Authors: David Metzenthen
‘I dunno what he thinks about the Cloutys,’ Farren said. ‘But I know he can’t keep walkin’ around the bloody island for the rest of his life, can he?’
‘Shit, no.’ Robbie stepped off the track, the rock ballast clacking under his boots. ‘He’ll wear it out. But hey, even if we lose, at least we can say we got him to go back over the bridge. So, d’you want to go for a sail tomorrow for a bit of practice?’
The reality of the race scared Farren. More often than not he wished they could get out of it, even though it wasn’t even officially on. It would involve money that no one could really afford to lose, he knew that. These types of races, between boats and families, always did.
‘Yeah, all right,’ he said slowly. ‘But Joe’s boys sail every day of their lives. They’ll probably thrash us.’
Robbie’s eyes glinted. ‘So what? We’ve gotta have a bloody go at ’em, Farry. For the sake of all the fellers who’ve gone off to fight while they stick here, the bludgers.’
‘But you don’t have to go,’ Farren said reasonably. ‘The Cloutys don’t ’ave to go if they don’t want to. There’s no law says they do.’
Robbie placed a farthing on the track for the train to flatten.
‘Yeah, well, yeah, there’s no
law
. But –’ he moved off the track, taking two stuck-together lollies from his bag, twisting them apart, ‘but we’ve gotta take ’em on anyway, Farry. To show them we’re not scared. Who cares if we lose? Or drop a quid or two? That ain’t the point.’
To Farren this sounded a lot less serious and a lot better; especially if they could make the bets for not much money. Then the whole thing might actually get to being close to fun, like the bets Danny put on the Melbourne and Caulfield Cups. But around here, in a boat race especially, the idea was to win.
Like the War.
Danny, Souki, Farren, and Robbie stood on a moon-sliver of beach embossed with broken shells and scraps of stringy green weed. It was Souki, the boys knew, who they were waiting on. Farren watched her as she eyed the
Camille
nodding innocently at her mooring.
Farren thought that Souki, in her patched jacket and ancient pants, her white hair poking out from under a black beanie, looked like a pirate kid about to be shipped off somewhere she didn’t want to go. With one small black boot she kicked at the hard grass.
‘I, well, maybe…’ She swung around as if she’d caught Farren laughing at her. ‘I
ain’t
freggin’ scared of no boat, Farren!’ She jabbed out a finger. ‘An’ if you say I am – well, just you bloody don’t. Because it’s just that other night I gotta fright.’ She spun on Danny, finger at the ready. ‘An’ you, too, Danny! I ain’t scared, I ain’t! I just need to get meself right.’
Danny lifted his good hand, a cork-tipped cigarette planted deeply between fingers.
‘Hey, mate,’ he said, ‘I ain’t scared, either. But maybe I am a
little
bit worried. But that’s orright, because you ’n’ me ’ave got very good reasons
to
be worried, seein’ that you was in a ship-wreck and I was a sittin’ duck in a wooden boat at Gallipoli’s best shootin’ gallery. So, take yer time, Souk. We got plenty.’
Souki turned back to the
Camille
, as if the boat might suddenly and inexplicably do something dangerous.
‘I
do
wanna go,’ she said wishfully. ‘I do wanna be
in
the race. Only somethin’s bloody stoppin’ me an’ I don’ know what it is.’
Danny smoked on. ‘Bein’ scared don’t mean you ain’t brave, Souk.’ He sniffed as if testing the air for old, familiar smells. ‘Bein’ brave is
all
about bein’ scared. And then decidin’ what yer
should
do and if yer
have
to do it. You don’t have to go in that boat, little mate. But if someone’s life depended on it then you would. I know you would.’
‘But I do wanna go in the
freggin’
boat!’ Souki scrubbed at her eyes as if she could change what she was seeing. ‘And you ’ave ter go too, Danny. But I just freggin’ can’t!’ And she took off, running for the house, black beanie in hands, the scrub slashing at her pants, her hair like ball lightning, white, bright, and hypnotic.
Danny watched her run for a few seconds before turning back to the water. Farren wondered what he might see there in the shallows, because everybody knew what had happened on the first morning at Gallipoli.
‘I ain’t goin’ either, gentlemen.’ Danny’s glance rested on Farren and Robbie equally. ‘But I think I will go and catch up with me pint-sized pal before she flattens the house.’ Danny grinned and spat. ‘Be careful, eh? See yers at home.’ He set off back up the track, his unbuttoned coat out like the soft brown ears of a jaunty dog.
‘I reckon we give ’em a few minutes,’ Farren said. ‘Because if we go, and Souk misses out, she’ll never forgive herself. Or me.’
The
Camille
’s sails set with a snap and she dipped like a runner taking off in a race. Farren could feel the life in her as she cut through the water. This is
still
the old man’s boat, he thought. It still is; and he knew that sailing her, feeling her work with the wind, was as close as he was ever going to get to being with his dad again.
‘Cheers, chaps,’ Danny said shakily, and tapped a bottle of brandy on the boom. ‘To the
Camille
, the loveliest b-boat in the bay. And to her crew, a motley bunch but not a b-bad bunch, the same.’
Souki, padded in the only life jacket on board, stared at Danny, her eyes stony with disapproval.
‘Y’aint s’posed to drink when yer sailin’, Danny. If yer go overboard you’ll sink like a bloody brick. ’Specially in them big glumpy boots.’
‘True, Souk. True.’ Danny cradled the bottle as delicately as if it contained a model ship. ‘But the thing is, if I don’t have a couple of sips, I get absolutely chronic seasick. And anyway – ’ he took in the width of bay, the low blue hills, and the cloud-strewn sky. ‘
God
, I’m glad to be home. Good boy, Allah. You’ve done all right by me.’
Farren saw Robbie shift uncomfortably, and look off up the bay towards Melbourne, the expanse of glittering water like a broad road paved with fallen stars.
‘Eh, Robbie.’ Souki leant forward to see around Danny. ‘I ain’t got no dad, either, yer know. ’E got bit by a big black freggin’ tiger
snake and that was that. You’ll be right. You got ya mum, ain’t yer? An’ yer mates.’
Farren saw Robbie brush his face with a sleeve.
‘Well, I think maybe my old man might still be alive, Souki,’ he said steadily. ‘You know, so until I hear any different, I’m trying to believe that he is. But you’re right, whatever happens, I’ll be fine.’
Souki sat back, satisfied.
‘Too right. You just see what ’appens. That’s all yer can freggin’ do. An’ keep yer fingers crossed.’ She crossed her fingers. ‘Eh, Farren. These bloody sails look a bit crook.’ She studied the deep bellying curve of dirty canvas, wrinkles running towards the mast like ripples. ‘They ‘angin’ like freggin’ curtains.’
Danny laughed, moving close to Souki, as if he was going to tell her a secret.
‘So maybe you’n me’ll have to cut some more,’ he said. ‘One dark night when no one’s watchin’. As there’s a bit of canvas down the loft the old man paid for before I went away. And listen ’ere, lambchop, when ya go to school tomorrer you gotta stop swearin’ or they’ll bloody shoot yer.’ Danny turned unsteadily, Farren guessing he was half-drunk, at least. ‘An’ I’m real sorry about your old man, Robbie. I forgot he’s missin’. Here. Have a drink. To soldiers ’n’ sailors ’n’ fishermen ’n’ whalers.’
Robbie took the bottle. ‘Yeah, thanks, Danny. No worries. No, you’re right as rain.’
‘My grey granpa was a whaler,’ Souki said. ‘He come from ’Merica an’ me grey gran was one of them blackfellers the gub’mint sent over from Tassie. An’ if anybody at this school tomorrer reckons anythin’ crook about me, o’ll freggin’ – o’ll whack ’em.’ Souki leant her elbow into Danny’s side. ‘Why do I ’ave ter go anyway,
Danny? Who ya gunna talk to all day?’
‘The bleedin’ rabbit.’ Danny held out his cigarette tin to Souki. ‘Get us a smoke out, will ya, mate?’ Souki did as she was asked while Danny hunted out a match. ‘Right. Ta. Now.’ He lit up and took a steadying drag. ‘You ’ave to go to school, Souk, because nobody knows everythin’, and if they think they do, then they need to go more’n anybody. And I should go, too, but I need to think about winnin’ us this boat race for the sake of the old man, orright?’
‘Yeah, well, I s’pose.’ Souki wiped her nose with her sleeve. ‘But you gotta chuck them old sails. Otherwise youse fellers’ll get flogged. And we’ll ’ave ta scrape the bottom of ’er because she’s been moored for months. Any bloody nong c’n see that.’
With the
Camille
safely moored, Souki led Robbie and Farren and an increasingly unsteady Danny, up the track to the house.
‘I told yers I weren’t scared.’ Souki spun her beanie on a finger. ‘Din’ I? Eh?’
‘You did,’ Robbie agreed. ‘And you know what? I think you might like going to school for a while. I go to the same one. It’s a bit of fun sometimes.’
Souki scowled. ‘Well, o’m not sittin’ wiv no little kids.’ She whipped her pointing finger out from under her beanie. ‘Nah-bloody-
ah
. Or o’ll be off home double quick smart. Just like this.’ And she took off for the house.
The boys watched her go, running like a rabbit for its burrow, Farren seeing that someone stood at the back step waiting. It was Charlotte, he thought.
‘Eh!’ Souki spun around on the track like a sheepdog awaiting orders. ‘There’s someone at the ’ouse! An’ she looks a bit freggin’
mean! I’m gunna go’n see what she wants!’ And again Souki charged off.
Danny, gently swaying, watched her run.
‘A good kid, that,’ he said, and drank, a procession of bubbles racing up the bottle. ‘Real good. Cheers.’
Anger pushed and pulled at Farren until he couldn’t hold back.
‘You shouldn’t be drinkin’ so much, Danny. All that rum. It rots yer guts. And that smokin’ all the time. Mum and dad’d go through ya.’
‘It ain’t rum.’ Danny showed Farren the almost empty bottle. ‘It’s brandy. I run outta rum.’ He grinned at Farren, but not for long and not too brightly before he looked away. ‘Yeah, well, I know what yer sayin’ there, Professor Fox Hound. But let’s just call it temporary measures, eh? And leave it at that.’
Farren made tea as Souki and Charlotte looked at each other with some trepidation, Souki holding tightly onto the opened parcel of clothes that Charlotte had bought.
‘I never ’ad new cloves before.’ Souki picked up the plain brown dress and white cardigan and sniffed deeply. ‘I c’n even smell ’em they’re so new. Like flowers.’ She looked up. ‘Thanks, Charlotte. I’ll keep ’em forever an’ only wear ’em special.’
‘You won’t.’ Charlotte stood briskly and took two full mugs from Robbie. ‘You’ll wear them to school. And if you need more, you shall ’ave them, though not so new maybe, but more. So that’s that. And put ’em down while you ’ave your cuppa tea, that’d be a good idea.’
Souki did what she was told and took her tea in two hands.
‘C’n I take ’em home when I go? Or d’yer wan ’em back? Like, som’un else might need ’em one day if their boat sinks out the front, mightn’t they?’
‘That’s not very likely,’ Charlotte said primly. ‘You keep them. Of course you do. And my name’s
Shar
-lotte. Like with an ‘s’.’
Charlotte sat stiffly, her little finger sticking out awkwardly from the mug’s thick handle. ‘They’re a present and nothin’ else.’
Danny came to life, blinking like a waking lizard. He accepted a mug of tea.
‘Ta, Robbie. Cheers.’ He sat up, trying out his broken grin. ‘And Charlotte, if I could ask yer one more favour, I might.’
Charlotte sipped demurely, her hand under the mug like a saucer.
‘Yes, you may, Danny.’ She looked at him warily. ‘But I am an extremely busy person, what with work an’ family an’ that, as youse might know.’
‘Yeah, I do know.’ Danny’s good hand went off in search of his cigarettes. ‘I was just wonderin’ if yer could take Souki to school tomorrer? Just like meet ’er over the bridge and walk ’er up, eh? Just for her first day. Because it’s probably better if you did it than us.’
Farren had figured he was going to do this. He’d been looking forward to it in a way; to show that he was pretty much grown-up, to show how he and Danny had looked after Souki, and to remind everyone in town that it was Danny Fox who’d saved her.
‘But Danny,’ he said, ‘I thought I was –’
Danny cut him off.
‘I asked Charlotte, orright?’
Farren shut his mouth, figuring Danny had his reasons.
‘Ah, yes, Danny, that would be fine.’ Charlotte sipped tea. ‘I’m sure Maggie’ll gimme twenny minutes off and Farren will cover my absence when I’m gone. Afterall, a child’s gotta get off on the right foot. But you and Farren must make sure she’s dressed clean and presentable and ’as her lunch.’
‘I c’n dress meself.’ Souki said. ‘An’ nobody’s touchin’ me hair but me. And I’m clean enough. I’m always bloody clean.’
‘Yessir, Souk!’ Danny saluted with an unlit cigarette. ‘I promise neither me nor Farren will offer to plait yer hair.’
‘Good.’ Souki subsided into her chair like a bird into its nest. ‘An’ I don’ wear no ribbons nor socks nor ’airpins nor hairbans,’ she added. ‘Eiver. Ever.’
‘I’m sure as long as you wear shoes it’ll be fine.’ Charlotte stood. ‘Now, I must be going. I’ve a list as long as yer arm at ’ome to get through before I c’n put me feet up.’
‘Farren and Robbie’ll walk yer home over the bridge,’ Danny offered. ‘And thanks for everythin’, Charlotte. You’re a trooper and a champion. And if yer were an ’orse, I’d run yer in the Cup, and back yer for a thousand.’
Souki twisted up and around like a puppet, to grip the back of the chair, her pale hair flying.
‘I wouldn’t! She looks slower than an old wet week! Don’t ya, Charlotte? And anyway, I’ll see yer demorrer!’ Souki sat down, laughing joyfully at her dirty bare feet. ‘An’ don’ be freggin’ late!’
Darkness and a low creeping mist beat Farren home from work. Turning the door handle he found that it was locked.
‘Eh, open up!’ He stepped back. ‘Eh! C’mon, Danny. Lemme in.’ He rattled the handle. ‘Open up!’