Drowning in Her Eyes (4 page)

Despite Australia having a reputation as a hot and semi-
arid country, winters can be cold. Here in the middle of July, they had watched the frost forming on windscreen and hood as dawn approached. Jack was wearing an old army surplus woolen battledress blouse. He was proud of this military re
l
ic. It still had Corporal
's chevrons on the sleeves along with the yellow and red shoulder flash of the Royal Australian Armoured Corps. He loved the jacket, almost as much as he loved the olive-
green Land Rover, because it so closely r
e
sembled a military vehicle. He often drove it through the scrub, making believe he was on patrol. His military amb
i
tion had not waned.

Jack cradled a sporting rifle in his arms. It was a beaut
i
ful example of the gunsmith
's art. Manufactured in Finland by Sako and chambered in .243 centre fire, it had beautiful balance and amazing accuracy. This one sported a Parker Hale six-
power telescopic sight that had been a recent birt
h
day gift. Paddy favoured an old Lee Enfield Mark 3 .303 military rifle. Tried and proven in two world wars, it was r
e
liable and packed a decent punch. Its best feature was its ten-
round magazine, twice the ammunition Jack had.

The sky was lightening now. Where they had parked the Land Rover, in a small clump of
W
ilga trees, near the stock watering point, they were downwind of the wheat field and not visible to the kangaroos.

Paddy grunted:
“I can see the bastards, mate, to our left and about
a hundred
yards away.
”

Jack could see
them now, a mob of around twenty, guarded by a big buck on the left flank.
“OK, Dad, you start on the right, I
'll take the left. On the count of three
…
” On cue, the rifles shattered the peaceful morning. A great cloud of pink and grey galahs rose from the crop
's edge and sp
i
raled into the rapidly lightening sky. Jack saw his father
's first shot knock over a
‘roo and then he had no time to worry about anything other than his own targets. He saw his first mark, the big buck, bound into the air and go down like a sack of grain dropped from the back of a truck. He quickly switched his target to the next in line. Before he could squeeze the trigger, he saw, in his peripheral vision, som
e
thing that made him hesitate. Low to the ground, he had spotted four large feral pigs bolting for the cover of the scrub.

Feral pigs are the bane of Australian agriculture. D
e
scended from escaped or abandoned domestic animals, they are large and dangerous. They are omnivores and they will eat anything they can catch or find. They cause massive d
e
struction to crops, from sugar cane to cereals, rooting in the ground and knocking over many acres in their wasteful search for food. They despoil water holes, turning them into muddy wallows where sheep and cattle cannot drink. They kill and eat young lambs, and even calves. Their reprodu
c
tive rate is high. Each sow will have several litters a year, each containing up to ten piglets. If a mother is shot, or dies, her piglets are sometimes taken over by another lactating sow that w
ould
rear them. They are cunning and difficult to bait.

All of this flashed through Jack
's subconscious mind. Almost automatically, he followed all four with his telesco
p
ic sight. Four shots rang out and four pigs tumbled to their deaths in the wheat, giving a final kick of their hind legs as the life drained from them. Jack stood there, finding it hard to believe what had happened. In some kind of fog, he rea
l
ised what a feat of controlled shooting he had just pe
r
formed
—
four moving targets, partly obscured, with four rounds from a bolt-
action rifle at a range of around
one hu
n
dred
yards. He knew he was a good shot, but not that good. He came back to the present to find Paddy looking at him in amazement.

‘Bugger me,
” said his father,
“how did you bloody do that?
”

“I don
't know
,
Dad. It was kind
of instinctive, as though something took control of me for the moment. I didn
't even hear your rifle once it started.
”

“I
've never seen shooti
ng like that, but from a twelve-
year-
old kid, it
's ridiculous. Good on ya, mate.
”

Jack swelled with pride. His father
's approval was the ultimate praise to him, because he loved this big tough bushman with all his being. He said nothing, ambition to wear his country
's uniform only reinforced by the morning
's action. His father was still looking at him in bewilderment. What sort of a son did he have here? Anyway, it looked as if
Ballinrobe
would be in good hands. He looked across the crop, standing eighteen inches high and just starting to come into head. It stretched for almost a mile in every direction. Just one good fall of rain, and the crop would be a beauty. He turned back to his son.

“Righto, we better skin these
‘roos and get home before your mother burns the breakfast. She
's not gonna believe what you
've just done!
”

Paddy was no mean shot himself
—
six humped grey forms lay on the ground. They skinned them all. Later, Jack would peg the skins out to cure. By winter
's end, he would have a nice stock of pelts for the visiting skin buyer. They also loaded a pile of fresh meat for the dogs. They drove home in silence, replete with their victor
y over the pests.

Jack drove. He had learned to drive the Land Rover by the age of ten, taking a while to master its crash gearbox and indifferent brakes. Now he was an expert, in wet or dry co
n
ditions. As they approached the last gate before the hom
e
stead, Paddy turned to Jack and said,
“Mate, I
'll bloody well miss you next year when you kids are off to boarding school.
”

Jack did not like that prospect at all. Despite his yen to be a soldier, he had come to love life at
Ballinrobe
and could not imagine not being there. Still, he hoped to taste the mil
i
tary life before settling down. He hoped his father would be understanding and patient when the time came to confront him about it.

Worc
ester, Massachusett
s, USA
—1962

Worcester looked different in the early fall. Robed in the reds, yellows and browns of its deciduous trees, it was a pretty sight as they drove in from Boston. It was too bad they were returning on such a sad note. The city had grown, too. New suburbs stood where farmers
' fields had been a short tim
e before. Jimmy Baker knew
it was a story writ large across America. Post-
war prosperity had made a good life for many. Russia had become less bellicose, and tensions appeared to be
receding all around the world.

Jimmy had come home to a dark and depressed hous
e
hold. Tearfully, Marci hugged him.
“Oh, Jimmy, Mom has passed away. I am just so sorry I was not there.
” Jimmy did his best to console her and the children. James Junior was the least affected. His Grandmother had been absent from his short life for most of it. He dutifully dispatched birthday and Christmas cards, but he had not really known her. The girls were sad, but they knew about the inevitability of death and understood that Grandma
's time had come. Susan had not found Grandma to be such a nice person, anyway. She r
e
membered all the narrow
minded remarks about Negros and Latinos, things she now knew were evidence of a bitter old woman lashing out.

Sarah retained her obsession with the opposite sex, and her Grandmother
's demise was just an inconvenience. These teenage crushes were fleeting, but ever so dramatic when they were happening. Sarah had even confessed to having sex with one of
the boys.

Susan
—
now almost seventeen and just about to co
m
plete High School
—
did not know whether to be envious or horrified.
“For God
's sake, don
't let Mom find out. She
'll kill you,
” she burst out.
“Remember that pep talk at the start of the year?
”

Marci, realising her girls were fast metamorphosing into two beautiful young women, had read the riot act about boys, pre-
marital sex, and unwanted pregnancies. She left them in no doubt that transgressions in certain areas would bring down the wrath of God upon them. She was especially scornful of girls
who
got into trouble
and intimated that, if such a thing happened, the perpetrator would be most u
n
welcome in her home.

The funeral was in a small Episcopalian Church su
r
rounded by the beautiful colours of autumn. As Susan fo
l
lowed the cortege into the small churchyard to the family plot, she looked up at a leaden sky. Long flights of Canada geese were arrowing their way south and she could feel the chill of the approaching winter. She experienced a queer thought. Every funeral should be on days like this, she mused; it makes the wh
ole thing so appropriate.

After the graveside service, they all gathered at an Aunt
's house. Aunt Sophie was Marci
's older sister and had been caring for her mother, first at her home and later at the nursing home. This was not a happy gathering; a gloomy a
t
mosphere pervaded the place. After politely acknowledging the adults, Susan and Sarah wandered outside to mix with the other teenagers, several of whom were their cousins.

Susan was thinking about the funerals of relatives of her classmates. Brian Murphy told her about Irish Catholics and the wakes that followed the funerals.
“Everyone gets sloshed, they sing and dance. They tell stories about the dead guy, and there is a marvelous amount of food and drink,
” he said.
“It
'
s more like a party, a fond farewell to a friend and loved one.
” Lola Suarez had told her a similar tale of the Mexican services. Perhaps it was a matter of their religion, both groups being Catholic. Marci did not like Catholics, branding them as too fond of the drink and loath to accept personal responsibility. Sometimes, Susan thought, Mom sounds just like Grandma.

Soon, their cousins surrounded them, wanting to know all about
Albuquerque and
New Mexico. Some thought it would be fun to live there, others preferred to stay in Worcester. It had not escaped a few of their male cousins that both Susan and Sarah were quite pretty, and they were curious about who they were dating and how serious it all was.