Season of Hate Page 17

  "Hi Johnny. Hi Binda," I called from high in the tree as they got closer. They looked up and waved, before getting off the horse and leading him into his stall. A few minutes later Johnny and Binda went up the front steps and inside. After a half hour or so they came back out with Mr and Mrs Symonds behind them. Binda shook their hands then Johnny walked her hand-in-hand back up the street to her place. It seemed now that Johnny also had a girlfriend. Penny Farrar was still keen on me but I preferred to hang out with my mates. I didn't mind talking to her, but the thought of kissing her at ten years of age, yuk.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  That same night, we were only in bed a couple of hours when we were woken by the loud clanging of the fire truck bell and the cries of "Fire!", "Fire!" coming from various houses in the distance towards town. All of us shot up and onto the front verandah. Other households in the street were out as well. There was a blaze coming from around the corner at the far end of Railway Street that was so intense, it lit up the dark sky brighter than any bonfire.

  People began to run in its direction, not caring that they were half dressed or in their sleepwear, all carrying whatever buckets they owned. Dad grabbed his medical bag and a shovel while Nan told us to get our buckets from under the house. All three of us ran barefoot out the gate and up the street.

  "Don't get too close. Stay with yer father," huffed and puffed an equally shoeless Nan following behind. Just then the town electricity was turned off as a precaution. All the houses and street lights went out simultaneously.

  Johnny, Mr and Mrs Symonds and Susan were ahead of us. By the time we rounded the corner into Railway Street we'd been joined by the other neighbours along the way, all running in the direction of the fire. It was clear that it was coming from the Hudson house. The growing flames swirled in and around its weatherboard sides. Smoke was billowing out the windows as if fanned by bellows.

  Seeing the house all ablaze was both a terrifying yet strangely mesmerising experience. I thought at the time of Nan's old movie magazine that had the black and white pictures from Gone With The Wind. It was just like we were watching Atlanta burn. Ned Spooner was already busy snapping off pictures for The Echo when we arrived.

  This was not the time to stop and gawk though. Everybody quickly set about trying to control the fire. Some helped the Richardsons and the Palmers on either side of the Hudson house empty their similar weatherboard homes just in case the fire took off in their direction.

  The fire truck was already on hand pumping water onto the house. The heat coming off it was like a furnace, blistering the paint on the houses on either side. Weatherboards began to crack and curl. It soon became apparent that there was little that could be done to save the Hudson place as the roof was on the verge of collapse. A check with Miro by Sergeant Farrar earlier revealed all the occupants were safe. There was only himself, one of his sons, Pindari, and his granddaughter, Binda. The others were visiting relatives working on a nearby property. Johnny put his arm around a trembling Binda.

  "How did it start?" the Sergeant asked as Ned Spooner wrote down every word.

  "We asleep then boom, fire everywhere," explained Pindari. "We just got out." They were comforted by Miss Bridget and Miss Kitty, her face mostly hidden by a scarf.

  Dad checked over all the family for burns and the effects of smoke inhalation. Some men brought out a trestle table from a house across the street and in no time they'd set up a mini canteen manned by a number of women including Nan, Mrs Grady and Mrs Wood. Father Prittenden in his dressing gown along with Sister Mary Placid, Mr and Mrs Carroll and two other nuns arrived on the scene and instantly set about mucking in with everybody else. Ned Spooner quickly packed away his camera equipment and joined in.

  In a desperate attempt to contain little spot fires in the dry grass surrounding the houses, caused by spitting and floating embers, some men used shovels and rakes while others took off coats and shawls and began beating the grass with them as each spark took hold. Some even stomped on small sparks with their bare feet, for they knew the financial ruin that could follow if the blaze caught hold of the region's wheat crop across the creek.

  All of us, men, women and children had by now formed a human chain, filling buckets from the creek and passing them hand to hand along to the firemen to throw on the flames. Ganan and his mob as well as all the other Aborigines about town joined the line. Black and white working side by side didn't matter when everyone had the same goal.

  "Pat love, there's a bottle of cordial and some plastic cups in the top cupboard next to the fridge. Get 'em for us will ya love," Nan called to me. I left the bucket brigade and ran, taking a short cut through the back paddocks behind the houses in Main Street. The urgency of my task weighed on my mind as the waist-high grass flattened under my running feet.

  I was halfway home, just behind the Wood's house when thump; I tripped over something solid in the long grass. I hit my head hard on the ground. Dazed, I got to my feet and wobbled about, trying to shake off the effects of the knock. Without any warning I was jerked roughly by the arm with the directive,

  "Don't move a bloody muscle." It was Mr Wood. I felt I was done for, just him and me in the dark and no witnesses.

  "Please don't hurt me," I begged.

  "Shut the fuck up," he growled through clenched teeth. I closed my eyes, bracing for the first blow. Nothing. I slowly opened one eye to find him looking past me.

  Without turning my head I flicked my eyes to the side to see what his gaze was fixed on in the grass where I'd tripped. Then there, right in front of me, from out of the long grass, a huge Big Red kangaroo raised itself slowly from a lying position to its full height.

  "Don't let him smell yer fear."

  It towered over me. It seemed nearly as tall as Dad with the build of an athlete. I froze. Its eyes were lit by the glow of the distant fire as it stared us down. I sensed a rustle in the grass around us. I turned my head to the right then the left, just a fraction each way. We were surrounded by a mob of them; three females and several immature males, now standing tall in the grass. I couldn't breathe from fear. My palms went all sweaty as the Big Red in one effortless bound moved forward, as close as a couple of feet from us – close enough for me to see its flaring nostrils. It gave a dominant snort. Whether he could smell my fear or not, he would have smelt the urine running down my leg.

  In a flash, a shovel swung past my head and with one almighty whack of its broadside, Mr Wood hit the kangaroo hard on its shoulder, unbalancing it. It immediately bounded off into the darkness, followed quickly by the others in the mob. I breathed long and loud with relief.

  "Never used ta get this close to town them 'roos. Y've gotta start pickin' yer fights within yer division."

  "Thank you Mr Wood," I panted. I could see by his slight unsteadiness that he'd been drinking. You could smell it on his breath.

  "The name's Bob."

  "Thanks Bob."

  "No worries. What are ya doin' out here anyways?"

  "I took a short cut to get some cordial for Nan."

  "Well go an' get it. I'll come with ya ta see ya don't get in any more blues. And I'd change me pants if I was you. No need to let the whole world know." He waited outside while I got changed and got the cordial and cups, then we headed up Main Street lit only by the moon and stars and the distant blaze in the sky.

  "Y'alright?"

  "Yeah."

  "Ya sure? That's one hell of a shock."

  "I'm sure." He gave my shoulder a reassuring pat like Dad might do. He seemed so different to the man shouting abuse and picking a fight with Dad.

  "Why'd ya punch my dad? Is it because he helped Johnny?" He seemed a little taken aback.

  "It's more than that. Ya dad wants ta change things, and there's lots that are happy leavin' things just the way they are now. His helpin' the Abos –"

  "Aborigines." I interjected. "Dad says ya gotta call people by their right names."

  "Does he now. Well he can take a flyin' leap
'cause I ain't – Y've gotta keep 'em in their place. If ya don't they'll –"

  "Dad says they've got no place. The white people took it."

  "It's our bloody farms, our houses. Our bloody land. And no black bastard –"

  "You don't like people much, do you?"

  "Who says?"

  "You're always angry."

  "I s'pose yer dad's told ya that as well."

  "No. It's what I reckon."

  "Listen here ya little pipsqueak, I can say and do what I please 'cause –"

  "Dad says you can act like a bit of a goose sometimes."

  "A goose!"

  "See what I mean, you're gettin' angry." He snorted at my observation. "And I reckon ya drink too much."

  "I – I shoulda let that 'roo finish ya off. You're worse than the bloody missus, ya bloody little –"

  "And Nan says ya shouldn't swear in front of kids either." He lifted his arm as if he was about to give me a backhander. I didn't know if he was pretending or not this time.

  "I'm not Steve," I dared to say. We looked at each other, both aware of the meaning behind my words. He lowered his arm.

  "Just shut up and keep walkin' will ya. Bloody little smartarse. All of ten an' thinks he's full of the wisdom of bloody Solomon," he added under his breath. I looked up at him. He caught me looking and broke into a little grin before giving me a playful flick on the ear. "Just keep 'effin' walkin'". Trees and power polls cast menacing shadows in the darkness but I felt safe beside him as we turned the corner into Railway Street and crossed the train tracks.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Telling others about my near-death experience had to wait. I handed over the cordial and cups to Nan and rejoined the bucket line. In my absence two old bathtubs were found and being used as reservoirs for the bucket loads of water. Just as quickly as one line filled them up, another was scooping out the water to douse on the fire.

  Nearby gum trees began to burst into flame. The fierce heat ignited the eucalyptus oil in their leaves, making little 'pfft, pfft, pfft' sounds as they exploded then sailed upward on the breeze into the night sky like a galaxy of Queensland fireflies.

  Mr Wood stood next to his mates, leaning on his shovel and watching the Hudson house burn. All of them had smirks on their faces. He looked straight at Johnny and imitated a person struggling to speak, then laughed. Johnny didn't bite, just got on with the job at hand but Pindari standing next to him witnessed it and his fuse was lit.

  "You lot just gonna stand there or what?" Sergeant Farrar shouted at Mr Wood and his mates. Before they could do anything, Pindari had flung his bucket to the ground and was storming up to Mr Wood.

  "Pindari!" Miro called out as he went after him.

  "You started this!" Pindari roared moving closer to Mr Wood. "We could have all died!"

  "No mate, I didn't start it. But I'd like ta thank the man who did." Mr Wood let his shovel drop to the ground as he moved to meet Pindari head on. Johnny started running toward them both.

  "Don't," Miro pleaded in Pindari's ear. "He wants you to start a fight so's –"

  "You liar," Pindari hurled at Mr Wood, ignoring Miro's pleas.

  "Liar, liar house on fire," Mr Wood taunted, then within a split second grabbed Pindari by the collar of his shirt, more out of drunk bravado than anything else, for drunk or not, it was an uneven match. Pindari was of solid build and pushed Mr Wood's hands away before taking a swing, landing a glancing blow to his jaw. He retaliated by lunging at Pindari's throat with both hands, in a tight choking hold.

  Before it could escalate any further, Johnny charged up to them like a wild man. He grunted in Pindari's face his disapproval while at the same time taking Bob Wood's wrists with both his hands in a strong paralysing grip. I'd never seen such depth of emotion from Johnny before. He appeared to have a strength beyond his teenage years and a look so intense it could melt steel. Unable to hold Johnny's gaze, an under-the-weather Mr Wood conceded and dropped his hands from around Pindari's throat.

  "Hey you lot! Save yer fightin' for the ring. There's a fire to put out and a crop to save!" yelled the Sergeant, observing the altercation. Johnny pushed his hand on Pindari's shoulder, to urge him away and back to work. Mr Wood gave Pindari and Johnny a contemptuous glare before beginning to beat the grass flare-ups with his shovel.

  "This isn't the end of this. Not all of us afraid of your mob. We fight back. You'll see," Pindari threw back at Bob Wood as he returned to the bucket line.

  "You two and who's army, ya pair of black cunts," Mr Wood joked to his mates as they banged away at the grass. He looked up and saw me glaring at him from the line.

  "They're my friends," I called out over all the noise.

  He stopped his efforts for a moment as we looked back at one another. I was certain he could read my thoughts. My eyes didn't waver from his. I felt relieved the confrontation was over, but confused. How could the man who just saved my life, be the same sort of man to deliberately start the fire as Pindari asserted? I turned away. My disappointment with him had registered.

  "Come on fellas, the fire won't put itself out!" he bellowed to his mates, returning to the work at hand with a gusto.

  The wind sprang up almost supernaturally from nowhere and suddenly we had a very serious problem on our hands. The fingers of flames reached out to the Richardson house next door on the right and soon were spreading up its walls. The firemen redirected their efforts to save it instead. Windows began popping from the heat as it too was engulfed by the ferocity of the fire. The Palmer's house on the left hand side of the Hudson's was luckier; the wind was in its favour. It was decided by the fire crew to try and save it as the other two houses were beyond rescue. They trained their hose on it, wetting down its roof and walls.

  A small team of volunteers still kept trying in vain to contain the fire at the Richardson house though. The wind did indeed shift back in the direction of the Hudson house and ultimately beyond it, to the fire's new target, the Palmer house. Containment was paramount, for beyond the Palmer house, was the small bushy corridor leading to the creek and the wooden rail bridge that spanned it. If the sparks from the fire carried on the wind jumped the creek, ruin could be at hand for the town, for a relatively short distance away was the edge of the town's largest wheat field holding. If the bridge went, it would be almost impossible to get to the crop to save it. Not to mention the loss of the train tracks themselves.

  Mrs Wood and Nan had started going up the bucket line with trays, handing out drinks and biscuits and scones, all cobbled from everyone's kitchens. Small enough to eat and give strength to those whose strength was waning but not so large as to interfere with the main activity.

  From the trestle table Gwen Grady let out a scream that sliced through the night as she pointed to the Hudson house.

  "Look! There!" she yelled. All eyes darted to where she was pointing. Inside the house, through the smokey haze, a figure was crawling along the hallway towards the front door. At the same time, a sheet of corrugated iron from the roof picked up by the wind, speared into the main part of the house, shearing through the disintegrating inner walls before falling flat over the person.

  "Stand back everyone. There's nothing we can do. It's too dangerous," shouted Sergeant Farrar.

  Johnny didn't hesitate. Ignoring the order, he bolted toward the front steps.

  "Johnny come back!" I called out as I instinctively ran after him.

  "Pat, no!" screamed Doug. The heat drove me back, but not Johnny. He wrapped his shirt around his arm then shielded his face with it as he went through the flaming front door jamb and into the inferno, ducking out of the way of collapsing plaster ceilings as he went. I lost sight of him in the dense smoke.

  "What were you trying to do, you stupid – ?" Dad began to chastise as he ran to my side and pulled me back roughly. He paused when I looked up at him.

  "What about Johnny?" I cried.

  Our eyes returned to the doorway engulfed in flames. Everyone held their breat
h, fearing the worst but hoping for the best. Binda stood motionless, tears forming in her eyes but with a look of desperate hope on her face.

  "There he is!" screamed Miss Kitty and others. She ran forward like a distressed parent toward the house as did Binda, both only to be forced back by the heat as well. "Help him. Please someone help him," pleaded Miss Kitty.

  Johnny had managed to get to the person inside and was leading them through the fire and smoke, pushing aside bits of burning debris that were falling all around them. Their dark forms were silhouetted against the flames. The victim collapsed near the front door. Johnny, with no regard for his own safety and with his shirt now catching on fire, picked the limp figure up in his arms and carried it as best he could, through the wall of flames now swamping the front verandah and staggered down the wooden steps.

  One of the firemen ripped off his coat and smothered the flames on Johnny's arm as he fell to the ground with the rescued person still in his arms. Just as Miss Kitty dropped to her knees near Johnny, Dad raced to the side of the other blackened figure and gently turned it over. Whoever it was, they were barely hanging on to life. The face was black and the hair burnt back to the skin on the scalp. The smell of the burnt flesh was sweetly repugnant.

  "It's young Steve Wood," a voice called out and soon his name was repeated over and over in whispers that rippled along the line. Mrs Wood screamed and pushed forward, joined by her husband, kneeling on one side of their son opposite Dad. Mr Wood sobered up in an instant.