The Death of John Lacey, page 11
He stopped shovelling and watched the kid work. You just working because I got a gun now? he said.
The kid blinked and paused and looked back at the gun and John knew he understood the word. The rifle leaned against a tree near the little shelter the child had made. Its barrel looked like charcoal and the stock had a floral shape etched into it.
You were working before, though, so maybe it’s not that.
The kid turned back and continued his effort. They were in the shade now. They’d dug that far in. The quartz seam had entered the earth and they were following it. He kept chipping at it and smashing the hunks of it and swishing the contents of his finds in the river but using a smaller pickaxe to pick out the larger chunks of quartz. There’d been a bit of gold but it seemed like it might dry up and they’d have to dig another mine and the kid might not last that long. Guess he didn’t really need him now but it didn’t hurt to have a bit more help in what he was doing.
The kid hadn’t changed his effort at all while John’d spoken but now he was silent the child turned and gave him a look. He said some words in his language and John just shrugged and said, Might as well be speaking horse, mate. Can’t understand.
The kid said some more and maybe he’d said the word gun but it was hard to tell in all of the nonsense.
We’ll stop in a bit and have another break but we need to get further in. We need to go deeper. Last time we found gold we got four yards along the seam, so that’s as far as we need.
At this rate he knew they’d be a long time digging. The child started his efforts anew and John just stood and watched him work.
21
There was a large crowd. They’d invited everybody they could. There were police nearby and the morning light was shrouded by dark clouds and they knew the day would bring rain but they’d said to everybody that this was the day and so it would be. The crowd was at least one hundred big and even in the last week the tents that had at first been so far from them had crowded right up to their doorstep. They’d chosen their position well because they could see down into the village and all the village could look up and see their store. In the future they’d paint a large sign and hang it over the entrance. Then all would see. Even at night they’d light the lanterns they’d set out and like a lighthouse their shining would welcome all who needed anything. They planned to wake at night to serve customers if necessary. They slept there; it wouldn’t hurt them at all.
The crowd was excited and murmured like a dull thrumming congregation and John looked at his brother.
You going up?
His brother shook his head and smiled. Thought you would.
This is your store, brother.
Gray looked at him. It’s our store.
It’s ours. But it’s yours. It’s yours, really. You know it is. You’ve worked harder for it; it was your idea.
You paid for it.
We paid for it. I’m happy to give you what’s mine as soon as I find something else.
Gray turned and looked him up and down as though he were seeing him for the first time. You wanted this?
I wanted this for you. Go on. Get up there.
His brother shook his head and stood atop the apple crate they’d readied and waved his hands at the crowd.
Ladies and gentlemen! His shouting rendered the crowd silent and they all stared up at him. Watching his brother in this moment, John knew love deep in himself; he felt such joy that he’d helped his brother find this life and satisfaction that he couldn’t stop smiling. Kept rocking on his heels like a boy eating sweets waiting for more. Ladies and gentlemen! It is our intention to provide you with everything you are likely to need. We don’t just want to provide food, water, weapons, mining equipment. We want to provide you with a place you can find shelter for your families. This new town of Ballarat is now our home. We want to help you make it your home as well.
The crowd all cheered and one person in the back shouted, You gonna look after our kids too?
Told you already, Bill, Gray shouted back. You want me to watch them for you they’re gonna have to earn their way selling gear.
The crowd laughed and then his brother stood down from the crate and found his way between them shaking hands. A few came up to him also and shook his hand but there was less in it. They loved his brother and they only abided him.
*
That night he sat on the step leading up to their storehouse. People had been buying things all afternoon and he hoped it was because they actually needed them and they weren’t just swept up in the moment. Some had even used the outdoor toilet he’d constructed. They’d bought pans and clothes and lots of socks. One couple bought cookware, complaining that theirs had fallen on the road on the way here and then before they had been able to scoop it up their horse had trod on it and crushed it because it had only been made of flimsy wood. They’d had children like koalas gripping their legs and running about the store. They thanked them and his brother offered to take some of the price down and they thanked him again. John knew his brother’s knack for this and now as he sat on the step looking up at the stars, he smiled.
How are you, mate?
John looked up and saw Dell in the darkness. He had put a leg forwards and was leaning on it and had his hat on. In the darkness his features were sunken like mines in the earth.
You alright, Dell?
No. No, mate, I’m not.
You weren’t here for the opening?
Dell walked forwards and sat down beside John.
No. I wasn’t. He looked up at the stars and heaved a sigh and then looked at John. Heather’s run off.
What do you mean?
I mean she’s run off. With our kids. Run back to her folks. Said she didn’t trust me and we should give up. I come back—I’d been gone two days hunting up in the hills with some blokes—and she’s gone. Taken the tent and everything.
Today?
Few days back.
You been sleeping?
On the ground. Found a soft patch up there. He pointed with his finger at a hill in the distance. Just under a tree.
You’d be bloody freezing.
Yeah. It’s cold alright.
John shook his head. Sorry to hear it. You want to talk to Gray about it?
No. I’m talking to you.
The man breathed. John watched him and saw the pain in his face. Hard to see in the moonlight, but maybe there were tears.
I know you’ve got something beyond this going.
John said nothing.
It’s alright. I know you have to. Your brother probably knows too but won’t say anything to you because he’s comfortable with how things are working out. But I need … I need help. I want to work. I want to help you.
Help me?
If you’ve got a claim or anything. I just want to make my way. I’m not asking for whatever I find to be mine. I’m just asking for a way.
You could become a copper. He nodded his head up at the police camp at the top of the hill. Desperate man could make money doing that.
Dell shook his head. I’m not doing that. Nothing in the world would make me. I don’t want everybody looking at me that way. Turning on my mates.
John watched the man speaking and saw in his eyes and lips the way he had resigned himself. He was ripe to be picked for all he had, and if he treated him well this man would be loyal unto death. I can help you, Dell, he said.
You’ve got a claim?
I’m not saying what I’ve got brewing, but I’m willing to say that I’ll help you in whatever way I can and that’ll have to be enough.
22
He arrived at the mine while the boy slept. He leashed the boy to a tree at night and while they mined he kept him tethered with the long length of chain but he was sure by now that all notions of flight had gone out of him. He had never once tried to run or swing the pickaxe in such a way that he’d strike the chain and be freed. Like a cow being led he accepted his lot and just made do with what was.
He watched the boy sleeping and then clambered into the mine. They’d sunk it quite deep into the earth over the last few weeks. As he’d wandered up here this morning he’d passed a few other mines. People were fast approaching this little claim of his and would soon be vying for whatever this river produced. He would have to strike fast or else other people would find the child and ask John Lacey for his claim ticket which he wouldn’t be able to produce and then it would have been all for nothing.
It was cool. The shade of the early morning. He’d found a snake inside once dozing and he’d killed it quickly with the shovel, lopping off its head, careful not to stand on it. The body writhing. He’d taken it outside and that night he and the boy had cooked it over coals and eaten its flesh. The boy crunching into the bones. John had been more tentative. He’d eaten snake before but didn’t enjoy it.
He was finding he spent less and less time with Gray. Not of his choosing. Gray had proposed to Gabrielle. He’d made it as special as he could by lighting candles in their shop. She had said yes and the wedding was to be soon and they were going to have the whole affair in the church that had recently been refurbished.
Running his hand along the wall of the mine, following the quartz down into the earth. He found the going downwards tricky and had to use his hands against the wall to balance or else he would fall forwards. They’d shored up the walls with timber he’d purchased without his brother knowing. He’d sawn them here with the Aboriginal kid watching and then used them to brace the dirt. It had been slow going but the mine was deep now and he knew the vein would come good soon. The low rising sun from outside did not provide much in the way of light and he couldn’t go much further forwards for lack of it. Blinking, trying to get his eyes to adjust. The damp smell. Everything down here was safe and as it should be. He touched the quartz again and felt its cool smoothness beneath his fingertips and said, Soon, and knew it would be true.
He emerged. The kid was up now and watching him as he squinted into the sun and looked down as John met his gaze. They weren’t friends and John had never expected them to be considering how he’d stolen him but it was a strange sort of thing. There didn’t seem to be hatred in him either. John couldn’t puzzle it out and came to the conclusion that he was such a foreign creature there would never be understanding. He looked human, sure, and walked upright and used tools and even had language, but the two different colours of man were so distinct there was never any possibility that one would understand the other.
You sleep okay? John found himself asking.
The boy didn’t respond.
You ready to start digging or do you want something to eat?
He walked over to the kid, who watched him the whole time, and put out his hand with some jerked meat and old damper and raised his eyebrows. The child took the bread and ate it but would not take the meat.
Too salty? John asked. He sank his teeth in and sat beside the boy and again marvelled at the structure the kid had made. It truly did block out the wind. He would be quite comfortable.
Quite good this, isn’t it? You lot know how to tough it out.
The child said nothing but kept chewing on the damper.
Soon they both stood and walked to the mine. The boy hefted the pickaxe he had taken to using and by now John wasn’t wary of him at all. It would only take him swinging it quickly and John’s guts would be out but the boy didn’t seem to think that way so he stood by him and even rubbed his long black hair. The boy didn’t respond to this. Instead he walked into the mine and John followed with the shovel.
*
They came to a thicker part of the quartz around midday and John took the smaller pickaxe from his belt and chiselled a great hunk of it into the pan. He brought it out into the sunlight while the boy kept at it down below and even without washing it he could see there were great hunks of gold within. His breathing quickened.
With water he massaged the dirt from the basalt with his thumbs until it gleamed and he felt the rough texture of the gold beneath his fingertips. He massaged and swished it in water and used his little pickaxe to chip away the dirt. He massaged it and washed it and soon there was a gold nugget the size of his thumb in his fist.
He stared at it. He held it up to the light and then quickly brought it down to cup it in his palms so that if anybody wandered along they wouldn’t see it. It was the biggest hunk of gold he’d ever seen and he knew that all he’d found up until this point paled in comparison to this. He brought it right up to his eye and was startled by its colour. In the sunlight it reflected light like tiny sparks. Like tiny stars embedded there in the musty colour. He looked at it and put it to his nose and breathed it in and put it on his tongue and tasted its dirt.
The scraping of the boy in the mine. He pocketed the gold and felt it there steady against his leg so he could feel its certainty.
Come up, he said.
Soon the boy was up, holding the pickaxe. He had dirt covering his shoulders and matted into his hair. He did nothing to wipe it aside.
Let’s eat something.
He beckoned the boy over and the boy threw the pickaxe back into the mine—John heard it thunk into the dirt—and then he came. They sat near the home he’d made and John threw his pack in front of the boy. Practised, the boy opened the bag and started to look for the damper and meat they’d normally eat come midday. John leaned over and picked up the rifle and held it out so that the barrel was facing the boy. He often did this, just holding the rifle so the boy wouldn’t be afraid of it, and now the kid didn’t move. John levered a round into the barrel and then moved it a little so that it was facing the boy, who put some damper into his mouth and began to chew. He kept it resting on his knee. He tapped the boy on the shoulder and made a gesture so that he’d be turned aside when he fired. The boy looked in the direction he’d indicated and then he pulled the trigger.
The loud slap of the gun and the round smacked into the boy’s head and instantly he was in the dirt and his legs were out like a doll’s. Dust motes in the air. Blood leaking into the dirt. John stood and looked down on the kid and saw the hole in his head and the red of it musted into red earth and the two together forming a muddy paste. It oozed and puddled around the boy’s head. The damper he had been eating was still gripped in his hand.
He knew he’d had to do it to protect himself, but now that it was done he regretted not the boy’s death, but the lack of his company. They’d fallen into a steady rhythm, the two of them, and now that rhythm was no more.
He hurried over to their mine, leaving the boy’s body where it had fallen. He knew he should take the time now to bury him somewhere but also knew that the quartz below was likely to give more gold. He wanted to get back down there, and any people who would be drawn by the sound of a gunshot were still a long time away, surely, and wouldn’t care at all that he’d murdered a black. He stood at the entrance to the mine with his hands on his hips and then walked back to the boy’s body. He dismantled the boy’s structure and put the two thatched walls over his body as subterfuge. The kid had created his own coffin. John almost laughed at that.
He went back to the mine. It was dark and the air felt cold against his shins. The rest of the day he would excavate more gold and then he would hide the body of the child in the dirt somewhere by nightfall. After, he would head back to his new storehouse and nobody would be any the wiser.
As he looked down into the mine he felt the child collide with his body before he saw him. A savage grunting and breathing like a wombat. Snarling. John Lacey fell forwards and found his leg caught against a rock and he struggled against the boy. He pushed at John’s back and he fell and his leg with it caught snapped in half as his knee hit stone and he tumbled down into the mine and he bounced off the rock walls as he went and when he hit the bottom he lay there breathing looking back up at the light. The child there breathing down on him with the hole in its head staring at him. The child with the matted blood in his thick curly hair. Before John could cry out the child went away and he was left staring up out of the mine with his busted leg.
He moved it and felt such agony that he gripped his shirt. He banged his fists against the dirt and clawed and manoeuvred his body so that his leg was out and he saw a lump against his pant leg. He rolled it up gingerly, breathing, wincing, and saw the bone stuck out from the flesh. It was pink like a leg of a lamb. He touched it with his thumb and tried to push it back in all at once but found the pain unbearable. So much so he almost blacked out. Looking up at that square of sky knowing the boy was out there somewhere. Like a magic he didn’t know existed.
You fucking mutt, he said, and banged his fists against the earth. His leg shook with the effort and pained him and still he thudded his fists until the sky above had dimmed a little and he knew if he didn’t move soon the sky would darken entirely and he’d be left stranded in this oblivion.
He wrenched himself up, trying to steady on his good leg. The bad leg in the cramped confines of their tiny mine kept banging into the walls. He held on to the wall and wrenched and felt his fingertips tighten. Soon he was up. Resting for a moment against the wall with his head down in his hands. Sweat and exertion. He was an almighty type of tired.
There was no way he’d make it out without help. His rope and gear were still up at the mouth. Hopping a bit. Every jump the other leg would jiggle and pain him. He fell back after the third try and looked up at the top of the mine. From his pocket he retrieved the nugget he’d found earlier and held it up and even in the low light its colour excited him.
The pickaxe was beside him. He took his shirt off and felt the cold bite into him and he tore strips from the sleeves with his teeth. There was nothing to knock the head of the pickaxe from its wooden handle and so he put the head at the base of his foot and then lashed the handle to his shin. As he pulled the threads of his shirt tight against his leg he felt the bone in there line up to where it had been his whole life and with each pull the pain. He gritted his teeth and could taste blood in his cheeks and his tongue. He knew if he didn’t lash it tight it would not hold and so he did not relent and soon all the blood and fluids pumping through his leg were restricted and it was both numbed and agony at once.
