Black Water (21 page)

‘Me and Danny made a model boat,’ Souki informed Farren, plunging another shirt into the water as if she was drowning a rat. ‘And it went all right, too. Right across the bloody lake, didn’t it, Dan?’

Danny twitched, opening his eyes wide as if he’d been caught dozing.

‘Oh, yeah, mate, it did.
Shit
!’ White smoke rose from a slice of blackened toast. Danny leant forward to inspect the damage. ‘Streuth. That’s the third bloody bit in a row. What’s goin’ on ’ere?’

Suddenly Farren felt happier than he had for months.

After dinner, the three sat in their chairs around the stove, drank tea, and watched Hoppidy lollop around their feet.

‘What’s this island you live on like, Souk?’ Farren asked. ‘You know, nice people and that? Be pretty chilly down that way, wouldn’t it? Seen any icebergs? It’s pretty far down south.’

Souki shielded her face with her hands, her attempt at hiding assisted by hair that stuck out like flying spray.

‘It’s good.’ She sat, eyes fixed on Hoppidy on the floor. ‘Good people, eh. And it’s cold, orright. No bloody icebergs though, smarty-pants.’

‘Early on, evidently –’ Danny smoked with concentration, looking at the stove, ‘there were sealers and whalers there and the last of the black fellers the government shipped over from Tassie. Or at least that’s what Tanny Gower told me once. He lived there for a while. With some mad sheila who cooked snakes.’

‘You go to school over there, Souk?’ Farren asked, delicately trying to open up the subject of Souki’s education in order to comply with what Julian Derriweather had stated; that legally Souki should attend school while she was here. ‘Because I know you can read ’n’ write. Danny told me.’

‘Yep.’ Souki kept her hands up to her face. ‘Me mum mostly teached me. But I was gunna work on the boat with Garvon and Ellis. They was just gunna see how I was gunna go when it sunk. O’m too busy for school. I’m done with it now. I ’ave ter work to help me mum.’

Farren took a breath and felt his stomach give a nervous little flicker.

‘Well, they want you to go school ’ere, Souk,’ he said. ‘It’s sort’a the law. You know, just till it’s organised for you to get home.’ Farren waited on her reaction, thinking it was like standing next to a cannon that was about to go off. ‘You might like it. With all the other kids and games at lunch an’ that,’ he added, not very hopefully.

Souki turned like a cornered cat, her eyes as blue as burning
gas, her fists drawn back like pistons.

‘O’m not goin’ ter no bloody
school
!’ She jumped out of her chair as if Farren’s words had turned into a swarm of bees. ‘O’ll go ter work, maybe, but I ain’t goin’ to no freggin’ school! You can tell ’em that, Farren! I
freggin’
ain’t!’

Danny laughed, and although Farren wanted to, he wasn’t game. He figured she might go for him.

‘P’raps you could tell ’em, Farren,’ Danny said in a voice that suggested he’d just cast himself as Souki’s partner in crime against the Education Department of Victoria, ‘that she’s got a job lookin’ after a poor old war invalid, and that he’d be lost without ’er. Or the teapot would. Or his matches, smokes, or boots. Or pet rabbit.’

Souki had backed away toward her bedroom door and stood staring at Farren as if she was trying to melt him down.

‘Yeah, you tell ’em that, Farren!’ She nodded twice and pointed once. ‘I ent goin’ ter
no
bloody school! O’m stoppin’ ’ere with Danny and the bloody rabbit! And that’s that!’

After Souki had gone to bed, Danny and Farren sat drinking tea. The door to her room they’d left ajar, to let warmth in, and in case she had to be woken from one the nightmares she’d had since the
Huon Messenger
had gone down – but Danny had looked in on her, reporting that she was sound asleep, as was the rabbit in its box beside the bed.

‘The easiest way to get her home,’ Danny said, ‘is probably the same way the copper’s letter went. You know, up to Melbourne, boat to Hobart, then some sort of mail or supply boat across to the island. You could take her.’

‘Me?’ Farren couldn’t imagine himself and Souki going too far together – especially, if at any point, she decided she didn’t want to. ‘Whadda ’bout you? You’re the only one she’ll listen to. And besides, you might like it. Get away from ’ere for a bit.’

Danny took his cigarettes from a pocket, putting the tin on the arm of his chair. Next, with the same hand, he took his matches from another pocket, and with agile fingers extracted a match from the small blue box.

‘Yeah, but you know me, mate.’ Danny lit up, matchbox awkwardly trapped in his bad hand. ‘I’m quite happy I am, strollin’ around the place listenin’ to the birdies and exercisin’ the bunny. I ain’t got any plans to go anywhere.’

So that was that, Farren thought. He decided to try a different approach.

‘I spoke to Joe Clouty the other day. Down the wharf. He reckons we’ll never sail the old man’s boat again and she’ll just end up rottin’ out in the river. And he reckons that even if we did, we couldn’t keep up with the fleet anyway. He reckons we’re a couple of no-hopers.’

Danny inhaled as deeply as if cigarette smoking had been prescribed by a doctor.

‘Old Joe seems to ’ave come out of his shell,’ he said, ‘since the old man went west. He never ’ad that much to say in the old days, did he?’

‘He wants to race us.’ Farren watched Danny, who as usual watched the stove. ‘His fastest boat against the
Camille
. A sportsman’s bet, he said. But he wouldn’t bet with me and Robbie because we’re not old enough. He said he’d only bet with you. I think he’s still pissed off about his dog.’

‘His dog?’ Danny’s eyes, like a pair of ill-matched lamps, gradually brightened until they seemed to require a matching grin. He looked at Farren. ‘Oh, yeah, the
dog
. Poor old Sneezer.’ Danny smoked with renewed pleasure. ‘So, d’you wanna race these dills or not? I mean, I’ll put the bet on for yers, but that bloody boat ride into Johnny Turk’s own private beach was the last one I’m
ever
goin’ on.’

‘O’ll go’n the bloody boat,’ said a scratchy, determined voice from behind the boys’ chairs. ‘I ain’t freggin’ scared of
no
boat, no bloody fear!’

Farren swung around to see Souki standing in a pair of red boy’s pyjamas Maggie had supplied. In her hands she held the rabbit as if she might be about to sacrifice it.

‘O’ll go in the boat race,’ she repeated. ‘I
like
races. I been on boats all me life. I ain’t scared. You bet ’em, Farren, and we’ll
freggin’
flog ’em!’

‘Holy smoke!’ Danny laughed, and pivoted, his head tilted on his stiff neck. ‘Strike me, Souk. You gotta go home soon. This race mightn’t happen for months.’

Souki stood with her socked feet well apart, as if she expected to be pushed back to bed.

‘Well, I ain’t goin’ anywhere until we done it. And Danny, you ’eard Farren.’ She nodded at Danny. ‘He needs yer to help. It’ll be good for yer. You can’t sit around ’ere all day twiddlin’ yer bloody thumbs.’

Farren was lost for words; obviously Souki understood a lot more than she let on. Farren watched Danny deliberately shut his cigarette tin and place his matches on top, as if he was raising the stakes in a poker game.

‘Oh, orright then,
Sergeant
Souk.’ Danny tapped the tin and the matches, his lit cigarette sending up miniature smoke signals. ‘I’ll do you a deal.
I’ll
help out with sails and the boat although I can’t promise much. And you –’ he pointed a nicotine-tipped finger, ‘have gotta go to school. Orright? Okey dokey? Deal?’

Souki’s face tightened, her eyes glimmering. In her arms Farren saw the rabbit was about to be squeezed to death, but guessed it was too late to do anything about it. Then he saw her take a breath as if she was about to dive underwater.

‘Orright, then. But I ain’t goin’ to no freggin’ school tomorrer because I got a hundred bloody things to do aroun’ ’ere!’ And she disappeared into her room with the rabbit, pulling the door hard shut.

‘You don’t ’
ave
to go to school tomorrer,’ Farren called out. ‘It’s
freggin’
Sat’dee.’

Shoving their cadet caps in their pockets, Farren and Robbie walked down the track from the hall to the main road. The wind, an exuberant south-westerly that harried the clouds and turned the roadside gums into a line of roaring pennants, carried a shout.

‘Farren! Farren Fox! A word if I may!’

Farren turned to see Captain Gamble trotting after them, his khaki uniform blending so perfectly with the earth, grass, and eucalypts he looked like a short Christmas tree come to life. The boys waited, muttering as their senior officer closed the distance.

‘Thank you, boys,’ Captain Gamble puffed as he pulled up. ‘Good Lord, just give me a moment. Catch my breath. That wind’s got damn teeth.’

‘It’s a seven-goal breeze,’ Robbie said cheerily, returning an unlit cigarette to a pocket. ‘At least.’

‘Indeed.’ Captain Gamble straightened his cap. ‘And I hope those blessed Cats use it wisely for once. Now Farren, my friend, I was wondering – come on, fellows, walk on, I don’t mean to hold you up – now, Farren, d’you think that Danny might like
the opportunity to address the cadet corps about his time on Gallipoli? I thought perhaps it might prove beneficial, you know, for him to put his experiences out into the open and for the boys to hear about the real thing. What d’you think?’

Farren didn’t have to think.

‘He wouldn’t do it, Mr Gamble. Even if you held a gun to his head.’ Farren was sorry that Danny wouldn’t do what the Captain asked, but it just was not possible. ‘He never wants to talk about it ever.’

Captain Gamble stopped on the road, the wind whipping around them.

‘I completely understand.’ He waited for a moment, perhaps for more unwelcome thoughts to arrive or depart. ‘In Africa I saw things that I have no wish for any of you boys to ever see or hear about. Anyway, Farren, give him my kindest regards and if I can offer him any assistance of any kind, you only have to ask.’ Captain Gamble touched his officer’s cap. ‘And Robert, my best wishes to your mother. Please tell her that we are praying for Captain Price on a daily basis. Enjoy your weekend, lads. I shall leave you at the corner.’

The boys walked with Captain Gamble until he turned out along a straight, tree-lined lane that led to his property.

‘He’s a good bloke, old Giddy,’ Farren said impulsively as they kept on towards town. ‘Isn’t he? He was at the siege of Ladysmith ’n everything. Got medals and the lot, but he’s not a mad bastard at all. He’s not a bloody idiot like some blokes who haven’t even shot anybody.’

‘Yeah, he is a good bloke.’ Robbie extracted the hidden cigarette and straightened it. ‘It’s interesting, isn’t it? That pretty much any
feller who’s ever actually been in a war wouldn’t want to go near another one with a barge pole. Yet all the other dingbats around the place reckon it’s like a game of bloody British Bulldog.’

Farren agreed and was sure that Danny would, too. But sometimes what the other blokes said in the pub – that thrashing the Turks was the best sport in the world, and that our boys loved it – sounded good and made Farren feel better, as if the War was just like a big game and everyone got to go home after. But he believed Danny more than the blokes down the pub. He knew Danny didn’t think it had been good fun or top sport, because he had shot people and been shot, and that didn’t add up to any sort of a game.

‘Still, we’re over there now.’ Robbie came up with a match and the torn corner of a matchbox. ‘For better or for worse. Probably for worse, but anyway.’ He lit up, the wind dashing away the smoke. ‘Can only see what happens, eh?’

‘Yep.’ Farren nodded; that was true, and that was where he got stuck trying to work out whether the War was good or bad. ‘But if we win then I guess it’s worth it, ain’t it?’ he added. ‘Because I reckon we will win. In the end.’ He was glad to be patriotic, to say that the Aussies were belting the Turks. He wanted to say things that he could say down at the pub.

Robbie grinned, but Farren saw the stiffness in his face.

‘Well, all I can say is that it looked good on paper.’ Robbie flicked the corner of matchbox away. ‘Whether or not my dad, or Danny, or the thirty thousand blokes who are brown bloody bread would agree, is another thing.’ He looked up at the clouds, in no way convincing Farren he was studying the weather. ‘I wish I knew. But I probably don’t. And it wouldn’t matter if I did anyway.’

Farren took two puffs of the shared cigarette as they passed a low wire fence, the racket of a pushmower coming at them like the growling of a beast. Robbie, accepting the cigarette back, took a final drag as they came down into the shops then tossed the butt into a puddle.

‘How
ever
– ’ he pronounced the word as if it had a trick ending, ‘if the War’s still on when we’re old enough, Farry, you know we have to go, don’t you? There’s really no other choice, even if it doesn’t make sense.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ And Farren did know.

The boys, holding a bag of boiled lollies each, tried to out-balance each other on the train tracks.

‘So, is this boat race actually
officially
on?’ Robbie said. ‘And if so, when?’

Farren shrugged, taking a couple of neat, quick steps back.

‘I dunno. Whenever, I guess.’ Nerves, like tadpoles, fled through his stomach. He wasn’t sure that the race was a good idea, although it was good that Danny would help, because he didn’t seem to be too interested in doing anything else. ‘Danny said he’d give us a hand and Souki’s dead keen. So how much money d’you think we should bet? I mean, I haven’t got a lot. Like a pound or somethin’.’

‘I reckon I can get three.’ Robbie headed off up the track, arms out like a tightrope walker. ‘And I reckon Danny’ll come up with a bit,’ he called back, ‘because I bet he knows that none of the Clouty boys have joined up. And that’s a bloody disgrace.’

Farren didn’t know what Danny might think about the Cloutys not joining up for the War, but he did know that he could see
Smackmann’s sail loft from where he stood; and that Danny had said he might go over there one night, when only Henk was around, for a look. And that had pleased Farren a lot.