The Party Line (9 page)

‘Herod, King of the Jews,’ said Gabrielle. ‘I sort of know the story, but I’ve got a few questions on the issues.’

‘Well, young lady. Why don’t you tell us the story? Then we can discuss it at the end.’

‘I’d like it if you told it, as the expert on the Bible,’ said Gabrielle. ‘If you did the talking, we could reflect.’

It seemed that Father Brindle didn’t know how to cope with Gabrielle. He leaned back in his chair and just looked at her.

‘I thought it was good to reflect,’ she said. ‘Generally. When it comes to church stuff.’

‘It is a good thing to do,’ he said. ‘Generally. But telling a story is a good way of making sure you remember it.’

‘Alright then,’ said Gabrielle. ‘You should stop me, though, if I make a mistake.’

Father Brindle nodded.

She started her story. Herod was happy until he heard a rumour that a new baby was going to be born, and that baby could take his place as king. Herod heard that the three wise men were going to visit this new baby, so he had them followed. The three wise men were actually really wise because they took a tricky route and managed to shake off their followers.

Everything seemed alright, said Gabrielle, but no one had counted on the stubbornness of King Herod.

‘Herod ordered his soldiers to go out and murder every single boy baby in the land. Just to make sure that Jesus didn’t get to be king.’

‘How many?’ a little kid asked.

‘Hundreds. Or maybe thousands. They had to bust into people’s houses and check the bedrooms for babies. If they were under two years old, then bang. Lights out.’

‘Can we ask questions?’ said the little kid.

‘Yes,’ said Gabrielle.

‘I thought Jesus died on the cross.’

‘He did,’ said Gabrielle. ‘Jesus escaped Herod’s massacre. Joseph had a dream that it was going to happen, so he sneaked baby Jesus away to safety. To Egypt.’

Gabrielle smiled at Nickie, as she mentioned the dream. Nickie knew what the smile meant, that Gabrielle was lucky with her own dreams.

Father Brindle said that was enough now and Gabrielle had to go back to the mat and sit down like everyone else.

‘But I didn’t ask
my
question,’ she said. ‘Was it evil?’

‘Was what evil?’ said Father Brindle.

‘The killing of babies, just because they were boys. The killing of any living creature, just because it’s a boy. Or a girl.’

Gabrielle looked at Nickie; it took a few seconds for Nickie to understand. Bobby calves. Killed simply because they were boys.

‘Yes,’ Father Brindle said. ‘To kill is bad, always. But to kill babies — babies of any kind, any … sex … yes. There’s no other word for it but evil.’

They would choose boy calves for Calf Club Day. It was part of the plan to stop the senseless evil killing of bobby calves. The plan was to save all of them somehow, but Nickie and Gabrielle began by pretending they couldn’t decide which boy calves they wanted. Then they really couldn’t decide.

‘We’ve got to take a comprehensive view of this,’ said Gabrielle.

They were sitting on the railing of the calf pen waiting for Mrs Janssen to bring out more hot milk for the feeder.

‘What do you mean, comprehensive?’

‘The whole big picture.’

‘Alright.’

‘So, in this situation, what we need to do is imagine not just how good the calves look. And not just how well they walk when we lead them. The comprehensive picture would also include how we look, walking along with them.’

‘I get it,’ Nickie said, though she wasn’t sure she did.

‘Yep. So. When it comes to show time, we have to actually look good, too. We have to match our calves. Complement our calves. Complement is the word for it, not like paying a compliment but matching two things together well. Though if we complement our calves, we’ll probably
get
compliments. And ribbons.’

Gabrielle jumped down off the fence. She held her hand out to one side, in the air.

‘Imagine I’m leading my calf around,’ she said. She walked slowly around the pen. Her nose was in the air and her back was straight. ‘So everyone else is just stumbling along in their gumboots and tripping over their calf leads and bumping into the back of each other when calves stop for a pee or a shit. But not us. There will be harmony between us and our two calves. We will be as one, and the judges will say
Crikey, look at how that girl complements her calf. Look at that. That’s something different.’

‘That’s going to be a problem,’ Nickie said. ‘People around here don’t like things to be different.’

‘And then, Nickie, what they will say is
Goodness, I’ve just noticed that the girl has designed her outfit exactly to match her calf! Isn’t that a wonderful comprehensive concept!’

‘They won’t say comprehensive,’ Nickie said. ‘Probably they won’t say concept either.’

Gabrielle jumped back up on the railing. ‘Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter if they don’t say those words. That’s what they’ll be thinking, even if they don’t know how to express themselves. So, for example, you could choose a Jersey calf, and I’ll choose a black and white. I’ll sort out the matching clothes. We’ll be the only comprehensive entries.’

Mrs Janssen was taking her time with the calf milk. Gabrielle moved around, looking under all the calves. Finally, she stood up next to a scrawny little Jersey one. It looked as though he had something wrong with his neck. His head was down and he didn’t even join in with the other calves pushing their way around looking for more milk. He was the saddest calf Nickie had ever seen. And all his problems weren’t just at the head end — he had scours also.

‘I think this is a boy,’ Gabrielle said.

‘Are there any others?’ Nickie was completely in favour of the plan to save the bobby calves, but this one had no hope of winning anything on Calf Club Day. A name for him had already come into her head. Larry. Larry the Loser.

‘This is the one for you, Nickie,’ Gabrielle said. She stood up next to the sick calf, patting his back. She’d put her fingers in his mouth and he was half-pie sucking on them. ‘Don’t you see? You’ve got to choose him. He’s so weak, he’ll be on the next murder truck if you don’t.’

Nickie slid down off the fence. Up close, she could see he was shaking. It wasn’t shaking-with-excitement, it was more like shaking-with-the-effort-of-standing-up. She ran her hand down his back. Bones bones bones. Larry was a wreck. ‘Larry,’ Nickie said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He shivered some more.

‘Perfect name,’ said Gabrielle. She was grinning and held up her hand. There was calf shit on it, but Nickie high-fived her anyway.
‘Happy as Larry. But in front of the judges, I think his official name should be Laurence.’

Mrs Janssen finally brought out more calf milk. The calves stampeded the teats, head-butting each other out of the way until each had latched on. All of them, except for Larry, who stayed exactly where he’d been before, shaking, staring at nothing.

‘That one’s no good,’ Mrs Janssen said, looking at Larry, shaking her head. ‘He’s buggered. There’s that one, and a few others …’

She was looking around all the calves now, checking them over. Nickie glanced at Gabrielle.
Herod
, Gabrielle mouthed, then held her finger to her lips.
Shush
.

They watched as Mrs Janssen walked around the back of the feeding calves.

‘… That one,’ said Mrs Janssen, pointing to a black and white calf, just a bit bigger than Larry. ‘That one, and that one, and those two. For the truck.’

Nickie swallowed hard. Six calves. Two black and whites, and four Jerseys.

‘Not those ones,’ Nickie said, pointing vaguely to all the condemned animals. ‘Two of those ones are going to be our calf club pets. We’ve already chosen them.’

She put her hand proudly on Larry’s skinny shaky back. Larry took this as a signal to stop feeding and hang his head down again, staring at the concrete. The calf next to him straight away pushed Larry out of the way and finished Larry’s milk.

Gabrielle stepped forward and touched one of the smallest black and white calves. She scratched it under its ears. The calf didn’t look up at her, it was still feeding. At least it was hungry.

‘This one’s mine,’ said Gabrielle.

‘Oh girls,’ said Mrs Janssen. ‘Not those two. Those two are sick. You can see they are sick. You gotta get better ones than that.’

Mrs Janssen started pulling calves away from the feeder, looking at their faces and lifting their tails to check for scours. ‘Here’s a couple of nice calves for you. Look. Two very nice young ladies for two very nice young ladies …’

‘It’s too late Mrs Janssen,’ said Gabrielle. ‘We already chose names and everything. Larry and … Vincent. But thanks.’

Mrs Janssen shrugged her shoulders. ‘Your fathers and mothers won’t be happy, you know. They’ll make you choose some other ones. Some healthy ones.’

The calves had finished all the milk. Nickie and Gabrielle got their sticks and started pushing them away from the empty feeder. Mrs Janssen opened the gate to the calf paddock next door.

‘When’s the truck coming?’ Gabrielle said it so casually.

‘Monday,’ said Mrs Janssen. ‘We’ll put them in the pen Monday morning, after feeding.’

‘But not Larry and Vincent,’ said Gabrielle.

‘Larry and Vincent are no bloody good for pets,’ said Mrs Janssen. ‘I already told you that.’

They took their time walking back to the house. For once, Gabrielle was quiet. Nickie guessed they were thinking about the same thing — those calves being herded up the tanker track, wobbly and sad, come Monday morning. There might be four, or six, or even more if some of the others showed signs of weakness or maleness. Nickie had done the job herself many times, never thinking of where exactly they were going.

‘We’re saving those victims.’ Gabrielle’s words startled Nickie.

‘How?’

‘I don’t know yet. But I’m going to think of a plan. We’ve got two days to come up with something.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. I’m going to think it through.’

‘There’s no chance of changing their minds, Gabrielle.’

‘I am not appreciating your negativity, Nickie.’ She was grinning. ‘If Mary had given up and just handed Jesus over to the Romans, where would we be today?’

Good question. There’d be no religious instruction, no Father Brindle. This was appealing. But without religious instruction Nickie might never have won Gabrielle off Erin as a best friend.

Gabrielle got on her bike and pedalled away.

‘I’ll ring you up. Don’t go anywhere,’ she shouted. ‘Don’t leave home until I call.’

Gabrielle finally rang on Sunday afternoon. At about three o’clock, just an hour or so before Nickie was due to see her anyway for calf feeding.

‘It’s me,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

Nickie wasn’t expecting her to say anything else. They both knew that it wasn’t safe. A total of nine people could be listening, all the people on both their lines which came to eight, plus Mrs Shanks at the exchange. She was the biggest worry. You could never tell whether she was earwigging because there was no clicking sound of the telephone receiver lifting up or being put down. She just quietly, sneakily, stayed on the line.

‘See you at four,’ Gabrielle said.

Nickie was pleased, after all, that it had taken Gabrielle all weekend to think of something. If she’d rung any earlier, Nickie would have started imagining what the idea might be and worrying about it.

‘Hello, Mrs Walker.’

Nickie heard Gabrielle’s voice. Her mother was outside putting new plants and seeds in the vege garden. ‘What are you planting?’

‘Beans,’ said Joy. ‘Beans and peas, and silverbeet.’

‘Three of my favourites,’ Gabrielle said. ‘What sort of beans? Broad or string?’

‘Both,’ said Joy. ‘I try to get both going, but the broad beans don’t do so well here, for some reason.’

Nickie smiled, imagining the inner turmoil of her mother being forced to talk vegetables with Gabrielle Baxter the vegetarian. Her mother would be excited to have anyone interested in her vegetables — everyone in the house hated them, including Eugene — but she’d be annoyed that person was Gabrielle.

They set off down the road. As soon as they were far enough from the house for Joy not to hear, Gabrielle stopped and hugged Nickie.

‘Oh. My. God. Nickie. It’s perfect, what I’ve done. It’s fucking perfect.’

Nickie was getting used to the swearing. Gabrielle was the only girl who said fuck and all the fuck words without even trying to be tough. Nickie asked her once how come she didn’t get told off for it at home. She said her father swore all the time and he’d once been to university and, according to him, fuck was just another word, just a collection of vowels and consonants, nothing to get worked up about. She also knew how to swear in French, and when she taught Nickie
vas te faire enculer
Nickie said it out loud without any worries. Nickie got her point.

‘You have to tell Mrs Janssen that you’ve got a message from your father,’ Gabrielle said. ‘You’ve got to say that the bobby calves have to go out to the road, to the pen, tonight. Not tomorrow morning, but after feeding tonight.’

‘Why would he say that?’

‘The message from your dad is that he’s had a call from the truck guy, and the truck’s going to come really early tomorrow morning. Maybe even before milking. So waiting for the morning milking to finish and the calves to be fed will be too late. The calves might miss the truck.’

‘Why do the calves need to go out tonight? Really?’

Gabrielle’s eyes opened wide. ‘Because you and I are going to rescue them.’

Nickie stopped walking. ‘Are you
nuts
?’ she managed finally.

‘I am not crazy.’ She laughed. ‘And you can say anything you want, Nickie. Actually, I want you to. I want
you
—’ she jabbed at Nickie in the chest with her bright red fingernail — ‘to try to think of ways that my plan won’t work. That way we’ll make sure we can’t get caught.’

Gabrielle was walking backwards, facing Nickie.

‘Go,’ she said. ‘We’ve already saved two of them. Larry and Vincent are safe. Tell me why we can’t save the others. Tell me why it can’t work. Start from the start.’