Red dust kicked up around
Billy’s scuffed boots as he trudged down the long track that led from the
family homestead to the main road. The orange glow of the new dawn hung on the
horizon and the cloudless sky promised another day of incessant dry heat.
A murder of crows pecking at the corpse of a rabbit laid out on barren soil
took flight as Billy approached – cawing loudly as their wings flapped slowly
and lazily
A murder of crows Billy
thought to himself. A siege of cranes, a band of coyotes, and a gaggle of
geese. He had learned these and other collectives in the boarding school that
he now attended in Adelaide – ten grueling hours drive away from the farm that
had been in his family for more than 100 years.
Billy looked at the withered
sticks and stubble of the trees that he had helped his father plant along the
length of the track – or the driveway as his mother liked to refer to it. The
trees were all long dead after the absence of rain. He remembered the
backbreaking days six years ago planting the saplings with his dad. He was just
eight at the time and he wore his grandpa’s battered Akubra hat – way too big
for his little head - and he remembered his mother laughing at his stubborn
refusal to take a rest from his labours. He remembers too her excitement and
delight in the promise that the trees would provide shade all away along the
track - right up to the house. Their grand promenade she called it. Billy
remembered how his mum used to laugh all the time and how bright and beautiful
and bubbly she was back then. He racked his brain trying to recall when he had
heard his mother laugh since.
A loose corrugated sheet on
the metal drum that constituted their letterbox rattled a little as it flapped
in the rising hot morning breeze. Tumbleweed danced across the black asphalt as
Billy lifted the back flap and let it bang close when he saw that there was no
mail. He stepped onto the road that ran north to south and scanned the flat
desolate vista in both directions for a sign of any vehicles. Even through his
thick boots be could feel the warmth of the road rising - still incalescent
from the previous day’s sun. A heat haze was already misting on the horizon
making the short scrubby saltbush shimmer. The gnarled white bleached trunks
and dirty brown foliage of the stunted vegetation offered a stark contrast to
the burnt ochre soil.
Billy sighed and walked to
the sun bleached rock that was semi buried next to the letterbox and he sat
himself down. He could barely make out the name “Kealey” painted on its flat
face. Billy remembered carefully painting over the letters – when was it only a
couple of summers back? He made a mental note to add the re-painting of it to
his already lengthy list of holiday chores. As he hunched over to watch an
orderly trail of bull ants march tirelessly across the desert sand the flies
appeared and he absently swatted them from his face. Beads of perspiration
gathered on his forehead and his eyes stung from the salt.
After only ten minutes or so
Billy heard the sound of a distant engine approaching above the angry buzz of
the flies and he stood up and saw a dark dot way off down the road. The putt
putting of an engine grew louder as the shape took the form of a battered
four-wheel drive. The vehicle rattled to a halt at the Kealey driveway and with
the engine still idling the smeared driver window wound down and a ruddy-faced
red-nosed man stuck his head out. Billy took a couple of steps forward and the
cool blast of the air conditioning from the vehicle sprayed his face. The acrid
smell of stale tobacco smoke wafted out.
“Gidday young Billy mate
youse are home for the holidays then are you?”
“Gidday Mr. Carson yeah I
got in on Saturday”
“’How’s your Mum and Dad
then?”
“They are all right
thanks. Mum sent me down to check the mail. Said she is expectin’ a parcel”
“Only this from the Bank
mate. Suspect it is not good news and all. Never is with those fuckers”
Billy accepted the official
looking envelope that was handed to him and eyes downcast he shuffled his feet
and kicked at the loose gravel on the side of the road.
There was an uncomfortable
silence for a few seconds and Billy heard the crackle on the car radio and the
depressingly cheerful tone of the announcer saying ‘Yes it’s going to be
another hot one today folks with the mercury already hitting thirty two degrees
and the Woomera recording a record 2000th straight day with no rain.
Stay cool folks and stay strong all you farmers out there. Here’s a little Slim
Dusty classic to brighten up your days’
Mr. Carson reached over and
turned down the volume.
“Yep its gonna be another
hot one today Billy. Hope youse aren’t too uncomfortable comin’ from your big
fancy city school an’ all that”
“She’ll be right Mr.
Carson, any chance of some rain you think?”
The postman laughed.
“Geez mate we haven’t had
any rain ‘ere for nearly six years. I deliver mail not fuckin’ miracles. Little
Gemma Shaw over at the Kipling property ‘asn’t seen rain in ‘er life time son.
Dunno ‘ow your old man and the other farmers around these parts make a livin’
anymore. Better get youse a fancy degree and talk to those buggers down in
Canberra. Politicians fuckin’ up the world with global warming and climate
change and shit. There’s no future in farmin’ anymore son. None at all”
Billy shuffled his feet again
and kicked at the dirt - not really knowing what to say.
“I remember when your old
man was a little nipper Billy. All the dams was full an’ the rains came in like
clockwork every season. Things are really fucked up now. Won’t stop rainin’ in
some parts of the world and won’t start rainin’ here and other places.”
“Thanks Mr. Carson. I
better go and take this back to Dad”
Billy waved the envelope and
stepped back from the road.
“Tell your Mum an’ Dad
gidday from me”
The postman wound up his window
and the jeep drove away. Billy watched it disappear up the road and he waited
until it once again became a blurred shape in the distance before he turned and
started the long trudge back down the driveway. The sun had risen higher now
and it was getting hot. Really hot.
…………
His parents were arguing
again. Despite their attempts to restrain their raised voices and the foam
pillow that he clutched tightly over his head, Billy still could make out the
odd word and get the gist of their conversation. “Bank” was uttered several
times and he thought he heard the words “school” and “tractor” and “mortgage”
as well. The hissed whispers were like angry snakes Billy thought. Poisonous
adders. Terrible asps.
Billy then heard the front
screen door slam loudly and he felt the thud of his dad’s work boots stomp
across the veranda. As the roar of the engine of his father’s ute dissipated in
the distance he thought that he heard his mother crying. He knew that he should
get out of his own bed and go in and say something and maybe tell her that
everything would turn out all OK but he was frozen in fear. Despite the heat he
felt all cold and shivery and some part of him knew that everything would not
be alight. It would never be alright. So he held the pillow as hard as he could
over his head until the solace of sleep came and eventually took him. It was a
restless and disturbed slumber full of dust and despair.
At breakfast in the vast
homestead kitchen Billy’s mum had laid out the table with plates of toast
spread thick with vegemite and the aroma of the steeping black pot of tea was
delicious.
“No eggs for breakfast I’m
afraid today Billy”
apologised his mum
“The chooks aren’t laying
what they used to anymore and we have had to eat some over the past couple of
weeks”
“Where’s Dad Mum?”
“He went to town to see
the Bank Manager. He won’t be long.”
“I don’t have to go back
to boarding school Mum. It would save you and Dad heaps and I could stay here
and help out around the place”
“Don’t be silly Billy.
Your Dad and me want you to finish your schooling and go onto university. Make
something of yourself”
“But I want to work on the
farm”
“Just finish your
schooling first love. No eat up the rest of that toast and off with you. Those
jobs won’t do themselves”
……….
Billy woke with a start and
he sat up in bed. Icy dread clutched his heart as the realisation struck him
that the wailing that he heard and that he thought was a part of his dream –
his nightmare in fact - was real. He slipped on his jeans and pulled on a t-shirt
and shoeless he ran down the hall and out the front door. He stopped at the
sight of his mother kneeling in the dirt out front of the barn door - her whole
body shaking with her sobbing.
He walked slowly towards her.
“Mum?”
“Nooooo”
He looked past her and
through the open door of the barn Billy saw the lifeless body of his father
swinging from the rafters – his face all purple and bruised.
In a daze of disbelief – then
grief - Billy staggered to his mother and then he dropped to his knees as well.
His mother reached for him and they clutched each other tightly. The tears
mingled as they fell to the ground and each droplet kicked-up red puffs of
sand. The moisture evaporated immediately.
……….
Billy shifted uncomfortably
in the car seat. He pulled at the collar of his shirt and his feet hurt. Both
his suit and his shoes were a size too small for his fast growing body. His
‘good’ clothes his Mum called them. Beside him his mother sat impassively in
her black dress – her face as bleak as the landscape. On the car radio the
announcers voice was sickeningly cheerful.
“If you hadn’t noticed
it’s hot, hot, hot again folks with the mercury already sitting on thirty six
degrees and still rising. We are expecting a top temperature of fourty two
degrees with no respite in sight. The shire is has announced even tighter water
restrictions with both the upper and lower dams nearly empty. In world news
fierce tropical storms continue to batter the south pacific with three of the
atolls of the Marshall Islands now nearly completely engulfed by rising sea
levels. United Nations scientists released a statement claiming that there has
been a ten-fold increase in natural disasters and that these are a direct
result of global warming. They claim that there is mounting and now
indisputable evidence that the global warming is man-made. What we wouldn’t do to get a little
of that rain over here. Here’s a little country and western classic to cheer
you up and get you through your day”
Tears welled up in Billy’s
eyes and he turned to face away from his mother and gazed out of the car
window. Through blurred and stinging eyes the barren red landscape flashed by.
It was arid and
cracked and broken.
……….
Uncle Dave held
tightly onto Billy’s hand when the first clods of soil were tossed into the
hole in the ground. The red dirt made a hollow ‘thwumping’ noise as it hit then
spread across the sleek black wood of the coffin. There were no tears though.
Billy’s stomach was all clenched inside and he wanted to cry but he just couldn’t
anymore. He was angry with himself for this and he didn’t really know why.
The bright brass
handles at one of the coffin provided a stark contrast to the soil surrounding
it and as Billy stared down at the vessel holding his Dad he wondered why such beautiful
shiny things were buried away with the dead. He had a flash of a distant memory
of how he and his Dad used to polish up Grandma’s brass candlesticks for some
special Sunday dinners they used to have – in those good old days when him and
Mum were always laughing and fooling around.
It all seemed
like a long time ago now.
Billy squeezed
Uncle Dave’s hand tighter and then he jumped a little when there was a booming
of thunder and a crackle of lightning that momentarily silenced the sound of
the church organ playing up the hill in the distance. Even Father McNally
paused in his murmuring of prayer and cast his eye to the skies.
Billy looked up
and from almost nowhere it seemed black-blue clouds rolled in across the
landscape. The first tears rolled down Billy’s cheek just as the clouds burst.
He briefly tasted the salt of them before then rain fell and it washed the
tears away.
……….