He Called Me Son (The Blountmere Street Series Book 1) (26 page)

I crept out of the hut into the next one.
 
It was more or less the same, even to the dead mice under the bed.
 
Outside I flattened myself against a hut, and sidestepped around the wooden boards, but there were no guns propped anywhere.
 
Murray was right.
 
The rabbiters were pretty careful with them.
 

When I returned, our quarters were thick with the smell of chutney, and the table was covered with jars full of the muddy red concoction.
 

‘This’ll spice up the boil up.’
 
Murray wiped the outside of a jar on his trousers.
 
‘It should last us at least a year, I reckon.’

A year!
 
I wouldn’t be eating the stuff for a year.
 
I didn’t intend staying around that long.
 

I left our quarters as quickly as I had entered them and ran towards the sound of the shots.

Across a paddock, I could see the rabbiters advancing.
 
Their guns were at shoulder height and ready to fire.
 
Their rabbiters’ eyes were fixed on their target.
 
They were unaware of my presence nearby as I slithered through the undergrowth on my stomach.
 
Then I saw the two rabbits they had lined up, sitting stock still as if they could sense danger.
 
They were so near, I could have touched them.
 
I watched as the rabbiters took aim.
 
Then as a bullet left a gun, I threw myself in front of the rabbits.
 
The shot passed me with a high pitched whistle.
 
I fell and the rabbiters ran towards me.
 
I saw their lips moving, but the shot had deafened me.
 
They patted me all over, then stood me to my feet and shook me a little.
 
Their relief showed on their faces.
 
I began to cry.
 
The rabbiters had missed me.
 
I was still alive.
 

It must have scared the rabbiters good and proper, and as soon as they’d made sure I was all right, they scarpered back to their huts.
 
I don’t think they told anyone what I’d done.
 
At least no one said anything to me.
 

My confusion increased.
 
I supposed I was relieved the rabbiters hadn’t killed me, but my despondency remained and turned into a sense of futility.
 
In my anger, I wanted to lash out at anything or anyone close to me.
 
More than anything, I burned with hatred towards Downston.

‘You!’
 
Downston stomped into the hut, and advanced towards me.
 
His one eyebrow had lowered.
 
I turned on my bunk, experiencing an impulse to tread on his ugly face like I had Joe’s tomatoes, to grind my heel into it, to leave it a bloody pulp.

‘What d’you want?’
 
I asked in the belligerent way I spoke to everyone.

‘Stand up when I’m talking to you!’
 
Downston ordered.
 
Reluctantly, I rolled from my bunk and came to my feet.

‘Did you rub chutney over the homestead windows and the Missus’ washing?’

‘What if I did?
 
What’re you going to do about it?’
 
All at once, I realized I was a head taller than Downston and my shoulders were several inches wider.

‘What’re you going to do about it?’
 
I repeated.
 
‘Take me back into the bush?
 
Report me to the authorities?’
 

A pulse ticked in the side of Downston’s face.
 
I moved nearer to him and grabbed his arms.
 
Impulsively, I began to shake him, my fury at last let fully loose.
 
Downston struggled to free himself but I tightened my grip and intensified the shaking.
 
Downston’s face was a crimson blur in front of me.
 
I was unheeding of the choking noises he was making and of his pitiful protests.
 
I shook him for the orphanage, for the authorities who had taken us away.
 
I shook him for Mum and Angela.
 
I shook him for Gaylene.

I pushed my knee into his groin and he yelped.
 
Spurred on, I moved my hands to his throat.
 
I felt his shrivelled skin like a lizard’s and his Adam’s apple moving up and down under my fingers.
 
I circled his neck with my hands and twisted until he began to make deep spluttering noises.
 
Saliva dripped from his mouth on to my hands.
 

‘By the saints be done, lad.’
 
Fergus’ voice came from a distance.
 
It vied with the roaring in my ears.
 
I fought to free myself as Murray and Fergus took hold of me.

‘I’m going to kill him.
 
Let me kill him!’
 
But they held me firm.

‘You’d better leave, Boss.
 
We’ll calm him down.
 
The boy’s had a bad few months.’
 
Murray puffed it out in disjointed sentences, using all his strength to keep me from escaping their grip.

‘I’ll have him out.
 
Be warned.
 
I’ll get rid of him.’
 
Downston held his throat and stumbled to the door.
 
‘The boy’s mad.
 
He needs to be put away.’
 
Downston’s voice was weak and raspy.

Spent, I flopped on my bunk while Murray moved around hardly disturbing the air, picking the things up that had become dislodged.
 
His hat had come off when he and Fergus had restrained me.
 
He brushed it with his sleeve, pushed out the dents, and replaced it before disappearing outside.
 
Joe mouthed and gestured he was going to one of his gardens.
 
Fergus picked up a book and sat by his bed reading.

With my eyes closed, I lay on my bunk and waited for my taut muscles to relax enough to enable me to breathe properly and for my heart to resume a regular beat.
 
When it did, I would take my suitcase and leave.

‘Are you all right, lad?’
 
Fergus asked after a bit.

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
 
The tension was giving way.
 
Now, I felt as if I was wilting, like one of Joe’s flowers after battling a day in the sun.

‘The Boss’ll have a headache for a day or two and some marks around his throat, not to mention a few other places.’
 
Fergus allowed himself a half-smile.

‘I wished I’d killed him.’

‘Do you think you would have felt better if you had?’

Fergus wasn’t going to practise his sermons on me.
 
I wasn’t a kid anymore.
 
I’d do what I liked.
 
I didn’t answer.
 
The silence stretched into minutes.

‘Will you promise me something?’
 
Fergus’s voice was as tender as it was when he felt the pathos of a poem.
 
‘Promise me you won’t do anything hasty?’

No answer.

‘Promise me, Tony.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Promise me!’

‘All right, all right, I promise.’
 
Relief and weariness swept over me.
 
I would go, though.
 
When I was ready, I would leave this place for good.
 
I didn’t need any of them.

Since I’d attacked Downston, a stilted air had fallen on our quarters.
 
Even Joe seemed to consider what he was about to say before he said it.
 
I sensed a collective exhaling of breath when I answered their questions civilly.
 
I knew the atmosphere lightened when I left the men’s quarters.

Fergus and Murray took to whispering to each other, moving guiltily apart when I approached.
  
I didn’t care, yet I was aware of the need to tread carefully, not with them, but with myself.
 
I was frightened that anything: any out of place word or misinterpreted action could detonate another explosion inside myself.
 
I had only meant to give Downston some lip.
 
Instead, I’d ended up trying to kill him.
 
What was packed inside me that a match of aggravation could ignite?
 
I was glad Downston was away on business.
 
Not that I was, or would ever again be, frightened of him.
 
I feared myself more.

For once, Fergus wasn’t drunk when he and Murray returned from the township the next time they went.
 
Without saying anything, he placed a book of poetry on my bunk, but the whispering between the two of them continued.

The next day, after we’d eaten the boil-up, Fergus coughed awkwardly and Murray lifted his hat and replaced it again.

‘We … er want to talk to you both.’
 
Murray’s voice wasn’t his ordinary everyday one.

Joe pulled a chair up to the table.
 
He turned it so that he could perch astride it, while I braced myself for more useless gabble.

‘It’s like this,’ Murray began.
 
He pushed his hat further back on his head and started again.
 
‘It’s like this.’
 
He faltered.
 
‘Beggar me.’

‘It’s not that we want rid of the two of you,’ Fergus took over.
 
‘But Murray and mesself are a deal worried about you, by the saints we are.’

I banged my elbows on the table, rested my head on my arms and gave an exaggerated sigh.

Fergus continued, ‘The Boss has it in for you, especially you, young Tony.
 
Who knows what he’ll do next.
 
He can throw you off the farm any time he wants and get another couple of lads to take your place.’

‘All he has to do is tell the authorities the two of you buggered off and he doesn’t know where you are,’ Murray said.
 
‘They’ll believe him, my word they will.’

‘So?
 
I’ve told you, when I’m good and ready, I’ll go.’

‘To be sure we know that, but Murray and I are mindful the two of you’s don’t know the parts hereabouts, and if the Boss were to get rid of you … ’

‘Save your breath!’
 
I made to go.

‘I’d be obliged if you’d give us the courtesy of hearing us out, Tony.’

I flopped back into my chair, my legs extended, my eyes closed, feeling inwardly disciplined by Fergus’s unusual severity.

‘Our hunch is that it won’t be long before the Boss gets you by the scruff of your necks and tosses you off the place.
 
The two of you are growing up, and it can’t be long before the authorities stop paying him.’

‘He could be jacking up another couple of kids right now,’ Murray added.

Joe replied, ‘Flippin’ cheek …’, but Murray held up a hand.
  
‘It seemed to us we’d better think ahead a bit and get in before the Boss.
 
We’ve made a couple of enquiries, beggar me if we haven’t.
 
Jack and Peg Millard are looking for a couple of experienced blokes on their place aways north of the township.’
 
Murray coughed, cuffed his nose with his sleeve and wiped his sleeve down the side of his trousers.

‘To be sure the Millards are as gracious a couple as you’re likely to find, even on the blessed Emerald Isle itself.
 
They’re more than happy to take the pair of you on, pay you a bit and give you board at the homestead.
 
It’s a lot more than you get now.’

‘I don’t need your help.
 
I’ve told you I can find something of my own.
 
It wasn’t up to you to go to these people behind our backs.’

‘Let’s face it, Tony, you haven’t been too approachable of late.
 
We appreciate your independent spirit.
 
‘Tis a good trait, but there comes a time when everyone needs to accept help when it’s offered.’

‘I don’t need … ’

‘You mean we’re going to have to go from here, and leave everything?’
 
Joe opened and closed his hands, as if he was trying to gather everything to himself for safe keeping.
 
‘Are you telling us that we’ve got to leave
you
!’