drove off with squealing brakes.
Within seconds, a police car whizzed by with its siren blaring, whir whir whir whir, in hot pursuit. Art, the podgy policemen mentally counted all the traffic laws just breached: failing to use an indicator, failing to stop at a stop sign, and not giving way to oncoming traffic.
Tom watched with a grin, and then striding over to the EH Holden, climbed into the driver’s seat. The general clambered in the other side. Waiting for the opposite door to bang shut, Tom passed the food across to the general and slid the car into gear. It purred off slowly, in the same direction as the police car.
#
Meanwhile, in Sneaky Bay:
Small six year-old Amy Hani wandered down the track which followed the swampland behind the row of Sneaky Bay beach shacks sipping a bottle of soda. She sung to herself. A navy-colored cloth bag containing ice cream dangled loosely off her arm. Ahead of Amy, a white panel van stopped as that blonde Amanda Thomas girl threw her ice cream into the ditch angrily. Seagulls began circling overhead in the light breeze. And then the blue bikini girl peered back over her shoulder at the van. Then turning, ignoring it with a shrug, she hobbled over to her shack opened the door and went inside.
Several gulls now flapped down and began squawking, fighting over who had property rights to the ice cream cone. Eventually one grabbed it and hopped off, leaving the loser chirping loudly. The rest hovered in the light breeze, above the van. Several floated past peering into the back of the van; through the partially peeled back bubbly tinted window, they spied a puny young brown-haired girl bound hands and feet, tape duct covering her mouth. The birds squawked loudly, advertising it, flapping in the air as the van did a three-point turn. And then, it headed her way at a snail’s pace. The van puttered past Amy now heading towards the shops.
Charlie Henton buzzed past the white rusted van on his motorbike, Christie Ross clinging on behind him her long, curly, mousy hair blowing in the stiff breeze. She screamed in delight. Amy squinted towards the beach. Another bike sprayed up sand, revving and carrying on, laying donuts in the sand. That’d be her brother Brian, she guessed. The white van drove past. She heard it turn. Now it came back toward her squeaking up behind her now, following her. Then it stalled, and the door creaked open. Amy looked over her shoulder anxiously and began to run, tripping over, dropping the bottle of soda, and falling in the soft sand. Then the figure was upon her.
‘Oh! It’s you?’ Amy said, crawling to her feet.
#
Back in Locke’s café:
My eyes were diverted from reading now. Kirin leant over the table explaining the geology of the Telawopa area to Jesse and Ashton. He drew on a napkin and waved his hands about to give a running display of sea level rises and falls.
‘Siltstones form here — out at sea. Limestone forms in coral reefs closer to shore, with beach sands, and then lagoons, swamp, and lakes on shore. As the sea levels rise — in a transgressive sequence — the swamps are covered with sand as the beach moves inland and the reefs grow. Over time the peat capped by sandstone, limestone and then siltstone turns to coal. Yet, if the sea level falls — in a regressive sequence — the peat coals will sit above the sand, limestone and the siltstone. Us geologists use the order of the rocks to predict where coal beds or the oil and gas-rich sands should be,’ Kirin explained. As he spoke, I visualized a moving three-dimensional hologram that came to life in my mind, hanging suspended above the table. I’m sure others visualized the same image, but no-one mentioned it; we all appeared to see the same thing in our minds eye. If not, then why did everyone’s eyes glance down at the napkin then dance up wide-eyed at the empty space above the table, mesmerized by his words?
Moving one hand vertically Kirin signified to his intrigued audience that: ‘the upward movement of the peninsula horst blocks, due to normal and reverse faulting, caused salt estuaries and fresh water lakes to form tens of millions of years ago during a much warmer and wetter period. The plants in the estuaries were slowly buried bit by bit as the sea level rose. Geologists give that a fancy name called a marine transgression; the ocean transgresses over the land. The plants end as brown coal, covered with sand and limestone. Then as the land rose the area was uplifted and eroded to its present state. Just to make it sound more scientific and to confuse everyone, us geologists call that a marine regression; as the ocean levels fall the sea regresses making more land.’
‘Wow!’ Jesse’s eyes sparkled, as he pictured the moving images. He found this talk enthralling.
‘Is that why you’re here then mate?’ Ashton asked, quizzically, scratching his beard while taking loud slurps on a chocolate thick-shake. ‘For the coal?’
‘Blue-Sky Mining, sent us out here to assess whether their leases are worth pursuing,’ Kirin said. Jesse cocked his ears, listening intently.
‘We have calcrete and limestone hills all around our area,’ he said, excitedly. ‘And, there’s an old metal mine too. We own the lease to it.’
Behind me, Teresa began to shake uncontrollably, experiencing a weak epileptic fit. It looked like another seizure was coming on, so I spun around.
‘Teresa. Are you okay sis? Stay calm. Try to keep calm. That’s it, stay calm now. Jo. Move back,’ I said, pushing her out of the way, ‘Jo! Move back!’ I yelled.
‘Would you like a drink Teresa?’ Jo asked moving closer to Teresa, ignoring me. To her, I was just being a bully. If I continued Jo would scream wolf to Mom. She tried to pass her bottle of half-drunk Cola across to Teresa, thrusting it in her face. Teresa’s flailing hand almost knocked it flying. I caught it just in time, snatching it out of Jo’s small mitts.
‘No. Jo. You know she cannot eat or drink when she is having a seizure. Jo. Come over here. Jo. Move away. Now! You might get hurt,’ I said, yelling ‘Mom! Mom! Come quick!’
Kirin’s eyes flashed up at us, a concerned look forming on his face. He began rubbing profusely at his ear. Jesse checked Mother out as she rushed up the stairs. Fred shot her a concerned look.
‘What’s the matter, Hen?’ Mother asked, kneeling down at the top of the stairs. She often truncated my name.
‘Teresa’s having another epileptic fit,’ I raised my voice, pulling Jo out of Mom’s way.
‘Another one? That’s twice this week. My goodness, I hope she’s okay. Her heart is so weak these days,’ Mother replied, her eyes fogging up. She knelt down next to Teresa, who was shuddering and convulsing now. The customers were watching. She hoped this seizure would soon pass. ‘It’s okay,’ Mom yelled down at the customers.
Teresa’s blue eyes stared wide open into space inattentively, at nothing in particular. She suffered a lot of pain. I saw it in her wide staring eyes. They were screaming for help. Her head bounced around, and her arms and legs jerked vigorously. The episode became more intense. Teresa’s arms, legs and entire body began flailing and jerking from side to side as she moved uncontrollably back and forth.
‘Okay. Come on darling. Stay calm honey. That’s it. You can do it. You’ll be fine. Jo! Stand back! You might get hurt. Hen, take Jo downstairs. Go out the back and help Pops put the potatoes in the electric potato peeler — and wash your hands first. I’ll stay with Teresa.’ Mother then called down to Megan. ‘Megan! Megan!’
‘Yes. Jodi?’ Megan sat her cigarette in a customer’s ashtray. Her eyes darted around. No-one was watching. Closing the till, she slipped a five dollar bill into her pocket.
‘Can you ask Fran to cover for me for a few minutes?’ Mother asked, looking down from the top of the stairs. ‘She’s out the back.’ She pointed.
‘Yes. Jodi. Is Teresa okay?’ Megan asked, in an edgy voice. Did she see? Probably not—. Her thieving was safe. ‘Do you need anything luv?’ She dropped her pack of cigarettes and some notes into an apron pocket, stubbing her cigarette out in a counter ashtray reserved for customers
.
‘Yes. She’ll be fine thanks. No. I just need a few minutes. If you can get Fran to fill in for me that’d be great! Thanks Hon,’ Mother called out.
A few customers watched what was transpiring with interest, but most just went about their business. An enlarged woman with two teenage children walked in. The door bounced shut. Fran dashed out and began serving them.
‘Hi. Mrs. Henderson. How can I help you today?’ she asked.
Megan then gingerly took out a hot pie from the grill and handed it to her customer, a small dark-faced girl.
‘Here you are Lucy,’ she said, exchanging it for money. The Henderson boy’s mouth began salivating as the aroma leaked towards him. His mother promptly ordered three of the same. Now the clean and very well-dressed six-year old aboriginal girl with the dark curly hair walked out of the café holding the meat pie in one hand and an ice-cream in another. She held it to her nose. The aroma wet her lips.
‘So, you know her?’ asked Fred Thurman nodding towards the stairs at mother, eyes firmly affixed on Jesse.
‘When we were teenagers she was best friend with our sister Denny. They even went to America together,’ replied Jesse, my soon to be stepfather. He grinned, eyes attached to my mother.
‘Is that so —? And—, exactly when was that?’ Kirin cut in with a darting glance up the stairs. Raising his eyebrows now he planted both hands squarely on the table, playing with his wriggling thumbs.
‘I can’t be certain. Maybe twelve — thirteen years ago — three of them went — I’m not sure of the other girl’s name though,’ Jesse replied. ‘They all got married within months of coming back. Strange that. Can someone pass me the sugar?’
Fred slid it across. Kirin slowly rotated his head, looking back up the stairs at me.
To make a long story short, Jesse’s younger sister Denise — they called her Denny for short — formally introduced him to Mother at a square dance a few days later.
#
Pebble Beach, the next day:
The whitecaps crashed onto the pebble beach. A gale blew foam from the white sea-spray through the air, splattering it over the nearby rocks. The sea water churned, gurgling and then rushing up between boulders. Water sucked small pebbles and sand with it as it ebbed back out to sea. It rushed in again, lapping hungrily at the rocks as the tide came in, fast.
Arnold Truffle, the CIB officer in charge, stepped over the saturated rocks careful to avoid small intermittent puddles of sea water. He walked determinedly towards Art, the policeman sporting the large beer gut. Art waited patiently for Arnold to join him. He noted that Arnold was a fairly scrawny man, with short, unkempt, hair, which thinned out on the top. His black, unkempt, un-pressed suit, white shirt and a loose fitting black tie gave the appearance of having been slept in.
Adjusting his dark-rimmed glasses, Arnold stepped over a small, sharp, craggy rock making sure not to step in the pool of incoming foam of frothing sea water. Slightly distressed, his hand played with his gold wrist watch as he knelt down and looked at the face of the young four-year old girl dragging back and forth in the tidal eddies. His tired, strained face glanced around the body searching for even a trace of evidence.
‘It looks like Jerry has found another dead body. Over there!’ Art pointed, then looking down. ‘This one hasn’t been here long. Look at the bruises, at this cut and the blood.’
‘Yes. It certainly looks like murder,’ Arnold Truffle said, bending down over the first body.
Arnold’s eyes were now diverted towards the other CIB detective, thirty meters away. Waving his arm, Jerry Cox was beckoning. Standing up now, Arnold turned to Art.
‘I’ve known him for five years. He always wears the same darn suit, a tan 1970’s Dirty-Harry suede leather jacket, shirt and that hideously awful black tie. I wish he’d get creative and tie the darn thing up before he trips over it,’ Arnold said with a saddened grin, carefully stepping over the rocks towards where Jerry stood waving.
The wind lashed the tie into Jerry’s face, flipping the end over his shoulder. Squatting down on his brown leather pointed shoes now Jerry snapped a photograph with his Nikon camera. Then he stood up, took a pace backwards, taking another photo. A gust of wind blew Jerry’s mousy-colored hair over his forehead. Gold fillings in his front teeth glinted as he grimaced in horror. He felt gut sick, but hey someone had to do this job.
Art walked up behind, his beer gut wobbling from side to side like a sloshing balloon filled with water. He burped, pulling out a chocolate bar then biting a chunk off.
‘We need to get the parents to confirm it, but I’m pretty sure this is young Amy Hani,’ Jerry said. He dropped his head, wiping away an errant tear. ‘You know, — Ashton’s daughter.’ His emotions welled up inside and he strained, fighting, holding back his tears. This was a small tightly knit community, and he knew the girl and the family well.
‘Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. It looks like Ashton Hani’s daughter,’ Art confirmed, talking with his mouth half full. ‘She’s a dead ringer for him, square face and all.’
‘Do you have to? How can you eat—,’ Jerry looked nauseated. ‘Anyway, the tide’s coming in. We need to move the bodies,’ he added. ‘Where’s the coroner? Oh, there he is. He’s analyzing the other body as we speak. And—, where the hell’s our aboriginal tracker? Lance?’ He turned, jumping backwards. Lance Abbott stood right behind him. The dark wrinkled aboriginal rotated his blue, frayed cap to the side. Playing with the gold ring bouncing on its chain, Lance grunted, displaying a gap in his white teeth. He limped around the body, eyes darting around like flies.
‘I see no recent tracks, only ours, a fox with a bad paw, a pair of sleepy lizards and a mangy old buck kangaroo. They washed ashore mister,’ Lance said, pointing down at the girl. He played with his frayed blue cap. ‘Hey! I know her. That’s Amy Hani. She’s best friends with my daughter Lucy.’ He turned his head away saddened, his eyes glassing over. ‘Well. If you don’t need me anymore I’ll — I’ll just head back to the Crackatinnie Service Station.’ Lance sniffed, wiping a tear off his gnawed wrinkled face as he wandered off.
Arnold clambered towards the coroner, accidentally stepping in the water which was foaming up between the reef rocks.
‘Blast,’ he said, looking down at a wet sock and shaking the water off of his shoe. ‘So—, the serial killer strikes again! Art! Get that darn reporter out of here. Revierra! No! You can’t take any photos of the girl.’
#
The following week the Hani boys received their call ups for the Vietnam War.
Chapter 6: Teresa
Six months later. The moon Landing. In the Town we called a City: July 20th 1969
Before Gran died we lived in an old run-down stone cottage in the middle of the town we called a city.
I remember July 20th 1969, vividly, as if it were today. The three of us children woke, peed, ate and then flossed, in that order — all the time arguing incessantly. A fight broke out over the milk and corn flakes. That resolved, it moved on to the toast.
‘Who put vegemite and peanut paste on my toast? I want vegemite,’ Jo complained.
‘It is not vegemite. Smell it. It’s just burnt. Heni left it too long. Now its charcoal, dummy. Hey! Leave the other piece alone. Leave it alone! It’s mine,’ Teresa snapped.
‘No. I want vegemite toast! Give it to me. It’s mine!’ a much younger Jo screeched, biting Teresa sharply on the hand. Teresa wailed, jerking back on Jo’s hair. The vegemite toast flew through the air landing upside down on Teresa’s shoulder. She snatched it off and munched on it, holding it up just out of reach of Jo’s outstretched fingers. ‘Give it to me. I wanna have it. Its mine! Mommy! Help me!’
Laughing, taunting, Teresa took another bite of vegemite toast. Jo screamed and scratched maliciously at Teresa’s face, clawing at it for the toast. Now she sunk her razor sharp teeth into Teresa’s arm. Then, all hell broke loose with both girls screaming shrilly, biting and scratching.
“Enough
. Enough,’ Mom pulled them apart and broke the toast in half. ‘Here. You get this bit. This piece is yours. Hurry up, eat up and get dressed. Okidoki,’ she looked around. ‘And where on Earth is Heni?’
‘Cleaning my teeth Mom,’ I said, walking into the kitchen toothbrush in hand, a froth of toothpaste spread across my mouth.
‘Move it then Hen. You have some on your nose,’ Mother said, grabbing Jo’s arm just as it was going to strike Teresa on the side of the face. Dragging Jo away, she hurriedly helped her get dressed, tying up the belt. ‘If there’s a god in heaven—. Can’t you even put the socks on yourself?’ She wished the kids would learn to dress themselves.
Then Mom spied the dark vegemite smudge on Teresa’s shoulder and let out a high-pitched, ‘Agh!’ Shaking her head now, scowling, Mom bit down hard on her lip and held back a few profanities. The Grandfather clock on the lounge room wall ticked over. ‘It’s 8:16 a.m.. No time.’ She rushed to help Teresa change her dress.
A loud beep from the car horn was a reminder that we were running late.
Following a quick check of her own hair, Mom splashed some lipstick on in front of the large mirror. Yes, that would have to do. She could do it again at the café if needed. Then she eyed off her brown and white polka dot dress — most of her dresses were like this, just different colored material and dots — then looked across at me and grimaced.
‘Tuck your shirt in Heni. You still have toothpaste on your cheek.’
Pushing my shirt in roughly I wiped my cheek with my shirt sleeve, as Mom thrust past in a panic searching for her handbag. Jumping up and down waving it excitedly, Jo held it up above her head.
Meanwhile, our grey frizz-haired Gran (great granny) was wobbling ungainly on her frail legs wiping the dishes, trying to stay out of everyone’s way. With a quick peck on Gran’s wrinkled mole-infected cheek Mom snatched her handbag from Jo and hustled us out onto the verandah. I sat down on the stool by the door pulling on my school shoes. Then the door bounced shut behind us as we all rushed out to the Volkswagen.