The Audrey of the Outback Collection (5 page)

‘What are you up to, Audrey?’

She turned to face her mum. ‘Why do you think I’m up to something?’

‘You’re always up to something.’ Mrs Barlow bent forward to look Audrey in the eyes. ‘Apart from the sudden appearance of your brother’s cast-off trousers, there’s that funny walk.’

‘Dad walks like that.’

‘That’s because your father spends much of his life on the back of a camel.’

Audrey nodded. ‘I might have to do that too.’

‘But don’t you think camels are cranky and smell funny?’

‘Not all camels. Just Dad’s. The one called Dribble snots on people.’

As Audrey took a breath to continue, a fly whipped into her mouth and stuck in her throat. She coughed, once, twice, then gagged. Turning aside, she tried to suck the fly back up so she could spit it out. Her stomach heaved. Finally, she hoiked the soggy fly out and onto the ground.

‘Pah. Pah.’

Although the fly was now drowning in saliva on the sandy soil, Audrey could still feel where it had tickled her tonsils.

‘Are you all right?’ Mrs Barlow patted Audrey’s back.

‘
Blasted
fly,’ said Audrey.

Her mum’s hand went still. ‘I
beg
your pardon?’

‘Dad says blasted.’

‘You’re not Dad. You’re a little girl. Words like that are not nice coming from a girl’s mouth.’

‘I know other words,’ said Audrey. ‘And they’re much worserer than b …’ She saw the look on her mum’s face and stopped. ‘Much worserer than that one.’

‘It’s worse, not worserer.’

‘Sure is.’ Audrey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the way she’d seen Toothless do it. ‘Fair dinkum worse.’

‘Audrey Barlow, I’d say
spit it out
,’ said her mum, with a twinkle in her eyes. ‘But it appears you just did that. What’s going on?’

‘I started thinking. Actually, I don’t stop really, except when I’m asleep. Then I dream. Which is a kind of thinking, except I can’t make my thoughts go where I want. But sometimes when I’m asleep, I can make my dreams go where I want. But that’s really half-dreaming and half-thinking, so it doesn’t count.’

‘Dweams,’ said Douglas, as he continued to dig holes with a stick.

‘Is that your answer, Audrey?’ asked Mrs Barlow. ‘It sounded more like a question.’

‘I’ll give you an example.’

‘Where did you learn that big word?’

Mrs Barlow flicked out a pair of Price’s trousers, then folded them in half, before placing them in the basket.

‘From the dictionary in the lounge room.’ Audrey smiled. ‘It’s got lots of good words in it.’

‘I bet.’

‘It’s like this …’ Audrey stroked her mum’s arm, to help her understand. ‘Remember when I was four and I used to pick my nose? Dad told me that my finger was getting too big and it would get stuck up there. Well, now I’m older, so I’ve stopped.’

‘I’m so glad.’

‘I’m doing another change. The swagman idea didn’t work out, so I’ve thought of something else. I’m sick of being a girl. We don’t get enough words. I’m going to be a man.’

Fifteen

Audrey stood by her bedroom window and peered into the hand-mirror she’d borrowed from her mother. She tilted back her head, then turned it from side to side.

‘You coming, or what?’ Price’s voice surprised her from the doorway.

Audrey jumped.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked. ‘Staring at yourself in the mirror?’

‘No.’

‘Yes, you were. I just saw you.’

Audrey slapped the mirror down on her mattress. ‘I was checking something.’

‘What?’

‘I was looking to see if I had nose hairs.’

‘Nose hairs?’

‘Don’t copy everything I say.’ Audrey flounced past him. ‘Yesterday I decided to be a man. And men have hairs sticking out of their noses. Dad does. I’ve seen Mum trimming them with scissors. She nicked his nose once and made it bleed.’

Price followed Audrey through the tiny lounge room to the kitchen. ‘You can’t be a
man
,’ he said.

‘Toothless reckons people can be anything they want. They just have to make up their minds to it,’ she said. ‘That’s why he’s got jaws in his bag. I made up my mind to be a man.’

She swung into her rolling lope, the way she imagined her dad and other men, like Toothless, walked. Each of her trouser legs was tucked up to make a fat cuff. Then she plucked at her braces, making them snap against her chest. She lowered her voice to make it as deep as she could. ‘Fair dinkum, Price. Let’s get this job done.’

‘You’re as mad as a cut snake,’ said Price.

‘No, I’m …’ For a second, Audrey had reverted to her usual voice. Then she remembered and lowered it again. ‘Reckon I should give you a hand.’

‘Reckon
not
.’ Price grabbed a square tin of kerosene. ‘You’d get in the way. You can watch.’

Audrey pouted.

‘Even if you were a man, which you’re
not
, I’m the oldest.’

‘Fair enough, mate.’ Audrey followed her brother outside.

She was tempted to give her bird-whistle, the signal that she wanted Stumpy. But she held back. She’d told him that she had man-things to do today and couldn’t play children’s games. He had to stay out bush till she called him back.

Audrey strode behind Price, carefully avoiding the patch of three-cornered jacks. Although the prickles were tiny, they were hard, with sharp points. And it was difficult picking them out of the soles of her only pair of boots.

Yesterday’s wind had blown itself out. The hessian walls on the long-drop dunny hung straight and still.

‘Eggs,’ shouted Douglas, from inside the chookyard. He was helping Mum.

The chooks were letting them go again. Maybe their stomachs had finally got too big.

‘Price, how many eggs can a chook carry in its stomach at the same time?’ she asked.

Her brother shrugged.

When they reached the long-drop, Price screwed up his nose. ‘This dunny’s ripe.’

Usually a dose of lime got rid of the smell. But not this time.

Audrey tugged the trousers to loosen the knees so she could sit back on her heels. ‘Dad reckons you don’t have to empty your own dunny in the city. A bloke comes round at night, like a ghost, when you can’t see him. He’s got a cart they call a honey cart. If you’re rich, you can have a real flush, with water. They must have lots of water in the city if they can pour it down dunnies.’

Price unscrewed the lid of the kerosene tin. Now there was also the smell of kerosene in the air.

‘If you want to be a man, you’ll have to do jobs like this one,’ said Price.

With a firm shake of her head, Audrey said, ‘If I’m a man, I can say no. I’ll tell someone else to do it.’

‘Who?’

‘You.’

‘You’re a ning-nong.’ Price lifted the tin and splashed kero into the dark hole.

‘Dad doesn’t put that much in,’ said Audrey.

Price shook more kerosene into the hole.

‘You’d better stop now.’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ said Price.

‘Do men always know what they’re doing?’

Price shrugged.

‘Then why do you always say it?’ Audrey slowly scratched at her cheeks as though she had a beard growing there. Dad and Toothless did that. She wasn’t sure whether their beards were itchy or if they just liked scratching. There were lots of man-things she hadn’t yet worked out.

Price gave another generous shake of the tin, replaced the lid and put it outside the dunny.

‘Be careful,’ said Audrey.

‘I know what I’m …’ Price cleared his throat. ‘It’ll be okay. Move back if you’re worried.’

Audrey obeyed.

Price took a matchbox from his pocket, lit a match and threw it into the open hole.

There was an enormous
whoomph
, followed by a bang. A rush of heat knocked Audrey backwards.

Sixteen

Hot, kerosene-soaked fumes filled Audrey’s throat. There was loud crackling and hissing.

‘Audrey … Price!’ Their mum’s anxious voice calling from the chookyard sounded like a distant echo.

Audrey blinked. There seemed to be a lot of blue. Her head was fuzzy, as though she wasn’t properly awake. Then the fuzziness cleared. She realised she was lying on her back. The blue was the sky.

She looked over at Price. He, too, was on his back.

The hessian dunny walls were ablaze. Bluish flames leapt into the air.

Audrey’s stomach squeezed into a knot. ‘You’re not dead, are you, Price?’

He sat up. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Lucky Stumpy is out bush for a while. He doesn’t like fire.’

Mrs Barlow limped towards them, her face tight with worry. ‘Are you two all right?’ She sounded breathless.

Dougie bounced along behind her as though his feet were on springs.

‘Yes,’ answered Audrey. ‘We’re all right.’

She and Price had just meant to clean out the dunny hole with fire. They had almost cleaned
themselves
up with it. And now there was no hole at all. The sandy soil had collapsed in the explosion.

Red-faced, Mrs Barlow flopped beside Audrey and grabbed her hand.

Audrey felt her mother trembling.

Douglas leapt up and down. ‘Pwetty fire.’

‘Lucky we cleared a good patch around the house,’ said Mrs Barlow at last.

Price crawled across to sit beside his mother. He patted her shoulder. ‘Sorry, Mum. But you’ve been wanting proper walls and a door for a long time. Now you can have them.’

His eyebrows and the front of his hair looked odd.

‘You’ve singed your hair,’ said Mrs Barlow.

Price put his hand to his fringe and bits fell off.

‘Lucky he’s a man,’ said Audrey. ‘He knew what he was doing.’

‘Birds don’t read or write and they get on all right.’

Seventeen

Mrs Barlow gently eased Douglas away from the kitchen meat safe. ‘Leave that, Dougie. It’s lesson time now.’

Hessian sat in a shallow tray of water at the top of the safe. The wet hessian draped down each side of a wooden frame and helped keep the meat cool, especially when a breeze blew through it. The hessian also kept flies out. And to stop ants getting in, each of the meat safe’s four legs stood in a tin of water.

Douglas flicked his wet hands. Damp spots appeared on the hard mud floor.

Audrey crossed one knee over the other, then smoothed down her yellow dress. It was the only one of her three dresses that had no patches on it. She thumped her elbows on the kitchen table and pushed the pencil and paper away.

‘What’s the matter, Audrey?’ Mrs Barlow removed her apron and hung it behind the door.

‘I don’t like lessons.’

‘You must learn to read and write properly.’

Audrey sighed noisily. ‘Birds don’t read or write and they get on all right.’

‘But all they do is fly around and look for things to eat. You’d soon be bored with that.’

From where Audrey was sitting, the kitchen window was a square of blue sky. A black crow flew across it. Its
caa, caa, caa
cry made Audrey feel even more restless. She imagined skimming on a warm updraft of air. Everything on the ground would look small. Even the people. The crow was free to fly wherever it wanted. It didn’t have to do chores like emptying chookyards or fixing dunny holes. Nor did it have to do lessons.

Somewhere outside, Toothless was walking the track, feeling the wind on his face. He would be clutching his chaff bag full of sheep jaws, dreaming about yanking their teeth.

Also out there, swaying on the back of a dusty camel, would be her dad. Audrey pictured him with his hat-brim low, shading his eyes from the sun. His pipe would be in his mouth. Not lit. He didn’t smoke any more, but he couldn’t give up the pipe. He liked the feel of it. A bit like little Douglas when he was teething. He had chewed on a stick and wouldn’t let anyone take it from him.

Stumpy was just outside the kitchen, humming. Audrey could hear him, but she didn’t know the tune. He wanted her to know he was there. He made noises sometimes, humming or coughing to get her attention. But she couldn’t play until lessons were over.

‘I don’t want to be a girl learning to write,’ she protested. ‘Fair dinkum.’

When they were younger, she and Price sometimes ran and hid in the scrub at lesson time. But they didn’t do that any more. It wasn’t fair to run away from a mother who had a gammy leg.

‘What do you want to be then, Audrey?’ asked Mrs Barlow.

Frowning, Audrey thought hard. The swagman idea hadn’t worked. Swaggies had to hunt their own food, find water and look after themselves when they were sick. At night, a swaggie had to lie in the dark, listening to all the other creatures who shared the bush. Knowing that some of them bit or chewed.

Being a man wasn’t too good either. They blew up dunnies and singed their hair. Sure, they used words that girls were not allowed to say. But a man always had to know what he was doing. Or, at least, he had to pretend that he did. Men didn’t get to play games like hide-and-seek or have cubbyhouses and pretend pirate ships.

Suddenly she had a new idea.

Eighteen

Audrey looked down at the paper and pencil on the table. ‘I don’t want to be the girl having lessons. I want to be the teacher. Can I, Mum? Can I be the teacher? It’s easy. All you have to do is tell people what to do.’