by Peter Ness
‘Know what?’ Amanda smiled, raising her eyebrows. She ruffled her sandy-blonde hair.
‘Well. It, it has walls, windows and a roof—, so it should be completed soon. We’ve already moved in, actually,’ I looked at the ground, kicking at it, embarrassed.
‘Don’t call me Ashley,’ Amanda joked, elbowing me gently.
‘Actually we—.’
‘I said not to call me Ashley—,’ Amanda laughed and poked me in the ribs. ‘That was a joke! You do know what a joke is, don’t you, Heni Hani?’
‘Yes. Of course,’ I replied with a perplexed frown, watching her father lope over to the snake. After confirming that it was, indeed, just a baby python, he dropped the shovel onto the sand drift. Reaching down, Bill reached out one-handed, picking the snake up gently, talking to it as if it were a small child. It seemed to enjoy the attention and wrapped itself around his hand, smiling with its shiny eyes. He carried the snake into the nearby bushes, unwound it, placing it gently onto the ground.
‘There you go buddy,’ Bill said, stepping backwards and picking up the shovel. ‘God bless you. Go on now scram, before anyone else tries to harm you.’
The snake, deciding that now was not the best time for bravery and valor slithered hurriedly into a nearby creek. The left side of the road was low bush: Mallee, Wattle, and Eucalyptus gum country. Rows of impenetrable trees delineated the paddocks on both sides of the road. A glint, the reflection of the Henton’s white shearing shed, shone fleetingly through the trees.
A small female grey kangaroo sat up from its slumber below a nearby tree, behind a large boulder. The small snake slithered past. Panicking nervously, her joey jumped head-first into the safety of its mother’s pouch, with its back legs sticking out. A passing crow showed a more hostile interest in the small python.
‘Hey, what’s this morsel?’ it squawked. ‘Food? We have food.’
‘I’d leave it alone if I were you,’ spat a goanna from a nearby rock.
The bird began hopping after the writhing, meandering snake, which slithered over some rocks and was soon gone. Squawking, the bird flapped off with hunger pains.
Mr. Thomas picked up Jo’s bike ready to place it on the back of the vehicle.
‘Jump in. We’ll give you a ride,’ he said, stopping, bike raised in the air.
‘I don’t think so. Mom says not to take rides from strangers,’ Jo said sternly, as a warning. ‘We’re gonna ride our bikes home. Thanks for your help. You can be on your way now,’ she flicked her hand dismissively.
‘Well,’ Bill placed the bike back down and scratched his chin. ‘Technically, your Mother is right. But your groceries are in the back,’ Bill said, pointing with his free hand. I glanced over the tray top. Several boxes of vegetables had Hani, written on the top and side in black felt pen.
Brian climbed up on the tail bar, peering into the back of the tray.
‘We need to check first,’ Jo said with an air of arrogance. Brian read the label on the boxes while Bill lifted the bike up again, waiting for confirmation.
‘Yes. They’re both yours,’ Brian said. Jo climbed up to check for herself.
‘J.K. & J.J. Hani. Yep, that’s our name. It’s okay then. But—,’ she pointed a terse finger at Mr. Thomas. ‘But—,’ the tone of her voice immediately switched, becoming a soft and gentle lamb. ‘Anyway, we accept your kind gentlemanly offer, Sir. Cross your fingers and hope to die?’
‘Jo! Brian! What’re you doing? They’re our neighbors. Amanda is in my class at school!’ I said helplessly, in an exasperated voice, slapping at my leg in annoyance. ‘You both know that.’
Amanda stood next to me. She pushed her elbow against me gently with a broad grin.
‘Cross my fingers and hope to die?’ Bill Thomas repeated, rather bemused. ‘Anyway, that’s enough of the flattery. Do you want a ride, or don’t you? If so, get in. If not—,’ he nodded towards the road.
There being no dissent, Bill placed Jo’s bike on the back neatly. He took mine and heaved it on top of her bike. We stood in a semi-circle as Bill attached Brian’s bike to the front bull bar, and then we all clambered aboard. Jo jumped in the front seat, whilst Brian and I jumped on the tray-top back. I sat down by the back of the driver’s side window. He slumped down on a bag of wheat. Mr. Thomas climbed in, started the Land Rover, grated it into gear and glanced across at Jo expectantly.
‘Which way—?’ he asked, with a jovial glint in his eyes.
‘Which way—? Follow the yellow brick road, of course,’ laughed Jo, ‘The one paved with golden sand.’ She pointed at the golden-yellow sand swept across the road, covering the calcrete. ‘Marco Polo said that the road to the Japanese emperor’s palace was lined with gold. Well, so is the road to our house.’ True. The sand reflected a golden-yellow hue in the late afternoon sun. Bill Thomas laughed as the Land Rover rolled forward, the tires gripping the loose sand.
‘Brian. How’s your Mother?’ he yelled through the open back window.
‘Aunt Rosa must be okay because she is still gossiping, Mr. Thomas,’ I yelled back with my face near the opening.
‘Yes. Hey, look out!’ Brian cried. He ducked a branch flicking menacingly towards his face, only to cop a smack from it on the raw arm. He rubbed it gingerly.
‘Until Rosa dies or someone sows up her mouth, I’m sure. My wife’s the same, I can testify to that,’ replied Mr. Thomas. We all laughed. He grated the vehicle into the next gear. No one spoke for a while.
‘Do you have any interesting news?’ he asked, turning to Jo and breaking the fragile silence. ‘Did anyone get killed, robbed, or beaten up at school this week?’
‘Just Brian. He got the cuts with the bamboo cane for fighting with Charlie Henton, — again,’ replied Jo, as if it were a regular event. ‘Heni reckons Brian is in a deep sea of cow dung, but Uncle Ashton is surely gonna be proud of him.’
‘Yes. I heard about that,’ Bill Thomas laughed lightly.
The Thomas’s owned two Land Rovers. This was the tray-back. Sitting on the back Brian played with a stick, scowling. Rubbing the still red welt on his palm he winced. The sharp crack of the slashing, searing pain of the cane crashing down once more, burning the hand like fire was overshadowed by the humiliation spewed out in sympathy from his classmates. ‘Agh,’ we all winced with him. ‘That musta hurt.’
‘Mr. Thomas—, did you hear about the man who lives on the hill near the cemetery? The man we call Jesus. He lives near the Jesus statue,’ Jo asked.
‘A man called Jesus?’ Bill sounded perplexed. ‘Now that sounds a lot like a religious story,’ placing his hand on the bible he kept on the dashboard as if to make a point. ‘Anyway, you have my ear. Tell me all about him.’ They continued their gossip.
Now, I wondered to myself just who the gossips truly were. I sat staring at Amanda through the open back window, mouth half open. The glass was missing. Brian followed my gaze.
‘I saw you playing footsies under the table with her in class,’ Brian taunted with a toothless grin. ‘Everyone did.’ I kicked at him maliciously and hit my ankle on a bike frame. It hurt, so I retracted it.
‘We did not!’ I replied and poked out my tongue at him, rubbing at my ankle.
‘You did too!’ Brian replied, doing the same thing back. Amanda, glancing back at us through the window frowning. Responding with a light laugh, she then played with the curls at the ends of her hair.
The vehicle bounced around, vibrating and clattering over potholes dug into the calcrete.
‘Hold on kids. While I put the vehicle back — into —’ clunk! ‘Into 4WD.’ Bill Thomas changed gears and the wheels grabbed, dragging, in the sand. ‘Oops! Sorry about that. Here is another pothole, coming up — oops!’
The bikes bounced, crashing around in the back. My school books slid out of one of the bags, spewing forth. Traveling at no more than walking pace, the chance that the books would fly out of the back was minimal. Brian scooped them up anyway and hurriedly replaced them.
&nb
sp; ‘Thanks,’ I said, watching a biology textbook start to slide out again.
‘Hold on in the back, here’s another large pot hole coming up. Oops! Look out!’ Mr. Thomas yelled over his shoulder into the open window. Bang! Shudder! Crash! We held on for dear life as the bikes jumped into the air and came crashing down. Brian bounced high into the air and landed with a thump back onto the large bag of wheat. I fell over sideways, my head smashing hard against the back of the metal cabin. As I tried to right myself, the teeth gritted from the dull throb and a red bruise developed on my forehead. I sat up, feeling dizzy and nauseous. Bang! Clunk!
‘Got it. Good shot Mr. Thomas,’ cried Jo excitedly. ‘Do it again,’ she urged.
‘Yes. How’s that for two points?’ Mr. Thomas took one hand off the steering wheel and clapped hands with Jo. Amanda scowled at them, her head swinging around. Our eyes met. She flashed me a cheeky smile. I grinned back weakly, rubbing the side of my head, wondering what thought was flashing through her brain. She must be recollecting my awkward and unwieldy basketball throw at school.
#
The basketball bounced off the rim of the vibrating net, crashing back off the ground, slamming into and rearranging the side of Raymond Henton’s face, his head bouncing back. Grabbing the ball on its rebound I rotated, did a one-hand lay-up and tossed it into the loop. A lanky and rather annoyed Raymond crawled up off the ground on all fours in half a daze. He shook his long brown hair into place, glaring at me once he recovered his senses.
‘How’s that for two points?’ Amanda screamed out in ecstasy, with everyone in my team laying a hang five and giving me a healthy slap on the back. Catching a faint green flash of excitement from the pendant I hurriedly slid it below my T-shirt. My pendant — the one I found by the haystack — seemed to be smiling. Now that was sweet payback; for Raymond’s elbow in my face, his knee to my groin and for tripping Amanda over earlier.
Thomas Henderson dragged the seething and swearing Raymond up from off the court. Thomas is the tall one wearing the mousy colored short-back and sides hair-cut. Raymond, the lanky one with the slightly longer mousy brown hair, started to abuse me now. Brian intervened, thrusting him back onto the ground. Boys will be boys. One thing led to another; Brian and a ginger-haired brawny Charlie Henton began pushing and shoving each other, landing in a pile on the floor. Brian ended up on top, landing several blows to Charlie’s writhing torso. Then our smooth-headed African-American principal intervened, trying to extricate the two bodies off the floor, dodging a punch or two.
Slap!
Brian’s open hand, meant for Charlie, caught Principal Skinner on the side of the face. And, that’s why Brian now had welts on his hand and a sickly wince on his face.
#
My head followed Amanda’s gaze. Brian held his hand and looking down at it, the wince merged to a dimpled grin which grew from ear to ear, as he now savored the memory.
Clunk! Bang! Rattle! Brian grabbed at the backboard and his knuckles turned white.
‘We’re drilling a new water bore,’ stated Jo enthusiastically, grabbing onto Amanda’s leg to steady herself. The vehicle bounced sharply into another pot hole. ‘Pops says he’ll teach us how to divine for water.’
‘Wow! Maybe he can teach me as well?’ replied Mr. Thomas.
‘Mr. Kirin is coming to take a look as well,’ Jo added.
‘Mr. Key Ring—? Who the heck is he?’ Bill Thomas asked, raising his eyebrows.
‘That’s Mr. Kirin.’ Jo corrected him loudly. ‘He’s a world famous geologist from America. He’s from a place in the US of A, called Nevada. And—, his ranch’s called Area 51, that’s a place where the cattle are fat. No-one except the cattle ever go there cause it’s real dry, like a desert. A bit like here, just not as wet.’
‘A cattle ranch called Area 51? It could only happen in America,’ Bill Thomas replied, bemused. I leant forward with my head in the back window.
‘Actually, he’s from California — you know, and — he told me that he lives in LA,’ I yelled back. ‘And—, everyone knows the aliens live in Area 54 anyway,’ I then explained, mostly to Brian, as the vibrations dragged my head further and further from the window. Those in the front seat likely never heard. Amanda may have. She laughed.
‘So, is this guy an alien or a geologist?’ Brian asked, kicking me with a grin.
‘No. He’s from Nevada. I’m certain,’ yelled Jo back. ‘Don’t believe Heni. He lies and swears a lot,’ Jo told Mr. Thomas glaring, her red hot poker eyes scorching me. ‘Heni, you are that swear word you pig-faced poo poo bum bum.’ Then she poked out her tongue. Bill laughed lightly, wondering if Jo was always this feisty.
I shook my head at Jo and started to chat with Brian about boy trivia, like whose rock would hit the next fence post. Just in case you never knew the rule or I never told you before, all fourteen to sixteen year-old boys carry a few stones in their pockets for that specific purpose. I rummaged in my pocket to check; a pocket knife, Oh! I still had some chewing gum. And, holding my palm open I counted them: three, four, no five pebbles. Brian abruptly snatched two from me.
‘You should come and play with my youngest daughter Patsy some time. Patsy is about your age. She goes to primary school at Telawopa,’ Bill Thomas said to Jo.
‘Okidoki. I will then. Anyway, Mr. Kirin says that we only need to drill to ten to fifteen meters and we’ll strike water in the limestone for sure,’ Jo explained.
‘Is that a fact missy? Wow! You certainly do have a head for detail. Maybe I need to meet this Key Ring fella for myself,’ Bill said.
‘Mr. Kirin?’ Jo corrected.
‘Maybe he’s qualified to discuss some other issues,’ Bill pondered aloud.
‘What other issues?’ Jo asked inquisitively, eager to find out more.
‘Oh. Just a few mutilated cows, that’s all,’ he replied with a worried look.
‘Mutlatin cows—?’ Jo asked excitedly. ‘It must be our cousins from the dumb side of the family tree — the Henton brothers. I heard that they go around mutlatin cows and all. If you ask Brian, he’ll beat up on them for you. He will for me, anyways.’
‘No. I don’t think we need Brian to start a tribal war,’ he replied. ‘You sure are going to be the local gossip.’ That was an interesting comment, coming from an expert.
‘Yes. Jo never shuts up and she can never keep a secret,’ I said to Brian rather loudly. I am not sure whether Jo heard, but she seemed to respond with a scowl.
‘Hey!’ Mr. Thomas nudged Jo. ‘Did I tell you about the story of Min Min?’
‘No. But please do. Please, please tell us,’ Jo pleaded with him. Amanda groaned, the whites of her eyes rolling, winding her side window down.
‘Well, you shouldn’t go out late at night by yourself in these parts. Back years ago — in the dream time — when the aboriginals ruled this land. That’s long before white men were even invented—. There once was a dingo, I’m not sure of his name. Let’s call him George. He had a girlfriend who was a goanna, called Min Min—,’ Bill said.
‘Ha! What was she was goanna do?’ I quipped in. Brian and I both laughed loudly at my joke and threw stones at the next fence post. We both missed.
‘His girlfriend was a goanna called Min Min,’ Bill explained, yelling loudly, glancing back to see if we had heard or not. I nodded. Brian yawned, bored.
‘Okidoki, go on then. I wanna hear more,’ Jo said encouragingly.
‘Well, George was a bit of a playboy and one dark day in the middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight. Back to back they faced each other. Drew their boomerangs and speared each other. One was blind and could not see; the other as thick as a ghost gum tree. A blind man came to watch them play. A priest came too but not to pray. A deaf Red-neck also heard the noise. He rode past and shot those boys. A one legged dingo walking by, kicked the Red-neck in the eye. That sent him flying like a rubber ball, into a dry rocky creek — which drowned them all. If you don't believe this story’s true. Ask the bl
ind man, he saw it too!’ Bill glanced at Jo, laughing. ‘Sorry, that’s my favorite.’
‘Ha! Ha!’ Jo said to Mr. Thomas, who was trying hard to ignore Amanda’s glare. ‘That is clever.’
‘Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well,’ Bill added.
‘You just misquoted Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Dad. It should be: “Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him,”’ Amanda said, glancing out of the back window towards me.
‘So what? My take on it is better,’ he replied jovially, winking, elbowing Jo.
‘Come on. Tell us the Min Min story Mr. Thomas,’ Jo pleaded. ‘I wanna hear it.’
Bill Thomas decided to dress the Min Min story up a bit.
‘Well, George was a bit of a playboy. He liked holding hands with all the girls. Min Min sometimes got a bit jealous. It was a warm moonlit night. The stars were out in force. It was dark except for the warm glow of the campfire near the opening to the cave in which they lived, near the magical tropical forest waterfall where all the pixies and elves resided. It was so quiet Min Min could hear herself think.’ This was no aboriginal legend. Bill invented it as he went along.
‘Anyway, Min Min felt parched so she wandered over to the watering hole to quench her thirst. In her reflection, she spied her boyfriend George kissing and, —and, holding hands with another girl. Yes, and—, the other girl was not anywhere near as cute as she. Her hair was unkempt and she even picked her nose. So, of course Min Min was so filled with grief seeing the other girl holding hands with George that she ran away crying in the dark. Min Min vowed never to return, ever. She ran so far that she became completely and utterly lost. By that stage, the light from the campfire had long died out, so she could no longer find her way home. So for eons — months and months — years and years — millennia — now that is a long time, she wandered alone in the dark, all by herself. And, she never even had a photo of her boyfriend to remember him by. She never even had a map, a car, or access to a phone.’
‘Okay Dad, We get the picture,’ Amanda sighed.
‘When George found out he was so upset, he cried for weeks, filling the whole Murray basin and an inland sea full of water. And, then George spent the rest of his life searching for her, under rocks, in caves, behind boulders, in cattle troughs. He even checked out the road kill. Once, in anger and frustration at not being able to find her he tossed a large stone over his shoulder, creating Ayers Rock — Uluru. And—, each night George gets up after dark looking for her crying “Min Min, where are you?”