Elianne (37 page)

Luigi, as field boss, selected the particular path they would follow through the rows of cane, which were distanced one and a half metres apart. Then he led the way in a tractor fitted with a break row pusher that separated the cane, flattening it back against the adjacent rows on either side, Neil, Alan and the others following behind raking away the ‘trash’, or dry dead leaf of the stalk, which was highly flammable. Burning was a complex process carried out by those with experience and the Durham brothers had been trained in the practice from the age of fifteen, but it was Luigi, one of the plantation’s most senior and experienced workers, who would lead the team that night.

Stanley Durham himself would be watching from the lookout tower at the mill, which had been designed specifically to monitor burnings. Stan the Man loved the spectacle and all that it represented. My grandfather stood right here in this very spot, he would think. Big Jim had surveyed his realm in just the way he was now doing as he’d looked out at the mighty fires of yesteryear. Even more than the spectacle, Stanley Durham loved the sense of history that burnings evoked.

The burning of cane prior to harvesting had been introduced in the thirties as a preventative measure against Weil’s disease and was now standard procedure. In the days when cane had been cut green the horrendous effects of Weil’s disease, which was spread by the urine of rats that at times reached plague proportions, had presented an often-fatal threat to cane cutters.

In earlier times, vast expanses of cane had been burnt, but during recent years more contained burns had been introduced upon the discovery that a higher-quality sugar resulted if the cut cane was delivered to the mill as quickly as possible, preferably within twenty-four hours. Smaller burns allowed for easier and therefore speedier pick-up and delivery.

Whether larger or smaller areas, however, the burning of sugar cane was, as it had been for the past thirty years, a spectacular affair. Word would get around among locals, and kids would be piled into the back of utes and driven to watch the show.

Tonight proved no exception. By seven o’clock, as the ten-man team made its final preparations, twenty or more children of workers who lived on the estate were waiting expectantly, together with several carloads of families who’d driven from nearby South Kolan.

Paola and her brother, upon their father’s instruction, had been elected to oversee the younger unaccompanied local children whose parents were working their shifts in the mill or the cookhouse or out in the field. Fully versed in the procedure after much past experience, Paola and fifteen-year-old Georgio kept their young charges well back in the safety zone and waited for the spectacle to unfold.

Clad in combination overalls and hats, the crew watched as Luigi lit a small trash fire on the headland to check the wind direction, which as predicted was a moderate and steady south-easterly. He’d outlined the plan to his men, and Neil and Alan, who would be doing the firing, stood at the ready with trickle burners fuelled by four parts diesel to one part petrol. The other members of the crew carried shovels in order to pitch dirt on outbreaks of fire caused by cinders from burning trash. They would protect the surrounding cane, particularly block 30 to the north, and in doing so control the course of the blaze.

Working their way south against the direction of the prevailing wind towards the cane-break prepared earlier in the day, the team’s all-important opening strategy was to create a back burn of around twenty metres at the top of block 31. They would then circle the selected section, Neil firing from the eastern perimeter and Alan from the west, the back-up team carefully guarding against any flash fires, and the final firing would be made from the cane break to the south. By that time the intensity of the blaze would have created its own updraft, which, being greater than the prevailing wind, would result in a contained combustion.

The team was now in position awaiting Luigi’s order to commence firing and Alan, closest to the Italian, caught his eye as Luigi checked everything was in readiness. Once again he couldn’t help but register the man’s animosity. Luigi Fiorelli, normally good-natured, had been surly all afternoon and his surliness had been plainly directed at Alan.

Alan knew why, or rather he could guess: it seemed only too obvious. Someone had seen Paola in the Holden. Someone must have seen us driving off together yesterday, he thought, and whoever it was told her father.

He’d waited throughout the afternoon for Luigi to take him aside and say something, but Luigi hadn’t. Luigi had done nothing but glower.

Alan had wondered also whether Paola had been challenged by her father, but upon seeing her ten minutes previously gathering her young brood together to watch the burning she’d displayed no sign as she’d given him a cheerful wave. Ah well, he thought philosophically, I’ll just have to wait for the big confrontation. Luigi won’t be able to resist. He’s hardly one to keep things to himself.

Luigi Fiorelli gave the command and the Durham brothers commenced firing, the burning was now under way.

When the twenty-metre back burn had been successfully completed and the fire was slowly and steadily burning against the wind, Neil and Alan commenced their way down the block’s eastern and western perimeters. Two crew members remained at the northern headland to protect block 30, while the others split into teams following Alan and Neil. Luigi, working with a shovel alongside his men, remained with the team on the western side, which, given the wind’s direction, was more likely to produce flash fires.

All was going according to plan. The blaze was magnificent, and the onlookers were already ooh-ing and ah-ing by the time Alan and his team reached the cane break where they were to make their way through to the eastern side.

By now the heat was intense, and upon entering the break men held up their shovels to guard their faces, Alan continuing to forge ahead firing while his back-up crew carefully monitored the potential for the wrong side of the break to ignite.

They were halfway through. The blaze was about to reach its spectacular finale when the fires from the back burn and the cane break would meet, but things took a sudden unexpected turn. The wind changed. As if by wilful and deliberate design, it suddenly veered to bear down from the north-east, forcing the flames towards Alan where he was in the unlit portion of the cane break. Behind him, the men were able to make their escape through the already burnt section, but overcome by the heat and the lack of oxygen, Alan found himself losing focus. The world started to spin hazily around him and before he knew it he was falling to the ground as if in slow motion.

He was barely conscious when he landed. The last thing he remembered was the strength of the man who picked him up bodily. He felt himself slung like a bag of chaff over a powerful pair of shoulders. Then everything went black.

By now the intensity of the fire and its gases had created an updraft of such strength that despite the wind change all went according to plan. The fires from the back burn and cane break met in one final magnificent crescendo. Here was the show that the onlookers had come for, a great wall of fire, envelopes of flame exploding twenty metres above the cane, a pyrotechnic display of spectacular proportions.

Then, like magic, the fire devoured itself. As if exhausted by its own power, it suddenly became nothing. The cacophony of explosions abruptly halted and darkness descended upon block 31. All that remained was a huge pall of smoke spiralling ever upwards.

The onlookers enthusiastically applauded another magnificent show, and up in his lookout tower Stan the Man gave a nod of satisfaction, unaware that he had nearly lost his younger son. But then, with the exception of one man, no one knew that Alan Durham had been on the verge of asphyxiation. His own team members, in making their escape, had assumed he was right behind them. Only Luigi Fiorelli had seen him fall.

Alan had quickly regained consciousness after being carried from the cane break. Now he stood in the semi-darkness, Luigi beside him, watching the fire’s dying moments.

He turned to the Italian. ‘Thank you,’ he said, but he could see in the eyes that glinted back at him the direst of anger.

‘You will respect my daughter,’ Luigi said. He’d retained his silence all afternoon, having made a promise to his wife when Maria had once again fought Alan’s case. ‘He took her for a drive, Luigi,’ Maria had said, ‘nothing more, he is a good boy.’ But Luigi could contain himself no longer. Alan was not a ‘boy’, Alan was a man and Luigi would trust no man with his daughter, even this man who had been like a second son to him. ‘You will respect my daughter,’ he repeated threateningly, ‘or I will kill you.’

‘I have always respected your daughter, Luigi,’ Alan met the Italian’s gaze unflinchingly, ‘and I always will.’

Luigi believed him. The anger left his eyes. ‘Good,’ he said simply and he looked away at the cane field.

Alan wanted to declare his love for Paola there and then. He wanted at that very moment to beg Luigi’s permission to marry his daughter. But he knew that he must honour the pact he’d made with Paola and so he said nothing. Instead he stood beside her father, this man who had just saved his life, and together they stared silently out at the smouldering cane.

In deference to Luigi, Alan did not invite Paola for another drive in the Holden. Not through fear of the Italian, for he knew Luigi believed he would not take advantage of his daughter, but it would be disrespectful, he decided, to flaunt their relationship until they were ready to declare themselves.

For the remaining four days of Alan’s stay at Elianne the young couple’s trysts were kept to a walk along the river track from the pumping station to the weir at the end of their daily work shifts. Then Alan returned to Brisbane.

Neil’s announcement over breakfast three days after his brother’s departure resulted in the volatile reaction he had expected, although at first his father had refused to believe him.

‘Don’t be bloody stupid, boy,’ Stanley Durham had growled. ‘Join the army? How absurd, your career’s right here, you belong to Elianne.’

‘Not any more, Dad, I belong to the army, or rather I intend to. I’m driving down to Brisbane today to join up at Enoggera Barracks. I’ll be back tomorrow to work through the rest of my service leave, though,’ he quickly added – he felt guilty deserting them during the busy crushing season. Mind you, he was hardly indispensable. They’d been managing perfectly well without him for the past two years.

During the stunned silence that followed, Hilda managed to stammer, ‘But if you join the army, they’ll send you back to Vietnam, Neil.’

‘Yes they will, Mum. There’s a war on.’

The seriousness of the situation had finally registered with Stan and his son’s glib response annoyed him even further. Jumping to his feet, he roared and ranted about the breakfast room, smashing his fist on the table and the sideboard, rattling cutlery and crockery, mouthing oaths and casting threats at his son while Hilda tried to stop things from breaking and Neil watched in silence. There were only the three of them present. Bartholomew was unwell and had taken to his bed. Ivy was delivering his breakfast to his quarters.

‘Damn you, boy! If you leave now, you don’t come back, you hear me? I’ll disown you! I’ll bloody well disown you for the ingrate you are! Christ Almighty, you have the world handed to you on a plate and you turn your nose up at it? You deny your own family? You’re no son of mine, you hear me! You’re no son of mine! I’ll disown you!’

Neil sat quietly throughout the entire performance, seeing nothing but bluster and knowing that deep down his father was suffering hurt more than anger. He wondered how he could have allowed himself to be so intimidated for so long by this man who loved him so fiercely.

His son’s continued silence was driving Stan to distraction. ‘Haven’t you got a bloody word to say for yourself?’ he roared. ‘Cat got your tongue, boy? Speak, for Christ’s sake!’

‘I’m sorry to let you down.’

A pause. ‘That’s it? That’s all!’

Neil nodded.

‘Right. Right. Well that’s that then. Go and sign up, but don’t come back here when you have.’ Stan returned to his seat and abruptly sat. He stared down at his congealed eggs and gave a peremptory wave of his hand. ‘That’s that. You’re disinherited as of now.’

Neil stood. ‘I’ll be home for Christmas, Dad,’ he said, ‘I’ll see you then.’

Hilda rose and fluttered about ineffectually trying to restore peace. ‘Of course you will dear, of course you will.’

Stan ignored them both as he attacked his eggs, but his hands were shaking.

‘Bloody hell!’ Alan rarely swore, but he was too agog with amazement to do anything else. Neil had telephoned to say he was in Brisbane and wanted to meet up. He had some news, he’d said.

They’d decided upon a steak and a beer at Brekky Creek that Saturday. The pub as usual was crowded, but it was a blustery winter’s day and most drinkers were inside so they had the beer garden pretty much to themselves.

Alan shook his head in disbelief. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said again, ‘you’ve actually gone and done it, have you?’

‘Yep, joined up two days ago, it’s what I really want to do.’

‘Wow.’ Alan looked at his brother with newfound respect. Much as he loved Neil, he’d never once seen him stand up to their father. Indeed it was a sight he’d never expected that he
would
see. ‘Good for you, mate,’ he said. ‘What was Dad’s reaction?’

‘The full histrionics, as you can imagine. I’ve been disowned, disinherited and am never again to darken the doors of Elianne.’

‘Crikey, what’ll you do?’

‘I’ll go home for Christmas,’ Neil said with a grin, and they both laughed.

But even as they laughed, Alan wondered how his father would cope when the time came. Disowned elder son returns to the fold and younger son announces his engagement to a Catholic, he thought. It’s going to be a rocky old Christmas all right.

When Neil rang Kate, as he’d promised he would in order to keep her abreast of the news, her reaction was much the same. What a heck of a Christmas it promises to be, she thought. She’d decided to bring the ledgers back to Elianne this year, together with her completed translation. She would at long last share them with Alan, as she had originally intended. Then if and when he deemed the time right they would present them to their father. The decision to reveal the secrets of the past would no longer be hers alone.