Season of Hate (5 page)

"Well I won't have 'em in my store. Black hands over everything. There's some things you just can't wash and resell. Not to mention pinching things, and that's what they'll do if we let them get any closer to town," Mr Green concluded. Then Mr Wood said his bit.

"They're not only doin' up the Hudson place, but the news is they're buildin' two fuckin' new fibro places for a mob from the Reserve as well! All bringin' 'em closer to our houses an' families. An' this lettin' 'em walk around town without being arrested will spell trouble. Mark my words. Look, there's a fuckin' mob of 'em over by the creek. Been watchin' us all fuckin' night. Won't be able to leave yer door open at night soon."

"I keep the door closed this time of year to keep the heat in, anyways," Mr Symonds stated matter-of-factly.

"You know what I fuckin' mean."

"I just don't see them as a problem Bob, is all," sighed Mr Symonds, adding, "I mean they've closed down the Reserve. Where are they s'posed to go? I mean, we're responsible, we white folk. We put them there in the first place."

"For their own good. Well now they can bloody well go back to the bush and live off the land. Won't fuckin' hurt 'em."

"Hey Bob, watch the language, there's kids –" interjected Mr Green. Mr Wood continued,

"They've been doin' it for centuries anyways. And leave us honest folk in peace," a heated Mr Wood ended, backed up by a loud "yeah", from his son Steve, who'd been sneaking sips of beer from one of his dad's bottles throughout the night.

"Exactly. They're filthy. I won't have 'em smelling up my store and driving customers away. I'm a Christian man and I know they're not all bad, but that's only a few. I'll serve 'em if they've got money – at the door," added Mr Green. Dad had been listening but looked like he'd heard enough and was about to leave, when Mr Green called out to him,

"Doctor, I mean Harry, you're an ed'jucated man, what do you think?"

"I agree." Mr Symonds looked at him in amazement. "They are filthy. And they smell. It's disgraceful."

"See, even the doctor agrees," assured Mr Green, jumping in.

"You'd smell too if you couldn't wash because your water had been turned off, because your toilet and shower had been boarded up, hoping you'd move on. Let alone having any soap – or food. Their conditions are a shame – on all of us," Dad argued.

"Sergeant Farrar had his orders," Bob Wood declared, taking a wide stance.

"You better leave, this could get heated," Dad suggested to me while Mr Wood staggered right up close to him and pointed his finger in his face.

"No, I'm stayin' with you," I insisted, to Dad's surprise. He paused, then continued,

"I'm fully aware of Sergeant Farrar's orders. We should, however, as human beings, ask ourselves how following orders takes precedence over the observance of moral decency. Giving them proper housing is the least we can do." Mr Wood looked confused at first over the words Dad used and then a bit self-conscious of his ignorance I guess, in front of the other men.

"We don't have to ask ourselves nothin'," Mr Wood began. "You haven't had to go through fuckin' half what we have with droughts and debts and… Only to have them fuckin' Abos come along and pinch yer remainin' stock. Let 'em eat bloody 'roo. I tell ya, they're fuckin' lazy and they won't work. My brother had a mob of 'em workin' for him once, and in the middle of harvest, in the middle of bloody harvest mind, they go on bloody walkabout! Cost me brother a fuckin' fortune. No one ever gave me a house for free, neither."

"The Hudson place has been derelict for years. And it's not free, they'll be paying rent," Dad assured the group. Mr Wood seemed to ignore that point and continued over Dad with his rant.

"And the women are only good for one thing." He turned to the rest of the men with a salacious leer. I could see Dad balling his fist at his side as he finished his middy of beer.

"But ya gotta be fuckin' pissed to put up with the smell," said Mr Wood, finishing with a laugh. I pulled hard on Dad's pants leg to get his attention as he handed his empty glass to Mr Symonds. He took a step toward a swaying Mr Wood.

"Your attitude disgusts me," Dad enunciated slowly and clearly.

"An' your kind McNally make my blood boil. Fuckin' bleedin' bloody hearts. An' yer helpin' 'em only encourages 'em ta stay. Oh yeah, we know what you've been up to." Dad brushed Mr Wood's prodding finger away.

"What, ya want a fight McNally? Sure, I'd be only too fuckin' happy ta knock ya down a few fuckin' pegs. Come on, I dare ya," taunted Mr Wood, the veins in his neck bulging. The others rushed to him and held him tightly to stop a fight. I pulled again on Dad's trouser leg.

He bent down as I cupped my hand to my mouth and whispered,

"Walk away."

Dad looked at me and paused in thought, then smiled and ruffled my curls with his hand.

"Come on son, it's getting late. Goodnight, gentlemen," Dad stated as he took my hand and we headed back to Nan. Doug was sitting on a log, stuffing a miniature meat pie in his mouth as we approached.

I counted up with Doug. I had one mug of soup, three sausage rolls, some of absent Miss Kitty's trifle, a chocolate brownie and four coconut macaroons. I could have had five as there were heaps, but I could hear Nan's voice inside my head admonishing me with 'don't be a guts.' Doug had as much as me, but managed to fit in an extra sausage roll and another meat pie.

Toward the end of the night, I saw Mrs Symonds disappear into the darkness, heading toward the camp fire of the group by the creek, with a tray of leftovers. I shook Doug's arm and pointed. We followed after her, remaining at a short distance away. She went up to the group and offered the tray of food. We got closer and saw they were indeed a group of Aborigines as Mr Wood had stated earlier. I recall thinking at the time, with their faces lit from underneath by their fire, that they looked as savage as the ones holding spears in the drawings in our social studies book.

"They're just like the ones that killed the first white settlers. Let's get outta here," Doug whispered. Mrs Symonds didn't seem a bit worried, though. Later she slipped back to our group with the empty tray. I saw Mr Symonds and her exchanging a smile and a nod, and then noticed Steve whisper something to his dad and point out Mrs Symonds as she rejoined the women clearing up the food table.

Doug and I were getting sleepy. My eyes were stinging a bit from all the smoke and I was blowing steam from my mouth into to the cold air. I circled the tables one last time with Barry and Raymond. The glow of the dying bonfire was still reflected in Raymond's glasses. Some of the men made sure the fire would not flare up after we left by pouring the buckets of water over the embers, before kicking dirt over the lot. Still half a dozen macaroons left. I looked at them for a long while before I took one last one. Cracker Night – mmm, magic.

Next morning before anyone was up, we crept out our window and down through the yellowing leaves of the jacaranda. Autumn was upon us and by mid winter all the leaves would have fallen. Joined by Barry and Raymond, our eyes scoured the bonfire site, trying to find any unexploded bungers. We collected five, of which Doug found three.

Barry had got his dad's matches and we sneaked off to the edge of the creek, about two miles down stream. At that distance the sound couldn't be heard back at our homes and no one would see us letting them off. The creek there was shallow enough for us to walk out ankle deep on a sandbar to a dry mound in the centre.

Raymond brought along a length of piping and wedged it between rocks to make a cannon. He sat behind it and held on to the shaft. Doug demanded he be the one to light the bungers and drop them in the pipe as he'd found the most. Spotting an old tin can at the side of the sandbar he told Barry to collect it, with the instruction to quickly place it over the top of the pipe once he'd dropped the lighted bunger in. I was happy not to have either role in what I thought was a dangerous albeit exciting game.

Raymond held the bunger while Doug fearlessly lit it and dropped it in, followed by Barry's quick capping of the pipe with the can. I put my hands over my ears and waited – nothing. We waited some more, just to be on the safe side. The tension built as Doug kicked off the can with his foot, just in case the bunger suddenly exploded. Raymond counted to ten out aloud then lifted the pipe to retrieve the bunger. It was declared a fizzer. Luckily all the others weren't duds.

When the second cracker did explode, it made such a loud reverberating 'Boom!', that a whole gum tree of sulphur crested cockatoos took flight in one screeching curtain of feathers as the tin can soared about twenty feet into the air before dropping into the water. I waded barefoot into the shallows and retrieved it for the next explosion. It turned out to be great fun.

Further down the creek we could hear other bungers being exploded. Barry worried that we best get going. He had to return the matches before his dad noticed them gone. We all well knew, if any of us were caught playing with matches, let alone bungers, we'd be in for the hiding of our lives. Doug and I raced back home and out the back, making out we were up early to collect the chook eggs.

After breakfast, we went around trying to find if any of the sky rockets landed in our yard. None had, but climbing up the jacaranda, Doug could see one lying on the ground in the front yard of Miss Bridget's and Miss Kitty's and I saw one caught up in the lattice attached to the side of their house, near the back. They had a choko vine climbing up it. We had to get those sky rockets, for they were the prize finds of Cracker Night. We'd be heroes if the others at school couldn't find any, and we could have not one, but two to show off. Out came my lucky 1936 halfpenny.

"I'll toss," Doug declared, taking charge. "Heads I get the one up the lattice, tails you do." I agreed with some reluctance and handed over the coin. He tossed it high and missed the catch. It landed on the ground. We clambered down the tree like monkeys to see how it landed. It had come up tails. Doug quickly took off, pushing aside the three loose palings and keeping low to the ground. He was back with the first sky rocket safely in hand within seconds. My turn had come. I felt my palms getting sweaty.

"S'pose Miss Kitty catches me and tries to suck my blood 'cause she's used up all the cats'?"

"You're just chicken."

"Am not," I lied, trying to get up the courage. "But what if she does see me?"

"I'll go up the tree and make a sound like a crow if I see anyone coming. Go on."

"Maybe you could just knock on their door and ask."

"You know Dad said we can't bother them. This way, no one needs know. You'll be back before anyone knows you were even in there." My feet felt glued to the ground. "I'll go then, ya big baby."

"Alright, I'll go. But you as much as see a curtain move and ya gotta crow."

I waited until he was up the tree and in place before I pushed aside the same swinging palings and squeezed myself through the hole. My heart was fit to explode through my chest as I made it to the side of the paint-worn weatherboard house. I looked back at Doug. He had climbed out on a far limb that hung over into their yard, but still managed to keep most of himself covered behind the leaves. Taking a deep breath, I tiptoed as quickly and as quietly as I could to the bottom of the lattice. Right near the top, I could see the wooden shaft of the rocket. To get to it I had to pass an opened window half way up and to the side.

I glanced once more at Doug before putting my first foot on the lattice, then the other. The structure gave a little groan under my weight. My feet were just able to get a hold between the latticework. Soon the top of my head was in line with the bottom of the window. I made an effort not to look to the side and into the house, but to just concentrate on climbing. Something caught my eye though, and I just had to pause and look. Through a lace curtain I could see a shadowy female figure. It must be Miss Kitty, I thought, because Miss Bridget's car wasn't anywhere to be seen. Miss Kitty, the vampire!

Swallowing deeply, I moved slightly to get a better look and lost my footing. I was hanging only by my hands, making scrambling noises with my feet as I tried to regain my foothold. Looking up I saw her moving quickly to the window. I panicked, lost my hold altogether and crashed to the ground with a thud, landing on my bum – and it hurt.

A woman's voice came from behind the lace of the opened window, but I couldn't see anyone.

"Are you hurt Patrick?" she inquired in a concerned tone. How'd she know my name?

"I think I hurt me bu… bottom."

"Don't move. You may have broken something."

I stayed put, only moving slightly to crane my neck and glare at my 'crow'. There was the thwack sound of the back screen door then this mysterious woman appeared around the edge of the house carrying a wet washer. My heart started racing. She wore a long floral dress with long sleeves and white gloves that left her whole arms covered. But I couldn't help staring at her face, even though I tried not to. Her skin was the colour of Nan's good bone china and her hair was white as well. It was parted in the centre leaving only a small gap to form two flat saucer-like sides covering her temples and cheeks and pinned at the back. She wore large sunglasses and was like no one I had ever seen before. She knelt down beside me. I started to tremble. She rolled me over and pressed gently on my tail bone.

"Does it hurt here?" she asked with a voice as soft and soothing as a butter menthol.

"No."

"Tell me if you feel pain anywhere when I press." Her hands made their way bit by bit up my spine. I shook my head with every press.

"Can you stand up?" I did. "Well it appears you haven't broken anything. Now, tell me what you were doing up there in the first place?" she asked as she stood up and held the cool washer against my forehead, studying my face at the same time.

"I was after a sky rocket," I confessed, pointing up into the choko vine.

"Like this one?" She picked the spent firework up and handed it to me.

"I must've loosened it when I fell." Somehow she had put me at ease.

"That was a very dangerous thing to do. You could have been seriously injured." I felt a bit silly. "Never mind. Would you like to come inside? I'll get you some milk and biscuits." I looked in Doug's direction, a bit unsure now of what to do next.

"No, I better not. My brother's waiting for me." I was trying hard not to look like I was staring at her so I diverted my gaze everywhere else. She moved her hand to my hair and gently stroked it.

"In future, if ever you need to retrieve anything … a ball or whatever, just knock on the door. No climbing up lattice, okay? Promise?" she smiled.

"Promise. Are you going to tell Dad?"

"I don't think he needs to know, do you?" she proposed with a little laugh. "After all, you're not hurt and the lattice is intact. It can be our little secret. Bye-bye Patrick."

I started off in the direction of the fence, a bit confused.

"Are you a vampire?" I turned and asked, once I was a safe distance away.

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Barry says you suck the blood of cats at night." She gave a little chuckle.

"Do I look like a vampire?"

"I've never seen one up close. So I don't exactly know what one really looks like."

"No one has, because they don't exist. Just make believe in Hollywood pictures. Tell young Barry Figgins, he's wrong. And that what he said is a very hurtful thing to say about anyone, especially behind their backs."

I felt bad at what I had just asked and how it had hurt her. When I got to the fence Doug whispered from the safety of the tree.

"Did she try and suck your blood?"

"No."

I looked back around to her house, still a bit confused. She was standing there watching me as I slid back through the fence. She gave a little wave before making her way around the back of the house.

Doug shimmied down the tree as I entered our yard through the fence.

"Well?" I handed him the sky rocket. It didn't seem to be that important to me anymore.

"Well what?" I asked as he tried to check my neck for fang marks. I brushed his hand away. "She's not a vampire. She told me. Barry's wrong. They're only in pictures."

"She only said that 'cause she knows we're on to her."

"She didn't bite me. She even offered me milk and biscuits."

"Only so she could get you inside, then throw you down into her dungeon and perform evil experiments." His dark brown eyes widened at the thought.

"Dungeon? Their house is on stumps like ours. You can see right under it. I think she's nice. An' anyways, she's not gonna tell Dad."

After securing our sky rockets, one in each of our school bags, we wandered back out front. Adopting our customary stance of leaning over the pickets of our front fence, we waited for something,
anything
to happen as we watched the powdering of dust on the road blow up the street.

"What d'ya wanna do?" Doug sighed. I was still thinking about my encounter with the enigmatic Miss Kitty. What was it with that weird hairdo?

"Dunno."

Flies glided on the breeze. Even they seemed bored – not even bothering to be a nuisance. Now we lived here all the time, we kept on running out of things to do. Lunch was hours away.

Within a few days, Doug pointed out a big bruise that had come up on my left buttock. Neither of us uttered a word about it to Dad or Nan.