Season of Hate Page 16

  Everyone in the classroom signed the cast, including Mr Carroll. Nan wasn't impressed when she discovered the cock and balls Snotty had drawn on the underside and covered it over with white sandshoe polish.

  Doug hated every minute of his loss of freedom and privacy, especially having to have Dad wash and dress him. His complaining stopped once Dad stated that if he didn't like him doing it, Nan would be happy to take over. I helped by getting him into his pyjamas of a night and putting his shoes and socks on for school. He had to have his meals cut up for him as well, but managed to feed himself with just a fork or spoon in his right hand.

  Months later, once the cast was removed, my retribution for the teasing I gave him came quickly and without warning. A blue-tongue lizard secreted in my bed, which had me screaming like a girl and running from the room to the sound of Doug's laughter, evened the score. Needless to say, only weeks after the cast's removal, Doug and Barry had climbed up on top of a wheat silo and were skylarking about. They both stood on the top with arms outstretched and cooeeing at the world.

  "Come down! You'll kill yerselves!" I yelled to no effect.

  "Why don't ya run home and tell Dad. Go on, I dare ya," Doug shouted down at me. I went home alone and never did tell Dad. I was surprised and a little disappointed that he thought I would.

  Johnny secured a full time job with Mr Horan the blacksmith that allowed him to buy riding boots and a new rug for Doctor, a little spending money as well as putting regular deposits in the bank. Every now and then he would insist on shouting Dad, Doug and me to milkshakes at Eleni's. With having a full time job, and sometimes the need to work some weekends, his weekends away in the bush became an irregular affair. When he did disappear even for one day, he was always back and ready for work come Monday morning.

  Johnny's apprenticeship didn't mean our lawns and gardens were neglected. Every week or two we'd have a new man or woman, black or white, insisting on attending to it in lieu of Dad's waiving his fee. Some even chopped wood or painted the fence or dunny. One Aboriginal woman called Aunty Maisy and her husband Jacky used to bring along their two kids. While she tended the garden and he raked up the leaves and burnt them off or whatever, Nan would have their children sitting on the verandah drinking Milo and eating scones or fresh sandwiches. Inevitably, they went home with a dozen eggs and vegies from the garden as well.

  Every other week, Johnny would hang out overnight with the mob that'd moved into the refurbished Hudson house. There was only an old man called Miro, his two adult sons, their wives and three children, two boys and a young girl, Binda. She was around Johnny's age. The two adult sons worked as itinerant farm labourers around the district. Others who had lived there before it being taken over by the Aboriginal Welfare Board, concerned for their safety, had heeded the directions of the white gangs that taunted and derided them, and moved on.

  The gunshots I had heard on our first night in town became more frequent. It seemed every few weeks there was always some car chase, or shots fired into the air near the Hudson or the other Aboriginal houses late at night. Even neighbours living nearby them began to feel unsafe.

  No one was ever hurt. It was just an ongoing campaign of intimidation to force them on their way and to let their neighbours know that any friendship displayed or assistance given to the Aboriginal families might see them getting some of the same treatment. It always occurred once Sergeant Farrar and the town had gone to bed for the night.

  Johnny still stopped by for the occasional evening meal, after which he and I would go out onto the back verandah and sit on the cane lounge. While moths bashed away at the bulb overhead, I'd read to him. Dad had bought an illustrated children's collection of novels by Dickens. We both liked David Copperfield and A Tale of Two Cities the best. Each week we'd take up where we left off the week before. Johnny was able to read alongside me, my finger skipping from word to word. He'd mouth the words as I spoke. "'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness …'" and more. Not being able to speak the words, did not mean he couldn't hear, read and understand them for himself. Sometimes he'd borrow one of the books and take it with him to reread by himself.

  It was only a month after Doug had his cast removed, that the next disaster struck. I was parking my bike under the house after riding home from school. Doug was still out with some mates.

  "Nan, I'm home," I called out. No response. I remember not thinking much of it at the time, until I had run up the front steps and on reaching the screen door, called out again.

  "Nan, I'm home." There was still no response. As I entered through the screen door, "Doug's off riding with …" I stopped at the kitchen door. Nan was on her back on the floor. I threw my satchel on the floor and knelt by her side. In my panic, all I could think of to do was to shake her.

  "Nan, Nan, wake up!" Putting my ear to her mouth I felt a faint laboured breath against my skin. She was alive. I ran out the front door, down the steps and through the palings to Miss Kitty. My heart pounded in my chest. She quickly telephoned Dad then came back with me to our place, gently assuring me that Nan would be alright, before sending me off to the bathroom to get a cool washer. When I returned, she had her sitting upright against the kitchen cupboard. Nan'd wet herself and Miss Kitty was mopping up the urine around her with old newspapers. Nan's eyes were swimming in her head. She slowly began to focus on the two of us.

  "Wha haffen?" Her speech was slurred and the left side of her face had dropped ever so slightly. Miss Kitty folded the washer and pressed it gently on Nan's forehead.

  "You've had a fall, love," soothed Miss Kitty. Nan made an awkward attempt to get up.

  "Now now, you just rest there. Harry's on his way." Nan slumped a bit. Miss Kitty sat her back up. "Pat love, get us a glass of water will you."

  Miss Kitty held the water to Nan's lips and helped her take a few sips. Most of it she dribbled down her front. We could hear Dad's Holden pull up then his running up the front steps and pushing through the screen door.

  "How is she?" he asked as he knelt down beside her and Miss Kitty. I stood and moved away to give him room.

  "She's had some sort of turn I think, Harry."

  "Mum, I want you to try and smile for me." Her mouth twisted a bit but couldn't form a complete smile. "I want you to raise your right arm, good, now your left." The right arm was easy, but the left resting in her lap, just shook a bit. "Who's the Prime Minister?"

  "Thath Menthies bath-ted. Not a pat-th on Cur-thin."

  "Well, your mind's working okay." Dad looked into her mouth. Her tongue was curled a bit lengthways. He got out his stethoscope and checked her heart then her pulse, then re-examined her eyes this time with his torch. "I'm pretty sure you've had a slight stroke." Nan looked scared. "I'll take you to the hospital for some tests to be certain."

  "Gonna die?" she forced out. My heart sank at the thought.

  "No, not at all. It does mean though, you'll be on medication for the rest of your life. But there's no reason you can't make a full recovery." The relief showed on all our faces.

  "However, for that to happen there has to be some changes." We all waited, especially Nan. "I'm talking diet and exercise. No more butter or dripping on your bread and only half a teaspoon of sugar in your tea for starters. Not to mention no more fatty chops or lambs fry, kidney and bacon."

  "Bugger," cried Nan. "Why don't ya justh slith me throath and be done wiff it." Dad smiled and tapped her hand reassuringly.

  "Now now, it's not as bad as that. You can have chops, but with the fat cut off. Same with steaks. But more fruit and vegetables and less salt on everything."

  "Like bein' back on rathionth."

  "The important thing is you have to move more. Walk up town once every day or so. There are exercises I'll show you that will get the strength back in that arm and some facial exercises as well. The speech should correct itself in time. But for now, it's rest. Mate, can you turn Nan's bed right down and Miss Kitt
y, could you give us a hand getting her to her feet?"

  By the time I came back out of the bedroom the two of them had edged a wobbly Nan up the hall. They then led her into her room. Miss Kitty emerged first and closed the door behind her. It was a good half an hour before Dad came out with his medical bag, closing the door quietly behind him.

  "She's sleeping. Thank you both for your quick thinking. It could have been worse."

  When Doug got home a half an hour later, Dad was preparing a salad for tea. Doug was quickly filled in on what had happened by Dad, with my interjections rounding out the drama. He was allowed to tiptoe into Nan's room to see for himself, with Dad's specific instructions not to wake her. I had never seen Nan in such a vulnerable state before. It was the moment I first became aware that she was getting old.

  The next day's tests confirmed Dad's original diagnosis. Things did change around the house after that. Doug and I now had cereal or toast and vegemite for breakfast with orange juice, which we got for ourselves. Dad would bring Nan a tray of cut fruit, toast with marmalade and a pot of tea in bed. Every other day we'd have a boiled egg with toast soldiers. Susan would come over and bathe Nan and prepare her for the day while Dad had his breakfast and a shave at the kitchen sink. He'd give Susan a peck on the cheek on seeing her, and Susan would return his kiss with a little smile, but there seemed a distancing in their relationship.

  Susan would also take Nan through a series of exercises which she had to repeat by herself throughout the day. When we left for school, we'd stop at the Walshe house where Miss Kitty had packed our school lunch. Dad made tea most nights, picking up meat on the way home. Sometimes he'd make a big omelette or bring home takeaway. Once a week in turns, Miss Kitty and Mrs Symonds would deliver a casserole. Miss Bridget came through the day as well and cleaned and attended to Nan, while Miss Kitty got her lunch, with strict instructions from Dad about what she could and couldn't eat. He told her that under no circumstances was she to give into Nan's pleas for food he hadn't approved.

  It was a good three weeks before Nan was up and about. Dad's change to the meals went on and Nan reluctantly fell into line by modifying her cooking. Rabbit or underground mutton as Nan called it, was still on the menu as a stew, casserole or pie and occurred at least once a fortnight – all dependent on Dad receiving one in lieu of payment at the surgery. Since the release of the myxomatosis virus into the rabbit population, it was now seen as almost a delicacy to have a clear-eyed, non-infected one and was highly prized by most. The actual virus wasn't harmful to humans once the rabbit was cooked. Even so, Nan wouldn't chance cooking a sick one.

  By and large Nan stuck to the new exercise regime as well, at least in the beginning. After four months her face no longer drooped on the left side, but her left arm still maintained a residual weakness. Within her period of convalescence she had lost over three stone.

  Boiled bacon was okay, but occasionally she'd sneak a piece of fried bacon that we were having. Keeping her back to us she'd scoff it down at the kitchen sink like a starving cat. If she thought she'd been seen, before Dad could reproach her, she'd jump to her own defence.

  "Cook's treat. Oh, one little piece won't hurt."

  This rationalising could also on occasion stretch to pieces of plain cake and even an extra spoonful of custard or gravy as well. However bread and dripping or any cake or dessert with cream was never prepared or eaten in the house ever again. Tea cakes, rock cakes, slab cakes and date scones took their place. Also, Dad didn't want her doing any more laundry. He advertised in The Echo and got a woman in town who would pick up, wash and return within a day or two, including ironing. No amount of persuasion could convince Nan not to do her own house cleaning though.

  "I don't want no stranger running a gloved hand over my sideboard and passing judgement," was her definitive response.

  After she'd fully recovered and back to her normal self, Nan, grateful to everyone who had helped out during her illness, invited them all to a new and revised CWA afternoon tea. That included Gwen Grady. She'd taken over Nan's monthly CWA afternoon teas while she was laid up. Susan couldn't come as she was working with Dad, but both Miss Kitty and Miss Bridget did. Johnny, Doug and I acted as waiters. All up, there were about thirty people present. We had to bring in chairs from the kitchen and verandah, and even borrowed some from neighbours, just to sit everyone.

  Gwen Grady was the last to arrive, always making a grand entrance. When Nan saw her coming up the front steps, she had a quick aside to the gathering.

  "Here comes 'old horse face'. Mutton dressed up as lamb," she said with only the slightest impediment from the stroke. She then had to shoosh everyone's laughter as she greeted Gwen at the door, taking her ten shillings donation to the day and depositing it in an old biscuit tin.

  "Hello love, nice to see you," Nan gushed. Gwen swanned in. She was done up like a clown, all frills and ropes of imitation pearls, with her white powdered face and heavily rouged cheeks. Next Nan hit her for another pound's worth of tickets for the day's other fund raiser, the meat tray raffle, supplied by Kells' Butchery.

  "Gee, that stroke's aged you, love," Gwen observed in a throw away line. You could see Nan's displeasure by the set of her jaw.

  "Right," Nan muttered under her breath. We knew it was on.

  Without any further 'hellos' to the rest of the group, Mrs Grady began telling everyone her tale of woe of how a 'bout of the trots' had swept through her whole family, as she waited anxiously for the food to be served.

  She spied me in the kitchen doorway and all I could see were her pendulous breasts as she continued holding court while heading toward me. I felt another one of her examinations was imminent. At only feet from me she froze on the spot. I thought her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets as Johnny entered from the kitchen carrying the first plate, quartered corned beef and pickle sandwiches. They were one of Gwen's favourites. She hesitated at first, as he offered them to her. She looked at Johnny then back to the sandwiches, then Johnny and back again, before finally grabbing one.

  "You know Johnny?" Nan asked over-pleasantly. The room came to a silent halt, waiting on Gwen's reply.

  "Yes. How d'ya do," was her curt response as she paused, looking at him then the sandwich in her hand before devouring it in one mouthful.

  "He made those sandwiches," Nan enthused. He hadn't, Nan did it all. Gwen nearly brought it straight back up. "Like another?" Nan cooed as I winked at Johnny. He looked back with a confused expression before the penny dropped. His eyes sparkled with conspiratorial acknowledgement of the game before giving 'old horse face' a beaming smile and offering her another. Funnily enough, Gwen declined.

  "Oh, he had a hand in getting most of the food, didn't you love? Pity he can't join us at the CWA, we could use a bloke like him." Johnny, now going along fully with Nan's charade, continued serving the room. Gwen fell silent for the rest of the afternoon. Normally she'd make sure she got more than her ten shilling's worth of food. Able to eat practically her own weight in food at any one sitting, or at least give it a good try, she now had a face on her as long as a yard of tripe as us boys ferried in platters of food that were heartily eaten by all – 'cept her. Nan took secret delight.

  "I hope that's not yer tummy still playing up. Never mind love, Johnny's just ripped up some fresh newspaper in the loo if you need to dash out at any time."

  When Mrs Grady won the meat raffle there was a leadened silence in the room. The other women's expressions hardened towards her as she collected her prize from Nan. As soon as she turned around they smiled and congratulated her, even though it pained them to do so, for they needed Gwen at such functions. She always gave generously. And she'd be the first to let you know she did, as well. Nan's gift to all who helped out while she was sick was a box each of Winning Post chocolates, brought in on cue by the three of us boys on the large silver tray Poppie gave her on one of their wedding anniversaries. She even gave a box to Mrs Grady. As I handed her the chocolates she looked up at
me but directed her comments to Nan.

  "You're still giving him the fish emulsion Maureen? He's very pasty."

  "Yes Gwen. He'll be right once he's filled out, don't ya think?"

  "Mmm, s'pose. That's what happens when you give birth to a litter. There's bound to be a runt," she sniffed. I rolled my eyes at Nan and she hers back at me, then headed for the safety of the kitchen before Mrs Grady could get her hands on me for one of her examinations. I returned with the tray of pre-poured glasses of sherry that finished each meeting and led them into the ritual sherry nap. As per Nan's instruction, we waited the customary three quarters of an hour before waking them by turning on the wireless. They raised over forty quid all up for the CWA on the day.

  It was near the end of Nan's convalescence that I could see Susan and Dad slowly rekindling their relationship. Every evening they would go for a walk. One evening, I was just swinging gently back and forth on the swing while watching Johnny lead Doctor into his stable, when I saw Dad and Susan returning from up the street hand-in-hand. They didn't see me. I jumped down from the swing and crouched in the garden behind the plants along the picket fence. Dad walked her up the steps to her front door before giving her a brief kiss on the mouth. He began to move away, but she pulled him back and they kissed again but for even longer.

  As he started down the steps, I scuttled around the side of the house and in the back door so he wouldn't see me. That night in bed I thought of telling Doug, but didn't. I wondered once again whether Susan might become our new mother and decided I liked the idea more and more.

  At the end of another uneventful Sunday, I was lazing on my stomach on the wooden platform under the yellowing leaves of the jacaranda canopy, reading about the pharaohs. Doug had asked me if I wanted to go with Barry and some other of our mates to the creek, but I couldn't put the book down once I started it. After a while in the distance, I could hear Johnny riding Doctor down the street from the old Hudson house. When he came into view I could see that Binda was sitting behind him, her arms tight around his waist. She was barefoot and wore an orange checked dress with a green ribbon in her hair.