Burning Eddy (7 page)

Men in bright orange overalls filed out of the truck, from the cabin and off the back.

Michael Fisher. He didn’t look very sick.

‘It’s Fairy! Well, who would have guessed, hey?’ he said.

My fingers tingled.

A couple of men began unfurling a hose from the side of the truck. Inside the cabin a radio barked some static, then chimed. One of the men climbed back in and garbled something that I couldn’t hear into the microphone. A bloke in a yellow hard hat came up to me.

‘You lit this then?’ he asked.

I nodded. ‘Just a bit of burning off.’

‘Is Calais here?’ he asked.

I shook my head.

‘We’re going to have to put it out. Bit dangerous on a day like today.’

‘Put it out? What for?’

A motor started on the back of the truck.

‘It’s an illegal fire. We’re in a fire restriction period, mate. You didn’t get a permit. If this fire got away into that scrub up there . . .’ He shook his head and waved with the back of his hand to the foothills in the distance, blue-green with gum trees. ‘Half of Henning would go up.’

Michael stood ready with the hose and opened the nozzle on the pile. It hissed and spluttered and the smoke turned to steam.

‘You’re lucky,’ said the bloke in the hard hat. ‘Five-thousand-dollar fine for lighting a fire in a fire restriction period. Or one year in jail.’

‘Look out, Dad,’ Michael shouted.

‘What?’ the bloke in the hard hat asked. Michael’s dad. I could see the same shapes in their faces. Same squinty dark-brown eyes. Same scruffy mud-coloured hair. Same gap between their front teeth. Michael’s dad moved back and dragged me with him by the sleeve. I expected to see an ember glowing on the poplar but saw only the possum. I stared in disbelief as Michael screwed the nozzle of the hose until it made a jet and blew the possum off the tree and into the grass.

‘Stop!’ I shouted. ‘Leave it alone.’

I stepped forward and Michael turned the hose on me. My body went rigid as I was instantly soaked. The water splashed in my face and I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning. I gasped and frantically clawed at the water stinging my skin.

The pump died. Michael and his dad were chuckling. The breath rasped in my throat.

‘Oh, sorry, Fairy. Slipped.’

I panted. I watched them pack up and leave with my arms at my side, drips falling from the tips of my fingers. The siren
whooped
as they pulled onto the Carmine road and I jumped. The sound of the engine faded and I fell to my knees. I thought I was going to scream. The rage stuck in my throat like a chicken bone. I grabbed at the dirt and roared through clenched teeth. Roared and spat at the ground.

I heard the sound of claws on bark and looked up to see the possum climbing up another poplar. The hosing had flattened its fur so it looked as scrawny as a feral cat. I was
still watching it when a car pulled into the drive. Antonio and Jennie. I hurried to my feet and collected the chainsaw and fuel can. How would I explain what happened?

‘You fall in the creek, Dan? You’ve been working so hard that you’ve started to melt,’ Antonio said, as he walked down to me. I shrugged. Jennie waved and headed into the house with a bag she’d pulled from the boot.

Antonio surveyed the steaming pile. ‘What happened here?’

‘The CFA put it out.’

‘The what?’ he said, and put his hand to his mouth. ‘Fire restrictions. They started yesterday.’

‘Yesterday?’ I clenched my jaw and shivered.

‘So they came down to put it out?’

‘Yep. Threatened that I should be put in jail or fined five thousand dollars.’

Antonio’s dark eyebrows climbed up his forehead. ‘Sorry, Daniel. My fault. Slipped my mind,’ he said, and kicked at the blackened end of a branch. ‘Why didn’t they just stand by until it burnt out?’

I shrugged again.

‘How did you get so wet anyway?’

I told him the story of Michael and the possum. How Michael had turned the hose on me.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah.’

He shook his head. ‘John Fisher hates my guts. It’s political and it goes back to before you were born. He runs the Henning CFA like it’s his own private army.’

He picked up a bit of cypress branch and chucked it onto
the pile. ‘I think you handled yourself well, Dan. And thanks for doing the work. How much do I owe you?’

He pulled his fat wallet from his back pocket.

‘Nah, don’t worry about it. I didn’t get the job done.’

‘Twenty enough?’

‘Nah . . . don’t . . . ten will be heaps.’

He stuffed a twenty into my palm. ‘Some compo for getting squirted in the line of duty. Stay out of Fisher’s way.’

‘I try to, believe me.’

I sat in the shade of the sycamore at the end of Antonio’s driveway and waved away the mosquitoes. Half an hour passed. I could hear hoof-falls crunching on the gravel of the Carmine road before I could see the horse. And the girl. A girl on a tall chestnut with two small dogs running alongside. The horse was walking with its head down. The girl had one hand resting on the saddle; the other lazily swung at flies under the peak of her silly helmet. One of those white horsey helmets with holes in them so the rider’s head can breathe. I moved to the roadside for a better look and one of the dogs spotted me and came bounding up, its tail flapping against the side of its body as it arched and licked at my hand.

The dog made me smile. I wished people were that easygoing. I wished everyone would wag their tail whenever they met someone new.

‘Hello, Dan,’ said the rider.

It was Chantelle. I stood and wiped the dog hair onto my shorts. The little dog jumped and licked at my knuckles.

‘Hiya,’ I said.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Oh, nothing. Just done a bit of work for Mr Calais. I’m waiting for my dad.’

She pointed to the house. ‘You work for the mayor?’

‘Yeah. Every now and again. In his garden.’

‘Cool. Amazing garden.’

‘Yeah.’

The other dog joined in the game of ‘jump-up-on-Daniel’.

‘Stacey! Rabbit! Get down,’ Chantelle growled.

‘They’re all right,’ I said. ‘Cute dogs. Which one is Rabbit?’

‘The boy.’

I flushed and slapped Rabbit in the ribs like he was a hand drum. His tongue flagged from the side of his mouth.

‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ I asked.

‘Riding, der.’

I shrugged and my face got hot again.

She laughed and I laughed with her.

‘That was a bit mean,’ she said. ‘Like on the bus yesterday. Sorry ’bout that, Dan. I didn’t mean to . . . I’m such a bitch sometimes.’

‘Nah, that was nothing. You’ve got some work to do if you want to be a bitch.’

‘You reckon?’ she said, and laughed.

A pair of gang-gang cockatoos creaked and squawked as they flew overhead. They fly like they’re still on their Ls. The male had a head of red feathers and together they swerved and banked like at any moment they were going to crash.

There was a hole in the conversation and I knew she was ready to go. I knew she was ready, and for the first time in my whole life I knew I wanted to go with her.

‘All right if I walk with you?’ I asked. I held my breath. I suddenly needed to go to the toilet.

‘Yeah,’ she said. Just like that. ‘That’d be cool.’

‘Just one sec,’ I said, and ran down the drive. Antonio was unloading stuff from the car and I asked him to let my dad know that I’d started walking. Antonio looked up and saw the horse and rider on the road. He smiled and nodded.

I had to walk fast in the afternoon sun to keep up with the horse. Rabbit kept jumping up and licking at my hand. I needed to wee but hung on. I couldn’t think of a way to go without making a scene. Sweat ran down the side of my face and tickled my neck.

‘Look at you, Dan. Your head is leaking. Do you want to ride for a while?’

‘Nah, it’s okay. I’ll walk.’

She slipped off the horse without stopping. ‘Just hold the reins then,’ she said. ‘Keep walking. I’ve just got to . . . just got to go to the toilet. I’ll catch up.’

Chantelle jogged back the way we’d come and disappeared into the scrub on the roadside. As soon as she was out of sight I dropped my shorts and sighed as the powdery dirt on the side of the road went dark with my wee. The dirt went dark and my head got light with relief. I’d just tucked myself away when Chantelle jogged up behind me and took the reins.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Jump up.’

‘Nah, I’ll walk.’

‘Come on, Dan. I’ll hold the reins. You get on the back.’

‘Both of us? We’ll squash your horse.’

‘Nah, she doesn’t mind, do you, April?’ she said, and slapped the horse’s neck. ‘Left foot in the stirrup, come on.’

I shrugged and lifted my foot into the stirrup.

‘Ready? One, two, three.’

I kicked my leg over and nearly threw myself onto the ground on the other side of the horse.

‘Sit behind the saddle,’ she said, and expertly launched herself into position.

‘I haven’t got a helmet,’ I said. She was so close that I could smell her. Horse sweat and deodorant.

‘You can have mine if you want. We’ll just walk.’

‘Nah, I’ll be okay,’ I said, but my heart was racing. Thumping hard because I’d never sat on a horse. Drumming in my chest because I hadn’t sat this close to a girl since kinder. Chantelle clicked her tongue and April started walking. I grabbed onto the back of the saddle and my finger flicked against Chantelle’s jeans. She looked over her shoulder and smiled.

‘You won’t fall off, Dan. Relax. Hang on to my waist if you want.’

I did hang on to her but I couldn’t relax. I breathed little breaths and tried to enjoy the view.

A car scrunched in the gravel behind us and I turned to see the chrome of the P76 shining in the late afternoon sun. No, I thought, not yet, Dad. Just a few more minutes. Just a few more minutes of this closeness might turn my whole world around.

Chantelle walked April to the edge of the road. Dad
cruised alongside. Tobe was hanging out the back window.

‘Dan! What are you doing, Dan?’ my little brother shouted.

Chantelle’s head nearly screwed off to see who was calling.

‘My brother,’ I said to her. ‘What does it look like I’m doing, Tobe?’

‘Riding a horsey.’

Dad was smiling. He was looking at the road with his hairy arm on the window and smiling. The fake smile that he uses when we’re in company. It’s a good disguise. ‘Do you want a lift?’ he asked.

‘Not really,’ I grumbled.

Chantelle laughed and pulled April up. Dad stopped the car. Toby scrabbled with his seatbelt. I looked over the side of the horse and searched for a handhold. It was a long way to the ground.

‘Hold my hand and slide your other leg over,’ Chantelle said.

‘No,’ I said, and swivelled so that both of my legs were on the left side. ‘I’ll be right.’

April shook. It started at her hooves and rattled through her legs. The bit in her mouth jangled and I slipped off her side before I was ready. I landed awkwardly and finished up on my bottom in the dirt. Toby squealed with laughter. Dad grunted.

‘You okay, Dan?’ Chantelle asked.

I stood and dusted myself off. Chantelle was smiling under her silly helmet. My face got hot again and I poked my tongue at her. She laughed.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

She shrugged. ‘See you Monday, I guess.’

I nodded.

She turned April and kicked her into a trot towards Henning. I watched her rise rhythmically in the saddle. It looked like she was dancing. I stared hard at her back. I wanted to remember everything about that ride. Everything about her. She turned and waved. I wanted to be able to see that picture in my mind over and over. I fell asleep with a smile on my face that night.

Sunday started out as a hot day. There are some days in Bellan where you can feel the air heating up even before the sun rises. Toby and I played in the cubby until Dad left for work after lunch. Afternoon shift. I walked to Graham and Tina’s. Tina’s car was under the carport but she was nowhere to be seen. Graham was untangling a big mess of pink baling twine, sweat on his brow. He threw the pile down when he saw me and flicked at it with the back of his hand. He opened the door on his car and flopped in. I climbed into the passenger seat and belted up.

We travelled in silence almost to the end of the road, then Graham started signing to me. He slapped the steering wheel in frustration as he had to finger-spell the message I’d missed again. M-a-r-something, too fast-e-t. I nodded and he groaned and looked out the window. He
motioned for me to open the glove box. Pen and paper. He snatched them from my hand. The tyres husked on the gravel of the Bellan road as he steered and wrote. I held on to my seat.

‘I have to go to the market to get Tina,’ he wrote.

I nodded and gave him the thumbs up. I’d given him instructions on how to get to Concertina Drive and he was going to take us via the Sunday market. That was okay. Hadn’t been to the Carmine market for years.

It was hot and packed. Some people smelled shower-fresh, others like sweat and cigarettes. I followed behind Graham, stopping when he bought an old cigarette tin and a cheap set of spanners, and again when he grabbed some bread.

We walked straight past Amy what’s-her-name. My tummy tingled. Amy was sitting with her mum at a stall full of plants. I looked away and bumped into a fat man in a blue singlet with a tattoo of a tiger on his shoulder. He shot me a look. I apologised. Amy had sunglasses on. I don’t think she saw me. Mustn’t have. She would have said something. I followed Graham through all the permanent stalls to the place out the back where people sell things from the boot of their cars. Tina was sitting on a folding chair next to Penny Lane. Penny’s daughter, Peta, was sitting at her feet playing a noisy electronic game. Penny was slumped in her seat like someone had deflated her body. Tina smiled and waved. She signed something to Graham, who nodded. Tina rested her hand on Penny’s shoulder, then the three of us left for Concertina Drive.

I had butterflies in my stomach. Well, not really butterflies; they were heavy emperor gum moths flapping
around in there. I had always been good at saving money and I fondled the huge wad of notes in my pocket. Good at saving, lousy at spending. Never spent more than ten dollars at once since I started working. I craned my head as we flashed past No. 4. Eddy was nowhere to be seen. I tapped Graham on the shoulder and pointed to the car on the nature strip. It looked shinier, cleaner or something. Graham pulled into the driveway and the doors creaked as we got out.

I wanted it. All chrome and flawless white paint that was silky to the touch. The old lady who owned it must have been watching from the window. She came out rattling keys before I’d even thought about going to knock.

She introduced herself and opened the door of the car. Mrs Vos. Hilary Vos. The door didn’t creak and it smelled new inside. It looked new. It smelled like freedom. The dead man must have loved his car.

‘Who’s interested in buying the car?’ she asked, and held out the keys. She did have an accent. Graham grunted and took the keys from her. He stepped into the driver’s seat.

‘I am,’ I said. ‘I don’t have my licence yet so Graham is checking it out for me.’

‘You don’t drive? Yes, you said that on the phone. But you will drive soon, huh?’

‘Next year.’

She looked at me and her eyes pinched. ‘You look familiar. Do you live around here?’

‘No. I live in Bellan. I work for Mrs . . . I work for Eddy,’ I said, and pointed along the street.

Graham started the car and revved the engine hard. Mrs Vos frowned at him. He was looking at the dash and pumping the accelerator. It sounded like a racing car.

Tina gritted her teeth and stuffed her hands into her pockets. She was trying not to shout at him in sign. ‘He’s hard of hearing,’ she said to Mrs Vos.

‘Oh,’ Mrs Vos said, and stepped closer to the car. ‘Is he . . . will he be okay driving the car?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He’s an excellent driver. Just testing the engine.’

Mrs Vos poked her chin at Graham and smiled. ‘Let the engine warm up a bit,’ she shouted. ‘That’s what Sidney used to do.’

Tina signed through the windscreen. He shrugged and waved us in. Tina flipped the seat forward and climbed into the back. I pulled my seatbelt on before my bottom had settled into the seat.

Mrs Vos’ mouth hung open.

‘We’ll just go around the block,’ I shouted.

She managed a weak smile.

Graham looked at the gear stick and rested his hand on it.

‘Hang on,’ Tina said. ‘I don’t think he’s driven a manual before.’

There was a harsh rasping metal sound as Graham tried to put it into first gear without the clutch. Tina slapped him on the shoulder and signed for him to use the pedal. His face was red. He nodded. Mrs Vos was peering in his window.

I’m not quite sure how it happened but the tyres made
noise on the grass. One second, the engine was revving and Graham was checking the mirrors, next the tyres were howling and we were almost airborne off the gutter. Then stalled. The engine stopped and the red lights lit up on the dash. I could hear Graham’s foot pumping the accelerator. In a flash he realised that the car had stalled and he turned the key without using the clutch. We lurched forward. My head hit the dash. Clutch. Start. Rev, rev, stall. Clutch. Start. Rev, rev, hop, hop, hop along Concertina Drive. I sat low in the seat and braced myself against the footwell. We stalled again at the corner and Graham groaned and slapped the steering wheel. He signed something sharply.

‘No darling, it’s not a shitbox,’ Tina said. ‘It takes practice.’

Graham pushed the door open and stepped out. His hair blew around him and he smiled. He threw his hands up in the air and kicked the front tyre. Tina laughed and fumbled with the latch on the driver’s seat. She got out and stuffed the smiling Graham into the back seat. I looked at him and he laughed so loud that I wanted to cover my ears. Tina sat in the pilot’s position and drove us smoothly around the block. I got my breath back and felt the car underneath me. Smooth ride. No squeaks or rattles. Everything as neat as new. I wanted it.

Tina pulled up smoothly in front of Mrs Vos’ place. Eddy was standing with her. Eddy with her cobweb hair and blue and white apron. When she smiled it seemed to start somewhere near the top of her head and probably stretched to the tips of her toes.

‘Hello, Dan-ee-el. I thought it was you. You want to buy Mrs Vos’ car? Nice car, hey,
schat
.’

I nodded.

‘Yeah, tough car,’ Tina said under her breath. ‘If it can survive Graham, it can survive anything.’

Graham had popped the bonnet and was poking at the engine.

‘How much did you say you wanted?’ I asked.

‘Eight hundred and fifty. I can’t go lower than that. It’s a good car. Never had an ounce of trouble with it. Sidney’s baby it was.’

I grabbed the cash out of my pocket and started counting. Eddy grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me aside.

‘Put your money away,
hoor
,’ she whispered. ‘Never, never pay full price. Never.’ She winked at me. ‘Hilary,’ she began. The rest of the discussion was in Dutch, Hilary standing with her hands on her hips, Eddy resting one hand on the roof of the car.

‘All right!’ Mrs Vos shouted, and smiled at Eddy. ‘You sure know how to pull the strings, Eddy.’

Eddy fluttered her eyelids at me and smiled. ‘Six hundred,’ she whispered. ‘Quick, pay her now before she changes her mind.’

‘
Ja
, six hundred. I hope you enjoy the car, young man. Look after it.’

I nodded and promised that I would.

Tina took the keys from the ignition and screwed the car key from the bunch. She handed the rest of the keys to Mrs Vos and I paid her. I unfolded the fifties and it made
me tingle. There was no doubt in my mind that Dad would have something to say about it. Something exciting and encouraging. Not! My money. My car. Chantelle would be impressed, I thought. Tina asked if she could use the phone to get a cover note. Something about insurance. Mrs Vos showed her inside. Graham was still poking under the bonnet.

I hugged Eddy and kissed her soft cheek. I couldn’t help myself. Eddy chuckled to herself and hugged me back. Just for a second, it felt like I’d hugged her a thousand times. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘Bah, it was nothing,
schat. Alle beetjes helpen,
’ she said, and her eyes shone. ‘Every little bit helps. If I’d had a boy, I would have wanted him to be just like you.’

She grabbed my hand, patted it, then kissed it. ‘You’re the boy what I never had.’

I squeezed her fingers gently and she let my hand go.

‘Time for a cup of coffee?’ she asked.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said, and Graham slammed the bonnet so hard that I jumped. ‘My friends are driving me home. I think they want to get going.’

‘
Ja
, okay. See you soon, Dan-ee-el,’ she said, and started walking home. There was a spring in her step. I wondered how old she was. Who could tell? She may be sixty, could be eighty and it didn’t matter at all. She walked like she was happy to be alive. I think she
was
happy to be alive.

Graham wanted the keys so he could drive my new car home and Tina wouldn’t give them to him. He grunted and huffed and eventually drove his own car. Mrs Vos gave
me some paperwork. Registration transfer. Tina explained that I had to fill it in and mail it to the RTA in Carmine to have the registration changed into my name. Mrs Vos signed it too and Tina waved to her as we drove off.

‘Who was that old lady?’ she asked as we drove under the steam shadow of Hepworth B. Toby called the power stations ‘cloud factories’. The cooling towers couldn’t pump clouds out fast enough that hot afternoon; they turned to invisible vapour on the other side of the road.

‘Oh, she’s the lady I work for. Eddy. She lives down the road from Mrs Vos.’

‘She saved you two hundred and fifty dollars. She’s a good mate to have. Does she pay you when you work for her?’

‘Yeah. She pays me heaps.’

‘Oh yeah?’ she said, and I could hear her mind ticking over. ‘Just be careful she doesn’t rip you off.’

My head jolted backwards in surprise. ‘Eddy wouldn’t rip me off. She’s as honest as . . . as honest as sunshine!’

Tina shrugged. She gripped the steering wheel. ‘Great car. Got yourself a bargain, Dan. A ripper.’

She flicked on the radio and it sounded so good. Speakers in the front and the back. The radio station fuzzed loudly as we drove under a scribble of high-voltage power-lines, then came good as we moved into the farmland.

Tina pointed with one finger off the steering wheel. At first I thought she was waving to someone, then I spotted what she had seen. A plume of creamy-brown smoke was being held to the ground by the hot wind. There was a fire at Henning. I felt the car speed up. It was in the foothills,
probably farmland, and a long way from our homes, but too close to ignore. As we approached we could tell that the fire hadn’t crossed the Bellan–Carmine road. I could see the flashing lights and as we got closer, the hulking firetrucks. There were six units that I could see, fighting the fire front in a distant paddock. The front flashed orange and gold through the smoke that blew over the road and my heart sped up at the sight of it. Another three tankers sat on the side of the road. Two had ‘Henning’ written on the side in crisp white letters; the third was over from Handley Dell.

A bloke in yellow overalls waved us down. ‘Where you heading?’ he asked as he leaned on the driver’s door.

‘Bellan,’ Tina said, and pointed down the road. Somewhere in all the smoke was the turn-off.

‘Oh. Okay. Take it easy through the smoke,’ he said, and slapped the roof.

‘Everything under control?’ Tina asked.

‘Yeah. Will be shortly. The wind isn’t helping much.’

‘How did it start?’

‘Dunno,’ he said flatly. ‘Chief seems to think it was a bit suspect.’

Another car pulled up behind us.

‘Take it easy,’ the bloke said, and slapped the roof again.

Tina drove into the smoke and it filled the car in an instant with a sweet grass-fire smell. She wound her window up and I did mine. She drove slowly until we reached the dirt of the Bellan road, then gunned it. The smoke was high over that part of the road, staining the sunlight orange. My little car handled the corners like the
wheels were magnets and the road was made of steel. I thought about taking it for a drive when I got home, just up and down our driveway. Dad wouldn’t be home until late. Mum wouldn’t mind. Maybe she’d let me take it on the road. Just the quiet Bellan road.

Tina was pushing my car through the s-bends just before Penny’s place when she sucked in a breath and swerved. Thump! Something went under the back wheel and my head hit the roof as the car bounced. She skidded to a stop.