Black Angels???Red Blood (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

The city hadn't changed all that much, Tim thought, as he entered Eveleigh Street. The train ride had been slow and the first thing he wanted to do was to go to the pub for a drink, but he resisted the temptation and instead went straight to his cousin Charlie's house. Charlie was an old friend. They had been raised in the boxing ring together. Their days on the streets of Sydney had created a solid bond between them. And they both disliked intensely Bobby “Minna” Manson, a member of the New South Wales Land Council who they believed was corrupt. It was a long time since Tim had spoken with somebody whose interests lay in the same direction. He was even more happy when Charlie asked him to roll a joint.

The two men relaxed and as usual became silent. Charlie finally spoke. “I have to go and see Dallas over in Surry Hills. Do you want to come?”

“No, I'll visit some people. What time are you gonna be back?”

“In about two hours.”

“I'll come back and pick up my gear then.”

“You may as well stay here, Tim,” Charlie offered, “seeing as it's only for a little while.”

“Thanks brother,” Tim said happily, knowing the hassles of getting a place to stay.

They left the house and went their separate ways. Tim wandered up Eveleigh Street saying g'day to various people he'd known over the years. The big smoke, he thought to himself—not as many people here as there were ten years ago. Half the houses were empty and about a dozen houses had been pulled down to create a park and a garden. He presumed that after the land rights Act in 1983 in New South Wales all of the people from the country had gone home to help set up their land councils, and the ones left were died-in-the-wool Red-fernites.

There were some things about Redfern he didn't particularly enjoy seeing, especially the childrens faces amidst the poverty and despair. Heroin had taken over from alcohol as the major destroyer of souls. He knew it wasn't entirely their fault; they had to fight local, state and federal governments to get the measliest crumb.

Now the New South Wales Aboriginal Land Council had aligned themselves with parties that were trying to evict Redfern Koories. “They didn't stand much of a chance,” Tim thought.

Tim talked to some people and found out there was a festival on in uptown Redfern and decided to go along. He saw an old acquaintance and they chatted for a while. Then he spotted the old Lawman. He looked a bit older but the charisma was still there. They locked eyes and he walked straight up to Tim and shook his hand. His manner of dress was scruffy and he spoke broken English, but his knowledge of law, both black and white, endeared him to many different kinds of people. They made small talk and agreed to meet at Eveleigh Street later on after the festival.

Tim sat and listened to some Country and Western, and
then the old Lawman came out in full dress and played didgeridoo and sang some songs in his native tongue.

After the music finished, Tim strolled back towards the block, walking past the spots where all the street Koories sat and drank. He knew some of them from a decade ago, and he recognised Henry, who motioned to him to come over. They shook hands and Henry introduced him to his fellow drinkers and, as usual, they put the bite on Tim, who obliged by giving them a five-dollar note and some change. He passed Henry a joint as he was leaving and they all said “thanks”.

CHAPTER THREE

The old Lawman hadn't seen Sylvia for ten years and was hoping that she'd still be in Sydney. She was like his niece and he always made sure to visit her when he was in the city. She would be twenty-five now and he wondered if she had a man or kids. The last time he heard, she was doing an art course and concentrating on painting. He thought about the young fella Tim and compared him with Sylvia and came up with the view that they came from opposite ends of the spectrum. Tim looked much better than he did ten years ago and had gotten over his street habits. He wondered how much Tim had learnt in the past decade and hoped he had studied hard and got his preparation right so that he wouldn't have to go through the process again.

The old Lawman had passed through Sydney for nearly forty years and had secretly initiated dozens of Aborigines in Redfern. He was a powerful feather-foot and raised Black assassins. He knew that Tim was the best in his field. Retirement for him wasn't far off.

He got the feeling that Redfern had changed. There was much more community activity and he could see that the despair was losing its grip. It made him feel like singing, so
he pulled out his guitar and began to play a land rights song. Within moments he was surrounded by kids and adults curious as to what this old stranger was singing about in their community.

He walked up and down the streets talking to people and listening to whatever they wanted to share. He saw some little ones with runny noses and pulled out some gum leaves and told one of the mothers to give them to the children to chew on. They were amazed to learn that the gum trees growing in the streets could be used for colds and flus. To those that caught his eye he told a little secret in the hope that they would yearn for more knowledge of their dynamic culture.

The old man wanted to get off his feet and have a cup of tea, so he made his way to Molly's house in Caroline Street and was warmly welcomed. Molly was Sylvia's aunty and he asked after Sylvia.

“Sylvia's acting now and she's on a few committees as well. I think she wants to get out. Two tribes are fighting each other and she's the meat in the sandwich.”

“I won't ask which tribes, but I bet I know who they are,” says the old man wryly.

“They're all so stupid. Some of the horrible things I've heard—I'll be glad when Sylvia gets out,” Molly said, shaking her head.

“Two tribes fighting. Spear come this way, nulla nulla this way.” The old man slaps his hand and points in a far-off direction, saying, “Blackfella go that way.” They both laugh.

“I'll give you her address and you can go and see her and try and talk some sense into her.” Molly wrote out the address and handed it to him.

“I'm staying down at Alice's place at the moment,” he
said, then added, “but you know me—here, there, everywhere.”

“Just make sure you say goodbye before you leave,” Molly reminded him.

“I will. See you later.” He walked slowly back to Alice's place. On his way he took note of certain characters hanging around a white fella in the little park off Lawson Street. When he arrived Alice wasn't home, so he decided to clean up and go through his dilly bag to make sure the things he needed were there. He knew it would be a long night, judging by his first meeting with Tim ten years ago.

Alice walked in and said “hello” on her way to the kitchen. The old man responded and followed her. Alice made a cup of tea and offered to make the old man a sandwich or cook some food. He declined on the pretence of going out for dinner, though his real reason was that he knew they survived on the bare essentials and he did not want to intrude. They sat for a chat and swapped gossip on what they'd been doing since they last saw each other.

The old man excused himself and got ready to meet Tim at the local hotel. On the way he was accosted by the local kids who asked him to sing them a song. He promised that he'd be back to sing for them later.

Tim was already at the bar having a beer when the old man walked in. Tim asked if he wanted a beer. The old man nodded and sat down next to him.

“Do you want to sit here or in the lounge?” asked Tim.

“In the lounge, it's a bit more private,” the old man answered.

They moved to the lounge with beers in hand and settled in the corner. There were only a few people in the lounge and it was a lot quieter than the front bar. There were a
couple of young black men playing pool, but it was a predominantly white pub.

“It's not like ten years ago when the blacks had their own pubs,” Tim remarked. “We used to be wall to wall.”

“What happened to all of that?” the old man asked.

“I think the plan was to kick the blacks out of Redfern so they could expand the central business district,” replied Tim.

“Well, the blacks are still here,” The old man stated.

“Yea, TNT lost out badly even though they had lots of support from the police. Harassing us every day. Closing down pubs where we drank,” explained Tim.

“Same story in lots of places in WA,” the old man added.

“They didn't shift the Koories and the arse has fallen out of TNT's shares. They're going broke!” said Tim.

“Good news for the Koories,” said the old man.

“Not all good news. They're still getting harassed by the police. They bring the young coppers into Redfern to give them hands-on riot training, using the blacks as their target. A horrific situation when you look at the real implications,” said Tim ruefully. “They done a survey and asked white people if they thought the police were racist and around 70 per cent said they weren't. Then along came, ‘Cop it Sweet', the TV documentary about Redfern coppers. Did you see that?”

“Yeah, I saw that.”

“It was fantastic. It showed just how racist the bastards are, and then the top brass in the police said that it was a reflection on community attitudes as the recruits were from the community,” Tim said sarcastically.

They finished their beers and Tim stood up to get another round. The old man stopped him and told him that they should go somewhere else to talk. Tim agreed and they
headed back toward the block. The block, as Koories called it, was the heart of four streets—Eveleigh, Caroline, Louis and Vine Streets in Redfern. The old man started talking and Tim, noticing the tone in his voice, listened without interrupting. Tim understood most of what the old man said and believed unreservedly. The one thing that stuck in Tim's mind was the part about changes being made in today's society. The words echoed in Tim's ears. “It's bigger than anything we've seen and it's got no brakes. Doesn't pull up for anyone.” It was usual for the old man to talk like that and it was purely for Tim's benefit. He chose to do it that way and as always what he said was the tip of the iceberg. When people questioned him at length on anything, he would start using his own language ferociously. Then he would stop abruptly and tell them to listen to what he said. He would tell the story and the only thing the listener really heard was the last lines and the summing up. The rest was buried deep inside for future reference at the beck and call of the old man.

The old man looked up and asked Tim if he knew any place where it would be comfortable to talk. Tim suggested that Charlie's would be a good place to go. “I might get a few beers,” Tim said as they were walking past the pub nearest to the block. “Feel like a drink?”

“Naaaah, none for me,” the old man said.

They arrived at Charlie's and Tim introduced the two men to each other. “Is that all you brung, a six-pack?” Charlie jokingly said.

“The pub's just up the corner,” said Tim hinting at Charlie for a drinking session.

They sat down and pulled out their pot for a session, making small talk while doing so. Tim and Charlie had a beer while the old man made a cup of tea. The old man
began to talk again, virtually ignoring Charlie and talking directly to Tim. After an hour or so, Tim began to understand and nodded to the old man. The old man was relieved that Tim understood and that they could now proceed without delay.

“Not frightened of doing what you gotta?” the old man asked.

“Naaahh, I've done it before,” Tim said, then added, “I don't know why I'm doing it.”

The old man looked Tim in the eye. “Let's say you're doing my job for me.” A thousand questions ran through Tim's mind and the old man saw this and held his hand up: “Keep your questions for tomorrow. I'll tell you more after it's done.”

He told Tim to meet him in the morning for a cup of tea. Charlie suggested they meet at his place, knowing that Tim was going to camp there for the night. The old man agreed and left.

“That was heavy stuff,” Charlie remarked.

“Did you understand what he was saying?” Tim asked.

“A little bit, from what I could see.”

“He's a powerful man.”

“Are you his understudy?” Charlie asked.

“He's got several of them,” replied Tim. “Now, I wouldn't mind going to a pub for a while.”

“Okay, let's go to the Royal. You never know, you might get lucky.”

When they arrived at the Royal Hotel, they ordered beers and went to the pool room. There were several people there, including some Koori women who Charlie knew. Tim set the pool table and Charlie talked to the women. Charlie introduced Tim to two of the women, Sylvia and Jeannie, and they decided to play doubles. After the pool game they
sat and talked, getting the background on each other, who their people are and what tribe they come from. They relaxed in each other's company and were soon talking openly to each other.

“Do you know Regina?” Sylvia asked Charlie.

“Yea, so does Tim,” Charlie answered.

“She got belted by the publican last night,” Sylvia said, knowing that the reaction would be a hostile one.

“What! She's seven months pregnant,” remarked Charlie in disgust.

“She had a good go at him too. I don't know what it was over though,” Sylvia remarked.

Tim had known Regina for years and had to contain the anger that rose up within him.

“Someone ought to smash him,” suggested Charlie.

Tim calmed himself and asked if anyone wanted another beer. They all answered “yes” and he went to get another round.

“Not a bad sort, hey Sylvia.” Jeannie dug Sylvia in the ribs gently with her elbow.

“A western plains Mroody, hey,” Sylvia said thoughtfully. “And got brains as well.”

Hoping that they might come back to his place, Charlie asked what they were doing after the pub. They told him they were going to a nightclub in Paddington and that they were welcome to tag along or meet them there. Tim returned to the table with the beers and they told him what they intended to do. Tim couldn't ignore the opportunity of female company and agreed to meet them in Paddington at the nightclub with Charlie.

Sylvia and Jeannie finished their beers and as she left Sylvia made definite eye-contact with Tim to ensure that he showed up at the prescribed meeting place. He smiled and
blessed his luck and had a good look at her form in tight jeans, then said, “She's got a nice arse.”

Charlie laughed. “She's beautiful and smart and that's all you can look at.”

“I'm only in town for a little while, her mind will have to wait,” Tim replied.