The Fine Color of Rust (14 page)

“Maybe she's made herself invisible,” Helen whispers.

The mayor calls the meeting to order. As they go through the usual agenda items, Kyleen passes around the chips while the crowd on the left side chats and laughs. Melissa creeps in and asks if she can go down to the shop with Taylah and I tell her she's not going anywhere and she pouts and I sigh and it's just like being at home.

“We have an agenda item put forward by Norm Stevens,” the mayor reads out. “‘An application to lift the Unsightly Property Notice on the property of Mr. Norman Stevens Snr., Lot 19, Minyip Road, Gunapan.'”

Samantha Patterson is shuffling paper on the table in front of her. She takes a sip of water without looking up.

“Would you care to speak to your application, Norm?” the mayor asks.

Norm edges past me and Helen and walks to the front of the gallery.

“I don't want to speak to my application, I want to speak to youse councillors. I don't know what you think you're doing, slapping an Unsightly Property Notice on a property that's looked like this for fifteen years. How come suddenly I'm unsightly?”

“Norm, please don't take this personally. I've had a look at this and it's obviously about the resolution to beautify Gunapan. Working on our community pride. Last council meeting we voted on a resolution that said”—he lifts a piece of paper and adjusts his glasses for reading—“‘Gunapan should improve
its image and encourage pride in the community.'” He looks up, adjusts his glasses again, and pats his stomach. He often does that. He's a bit of a worrier. Probably has an ulcer.

“I've got plenty of community pride, mate. And anyway, I wasn't unsightly when you came to buy that corrugated iron for your shed last month. What's the problem this month?”

“I'll check with the staff about this.” The mayor leans across to mutter to the bloke who's sitting behind him taking notes. He leans in the other direction and mutters to a councillor, then turns back to face the gallery and Norm. The council officer tugs the mayor's sleeve to get his attention before handing him an open ring binder.

“Norm, I'll read you the shire's definition of unsightly property. ‘Unsightly property is land that contains unconstrained rubbish, excessive waste and/or vegetation, disused machinery or vehicles, partially completed or partially demolished buildings, or graffiti.' Now, Norm, you'll have to admit your yard fits most of those categories.”

“Yeah, like it did a month ago and a year ago and fifteen years ago. I'll ask again, what's changed? I think Councillor Samantha Patterson should answer that question.”

She looks up. She's married to the owner of a big farm out past Wilson Dam. Before she was elected unopposed to the shire council, she used to run the Ladies Auxiliary of the Halstead Lions Club. She's not only the sole woman on the council, she's the youngest councillor too. She looks the same age as me, but without the scrag factor. Her nails are polished. Her brown hair is as glossy and preened as bird feathers. I bet she paid a lot of money for that dress too. It's a soft green jersey with satin around the neckline and half-length sleeves. I hope she gives it to the charity shop when she's tired of it.

“I don't know much about this aspect of shire business,”
she answers calmly. “As most people here probably know”—she looks around the room, smiling and nodding at a few people—“I was elected to council on a platform of community development.” She smiles again with the white even teeth of someone on TV. “But as I understand it, doesn't someone have to make a complaint before an Unsightly Property Notice is issued? Perhaps Mr. Stevens might like to consider that. It could well be his neighbors.”

I can see Norm is heating up. He's scratching the back of his scarlet neck. The mayor leafs hurriedly through the folder and reads out loud. “‘If a complaint is received by the shire that a property is unsightly, the first step will be for a local laws officer to inspect the property. If the officer deems that it does constitute an unsightly property, a Notice to Comply will be issued.' Yep, it sounds as if that's what's happened, Norm. Not a lot we can do about it. It's a bylaw.”

“And if I don't comply?” Norm's talking slowly now. You don't see Norm angry very often. He's a pretty relaxed kind of a bloke. This is twice in a week. First Tony, now the Unsightly Property Notice.

The mayor runs his finger down the page.

“Da de da de da. Here it is. ‘The Notice to Comply will outline the circumstances causing the land to be deemed unsightly, and will state the works required to be completed by a specific date. If the works are not completed by that date or alternative arrangements have not been made with the officer, a contractor may be enlisted to complete the work on behalf of the shire. Once the work is completed to the satisfaction of the shire an invoice will be sent for payment of these works.'”

“I hope you don't think we're stupid, Vaughan,” Norm says. “It's not about my yard, we all know that.”

“Huh? What are you talking about? I hadn't even heard
about this notice until I saw the agenda. There's no conspiracy here, Norm. Keep your hat on.”

“Suit yourself. If you want a fight, I'm happy to oblige.” Norm swings around and strides back to his seat next to me, breathing through his nose.

I pat him on the arm, lean toward his ear, and whisper, “Go, Norm!” before I rear back in shock. I think he's growing spuds in that ear.

He expels a great snort of air, then half-turns to the crowd in the gallery.

“We've all been pretty bloody tolerant of the secrecy and shenanigans at this council. Well, maybe we won't be so tolerant anymore.”

Around us, a few people clap. Mario leans over and mutters to Norm, “Vaughan is a good mayor, Norm. We don't want to put the boot into the good blokes.”

“Don't worry, Mario. If he's done nothing wrong, he's got nothing to fear, right?”

It's a side of Norm I've never seen. It is true, though, that Norm knows most of what goes on around Gunapan, thanks to the steady stream of customers who never buy anything, but stand around gasbagging for hours. If he wants to cause some damage, I'm sure he has the weapons.

“What's Samantha Patterson's connection?” I whisper to Norm. “Has she got shares in the development?”

“She's too smart for that. But I'll find out, don't you worry.”

The next item for discussion is the water tanks to be installed by the side of the footy clubhouse. The club president says he's been waiting for four months and buying water to keep the ground safe for play and the club is now broke and he'll organize a demonstration if the council doesn't pull its finger out and put in the tanks. The councillor whose brief
is shire amenities tells the president that the tanks have been bought and are waiting for installation but Kev the council plumber broke his ankle and they've been waiting for him to recover, and the president says, “Stuff that, mate, twenty-five plumbers in Halstead could do the job,” and the councillor says, “Leave it with me and I'll see what can be done,” and the president says, “You've done bugger all till now, so why should I believe that?” and the mayor says, “Now now, everyone,” and the president storms back to his seat and the footballers in the back row drum their feet on the wooden floor and the mayor wipes his forehead and pats his stomach again.

Finally we get to the last item, the one the crowd is here for.

“Um, yes. The final item for tonight's meeting. This is certainly the most unusual shire meeting we've had in some time,” he says with a weak laugh. “Now Trudy Walker has put forward this item. She wants to discuss satanism in Gunapan.”

Trudy gets up and walks to the front of the room. Everyone is silent, except for Kyleen, who's munching chips steadily. Once she's in front of the microphone, Trudy adjusts her hair. It's been permed into a frizzy halo and she uses both hands to pat it down.

“We are a Christian community,” she begins.

“I'm not a Christian,” Sammy Lee calls from the back of the left gallery. “And I think you'll find that the Dhaliwal family aren't either.”

“He's got a point,” Norm says to me. “I've got more faith in
Best Bets
than Jesus.”

The left gallery is muttering. “Well, I don't go to church, but . . .,” “Sister Theresa cured me in grade four . . .”

“OK,” Trudy says, raising her hands. “OK. But we are a God-fearing community, aren't we?”

The Church of Goodwill gallery claps. I can hear Sammy
Lee in the row behind me chatting with Mrs. Edwards. “Honestly, I speak and nobody listens. I'm the invisible ethnic minority in this place. Sammy Lee, token Chinaman, non-Christian . . .”

“Mate,” Brian Mack says from the row behind Sammy. “You think you've got problems. You should try being Aboriginal here. My family's so far out of the town's bloody consciousness we might as well be white.”

“Jeez, don't wish that on us, hon,” Brian's wife, Merle, mutters.

“You may think we are old-fashioned fuddy-duddies, but this is no joke.” Trudy sounds so serious that everyone quiets down. “Witchcraft is not some innocent game with wands and tall hats. It's not a kids' book or a TV show. Real witchcraft is the work of the devil, and it can't be played with. You might think it's funny having a witch in the town, but you won't think it's funny when it gets out of hand. We need to stop this right now, before the devil sneaks into Gunapan while you're still laughing.”

“Yes!” the right gallery calls. “Amen!”

“I think we ought to hear the other side of the story before we make any hasty decisions,” the mayor points out, “except I'm not sure that the person in question is actually here. I did ask the council secretary to send a letter, though.”

We all look around like a bunch of turkeys craning their long necks.

It seems as if the show is over until a voice comes from the back of the left gallery. It's a high voice, nasal and thin, and it seems oddly familiar.

“I studied hard to get this diploma and I'm not giving up because you don't like it. Witches can work for good too,” the voice says.

She stands up and we stare with our mouths open. It's Leanne. Leanne grew up in Gunapan. She left a couple of years ago to study in Melbourne and hasn't been back as far as I know. Until now.

“Leanne?” Kyleen shouts through a mouthful of chips. “You're the witch?”

“I'd like to be addressed as Leonora. And yes, I'm now a trained witch from the Wiccan School of Herbal and Magickal Therapy in Melbourne. And I think I deserve some respect.”

A blinding flash floods the room. My heart skips a beat as I wonder if we have been smote, then I see the cadet reporter focussing his lens on Leanne.

“Oh my Lord,” Trudy says from the front of the room. “Leanne Bivens, what does your mother think about this?”

Leanne's mother stands up beside her. “I'm proud of Leanne. I mean, Leonora. What she's got is as good as a diploma from a college. And also, she's got rid of my shingles and I won a fifth division in Tattslotto last week and you can see her acne's completely gone.”

Everyone inclines toward the back of the room and peers at Leanne. She holds her head high, tilts it from side to side. Sure enough, that acne's cleared right up.

“This is wrong,” Trudy calls out. “Spells. Incantations. Do you think things come for free? A price will be exacted, young lady, and it will be your soul! Don't go thinking you can seduce the women of Gunapan into a coven.”

Norm guffaws beside me, then tries to cover the guffaw with a cough. I'm picturing the coven of hefty Gunapan women dancing naked in the moonlight beside the stinky Wilson Dam. I wonder whether we'd dance around the old car bodies or between them.

“I suppose you pray to demons,” Trudy goes on. “I've read
about it. You have black candles and upside-down crucifixes and goats. You're playing with forces you don't understand!”

We'll have to lock up Terror.

Leanne steps out from the row and walks down the center aisle toward Trudy. She does seem a lot more confident than when she was serving behind the makeup counter at the chemist shop. When she was younger she used to babysit for us occasionally. We'd come home and find her curled up asleep on the couch like a baby herself. Now she's wearing a long purple velvet dress and heavy silver jewelry that clanks as she walks. Beside me, Helen is fingering her face.

“Do you think she can get rid of wrinkles?” Helen whispers to me.

“I've got a bit of heavy-duty Spakfilla could help with that,” Norm answers, and she punches him in the arm.

As she walks toward Trudy, Leanne raises her arm and points. Trudy steps back behind the podium as if it will protect her.

“They told us in class people wouldn't understand. I want you to know that not all magick is black magick. I studied white magick. I did Herbs and Spells, Incantations and Potions, Freeing Your Inner Goddess, Small Business Bookkeeping, Marketing and Promotion. And I got the highest grade in the class for Women's Mysteries.”

The whole room goes quiet. I think we're all wondering about Women's Mysteries.

“Can you fly?” Kyleen asks.

“No, but if I do five more units and upgrade to a degree it's possible I'll be able to move from one place to another by magick.”

“Of course, in India some yogis can levitate through deep spiritual practice,” Mrs. Edwards behind me comments.

“Yeah, well, that's the same thing, isn't it? See?” Leanne adds, turning to Trudy. “And anyway, I come from Gunapan and I went to the city, but at least I came back. Everyone says that the young people leave and never come back and that's why Gunapan is in trouble. Well, here I am! Just because I'm doing something different you shouldn't treat me this way. I'm bringing new industry to town.”