The Eye of the Sheep (13 page)

‘Come on, kid. We’ll show your dad how it’s done,’ said Uncle Rodney.

What could I show my dad?

‘Come on, Jimmy. If Ned can, we can.’ Uncle Rodney threw the ball out deep. Ned plunged out to where it floated, crashing through waves, his body covered by water. ‘Come on, I’ll be there to keep an eye on you.’

Uncle Rodney held out his hand to me. It was brown and beneath its surface I saw pale blue crisscrossing ropes. I put my hand in his and we walked into the water. ‘Ooh, bloody cold that. We must be mad.’ Uncle Rodney jumped up and down as if he could get away from it. I held his hand tight as the cold stiffened me. The ends of tiny pipes tried to poke their way through my skin. ‘You okay, Jimmy? That’s not too bad is it, kid? You okay?’

I shook my head.
No no no not okay no no not okay no no
.

‘We don’t need to go any further if you don’t want to, mate. We can just stay here. We’ll get used to it in a minute and then we can see if we want to go deeper, okay?’

Dad caught another wave, his eyes bright as he sailed past.

‘You right to go under now, Jimmy?’ Uncle Rodney asked me.

‘No thanks, Uncle Rodney. No thanks. Not ready. Can I get out now, Uncle Rodney, can I? It was a great swim, thank you.’ Even
that
made Uncle Rodney laugh.

‘Sure you can, kid. Next time we’ll go deeper. By the end of the week you’ll be catching waves with your old man, you wait and see.’ He led me back to shore and left me with Ned, then he joined Dad in the water.

I sat with Ned on the towels, salt drying on my skin, prickling under the sun, one hand on Ned’s wet warm coat. Even though they didn’t speak or shout across to each other as they flew along the water, there was a language between Dad and Uncle Rodney made of waves.

When they came out of the water, Uncle Rodney just behind Dad, I saw that they were both branches from the same tree. Uncle Rodney was taller but they both walked leaning back, legs happy to get there but the rest of them not so sure. Both had thick dark hair, and both had the same words written across their chests:

RIP MOTHER
BELOVED

After they dried themselves we walked back along the hot road to Uncle Rodney’s house. Ned’s head hung as he loped, his gums over the green ball between his teeth, the lead loose in
my hand. The house we were walking to wasn’t the one Uncle Rodney lived in with Shirley on the Gold Coast – she took that one after the split. The house Uncle Rodney had now was a smaller one that he bought after Shirley left him with hardly any dough. There weren’t any of Shirley’s flower paintings in this one; only photos in frames of Uncle Rodney on boats with giant fishes in his hands.

When we got back Uncle Rodney took sausages and bread and salad and sauce out of the fridge for a barbecue. Uncle Rodney and Dad cracked beers outside. We went onto the verandah. There were three long chairs covered in soft squares. The garden stretched green before us with a birdhouse on a tree in the middle. The garden surrounded the tree. All points from fence to tree were equal.

‘Take a seat, Jim, stretch out,’ said Uncle Rodney. I climbed on one of the long chairs and put the towel over my face to block out the rays. I hung my hand down so I could touch Ned’s head as he lay on the deck next to me. The heat outside the towel was melting my outer coating. Uncle Rodney and Dad kept laughing at things while they fried the sausages and drank the beer. It was as if the waves and the sun had unblocked their valves. I liked the music it made – better than Merle Haggard.

I put tomato sauce on my sausages and bread. Uncle Rodney said, ‘You want some sausages with your sauce, mate?’ and laughed. Dad laughed too. Why?
Sausages with your sauce, sausages with your sauce
.

‘Uncle Rodney,’ I said into the heat, ‘Robby left. He went away on a boat.’

There was a pause, then Uncle Rodney said, ‘Is that right, Jim?’

‘That’s right, Uncle Rodney. That’s right. That’s what our Robby did. We’re going to miss him, aren’t we, Uncle Rodney?’

‘Is it true, Gav?’ Uncle Rodney asked. ‘Has Robby pissed off?’

I pulled the towel from my face and saw Dad head for the esky. ‘Yep.’

‘You never said anything.’

‘Didn’t have to. Jimmy’s done it for me.’ Dad pressed his finger hard into his beer can. I heard a snap.

‘Well I’m glad he
has
told me,’ Uncle Rodney said. ‘At least someone talks around here.’

‘We can’t ring him, we can’t write him a letter and Mum doesn’t know when he’s coming home,’ I told Uncle Rodney. ‘You have to ask the fish, ha ha! Hey, fish! Fish! When is our Robby coming home? Any ideas, fish? Any ideas?’

‘Good one, Jimmy. Ha! I like that. “Ask the fish!” Ha! At least you haven’t pissed off. Not planning on leaving your old man, are you?’

I looked at my dad. For a moment he had left Uncle Rodney’s yard and was searching for Robby through binoculars somewhere over the fence. Then suddenly he turned to me. ‘You better not bloody leave me, kid.’

Sparks hit the sides of my bone cage. ‘I better not, alright! I better not, Dad! I better bloody not! No way! No bloody way!’ I jumped off my chair, then over it and back again.

Uncle Rodney and Dad laughed, their faces turned to me, as if I was the source of their delight. Me,
Jimmy Flick
!

After lunch we lay in a row of four, a long loose wire running between us, mingling our thoughts.

Me: yellow sun, grey fur, blue wave.

Dad: blue waves, yellow sun, Paula’s brown eyes.

Uncle Rodney: yellow sun, grey fur, brown beer, Shirley’s blue eyes.

Ned: green ball green ball green ball.

Soon all we saw as we lay there in the hot sun were colours, one on top of the other, mixing at the edges like one of the fridge paintings I did when I was small.

That night I lay on the guest bed while Dad and Uncle Rodney sat up and drank beer and talked. I heard Uncle Rodney say Steve’s name.

‘Oh mate, were you surprised?’ Dad sounded as though there were tiny nails in his voice, little weapons to keep him safe, but from what?

‘I guess not.’

‘What I want to know is who the fuck came up with that much bail?’

‘The last time I spoke to Steve he said none of the gear was his. It was the only time and he was doing it as a favour for somebody.’

‘Bullshit. He was working for whoever paid his bail.’

‘Oh shit. Poor bastard.’

‘Poor nothing. A dozen fucken shot guns and a bucket full of speed. I could’ve been charged too. I already had Robby by then. Fucken idiot.’

‘I know, I know.’ Uncle Rodney sighed out.

‘What the hell was he thinking?’

‘He was never much big on thinking.’

‘Too right.’

‘Did you know I’ve still got his bloody ute up behind the shop.’

‘The WB?’

‘Yeah. He wanted me to mind it. He reckon’d he was going to come up and fix it and use it on the island to haul oyster baskets or some rubbish. I told him it was too hot for fucken oysters on the island, but he said he’d refrigerate the water or some bullshit.’

‘Some bullshit is right,’ said Dad.

Uncle Rodney waited. Dad was the oldest. Dad was the one who said what happened. But Uncle Rodney was going to try telling him something new. ‘Steve copped it a lot worse from the old man than you or me, mate. Only Ray got it worse. I’m not saying that’s an excuse, I’m just saying it happened. Did you know about the time Dad put him in hospital?’

‘No.’

‘You were long gone by then, and Mum didn’t want you to know. Dad broke three of his ribs with his jemmy bar. The one he used for lifting traps. You remember that fucken thing?’

‘Yeah. I remember it by the front door in case Brian Dixon ever came around.’

‘Brian fucken Dixon. Bastard.’

‘Dad said he was always ready for the enemy.’

‘Yeah, but Steve wasn’t the enemy, Gav. And Dad fucked him up well and truly. He was never the same. And neither was Mum. She got sick after that.’

There was a long silence between the brothers – two there, two missing.

‘Do you remember Steve on that old horse of the Drakes’, Rod? Do you remember how much he loved that horse?’ Dad’s voice was softer now. There were tears right at the back.

‘I remember he slept in the Drakes’ paddock. Mum couldn’t get him inside. He had to be near that fucken horse.’

‘He used to feed it all the breakfast cereal.’

‘Is that where it went?’

‘Jesus. Poor Steve.’

They were quiet again. I closed my eyes and saw the Drakes’ horse flying over the roof with Steve hanging onto the tail.

I woke when Dad came into the room. I pulled in my resources, holding my breath until I didn’t even take up one-third. Dad got in carefully, the mattress hardly dipped. He was very quiet, only taking in the breath that he needed and no extra. The air passed easily over his voice box, back and forth unimpeded. He stayed in his first position. I change positions a lot of times before the final. But Dad took his first and stayed with it. When his breathing deepened I knew he was asleep and then in my dream I was the guard and I wore a metal hat with a spear out the top and watched over my dad because that was my job and it always would be.

The next morning Uncle Rodney and Dad pulled the ping-pong table out of the garage. Uncle Rodney bashed cobwebs away with his bat.

I threw the tennis ball for Ned and he ran for it, picked it up with his teeth and brought it back. I ate my toast and threw it, I drank my juice and threw it, I brushed my teeth and threw it until Uncle Rodney said, ‘At least finish brushing your teeth, Jim. I’m drawing the line there.’ Ned was hot and shaking and wet and running running running but inside him was quiet and still.

I watched Dad and Uncle Rodney play ping-pong, puffs of laughter around their heads like the froth from the waves. Their arms were fast, their faces grinning, I saw my dad jump to the side. He jumped under, he jumped up, his arms out and his head back and then Uncle Rodney leapt and jumped and they sang out, ‘Take that! Take that! You ole bastard! Ah! Still got it! Still got it, mate! Ha! Ah! Shot! Shot, you ole bastard! Come on, little brother! Take that, ha! Ha! Nice one, ha!’

In the afternoon we walked down to the beach again. Ned raced in circles and so did I and Dad didn’t care. He was talking about boats and fish and produce from the shop. The sun shone hotly down on us as we walked along the road. Tiny rivers of sweat dripped down Mother Beloved on Dad’s and Uncle Rodney’s chests.

Oh, Gav, really, did you have to?
Mum asked him the day he came home with his new tattoo.

That’s how much I loved her, Paula.

Dad wore the stripes again. In his hand he carried cans of beer, his fingers between the plastic as if they were rings. Uncle Rodney packed oranges and bananas and cold cans of lemonade.

Soon Uncle Rodney asked, ‘You been in touch with Ray?’

I sensed my Dad’s cells go stiff, as if something was caught in the spokes. My dad didn’t talk about Ray since Ray went to jail for raping. ‘Not for about six months.’

‘I spoke to him at Christmas.’

‘How did he sound?’

‘He’s okay,’ said Uncle Rodney. ‘He lost the appeal.’

Dad huffed out air.

‘He reckons Rockhampton is better than Brisbane.’

‘Right.’

‘He’s still saying he didn’t do it.’

‘He did it,’ said Dad.

After a while Uncle Rodney said, ‘He asked about you and Paula and the boys.’

Dad wiped sweat from his forehead. He nodded.

We walked for a while longer, then Uncle Rodney said, ‘Did you ever work out what Dad had against him?’

‘What do you mean?’ Dad asked.

‘Why he had it in for him. Why he nearly killed him on New Year’s Eve when we were at Portland. Why he hit him so much.’

‘Maybe he knew something was wrong with him,’ said Dad.

‘Bullshit, Gav. There was nothing wrong with him. You know there was nothing wrong with him. Not back then.’

After a while Dad said, ‘Bastard.’

When we got to the water Dad pulled off his t-shirt and went straight in. Uncle Rodney shook his head. ‘Your old man, hey? My big brother . . .’ He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s good to see you both, Jimmy, bloody good. Coming in today?’

‘No thanks, Uncle Rodney. Ned needs someone to throw the ball.’

‘Suit yourself, son. Don’t mind if I go in?’

‘Don’t mind, Uncle Rodney, don’t mind if you do.’

‘Make sure that dog doesn’t wear you out,’ said Uncle Rodney as he walked down to the water.

Ned knew the ball was coming; he waited, he watched, I threw and Ned ran. It was one thing over and over.

•

Late at night I was in the guest room not sleeping while Dad and Uncle Rodney were in Uncle Rodney’s lounge room watching
Convoy
and drinking beers. Trucks sped down the highway as pictures of waves washed over me. I would fall back into soft water and then come sharply forward, my body jumping.

I got out of bed and went to the door. ‘Ned,’ I whispered into the hallway. ‘Ned.’

Ned padded into the room.

‘Ned.’

He climbed onto the bed. I put my hands on his head and listened for the messages.
Shhhhh . . . Jimmy . . . Listen . . .
Ned’s warmth joined me to him and to myself, through him.

‘I got to give up the booze, bro,’ said Dad.

‘Not our friend Fosters,’ Uncle Rodney answered.

‘Not the beers – the hard stuff.’

‘Oh yeah? What’s brought that on?’ said Uncle Rodney.

‘I’m getting older, mate. Robby’s gone. Only one kid left. Can’t take it like I used to.’

‘Who can, mate? Who can?’

I heard the click of a beer ring, then laughter. Ned put his chin on my chest. The trucks of
Convoy
rumbled past the doorway.

‘How’s Paula doing?’

‘She could be better. The asthma slows her down a bit. She works hard.’

‘You guys okay?’

‘We’d be better if I could stay off the hard stuff. I could come out of the doghouse once in a while.’

Rubby Ducky ten four ten four Silver Bear to Rubber Ducky.
Trucks overtook, honking their horns.

‘That fucken doghouse. Been there, mate,’ said Uncle Rodney.