Hey Brother Page 21

  ‘Mine! You had last Saturday, ’member?’

  ‘Nah way. Not how I remember it. Maybe you’re losing it, Dad. Becoming forgetful. Might even be getting that Al Simmons thingy.’

  ‘Ah, quit yer stirring! Ain’t nothing wrong with my memory.’

  ‘Ain’t nothing wrong with mine either!’

  ‘Ah, well. Only one way to settle it then.’

  ‘Yeah, sweet. I ain’t getting up, but. We gotta play from where we are.’

  ‘Fair enough. Gotta call it straight away. No cheating.’

  ‘Yeah, for sure. We’ll count in together.’

  ‘Righto, let’s go!’

  I curled my hand into a fist, then together Dad and I yelled out from our rooms: ‘SCISSORS…PAPER…ROCK!’

  ‘Scissors!’ Dad yelled.

  ‘Pap…Rock!’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Rock. I said rock.’

  ‘That’s funny. Sounded for a sec there you were about to say paper.’

  ‘Nah, must be your hearing, old fella.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Righto then. Righto, I’m getting up. Enjoy yer extra time.’

  While Dad showered, gathered some breakfast and morning-tea supplies and loaded up the Landy with tools we needed for the morning’s fencing work, I lay in bed wrapped snugly in my doona, drifting in and out of sleep. When he fired up the Landy and honked the horn, I sprang out of bed, and quick as I could—so as not to get nipped by the freezing air that crept up through the gaps in the floorboards—I got out of my PJs and into my work gear.

  I headed out the door and across the front lawn, through a cloud of brightening mist.

  ‘Smoko?’

  ‘You can if you want.’ I lifted the crowbar and rammed it into the hole, breaking up the dirt into fist-sized chunks. ‘I’ll finish this hole and then join ya.’

  ‘Righto.’

  Dad took a seat in the camping chair next to the Landy, opened the esky and pulled out a sandwich.

  After I’d dug the hole I wandered up to join him. He’d finished eating and was sitting on his chair, legs stretched out, hands behind his head and gazing up to the sky.

  ‘Gonna snooze, are ya?’ I asked, unwrapping my sandwich.

  Dad yawned. ‘Mmm. Yeah, could do, mate. Could do.’

  I looked across the creek flats. We’d started fencing the creek line at the far end, up from the caravan, and were working our way down. At the rate we were going we’d reach and pass the caravan tomorrow morning, which meant next weekend we’d reach the swimming hole. Dad hadn’t said a word about it, but I knew, judging from the half-dozen times he’d gazed across the flats to the giant gum, that it was on his mind as much as it was mine.

  ‘I might go for a wander while I eat this.’

  ‘Righto, mate.’

  Before I set off I reached into the tray of the Landy and pulled out a tomahawk.

  It’d be a big job. The trunk of the old gum was close to a metre across, and over four metres around. Using the tomahawk I got started, carving and chopping a line across the front of the trunk that would eventually wrap round the whole thing. The line was half an inch deep, maybe two wide. My fingers soon got stiff, my wrist sore, but I kept on going. I was so focused on what I was doing I must’ve zoned out, because it wasn’t till Dad was right behind me that it registered he’d been calling me over and over.

  ‘Trysten! What the hell are ya doing?’

  ‘What does it look like? Ringbarking the fucken thing!’

  Dad stepped past me and ran his fingers along the line I’d cut and then looked up the trunk. ‘Ya ringbark this thing, and when she goes she’s going straight in that swimming hole.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So? So, that’s twenty or more ton of wood and leaves and branches stuck in yer hole! Won’t be no good for swimming in. Or fishing—just think of all the snags.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ I hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t thought of much other than the fact that I wanted the thing dead.

  Dad stepped to the other side of the trunk and looked up.

  ‘Ah, f—!’ His eyes shot to the ground. He drew breath in through his teeth, making the same seething noise he did when he trod on a prickle, or banged his thumb with a nail, the noise he made instead of saying fuck! because he could never quite get there with that one.

  I walked round to the other side of the tree and followed his gaze.

  The branch.

  The rope.

  It was still there. I’d been so busy scraping away I hadn’t even looked up.

  Dad nodded to the tomahawk. ‘Give us that, would ya.’ He tucked it into the back of his pants, removed his boots, then shimmied up the trunk and along the branch and chopped at the rope.

  The noosed rope fell onto the bank. I rushed over and snatched it off the ground, holding it away from my body as if it was an angry brown snake, and flung it into the air. It landed at the far edge of the swimming hole, floated on the still water for a moment, then was pulled along by the current over the small set of rapids, round the corner and out of sight.

  Dad stood beside the tree running his hand over the axe head, eyes moving between three points: the tomahawk, the line I’d started carving in the trunk, and the branch that the rope’d been hanging from.

  After moving between those three points half a dozen times, he settled on the branch.

  He tucked the tomahawk into the back of his pants. ‘Gonna need something bigger and sharper for this job than a blunt fucken tomahawk!’

  Old Greggy Boy wrapped his legs round the bough.

  ‘Right, start it up and then pass it to me. Nice and slow—don’t go revving it.’

  On the third pull of the starter cord the chainsaw fired up. While it was still sitting on the ground I flicked the chain brake off and pressed on the throttle—vvvvvvrr, vvvvvvrrrrr! The saw-toothed chain whirred round, becoming a spinning silver blur.

  ‘Fuck yeah!’

  ‘Oi!’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Finger slipped, hey.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, don’t let it slip when ya pass it up. Right?’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ I lifted the chainsaw. ‘You can count on me.’

  Once Dad had a firm grip on the saw he pushed his back against the trunk, leant over to his left and began to cut the bough that the rope’d been attached to.

  Vvvvvvrrrrr. Vvvvvvvrr. Vvvvvvvvvvvvvrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

  Red sawdust spewed from the tree and billowed towards me.

  ‘She’s going!’ Dad yelled.

  CRRRRREEEAAK.

  I took a few steps back. Good thing too, because as the bough tore from the tree—WHOOOOOOMP BOOOSH—slammed onto the creek bank, its leaves brushed against my face. If I hadn’t taken those steps back I’d’ve copped a whole lot worse.

  Dad climbed down from the tree and stood next to me.

  We stood and watched as the thick stumpy end of the branch followed the leafy head into the swimming hole, sinking into the murky green water. It took a few minutes for the hole to swallow it completely and it wasn’t until right at the end, when Dad said, ‘Good job, son,’ that I realised he had his arm round me and that he’d had it there the whole time.

  ‘Yeah.’ I smiled. ‘Good job, Dad.’

  Shaun looked back and forth between the two dress shirts laid out on his bed. One was khaki green, the other dark blue.

  ‘Hot date, hey?’

  ‘Yep, Sarah and I are gonna catch a movie. Mid-arvo session, so hopefully it won’t be packed. Some chick flick. Probably not a bad thing. At least it shouldn’t set me off.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Cool.’ Even after his time at the clinic, which had picked him up heaps, Shaun still needed to be wary of things. Violent movies. Loud noises. Crowds.

  ‘Which one do you think?’

  ‘Go the blue. How’s it going with her?’

  ‘Great.’ Shaun nodded. ‘Just great.’

  A couple of months after Shaun’d got back from the clinic, and then gone back to the barr
acks to have another meeting about the medical discharge he was going for, he said he needed some time out. Told Mum he was going into town for an arvo session at the bottom pub with the boys—just Jase and Acker now that Adam had hightailed it over to Big Town to shack up with Amy. Mum’d tried to talk him out of it, but Shaun promised to only have a few and to be back before dark. He stayed true to his promise, returning both sober and before dark, but he didn’t return alone. When he walked up to the shed a girl followed him. Tall. Long, long legs that stretched up, up, up. Flamingo, I’d thought, from Jade’s party. I was close—it wasn’t Vanessa, it was her older sister.

  Sarah returned the next weekend, and the one after that. Then she started coming over some weeknights after her shift at the hair salon. Mum took a shine to her. I don’t reckon it was just the free haircuts, either. Sarah was heaps nicer than Amy. But when Shaun’d mentioned he was thinking about following her up to the coast when she enrolled at uni next year to study nursing, Mum’d started going off her a bit.

  ‘So, you think you’re gonna move up to the coast with her?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ll see how we go over the next few months. I’d like to, though. She’s something special. Worth holding on to, or giving it a shot at least. Plus, six more months is about all I can stand in this fucken shed…They’ve got a support group up there, too. For ex-soldiers who’ve been injured. Physically, like Wolfy. Even, y’know…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Mentally, like me.’

  Two days ago Wolfy had come over and visited Shaun, just out of the blue. I’d heard a car heading up the driveway, so I strode down the steps and warily watched the shiny blue Falcon with tinted windows. Before I could demand that the driver name themselves the window rolled down and the face of a man about Uncle Trev’s age appeared. He wore a pair of T2 sunnies just like old Josie’s, which barely fitted round his big blockhead. A carpet of bristles covered his square jaw, spreading up to his cheekbones and right down to his neck. The only place that bristle didn’t grow was on the scar that ran from the side of his Adam’s apple right up to his ear.

  ‘Jeez, when I first saw him—Wolfy—I thought he was some crim looking for Uncle Trev. Y’know, to finally do him in or something.’

  ‘Ha! Yeah, that’s Wolfy. He’s always been rough-looking, even before the scar. Just appearances, though. Inside he’s soft as. Got a big heart. Talking to him on the phone over the past few months and catching up with him the other day has really helped to lift me.’

  ‘Yeah? How?’

  ‘He’s said a few things that have made me think a bit differently.’

  ‘Yeah? Like what?’

  ‘Says we’ve both been wounded, just in different ways. He reckons just ’cause no one can see my wounds, it doesn’t mean I don’t have ’em. He says the wounds like mine are ones inside, not like his big scar that’s “spoilt his handsome face”.’ Shaun chuckled. ‘From what he’s seen other brothers go through over the years, he reckons my type of wounds are the toughest to deal with, but ’cause I’m one of the toughest of the tough he believes I’ll get through. And more than anything that anyone else has said—the people at the clinic, or Mum or Dad, or the army psychs—hearing that from Wolfy gives me some hope.’

  ‘Jeez, Shaun, that’s great.’

  ‘He reckons this joint on the coast’ll be good for me. Help me to keep fighting that fight alongside other guys going through the same thing. Anyway, I’m gonna check it out at least. If it works out, I might even be able to help out there, like Wolfy does. I dunno, we’ll see. Even if I get my payout, I’m still gonna need to do something.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea.’

  Shaun looked back at the shirts. ‘Blue, you said?’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon.’

  ‘Right. Thanks, I’d better get ready then.’

  ‘Righto. Have fun!’ I headed out of the shed, signing off with Shaun in the way that we’d come to do ever since he got back from the clinic. ‘Take care of yerself, Big Bro.’

  ‘You too, Little Man. You too.’

  27

  ‘Morning, Mr Black.’

  ‘Morning, Josie. And what a fine morning it is indeed!’ She regarded my grin suspiciously, flung the door closed, clasped her gloved hands over the steering wheel—wide and weathered like the helm of a pirate ship—and ploughed us through the dense fog. ‘Fine? You call this fine?’

  I climbed the last step and stood in the aisle, holding the back of Josie’s seat for balance. ‘Well, Josie, way I see it is that even with that fog it’s still the finest morning of the year.’

  ‘What about the cold? Bruuuggghhh. I’m freezing!’

  ‘Josie, even with the cold it’s fine to me.’

  Josie hauled the wheel to the left, avoiding a huge pothole that she couldn’t possibly have seen coming with all the thick fog. Old Jose probably knew the road that well by now she could drive it blindfolded.

  ‘What?’ Josie raised her eyebrows. ‘Yer mum win big on the scratchies or something?’

  ‘Nup.’

  ‘Garn then, spit it out. What’s so special about…Aha! Don’t worry, I know, I know. Happy birthday. How old?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Josie took her eyes off the road and fixed them on me. ‘Really? Looking bigger than fifteen, I reckon.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I winked. ‘Funny, that’s what all the ladies say.’

  ‘Ha!’ Josie’s voice vibrated as we crawled over the bridge. ‘S-o, pre-sents. Ho-w’d we fa-re?’

  ‘Mu-m’s go-ing t-o ge-et me so-some-thing fr-om Big To-own to-day…’ My voice smoothed out as Josie eased the bus off the bridge and onto the road. ‘And Shaun gave us a punching bag and some gloves. Reckons the more I hit that, the less I might hit things, or other people. Doubt it, I told him, I’ll just use it for practising! And, well, as for my mates, like this one coming up…’ I pointed out the front window to a hooded figure who stood in the mist on the side of the road. ‘Word is they’ve got something planned for me too. Something special.’

  ‘Good.’ Josie pulled up in front of Ricky, who was squashing a durry-butt under his boot and waving his hands frantically to clear the smoke away. ‘Long as what they’ve got planned doesn’t involve any trouble.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Nah! Sure it’ll just involve good wholesome fun.’

  Ricky climbed on, eyes downcast, avoiding Josie’s piercing gaze. As he moved onto the top step Josie sniffed the air sharply.

  ‘Hey, brother.’ Ricky placed his hand on my backpack and started pushing me up the aisle. ‘Ain’t it funny…’ He glanced over his shoulder at Josie, speaking loud enough for her to hear. ‘Ain’t it funny how in winter when you blow out air the steam looks like puffs of durry smoke.’

  ‘Oh, c’mon, Ricky!’ Josie called behind us. ‘What line are we gonna have tomorrow? That the fog smells like it?’

  Ricky shoved me into the seat, plopped down next to me and then peered out from under his hood into the rear-view mirror.

  Josie glared back at him. ‘Listen. Ya want to smoke, that’s yer own business. Walk on smelling like that wacky baccy, though, and after I drop ya at school I’ll be marching straight into the headmaster’s office to have a word with him. Got it?’

  ‘Alright, Jose,’ Ricky called out. ‘Sure thing.’ He turned to me. ‘That ol’ Jose, she ain’t half bad. Hey, brother?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s alright.’

  ‘Ah shit, I almost forgot.’ Ricky rolled his shoulders, then cracked his knuckles. ‘Fifteen, yep?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Righto then. Where you want ’em? The arm?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I twisted my body, showing him my shoulder. He punched my arm.

  ‘One!’

  He punched again.

  ‘Two!’

  He put more behind each blow, and by punch ten I knew if he kept it up I’d end up with a dead arm. But he eased up, getting lighter and lighter with each punch, so the last few were light jabs.

  ‘Fifteen! Right then
.’ Ricky stuck his hand in the front pocket of his bag and when he pulled it out it was in a fist shape again. Holding something. He dropped the something, which was small and light, onto my lap. ‘Your present!’

  I looked from the square black and white package to Ricky. ‘Two-minute noodle seasoning? What? If this is a joke I don’t get it!’

  ‘Ah, fuck. Truly, brother? Truly? Look again, would ya?’

  I looked down, this time reading the words on the wrapper.

  Latex Condom.

  I snatched it up and as I was shoving it into my back pocket the oldest of the Eggins boys, Timothy—this peaky, puny fella who looked like an underfed chook—swung into the seat opposite us, looking at me as he did.

  Ricky glared at him. ‘Whatcha-looking-at? HUH?’

  ‘Nothin’.’ Timothy’s beady chook-eyes darted to the floor.

  ‘Damn straight nothin’!’ Ricky huffed.

  Chook Boy slumped in his seat, arched his shoulders and withdrew into his oversized jumper.

  ‘Oi.’ I elbowed Ricky. ‘Leave him alone. He’s alright, hey.’

  Chook Boy popped his head up out of his jumper, shot me a look of thanks, and peered out the window to the foggy paddocks.

  ‘So,’ said Ricky. ‘Reckon you’ll be right to find your way?’

  ‘Aw, seriously, Ricky. I don’t know if I can stand hearing another of your blow-by-blow accounts of doing the deed.’

  ‘Nah, not that, ya fucken perv! I meant finding your way to Jessica’s house.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Um, can you tell us again?’

  Ricky and Jade were now both experts on the river that snaked its way through Small Town. Since the start of the year, at least once a week after Josie dropped us at the front gates, they’d cross the road, duck down the lane, cut through the bottom park, skirt the edge of the soccer field, scramble through some cow paddocks (Watch that bull, Trysten, the coppery one, he’s mad. Fucken mad!) and then, finally, after climbing through a rusty barbed wire fence, would find themselves down by the river where they were free to roam and do as they wished. They’d wander up and down along the banks (at least one k up, Ricky reckoned, and two downstream) stopping to swim, smoke, sometimes drink, always pash and (Finally, said Ricky, finally!) after a few visits to find the right spot, to do the deed. Ricky had suggested that I take Becky Ellis down—a girl with small boobs but long legs, crooked teeth but a big bright smile, known for pashing any boy who was up for it—but I wasn’t interested. I still wanted Jessica and wasn’t giving up on her anytime soon.