Crow Country (10 page)

S
adie stumbled through the bush, barely able to find her way between the trees in the moon- light. Her breath came in shallow gasps, as if she were drowning. The tears that had refused to fall when she sat beside Jimmy's body were spilling freely now; but they were tears of rage, of disbelief.

They couldn't tell the police, Dad had said. They had to help Mr Mortlock. They had to hide Jimmy's body and never tell anyone. ‘I'll give him a Christian burial,' Dad said. ‘I'll pray for his soul. He was a good man, Jimmy; he deserves that much.'

‘What about his kids? What about Netta?' Sadie felt as if she were screaming; she was surprised to hear her voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘You promised to tell her!'

‘I'll tell her . . .' Dad hesitated. ‘I'll tell her Jimmy's had to go away. Or Gerald can tell her. We'll work something out between us.'

‘Do you think she'll believe you?' said Sadie. ‘Do you think if Mr Mortlock came and told Mum you'd
had to go away
, she'd believe it? That you'd go without saying goodbye? That you wouldn't come back? Don't you think his kids will miss him?'

‘They go off walkabout all the time; it's normal to them,' said Dad. ‘They're not like us, Sadie.'

Sadie's jaw clenched. Jimmy had bled to death like any man. Why would the colour of his skin make him different inside?

‘Why are you doing this, Dad?
Why
?' And then Sadie's voice had risen to a scream, and Dad grabbed her arm and shook her.

‘Be quiet, Sadie, for God's sake!'

‘It's not right, Dad, you know it!'

‘I have to help Gerald; I promised I'd look out for him.'

‘And what about Jimmy? Didn't you promise him, too?' Her voice rose, shrill, hysterical. ‘Jimmy was murdered! Gerald Mortlock should hang for this!'

Dad slapped her face.

‘
Oh!
' Sadie sprang back, her hand to her cheek. Dad released her at once. They stood a few feet apart, breathing hard, beneath the moon.

‘I owe Gerald Mortlock money,' said Dad. ‘A lot of money.'

Sadie pressed her hand to her face. She said nothing.

‘If anything happens to him, we're finished. Do you understand? I'll lose the shop, everything. You and your mum, the kids, we'll all be out on the street. Your mum doesn't know. What kind of job do you think I could find, with my lame leg and my busted lungs? I'm no use to anyone. If it wasn't for Gerald Mortlock, we'd be in the gutter, the lot of us. Is that what you want?
That's
why I'm doing this. For us, for the family. Now get along and do as I tell you.'

For a moment Sadie stood mute. Then she turned and began to stumble away, back through the bush toward the town. The stars peered down at her like hundreds of eyes in another world laid above this one.

Dad had forgotten to give her the key to the shop door, so she had to go in through the kitchen. The children were all around the table, finishing up their dinner. Rice pudding, Sadie noted distantly; she liked rice pudding. But she knew she'd eat nothing that night.

Four scared faces turned toward her as she entered. Mum rose from her chair.

‘It's all right,' said Sadie quickly. ‘Don't worry. Dad'll be back later.'

Mum followed her into the passage. ‘Sadie, what's happened?'

‘I can't tell you, Mum. There's things Dad wants me to do.' Seeing Mum's pale face, Sadie felt as if she were the adult and Mum the child. She touched Mum's arm. ‘Keep the kids out of the way.'

Dad had said,
Stay with him, Sadie. Fetch a cloth and let him wash. Give him my other shirt; he can't be seen in those clothes. And keep the door locked.

From her parents' bedroom, she snatched Dad's Sunday shirt and the old patched trousers he wore for working in the vegetable patch, a flannel cloth and the basin from the washstand in the corner. She could hear the kids' subdued chatter from the kitchen, and her mother's low, strained voice trying to hush them. Sadie hurried into the shop and closed the door carefully behind her.

Mr Mortlock had lit a lamp. But he was slumped on the floor against the counter again. A brand new tin of Blue Crane cigarettes sat open beside him, and he was smoking. The shop was cloudy with smoke.

He turned his head when he heard the door. ‘Where's Clarry?'

Sadie couldn't answer. She couldn't even look at him.

‘Was he . . . Did I . . .?'

‘He's dead,' said Sadie.

Mr Mortlock took a long drag on his cigarette. He closed his eyes and said again, ‘Where's Clarry?'

‘He—' Sadie swallowed. ‘He's going to bury—' She choked on Jimmy's name; she couldn't speak it. ‘—the body.'

Mr Mortlock's shoulders sagged. ‘Thank God, thank God,' he muttered. ‘I knew I could count on Clarry.' He dashed tears from his eyes and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Sadie felt a wave of revulsion. ‘Here.' She indi- cated the flannel and the basin. ‘You can wash.'

He looked up at her, then held out his hands for her to wash them.

Sadie stared. She wasn't his mother, or his servant. But Dad had said they had to help him. She made herself kneel beside him.

She shook with wordless anger, with disgust, as she wrung out the cloth and sponged Mr Mortlock's hands, his murdering hands, smeared with dried blood. How had he done it? With a rock? With a tree branch? Did he shoot him? The jagged hole in the back of Jimmy's head . . . Sadie felt sick.

She wouldn't think about that. She'd remember Jimmy as he was. Big kind Jimmy with his broad smile, firm and muscular as a horse, his eyes that seemed to see right through you.

Thinking of Jimmy alive was even worse than thinking of him dead.
He was worth ten of you
, she wanted to shout. But she said nothing.

She rinsed out the flannel and a brown stain swirled through the water. She stood up and stepped away from him.

‘Dad says you're to change your clothes.' She held out the shirt and the old trousers. ‘I'll be back in a minute.'

She let herself out into the passage and pressed her forehead against the cold wood of the door. She'd count to a hundred; that would give him enough time. She wished Dad would come back; she wished Mum would bustle out of the kitchen and take over.

But no one came to save her. She was alone.

She wondered how Dad would manage. He'd have to limp to the Mortlock outbuildings and look for a shovel in one of the sheds. At least Jimmy would be buried in the bush with the birds around him and those big old stones to watch over him. That was as good as any church.

She counted to a hundred and twenty, and let herself into the shop.

Mr Mortlock had changed his clothes. His blood- ied shirt and trousers were rolled into a bundle on the floor, and he was lighting up another cigarette. He looked at Sadie as he shook out the match, and sucked in a lungful of smoke.

‘That's better,' he said. ‘Steadies the nerves. Got any brandy?'

Sadie shook her head. She stayed behind the counter, glad to have its bulk between herself and him.

He blew out a cloud of smoke and stared up at the ceiling. ‘It was an accident, you know.'

Sadie said nothing.

‘He came rushing up to me. Would have thought he'd had a few, he was that wild, only Jimmy never drinks. Even in France, he never had a drink. Not even a beer.' Mr Mortlock closed his eyes. Sadie had the feeling that he'd been transported somewhere far away, to a different world. Then his eyes flicked open and he was back, his stare blazing so intently into her face that she was frightened.

‘He was wild. Shouting and bunching his fists up, getting ready to take a swing at me. Thought he must have been bitten by a mad dog.' Mr Mortlock bared his teeth in a mirthless grin. ‘Shouting something about the new dam. Couldn't understand what he was on about. He was dead against it right from the start; don't know why. Got some funny notion in his head, the way they do. I said, “Settle down, Jimmy. Keep your hair on.” Well, he didn't like that much. Came right up to me, breathing in my face.' Mr Mortlock stared at Sadie. ‘No respect. Couldn't let him get away with that.'

Sadie stared at the floor.
I wish I could take a cloth to those shelves,
she thought
. He's left marks everywhere
. She was seized with a desire to scrub the whole shop from top to bottom, to sweep away all trace of Mr Mortlock, to cleanse the place of his taint, his sin, his awful crime . . .

‘Had to defend myself, didn't I,' said Mr Mortlock abruptly. ‘Anyone could see that. He was like a bloody madman.' He paced up and down the shop, flicking ash on the floor. ‘The gun went off while we were struggling. That's what happened. It was an accident.'

He glanced sharply at Sadie. ‘That's what hap- pened,' he repeated.

Sadie heard herself say, ‘Either it was an accident, or you were defending yourself. It can't be both.'

Mr Mortlock's face hardened. ‘I said it was an acci- dent, didn't I? You better watch your tongue, Miss Hazzard.'

Sadie dropped her eyes.
If it wasn't for Gerald Mortlock, we'd all be in the gutter.

She groped for Dad's stool to steady herself. The smell of the smoke was making her feel sick; if she had to listen to Mr Mortlock say another word, she'd scream. She'd scream and scream until they heard her in Bendigo, until the police came running, until they took him away . . .

But that wouldn't bring Jimmy Raven back.

Oh, please, Dad, hurry, don't leave me here with him. I can't bear it.

But it seemed like hours they waited, trapped there together. Sadie heard the usual commotion of the little ones getting ready for bed, feet thumping along the floorboards; she even heard the low hum of voices behind the wall as they said their prayers. Sadie stared at the back of Mr Mortlock's head.
What would he say in his prayers tonight?

And then she remembered that she hadn't prayed for Jimmy's soul. She bowed her head, but the right words wouldn't come.
Our Father,
she began,
give us this day our daily trespasses, for thy kingdom will be done . . .

She remembered that she'd had no dinner. She was hollow inside.

Mr Mortlock smoked one cigarette after another. He didn't offer to pay. For the sake of tidiness, Sadie picked up the empty tin off the counter and stuffed it into her cardigan pocket.

It was after midnight when they heard Dad's key in the lock.

Mr Mortlock jumped up, and ground out the last cigarette under his heel. The shop bell tinkled, and Sadie's head seemed full of its jangling, bursting with the noise of bells, as if her skull would split. Dad limped in, his face grey, his clothes stained with mud and blood.

‘Well?' demanded Mr Mortlock.

‘It's done.' Dad bolted the door and leaned against the wall as if his bones had turned to jelly. His face was like wax. ‘He's in the old graveyard. It seemed the least we could do for him.'

No!
Sadie wanted to cry.
Not there!
She felt like weeping. She knew Dad meant it as a sign of respect, the only sign he felt he could give, but it seemed all wrong. Jimmy should have been buried near the stones, under the trees, in the heart of the bush. He wouldn't have wanted to lie with the Mortlocks . . .

Somewhere out in the ice-cold night, a crow shrieked. The sound pierced her like a knife of freezing iron.

‘Sadie?' Dad glanced at her. ‘You all right, love?'

She tried to reply, but her tongue was numb in her mouth. She sank to the floor, her head spinning, and the shop went black around her.

‘You all right, love?'

Sadie opened her eyes. Mrs Fox had emerged from behind the checkout and was bending over her, her face wrinkled with concern.

‘You had a funny turn, love?'

Sadie managed to sit up. ‘Yeah – something like that.' She tried to stand, and collapsed back to the floor.

‘Stay there, love, keep your head down. You want some water?'

Sadie shook her head. ‘Could you . . .' She hated how feeble her voice sounded, hardly more than a whisper. ‘Could you please ring my mum to come and get me?'

‘Don't be silly, love, I'll run you home myself.
Brayden!
' she snapped, and Fox shuffled forward, chewing his rat's tail. ‘Go and get my handbag out the locker at the back. We're taking poor little Sadie home.'

Sadie dragged herself upright and drew her knees under her chin. She wished Mrs Fox wouldn't stare at her.

‘You're not in trouble, are you, love?' Fox's mum asked suddenly. ‘You know, pregnant?'

‘No!
'

‘No harm in asking,' said Mrs Fox, injured.

If she could just count to a hundred, she'd be okay, thought Sadie. Everything would be okay.