Season of Hate (20 page)

The next day's tests confirmed Dad's original diagnosis. Things did change around the house after that. Doug and I now had cereal or toast and vegemite for breakfast with orange juice, which we got for ourselves. Dad would bring Nan a tray of cut fruit, toast with marmalade and a pot of tea in bed. Every other day we'd have a boiled egg with toast soldiers. Susan would come over and bathe Nan and prepare her for the day while Dad had his breakfast and a shave at the kitchen sink. He'd give Susan a peck on the cheek on seeing her, and Susan would return his kiss with a little smile, but there seemed a distancing in their relationship.

Susan would also take Nan through a series of exercises which she had to repeat by herself throughout the day. When we left for school, we'd stop at the Walshe house where Miss Kitty had packed our school lunch. Dad made tea most nights, picking up meat on the way home. Sometimes he'd make a big omelette or bring home takeaway. Once a week in turns, Miss Kitty and Mrs Symonds would deliver a casserole. Miss Bridget came through the day as well and cleaned and attended to Nan, while Miss Kitty got her lunch, with strict instructions from Dad about what she could and couldn't eat. He told her that under no circumstances was she to give into Nan's pleas for food he hadn't approved.

It was a good three weeks before Nan was up and about. Dad's change to the meals went on and Nan reluctantly fell into line by modifying her cooking. Rabbit or underground mutton as Nan called it, was still on the menu as a stew, casserole or pie and occurred at least once a fortnight – all dependent on Dad receiving one in lieu of payment at the surgery. Since the release of the myxomatosis virus into the rabbit population, it was now seen as almost a delicacy to have a clear-eyed, non-infected one and was highly prized by most. The actual virus wasn't harmful to humans once the rabbit was cooked. Even so, Nan wouldn't chance cooking a sick one.

By and large Nan stuck to the new exercise regime as well, at least in the beginning. After four months her face no longer drooped on the left side, but her left arm still maintained a residual weakness. Within her period of convalescence she had lost over three stone.

Boiled bacon was okay, but occasionally she'd sneak a piece of fried bacon that we were having. Keeping her back to us she'd scoff it down at the kitchen sink like a starving cat. If she thought she'd been seen, before Dad could reproach her, she'd jump to her own defence.

"Cook's treat. Oh, one little piece won't hurt."

This rationalising could also on occasion stretch to pieces of plain cake and even an extra spoonful of custard or gravy as well. However bread and dripping or any cake or dessert with cream was never prepared or eaten in the house ever again. Tea cakes, rock cakes, slab cakes and date scones took their place. Also, Dad didn't want her doing any more laundry. He advertised in
The Echo
and got a woman in town who would pick up, wash and return within a day or two, including ironing. No amount of persuasion could convince Nan not to do her own house cleaning though.

"I don't want no stranger running a gloved hand over my sideboard and passing judgement," was her definitive response.

After she'd fully recovered and back to her normal self, Nan, grateful to everyone who had helped out during her illness, invited them all to a new and revised CWA afternoon tea. That included Gwen Grady. She'd taken over Nan's monthly CWA afternoon teas while she was laid up. Susan couldn't come as she was working with Dad, but both Miss Kitty and Miss Bridget did. Johnny, Doug and I acted as waiters. All up, there were about thirty people present. We had to bring in chairs from the kitchen and verandah, and even borrowed some from neighbours, just to sit everyone.

Gwen Grady was the last to arrive, always making a grand entrance. When Nan saw her coming up the front steps, she had a quick aside to the gathering.

"Here comes 'old horse face'. Mutton dressed up as lamb," she said with only the slightest impediment from the stroke. She then had to shoosh everyone's laughter as she greeted Gwen at the door, taking her ten shillings donation to the day and depositing it in an old biscuit tin.

"Hello love, nice to see you," Nan gushed. Gwen swanned in. She was done up like a clown, all frills and ropes of imitation pearls, with her white powdered face and heavily rouged cheeks. Next Nan hit her for another pound's worth of tickets for the day's other fund raiser, the meat tray raffle, supplied by Kells' Butchery.

"Gee, that stroke's aged you, love," Gwen observed in a throw away line. You could see Nan's displeasure by the set of her jaw.

"Right," Nan muttered under her breath. We knew it was on.

Without any further 'hellos' to the rest of the group, Mrs Grady began telling everyone her tale of woe of how a 'bout of the trots' had swept through her whole family, as she waited anxiously for the food to be served.

She spied me in the kitchen doorway and all I could see were her pendulous breasts as she continued holding court while heading toward me. I felt another one of her examinations was imminent. At only feet from me she froze on the spot. I thought her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets as Johnny entered from the kitchen carrying the first plate, quartered corned beef and pickle sandwiches. They were one of Gwen's favourites. She hesitated at first, as he offered them to her. She looked at Johnny then back to the sandwiches, then Johnny and back again, before finally grabbing one.

"You know Johnny?" Nan asked over-pleasantly. The room came to a silent halt, waiting on Gwen's reply.

"Yes. How d'ya do," was her curt response as she paused, looking at him then the sandwich in her hand before devouring it in one mouthful.

"He made those sandwiches," Nan enthused. He hadn't, Nan did it all. Gwen nearly brought it straight back up. "Like another?" Nan cooed as I winked at Johnny. He looked back with a confused expression before the penny dropped. His eyes sparkled with conspiratorial acknowledgement of the game before giving 'old horse face' a beaming smile and offering her another. Funnily enough, Gwen declined.

"Oh, he had a hand in getting most of the food, didn't you love? Pity he can't join us at the CWA, we could use a bloke like him." Johnny, now going along fully with Nan's charade, continued serving the room. Gwen fell silent for the rest of the afternoon. Normally she'd make sure she got more than her ten shilling's worth of food. Able to eat practically her own weight in food at any one sitting, or at least give it a good try, she now had a face on her as long as a yard of tripe as us boys ferried in platters of food that were heartily eaten by all – 'cept her. Nan took secret delight.

"I hope that's not yer tummy still playing up. Never mind love, Johnny's just ripped up some fresh newspaper in the loo if you need to dash out at any time."

When Mrs Grady won the meat raffle there was a leadened silence in the room. The other women's expressions hardened towards her as she collected her prize from Nan. As soon as she turned around they smiled and congratulated her, even though it pained them to do so, for they needed Gwen at such functions. She always gave generously. And she'd be the first to let you know she did, as well. Nan's gift to all who helped out while she was sick was a box each of Winning Post chocolates, brought in on cue by the three of us boys on the large silver tray Poppie gave her on one of their wedding anniversaries. She even gave a box to Mrs Grady. As I handed her the chocolates she looked up at me but directed her comments to Nan.

"You're still giving him the fish emulsion Maureen? He's very pasty."

"Yes Gwen. He'll be right once he's filled out, don't ya think?"

"Mmm, s'pose. That's what happens when you give birth to a litter. There's bound to be a runt," she sniffed. I rolled my eyes at Nan and she hers back at me, then headed for the safety of the kitchen before Mrs Grady could get her hands on me for one of her examinations. I returned with the tray of pre-poured glasses of sherry that finished each meeting and led them into the ritual sherry nap. As per Nan's instruction, we waited the customary three quarters of an hour before waking them by turning on the wireless. They raised over forty quid all up for the CWA on the day.

It was near the end of Nan's convalescence that I could see Susan and Dad slowly rekindling their relationship. Every evening they would go for a walk. One evening, I was just swinging gently back and forth on the swing while watching Johnny lead Doctor into his stable, when I saw Dad and Susan returning from up the street hand-in-hand. They didn't see me. I jumped down from the swing and crouched in the garden behind the plants along the picket fence. Dad walked her up the steps to her front door before giving her a brief kiss on the mouth. He began to move away, but she pulled him back and they kissed again but for even longer.

As he started down the steps, I scuttled around the side of the house and in the back door so he wouldn't see me. That night in bed I thought of telling Doug, but didn't. I wondered once again whether Susan might become our new mother and decided I liked the idea more and more.

At the end of another uneventful Sunday, I was lazing on my stomach on the wooden platform under the yellowing leaves of the jacaranda canopy, reading about the pharaohs. Doug had asked me if I wanted to go with Barry and some other of our mates to the creek, but I couldn't put the book down once I started it. After a while in the distance, I could hear Johnny riding Doctor down the street from the old Hudson house. When he came into view I could see that Binda was sitting behind him, her arms tight around his waist. She was barefoot and wore an orange checked dress with a green ribbon in her hair.

"Hi Johnny. Hi Binda," I called from high in the tree as they got closer. They looked up and waved, before getting off the horse and leading him into his stall. A few minutes later Johnny and Binda went up the front steps and inside. After a half hour or so they came back out with Mr and Mrs Symonds behind them. Binda shook their hands then Johnny walked her hand-in-hand back up the street to her place. It seemed now that Johnny also had a girlfriend. Penny Farrar was still keen on me but I preferred to hang out with my mates. I didn't mind talking to her, but the thought of kissing her at ten years of age, yuk.

That same night, we were only in bed a couple of hours when we were woken by the loud clanging of the fire truck bell and the cries of "Fire!", "Fire!" coming from various houses in the distance towards town. All of us shot up and onto the front verandah. Other households in the street were out as well. There was a blaze coming from around the corner at the far end of Railway Street that was so intense, it lit up the dark sky brighter than any bonfire.

People began to run in its direction, not caring that they were half dressed or in their sleepwear, all carrying whatever buckets they owned. Dad grabbed his medical bag and a shovel while Nan told us to get our buckets from under the house. All three of us ran barefoot out the gate and up the street.

"Don't get too close. Stay with yer father," huffed and puffed an equally shoeless Nan following behind. Just then the town electricity was turned off as a precaution. All the houses and street lights went out simultaneously.

Johnny, Mr and Mrs Symonds and Susan were ahead of us. By the time we rounded the corner into Railway Street we'd been joined by the other neighbours along the way, all running in the direction of the fire. It was clear that it was coming from the Hudson house. The growing flames swirled in and around its weatherboard sides. Smoke was billowing out the windows as if fanned by bellows.

Seeing the house all ablaze was both a terrifying yet strangely mesmerising experience. I thought at the time of Nan's old movie magazine that had the black and white pictures from
Gone With The Wind
. It was just like we were watching Atlanta burn. Ned Spooner was already busy snapping off pictures for
The Echo
when we arrived.

This was not the time to stop and gawk though. Everybody quickly set about trying to control the fire. Some helped the Richardsons and the Palmers on either side of the Hudson house empty their similar weatherboard homes just in case the fire took off in their direction.

The fire truck was already on hand pumping water onto the house. The heat coming off it was like a furnace, blistering the paint on the houses on either side. Weatherboards began to crack and curl. It soon became apparent that there was little that could be done to save the Hudson place as the roof was on the verge of collapse. A check with Miro by Sergeant Farrar earlier revealed all the occupants were safe. There was only himself, one of his sons, Pindari, and his granddaughter, Binda. The others were visiting relatives working on a nearby property. Johnny put his arm around a trembling Binda.

"How did it start?" the Sergeant asked as Ned Spooner wrote down every word.

"We asleep then boom, fire everywhere," explained Pindari. "We just got out." They were comforted by Miss Bridget and Miss Kitty, her face mostly hidden by a scarf.

Dad checked over all the family for burns and the effects of smoke inhalation. Some men brought out a trestle table from a house across the street and in no time they'd set up a mini canteen manned by a number of women including Nan, Mrs Grady and Mrs Wood. Father Prittenden in his dressing gown along with Sister Mary Placid, Mr and Mrs Carroll and two other nuns arrived on the scene and instantly set about mucking in with everybody else. Ned Spooner quickly packed away his camera equipment and joined in.

In a desperate attempt to contain little spot fires in the dry grass surrounding the houses, caused by spitting and floating embers, some men used shovels and rakes while others took off coats and shawls and began beating the grass with them as each spark took hold. Some even stomped on small sparks with their bare feet, for they knew the financial ruin that could follow if the blaze caught hold of the region's wheat crop across the creek.

All of us, men, women and children had by now formed a human chain, filling buckets from the creek and passing them hand to hand along to the firemen to throw on the flames. Ganan and his mob as well as all the other Aborigines about town joined the line. Black and white working side by side didn't matter when everyone had the same goal.

"Pat love, there's a bottle of cordial and some plastic cups in the top cupboard next to the fridge. Get 'em for us will ya love," Nan called to me. I left the bucket brigade and ran, taking a short cut through the back paddocks behind the houses in Main Street. The urgency of my task weighed on my mind as the waist-high grass flattened under my running feet.

I was halfway home, just behind the Wood's house when thump; I tripped over something solid in the long grass. I hit my head hard on the ground. Dazed, I got to my feet and wobbled about, trying to shake off the effects of the knock. Without any warning I was jerked roughly by the arm with the directive,

"Don't move a bloody muscle." It was Mr Wood. I felt I was done for, just him and me in the dark and no witnesses.

"Please don't hurt me," I begged.

"Shut the fuck up," he growled through clenched teeth. I closed my eyes, bracing for the first blow. Nothing. I slowly opened one eye to find him looking past me.

Without turning my head I flicked my eyes to the side to see what his gaze was fixed on in the grass where I'd tripped. Then there, right in front of me, from out of the long grass, a huge Big Red kangaroo raised itself slowly from a lying position to its full height.

"Don't let him smell yer fear."

It towered over me. It seemed nearly as tall as Dad with the build of an athlete. I froze. Its eyes were lit by the glow of the distant fire as it stared us down. I sensed a rustle in the grass around us. I turned my head to the right then the left, just a fraction each way. We were surrounded by a mob of them; three females and several immature males, now standing tall in the grass. I couldn't breathe from fear. My palms went all sweaty as the Big Red in one effortless bound moved forward, as close as a couple of feet from us – close enough for me to see its flaring nostrils. It gave a dominant snort. Whether he could smell my fear or not, he would have smelt the urine running down my leg.

In a flash, a shovel swung past my head and with one almighty whack of its broadside, Mr Wood hit the kangaroo hard on its shoulder, unbalancing it. It immediately bounded off into the darkness, followed quickly by the others in the mob. I breathed long and loud with relief.

"Never used ta get this close to town them 'roos. Y've gotta start pickin' yer fights within yer division."

"Thank you Mr Wood," I panted. I could see by his slight unsteadiness that he'd been drinking. You could smell it on his breath.

"The name's Bob."

"Thanks Bob."

"No worries. What are ya doin' out here anyways?"

"I took a short cut to get some cordial for Nan."

"Well go an' get it. I'll come with ya ta see ya don't get in any more blues. And I'd change me pants if I was you. No need to let the whole world know." He waited outside while I got changed and got the cordial and cups, then we headed up Main Street lit only by the moon and stars and the distant blaze in the sky.

"Y'alright?"

"Yeah."

"Ya sure? That's one hell of a shock."

"I'm sure." He gave my shoulder a reassuring pat like Dad might do. He seemed so different to the man shouting abuse and picking a fight with Dad.

"Why'd ya punch my dad? Is it because he helped Johnny?" He seemed a little taken aback.

"It's more than that. Ya dad wants ta change things, and there's lots that are happy leavin' things just the way they are now. His helpin' the Abos –"

"Aborigines." I interjected. "Dad says ya gotta call people by their right names."

"Does he now. Well he can take a flyin' leap 'cause I ain't – Y've gotta keep 'em in their place. If ya don't they'll –"

"Dad says they've got no place. The white people took it."

"It's our bloody farms, our houses. Our bloody land. And no black bastard –"

"You don't like people much, do you?"

"Who says?"

"You're always angry."

"I s'pose yer dad's told ya that as well."

"No. It's what I reckon."

"Listen here ya little pipsqueak, I can say and do what I please 'cause –"

"Dad says you can act like a bit of a goose sometimes."

"A goose!"

"See what I mean, you're gettin' angry." He snorted at my observation. "And I reckon ya drink too much."

"I – I shoulda let that 'roo finish ya off. You're worse than the bloody missus, ya bloody little –"

"And Nan says ya shouldn't swear in front of kids either." He lifted his arm as if he was about to give me a backhander. I didn't know if he was pretending or not this time.

"I'm not Steve," I dared to say. We looked at each other, both aware of the meaning behind my words. He lowered his arm.

"Just shut up and keep walkin' will ya. Bloody little smartarse. All of ten an' thinks he's full of the wisdom of bloody Solomon," he added under his breath. I looked up at him. He caught me looking and broke into a little grin before giving me a playful flick on the ear. "Just keep 'effin' walkin'". Trees and power polls cast menacing shadows in the darkness but I felt safe beside him as we turned the corner into Railway Street and crossed the train tracks.