Coming Rain (19 page)

No shot came.

They heard the old man shooter speaking to the other men on the ridge. He yelled
when he spoke.

The click as he lifted the bolt of the rifle to make it safe.

One of the younger men said something and the old man replied. The three of them
turned away and disappeared from the skyline. After a moment the old man reappeared.
She heard his howls and maddened words. Threatening sounds and then another's pleading.
A fainter voice to cease the howling man.

CHAPTER 45

Clara stopped the Land Rover in a hollow out of sight of the homestead. The voices
of the dogs coming down through the jacaranda and lilac trees, through the coral
tree and across the sheep yards and gates and fences. They knew she had returned
and were struggling to contain themselves. The Land Rover motor was still running
and Clara was staring straight ahead, both hands on the steering wheel. Lew looked
at her and opened the door, got out and closed the door. Bent to look at her again
through the window. ‘Your father will be angry. He said it was impossible. When I
asked him.'

She turned her face and smiled at him. For a moment her eyes were like a prisoner's
and she shook her head. ‘No, I'll speak to Dad. I will tell him about us. He will
let you stay then.'

She pulled on the handbrake, got out of the vehicle and came around to him. Raised
herself on tiptoes, her chin lifted, and put her arms around him. He could feel each
of her fingers on his back and it was as if she had found something that was as precious
as any treasure. She smelled so cleanly of the cave and
the water of the springs.
The fine sand and ochre dust of the cave still in her hair.

‘No one saw us,' she whispered into his neck. ‘But I want them to. I do.'

‘I do too,' he said. ‘Clara.'

She held his face then for just a moment, let go and walked back around the vehicle
and got in. Put the Land Rover into gear, released the handbrake and drove away to
the turn-off that led back to the homestead.

CHAPTER 46

Jimmy was standing on the wooden veranda, emptying the teapot into the garden. He
saw Clara as she parked the vehicle and walked to the house carrying the woven bags
and wet towels.

‘Afternoon Miss Clara. You been having a good picnic? Swimming?'

‘Afternoon Jimmy.' She smiled and held one hand out into fading sunshine.

‘You look happy Miss Clara.'

‘Yes, it was lovely thank you,' she said.

‘You out for long drive. Good the rain last night isn't it?' Jimmy studied her. ‘Right
as rain this time. Let's hope.'

Clara nodded, her arms folded. Looked up at the sky. The air cooling in the late
afternoon. Biting her bottom lip, smiling and nodding, knew Jimmy had something else
to say. ‘Yes?'

He stared at her for a while longer before he spoke. Bowed his head in respect. ‘Must
be very careful but, Miss Clara.'

She looked at him. ‘And why is that Jimmy?'

‘Must be very careful talking with
puki
. This one.
Puki
got no brains.' Jimmy pointed
to his groin and made a sad face. ‘Must be very careful? Sorry but I see you take
Mr Lew for picnic to Daybreak.'

Clara burst into a laugh, closed her eyes. Shook her head slightly and walked inside.
Her arms still folded.

Jimmy flinched as she turned away. ‘You want dinner then miss?' he asked. ‘Eggs poached
like you like. Some bacon crispy. Cup of chocolate I got chocolate. For good daughter
of Mr John…
ha ha
strawberry jam. My strawberry. Cumquat too.' He knew how Clara sometimes
enjoyed bacon and eggs for her evening meal. Smiled as he heard her call back at
him.

‘That would be so good, beautiful Mr Jimmy. You are a darling harbour. I am bloody
starving.'

Jimmy nodded. ‘Don't say bloody Miss Clara.' She had forgiven him.

She had not heard. ‘Thank you Mr Jimmy. I love you.'

Oh yes I love you too, he thought. Nodded, unsmiling now. Swimming picnic my arse
and sandwiches, ginger beer and boom boom
jimak
all day. Need your strength girl.
For that. Darling harbour. My my.

Heard her close her door. She sang something.

You singing now wonder how long you singing, he thought. Bringing home that baby
kangaroo Gwen. No wonder you happy ankles saying hello
puki
meet Mr Lew with the
smile. Friendly one. Making her want to laugh all the time, he is the boom boom Charlie.
Gwen not the only thing he giving her, yes it is, and already speak like him, saying
bloody.

Throw her life away with a boy like him, shearer rubbish.
Run away like his father
I heard about him too, old Mr Mac a bad bugger. You can tell how she laughing at
me. Oh yes I can save a big mess, Mr John he need to know about this one all right
no worries.

CHAPTER 47

‘Get out here son. You in big trouble.' An angry voice began to wake him.

Lew was lying on his bed, the rolled swag at his feet. He had been dozing. Going
in and out of sleep, smiling and half-dreaming of Clara swimming. Suddenly also of
Maureen, not having a grave into which to drop a handful of sand for her Peter. Having
instead other men's children. The handpiece became a lizard and as he knelt into
the long blow along the spine of the sheep he bent its neck back over his knee and
stepped, dancing, making the short cross-throat blows to finish shearing this sheep,
keeping it alive no matter what. Lifting the hogget's front leg and walking backwards
now in a desperate race to fall down the tally-out chute and into the cold water
of Daybreak. He dropped the laughing lizard and it buzzed and jumped around at his
feet.

‘Get out here Lewis McCleod, the young idiot.'

It was Painter's voice calling out to him. He had never heard him so angry. Lew groaned
and rolled over, trying to go back to where he had been. Pulled the pillow over his
head and drifted.

‘I won't tell you again boy. Do I have to come in and get you?'

Lew sat up and stretched. Stood and walked out onto the veranda and looked down.
‘What's the problem?' Lew yawned. ‘Mate.'

Painter, his hands on his hips. His ropy arms and shoulders were tensed. The tattoos
seemed to stand out around him. ‘What's the problem with you more like? Got your
cock caught in the cash register there son, no worries.'

‘Hold on now,' Lew said and walked down the wooden steps to stand opposite Painter.

Painter was furious, yelling at Lew. Veins rising in his arms, in his throat. ‘You
way way over the line here boy. The boss's daughter. That Clara Drysdale is forbidden
territory.'

‘What're you sayin'?'

‘That Jimmy Wong come runnin' like the big-mouthed laughing cunt he is. Couldn't
wait to tell us.'

‘Hold on a minute.'

‘She don't care about you. Those landowner girls just havin' fun with the croppy
boys. They all like the thought of the shearer's cock mate. Ticket of leave ploughboys
is what we are. Got no idea what's at stake here. Bond or free, son.' Painter said,
shaking his head. ‘No idea.'

Lew leaned towards Painter, pointed at him. ‘That's enough now. That shit talk.'

Painter stepped back. ‘Don't point at me like that,' he said. ‘Enough? Fuck son,
you got no clue to what enough is.'

‘What?'

‘I asked him not to come after you.' Painter glanced back
towards the homestead.
‘I told him we are gone and won't be back. This Tuesday morning gone. He's paid us,
I got the cheque. We have to get going now son.'

‘Don't call me son.'

‘What?'

‘You heard me.'

‘Well now. Like that is it?'

‘I am going nowhere. I am staying here. With Clara. She'll be having a word with
her father. Work it out with him.'

‘You don't know what you are saying. He will never work any fucking thing out, with
you or his daughter mate.'

‘Well,' Lew said, ‘you always seem to know so much. You know nothing old man. Jesus,
you even hate that Jimmy for just being who he is.'

‘Now you hold on a minute.'

‘And you sayin' grace before each meal like a clown. Just getting attention I reckon.'

‘That's got nothin' to do with this.'

‘Or what about your wife? Mary, is it? I didn't even know you had a wife. You left
her didn't you? You knock her about when you mad drunk? Your missus? You nasty old
bastard.'

‘Well well.' Painter took two steps to one side and raised his fists to his waist.
Crossed back as if in a boxing ring to touch gloves. Banged his knuckles together.
‘Best that is enough now young Mr McCleod.' He began moving from side to side as
he spoke, forcing a smile. ‘Well well.' He let his bottom lip slip onto his top lip.
‘Son.'

‘You did, didn't you? Bashed her? Make you feel good when you hurt her?'

Painter hissed, ‘Yeah I did, liked it too. Smashed her stupid face in. Laughed as
I did it too. Easier cause they weak, see. Women. Throw them against the wall mate.
Cunts. Give me a hard-on when they cry. Beg. You so high now you been loved for a
bit son?'

Lew did not raise his hands, bit his bottom lip to stop his mouth shaking. It was
as if his heart was breaking as he heard the old man speak.

‘You just like your mother, boy. Weak. What do you know anyway, still thinking with
your cock.'

‘I know more than you ever will old man. I love her and I would never hurt her. Not
like you, full of hate for anything that shows you tenderness. You evil when you
drink.'

Painter was moving constantly, dipping his head and rolling his shoulders. ‘Full
of hate is it? Think you are a fightin' man now? That woman has made you think you
are bold and strong. Look at me. How ugly I am. You got one brain Mr McCleod,' Painter
spat on his hands, ‘and that's between your legs.' Opened and closed his fingers
as he always did before a punching fight. Laughed. ‘Fight me boy if you think you
can.'

Lew had seen this and knew this is what he did before he fought, say everything,
truth and lies to make them angry and you'll win every time but he didn't care and
threw himself at the old tattooed man with the don't touch me arms.

‘I'm a better man than you'll ever be you ignorant old bastard,' he yelled and ran
at him.

Painter sidestepped and watched as Lew ran past. Pretended to kick out at his backside.
Acting out something almost slapstick. ‘Well you are not a fist fighter, that's
for certain. I will hurt
you if you keep this up. I might even enjoy it. Not like
fucking your mother. She was hopeless. Like you.'

Lew turned, spinning in the dust, and approached Painter. Looked at him. This impossible
old man with the broken face. Wanting to love him and beat him down at the same time.
Be better than him and his filthy mouth.

Lew swung a wide right hand towards his head. Painter stepped back and bobbed. Came
up and hooked Lew in the ear. Followed that with a right to his neck. Another hard
left hook, this time into his ribs, stepped away.

‘Old man is it? Ignorant? Yes boy, I am the worst old man you will ever meet. A hiding
will do you the world of good.'

Lew staggered back, coughed and was struggling to clear his throat. Kept swallowing.

Painter blew out through his nose, made a come here gesture with his fists, banging
them together. ‘Should have, years ago. Come on then Mr McCleod, knock me down with
a feather.'

Lew put his head down and ran straight at him, grabbed him around the waist as Painter
punched into his lower back above his kidneys. They held, staggered backwards and
crashed into the ground. Dust rose as they rolled over in the dirt. Arms and legs
and Lew was first to stand up and recover. He stood over a coughing Painter. Raised
his foot, callused heel facing down as if to stab it into his face.

‘Righto.' Painter relaxed, lay back and closed his eyes. ‘All right, all right mate
you win.'

‘You finished?'

Painter, looking at the ground, nodded.

Lew stepped away.

They could hear each other's hard breathing.

‘Enough,' Lew said, ‘you should not have said that stuff. I know that's what you
do.'

‘You know why?'

‘Yep, I know why.'

‘Welcome to the world boy, you are your own man now.' Painter rolled over. Coughed,
retched and raised himself up. Hands on knees, wheezing as he struggled to catch
his breath.

Lew stretched out his hand to help him stand and Painter swivelled. He hit Lew with
a rising left hook to his cheek, a straight right to the forehead. Lew's head snapped
left and back and then the world became black. Throat closing. Two more punches to
the ear and back of the head as he fell.

Painter stepped over him, watching as he put his hands on his hips. ‘What did you
fucking expect? Son?'

He stood there until he heard the first shotgun blast. His head came up. Another
blast and then two more in quick succession. Coming from somewhere near the dog
kennels.

CHAPTER 48

King looked away from the old man. He looked to where he could hear her coming for
them. He knew her sound and the smell of her. King would not acknowledge the old
man as he levelled the shotgun. His tail wagged only for her; even with the terrible
fear in her voice, he felt the joy that was her coming for them and lifted his chin.
And then her father blew his head off.

Boofy snarled and charged at the old man and he too was shot dead.

John Drysdale broke open the Remington twelve gauge and extracted two spent shells.
Tossed them to one side and inserted two fresh cartridges. White smoke curled from
the barrels. He snapped the breach shut and shot Jess and Fleet.