Bitin' Back (18 page)

‘Nevie? Don't cry, son.' I go round and cuddle him.
Was always a good boy me Nevil. Always looked after his mumma.

‘You've done a fine job, Missus Dooley. But I think that's the problem with some small towns, they crush people like Nevil. Bend, twist and pulp those who are different. Dissecting each other and criticising the world, all behind that facade of sincerity, yes, and all the while knowing what they are doing, but not caring. It's as though the world they inhabit stops and begins right here in Mandamooka. I suppose it's that visible difference they can't handle—the
physical difference of someone is a threat to them, like Nevil. I think that's the sum of it, don't you.' Trevor sits back in the chair, tired like.

‘Like a chain. Always said this town is like a chain round your neck. Nevil, ya know, Lucinda's life sounds like yours. Could it be that ya writin bout yerself, son?' I look across at a them. ‘And what's gonna happen now? I mean bout the book?'

‘Yeah, it's sort of autobiographical. But mostly it's fiction. And Trevor's here to help me with the rest of it.'

‘Yep, to help Nevil knock it into shape. It's called editing. All those times you never saw us we were actually in Nevil's bedroom reworking the manuscript. I'm what you call an editor. Oh, and I also paint things in my spare time. So it wasn't all lies.'

‘When the book's tidied up, Trevor's going to publish it,' Nevil says, scratchin his stubbled chin.

‘So, you'll be famous? Fancy that, me boy a famous writer! Deadly!'

‘Oh yes, he will be famous! See, the thing is this. Nevil being Aboriginal to start with and from the bush, where sport is the measure of manly talent—then his writing a first novel, and so brilliant, so achieved. He's created a unique character with Lucinda.'

‘He has?' Gracie asks, walkin into the room with a scowl.

‘Hello, Gracie. How are you, girl?' Nevil asks, standin up, openin his arms wide.

‘Well, I've come here to tell you all some news. I'm leavin this dump. That's right, I'm burnin rubber outta here! Nevil, I can't live the way everybody else does round here. I come to say goodbye to you all.' Tears gather in her eyes.

‘What about Nevil?' I ask.

‘Well, I think Nev'll be goin his own way from now. I,
um, wish youse well, Nevil. Hope everythin turns out for you. I'm off to Bullya. Got mesself some marches to go to.' She walks to the door. ‘Oh yeah, one more thing! Hope Jean makes you happy! Cos from now I'm being like you, Nevil, tryin to make some sorta difference in this screwed up world.'

‘Follow ya dreams, Gracie, cos when it come down to it that's all ya got in the end. And promise ol Mum you'll come back n visit.' I stand to me tired legs n put me arms round her. ‘Live ya dreams Gracie,' I say, real close.

‘I know, Mum. I'll do that just for you.' And she walks out the door, passin Booty on her way.

‘He back,' she tells him, throwin a thumb over her shoulder towards Nevil.

‘Well, I'll be dammed! Gracie, before ya go, do somethin for this ol man here, eh. Keep ya nose clean.' Booty smiles at her.

‘Count on it, man,' she giggles as she leaves.

Booty comes into the kitchen. ‘What's going on here? What the fuck are youse up to now?' He looks at Nevil then Trevor.

‘Don't ask, Brother, you'd never understand!' I laugh, pullin the fridge open and takin out a stubbie. ‘Here, Bro, have a drink whit ya ol sister. Here's to Lucinda Lawrey! To Gracie Marley n to me boy!' I hold the stubbie in the air.

‘Who the fuck is Lucinda? Ooohhh nooooo, don't tell me—it's him, right?' Booty glares at Nevil.

‘That's where ya wrong Brother!'
Yep, a woman feelin pretty solid. Lookandsee!
‘Here boys, have a celebration drink whit me.' I push the stubbies cross the table.

Booty throws me a look a surprise, then quick as he is, says, ‘Well, I'll say one thing and that's I'll be fucked if a man can ever handle another Jean Rhys.' Then he roars whit laughter.

‘Here's to Lucinda Lawrey!' We chorus, laughin up big.

I sit back n eyeball Nevil's face.
All these years he been shyin hisself away. Like a little kid whit a lollipop, leavin the best part for last. I wonder how I'll get on whitout him here. Cos sure as shit he'll be outta this town soon nough. That much a woman knows. Oh well, lookandsee. Tamarra's another day. Good things happen all a time to people anywhere. Why not to me?

EIGHTEEN

The announcer shouts into the microphone. ‘Nevil Dooley, has the ball! The kid from Mandamooka! He's going to make it! Oh no, Mad Dog takes him down!'

I turn to Gwen and Terry. ‘Solid, eh?'

‘Speaking of solid. Look over there, Mave,' Gwen says, pointin cross the field.

I glance cross the dusty expanse. Me gut drops. I throw a quick glance toward Terry.

He don't see her, good.

Dotty Reedman stands at the sidelines, holdin a box a oranges. The woman look like sheep fancied up as mutton.

She's got a pink n blue mini dress on—it rides up the woman's thighs like a sly hand crawlin up a leg. Her tee-shirt is white, clingin to her hooters like glue to a piece a paper, showin her nipples. She got the hide to wear em bobby socks whit a pair a white sandshoes. She looks for all the world like the oldest woman cheerleader ever lived whit a face made up like ten picnics at a Sunday barbie. She all reds, blues, pinks, coloured up like to press somebody, to haul Terry's arse her way!
Yeah, she just don't give up. Like a dog whit a bone.

‘Go, Jerry! Go, son!' she yells, jumpin up n down on the spot.

I curl me mouth back, snarlin across at her.
She big-notin herself as usual. Yeah, who she think she is.

‘Go, Nev! Get the ball, son!' I yell, walkin closer to the sidelines.

‘The ball, Jerry!' she yells louder when she look across and see me.

‘Go, Nevil!' I bust a gut.
Yeah, me boy the best player for sure.

White-hot, the announcer calls the game. ‘Young Dooley has the ball. Look at him. Fast? He's like bloody lightning! He sidesteps Dougald Malley from the Rammers! Big Boy Hinch tears up the sideline and look at that boy run! Dooley passes the ball to Hinch. Hinch passes to Grunta. Grunta passes to Dooley!'

‘Score! A score, Nev!' I look straight across at Dotty.

‘The ball, Jerry! Get the frigging ball!' Dotty screams, her face blood-bright red.

‘Young Dooley's pelting through them! Look at that! He's going to score! Nevil Dooley's going to score! Looks like the Blackouts might have the first point here today, folks!'

‘After him! Up the side! Jerry, get your fat useless arse moving!'

‘Keep goin, Nev!'

‘He's scored! Mandamooka scores the first point! Young Dooley does it again this year!'

‘Pull up your act, Jerry! Faster, son, faster!' Dotty yells with fury.

‘She nutty,' Gwen says, comin to stand beside me.

‘The woman's a maniac.' Terry shakes his head, screwin up his eyes to peer across at her.

‘Thought you liked her?' Gwen sneers.

‘Yeah, as if! She not my type a woman, Gwenny. I like em like my tea, strong n black,' he laughs, throwin a particular look my way.

‘Huh, coulda fooled me.' I give him a sour grin.

‘Hey, Mave, is that who I think it is?' Gwen nudges me in the ribs and nods toward the other end of the field.

Missus Warby, eye spotters hangin from her neck, Akubra jammed on her head and wavin a Blackouts banner, sits on an esky, watchin Nevil's form like an eagle bout to swoop a rabbit.

‘The Blackouts!' she screams for all it's worth, wavin her banner like a weapon at the Rammers. ‘Go, Nev!'

I smile.
Wonder if she armed? If she gonna do the Rammers over. Ha, ha, har. Lookandsee!
I turn from her and watch as the Blackouts pelt down the field. Me eyes start to water when I spot Mad Dog chasin after Nevil like a bat outta hell.
His face look like a bad plum. All purplish n squashed in whit juice slidin down the side a it. Mad Dog got a score to settle whit Nevil. Nevil sure jammed him there that day at the shed. Boxed his arse! Seem like he ain't forgot either, he closin in on Nevil like one of Booty's pig dogs on a pig.
I groan in me guts.
Bad move, son.

Nevil tears up the sideline, movin like a little bantam rooster. Sweat pours down his face, his legs pumpin as he flies past Jerry Reedman.

‘Move in! Move in, Sonny Jim!' I turn to the loud voice comin from behind. Booty stands there, gut hangin out his singlet, a stubbie in one hand. Beside him, barkin, howlin and growlin are the pig dogs.
The man smell worser n a beer keg. He drunker n I ever seed him. Shamejob turnin up on Nevie's big day like that! I could hit the man in the head. Knock some sense into him!
I let the thought go and concentrate on the game.

Mad Dog motors down the field right behind Nevil. Mad Dog's fast, nearly fast as Nevil. I see it like slow motion as Mad Dog leaps through the air, a dirty smile on his dial as he lands full force on Nevil.
Wwwhhhuuummmpppttthh!

Nevil hits the dirt like a sack a potatoes. Red dust billows up to cloud round them. Mad Dog got him.

‘Off! Get off, you fucka!' Booty roars, as the dust dances off to show the scufflin, grapplin forms of Nevil n Mad Dog in the dirt. Mad Dog got Nevil's face jammed right into the ground, holdin the back of his head and thumpin it up n down.

Before me legs can move, Booty gallops cross the field, the dogs barkin at his heels. He look for all the world like a big fat lizard scurryin cross the hot clay. Me mouth opens but nothin comes out. Me ears roar. Me heart trips over.

Booty grabs the back a Mad Dog's jersey and lifts him to his feet. Nevil jumps up, yellin n screamin at Booty.

Missus Warby scurries onto the field. ‘Cheats! the Rammers are cheats!' she screams. Suddenly Dotty Reedman charges toward Nevil. ‘Bloody idiot! Can't play to save yourself!' She shoves Nevil in the chest.

That's it. I stand froze to the spot as the mob, like drought stricken cattle pushin at water, crowd the field n start knucklin on.

I eyeball the field.
Always the way, yep, every year there's a blue. Maybe ol Bro shoulda set up his boxin ring here. Har, har, that'd be a fuckery riot, eh.

The announcer kicks into life. ‘No! No! Not again! Someone get those people off the bloody field!'

I watch as Max Brown tries to calm the wild crowd.
It's too much. A woman just ain't got the nerves to take it any more.
Then, as I head towards Dotty I spot Terry Thompson yellin at her.

He look angered up. His face all twisted n outta shape. Dotty just looks at him like he a loony tunes or somethin. ‘Yes, well, I don't like you either!' she screams back at him.

Yep, saves me doin it! I hold in a deep, satisfied laugh.
Gotcha, Dotty! Yep, what ya put out ya get back.

‘The Blackouts take out this year's game!' the announcer belts out. ‘And by the look of it I'd say there'll be some hard celebrating tonight. Maybe next year, Rammers. No doubt young Dooley's feeling proud of himself at this moment. Congratulations to the Blackouts!'

I look round at everyone. Me eyes can't see nuthin worth lookin at. Then Trevor comes into view. ‘Coming home?' He asks, with a cheeky smile.

Nevil walks away from the squabblin mass and comes over to us. ‘Last game ever.'

‘Yep, well, ya gotta do whatcha gotta do,' a smile splittin me face.

Terry sidles over. ‘You all comin over to my place for a barbie, Jean?' He throws the question at Nevil whit a wicked smile.

‘Yep, reckon we need a bit a quiet. A woman feelin mighty runned down,' I answer.

Terry takes me hand as we walk outta the football grounds.
Giddiup! Dreams do come true.

‘By the way, Terry. It's not Jean any more. It's Lucinda!' Nevil pokes a finger in his chest and laughs cheekily.

So Jean Rhys departs and in her place is another woman. A woman I like.

A woman I know.

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This project has been assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.

Sponsored by the Queensland Office of Arts and Cultural Development

The characters and situations in this book are imaginary and bear no relation to any actual person or happening.