English TEXTS FOR READING

56 NUMBATS AND WANDOO TREES

January 2013

She was dragged screaming from the car. The two women officers from the sheriff’s department had her cuffed, but she held onto the door handle and braced her heels. Then she kicked the nearest one’s shins. They pushed her to the ground. They weren’t unnecessarily rough, but they needed to get on. Dennis ran over and tried to calm her. She shouted, “Sister f**ker!”, and wriggled her shoulder so he couldn’t touch her. By now the girl was sobbing. He quietly told the women that the restraints weren’t necessary. The girl spat in his face. He was told to read the paperwork and get himself checked for hep C. She was dangerous and violent. Two sentences in Minda already. Her father was a QC in Melbourne, and had covered legal representation so the court had warned her but suggested a year in the social therapeutic community, and by phone her father had agreed to pay expenses. She hadn’t seen him for four years so why the **** would she want to speak to him now?

Dennis signed for her and the car went. She was looking round, summing up the situation.

Her name was Jay. The other teenagers in the kitchen didn’t try to approach. They knew because one way or another they’d been where she was now. A roast leg of mutton was taken out of the oven. They realised she was hungry and set a place for her. She could eat before dinner. Dennis said the kids would tell her the rules and he and Josie were nearby in a cottage and she could come over at any time. “**** you!” she said. If no doors were locked, she’d eat and be out of there in the hour. Dennis quietly told her that in two months she would be old enough to be up for adult sentencing, and she should just use her time here to rest. She ate and ate. No vegetables just meat. One of the girls showed her the bathroom and took her to her room and came back an hour later to find the mattress on the floor with Jay in deep sleep with her mascara staining the pillow. Josie looked in and saw her sucking her thumb, with the cat purring beside her.

She slept through until after ten the next morning. She came into the kitchen in a rage. Where the **** was the TV? Why the **** didn’t they stand up for their ****ing rights! She was given hot bread and their homemade jam. They left her alone and ran out to meet a car pulling into the drive. They hugged the music teacher and went into the main room for singing lessons and sang rounds in many parts. When they came into the kitchen Jay was crying. “**** you, what are you looking at?” She wiped her face with a tea towel. They’d saved the hot water so she could have a long soak in the bath.

She pushed the latch and moved a bathroom chair against the door handle and stuffed dunny paper in the old keyhole. “You ****ing perves!”

Without the black lippy she looked quite different. She put on clean clothes. “****ing Chez Vincent de Pee. Dead girls’ stuff. They don’t fit.” Could she get the eggs from the chook house? No need to shut the gate as most of the hens would be in the yard. “****ing slave labour.”

She screamed. They all ran outside. The laying hens were fluttering about in panic in the small space. Feathers were flying and Jay was cowering in the straw. It took a long time for Josie to talk her out. She was obviously too distraught to knead

bread dough, so she was told she could go for a walk after lunch with the dog.

The dog was a big snarling brute that had turned up a year before on the farm without a collar and just stayed. He didn’t bother the sheep or chase the chooks, but he didn’t want to be patted, and slept under the shed. The two took off together each keeping their distance.

Four hours later the wind was blowing up over the heath and the household were all out in heavy coats looking for them. Not far from the home they found them. Jay was throwing a stick and the dog was catching it in the air. She had a friend. That night after hot chocolate she went to bed. Brute scratched on the kitchen door to come in. He sniffed, scratched on her door. The cat hissed and backed out, and the smelly dog lay on the floor beside her.

On the Friday I turned up after a long drive meeting. I’d sleep over at Josie and Dennis’place and be there for the staff and committee meetings. The Saturday meeting was difficult. The Family and Community Services Minister had announced months ago in State Parliament that they would be funded because they had been going long enough to evaluate their recidivist rate. They and the Buttery near Byron were the only long-term facilities. But as the weeks passed no money had turned up. The local church had preached against them as a hippy cult and the village store had taken up a petition against having drug freaks and violent tattooed thieves near to respectable people. But Dennis asked the kids if they wanted to go to the church to sing. No one was asking them to believe anything. It was just a chance to sing. This gave them a goal to work towards. They got a hymn book and practised. The congregation was obviously afraid of them, but the vicar made them welcome and people moved along pews to make room. The kids sang with loud, clear voices. They were appreciated and the local atmosphere changed. Dennis had a good response to his suggestion that some of the kids who had been on the farm for six or eight months might be included in picnics and barbies. In time some stayed out over night with parishioners. The shop’s attitude was also changing. Josie reported that they’d been told their grocery bill had already been fixed up and not to worry about it. But no house parents had been paid and the situation couldn’t go on. I had written to Podolinsky who suggested that rhythmic bread kneading wasn’t enough. He advised them to get a cow. Negative thoughts when milking will get you a kick. I had offered to donate the money and spoke to a neighbouring farmer for his expertise, and a heavily pregnant cow arrived. I also suggested he could come on a Saturday morning every couple of weeks to give a lesson. Teenage kids need their minds engaged. They all had court orders excluding them from schools for disruption, but surely they needed to grow intellectually. It would be thought about. With Jay to worry about and the economic situation they might just wait a bit before taking on a new initiative.

The uncertainty about credit had added to the tension. The whole community was strained.

The quiet decent, unpaid house parents became hassled over small matters. Standards began to slip a little. The kitchen wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t really tidy. Cleaning up had never been a punishment because the underlying philosophy maintained that it should be a joy to tidy up after each other. Swearing had not

been spoken about because the participants would learn from the nonreaction of the carers. Well, that was the theory.

Jay’s father’s cheque was cleared so she went to town with Josie to buy clothes. She came out of shops with black t-shirts screen printed with silver skulls. Because her nose stud was infected she agreed to visit a woman doctor. Josie had to come in to give her confidence, then was called a leso bitch. Jay was unwell. Long term malnutrition meant she would need antibiotics. She also had scars from abuse. Across her lower abdomen was tattooed A WOMAN NEEDS A MAN LIKE A FISH NEEDS A BICYCLE with a pin and ball point pen ink in the usual Minda style.

But when she got back, the others who had been there longer wanted to wear the new black gear. The pastels and primary colours of their clothes were dull beside the atavistic power of black. Even so, she didn’t talk to the others. She told anyone who stood too close to **** off. When the phone rang the girl who answered it told the caller that there weren’t no Jeannine here. Josie took the phone and told the others to get Jay. Jay came and shouted **** You before hanging up.

Over the next months she didn’t speak much or join the singing. But she began to take responsibility for the chooks. Screaming, she tore up a Bible given by the local church. Then she went into her room and cried through the door that the paper was like her mum’s dress patterns. For the first time she had given an explanation, and not used the word ****. Although others were shocked, wise gangly dyslexic Dennis thought deeply and said, “This is a positive sign. Jay is remembering her childhood.” He later phoned her father. Her mother had committed suicide while being treated for depression and Jay had blamed him. He blamed himself too and at home remained silent and as a barrister in court, he became more coldly logical. Jeannine had been clever but then dropped from the top of the class and showed no interest. At last she had stormed out of the house shouting that she wanted to find herself. He’d got

TEXTS FOR READING English

57

January 2013

the police and the salvos to look for her. Probably because he’d brought her to the attention of the authorities, she’d been arrested several times for drug offences and for stealing as a prostitute. After years of her living on the street, he would gladly pay the community whatever was needed.

At least she’d been detoxed at Minda, and hadn’t had a taste since getting out. No one could make inner contact with her. When I visited she gave me a poem she had copied from her memory of school. It wasn’t actually given. It had been left on my plate before dinner. Dennis blew his nose loudly when he saw the letters in coloured pencils.

CATS CATS CATS

We must be bats to take on cats.

They sleep on beds instead of mats.

They make the house a hurley-burly.

Some are cunning, some are surly.

Some of them sing and even purr.

I never know a him from her.

They cost you money at the vets

These aggravating awful pets.

Yelling at night and break of day

Demanding breakfast right away.

And if not fed they scratch or nip you

Or weave in front of you to trip you.

They drop their fleas upon the floor

And some of them are known to snore

Or shake their catty adenoids

To make a frightful engine noise.

They take the best spot by the fire

And glare at you with baleful ire.

They have their kittens willy nilly

In spots that are remote and silly.

In cupboards where the linen lies

They carry on their family ties.

And yet.... and yet... if

Truth be known,

I wouldn’t give up the one I own.

By Pixie O’Harris

She had a way with animals. The hens were happy with her care. She observed which hens had been mounted by the rooster and allowed them when they were clucky to sit on eggs. She stood transfixed when the chicks hatched and they all scurried to follow their mums. Jay stopped her habitual scowl when a hen fluffed up her feathers and scratched in the dust and the chicks settled under her wings. The one time she didn’t tightly close the chookrun gate, a fox got in. She cried all morning for the three dead birds. Dennis phoned the board to tell them that these were her first normal tears since the day she came. Then somehow she brokered a peace between Brute and Cat. They both slept on the floor beside her. Dennis and her house parents had carried her bed out to the shed and hung it on a wall. She could sleep on the floor as long as she vacuumed carefully.

Text and picture by David Wanbrough to be continued