Season of Hate (11 page)

Later that same night of our mother's visit, when I got up to get a drink of water, I thought I could hear Dad sobbing in his room. When I paused outside his door on the way back from the kitchen, there was no sound. I didn't mention it the next day, to anyone.

In the days that followed, everyone was a bit quiet. Nothing more was said about our mother's visit 'cept I overheard Dad say to Nan a few weeks later, that his solicitor had filed the papers with the Court. Nan was as nice as could be to all of us, especially Dad. There were times we'd come home from a game of forcings back and Dad would be sitting on the verandah daydreaming, just staring into the distance at nothing in particular. When we found him like this, we left him alone as much as possible and tried to be on our best behaviour.

"It's harder on Dad I guess, knowing she won't be coming home. At least we've got Nan," Doug once reasoned.

"I think we're better off without a mother," I said, trying to convince myself we were. Doug didn't reply.

Dad was still Dad, finding the time to take all of us on car trips out of town for picnics and bird watching. And soon he started mucking around with us again. He'd wrestle and play 'tickle torture' with us on the front lawn on warmer nights, or join us on the verandah sleep-out. On the stillest of those nights you could hear the distant croaking chorus of frogs from the creek or the voices of neighbouring kids also sleeping out with their parents. We'd fall asleep all curled up around Dad, looking at the stars as he told us stories. The stars seem different here than in the city – brighter and closer, like you could almost reach up and pluck them from the inky sky.

"Dad, you know how there are other planets spinning 'round, just like Earth –" began Doug.

"Well not
just
like Earth, but yes, other planets."

"Well, just like we're lying here looking up at the stars, do you think that somewhere up there amongst all the planets and stars, there could be people lying there as well, staring back at us and wondering the same thing?"

"Yeah, back at us," I repeated.

"Could be. It's possible I guess. Who knows?"

We all just looked up at the night sky in silence for a moment. It was almost a spiritual experience, contemplating the overwhelming enormity of the universe. It was another magic moment, lying there with Dad's arms around us. My feelings of being abandoned by our mother diminished to a degree. Snuggling up to him, I felt loved and secure – and wanted. And I wouldn't trade how I felt for one hundred pounds. Doug didn't want to talk about her ever again.

It was late one Sunday afternoon. Dad, Doug and I had just come home from a weekend camping trip, when Nan almost fell over running down the stairs with Dad's medical bag. She told him to go into the Walshe place immediately – there'd been a terrible incident.

"You two stay here and unpack the camping gear," he instructed as he took the bag and rushed next door. We waited until Nan had gone back inside, then Doug and I sneaked through the palings and ran around the back of their house before tiptoeing up the steps and onto the verandah. Through the flyscreen door we could just see into the lounge room, where they were all standing around looking at someone lying on their stomach under a blanket on the lounge. Dad was in front of the person and Miss Bridget and Miss Kitty were standing to the side, blocking our view. Miss Bridget was speaking.

"I was coming back from the Pattersons when I saw him naked, tied by the wrists between two trees with a sugar sack over his head – a bit back from the road. I drove straight towards them blasting the horn. They soon scattered."

"You saw who it was."

"There was a group. At least four men. All white. They jumped into the one truck and sped off. We were both churning up the dust, me just trying to get to him, so much so I couldn't make out who they were or the truck's rego either. His little tin hut was strewn all over the place. I untied him and mopped the blood on his back as best I could, Harry, with a hankie. Then I laid him on the back seat and got us outta there quick smart, in case they came back. God knows what they had in mind."

Dad bent down to examine the patient. Miss Bridget and Miss Kitty completely blocked our view of what Dad was doing as they moved in closer as well.

"Don't worry son, I won't hurt you. If I could ask you ladies to leave the room, I'll give him a thorough examination."

The sisters hovered outside the door. From within were several cries of pain and Dad's voice saying, "Sorry mate, but I have to do this." After about twenty minutes Dad opened the door and let the women back in.

"Those are whip marks on his back," he stated.

"One of them was waving something about in his hand."

"Several are quite deep, indicating a fair amount of force."

"Who'd do such a thing? Poor lamb," Miss Kitty sighed.

"Some mongrel," growled Dad. "I've cleaned up the lacerated flesh and applied some iodine and dressings. I've also given him a shot in case of any infection and something for the pain. He's an excellent patient, aren't you Johnny?" All Doug and I could do was look at each other, our hearts as leaden as sacks of flour when we heard his name.

"We'll pay any –" began Miss Bridget.

"I wouldn't hear of it ladies. Johnny's a mate of ours. Have you given Sergeant Farrar a call yet?"

"No, I thought it best you see him first before the Sergeant starts asking him a whole lot of questions," reasoned Miss Bridget. "Besides, how can he tell him anything?"

"I'll give him a call when I get home. Whoever did this needs locking up. Would you prefer him coming home with me?"

"Oh no. Please, we can look after him, can't we Biddy? I'm sure he won't be any bother," Miss Kitty pleaded with some urgency.

"Son, these ladies will take good care of you. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye ladies."

Dad started to leave the room, which meant it was time for us to get back home as soon as possible. We shot down the steps, through the fence and waited for Dad in the front yard.

"Everything alright, Dad? Nothing wrong with Miss Bridget or Miss Kitty?" I asked. Dad said nothing, just headed up the steps. He turned calmly as he reached the top and looked back and forth at both of us, with a stern expression.

"I thought I gave you two an order. I'm disappointed in both of you." I looked quickly at Doug. "And next time you listen through doors, make sure it isn't a see-through flysflcreen."

"We didn't hear anything, honest," rushed Doug to cover.

"But he will be alright, won't he?" I asked as Doug trod on my toe. "Owwh."

"We're sorry," Doug stated in our defence.

"I'm sure you will be when you go without pocket money this fortnight. Maybe then you'll take notice that when I tell you to do something, you do it. Right?"

"Right," we both answered, with hung heads.

"Get that camping gear stowed under the house and the table set. Now." We ran to the boot of the car. "In answer to your question, 'yes' he will recover."

We wasted no time in emptying the boot and had the gear stowed in minutes before flying up the steps to set the table.

Later, after we had our wash, I made an attempt to salvage our pocket money.

"It was only a white lie," I suggested to Dad.

"A lie's a lie son, no matter what shade." I continued putting on my pyjamas, thinking on what he had just said.

Later that evening, Dad rang Sergeant Farrar and he came around. Dad took him into his bedroom and closed the door. Nan kept an eye on us in the lounge room, so that we wouldn't listen in. I made an excuse to go to our bedroom to get a book and heard a bit of their conversation.

"We can't let this sort of thing happen. Someone has to be brought to justice," Dad argued.

"There's a group that get a belly full at the end of the week and go stirrin' up trouble with the blacks, but what can I do? No one wants to be a witness."

"It's Wood and his mates, isn't it?"

"Until I have proof …" Sergeant Farrar replied in a way that seemed to suggest he knew who it could've been, but didn't know for sure. "Every town has to have a troublemaker. We must be lucky, seems we've got bloody three or four. Don't worry; I'll keep an eye out closin' time to see there's no mischief brewin'. Let's go see the boy."

At that stage, I quickly scooted back to the lounge room as they wound up their talk and opened the door. They left the house, saying nothing.

It was only a half an hour into the first of our serials, when Dad came back up the front steps and entered, supporting Johnny. His arm was over Dad's shoulder and he had a blanket wrapped around his waist. Doug and I jumped up from the floor.

"Mum, can you make up the spare room? We've got a guest," Dad called out from the doorway to Nan, still cleaning in the kitchen. She entered, wiping her hands on her apron.

"How is he, love?" Dad set Johnny down in his armchair. He winced in pain then sat upright so that the wounds on his back didn't touch the back of the chair.

Dad then pulled Nan aside into the kitchen doorway and explained that Johnny was starting to run a temperature. He thought he'd be better off here, where he could keep an eye on his recovery. I turned the serial on the wireless down to a low whisper so that we could hear what was going on. Johnny just sat there, fascinated by the wireless, like he'd never seen one before. I looked over to Dad and Nan.

They kept their voices down but I managed to hear most of what was being said.

"… And Sergeant Farrar can't or won't do anything about it," Dad concluded.

Johnny could hear as well, and was trying to get up to make a bolt for the door. As he shuffled to his feet they walked back in and Dad grabbed Johnny firmly by the arm. He cowered as if he expected Dad was going to hit him, before getting all wobbly. Trying to regain his balance he let the blanket slip, revealing his nakedness.

"Oh son, no one is going to hurt you. Sit yourself back down. You're safe here," Dad soothed as he quickly replaced the blanket over Johnny's lap and legs. "We'll look after you until you're better."

"I'll fix the sheets. You two can give us a hand settin' up the spare room, seein' as ya don't seem that interested in the wireless this evening'," Nan instructed. Nothing escaped her.

Bed made, we all returned to the lounge room and Nan turned the wireless back up for us. Dad had completed taking Johnny's temperature. He helped him up and gave him a sponge bath before putting him to bed. When Dad returned to the lounge room, he reminded us we had school tomorrow and that it was time for us to go to bed as well.

Before he whispered 'goodnight' and turned out the light, I finally confessed the secret I had been concealing from everyone for so long – that I knew more about Johnny.

"He was the boy I saw at school, going through the bins for scraps."

"Goodnight boys," and he moved to leave.

"There's more. That extra sandwich Nan gives me, I put on the top of the rubbish in the bin for him."

"Oh I see," Dad deliberated.

"It's never wasted. It's just that he looked so hungry."

"That was a good thing to do, son," Dad affirmed then gave a little smile, his eyes crinkling up as he did so. "But not doing what I tell you, when I tell you, isn't. Now off to sleep the pair of you." As he was leaving the room he turned and added, "However, in light of what you've just told me, I might reconsider the issue of the pocket money. I'll sleep on it."

With the door pulled almost closed, Doug whispered in the darkness.

"Geez, ya can be such a crawler."

Next morning at breakfast, Dad told us we would indeed get our pocket money next Friday, if we continued our chores. It came with another lecture about 'obeying your father' and the reminder that we should mention the incident at this week's Confession.

"It's a good Christian thing you've been doin', feedin' the boy, and not turnin' yer back on someone in need. But you could have told me," Nan added, speaking to me but starting with a glance to Dad.

"I thought you'd get mad."

"No I wouldn't darlin'. But I want you to know, both of you, that you can always come to ya Nan and tell me anything. Alright? Now eat yer bubble an' squeak, you'll be late for school."

"Where's Johnny?" Doug asked.

"I gave him something to help him sleep. You can see him when you get home," Dad directed. I looked at the spare chair. Over it were some of Poppie's old clothes. Nan had stayed up late into the night, altering two shirts and a pair of trousers for Johnny to get around in.

That morning in the playground before school, we were telling a group about Johnny and how he was beaten and how he was living with us until he got better, when Steve pushed through the group.

"Your dad's an Abo lover." The same words painted on Dad's surgery window. "An' that makes youse ones too," he hissed. I couldn't make out what was his point, but by the tone of his voice, I figured to be an 'Abo lover' was something bad. Doug and I just stood there unsure of what he was getting at.

"My dad said your dad's a bloody do-gooder who don't know when to keep his nose outta other people's business, and some day he'll get his. So what are youse gonna do about it?" And with that Steve thumped me in the chest so hard, I nearly lost my balance. Doug hauled back a fist to land one on Steve. I grabbed his raised arm and pulled him aside, reminding him what Dad had said about no fighting – to walk away. We tried to and that's when Steve shouted out.

"Look at the two girls running away. Scared of gettin' yer nice new uniforms all dirty, girls?"

Doug was aching to punch Steve on the nose and it took all my strength to pull him around and lead him to the seats under the tree. He was boiling mad. Luckily one of the nuns came out into the yard and shook the handbell for assembly.

"Dad'd be proud of us, especially you," I whispered in Doug's ear so as not to get into trouble for speaking while in line. But Doug wasn't buying it, not this time.

"It looks like we're chicken."

"Not chicken, just smart. You want to get into a fight and cop the cane plus a lecture from Dad, not to mention losin' our pocket money, all over some drongo like Steve?" That calmed him down somewhat. He gave a begrudging shrug of his shoulders in agreement, but a showdown between us and Steve was always looming. Then I felt this hard thwhop to my ear and turned around. It was Sister Mary Placid's cupped hand.

"No talking at assembly. Now turn around and face the front."