by Peter Ness
‘Mom, why do Pops and Nana tolerate Megan? She pilfers money from the till,’ I asked. ‘Fran’s much better. She may be a real bitch, but at least she’s honest.’
‘Hen, button up! That’s not a polite thing to say,’ Mother replied with a scowl.
‘But, Megan does Mom. I see it all the time. She does, doesn’t she Jo?’ I insisted. Jo played with her doll so she never heard a word I said. I poked her in the ribs. ‘She does, doesn’t she Jo?’ I elbowed my now eight-year old sister Jo for a response.
‘Yes, she does,’ Jo agreed kicking at me. ‘Pass me a Marty Mouse comic, Heni.’
‘She does Mom. You heard Jo. You gotta believe us,’ I said.
‘Does what?’ Jo asked whimsically, looking up.
‘Just stop it Hen. Stop it! I don’t want to hear another word. Megan is my friend. And—, it’s not terribly nice to talk that way about people. You need to work on your diplomacy. What you say defines you. Not others! It’s not what people say but how they say it that causes all the problems on this Earth. Anyway, we’re all going to have a fun time. Aren’t we?’ Mother asked, changing the topic. She zipped her hand across her mouth and loosened her blouse to expose herself further.
Jo copied Mother.
‘And, no swearing,’ Mother added, raising her finger. I sat, in stunned silence.
The car slowly made its way down the bitumen road above the top of the cliffs in the direction of the pebble beach. Jesse then drove the car onto a dirt gravel road with lots of pot holes, towards a secluded inlet. We bounced around in the back seat of the green EH Holden as it vibrated and bounced over potholes down the bumpy road.
#
Jesse dropped out of school at age ten. A primary school education made life tough. His education started the day he left school and would end the day he died. Farming was in Jesse’s blood. His cattle brought top dollar at the local markets. His sheep topped the state wool board prices. His crops usually outperformed the neighbors. He treated animals far better than we treat some humans. And, as he constantly reminded us: ‘animals are just people who can’t talk.’ Plus, he had those two important characteristics that most people are lacking — ethics and empathy for others.
‘You feed and rest the land the same way you treat a horse. If you mistreat the horse, or run it too long, it becomes lame or ordinary and kicks or bites you back. If you treat it proper — then it’ll look after you in the end,’ Jesse said. ‘Animals are just people who cannot talk.’
Good advice. He knew a great deal about that topic. Jesse was, apparently, also good with his hands. At least that’s what Mother told her girlfriends, who promptly raised their eyebrows and giggled. Mother hurriedly looked away with a flushed face.
‘Jesse — can build, or fix, almost anything: houses, sheds, and engines,’ she explained to Megan and Fran. ‘He’s just so good with his hands.’
‘Yes, Jodi dear — so you keep telling us!’ Megan replied with a laugh.
‘If you knew what he can do with them—,’ Mother added innocently.
At this, they laughed hysterically, slapping their hands on their legs.
‘The hole you’re digging just keeps getting deeper Hon,’ Megan giggled.
Jesse created a new invention almost each week. None of them were either fancy or appealing but at least they worked: the important thing in those days.
#
Splat! A cockatoo bounced off the side of the front window of the EH Holden, just above Mother’s face. She winced, screwed up her face and moved to the right, leaning against Jesse’s shoulder. The overly fat bird slid off the car bonnet.
Fortunately, the car traveled at pedestrian pace. The bird was unhurt, and unfazed. Looking through the back window Jo and I watched the cockatoo roll to its feet, burp and stagger off while squawking at the driver to be more careful. It wandered off looking for some more alcoholic beverage in the form of grain.
‘Oops! Sorry about that. He seems okay, kids,’ said Jesse, a man of few words. ‘Cockatoos are just people that can’t talk.’
‘They can talk actually,’ I retorted.
‘Well, I—,’ Jesse clammed up, lost for words.
‘It looks like it just hurt his pride,’ Mother interjected. ‘I suppose they eat the grain, and then it is off for a drink of cool mineral water in the nearby creek. By the time they come back for seconds they are feathers for the plucking.’
‘Drunk as a skunk — as pissed as Gran when she died,’ I added.
Both Jesse and Mother were shocked. Their eyes met, but they said nothing.
‘Mom! Heni swore. He swore again.’ As usual, Jo dobbed me in. I swiped a kick at her and missed. ‘And, she never carcked it. She went to heaven. So there!’
‘You were sloshed out of your mind too, you little-biddy piss ant,’ I reminded Jo.
‘And, you — you were drunk as — a — a cockatoo,’ replied Jo angrily searching for the right insult.
‘How do you know? You were too busy vomiting and feeding your face,’ I snapped back sarcastically. Jesse fought off a smirk.
‘And—, you — you killed Teresa!’ Jo spat back viciously, gleefully, ‘Everyone says so.’ Tears formed in my eyes, dribbling down my cheeks. Lashing out angrily now, I kicked hard at her and missed.
‘Enough! Enough! No more, or you can both stay in the car,’ Mother said sternly. She sniffed, wiping tears as they welled up in her eyes. Jo nudged Mom on the shoulder from the back seat, trying to gain her attention.
‘Look Mom, Mom. The Galah just ahead of us looks like its drunk as well,’ Jo said, feeling no remorse, pointing. ‘Are we gonna go to the beach or not? I wanna catch some crabs,’ she shook Mom eagerly. ‘Mom, have you ever caught crabs before?’
‘Ah, no, not yet Pudding,’ Mother caught off guard, flashed a quick tear-filled grin across towards Jesse. He smiled, squeezing her hand. Mother’s other hand leapt to cover her mouth and her face flushed. She hid a hurried smirk, wiped her eyes, and deftly changed the subject.
‘Where’re we going?’ Mother asked, wondering why the car was slowing.
‘To the beach, okay. That’s it. We’re here now. This spot is as good as any,’ Jesse replied, pulling the creaking vehicle to the side of the road.
Jesse switched off the purring EH Holden, turned and glanced back at the small girl in the back seat. Climbing out of the car now, he promptly wiped the bird’s feathers off the windscreen. Returning, he opened the back door and picking up Jo, crossed the track and strode towards the beach. On the other side now, he stopped. Placing Jo onto the sand he turned scratching his head, frowning, wondering whether he had forgotten something important.
Left to fend for herself, Mother hurriedly slid her high heels on. Crossing the track ungainly and walking onto the fine white sand she took them off again. They dangled off her thumb.
‘It looks secluded, if we can avoid all the beach drunks,’ yelled Jesse, over the roar of the ocean.
‘I guess that brings new meaning to the words as drunk as a cockatoo,’ I said with a laugh, trailing a stick in the sand behind me. Jo giggled and laughed as well. Even Mother forced a wry, and yet sad smile, trying hard to avoid thinking of Teresa.
‘Maybe we can get a pet Cocky?’ Jo added. Her eyes glazed over at the thought.
Jesse smiled with a nod, eyeing Mother up and down as she crossed the track behind him. He wanted to ask her a question, but kept delaying it.
‘I don’t need a pet bird — I have one,’ he grunted under his breath.
She must have heard him as her face turned a bright pink, as if to say:
‘I heard that!’
As she came close, she deliberately fell towards him. Jesse clutched at her to stop her falling. Mother clung to his arm then switched topic, asking whether it was hot enough for grass snakes.
Jesse shook his head innocently, ‘I suppose so—,’ he answered her unasked question and then changed the subject, embarrassed. ‘The death adders hang out in the sand, so we had bette
r stick close together and on the beaten track kids.’
A stick caught Mom on the shin and tore a hole in her stockings. She hopped forward and Jesse reached down and picked her up. She stood up and leaning against him pried her high heels on once they moved onto firm ground, then shook her head and removed them again. What the heck! Her stockings were destroyed now anyway.
‘What a great topic.’ I poked Jo with a stick, nodding at the ladders in Mom’s stocking, ‘Snakes — and ladders — you know—?’
‘Snakes and adders—,’ Jo laughed. She poked me back as we walked between the gap in the sandy hills and around to the pebble beach.
Picking up a stone now Jo aimed at a seagull sitting on a rock. She hurled the stone all of two meters. The bird looked up at us, cawed and flapped away to the next rock, unharmed. Jo popped the six-million dollar question well before we made it to beach. Mother took a swig from a bottle of Cola she had just opened.
‘So, when are you gonna marry Mom?’ Jo asked Jesse.
Taken aback, he nodded in embarrassed.
‘Yes, Jo Long Legs. If she’ll have me,’ then, Jesse turned towards Mother. ‘Well—, we can ask her if you like? Shall we?’
Jo nodded with a big grin.
Caught by surprise, soft drink propelled from Mother’s mouth venting into the air. The mouth dropped open. She bounced backwards sharply to stop the spray overflow landing on her new, clean, ironed dress.
‘Oh! What a beautiful pebble beach,’ Mother replied. ‘Kids look. I can see some whales.’ She pointed.
‘Whales—? I wanna see them,’ screamed Jo, excitedly jumping up and down.
‘They look like dolphins to me,’ Jesse suggested kindly. Ignoring Mother’s non-reply, he lifted Jo up placing her onto his shoulder.
‘Take a look from up here Pumpkin. What do you think?’ Jesse asked.
‘But—, when?’ Mother asked, answering Jesse’s previous question.
‘They all look like sharks to me,’ I said.
‘I don’t think so! They’re not sharks — they’re dolphins,’ Jo said, and then added abruptly ‘what’s the difference?’
‘If they bite you then they’re probably sharks,’ Jesse tickled her.
‘Put me down. I wanna get down,’ Jo screamed excitedly, kicking, writhing free.
‘Do you wanna to find out?’ Jesse asked, tickling her again. She screamed, trying to escape. He let her go. ‘The fin is bent back, like this,’ Jesse made the shape with his hands. ‘So, they must be dolphins.’ That made sense to me.
‘Yes. You’re right. They are dolphins. Look they’re coming right in to the beach to meet us. Let us go and play with them Jo,’ I yelled, chasing after her excitedly.
By then, we had reached the stony beach. We clambered and crunched our way across the smooth surfaces of the pebbles. Jo waded into the shallow water, desperately hoping to touch the dolphins, but they had other plans. Snorting at Jo from a few meters out they left us, moving on towards the next beach cove.
Pulling an old fishing tackle out of a bucket I tossed both onto the rocks.
‘Come on Jo,’ I yelled, ‘Let’s go and catch some crabs. Bring your plastic bucket and trowel.’ Jo dragged a small bucket out of Jesse’s outstretched hand and clambering over the jutting rocks ran towards me, fumbling for the trowel as she ran. I waited patiently for her to catch up. Jo then sat down on a dry rocky outcropping, tossed her shoes and socks onto it and slipped on her tiny pink thongs.
It wasn’t a pebble beach at all. Rather, just a rock-strewn beach covered with reams of sea weed. Soon we were prodding and rolling the smooth rocks over, looking for crabs.
‘Look Heni, I found a crab,’ Jo held one up by the legs.
‘Watch out or it will—. Too late! Bite you—,’ I said. Jo yelped, dropping it.
Mother flashed a glance up at Jesse.
‘You never answered my question,’ he said, furrows forming in his forehead.
‘You never answered mine,’ her eyes danced like an excited child, her dress laughing as it flapped with gusts of wind.
‘Which was?’ Jesse reached over and took her hand.
‘When—?’ Mother asked, with a child-like giggle, pulling her hand away from him and clambering carefully over the rocks to see how many crabs we had caught.
The question out there, she had reeled Jesse in, hook, line and sinker. Our bucket and old fishing tackle floated against the rocks while the tide gradually ebbed in, until I spied them washing away and ran to retrieve them.
The shrill blood-curdling scream from Jo silenced the wind. My foot had landed on top of something soft and spongy. Looking down, I screamed as well in sheer panic, recoiling sharply backwards in horror. Eyes wide open and mouth ajar, I stood motionless pointing my shaking finger at the white frothing water. Mom and Jesse scurried over the rocks to us. I never saw the dead body of the young girl drifting into the rocks, until I stepped right onto her. As my eyes bounced off the dead body, Teresa’s dull glazed eyes looked back up at me. Her hand reached up and grabbed hard at my leg. Only it wasn’t Teresa, but some other young dead girl. The peninsula serial killer had struck again.
Not long afterwards, two CIB detectives wandered onto the pebble beach. Arnold Truffle knelt down next to the body while the other detective, Jerry Cox, wandered over and spoke with a pale-faced Jesse.
Mom sat on a rock, her eyes red from tears. Her arms clutched tightly at a trembling Jo who cried uncontrollably, still in shock. I stood further down flinging rocks into the frothing, foaming water as it rolled in, sniffing, tears dribbling down my cheeks.
The policeman with the huge beer-gut stomach, Art, wobbled down to the pebble beach with Lance Abbott in tow. Lance doubled as an aboriginal tracker when he wasn’t attending to his Crackatinnie service station. Slowly he hobbled around scouring the sand dune entrance to the beach, carefully and assiduously checking both the beach and rocky areas. He shook his head in the negative at Arnold.
‘They disposed of her at sea, like the others.’
‘They are always two.’ Arnold shrugged in resignation. ‘Let’s search the coastline for the other body.’
‘Over there boss,’ Lance pointed at a piece of white clothing flapping above a rock in the distance. ‘Over there.’
‘Where the hell is the coroner? Oh shit! It’s Jesus Revierra. The press’re here already.’ Arnold yelled. ‘Art! Stop feeding your face and go deal with it!’
‘No close-ups photos of the bodies Jesus,’ Art warned. Snap! Snap! ‘And, none of them either. I said—,’ he lifted his finger warningly. ‘We’ll give you a statement shortly.’
#
After a whirlwind romance, Mom and Jesse were married. In Australia people said that they ‘hitched up’ or ‘tied the knot’, whatever than means. But it sounded like Wild-west cattle branding lingo to me.
Three months later we moved to Jesse’s farm at Crackatinnie, Cassiopeia. I had just turned fourteen.
#
London: July 2012
‘Oo, yuk. There’s dead people’s everywhere. I’m not sure I wanna hear any more of this story,’ Peter moaned, ‘too many dead peoples.’
‘Hey! You two! What’re you doing up there? You can play later. It’s time to eat,’ their mother, Jo, yelled up the stairs.
‘Okay Mom. We’re coming,’ Andrea’s voice echoed down the stairs. She slid the dairy back into Heni Hani’s backpack.
‘I hope you aren’t reading Uncle Heni’s diary?’ Jo called, peering up from the base of the steps now.
‘No. Of course not! Why would you think such a thing!’ Andrea spat out indignantly, winking to Peter.
‘Just checking,’ Jo said. ‘Look. I’m sure it’s okay. But, you still need to leave it alone, at least until I clear it with him that it’s alright. If we read it together, I can at least invent an excuse.’
‘You will check with him though, won’t you?’ Andrea asked, hesitantly. The children both grinned wickedly and rushed down the stairs.
/> ‘Chop! Chop! You two,’ Jo clapped her hands to hurry them up. ‘Go wash your hands. And get a move on before the food gets cold.’ The children disappeared into the bathroom to wash their hands. ‘Peter! They’re still dirty. Get back in there and do it again! Andrea. See to it that he washes them properly this time!’
‘Peter!’ Andrea screamed. ‘Get back here! You can’t just wipe the dirt off onto the towel like that! Do it again! And, use soap this time. Wash them properly. And, you can wash that cheeky grin off your face too while you’re at it!’ She ruffled his hair and they both laughed.
#
Sometime later:
‘Hey Andrea, what’re you doing?’ Peter asked. The attic door squeaked, as he prodded it open and then walked into the room.
‘Oh. It’s just you. Shush down. Come in,’ Andrea replied, holding the diary up for him to see. ‘Look. I’m reading the book again. I’m not sure but it looks like Uncle Heni told Mom that it’s okay.’
‘Well, I can’t find Mom or Dad anywhere,’ Peter said in a sad voice.
‘Oh, Mom and Dad?’ Andrea said. ‘They just left for the shop and won’t be home until supper. Cheer up! Do you want to hear more? Okay. Jump up here and let’s see if this,’ she tapped at the diary, ‘can put a smile back on your face? Where did we get to last time—? Oh. Here. See, I marked the page with a yellow tab.’
Chapter 9: California, Death Valley
Some 18 months later, in California’s Death Valley: 25 April, 1973
Robin Grady, the UCLA professor, stood peering at the rocks. Imposing outcrops, layers of fossilized marine organisms, sat perched above 1.7 billion year-old high temperature and pressure metamorphosed rocks. He turned, wiping his brow, his eyes wandering across and then along the valley.
The simmering heat in Death Valley, or so it is said, is hot enough to fry an egg. Today was one such day. Robin retracted his hand off the scorching rocks. The heat was stifling, searing hot; so hot that when he sucked in air his lungs felt a burning sensation.