Four Fires (42 page)

'Don't you start telling me about babies and breast milk, my girl! You just keep squeezing those breasts of yours, keep them nice and supple, rub your nipples, with that stuff, what's it called?

Lanolin. You don't know how lucky you are, in my day we had to rub them with sheep's fat.

You've got to stop the nipples cracking. I've had five, the four of you and little Colleen. I should bloody know. Nothing wrong with you lot, sucked me dry the every one of yiz, surprised you left anything for little Colleen. Don't think you know everything just because you're gunna be a
Page 222

doctor. I never had a cracked nipple, not even once.'

'Mum, I'm not trying to tell you anything. We're fine, honest. Everyone's fine, really! You don't have to worry about Mrs Rika Ray,

Sophie's glad to have her and she's not going to do anything bad. Morrie's got it all worked out, we're five minutes from the Women's, Bozo's fixed the Austin up a treat, we've got back-up with Maria and Costa, the Italians next door, if it's needed and the van from Morrie's work if the Austin 7 won't start. The Women's is supposed to be the best maternity hospital in the southern hemisphere, nothing's going to go wrong.

'So, where's she sleeping then?'

'On the floor in my room, she brought her own bedding.'

'In your bedroom! She's moved in, taken over your bedroom! Why, the bloody cheek of the woman!'

'No, Mum, she's sleeping on the floor, there's plenty of room, she's very quiet and doesn't snore, it's nice to know there's someone there if something happens in the night.'

'You just told me nothing can happen, that it's all organised. Now it's nice to have somebody in case something happens? Right! That does it, I'm comin'down. If something happens, you need your mum not that old herb witch.'

'Please, Mum! I can't share my bed with you, it's a single, an army cot we got from the disposal.'

'We'll take the Diamond T, bring the double bed and the Singer. I'll help Sophie all she needs with her sewing.'

'What about the garbage, you can't leave the garbage,' Sarah cries desperately.

'We'll come down Saturday, Bozo and the boys can drive back Sunday, they'll just have to manage without me for a week. Tommy's back from the bush, he'll have to stay on the wagon long enough to help with the garbage while I take care of me precious daughter!'

'Mum, I don't need taking care of! What about little Colleen? Bozo hasn't got his driving licence!'

Sarah's clutching at straws.

'Little Colleen? She's comin' too, bed's been big enough before, it will be big enough again.

Bozo can get a note about his licence from Big Jack Donovan. Don't try to stop me, girl, I've made up me mind. We re comin'down Saturday. You send that woman packin' you hear me now? 'Cause your mum's comin'to take care of you, darling.'

'Mum, there isn't room, it's a tiny house!'

'There's room for her!'

'Mum, you're four of her! Pleeease Mum!'

Nancy bangs down the phone before Sarah can say anything else.

That night when we're having our tea, Nancy announces out of the blue. 'Indian woman's having another go at getting rid of Sarah's belly, we've got to go down to Melbourne to rescue her.'

'Whaddayamean?' Mike cries in alarm. 'Mrs Rika Ray? She wouldn't do that, she loves Sarah!'

'Huh! Loves her, does she? It was her tried to get rid of Sarah's baby the first time!'

'Mum, that's not how it happened,' I protest. 'You know it wasn't.'

Nancy ignores me, 'Bozo, better make sure the Diamond T is all right.'

'It ain't, Mum, the tyres won't make it, no way. You'll have to go by train, be lucky if I can get the Diamond T to Wang and back.'

'I can't take the train, we're taking my bed and the Singer sewing machine, leaving Saturday, you three will drive back Sunday, do the garbage run with Tommy next week.'

'Mum, I just told you, I haven't a licence, the tyres are ratshit, we'll never make it!' Bozo cries.

Tell us, what's happened to Sarah?'

'Black woman's sleeping with her.'

'What!!' we all shout together.

'Waiting for something to happen so she can pounce on the baby!'

Page 223

It takes about ten minutes to get the whole story out of Nancy and it doesn't take us too long to figure out that Nancy Maloney is not what Sarah needs in the last stages of her pregnancy.

But we also know that, come Saturday, we'll be on the road to Melbourne with her double bed and sewing machine in the back of the Diamond T. Nancy is riding to the rescue and if we have to push the Diamond T all the way to Melbourne, that's where we're going.

I quite like the idea of going to Melbourne. I've only been there the once when we went to the Show and Mike got Best of Show and Bozo fought the Aboriginal bloke. But I'm also dead disappointed, because Tommy has arranged for me to go hunting Saturday with him and John Crowe, who's going to teach me to fire a .22 rifle.

You remember John Crowe? He was the bloke who found the corrugated iron that fell off a truck for Mrs Rika Ray's hut and also helped to build it, him and Ian McTavish and Tommy and me when the bottoms-wiping-certificate fire burned her old hut down.

We're going after foxes and rabbits and feral cats. Though Tommy says not to talk about the cats because even though they're vermin and kill the wildlife, people get funny about cats, even some country women who should know better. Tommy can't teach me to shoot by example, because of his crook shoulder and his one eye missing. He can't use a rifle no more so he's asked John Crowe, because you can't be a proper bushie if you can't fire a rifle.

As you can see, having to go to Melbourne is a bit of a big disappointment as well as not a bad thing to do if we ever get there.

Bozo says we've got Buckley's, the tyres are history. Two are showing canvas and the other two are so smooth the tread wouldn't trip a bull ant up if it was running at top speed. It looks like I'm not going shooting and that we'll spend the weekend somewhere on the road to Melbourne, most likely about fifty miles down the road where we'll starve all weekend. Bozo begs Nancy to see some sense and take the train, but she won't.

Bozo's serious about the Diamond T. No ifs or maybes, it can't make it to Melbourne. We should have been on offal a month ago to save for retreads on the back two tyres, but Nancy's been so distracted by Sarah's baby that she's forgot and the tyres are on their last legs.

'We're going to Melbourne, to our darling Sarah, that's all there is to it, Bozo!' is what she says to him when he persists. By now she's convinced herself the baby's life is in danger. Sarah's tried to phone her, getting Dotty Ryan to call from the exchange, because Nancy hasn't been making her six-thirty calls since she told Sarah she was coming to the rescue. Nancy tells Dotty Ryan to tell Sarah we'll see her Saturday night. She's scared Sarah will come up with a good reason why we shouldn't go.

I tell Tommy I'm not going to be able to go shooting with him and John Crowe. He tells me I'd better go and see him, tell him myself, because the whole idea was to begin to teach me to shoot and John's giving up his Saturday because Tommy's asked him special.

'Better go see John down at the council depot, mate,'Tommy says shaking his head, because he knows it's not my fault. I can't go against Nancy's wishes and him asking her would only make matters worse. Nancy wants all her kids around her, we're like her security blanket she's missing Sarah something terrible, which is more than half the reason we're going.

So after school I walk to the workshops where they repair the shire trucks to see John Crowe. I ask a bloke in blue overalls where I can find him. He points to a truck in the lube bay. 'He's under the Dodge,' he says.

When I get to the truck I stand for a while. I can see this pair of legs sticking out from under it, but I don't want to disturb him. You know, just call out to him. Nancy says you have to always look a man in the eye when you talk to him and all I can see is a pair of boots with no socks on and a part of his hairy legs that are spotted with grease. There's grunts coming from under the truck like he's struggling with something, then, 'Shit! Bastard, Whore!' and a spanner comes flying out from under the truck. I think maybe I should come back later but after a few moments I cough and say, 'You all right?'

Page 224

'Yeah, bastard nut on the oil sump, tight as a nun's pussy! Who's askin'?'

'Mole. Mole Maloney.'

Then there's the clatter of those little iron wheels on one of those platforms on which mechanics lie on their backs to slide under a truck. The legs become a body in dirty khaki shorts and blue singlet and then it's him. 'Gidday, Mole, what brings you to this neck o' the woods?'John Crowe says, looking up at me.

I tell him about going to Melbourne to see Sarah and that Nancy's gunna stay for when the baby comes so I can't get a shooting lesson.

'Baby! I've already lost a fortune on your sister's baby. Had three goes at guessing and the little bugger still ain't come.' He stands up meanwhile and laughs and puts his hand on my shoulder. I can only hope grease stains come off in the wash or I'm in the shit with Nancy. 'Melbourne, eh?'

I'm sorry about not going shooting. I really was looking forward to it.'

That's all right, mate, we'll do it another time, no worries,'he grins. 'Foxes and rabbits'll be happy they've been spared your deadly aim.'

I laugh, he's a real nice bloke. Then I tell him how it's all a bit of a waste, because we ain't gunna get to Melbourne anyway.

'Why's that?' he asks.

I tell him about the Diamond T tyres. 'Bozo, me brother, says we ain't got a snowball's hope in hell, no chance.'

He rubs his chin and I can see, even though his face is black with grease and shiny with sweat, that he hasn't shaved in a few days and has got these bristles, some of them already white.

He puts his hand on my shoulder again and now I've got two blotches to worry about. 'Hey, Mole, we can't take chances on the road with Bozo, the Boy Boxer, now can we? Bloody good fight he had with the Abo kid, won me two quid, should've bet more but the other kid looked so bloody big and strong, know better in future, hey.'

He turns to watch a truck coming in through the gate and seems to be thinking. 'Hmm, the Fargo takes the same size of tyres as the Diamond T,' he says, like he's thinking aloud. Then he turns back to me. 'Tell your brother I'll meet him outside the gates here six o'clock sharp, Friday night. He's to come in the Diamond T.'

Well, Bozo turns up at the right time and John Crowe is already waiting. The gates to the shire workshop are locked and chained with all the shire trucks, graders and tractors inside, safe for the weekend. John Crowe unlocks the gates and signals for Bozo to drive the Diamond T into the yard, then he jumps up onto the running board and points to where the Fargo is parked.

'Pull her up next to the Fargo,' he instructs. Bozo does as he's told then steps down from the Diamond T. John Crowe looks at him and laughs, 'Don't expect there's anyone gunna arrest you around here for driving without a licence, you and Big Jack Donovan being mates an' all. Bloody good fight in Wodonga, Bozo.'

Bozo thanks him and notices that he's got the big-truck tyre jack under the Fargo and one of the back wheels is already off the ground and the wheel nuts removed.

We don't want you to get into any trouble, Mr Crowe,' Bozo says, Worried. I've already told him what I think John Crowe has in mind.

Bozo's a bit of a law abider. Being with Big Jack so much, it's rubbed off on him.

'No worries, old son.'John Crowe points to the Fargo tyre, 'We're only borrowing them tyres for the weekend, do them good to get a couple of hundred miles on a straight road, warm them up, keep the rubber expanding correct. We're doing the shire a big favour, not that those bastards would appreciate it, you get no thanks around here for trying to be helpful.'

Bozo thinks it's probably bullshit about tyres needing expanding and all that, but they get to work and in about an hour they've swapped all the tyres over. The Diamond T has never had six
Page 225

good tyres on her at the one time since Tommy got her from the US Army disposal.

'Be bloody sure you're back Sunday night, Bozo. It don't matter how late, just get to my place before five o'clock in the mornin', John Crowe warns and then laughs, 'or they'll have my guts for garters! Come round the back, bang on the bedroom window, the missus will wake up and let you in.' Then he asks, 'Okay for petrol? Might as well fill her up, hey? We'll call it natural dissipation, evaporation, it happens with petrol all the time, act of nature.'

I'm beginning to understand how come that corrugated iron we used for Mrs Rika Ray's roof fell off a truck.

Meanwhile, on that same Friday night, no I'm wrong, because it's already Saturday morning, isn't it, but early, before even we leave Yankalillee, things are beginning to go wrong in Melbourne.

First thing, Morrie's had to swap his shift and is doing the 11 p.m. to 7 a.m., because it's a payback for when we all went to Mrs Barrington-Stone's place. The late-night lift driver's niece is having her engagement party at the Salvation Army Hall in Fitzroy. No grog because her fiance is in the Salvation Army band and is a born-again Christian. Morrie is dead anxious, knowing Sarah could come any time, but Joe Bloggs the foreman says it's still only ten or fifteen minutes in the van for him to get to Carlton from the Age, probably less that time of the night.

At least Mrs Rika Ray is there and she'll know what to do if the labour pains start to come. Mrs Rika Ray isn't taking any chances with

Sarah. On the floor beside her mattress she has a pile of newspapers. Morrie gets the early-morning edition of the Age for free when he knocks off every night and Mrs Rika Ray has several beside her bed. 'Newspaper very, very sterile,'she says. When Sarah looks doubtful, Morrie confirms this, newsprint ink is a powerful disinfectant he assures her.

Mrs Rika Ray also has him bring home two newspapers unopened every night and she sterilises a pair of scissors and a sort of rubber-bulb contraption she's brought with her and she boils two short pieces of string. Then she carefully removes the centre pages of the unopened newspapers and wraps the scissors and the rubber contraption in it, together with the two lengths of string.