Freedom Ride (28 page)

His mouth opened and shut, his eyes wide. I thought of the flopping fish on the riverbank.

“You okay?”

“Winded,” he gasped.

At the pool entrance, two policemen grasped Charlie by the arms and dragged him into the sunshine.

“Don’t touch the dirty black,” screamed a voice from the footpath.

I froze.

Nan, her voice shrill and bitter.

I reached out and pulled Micky to his feet, letting him lean on me while he caught his breath.

That was when all hell broke loose.

Bruised and rotten apples, tomatoes and stone fruit sailed through the air, splattering the students, the placards and the Aborigines. Gravel and eggs followed. The foul smell of sulphur filled the air. Rotten eggs.

At the edge of the crowd stood Marian Cavendish and Sally Marshall. Marian, her usually smooth face twisted with hate, threw an egg at one of the kids scrambling for the bus. She giggled, not her normal sweet giggle, but a Wright kind of laugh, and took a tomato from Sally. Marian heaved it at a little girl, hitting her on the back of the head. Her eyes were hard and narrowed and her strawberry lips were a thin texta slash.

My breath caught in my throat. I waited for the bubbles of excitement to fizz in my stomach like always happened when I saw her. Instead, all I felt was squirming anger. It was like I was seeing her for the first time.

I started to walk towards her, to stop her from throwing anything else, but the students, Aborigines and locals heaved and merged.

People shoved and pushed and scuffled.

Twiggy’s wife lurched from the crowd, straight for one of the Aborigines. Mrs Mathes grabbed the woman by the hair. They screamed and slapped and scratched each other.

Wobbly Cavendish punched one of the students – Jim, judging by the beard – in the guts once, twice. Jim crumbled to his knees.

Wright’s father dragged Trev free from the melee and tried to punch him. Trev was faster. He blocked and weaved away from him.

Morph knocked John to the ground.

A pair of wire-rimmed glasses clattered along the concrete, the glass shattered.

Children cried, adults screamed abuse.

“String up the interfering bastards.”

“Stirrers.”

“We don’t need your type here.”

“Mongrels.”

“Give them a hiding.”

Men’s and women’s voices. Voices I knew well.

Micky, recovered, rushed to where a woman screamed at his mother.

Anger clawed at my gut and tightened my throat. “Stop it,” I yelled. “Stop it.”

But it kept going.

Barry was on the grass. Boots kicked and fists pummelled.

I ran to where he lay.

“Piss off,” I screamed. “Get off him.” I grabbed a belt and pulled the man off.

Micky was beside me, pulling at the back of another man who punched Barry.

“Leave my boy alone.” Nan’s shrill voice pierced the cries and yells.

I surged forwards to help Micky.

The man fell on his back with an oof. He glowered up at me, face red, spittle on his chin.

Dad.

Police whistles blew. The storm of noise engulfing us subsided.

Nan appeared and shoved me in the chest. My head jerked back with the force of her push.

“Leave my Frank alone,” she screeched, hair escaping from her bun. “You’ve caused more than enough heartache.” She turned to Micky, who kneeled beside Barry. “And you.” She snarled, lip curled and teeth bared, like one of the dogs that guarded Bull Jackson’s car yard at night. “Stinking heathen. You have no right to be here.” She turned to me. “I will deal with you at home, my boy.”

“I am not your boy,” I spat.

She raised her finger and waggled it in my face. “Mind how you speak to your elders and betters.”

I slapped her hand away and scoffed. “Betters? You?” The rage I’d bottled up for so long simmered from my gut to my mouth. “You disgust me.”

Her eyes widened.

“Hey, Bower,” whispered Micky. “Everyone’s watching.”

But his words didn’t register; they were drowned out by the red thudding through me.

“See,” said Nan, looking around her. “See what a disgrace he’s become.”

“Me? I’m the disgrace? What does that make you and Dad?”

She pulled her head back.

Dad staggered to his feet. “Shut up, Robbie.”

“You.” I raised my finger and pointed it at his heart. “You used to go to the Crossing every Friday. I know what you went there for, and I know why you didn’t go back this week. I know what you did.”

“Come on now, young Robbie, you’re far too excited.” Bull Jackson inched towards me, his hand out.

“I’m not excited. I’m angry, bloody angry.” I snapped my head back to Dad. “How could you? How could you run over him and just leave him there? And then act like nothing happened?”

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

“You killed a man, Dad. You killed Micky’s uncle and left him on the side of the road, like he was a bloody kangaroo.”

Dad’s face paled.

“And you.” I glared at Nan. “You’re even worse. You covered it up. Called Bull and Twiggy. I heard you. ‘Just a boong.’ But he was a man, a human. He deserved better.”

Nan clutched her heart.

Dad crumpled to the grass, face in his hands. His shoulders heaved.

I looked around me. Faces – Bull, Twiggy, Wright, Keith, Bat Face Fielding, Mrs Dixon and Marian – stared at me, open-mouthed. People I’d known most of my life. And yet, it was like looking at strangers.

“Righto, young fella, let us handle this from here.” A policeman I didn’t know stood beside me.

“You won’t handle it, you’ll ignore it too, just like they have.” I scowled at Sergeant Axford and Morph who stood at the edge of the crowd. Morph’s fingers fiddled with his belt buckle.

“They didn’t even try to find out who ran over him.” I tried hard not to say Dwayne’s name. “I mean, how hard could it be? I figured it out on my own.”

“I’m from Newcastle, here to make sure there’s no trouble with this Freedom Ride. It’s the first I’ve heard of this accident,” said the policeman. “I’ll follow it up; you have my word.”

I stared into his solemn eyes. “Swear you will do something.”

“I swear to you, this will be investigated thoroughly.” He placed his hand over his heart. “Promise.”

My joints felt too soft to hold me. I wanted to fall to the grass, to curl into a tight ball and cry. I looked into Keith’s shocked face. He looked away first.

“It’s got to end,” I said. “All this,” I swept my arm in a circle, “it’s got to stop.”

But no one heard me, and if they did they didn’t care.

“Right,” bellowed the police officer who’d promised to investigate Dwayne’s death. “I’ve spoken to Mayor Jackson and the Sneddons. The Aboriginal children can swim, as long as they shower and are fully supervised.”

The students and Aborigines cheered.

The locals simmered.

“And the first one to argue can come back to the cells with me.” The crowd fell silent. “Good, now bugger off home, the lot of you, unless you plan on swimming.” His glare seemed to dare them to speak.

Slowly, men slunk to their cars, women gathered scattered children and hurried away.

Nan fussed over Dad. She dragged him to his feet and hurried him away to Bull’s car.

The students led the Aborigine children to the pool entrance.

“You okay?” asked Barry, beside me.

I shrugged. “Not really.”

“That was one of the bravest things I have ever seen.”

“Brave?” I shook my head. “I should have–”

“Robbie.”

I turned to see Micky with two women, clutching his hands. I recognised his mother Nancy from last night.

“This is my mum, Robbie.”

“Hello, Mrs Menzies.”

“And this is my gran.”

Her face was contorted with grief. She released Micky’s hand and stepped towards me. “Thank you.” She grasped my hand with both of hers and squeezed. When she looked into my eyes, I felt she could read every thought I’d ever had, hear every word I’d ever said.

I looked away first. “Please don’t thank me. I should have said something sooner.” I raked my teeth over my bottom lip.

Micky’s grandmother tapped the back of my hand. “Maybe, but you didn’t have to say anything at all. You did a good thing.” She patted my hand again and let go. “Thank you.”

Nancy stepped forwards, her face solemn. “Thank you, Robbie.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, the words burning my throat.

“I know.” She bobbed her head and, with her mother-in-law and Micky, walked back to the other Aborigines.

“Micky,” I called.

He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I know, Bower.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cases and bag packed with my stuff, including the gifts and cards Mum had sent me.

Yesterday, after all the fuss and fighting, the Aborigine kids spent an hour splashing and diving and skylarking at the pool with the students. Many white people streamed out the gates, but others stayed.

At five, when Mrs Sneddon’s tinny voice crackled through the hot afternoon air, announcing that the pool was closing, the students, the kids, Barry and I had boarded the bus for the caravan park, via the Crossing. Micky had already left with his family.

I’d stared out the bus window at the tumbledown fibro houses, battered cars, makeshift corrugated tin fences and lean-to verandahs.

“Pretty bad, eh?” said Trev from the seat behind me.

“I had no idea,” I said, unable to tear my eyes away.

“The Tip is worse. Much worse.”

“Do you think this, the bus trip, will change anything?” I asked.

“Bloody hope so,” said Trev, “because it has to change.”

A soft rap sounded on the door, dragging me back to the Gregory’s spare room. Mrs Gregory opened the door. “Are you packed?”

I nodded.

“You haven’t changed your mind?”

“No, especially not after yesterday.” I pressed my thumbs together, watching the colours change in my skin. “Those people …”

Mrs Gregory sighed. “Horrifying. Just horrifying.” She crossed the room and sat beside me. “Robbie, I’m very proud of what you did.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it. That took such courage.” She took her hand from her apron pocket. “Robbie, I want you to have this.” On her open palm lay a gold wristwatch. “It was Artie’s.”

I shifted away from her, as though she’d pinched me. “I can’t. That should be Barry’s. I–”

“Stop, Robbie. Barry knows and approves. Besides, all of this,” she gestured around her, “is his. My Artie would have liked you, Robbie. Very much.” She held the watch closer to me.

I reached out with a shaking hand to take it. “It’s so …” I turned it over in my hand, running my fingertips over its cool, smooth face. “Thank you.”

The bus groaned to a stop and idled outside.

“Is it nine already?” I asked, panic flooding me.

Mrs Gregory nodded. “Now, promise me, Robbie, if things don’t work out, you’ll come straight back here.”

“I promise.” I closed my fingers around the watch.

“I have your mum’s address and phone number, so I’ll write and talk to you often.”

It felt like that snake from the shower block had coiled around my throat and was squeezing.

When I stood, Mrs Gregory scooped me into a hug. “I’ll miss you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and held her tight. This time she broke the hold first.

I scooped up my bags and followed her down the hall. Barry was outside, farewelling Trev. They shook hands then did that blokey hug they’d done when the bus arrived.

“See you when Pam returns,” said Trev. “You going to propose at last?”

Barry threw back his head and laughed. “As if I’d tell you.”

“You better ask her,” said Mrs Gregory, as we drew alongside.

Trev kissed her cheek. “I’ll take those,” he said, reaching for my cases and bag.

Barry stuck out his hand. When I took it, he pulled me into the same kind of hug he’d given Trev.

“I’ll miss you, Robbie.” His chin pressed against my shoulder. “Remember, you have a home with us, always. No matter where we are.” He stepped back. Tears danced on his lashes. He rubbed his eyes.

“Barry, will you stay here?”

He looked around him. “I’m not sure. I love the river, but …” He sighed. “We’ll see how things go.”

“You mean with the locals?”

“Yeah, with them.”

“And Pam?”

He winked. “Who knows, when Pam gets home, we might even move your way. Not a word to Trev, though.”

I wanted to grin, but if I moved any part of me I’d cry.

The bus horn sounded.

“Time to go,” said Barry.

I hugged him and Mrs Gregory once more and sniffed away the tears.

“Talk to you when I get to Inverell,” I said, pulling gently out of Mrs Gregory’s hold.

My eyes were blurry with tears when I climbed aboard the bus. Charles, sitting near the front, acknowledged me with a nod. No one spoke as I made my way to the first spare double seat.

“Righto, Moree, here we come,” said Ron the bus driver, pulling the lever to close the door.

“Hold on,” yelled a girl at the front.

I figured she’d forgotten something, but when the door wheezed back open, Micky climbed aboard. He held a fishing rod and squinted down the bus. He smiled when he saw me.

“Hey, Bower. A gift. It was Uncle’s. He taught me to fish with this.”

I stood. “Micky, I can’t …”

“Yeah, I know, you’ll never be as good a fisherman as me, but you’ll do okay.” He turned to the bus driver. “You taking the road past the Station?”

“Yep. Want a lift?” he asked.

“That’d be good.” Micky moved to the seat behind me.

The door wheezed closed and the bus engine revved.

“Just making sure you’re leaving for real.” Micky winked, the sparkle back in his eyes.

My laugh started as a heaving rumble in my chest and burst from me, echoing around the bus.

As the bus began to move, I leaped up and opened the window. I waved to Barry and Mrs Gregory.

“Hey,” said Micky, “check that out.”

On the road outside the caravan park, Wright, Rhook, Edwards and Keith sat on their bikes scowling.

“Piss off, ya commies,” yelled Wright, his arms folded. His sneer slipped from his face when he saw Micky and me.