Spinner (9 page)

David looked at him closely.

Michael smiled. It was one of his big, bright, shining smiles, and it made David angry again. ‘I don't want to go with you.' David started walking again.

He heard Michael hurrying after him. ‘You got to.'

‘No I don't.'

‘I'm all you've got.'

‘I've got Grandad.'

‘He can't look after you.'

‘You don't know anything.'

‘Of course I do. He told me.'

David stopped. He looked at Michael. ‘You're lying.'

‘You think I just turned up out of the blue one dark night? He telephoned. He knows how good you are. He knows you're better than anyone who's ever been. He can't leave the farm and he can't afford to look after you.'

‘He can,' said David weakly.

‘Can you imagine The George Baker letting me take you if it wasn't what he wanted?'

David was having trouble getting enough air into his lungs.

‘He couldn't face you. He couldn't say it himself.'

David was trying to concentrate on his breathing and not hear Michael's words.

‘Anyway, when he asked, I couldn't say no. You see, I promised your father in a hole in the French mud that I'd
look after you.'

There were no birds. No trees. No road. Nor even any sky. Maybe there wasn't even any David. There was just Michael's voice.

‘Now will you just get in the bloody car so we can go play cricket against the Poms?'

The train went under a bridge and everything was a scream in the dark until it burst out the other side. David let his head rock, like he had no neck muscles, allowing the train to flop him as it would, sometimes forward and sometimes back against the seat.

They were on their way to Kalgoorlie. They would change trains there and go across the desert, before changing again to another train which would take them to Adelaide. The second Test in Melbourne had finished early and the Australian team were going to use the extra time to practise, things being so calamitous. David had got the word calamitous from Mr Dunne and rather liked it.

Mr Dunne had seen them off at the station. The Australian Cricket Board had paid for their tickets. They would also pay for their hotels and meals. Mr Dunne never lost his doubtful look though, even when he shook hands with David and said, ‘Make your grandad proud, son.'

When they had stowed their bags in their sleeper David asked his uncle, ‘If we do make money, can we send it to Grandad?'

His uncle looked away a moment, then straight back with the smile that David was beginning to distrust. ‘What a nice idea. Super. Does that mean you willing to try to get into the
Australian team?'

‘But we're just going to practise.'

‘No. In the team. If you're willing to start getting serious?'

‘Yes, sir.'

Michael smiled an easier smile. ‘You know, of course, the best course when getting serious is not to be serious at all. Part of being serious is relaxing and enjoying. A batsman does not concentrate all day at the crease. A batsman who is good enough to spend some time in the middle relaxes between deliveries. As the bowler turns and starts to run in, the batsman starts to concentrate again, and his concentration increases, so it is at its maximum, with eyes wide open and feet about to move, just as the bowler releases the ball. Once the batsman plays the delivery, and then makes a series of decisions about running, he relaxes again, relaxing his body and resting his mind—seriously.'

‘I know.'

His uncle nodded as if he'd been corrected, and went to leave.

Even though David had wanted him to go, and looking a little hurt, just as he was, he couldn't help adding, ‘But when a batsman is facing a quality spin bowler, you can do all sorts of things to not let him relax. You can move the field. You can put doubt in his mind about what ball he might bowl next. You can hurry him too by stepping up to bowl your next delivery sooner and sooner, or you can keep him waiting as though you're thinking of a clever delivery that is going to be his downfall. You can tell that, because he'll look around the field frowning, or prod the wicket where he thinks there's a funny spot, or he might practise the shot he just mistimed. And so he doesn't relax between
balls, and he worries more and more.'

Michael smiled clean and laughed his bright laugh. ‘You're like a kind of genius aren't you?'

David felt some slight in the comment. ‘Grandad told me.'

‘But it's all in there somewhere, isn't it?'

‘It's just training. And hard work.'

‘Dear to me shall be the lyre and bow, and in oracles I shall reveal to men the inexorable will of Zeus. No, Davey boy. It's not just training. It's all kinds of gifts and curses. You know you have to watch out, don't you? When the gods give a gift there is always some hidden catch, some huge price that goes with it.'

David watched his uncle's eyes. He seemed to have become serious himself, even though his words sounded joking. He thought he detected something else. Somewhere, below all that smiling and teasing, there was anger.

David thought of Gruff. Gruff had been a magpie that lived on the farm and mostly just chased other magpies and occasionally sang in the late afternoon. But every mating season, Gruff got protective and started swooping the dogs and David. Gruff would hide in the big tree down near the pumps, and he'd wait for David. If David watched the tree and never took his eyes off, Gruff wouldn't swoop. But eventually David would forget and he would turn his back. And suddenly, there was that noise, the last flap of wing before a beak clacked close to David's ear and he'd be diving into the paddock dirt. David didn't know why his uncle made him think of Gruff. He had never done anything like an attack. Maybe it was just the feeling you shouldn't take your eyes off him.

When David came back from the memory of Gruff he
found his uncle had gone. David thought about the end of Gruff. One year, during the magpie breeding time, his grandad had come back to the house, bleeding from his head. He had got his rifle and gone back out and shot Gruff. After, over tea, his grandad said he felt badly, as he had succumbed to a disgraceful show of anger, and that the bird was only following its instincts. Grandad's anger was easy to see if you were alert to it, and mostly earned. Poor old Gruff had badly misjudged his man that day.

Some hours later David went to find his uncle to see about food. He came upon a carriage called ‘Buffet' and opened the door. There was Jack Tanner. He was sitting at the table just inside the door drinking a cup of tea. He looked up at David and glared. David stopped, and backed out instantly.

All through the morning, David rechecked. Jack Tanner would sometimes be playing cards, sometimes eating and sometimes just talking. And the people with him, both ladies and gentlemen and less gentle men, would change, but not Jack Tanner. This became his place on the train, between David and his uncle who he guessed was somewhere beyond, and also between David and food. Yet each time, when David willed himself to go to that carriage, he couldn't bring himself to pass the batsman who he knew would continue to be unkind. And it seemed to David, as the morning dragged, and lunchtime came and went, that Jack Tanner was taking delight in keeping David out.

So David sat in the day carriage and watched the country go flat and dry. It didn't seem like a desert, as there was so much scrub and bush, but the colours were white like bone and grey like dead leaves, and even though every window of the train was open, and they sped fast enough to make
a breeze, he could feel the heat coming off the land and pulling at his face as his head bobbed and swayed.

At dusk the sky turned orange and the kangaroos and rabbits came, and later the foxes and dingos. Inside the train, people went past dressed for dinner. And still Uncle Mike had not returned and still Jack Tanner sat, this time eating his dinner. David's stomach howled at him.

When they lit the lights inside the buffet David noticed that if he leaned forward, he could see the glass window at the place where the carriages joined. Every time someone came and went, and they opened the buffet door, there was a flash of Jack Tanner, reflected in the door window. David waited. Half an hour after Tanner had eaten he got up and left the table.

David went to the buffet door, in time to see Tanner heave himself out the other end of the carriage. David went in. They had tables, with tablecloths and a servery, but they were clearing up now. People drank beer and wine, but had finished eating it seemed. David would have to find his uncle to get some money for a meal.

He went to the other end of the buffet in time to see Tanner disappear into a toilet room. David entered that carriage, passing a little kitchen room and through another sit up. He went through another carriage filled with curtained sleepers and into yet another carriage. This one was filled with smoke and laughter and shouts. It was a bar, like a hotel on the train.

David came up behind his uncle who was playing cards for money. A woman was sitting next to him, laughing. She seemed old. Older than Mrs Pringle. But she was quite well dressed, with lots of pearls. David supposed she was not a floozy like Alice the barmaid.

‘Now that, Mrs Miller, is why you should be wary of bluffing with a pair of twos,' explained his uncle to the lady. ‘If anyone has anything at all, you're ... down the gurgler. Which is why I never bluff.'

‘Yeah, right. An' pigs might fly,' grumbled one of the men on the other side of the table.

‘What about on their way to pig heaven?' said Michael, fast.

The lady looked shocked a moment, before pushing against Michael, with her shoulder. ‘Oh, you. You have an answer for everything.'

‘Gidday, laddie,' said the other man, looking up at David. ‘Let me give yer a tip. Never gamble. With your own money, that is.'

They all laughed, loud and harshly. They were drunk.

Michael turned and saw him. ‘David. Where ya been?'

‘I'm hungry.'

‘Hello there, David,' said the lady. She had thin eyebrows and soft eyes. Her mouth had lipstick on. Her earrings were black, like three little black grapes that peaked out from her cloche hat. When David didn't say anything, she turned and asked Michael, ‘Yours?'

‘No,' said David, loud and sudden.

‘My brother's son. David, let me introduce you. Ned is in sales. Fred is a bushy going home. And last, but not last at all, let me introduce you to Mrs Elizabeth Miller who is recently widowed and travelling to Melbourne to see her sister and family. Mrs Miller likes whist but not poker and she is proving of inestimable assistance in my eternal search for both convivial conversation and paltry riches.'

The lady giggled. The Ned man winked at David. The Fred man said, ‘You a bullshit artist too? Your uncle can
talk the leg off a chair.'

‘Fellow travellers, this is David Donald, the greatest spin bowler that has ever been born. He's about to play for the Australian team and prove it to the entire world.'

They laughed. Fred sounded like he would choke. Ned slapped his leg, spit coming from his open mouth. Mrs Miller nodded her head into Michael's shoulder. They laughed, all except Uncle Mike, who watched them laughing without a smile.

David felt his face go hot.

‘Stop your teasing now.' It was Mrs Miller. She had stopped and was looking kindly. She had powder on her face, quite a lot of powder.

‘I'm hungry.'

‘Well, get something to eat, mate,' said his uncle.

‘I haven't got any money.'

‘What?'

‘I haven't got any money.'

‘Yeah, an' I won't in a tick the way I'm going either,' said the Ned man.

‘Come on,' said Fred. ‘We playin' cards or what?'

‘Just a sec,' said his uncle. ‘You just show your ticket, David. The food's included.'

David thought about this. He had his ticket in his pocket. Maybe he should have read it. Found out the rules of the train ride. He'd do that when he got back to their sleeper.

‘Do you want me to come with you, David?' It was Mrs Miller. ‘I can help you get your dinner if you like?'

‘No way, Lizzie,' said one of the men. ‘You're the only one I'm winnin' off.'

‘He'll be right,' said Michael.

She smiled at David, and did a twitchy thing with her nose,
before turning back to the men. ‘You bunch of brutes.'

They all laughed.

David went back to the buffet car. Jack Tanner was back in his seat, but with his back to David now. No one was eating, but they all looked like passengers and not train workers. He went back to the kitchen room, where a man dressed in white clothes was washing dishes.

David stood at the door until the man noticed him.

‘Eh, boy. What you want?' The man was an Italian like Mr Buralli, who had a farm further up river in Dungarin.

‘I want some dinner, sir.' David took out his ticket and showed it.

‘Dinner finish. No more.'

‘I can have dinner because of my ticket.'

‘No, no. Five-thirty sitting. Seven o'clock sitting. Dinner finish.' The man gestured with both hands to all the dishes in the sink.

David looked at all the dishes. He saw one that hadn't been scraped. There was a half bread roll and some gravy. David pointed. The man threw down his washcloth and said lots of angry Italian words. David looked back towards the card game end of the train, and wondered if he should go back and ask for the kind Mrs Miller's help. But the Italian man came out of another door, carrying a plate with a metal lid on it. He pointed at David, and said, ‘Breadfast sitting. Lunch sitting. Yes?'

‘Yes, sir,' said David.

The man gave him the plate, and smiled and slapped David on the cheek. It was not so much a slap, as a hard pat. Then before David could react, the Italian man pushed David towards the buffet carriage, saying, ‘Eat.'

David went, knowing that in spite of all the slapping and
yelling and pushing it had been friendly, and that the man had broken some rules so that David could have his dinner.

Jack Tanner was back in his seat at the other end of the buffet car, so David stood in the alcove between the kitchen car and the buffet car. It swayed violently and he could see the tracks rushing past, but he felt he could eat in peace. He lifted the metal lid to find a chicken leg and some salad and two bread rolls with butter. David tried to make himself eat slowly but was soon sucking on the fleshless chicken bone.

He wondered whether he should take the plate back to the Italian man, but didn't want to. So he edged into the buffet car, and put the plate on the first table, and then crept along until he was just a few feet behind Tanner. Then he ran to the door.

As he grabbed the handle to turn it, he could hear, ‘What are you doing, skulking around?'

But David didn't turn and didn't stop. He ran straight out, leaving the door flap unlatched, as he made it to the other door and went through, slamming that shut tight, before running on, all the way to his sleeper number seven.

David panted as he lay on the small bed behind the curtain. His heart was beating fast and he listened to it until it slowed and he wasn't aware of it any more. The train swayed. He listened to the regular click of wheel on rail.

David woke as he was pulled forward by the force of the train suddenly stopping. It was night. There were people calling in urgent voices, the sound of running feet. David pulled aside his sleeping curtain to see stewards scrambling. Someone was yelling for water.