Miscarriages Chapter 5. Drums of all that’s right and wrong

5. Drums of all that’s right and wrong

I’m half out to it, lying in the back of the ute. The spuds are digging into me and the onions pong something awful. My tongue’s nearly stuck to the top a me mouth. I need a drink.

“Hey you bastards! Where’s the booze?” I yell as I struggle off the truck. We’re parked outside an old ramshackle shed, half covered with rusty corrugated iron and rotten wood planks. It’s big, though, and I can hear the bleating of sheep so I suppose it’s a shearing shed or something. I dunno. I wander in where there’s a tractor parked inside and there’s Swampy and Spuds sitting on a bale a straw drinking plonk. There’s a bunch of sheep penned up over in the corner and they’re bleating away like they were crying for their mothers.

“Haw! Haw! Ya know how to shear a sheep?” asks Swampy.

“I need a drink, ya bastard.” And I see a flagon of red sitting there. I go to pick it up and fall ass-over-tit. I’m still boozed up.

“Haw! Haw! How ya gunna hold the sheep while you’re pissed as a cricket?” laughs Swampy.

“Yair. Sober up, ya silly bastardo,” says Spuds, as he hands me an old tin mug.

I grab the mug and crawl to the flagon and pour myself a drink. Right there, Dad flashes into my head. It’s what he drank the last few years of his life. My hand starts to shake as I pour. The flagon is nearly full so it’s pretty heavy.

“Poor bugger’s got-a the shakes,” says Spuds.

Swampy stirs off his bale and starts to dance, if that’s what you could call it. And then he’s singing “Old Adelooooine! Old Adelooooine!” and makes like he’s dancing with her. I’m squatting on me haunches sipping away and my mouth’s feeling better already. I stand up and I’m dancing with him. Spuds tries to pull me back down, but I shake him off. “Old Adelooine,” I cry, spit and dribble flying out of my mouth. I go to grab Swampy like I’m his dance partner and he yells, “ya fuckn poofda! Get the fuck away from me!” He swings a wild punch that just grazes my chin. And my knees buckle as if he’d hit me and as I go down, I hear a faint woman’s voice.

“What’s going on in here?”

I’m on all fours, looking over to the bright outdoors. There’s a silhouette of someone standing there, and I feel Swampy plop down beside me. He wants to ride me like I was a horse!

“Get the fuck off me!” I yell.

“Haw! Haw! Watch ya fuckn language in front of moi sister!” Swampy chortles.

His sister prances across the barn. She’s wearing jodhpurs, big brown leather boots and she’s got a riding whip. She gets within arm’s length and she starts whipping Swampy like buggery. He pretends to be hurt, cries out “Waah! Waah! Haw! Haw!” and tries to shield the lashes with his arm. But she’s not stopping, and she sees me gawking at her and she starts after me and I get up and run away across to the sheep. But I’m staggering and she catches me and starts whipping me too.

“Who’s this little bastard?” she yells, “what are you doing bringing a young boy on the farm? And what are you doing giving him booze? He’s just a kid.”

This is too much for me and I stop right at the little fence holding the sheep in and I turn to her and I say, “I’m eighteen, ya silly fuckn bitch!”

Gees, Dad. I was half pissed, so I didn’t know what I was saying. She rears back, hands on hips, and I’m squinting, staring at her little eyes tucked down behind her cheeks. They’re as black as buggery and her face is white as a pommie’s back side.

“Get out of here young man! Get out of here this minute. This is no place for a boy like you!”

She starts her whipping again and I’m taking lashes over me arms and me back as I turn and jump over the railing into the sheep. They start wailing and bleating like I was going to slaughter them. They rush in all directions and knock over the railings and then they run off all over the barn. Swampy and Spuds suddenly sober up and start running trying to round them up, but it’s hopeless. And big sister chases Swampy and Spuds and lays some pretty good strokes on. I find my way back to the flagon and take a deep swig and pretty soon I’m rolling around on the straw, having a good laugh at the silly bastards running around in circles, big sister chasing them and the sheep gone off into the paddocks. Spuds, though, managed to grab one and bring her down. And by this time, big sister has pissed off back to the farm house.

*

Holding a sheep isn’t easy. I got my left hand under its chin and I’m pushing it up while I’m grabbing it around the waist and pulling it into me knees. Swampy’s going “Haw! Haw!” and rubbing his big moustache with his bony fingers. But the wriggly bastard thing is struggling like I’m going to slit its throat. I lean over and I look into its grey eyes and it doesn’t look anything like it’s alive, its face says nothing to me. I mean, it’s a thing, you know? Dad? Did you ever do this? Shit! The fuckn thing just kicked me in the shins.

Spuds is dancing around clapping his hands, yelling, “Go! Go! Pull! Pull! Ya silly bugger!” So I give it a yank and it gives a huge kick with its back legs and I lose my balance and fall backwards but I don’t let go so the stupid thing rolls twisting on top of me, and I lose my grip and it flips around and its horrible mouth bangs into mine and I smell its horrible rotten breath and Swampy and Spuds are dancing around laughing their heads off, and then the stinking thing leaps off me and runs straight into Swampy and trips him up and it bleats and takes off out of the shed and into the paddock. And the other sheep that’s corralled in the corner getting ready for shearing, they all go crazy and they rush at the railing and knock the rest of it down and they all take off into the paddock too, knocking Spuds and Swampy over as they’re laughing their heads off, and then Spuds scrambles up and goes for another flagon of red.

“Fuckn-a shit-a!” he yells, “let’s get-a the rifle and we’ll kill these bastardi, that will-a teach ’em!”

“Haw Haw, like hell ya will! Don’t want to bloody their wool, ya dope. You better get back to your veggies and leave the sheep to me. Gimme a drink!”

“Me too!” I says as I stagger over and put my hand out.

“You-a haven’t earned it,” grins Spuds.

“Get stuffed,” I says, “look at me poor legs, all scratched and bloodied by that shit of a sheep.”

Swampy comes over to me. He’s rubbing his moustache and he’s looking kind of funny. “I’m taking ya back to the pub. You’ve done enough damage for today.”

And I think right then he’s going to touch me or something. But he doesn’t. He puts out a tin cup and Spuds fills it and then he hands it to me.

“You’ve been a fuckn good sport. I’m taking ya back to Eddie. He needs ya more than me.”

I down the cup of plonk in one gulp. I don’t even know what time it is. I don’t want to go back now because I’m having such a good time.

“But ya better sober up first. Haw! Haw!”

And I says, “yair, gimme another plonk.”

Spuds tops up my cup and he looks at Swampy and then to me. “Hey, I need-a some help digging up me spuds. What about coming with-a me and you can sober up while we work.”

“Haw! Haw!” goes Swampy. “Take me truck then. I have to tell me sister we can’t dag the sheep today. She’s gunna be shitty. Haw! Haw!” And he starts rubbing his leg with his other, and stroking his moustache and twisting around into all kinds of contortions. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t care. I got me grog, the plonk’s keeping me going, so I can dig a few spuds.

Spuds shepherds me into Swampy’s ute. Swampy goes over to talk to the sheep hoping they’ll come back, but they’ve run off far away across the paddock. Spuds revs the ute and red dust flies out the back as we zoom across the paddocks along an old track. I’m trying not to slip off the seat, because I’m pretty well gone, and the track’s got furrows in it as deep as the Werribee gorge.

“Where the fuck are we going?” I mutter and just then we come over a rise, and I see this beautiful green paddock running all the way down, and there’s rows and rows of veggies, green as green, and the rows are straighter than a horse’s dick.

“Gees! This is yours?”

“Yair. Not too bad-a for a Dago, non e vero?”

“Fuckn what? Speak Australian, bugger ya!”

“Stuff you! I am-a for Christ-a-sake-a,” and he crosses himself and I can’t help staring at him. It’s the first time I ever sat close to someone who did that.

“You’re a fuckn mick?” I ask in disbelief.

“What ya expect? I’m a Dago, for Christ-a-sake-a,” and he crosses himself again just as we go over a big bump that causes him to nearly poke his eye out. We pull up half way down the paddock and he goes to get out.

“Did ya bring the grog?” I ask, seriously.

“Nah, got me own. Come on, the spuds are right-a here and they gotta be dug up or they’ll be no good in a couple-a days.”

“I need a drink first.”

“Yair, of course. I tell ya, I got something-a special. It’s in-a me little tool shed over there.”

Spuds runs over and comes back with a shovel and a greasy looking bottle that was once a lemonade bottle and it’s got this murky looking stuff in it.

“What the fuck is that?” I ask, swaying a bit and eyeing off the shovel. I’m not really up to digging.

“It’s-a my brother’s grappa. He makes it himself up at-a Mildura where they grow all the grapes. It’s the fuckn best, I tell ya. Here, take a swig.”

I’m always game when it comes to trying out grog. I grab the bottle and pop it straight in me mouth and take a big swig like it was any old plonk. And it tastes really like strong wine, and then I swallow it and shit! It’s like I imagine it must be like drinking metho! I drop the bottle and the grappa starts pouring out of it and Spuds starts yelling and screaming like it was liquid gold running out all over his potato patch.

“Affunculo! Ya useless little piece of-a shit!” he screams and he grabs up the bottle that’s half empty. He looks at me and I know he wants to beat the shit out of me.

“Gees, I’m sorry. It was fuckn good stuff. I just wasn’t expecting it to burn me guts out.” Spuds is hugging the bottle to his chest with both arms. Gees! Dad! Is that stuff so good? “Shit, Spuds. I’m sorry. Come on, I’ll dig up all your spuds for ya.”

I grab the shovel and I ram it into the ground, but the ground’s hard and cracked because there hasn’t been much rain for a while. I stand on the shovel trying to jiggle it down, and then I step off and pull on the handle to dig up a shovel full of potatoes and dirt, except that the ground’s so hard I have to really force the handle down, and then there’s a loud “crack” and the handle of the shovel snaps and I fall down on top of it. Shit, Dad. Maybe Swampy’s right. I’m fuckn useless out here. I look over at Spuds who hasn’t seen what happened. He’s too busy sipping at his grappa and muttering away to himself in Dago. I stagger over to him and ask for a swig. He looks up, and hands me the bottle. I take it, and with me other hand I give him the handle of the shovel. He takes it and then looks at me and at the grappa. If he socks me one, the grappa will go to the ground and there’ll be none left. So he stands there looking at the handle, trying not to smack me with it. I’m about to take a swig, but as it just gets to me mouth I can’t do it, because I burst out laughing. I hand him back the bottle and he drops the handle and grasps the bottle in both hands and hugs it to his chest again. And then I see him shaking all over and I think he’s crying, but it can’t be true because he’s a real tough bloke. But I’m having a laughing fit and then he bursts out laughing too and takes a swig. He hands me the bottle and I have another swig and this time I’m ready for it, and now I really like the stuff. Only thing is that I felt like the blood was running out of me head, it was so strong. I hand him back the bottle and I start yelping and dancing around and pretty soon we’re both so drunk we can’t stand up and we’re rolling around in the potato patch every now and then trying to pull them up by hand, but it’s impossible.

The sun has dipped below the rise and the sky is red. I’m listening to the veggies talk to each other, their leaves are rustling, I put my ear to the ground and I can hear it murmur. I’m fuckn paralytic.

*

This big fat koala’s sitting on my chest, and it’s pushing the air out of my lungs and I can’t breathe. Dad! Help! It’s a monster and it’s suffocating me to death. Dad, how’d I end up like this? It’s huge head’s in my face and its paws are grabbing my ears and shaking my head so hard it will rip my ears off. Dad! Help me! Please Dad! I’m going to die! Die I tell you! And the monster animal pulls me head up and I open my eyes and it’s Mr. Counter leaning over me and I feel the damp of the leaves around me. I’m still in the potato patch. I look around for Spuds, but he’s gone and so is Swampy’s ute. Mr. Counter’s holding the empty grappa bottle.

“You been drinking this?” he asks the obvious.

“Yair, I s’pose so.”

“You stupid little bugger. You’re getting more like your father every day.”

“Shit. It’s not my fault Mr. Counter. You made me go with Swampy. I just did what you told me.”

“I thought you’d handle yourself better than this. Getting drunk on Dago grappa. That stuff’s like metho, you know. It’s dangerous.”

“I didn’t know.”

Mr. Counter’s pulling at my old school shirt, trying to get me to sit up.

“Look at you. You’re a disgusting mess.”

“Shit, Mr. Counter. It’s not my fault. Those blokes are crazy!”

“That’s what they say about you!”

“And Swampy’s sister, she’s just as mad!”

I struggle to get up, and with Mr. Counter’s hand under my arm, I manage to get nearly upright. He let’s go of me and picks up the handle of the shovel.

“I see you’ve been working,” he says.

“Yair. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a roustabout on a farm. And I hate sheep anyway.”

“Well, it was worth a try.”

“I just want to work at the pub and be your best barman, Mr. Counter.”

Mr. Counter looks at me. He’s such a good bloke and he was such a good mate to me Dad. I don’t know what I’d do without him. I’d do anything for him, I would. He’s smiling.

“Come on,” he says, and he gives me a nice tap on the shoulder, “let’s get back to the pub. There’s a lot to do.”

We walk to his new Humber and he drives as slow as a tractor over the great holes and furrows in the track, and at long last on to the Melbourne Road. I’m already looking forward to cleaning the bar counter, pouring the beers with just the right amount of head, having a few beers with the mates after closing time. And how good it’ll be to get in my own soft bed.

*

I’ve been trying out all the booze. Went back to the gin. It was the first booze I ever drank, out there in the paddock among the thistles. Seems like years ago. But it’s awful, I have to admit. I tried it like the women do in the Snake Pit, having a gin squash, but it’s so sweet with the lemon cordial and then the lemonade as well, I just couldn’t drink much of it because it filled me guts up. Besides, gin stinks even in squash so I wouldn’t get away with drinking it during the day while I was working. So I tried the vodka. And holy shit, that was the drink for me! When nobody was looking I first tried it neat, and I nearly choked like the day I drank Spuds’s grappa. But I got it down and phew! What a hit! At first I tried it in lemon squash, but the stuff filled up me guts and I couldn’t drink enough of it to keep me buzzing all day. Then a woman comes up and orders a vodka tonic, and I reckoned I’d try that. And it worked! I could drink as much as I wanted all day and soon I managed to pretty much fill the glass half vodka and half tonic, and the best thing was the vodka didn’t smell like gin did. So I’d just keep telling people that I loved the tonic water and it was good for my digestion.

Then after closing time when we had our few drinks and the mates told stories and we sucked down the beers, on my shout—although it was really Mr. Counter that gave us all our beer free —I’d sneak a couple of whiskeys behind the bar while I was filling the glasses. Sugar, though, he was watching me like a hawk. He never liked me. He was jealous because Mr. Counter treated me like one of his family, and Sugar was just another barman. I couldn’t help that, Dad, now could I? But he liked scotch and didn’t really drink much beer because he said it had too much sugar, so I’d pour him a couple of scotches and while I was doing it, I’d turn my back and take a quick swig out of the bottle.

By the time all the blokes went home, I was blotto as usual and I’d wander into the kitchen and look through the fridge for something to eat, but really, I wasn’t ever much hungry, so I’d chew a piece of bread and have a glass (well a few glasses) of plonk to go with it and then I’d stagger down the passage and flop on my bed. And I’d feel around under me bed for the bottle of plonk I kept there, yair, just like me dear old Dad, and have a few swigs before I dropped off.

I don’t know how long all this went on for. They were my happiest times for a long while until I started to notice that the blokes would look at me and say nothing but I knew there was something wrong. I thought this was because I had the shakes a bit, especially in the morning when I sat down for breakfast in the kitchen and Abbie would plonk down a plate of bacon and eggs and I’d try to scoop up the bacon with my fork but me hand shook too much, so I’d just end up eating the toast and that was all. Once I got a few grogs into me, though, the shakes went away, and I was right as rain. So then I started sneaking a small flask of scotch and kept it in my room and as soon as I woke up, I’d take a swig or two and that steadied me down so I never had the shakes in the kitchen and Abbie stopped looking at me like I was a criminal. But I could never swallow those eggs. She’d keep making them in all different ways. But they just turned me off. And she’d stand there with her hands on her hips, big toothy grin telling me I had to eat them because I needed to keep up my strength.

*

This day I’m serving the Snake Pit and Little Linda shows up and she’s chasing her little brat kid around the Lounge and finally catches her and drags her up to the bar.

“Whiskey and beer,” she says as usual.

“G’day, Linda,” I says.

“Where ya fuckn been?” she asks.

“Here, of course. Where d’you fuckn think?”

“Don’t ya like Iris any more or what, ya bastard?”

“Course I like her. I been busy working me fuckn ass off in the pub.”

“And ya had no fuckn time to come and see her?”

“Why couldn’t she come and see me?”

“Because I dunno where she is, that’s why.”

“What do you fuckn mean?”

“She’s gone again. Hurry with the scotch, will ya? I’m fuckn sick.”

“Shit and hell! When?”

“The drinks, ya bastard. Get the fuckn drinks.”

The kid brat pulls away from her hand and starts running and screaming up and down the passage. I get the drinks and she grabs them off me.

“That’s one-and-thruppence.”

“Fuck you! I’m broke.”

She walks away and I’m left standing there so I have to feel around in my pocket for the money and make up the till, because if I don’t Sugar, when he does the money tonight, will find out the till is short. But I’m shaking too. I reach for my tonic water and it steadies me. God in hell! Iris, Dad. I forgot all about her. Well, didn’t really forget, always I’m thinking of her when I’m down there in my bedroom on me own, getting into the plonk wishing I was with her, you know what I mean Dad? I suppose this hap¬pened to you too? I just can’t seem to get myself to leave this place and the booze.

Little Linda. She buggered up my day, and I had to hit the booze more than usual. Sugar was watching me like never before, and I had a good idea that Mr. Counter was too. So after closing time, instead of staying with the mates for our usual few beers, I went down to my room to have a drink on my own. Even then, though, I was having trouble walking a straight line, but the blokes wouldn’t be able to see me because the passage was so dark. And when I opened the door to my bedroom and the sun pierced me eyes like a frigging dagger slicing through the slit in the blind, I put up my hands to shade them and then I saw lying on my bed, little Iris all curled up and there were tears on her cheeks, those lovely white cheeks.

I close the door softly behind me, but I’m so unsteady it bangs shut and Iris wakes up. She doesn’t do more than just open her eyes. I’m down on my knees and I’m nuzzling my nose into her face. I’m looking already for one of her wet kisses. But she just lies there and curls up even tighter in a ball.

“Gees Iris! What the hell? Are you all right?”

“Bugger you,” she says in a little mousey voice.

“Gees, Iris! What’d I do?”

“You’re a fuckn hopeless shit.”

“What’d I do?”

“And you’re a fuckn drunk.”

“I’m fuckn not!”

She sits on the edge of the bed. She’s looking down at me. And I know she wants to ruffle me hair. But she’s not. And I’m waiting for one of her wet kisses. But her lips are dry and she’s licking them. My knees are getting sore from kneeling and I’m having trouble staying up straight anyway. I try to grab her hands but she pulls them away. She didn’t say it, but I know what she’s saying. “Don’t touch me.” Shit Dad. What have I done? All I done really is have a few drinks. That’s all. And every bloke does it, all me mates in the bar. They all have their few beers. That’s all. Yair, Dad. And if our women would have a few beers that would make it a lot easier.

“You’re talking to your father again, you fuckn weirdo,” she says.

“Shut the fuck up.” I’m getting angry, my ears are red and I think I’m falling sideways.

“Stand up ya fuckn drunk. You can’t can ya?”

I grab the bed and I push myself up and I fall over on to the bed and I knock her backwards and end up lying across her lap.

“Get off, you’re hurting me.” She’s going to howl, I know she is. I’m feeling around under my bed for a drop a plonk.

“Get off me!” she cries and then I find the plonk and I pull it out and I sit up all proud.

“There, you see, I found it! We’re set for the night. Here, I’ve got a spare glass somewhere in the drawer.”

I try to stand up and fall back on the bed. Iris dodges me and stands up, her back against the torn blind. She’s got her hands on her hips and she looks like Swampy’s sister. I think I’m stuffed. She doesn’t have a whip, though, so I’m lying on the bed on my back, holding the bottle of plonk on my chest. I’m trying to pour a glass but I can’t get the bottle to go to the glass. She sniffs and snivels and then she takes a step forward, and Dad, I knew I was in for it. She grabs the bottle of plonk out of me hand and throws it against the wall and it bounces off, and sprays plonk all over everything, me included. I’m madly thinking that I must look like I just came out of the Nile the day it ran red. Then she sits on top of me and for a fleeting moment my body says, “this is going to be good” except she doesn’t stop there. She leans back and grabs me dick and everything. Gees Dad! Is this what they do when they get mad? My ears aren’t red any more. I’m getting ready for one of the best. But then she squeezes and squeezes and before I know it I’m calling out, “Stop! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?” And she leans back on to her hand and puts even more weight on me and I’m doing all I can not to scream. “Fuckn shit and hell, Iris. I might have been a bastard, but this, this… aahhh!” I cry and I try to roll away from under her, but I’m too drunk to do it. She lets go a little and I’m lying there, I can’t talk. I might even throw up with her sitting on me guts. What a mess it would make. Then she leans forward and I think she’s going to kiss me. I see her lips are really nice and wet like they always were. “Yair, Iris,” I say, “that’s the girl.” She gets even closer and pushes her nose against mine.

“You know what?” she says.

I don’t want to answer. I’m waiting for her kiss. I move my lips like I was saying “what.”

“I’m pregnant.”

So now, you got to understand, Dad. I heard the words but I didn’t have a clue what they meant. I mean it was just like someone told me I forgot their birthday or that they had the mumps or something. So I say, “gees, I’m sorry.”

“Did ya fuckn hear what I said, ya dopey fuckn drunk?”

“Yair. You’re pregnant. So that’s all right, isn’t it?”

She lets go of me dick and gets off me. Trouble is, even in my drunken state, I’ve got a hard on and of course she knows it. She looks down at it.

“Your brains are swollen again,” she says.

And I’m about to laugh but I see she’s not laughing.

“I’m pregnant, don’t you understand? And you did it.”

So now it’s beginning to sink in. Even though she raped me—that’s what she really did—she’s blaming me.

“Me? What about your old man? You said he does you all the time.”

“I told you. I made that up.”

“Then who else, then?”

“You’re the only one. I thought I loved you.”

She sits on the edge of the bed again and puts her hand into my hair and it calms me down a lot.

“So, you can get rid of it, can’t you?”

“What a shit you are,” she says, and gets up and walks to the door.

“Where you going?”

“Don’t know. I’m not going back home.”

“That’s what you said last time.” I think I’m sobering up.

“Yair. But I mean it this time. If I went home Tank would beat me senseless and try to knock it out of me belly.”

“He’s that kind of bastard?”

“Yair.”

“Me drinking mates talk. They know where you can get fixed. Their sheilas do it all the time.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re a real fuckn dumb shit, that’s what you are. Didn’t you learn anything besides Latin at high school?”

“Thanks. I’m only trying to help.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re its father, ya fuckn drunken wombat!”

“Well, what do ya want to do then?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Fuck you right now,” me body says, but I lie there looking her up and down. Those white cheeks, the red sloppy lips. I can’t stop drooling.

“Well? What do you want to do about it?” she nags. “What?”

“I don’t know. I mean it’s yours, isn’t it?”

“So… It’s nothing to do with you? You’ll just keep on drinking with your mates and forget all about me, so you don’t fuckn care what I do?”

“No, I won’t, I mean, course I care, but I’m not giving up drink¬ing with me mates, if that’s what you mean.”

“I’m three months, you know.”

“Yair? It’s been that long since I did me Latin exam?”

“Shit. That’s what you remember, is it?”

“No, course not. That time in the commission house. Oh, gees, it was the best.” And now I’m going off again and I want to get into her. So I start to sit up and get a bit closer to her.

“Fuckn stay right there,” she says, sounding like Swampy’s sister again.

“Gees, Iris. I’ll marry you if that would fix things. Is that what you want?”

Dad, you gotta listen to me. She stood there staring at me like I had said something really awful, the worst. And I haven’t a clue what I said, not really. I said it hoping it would make her feel better, but I meant it too. I mean “meant it” without a clue of what it meant. Gees. Dad. I’m all fucked up.

I start looking around the room. I pick up my old towel and try to wipe off the red splashes of plonk on the walls and closets. She follows me with her eyes as I move around the room, and I gradually inch closer to her. I wipe her eyes with the clean tip of the towel. And I see the water in her eyes, and gees, Dad, tears start pushing at the back of my eyes as well. It just all of a sudden happened. And Iris sees the tears, and she raises her finger and lightly touches the corner of me eye and follows a tear down the side of my nose. I drop the towel and I gently slide my arms around her and we draw close. And at last she plonks one of her sloppy kisses on me dry lips. And I think everything’s back to what they were after my Latin exam. To my amazement, I pick her up in my arms and gently place her on the bed. And I lie down beside her and we cuddle together and even though I’m ready to do her over and over again, we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

*

Gees Dad. I have to be honest. When I woke up, I was kind of hoping she’d be gone like last time. But she wasn’t. She was right there, her lily-white eyelids closed tight, her eyes rolling around behind them. Dreaming of me, I hope. My hand’s shaking a lot, but I try hard to lightly run my fingers through her cropped hair that I’ve always loved, and gradually down her neck. I plant a kiss on her eyelid, and I see a flicker of her mouth. She’s in there, Dad. I know what it’s like, don’t I?

Iris opens her eyes and I see that she’s kind of shocked to find me there, staring into her gorgeous blue-grey eyes. Not that different, I say to myself, to the colour of Swampy’s sheep. But hers are full of life. She sighs and stretches out her arms and I lean into her hoping she’ll pull me in. And she does. But I’m shaking like buggery and she pushes me back. I start feeling around under the bed for a bottle of booze. Should be some scotch there somewhere. It always stops the shakes. Then out of the blue, she says with a cheeky grin,

“I’m going to call it Ovid.”

At last, I find a little flask of scotch and I have to hold it with two hands to steady myself so I can get it up to my mouth. I’m not listening to her.

“Did you hear me? Ya bastard, all you think of is your booze. Me mum’s been right all along.”

“Gees! Hang on! I’m just trying to steady myself. I’m just try¬ing to calm myself down. I mean, you scared the shit out of me getting pregnant.”

“What a shit you are! I’m getting out of here.”

“What’d I do now? I can’t help it if you got yourself pregnant!”

“You’re a useless asshole, that’s what you are. I’m leaving and I never want to see you again!”

“Iris! For Christ sake! You’re going off your rocker!”

And she runs to the door and just as she grabs the doorknob, it flies open and there’s Abbie standing there her mouth gaping open. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, no pants on, holding a flask of whiskey over my crown jewels.

“What the hell’s going on here?” she says, trying to sound real bossy, but she’s holding back a laugh, putting her hand up to her big white teeth.

Iris looks like a little primary school kid next to her and she backs away like her teacher had just told her to ‘sit down right this minute.’ So she sits down on the edge of the bed right next to me.

The scotch is working its magic and my hands are getting steady.

“Abbie, this is my girlfriend Iris,” I say, waiting for Abbie to say something, but she doesn’t, and then I blurt out, “we’re getting married.”

I feel Iris stiffen up and she puts her hand on me leg and digs her nails right into me.

“Really?” smiles Abbie like she’s going along with a fairy tale, “and when are you going to get up and get ready for work?”

“Get stuffed. You’re not my mother.”

“Thank goodness. But Mrs. Counter asked me to watch out for you, and that’s what I’m doing even if it’s not my job.”

“Pleased to meet you,” says Iris and she holds out her hand.

“Hello love. Welcome to the pub. Now tell your silly boyfriend here to get himself cleaned up. She looks me up and down. “He looks like a… don’t know what.”

She backs out of the room and pulls the door slowly shut. I take another swig of the scotch and drain the bottle, and slide it under the bed.

“It’s a him?” I say, making like everything’s back the way they were. She’s starting to snivel and sob. “Gees, Iris love,” I say, putting my arm around her and giving her a little hug, “don’t cry. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Why did you tell her we’re getting married?

“Gees, I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Marry a drunken bastard like you?”

“I’m not a drunk. I’m just having fun at the pub with me mates.”

“Yair. OK. That’s what all me mum’s blokes told her, and my sister’s too.”

“So, what do you want to do then?” I’m getting angry. I feel the blood in my ears and I start to finger them.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” She sobs and she puts her arms around my neck and cries into my chest that’s all sweaty and smelly. And then she keeps rubbing her lovely white cheek against my chest that’s tight and smooth as well, and her cropped hair is tickling my tits. I put my arms around her too, the least I could do, Dad. And we sit there, rocking backwards and forwards. And after a long time when her sobs have stopped, I ask, “are we gunna get married then?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t,” she whimpers.

“Well I’ll marry you, if you want. I don’t care.”

“You don’t care? Shit! You bastard!”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

“It’s your drinking, you know that.”

I look down at her belly.

“You could get rid of it you know.”

“You mean we, don’t you?”

She looks at me like I’m a criminal.

“Shit, Iris. What are you talking about?”

“I told you. Tank will beat it out of me.”

“I’m not Tank, for Christ sake.”

“Yair. But I don’t know how to do it either.”

“I could talk to me mates. There’s places you can go. They talk about it all the time.”

“Yair, but then everyone would know.”

“Nah. They keep it quiet. Because you’re not supposed to do it, are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I could ask Mrs. Counter. The trouble is she doesn’t like me.”

“Why don’t you ask Mr. Counter then?”

“Because he told me I had to get rid of you. Remember?”

“But that was before.”

“Shit, Iris. I got to get cleaned up and get to the bar. Sugar will be knocking at the door any minute.”

“So you’re just leaving me here, then, just like last time”?

“Shit, Iris. What the hell can I do? I got to go to work. And if we’re going to have a baby, we need money, don’t we?”

“All right. Go then. I don’t know what I’m going to do all day in here.”

“Maybe you could help Abbie or something.”

“Bugger off then!”

I grab my towel and I’m about to open the door when I see the handle turn. I grab it and pull it open, and there, sure enough is Sugar. He’s smirking away, and he’s got his eyebrows in that frown of his like they nearly meet each other at his nose and I find myself staring at them. I’m sure he plucks them and trims them too.

“Fuck off, Sugar!” I scowl and wrap the towel around my waist. He stares at the towel and sticks his tongue out to wet his lips.

“Mr. Counter wants to see you right away.”

“I’m having a shower.” I push past him and walk none too steady down to the bathroom.

“I know what you’re doing, you smart ass,” he calls.

Then I remember I never shut the bedroom door. I turn back and start running. Sugar thinks I’m after him and when I get close, I stamp my foot and go like I’m about to punch him. He steps back and bangs his head against the wall, and I brush past him saying, “gees, I forgot me underpants.”

*

I’m in the shower and I’m thinking what I’m going to do. I’ll tell Mr. Counter that Iris and me are getting married and I want my money that I’ve earned fair and square and can we stay in the pub. Maybe Iris could do some work for Mrs. Counter or something. I’m standing there, letting the water run over my throbbing head and down over my face. I need another drink. There’s a bang on the door and someone comes in. I must have forgot to lock it. But I can see through the old plastic shower curtain that it’s Sugar.

“Get going you little fuck! Eddie’s got a big shitty on you,” he says.

“Get the fuck out of here you asshole!”

“Well, don’t say I never told you.”

I cup my hands and fill them with water, toss back the curtain and throw it on his bald head.

“Fuck off!” I say.

“You bastard. You’ll be sorry for all this. You’re getting too big for your frigging boots.”

“You want fuckn more? Get the fuck out!” He stands there staring at the shower curtain. “You hear me? Fuck off!”

*

Gees, Dad. Flo and Tank, are they really married? Shit! Will me and Iris be like that when we’re old like they are? Gees, Dad, I never thought about getting married. Sweet Iris, Dad, she made it look like we had to and that was that, don’t you think? And I didn’t think much of it. For Christ sake, the people that come into the pub that’s supposed to be married. If they can do it, so can we, don’t you think? I just never thought about it. It’s like having a birthday or something. It’s just something that happens. It comes along and you have a big party, and then you wait for the next one. Right?

I was trying to figure out who was who in that hell-house anyway. Iris, she lies half the damned time about who’s who and who does what. Linda’s supposed to be her big sister, but is she a half-sister or what? And she really looks like Iris’s little sister, and that’s weird because Iris is little herself. And whose kid is the brat? Can you imagine Tank and Flo going at it? Shit and hell! He’s so big and Flo’s tiny. It’s the smoking, that’s what Iris says. She smokes and doesn’t eat much. She lives on toast and Vegemite. And she’s got no money because the Seventh Day Adventists took it all, that’s what Iris said. Anyway, Flo never had any money. Iris says she grew up in a traveling circus and her bedroom was an open trailer with a mattress plonked down in it. I don’t believe that, do you Dad? Shit. Iris keeps telling me stuff, I wish she wouldn’t.

*

Flo was lying on her water bed flat on her back, drawing on her cigarette, looking up at the ceiling. She knew every little crack and smudge on that ceiling, she’d been on her back so much in this room. The daddy longlegs left their marks all over and so did the flies, little black spots of crap. She heard the kitchen screen door open and slam shut so she rolled over and stubbed out her Garrick. Tank was on his way. She heard the fridge door open and slam shut. He was getting a beer. And now he was pacing up and down the kitchen while he drank it. The house was quiet. Linda and the brat must have gone to the pub. She lit another cigarette and drew deeply. Death sticks Iris called them. What did she know? The sin of her life was such a weight and Iris was the sin she had hidden from the church. They would kick her out if they knew. But that wouldn’t be so bad, except that Jesus surely knew. Of course, Tank was her partner in sin. He stopped beating her long ago and the truth is she missed it. She deserved it, that’s what. When he beat her it made it easier to live with herself. But now, every time she saw Iris, the heavy weight fell on her back like a huge stone crushing the life out of her. Tank came to the bedroom door.

“I’ll throttle that little shit when I catch him, I tell ya,” he growled.

Flo lay there expressionless. She closed her eyes and said a prayer. “Dear Jesus, I know that what I’ve done is too bad to be forgiven,” she said, her lips moving without noise, “take me, Jesus, I’m ready!”

Now Tank paced up and down the bedroom, sipping his beer.

“You hear me Flo? Ya silly old bitch!” he said.

Flo remained motionless except for her lips.

“I’ll yank his fuckn head off and then I’ll deal with Iris, the little whore!”

Flo flinched. She took a draw of her Garrick and began to cough, but managed to speak. “Don’t you fuckn touch her,” she said, her face still flat and expressionless, “you and me made her like that, it’s not her fault.”

“She’s a silly little fuckn bitch.”

“Jesus told me she’s pure, pure as snow.”

“Yair? While she’s fuckn that little prick?”

“Because we made her like it.”

“Your stupid fuckn minister’s feeding you bullshit.”

“I never told him nothing. I only told Jesus.”

“You always was a stupid bitch.”

“You must have been stupid to marry me then.”

“Fuck you.”

Flo rolled over to stub out her cigarette and added it to the mound of buts in the ashtray. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Tank who stopped his pacing and stood there, draining the last drop of beer from the bottle.

“Go on,” said Flo, “hit me with the bottle like you always do.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya? So you could call the cops.”

“Go on then.”

Flo brushed past him and went to the bathroom. She looked briefly in the mirror, then walked to the kitchen where Tank was getting another beer. “I’m going to church, “she said, “and so should you.”

“This is my church,” said Tank, raising the bottle to his lips. It was Saturday. He was going to the pub. And if he caught that little bastard he would break his fuckn neck.

*

Mr. Counter put me on pie duty. He had a not-so-friendly talk with me. I didn’t make it to the bar until nearly eleven o’clock. I only ate a round of toast for breakfast and left most of that any¬way, even though Abbie had made eggs for me as usual. She wasn’t too pleased this morning. And she kept giving me looks like I should talk with her in private or something. I didn’t, though, because I was scared what I might say. Then Mr. Counter came into the kitchen and he stood at the old table and Mrs. Counter came up and stood next to him. Abbie took my plate away and put some fresh toast with the eggs I left, and then she gave me a look again, and took the plate away and left the kitchen.

“This is my last warning, to you,” said Mr. Counter. His missus was standing there with her hands on her huge hips. “I’ve done everything and more to help you get over your Dad’s passing. Now you have to help yourself. This is your last chance.”

“Mr. Counter. I’m sorry. I’ll give up the booze. But I want my money.”

“You what?”

“My money that you said you put away for me. I need it.”

“What for? More grog?”

“Young man…” began Mrs. Counter.

“It’s something urgent. I can’t tell you what.”

“Well, the answer’s no. Not until you show me that you can give up the grog.”

“But I need the dough now.”

“It can’t be that urgent. Go on the wagon for the rest of the week and we can then talk about you getting more of your money.”

I’m sitting there sullen, and scratching at the table top. “Mr. Counter, please. It’s really important.”

“How important?” asks Mrs. Counter.

“Well, I can’t tell you. I really can’t.”

“Are you in trouble?” asks Mr. Counter.

“Nah, I wouldn’t say that. But a mate of mine needs help urgently.” I surprised myself saying this.

“Well, tell us what it is.”

“I can’t. I promised I wouldn’t say. He’s an old mate. I have to help him.”

“How much do you need?” asks Mr. Counter.

“All my money.”

“It’s not much anyway, because you haven’t been doing your work properly, have you?”

I’d said enough. Didn’t want to risk saying any more or I might bugger myself up. I just sat there, head throbbing in my hands.

“Well, let’s see how you do today and then we’ll talk again to¬night. I’m putting you on pie duty this morning. You can run the pie shop yourself. All right?”

“OK Mr. Counter.”

So here I am now, putting the pies in the warmer and they smell really mouth-watering, and I’m wanting to eat one, but the shakes have come back and I’m having trouble handling the pies and pasties, my hands banging against the warmer and burning me. The pie shop is at the back of the new bar, so I have to sneak out and into the storeroom behind. There’s boxes and boxes of booze and I find a case of whiskey flasks, rip it open and grab a flask and pull at the cap, which is hard because of my shakes. But I get it off and take a few quick swigs, then I’m right as rain, and I do my job in the pie shop, no worries.

*

There’s this hell of a noise and I know it’s the brat right away. She comes running into the pie shop and little Linda’s chasing after her. She grabs her and lifts her up on to the counter.

“She wants a sausage roll,” she says.

“Roll! Roll!” the brat screams.

I get her a sausage roll and she snatches it out of my hand before I can put it in a bag. Linda grabs the brat and walks off carrying her on her hip.

“Hey! You forgot to pay,” I yell.

“No, I didn’t,” she yells.

“Fuckn bitch!” I yell. My ears are red and I’m off after her, I’m going to squeeze the money out of her. I don’t want to, but I haven’t got any money of my own anymore, so I can’t make it up to the till. Sugar will find out tonight that it’s short and he’ll tell Mr. Counter I’ve been fingering the till.

Linda stops and turns as the brat squirms free of her clutches and runs away. “You better watch yourself,” she says, “me old man’s after you, says he’ll break your fuckn neck. And he’s on his way to do it, right now.”

I stop in my tracks. I grab a stray beer glass and run out of the pie shop and into the storeroom. If he comes after me, I can smash the glass and cut him with it. There’s a trap door down to the beer cellar where all the barrels of beer are hooked up to the pipes going to the bars. I grab a flask of whiskey and down I go. It’s cold down there, so I don’t know how long I can stay put.

Not very long. What am I fuckn doing? I climb back out of the cellar and back to the pie shop. It’s time for me to close it down anyway. And then I hear a lot of shouting and this time I’m sure Tank is coming for me, so I start for the storeroom, but this time Sugar’s standing there waiting for me, a big smirk on his face, practically undressed, and he’s got only his underpants on and nothing else. He locks the storeroom door and just stands there smirking. Me, I’m clueless.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask, breathless, looking to the door expecting Tank to smash his way in any minute.

“What are you doing here is more like it,” he says with a grin.

“Tank’s coming to kill me, that’s why. I have to get away.”

“He’s not coming. I told Grecko to watch out for him.”

Sugar comes up to me and stands up close. He’s got this horrible sweet breath like he’s been eating Steamrollers for breakfast. And I look at his eyebrows again, they’re plucked for sure.

“You’re not having a fit again are you?”

“Not that kind of fit,” he says, and he licks his creepy mouth like he was a kid licking an ice-cream.

I step away and he follows me until I’m up against a stack of beer boxes, my back arched over and he’s up against me. I’m still clutching the beer glass.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I say, “you’re breaking my back, for Christ sake.”

He doesn’t say nothing but he steps back a little, and then I see it plain and clear. Dumb bastard you are, I say to myself. Dad, if you could have seen us right then. I suppose it was funny. But real quick I smash the glass on the edge of a barrel, my ears are red and I’m ready to let him have it. I push him away and I swipe the glass across his body aiming for one thing, a thin stalk like a carrot, not much bigger than Nipper’s. I miss my mark and the glass gets caught in his pants and he’s panicking so I jab the glass into his crown jewels and he yells and there’s blood seeping through his underpants. I’m about to finish him off with a jab to the face when the storeroom door bursts open and in comes Tank with Grecko hard on his heels. They both stop in their tracks when they see us, but Grecko quickly grabs the glass from my hand, and Tank, he’s just standing there, puffing and panting trying to decide which one of us to hit first.

“He’s a fuckn poofda!” I yell, pointing at Sugar, “a fuckn stinking poofda!”

Sugar starts moaning and drops to the floor. There’s blood trickling down his legs. Grecko’s holding me back with one hand. Then Tank starts forward and Grecko stiffens. But instead a going after me, Tank looks at Sugar and laughs, “I always fuckn thought you were, ya little fuckn shit!” He turns around and goes off laughing his head off. Grecko gives me a shove towards the door and says, “better call an ambulance.” I look down at Sugar and there’s blood everywhere. He’s dropped to his knees, about to pass out.

*

With Sugar out of the way for a while, my life was a bit easier. I was expecting to get a visit from the cops because the job I did on Sugar was pretty horrendous. He had to have a lot of surgery to get fixed, it was touch and go and he nearly died. But the cops never came and nobody ever said anything to me. I don’t know if Mr. Counter will have Sugar back, now that everybody knows he’s a poofda. There’ll be blokes going after him as soon as they get a bit of grog in them. Trouble was, Mr. Counter blamed me for it all, even though it was not my fault, was it Dad? He said I had a bad temper and it would get me into big trouble if I didn’t do something about it and that it was made worse by me being on the booze all the time, so I better show him I could give it up or he would fire me. And there was no way he’d give me any of my money until I showed him I was on the wagon, and he didn’t care what I wanted the money for, I wasn’t going to get it.

“Mr. Counter,” I pleaded, “if I don’t have my morning grog, I can’t work properly. I have the shakes so bad, I can’t pour a beer.”

“Yes, I know. And you’ll steal the booze from me so you can keep drinking even when you don’t have any money. And I’ve seen you drinking the dregs from the beer glasses.”

“Gees, Mr. Counter, don’t embarrass me, I can’t help it.”

“You’ve turned into your father,” he says, looking at me and looking really sad.

For the first time since that day Dad died, there’s water coming to my eyes and I’m going to cry. I gulp a few times and my face is all red from my embarrassment.

“Mr. Counter, you don’t know what trouble I’m trying to fix. I really do need the money.”

“Then go on the wagon.”

“I’ve tried, you know that. I can’t, and do me job at the same time.”

“Is Iris still living in your room?”

The question came like a bolt of lightning.

“How’d you know?”

“Abbie hinted to the missus, and when I saw Tank after you, I put two and two together.”

“Unless she’s gone off again, she’s still in my room,” I confessed.

“Maybe she can help you get on the wagon.”

“She mightn’t be there. I don’t know where she is half the time.”

“The only way to fix you is to lock yourself in your room and not come out till it’s over.”

“How long will it take?”

“A few days.”

“I, I don’t know, Mr. Counter.”

“It’s easier if you have someone with you.”

“Maybe Abbie could?”

“She’s got work to do… Iris… you need Iris.”

*

Iris was still there! She was still lying on my bed, all curled up. She looked so beautiful, I stripped off and slid into bed beside her. She turned and faced away from me and I cuddled into her, snuggling me nose into the back of her neck, rubbing it into her hair. And then I started to shake. Not just my hands, but my whole body. I felt under the bed for my flask but couldn’t find it. I leaned over to look and there was nothing there. And the shakes were so bad I fell out of bed. I went through all my drawers but there was nothing there either. My room was bare. And I’m hugging myself shivering and shaking and Iris opens an eye and then the other. She starts to laugh.

“Ya silly bugger, get back in here,” she says.

“It’s not funny!” And I’m trying to put some clothes on to get warm.

“Come on. Get in and I’ll keep ya warm,”

And the tears just gushed up and burst out of me, I couldn’t hold them back no more. I collapsed into bed and the shakes got me in convulsions and Iris, my dear little Iris, tries to hold me as tight as she can and I’m trying not to hurt her with me convulsions. She lies on top-a me and her weight is nearly enough to hold me down and she fights to keep there and I gradually feel the warmth of her sweet little body coming through to me and I’m trying to stop my arms from flailing around and she’s dodging them and she’s trying to plant a sloppy kiss on my cheek but my head’s whizzing side to side and my nose bangs her lips but she doesn’t stop trying to kiss me because she knows that’s what I love most. Gees, Dad, I love her so much, is this how it was with you and mum? Iris stays there still, and slowly my body gives in, tired and aching, my arms and legs at last slowing down and going limp. Sleep was coming, thank God Dad, and Iris was just lying there on top of me and I’m getting warm and I’m waiting for sleep.

I saw a movie once about a bloke with the DT’s. He thought there were spiders crawling all over him and he yelled and screamed and thrashed about like he was crazy, trying to brush the spiders away. Didn’t happen to me. How could it, when I had the most beautiful girl in the world lying on top of me? I had a kind of nightmare though. It started out like my usual one where I’m on the Melbourne Road, but this time instead of standing there waiting for the truck to run me over, I was lying across the road, don’t know how I got there like that, but I was lying there and I look up and see a big truck, Bomber’s truck it was I reckon, boring down the Melbourne Road coming right at me. I’m trying desperately to get up and run away, but there’s this big weight on me that keeps pressing me into the concrete pavement. “It’s coming at me, mum! It’s coming at me!” And I see my mum way across the side of the road standing there and she’s calling out to me but I can’t understand what she’s saying. And the truck’s almost on me, I can hear its old engine roaring, and I’m calling out, “Mum! Mum! Come and get me!” And then me Dad pushes past her and he’s coming but he falls down and can’t get up and he’s crawling but not to me. He’s getting off the road. “Dad! Dad! I’m over here!” but it’s too late, the truck’s right on me and I see Bomber’s face staring at me through the dirty windshield, his glaring white teeth bared like a Tasmanian devil. And then all of a sudden, I feel someone grab my leg and fling me across the road and the truck just evaporates. And I see Sugar standing over me, his big smirk as usual. I’m staring at him, I don’t know what to say. Shit, Dad. What have I done? Did he die? My eyes jerk open and I look for Iris. She’s not on top of me and I can’t see her anywhere. I feel like I’m done for. Without her, I feel like nothing. I curl up and try to sleep but I can’t. I want Iris. And I feel like shit. Need a drink. But I can’t get out of bed, and I feel under the bed but there’s nothing. My mind’s gone bung. I’m thinking it’s the end. I scream into the old blanket I’m holding over my head. It makes me feel a bit better, so I go on screaming until I’m hoarse. And then at last sleep comes.

*

The window’s open and Iris is gone again. My door opens and in comes Abbie with a glass of soda water and an aspirin.

“And how are we this morning?” she says, a bigger than usual smile on her face.

“What time is it?”

“What day is it? You mean.”

She hands me the soda water and aspro and I take them like I’m her patient.

“Where’s Iris?”

“Who knows? She was here yesterday, when I came in.”

“Yesterday? You mean…?”

“Yep. You’ve been out to it for a couple of days and your little Iris stayed with you all that time.”

“Gees, Abbie. Do you know where she is then?”

“Nope. She keeps to herself. Comes and goes through the window. I brought her some breakfast yesterday, though, and she ate it. She’s a good little girl. You’re very lucky to have her.”

“Yair. I know. You got something a bit stronger to go with the soda water?”

“Now! Now! Don’t muck things up after all you’ve been through. You’re on the wagon now. You know what Mr. Counter said.”

I’m sitting up, my legs pulled up under my chin and I’m holding them tight.

“Abbie?” I say.

“Yair?” she answers and bustles around the room like she’s doing the dusting.

“Do you know people…?”

“What people?”

“That can fix up a girl.”

“Talk straight, ya little bugger. What are you asking?”

“Iris is pregnant and we don’t know what to do, and please don’t tell Mr. Counter.”

It just all blurted out and I’m hiding my face behind me knees. Iris saved me the last couple of days and now I’ve gone and told Abbie, the biggest loud mouth in the pub. Abbie moves to the door.

“Don’t go! Don’t go! And please don’t tell anyone, especially Mr. Counter.”

“Why not? He might be able to help you.”

“Do you know anyone?”

“Mr. Counter told me you were getting married, that’s what you told him, isn’t it?”

“Yair, I did. But I didn’t know what I was saying and I don’t know if Iris wants to, although I think she does, but we don’t know what to do, Abbie.”

“Then I don’t know what fix you’re asking me about.”

“Abbie, please. You do. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Well me answer is I don’t. But I know someone who does.”

“You do? Who?”

“Well, I don’t know if she’s the right person. She’s not, er, she’s…”

“Yair? What? Who? Gees, Abbie, say it.”

“Well she’s had a lot of experience with getting fixed. You know her, she’s in the Snake Pit all the time.”

“Gees, Abbie. You mean Millie?”

“Yair. Everyone knows it.”

“But me Dad…”

“Yair. And everyone else.”

“Gees, I don’t know, Abbie.”

“You should tell Mr. Counter. You should.”

“I just can’t. And please, don’t tell anyone.”

“The poor little kid. You need to take care of her, you poor thing.”

“I will, I really will. I just need a drink.”

“That’s the last thing you need!”

And Abbie left.

*

Sitting in a bedroom that’s not much bigger than a prison cell, with no booze, what’s a bloke to do? Gees, Dad, I could really do with a drink. I’m getting a pretty good idea of what you went through. And without Iris to take care of me, what can I do? I suppose I could go and find her but I’m scared her old man will beat me up.

Then there’s a faint knock on my door and I jump up and open it. It’s Mrs. Counter, her boobs hanging like a bull’s balls, but she’s smiling and I think that maybe she does like me. She holds out a big parcel and I take it.

“Young man,” she says, “It’s time you looked the part, so I got you some new clothes. There’s some Fletcher Jones pants and a couple of nice white shirts for you to wear in the bar. Them old school clothes are fit for the bin. We can’t have our barmen look¬ing like runaways, now can we?”

“Gees, thanks Mrs. Counter. I can’t wait to try them on.”

“That’s a good lad. Very good to see you smiling again. You must be feeling better?”

“Yair, Mrs. Counter. Thanks a lot for asking.”

I’m wishing she’d go away and I’m holding the door ready to close it.

“Well, keep it up. Mr. Counter has been very worried about you.”

“I will Mrs. Counter, thank you.”

She stepped away and I shut the door as quick as I could. I threw the parcel on the bed and then I noticed there was a box in the corner. I suppose it must have been sitting there for who knows how long. Grecko must have left it there when he brought my stuff over from the old house. I rummage through the box and find my old exercise books with my class notes in them, and I pull them out and I start ripping out all the notes till there’s a big pile on the floor and I thumb through the pages that’s left in the books and there’s a lot of them. I search around for a pen or pencil and find a ball point pen and I lie down on my bed, flat on me belly, the pillow under my chin and I start writing:

Dear sweet, gorgeous Iris.

I want you, I want you.

Please come back and we’ll make everything right.

I love you I love you.

Please come to me.

I need you I need you.

I can’t wait for your wet kisses.

They’re all I live for.

Please, please come back.

I had to stop right there. I was getting worked up and my hands were starting to shake again. I look under the bed, but of course any booze that was there was long gone. I rolled off the bed and I ripped out the page and threw it on the pile. Then just as quick, I grabbed it back and put it under my pillow. I opened the parcel of clothes and tried on the Fletchers and shirt. They fitted me OK, so I rushed out of the room because I couldn’t take staying there a moment longer and went down to the kitchen for some breakfast. And everybody was being so nice to me, I felt like I was some kind of horrible person that everyone had been told they had to be nice to. Abbie even put her arm around me and showed me to a seat at the old table, and she set up a boiled egg in an egg cup and some overdone toast how I like it. Everyone was making themselves busy pretending they wasn’t taking any notice of me. So I cracked open the egg and cut off its head just like I used to when I was little and me mum cooked googie eggs for me. And I covered it in salt and spooned it into my mouth, managing to control my shakes to just a little tremor.

I showed up at the old bar and Mr. Counter gave me my jobs to do, and so my day on the wagon at work began, and it went on and on like it would never end, and there was someone right beside me, spying on me all the time. They weren’t going to let me have one sip of booze. It was driving me mad. I asked Mr. Counter if I could have some time off to go and find Iris and he said no of course because he didn’t trust me to stay on the wagon.

*

Saturday came and I was doing my forced labour and I heard a familiar voice coming from the Snake Pit. I sneaked up there and sure enough, it was Millie holding court and hanging all over some bloke. She was plastered as usual, but then you couldn’t really tell if she was drunk or sober. I was hoping Iris would be with her, but she wasn’t.

“G’day Millie,” I said.

“Well if it isn’t me former husband’s little kid all grown up!” she joked.

“Yair, Millie. Have ya seen Iris?”

“Why would I?”

“I just thought you might.”

“Why? Have you been a bastard to her again?”

“Fuck no, Millie. I love her.”

“Ya do, do ya?”

“You know where she is?”

“Me glass is empty. Get me another one, will ya? Gin and tonic and make it a double.”

The fuckn bitch, she knows something. I take her glass and make her another gin and tonic. Mr. Counter is standing at the door of the old bar watching me like a hawk. “She’s pissed as usual,” I say to him. He walks back to the Snake Pit with me.

“Millie,” he says, “I think you’ve had enough today. This one is on the house, so drink it up and go home.”

“Eddie, me old mate. Don’t ya like me anymore?” She leans over to the bloke she’s with and strokes his leg and squeezes his thigh. He’s about as drunk as she is.

“Now Millie. Do the right thing. All right?”

“Yair, all right. Are ya taking care of me boy here?” she says, nodding to me.

“I’m not your boy,” I complain. And Mr. Counter nudges me.

“He’s doing all right. Now off you go home.”

Millie downs the gin and tonic and tramps off, her bloke trailing after her. I follow them to the door and I get a glimpse of Iris across the road. I grab Millie and say, “Millie, is that Iris over there? She’s with you, is she?”

“Yair, she is. Wouldn’t come in though. Says she hates the booze. She always was a strange little thing.”

“I’m coming with you,” I say, but I feel the grip of Mr. Counter’s hand on my arm.

“She says she doesn’t want anything to do with ya cos you’re a drunk like your old man,” says Millie.

“I’m not! I’m not! I’m on the wagon.”

“Yair, that’s what they all say.”

“No! No! It’s not like that!”

“You’ll fall off it and it’s a long way down, that’s what I told Iris.”

I shake my arm away from Mr. Counter. “You fuckn bitch! Who are you to talk? Stay away from Iris, get it?”

“Shit Eddie, this kid’s just like his father, ain’t he?”

“I’m not! I’m fuckn not like him!”

Mr. Counter grabbed my arm again. I was angry. Angry at my¬self. How could I say that about me Dad? What’s happened to me? “Millie, please. I have to see her,” I pleaded.

Millie bangs her bloke in the back and says, “Come on! Let’s get away from here,” then turns to me and says, “she’ll come and see you when she’s ready.”

“What does that mean, you stupid fuckn bitch?”

“Easy, son, easy,” mutters Mr. Counter.

Millie staggers off with her bloke and they make their way across the Melbourne road, the cars screeching and swerving to miss them. I put my arm up to shade my eyes from the sun, but I can’t see Iris. She’s gone.

*

I know I said that the day my Dad died was the worst day of my life. But I didn’t know then what was gunna happen. This horrible day was the worst day, the day Iris came back.

I was sitting in my bedroom writing in one of my notebooks when there was a tap on the window and I peeped through the rip in the blind and there was Iris. I threw the window open and pulled her in and we fell down heavy on to my bed and before you knew it we was going at it, like never before, even better than the first time across from the Baptist church, it was that good. At least I thought so. I was completely out of my mind and she was on top of me dropping those lovely wet kisses all over me, and I mean all over me. My eyes are shut tight and she kisses them both. Oh gees! This is the best! Worth waiting for, and me sober too! Shit! Oh Ovid you beauty! I’m in Heaven, that’s what it is. She does something and I open my eyes and she’s on top, sitting back and her hair has grown a fair bit and I realize how much I missed running my fingers through her stubble. But it’s not short any more. I put my hands to her breast and they’re gorgeously curved and firm and, gees, they’re a lot bigger! I try to reach the nipples with me tongue but she’s too heavy and I can’t get my head up high enough. She’s looking at me with those sheepy eyes of hers, and I’m wondering what’s there. She’s looking serious, not like she’s going at it like Ovid says they do. But it’s working on me, and she knows it. God! Ovid you bastard! Oh gees! And I make a super human effort to lift me head up to kiss her nipples but she stays back, taunting me I think. I give up and drop back on to the pillow and that’s when I saw it.

And she saw me looking too. We stop. We look and stare at each other.

“Well, whatcha looking at?” she says, no smile, nothing.

“Your belly. It’s getting bigger.”

“Shit, ya bastard. Are ya telling me I’m getting fat?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m well past three months, you know.”

“Yair. What’s happening then?”

“You’re not going to be a father,” she says, leaning down, touching the tip of me nose with her tongue.

“So we’re not getting married then?”

“God in hell! Is that what you want? You don’t want me fixed up? Millie told me that’s what you wanted.”

“I never told Millie anything. She’s a stupid fuckn liar.”

“Someone did then, because that’s what she told me you wanted.”

“But you’re not fixed up, then? It’s still in there?”

“Yair. But not for long.”

“Are you really going to do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know what. Get rid of it.”

“Millie said they can put me in gaol if I do.”

“Then what are you up to?”

“Like you care, you’re just a fuckn drunk.”

“Shit, Iris! Don’t you know? I’m on the wagon. Haven’t touched a drop for a whole week!”

“Yair? Well, I’m getting rid of it.”

“I’m getting all me money from Mr. Counter tomorrow. You can move in with me here, Mr. and Mrs. Counter said it would be OK.”

“How nice of them.”

“Shit Iris, they’ve been really good to me.”

“Well where was they when you were having those DTs?”

“Shit, Iris. You were here! You saved me!”

“They didn’t like me here then, and that fuckn Sugar, the twisted bastard, he hated me.”

“I suppose you heard. Him and me had a big row. I cut him pretty bad.”

“Yair, I heard. Me old man told me. He thinks you’re all right, now.”

“Yair? So he didn’t beat the kid out of you?”

“Nah. Reckons you’re all right because he saw you beat up that poofda Sugar.”

“Then we’re gunna get married?”

“Shit, what is it with you? I told you I’m getting rid of it.”

“I can pay for the doctor when I get me money.”

“You stupid shit. Doctors won’t do it. They go to gaol if they do, Millie told me. I’m too far gone, don’t you see? Are you that fuckn stupid?”

I felt my ears get red. Boy I needed a drink right then! “I’m not stupid, Iris. I love you, unless you think that’s why I’m stupid.”

“I already got it fixed, anyway.”

“But it’s still in there.”

“Not for long.”

“Now I am stupid. What have you gone and done then?”

“Millie gave me a special potion to drink. She swears by it. She’s done it stacks of times.”

“Shit, Iris. Are you sure she knows what she’s doing?”

“She has to, don’t you think?”

“She’s fucked half the pub’s customers, I know that.”

“Well you think she could do that without getting pregnant all the time?”

“Shit, Iris. Are you sure it’s safe? What did she give you?”

“Some stuff she mixes up from a jar she keeps in the top cup¬board of her kitchen. Tastes like rotten carrots. She made it into soup. Wasn’t too bad with a lot of salt.”

“So, when did you take it?”

“Just before I came here. I wanted to see you before it dropped, just in case something…”

“Iris! Something could go wrong?”

“Course it could. That’s what Millie said. She warned me not to take it if I didn’t think I could go through with it.”

“Can’t you change your mind?”

“Too late for that. Anyway, there’s no other way. Like me mum says. We’re both too young to have kids.”

“We are not. I’ve got a steady job now, and I’m on the wagon.”

“And where are we going to live and raise the kid? In this shit of a place? Stuck in this fuckn prison cell?”

“We can save up and go somewhere else.”

“Like where? Line up for a commission house?”

“We could live with your mum.”

“And you’ll become a Seventh Day Adventist?”

“If it takes that, yes, Iris. I’d do it for ya.”

“And what about me fuckn asshole step father?”

“You said he likes me.”

“Yair, likes ya like everyone else he likes, which means he can beat you whenever he wants to.”

I grab Iris and hug her to me and I roll over so she’s on her back, and I kneel astride her, me crown jewels just tickling her belly at the hairline.

“I love ya, Iris. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Yair, I can see that.”

“I mean it, Iris. I do!”

“Well, there’s one thing you can do.”

“Yair?”

“I’m staying here till it drops and you can call the doctor just before it does, just so they can’t say I killed it.”

“When’s it going to drop?”

“Twenty-four hours, Millie said.”

“Gees, Iris. I’ll be here. I’ll be with you all the way.”

“Won’t you have to work?”

“It’s Sunday tomorrow. And I’m finished in the pub for today. I don’t drink with the mates after hours any more. I’d fall off the wagon as quick as a wink if I did.”

“You’re a sweetie, you know that? I love you too, you know.”

Gees, that was the first time she ever said she loved me and if I wasn’t already on my knees I’d have fallen on them. I’m looking at her and she knows what I want. I climb off her and lay down beside her, pressing into her, caressing her hips, fingering her longish hair, wishing it was short. We weren’t frantic any more. It was a long, juicy drawn out affair after which we gently fell asleep in each other’s arms.

*

“Sweetheart,” she says.

“Yair?”

“I’m feeling sick. Could you get me a glass of water?”

I jump out of bed, grab a towel around me and head for the bathroom with the old glass I keep under the bed.

I get back and she’s clutching at her belly and she’s breathing fast, almost puffing. I switch on the light and we’re both blinded and then I look down and I see a pool of bright red blood on the bed. She’s looking white as white. I’m about to lose it.

“Shit, Iris. I better call for the quack. Are you all right?”

“I’m OK I think. Just a bit of wind.”

She’s dreamy kind of, her eyes more like Swampy’s sheep. It’s scaring me to buggery.

“There’s blood all around you,” I say, “can’t you feel it?”

“Gees, I thought I wet the bed or something.”

“I’m getting the quack.”

“Please don’t leave me. I’ll be all right. A little bit of blood is normal, that’s what Millie said.”

“Millie, the fuckn bitch. What would she know?”

“She’s done it. Never had any problems,” she said.

I’m sitting there and the bloody patch is getting bigger and bigger. I don’t know how to ring the doctor because I’ve never done it before and I don’t even know how to look up the number. I know there’s a phone book in the old bar that we loan out to the customers. But it will take me ages to look it up and then choose which one. So there was nothing for it but to get Mrs. Counter. Only I didn’t know what time it was, because I don’t have a watch. I get up to go and knock on their door. But Iris grabs a hold of me hand and pulls it hard.

“I’m scared, I’m scared. Please don’t leave me.”

This scares me all the more and I shake her off and rush out the door and down the other end of the passage and knock on Mr. and Mrs. Counter’s door. I’m knocking so hard the door’s shaking on its hinges. I give up and turn the knob and its open so I rush in. Mrs. Counter screams and Mr. Counter pulls out a cricket bat from under his bed.

“Mrs. Counter! It’s me! Come quick! Iris is sick. She needs a doctor. She’s bleeding to death.”

“What? What’s wrong? Who?”

“Iris. She’s bleeding to death, I tell you.”

“You better go and look,” Mr. Counter says to his missus.

Mrs. Counter struggles out of bed, she’s so top heavy it’s really hard for her to do it in a hurry. “Call doctor Staples, he’s the only one that’ll come at this hour,” she says.

I’m running back to me room, worried sick that Iris will be dead already. I get there and she’s crying in pain and sobbing and she’s as white as a ghost.

“Don’t worry, love, the doc’s coming, and Mrs. Counter’s on her way.” And she sure is. She barges in and she pretty much fills the room. She pulls me away from Iris who doesn’t want to let go of my hand.

“All right luv, “she says, “let him go so I can get a close look at you. Is what’s happened what I think has happened?” Iris doesn’t answer. She’s nearly out to it.

“Yair, I think so,” I say, looking at Iris, hoping she’ll forgive me. “Millie gave her some medicine which is supposed to fix her problem.”

“Oh my God in Heaven!” she calls out when she pulls back the blanket and sees the blood and the big swollen belly above it. “That dreadful Millie! Why didn’t you come to me? Oh Father which art in Heaven,” she looks up, “please for Heaven’s sake save her!”

I’m standing in the corner, speechless, frozen with fear and trembling. Mrs. Counter looks down and places her hand on Iris’s belly. “Are you in pain, luv?” she asks. Iris shakes her head a little. But her eyes are staring into space.

“What are we going to do?” I ask Mrs. Counter, “can’t we stop her bleeding?”

“I don’t know. Get me some towels from the linen closet at the end of the hall. I’ll try to block it up. But we need the doctor really quick. “Eddie! Eddie! Quick! This is an emergency,” she bellows, “call the ambulance! She’s bleeding to death!”

I arrive with the towels.

“And you!” she says to me, “make yourself useful and get to the kitchen and bring back a dish of cold water and a small cloth. She’s burning up.”

So I do what I’m told and I’m on my way to the kitchen when there’s a loud banging at the front door so I rush there and let them in. It’s the ambulance bloke, the same one I recognize that came that night we had a dead body in the car park. I pull him inside and he and his mate run down the dark passage to me bedroom. I’m just about to slam the door shut when I see the quack pulling up. Gees, thank goodness for that. I stand there yelling, “Hurry up doc, she’s bleeding to death!”

He hurries over, not fast enough in my opinion, and shakes me hand, “How do you do,” young man, “I’m doctor Staples.”

“This way doc. Please save her!”

“Calm down. Everything’s going to be all right, you’ll see. It’s probably a simple matter of a little bit of bleeding. It often looks worse than it is.”

We get into the little room and immediately the doc orders everyone out except the one ambulance bloke who has all the badges sewn on his sleeve. But I say, “I’m not going out, doc. I love her and I will not leave her.”

“You two are married, then?” he asks while he’s scanning the length of Iris’s body, stripped right down.

“Not yet but we will be,” I say, kind of angry.

He stands up, he’s all of six feet and lean, grey hair what’s left of it. He ought to be retired, I think to myself.

“Only next of kin can be here. Was that her parents that were here just then?”

“No.”

“Then please leave so I can get on treating your girlfriend.”

“I’m not going.”

Iris seems to hear. She feebly raises her hand and calls for me. “Ovid,” she calls, “Ovid,” and there’s a faint smile on her face. I push forward and grab her hand.

“That’s your name?” asks the doc, incredulous.

“No. It’s a little joke we have between us.”

The quack rummages through his little case and retrieves a syringe and a vial of something. He prepares the injection and then jams it into her arm. She doesn’t feel it at all.

“What’s that for?” I ask, trying to be as big a nuisance as I can to keep him on his toes. He and the ambulance bloke talk some medical mumbo jumbo.

“She’s going into shock. The injection will calm her down.”

But all of a sudden, Iris’s whole body stiffens and she lets out an awful scream like she’d been stabbed or something. The doc looks down and we all see some movement in her belly. She lets go me hand and starts clawing at it and the doc starts to feel around there as well. He looks serious.

“She needs a blood transfusion.”

“That’s OK,” I say, “she can have some of mine.”

The quack smiles and says, “it’s not that simple.”

“But she’s dying doc, isn’t she?”

“If we get her to the hospital in time and they have the right blood there, we may save her.”

The ambulance bloke has gone out and I can hear him talking to Mr. Counter. He comes back and looks at the doc and nods. The quack pulls out a pair of forceps from his bag. He looks at them, then at Iris. Then at me.

“I know you love her, but what I have to do next you don’t want to see. So please leave me alone so I can get on with saving your girlfriend’s life.”

My ears are the reddest they’ve ever been, I bet. I really want to punch the pompous bastard on the nose. But I clench both my fists and back out like I’m backing away from a big red kangaroo. And the doc closes the door behind me.

I hear screams and other gurgling noises through the door. I want to go in, but Mrs. Counter is standing in the way. And I can’t push past her, can I? Soon the ambulance blokes are back with the stretcher and they knock on the door. We wait.

“What’s he doing in there?” I ask the ambulance bloke.

“I think he’s trying to extract the fetus,” he says like he’s the doc’s apprentice.

“Extract the what?”

“He means the baby,” says Mrs. Counter.

“You mean it might be a baby?”

“Well what else would it be, a joey?” says the bloke.

I grab him by his sleeve that’s got all the badges and pull him up to me and say, “you fuckn asshole! I ought to knock your fuckn teeth in.”

Mr. Counter comes over and he puts his arm around my shoul¬der. “Take it easy,” he says, “we know you’re sick with worry. It’ll be all right. We just have to hope and pray the doc can work his magic.”

With that, the door opens and the doc steps out. He beats out some instructions to the ambulance blokes and they go in and quickly have Iris on their stretcher and they’re wheeling her away down the passage. I start to follow them.

“You can’t go, I’m sorry,” says the quack, “you’re not immediate family so you won’t be allowed to travel with her or sit with her in the emergency room.”

“But I’m all she’s got, don’t you understand?”

“I do. But the rules are there for a purpose. You can’t be with her.”

“And what about the, uh, fetus thing, baby or whatever it’s called. What about it?”

I look down and see the doc has something wrapped up in a blood-stained towel.

“I’m afraid it didn’t make it.”

“And Iris?”

“If we can get enough blood into her in time and there’s no infection.”

“If I’m not with her, she’ll die, you know. She’s got nothing else to live for, you fuckn bastards.”

Mr. Counter draws the doc aside. They talk a bit and then the doc says, “all right, if you hurry up and catch the blokes before they leave you can ride in the ambulance. But I can’t be respon¬sible for what happens once you get to the hospital. They have their rules.”

I ran down the passageway and out the front door, leaving it open and just made it to the ambulance. They said I couldn’t go with them and I told them the doc said it was all right.

“You’re holding us up. Wasting minutes that could mean the difference between life or death,” they said.

“Open the fuckn door or I’ll pull you outa that fuckn wagon and drive her there myself!” I screamed.

The doc came to the door and told them to let me in. So they did.

And I wish I’d never gone.

*

“In an old bark hut, in an old bark hut,” I’m singing softly to Iris, holding her limp hand, the ambulance bloke with the badges staring at me. “When you get better, you know what Iris, me luv? I was thinking. We could go off to Swampy’s and we could build ourselves a bark hut and live in the woods together, just you and me. And we could have a little veggie garden and a road side stand and sell the veggies and we’d have enough money to live in the bush, just you and I, you and me, and to hell with the rest of them. Bugger the old pub. I know you must hate it, and now, I think I’ve fallen out of love with it. The whole fuckn lot is rotten. I have to get away from it. If I stay there, I’ll die pretty quick, just like me Dad. It’s a death house, Iris, don’t you think? Gees, Iris, you’re going to be all right, aren’t you? I couldn’t make it without you.”

I can hear the siren and the ambulance sways a bit. We must be getting close to Geelong.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“About five,” says Badges.

“Five what?”

“Morning, you silly bastard, what do you think?”

“We got far to go?”

“Five minutes.” Badges acts like he’s taking Iris’s pulse. Mister importance, that’s what he is. “They won’t let you in, you know.”

“How d’you know that?”

“Because I’ve been doing this a long time and I can tell you, the hospital has its rules and it doesn’t change them for anyone.”

“Yair, I bet they jump if a doctor tells them to.”

Badges leans forward and looks hard into Iris’s white face. Her cheeks are even sunk in, her eyes, gees, I can’t bear to look at them.

“She’ll make it,” says Badges.

Maybe he’s a good bloke after all.

“Yair. Thanks. She’s a great fighter.”

*

They wouldn’t let me go with her. I was going to hit the bastard that grabbed me and pushed me down into the waiting room seat. But when I fell into the seat, my body just wouldn’t do anything more. I just flopped down, and leaned forward, my head in me hands. The waiting room was full of people and there was a big circular desk in the middle of it and this bitch of a matron was strutting around like she was Queen Elizabeth. The place smelled like a morgue, sprayed with some insecticide and the chair I was sitting on had that greasy feeling, just like everything in the old pub. I crossed my arms and I leaned back, exhausted, and I fell asleep.

*

Somebody’s got me by the scruff of the neck, shaking me so hard my head’s going to fall off. It’s got to be one of my dreams. I’m waiting for the truck to come and run me down. But the shaking’s getting worse, and I’m trying to open my eyes but they won’t and I’m trying to breathe but I can’t. This must be what it’s like to die, I think. Then I’m pushed back into the chair and I bang my elbow and I think I’m yelling, then I wake up, my eyes are hurting in the florescent lights. I’m still in the waiting room, and there’s this big hulk standing over me. I blink some more, and for Christ sake, it’s Tank.

“You fuckn little shit,” he mutters, “wake up! Whatcha done to me little girl?”

“Fuck you!” was all I could think of to say. I feel someone sitting next to me and then I smell the smoke. It’s Flo. They’re both here! Iris must have died, then, I think. “Is, is she all right?” I ask Flo. She’s sitting there, puffing on her Garrick, staring into space like always. “Flo?”

“It’s up to Jesus,” she says, hardly moving her lips.

“Don’t listen to the stupid bitch,” growls Tank.

“Yair, don’t listen,” says Flo, “because what I tell you is what this big shit doesn’t want anyone to know.”

“Fuckn shut up, bitch!” Tank’s got his fist clenched and he’s shaking it in front of Flo’s nose.

“How’d you know Iris was here?” I ask, ignoring the bullshit.

“Millie, that filthy bitch, she told me,” said Tank.

“I’m gunna kill her when I get a hold of that fuckn piece of shit. It’s all her fault,” I say, looking up at Tank.

“Yair, I know,” Tank growls again.

“How’d you find out?”

Tank looks me straight in the eye. “I was paying her a visit,” he grins, licking his lips. “She told me Iris paid her a visit and I wasn’t paying much attention, because I gave up on Iris a long time ago. She was going the same way as Millie as far as I could see.”

Flo looks up at Tank and then to me. “He’ll rot in hell for what he’s done,” she says, “the devil’s waiting for him and he’ll gobble him up and spit out his innards.”

“Yair, that’s right, and you along with me. Truth is you’re to blame for all this fuckn mess. You’re the one that fuckn did it. She should never have been born.”

I go to stand up, I don’t know what the shit they’re talking about, but Tank pushes me back.

“Go on then, tell him,” says Flo.

“Fuck you!” yells Tank and he heads out the door, the matron just starting to come out from behind her desk to give him a dressing down.

“I’m going to the toilet,” I say to Flo and I go to get up. She grabs my hand.

“I’m tellingya because Jesus told me I have to. You and Iris…”

“Me and Iris what?” I ask, belligerently. “What did he mean that Iris shouldn’t have been born? Did you try to get rid of her?” My ears were getting red, I really had to go to the toilet.

“Nah. We made her, we didn’t try to get rid of her. Though we should have.”

“So, he really is her dad, then?”

“Yair, but…”

“But what? You’re not her mother?”

“I am her mother and I deserve it!”

Flo was getting all worked up. She stubbed out her Garrick and lit another. That was the other thing about this waiting room. There were ashtrays full of cigarette butts everywhere.

“I’m going to the toilet. I don’t know what you mean that you deserved to be Iris’s mother.”

“You have to know this,” she says, pulling me back, “only Jesus knows it… and Tank of course…”

“Flo, for Christ sake, knows what? What in hell does fuckn Jesus know?”

“Talking like that about Jesus won’t help you. Take it back!” growls Flo.

“Gees, Flo, I’m sorry. But for Christ sake, tell me want I have to know.”

“Me and Tank--”

“Yair? What?”

“We’re brother and sister.”

*

The matron’s coming towards us. Flo gets up and leaves. Who knows why. I still haven’t been to the toilet and I’m getting jumpy. I could really do with a drink. The matron’s looking serious.

“Are you Iris’s relative?” she asks.”

“Yair. I’m her brother. That’s her mum just leaving. How is she?”

“She’s still in critical condition. We’re moving her to Royal Melbourne Hospital where they have more facilities.”

“I’ll go with her then.”

“You cannot. No room in the special ambulance, besides it’s against the rules.”

“Thank you, Matron, bitch.” I go to walk out but she steps in front of me. She can’t believe I called her a bitch. She pulls a notepad from her white starched tunic.

“You won’t get anywhere talking like that, young man.” I want to grab her tunic and rip it off her. I step up close and push my face right in front of hers. We’re about the same height.

“Is she gunna make it then?” I say, like it’s all her fault that Iris is dying. She steps back, scared shitless.

“She’s lost a lot of blood. It will take time. It’s impossible to tell.” I step up close again. So am I going with her or not?

“Is there a phone number where I can phone you?”

“Don’t have a phone.”

She looks lost for words, then pulls out a pencil. “You can phone this number to find out where she is and her condition.” She writes the number on her notepad and hands it to me and I take it, crumple it up and stuff it in my pocket. She goes on, “I need some details about her. Do you know whether she has any health insurance?”

“What’s that?” I ask. She looks at me like I’m rubbish, and that’s how I feel too.

“The hospital bill’s going to be quite expensive.”

“Yair. You need her mum for that.”

*

I left that hospital with its filthy waiting room and walked out past the old brick veneer hospital entrance and around the corner to the alley. I stood in the middle of the road and had a good, long piss as I looked up at the soft light of a full moon glistening on the T and G tower. I walked and I walked enjoying the heavy odour of bitumen as it cooled in the night air. I must have walked for a couple of hours or more, because when I finally came to my senses, I found myself standing at the side door of the Criterion Pub. I knocked a sharp short knock and a little latch opened up.

“Yair? Whatcha want?” comes a gravelly voice through the latch.

“You got a cuppa tea?”

“You’re fuckn joking, right? You’re at a pub, you silly bastard.”

“Yair, I know. I’m an old customer. Used to buy a lot of me after hours booze here.”

“Yair? Yair, I think I remember you. Last time you was here you was on a bender of all benders, right?”

“Yair, probably.”

“You want a flask a whiskey then? Corio, you liked, didn’t you?”

“Maybe”

“Maybe? What the fuck do you want?”

“I said I just want a cuppa tea.”

“For Christ sake. What do you think this is a fuckn restaurant? We don’t do tea you fuckn idiot. Are you a poofda or something?”

“Fuck you!” I say, and I walk off.

*

I walked all the way from the Criterion to Norlane, about five or six miles. I walked along the road a lot of the way, ignoring the few speeding cars and trucks zooming by, they could have run me down and I wouldn’t have cared. Well, that’s the way I felt. I suppose I would have jumped out of the way if a car had come at me, just like in my nightmare. Can’t say I walked all that fast, because I was in a kind of daze. I stopped on the top of the Separation Street bridge and peered down at the railway lines and I wondered where they all went. Well, no I didn’t. I just stared at them, watched a train come and go, a freight train pull into the wheat silos. I looked across at the old Telegraph pub, made my way towards it, but turned at the last minute and kept on going to the Ford factory, lingering at the dump where I used to play when I was little, then up the hill to where my old house was on North Shore road, right beside Fords and across from the pub. And I found myself standing in the debris that was my old house, still in piles, waiting for a front-end loader to come and take it away. But I never looked it over. Just stood in it all, like I was standing in the shallows of the beach, the soggy seaweed swishing around my legs, down on Corio Bay. There was nothing to do but to let it just ebb away from around my feet. I nudged an old wine bottle out of the way as I turned to look across the Melbourne road at the pub. It was right then that the pub dawned on me in a whole new light, like someone inside me let go a blind and it zapped right up behind my eyes. I saw the pub like I’d never seen it before. The sun had risen and I felt its heat already. The old pub shimmered behind the heat of the fresh bitumen of the Melbourne Road, the yellow of the painted stone dissolving into the air above. The grubby men, stick-figures clinging to their beers, lounging about in sweat-soaked singlets. And that deep blue sky, an enormous chasm that swallowed the pub and all its entrails, enveloped me and I felt myself carried forward, out of the ruins of my house, across the road, past the pub and its magpies perched on its chimneys, and I looked down on the Quonset huts and the barbed wire fence that enclosed them, and they grew bigger and the fence loomed higher until I felt myself fall so fast that I screamed, “Save me! Save me!”

*

And saved I was. Spuds was standing over me, looking down, offering his hand to pull me up. I was lying on my back, thrashing about, trying to fly or something who knows what. I don’t know how I got here. But I was very happy to grab his hand and he pulled me up.

“What are ya doing-a here ya silly bugger? Ya been in-a the slaughter yards? You’ve got blood all down ya.”

“What, Spuds, what?” I look down me and he’s right. There’s blood all over my shirt and new Fletchers that Mrs. Counter gave me.

“Did ya get pissed down at-a the meat-a packing plant? I’ve done that a few times. They’re half crazy-a down there.”

“Yair, maybe I did.” Truth is, I couldn’t remember anything at all. I felt dizzy. I grabbed a hold of Spuds to steady myself.

“Looks-a like ya need a sip of me grappa, mate,” says Spuds as he tries to steady me.

“Nah, I’m on the wagon. I’m all fuckd up.”

“Yair, rightee-o. If you are, then you-a come to the right place because this is the fuckn mad-house, mate, sens altro.”

I looked around and saw that I was standing outside the main gate to the New Aussies hostel. There were people bustling about and talking in all sorts of strange languages. They were all so busy.

“This is where you live?” I ask.

“For the moment,” answers Spuds. “You want-a come in for a drink?”

“Nah. I really am on the wagon. I got to get back to the pub. Got work to do.”

“Yair, I betcha do.”

“Thanks for the help.”

“Are you OK? You’re looking-a bit-a wobbly on your legs. Sure ya don’t want a grappa?”

I wasn’t sure at all. I put out my hand, to shake, and Spuds took it in his rough hand, squeezed it tight.

“Don’t forget-a your kitbag,” he said, with a grin, “it’s got blood all over it too. You must have a horse’s prick in it.” But I didn’t laugh like I might have done before. Embarrassed, he dropped my hand and walked away without another word. I looked across to the pub, and I saw the old dunny leaning over ready to fall down on itself any day. There were tears in my eyes. I was thinking about Iris and me growing veggies on Spuds’ plot, and us living in a bark hut. I backed away and it was all I could do to drag my legs to stagger across the burnt paddock, now with patches of green from the Easter rains, scraping past the thistles, and up to my bedroom window, always open, threw in my kitbag and climbed in just like Iris used to.

Abbie had made the bed with fresh sheets and cleaned the place up a lot. You wouldn’t know anything had happened. And that made me cry. It was as though Iris was dead, as though she’d never lived, as though it were all a dream. And I sat on the edge of the bed, just like I had done with Iris, and I put my head in my hands and I sobbed, sobbed just like she used to.

I awoke lying on my belly, the tears still on my cheeks. I buried my head in the pillow, wanting to stay asleep. But the spell was broken and I rolled off the bed and stood, wiping my tears with my sleeve. I looked around me and knew that I was at an end. The room was my cell, the pub my prison.