Tom Murphy Chapter 13

Have you two boys run away? Woolly Jack at last asked us.

Woolly Jack was feeding his horse that was tethered to a kanuka tree. Through the morning we had assisted in the chores. He had chopped the kanuka. We had gathered and stacked the firewood at the back of the hut. Then we boys had gone to a stream under a stony cliff and filled up a kerosene tin of water. Birds had circled and sung above us. With their tiny heads perched sideways they had fearlessly watched us guests of the mountains.

We murmured an assent to Woolly Jack's bald question.

My last visitor was a murderer,
said Woolly Jack, as matter-of-fact as if his visitor had been a salesman.

We started and looked forward to a good story. Woolly Jack did not disappoint us. His laconic early mood seemed to have evaporated with the rain.

It was all over a woman. He shot her husband in the King Country. Then he tramped the country and lived like a Maori until he turned up a walking skeleton in my doorway. All that trouble over a native woman. You boys are too young to understand and I am too old. After he had eaten me out of house and home, I left him here. I was going to report him to your father.

But by the time I got to the nearest post office I couldn't do it. I figured nothing more could be done. The farmer was dead and was probably a mean old beggar. The farmer had started the fight with his gun. When you take to a fire arm, there's always the chance you'll be the dead man.

Besides, I'm a romantic. Why not live for once a good Western? I smuggled him out. He sent me a letter from London. Tom, you'd better not tell your Dad. In my shoes he would of done the same. But in his sergeant's boots, even Jimmy Edwards would have as much chance of mercy with your Dad as a rat with a hungry dog.

I had to agree with all these sentiments. I remembered the huge excitement and joy in our neighbourhood and home when the Communist Jimmy Edwards dodged the rich and powerful for week after week. Everyone fervently hoped he would even turn up hiding in our street. Dad snorted to his mates in his cups that the Tory beggars would never think of looking for Jimmy Edwards in a police sergeant's house. They had all fallen on the floor with merriment, but the dog-rat picture had stuck in my thoughts too.

Now tell me. Why have you run away, and is there anyone looking for you?

Gustav explained that no one in the town understood us. They and the town could all now go to hell. After the chores, we would carry on our journey up into the mountains. We would either die there or find a new beginning.

No, you don't, you are going back with me when I go to the stores tomorrow morning. I will send a wire to Sergeant Murphy.

That both alarmed and relieved me. Gustav's adventures had very much palled since last night. I knew it would be pointless to challenge Woolly Jack. Even Gustav assumed silence.

When we returned to the hut, Woolly Jack took out from under a floor board a hunting rifle. He untethered his horse and told us to keep away from yonder hill where he would be shooting. He said we might go off to the creek in the opposite direction and wash for gold. He said he had never found any but once there had been gold. He then said something about beginner's luck.

We foraged at the creek for the rest of the morning without discovering a speck of gold. On the other side of the hill we sometimes heard shots. When the sun was directly above us, we lay together under a bush for shade and rested our weary sore bones.

What's your father going to say? asked Gustav with a touch of nervousness.

I don''t know. You never can tell with Dad, I replied. I tried to hide my own nervousness.

Dad when sober was always an awesome presence.

When dusk settled and the wind grew stronger, we saw Woolly Jack returning to the hut. We hurried back. Woolly Jack trotted his horse up to us. Attached to the saddle were two wild pigs with their stomachs torn open and empty. Buzzing flies explored their caverns. Our faces fell at the unexpected presence of violent death.

Woolly Jack noticed our unhappiness.

Haven't you ever seen dead things before? No, of course, you come from civilised parts, he spoke gruffly.
I'll skin one pig for home rations and trade the other at the store.

Woolly Jack lifted one of the dead animals over his shoulders. Gustav and I heaved over our shoulders the other. The stench made us hold our breath. We hung them in hollows in an overhanging tree. Woolly Jack started to cut off the trotters of one of them. We boys carried wood and paper to the fire place in the hut and lit a roaring fire. Then Woolly Jack boiled his special treat for visitors, pigs trotters with puha.

After we had deliciously eaten our fill, Woolly Jack lit the pipes. Woolly Jack and I smoked together silently for several minutes. Gustav plied our benefactor with impertinent questions about his life. Woolly Jack raised his eyes to the rafters and deigned a studious silence.

Finally Woolly Jack said. Tonight, I will have the bunk. You boys will have to sleep on the floor My eyes are dim. Could you boys read to me?

I picked up a Weekly News and a Punch that were lying in a heap of old magazines in a corner. I read out something under a Weekly News headline:

Last Of Race

Tommy Solomon, the last pure-blooded survivor of the ancient Moriori race.

What pure-blooded race? There is no such thing, interrupted Gustav sharply.

Woolly Jack and I were not disposed to argue with his knowledge. We sucked our pipe stems deeper as we pondered his agitation. I picked up Punch. It was filled with comic drawings meaningless to me. I quickly read out passages that were also meaningless. Woolly Jack however studied the drawings and paid careful attention to my words. He chortled and wheezed until tears flowed from his eyes.

I noticed a foreign queer name kept coming up. It seemed to be connected to a very odd looking little man in the drawings. I noticed he had the same burning eyes and tousled hair as Gustav. Everyone else in Punch seemed to become highly excited by the deeds of this funny little man.

Then Gustav suddenly jumped out and shot out the door. I was taken aback. I asked Woolly Jack if this little man might be a relation of Gustav's. Then Woolly Jack laughed so much that I had to slap him on the back or he would have choked.

Woolly Jack was an early sleeper. We spread blankets on the floor for Gustav and myself. I went outside to look for him. He was standing under the kanuka grove. I was astonished to see he had been crying. He would not answer my anxious inquiries but followed me back to the hut.

Early the next morning, we three set off down the track to the stores. Woolly Jack, the pig and I on the nag, Gustav on foot, made our way through the now familiar blackened and dwarfed bush. After a gruelling bumpy journey for several hours, we reached the store and post office. Woolly Jack handed over the pig to the store keeper and collected a quid. Then we went into the post office. Woolly Jack collected and carefully counted his pension. After that, he sent a telegram to my father.

The post office mistress was carefully sizing up us boys.

Yes, I heard on the wireless set Sergeant Murphy is starting a search-party up the river. You two boys need touching up to do you good for the trouble you've caused.

We didn't like at all hearing any of that. We were also astounded that the town cared for us that much.

Woolly Jack laughed again. When we had walked out of the post office he said quietly:

When your father comes, I will speak to him first. But I can't promise you anything. We will carry on to the nearest pub. You boys have given me an excellent excuse to wet my whistle. Now no tricks. When the whole country's on your scent there's no use running and hiding.

I exchanged places with Gustav. We carried on. By the late afternoon we had reached a main road. When a car drove past us, we boys looked at each other with a resigned disappointment that we were back in civilisation.

Then we heard a stream of cusses, a yapping and a chorus of baas. Soon we reached a sheep flock on its way to the town's abattoir.

Woolly Jack waved benevolently to a fellow bearded country man. We went on to the grass verge to work our way past the flock. Our presence disturbed the sheep. They baad mournfully and stupidly at each other. They were a mixed and sickly bunch. Then in a sudden impulse that surprised even the dogs, two young rams shot away in a freedom run to the mountains. The other sheep were too stupid and panicky to even notice. A dog chased after them. The master let forth a stream of vile oaths. The young rams' burst for freedom was bold but brief. Once the dog had got ahead, it froze them into a panting submission by the flashing of its eyes and fangs. They meekly and pitifully retreated back to their certain early death.

I glanced up at Gustav. He glanced equally dolefully and thoughtfully down at me.

Then away in the distance a police car was approaching. I could see that Dad, with another policeman beside him, was driving it. Gustav and I put our faces down to face the music. Woolly Jack jumped from the horse and tethered it to a tree. He walked toward the car and waved it down. Now that we were back in civilization, I noticed how Woolly Jack walked with each foot put square and firmly in front of him. He might still be plodding through a swamp. His mutterings and humming to himself that had filled the vast silences with sound, suddenly seemed odd and derelict.

He got into the back of the car. We boys stood silent beside the horse and waited. The door opened and the three men approached us. They were all laughing.

Just as well you didn't run away with a sheila, Tom. You would of had to get married, said Dad.

The men laughed louder than ever. Neither of us boys could see what was funny.

We boys got into the back of the police car. As we sped away, Dad turned around to us.

You have caused a lot of heart ache. But if you felt overlooked by the people of the town, we apologise. We don't always handle kids of your age well.

Dad turned to the policeman beside him and they totally forgot us and talked shop.

By evening we were at the outskirts of the town. We drove through a relief camp. The unemployed men of the town had finished their day's labouring on the land and were returning to their canvas tents. The police car had to slow down and stop several times as large groups of men crossed the road.

I began to entertain the suspicion that in a surly causal way they were obstructing us. My suspicion grew into a conviction. The relief workers talked softly among themselves and evaded our eyes. I stared and my flesh began to creep. It seemed they were men of all walks of life. Most were young men in workmen's clothes. I counted more than a few middle aged men in clay soiled suits, collars and ties and town shoes.

What shook me was the deadness in their eyes and the leanness and sunkenness of their entire physiques. Their clothes hung over them like the guys that the children trundled about the neighbourhood for pennies for cracker night. I saw the bull necks of the policemen in the front seats stiffen. I had no doubt if any of these relief workers so much as pulled out his tongue at them, the policemen would be out the doors. The offender would be handcuffed in the back seat before you could say Jack Robinson.

I glanced at Gustav. He was staring at the guys. I saw that his eyes were not of pity for fellow human beings. They were of terror that he too might descend to their pits.

It was dark by the time we pulled up at the police station. We were sent home after a stern lecture from Dad's boss that next time we would be sent to a home for delinquent boys. We fled from the station.

We entered the main street. We were surprised to see decorations of fern and bunting paper and a huge finely dressed up crowd. The Mayor was in the middle of the street with Councillors and the rich businessmen. As the Mayor's number one enemy, Councillor Barrie MacDonald, was absent, they all amounted to the same thing, distinguished elderly rich men.

We joined the crowd but I avoided the Mayor's eye. I had some explaining to do. To our surprise, an astonishing number of the good folk recognised us. I had thought we moved in this town with the anonymity of ghosts. We discovered Gustav, Maria and Tom and even Mrs Rosenblum had a local fame. I felt a lump in my throat of coming home when everyone looked delighted to see us again and assured us what we needed was a good thrashing.

Then when the crowd was becoming impatient, a band began to play ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’ at the far end of the street. The crowd fell silent and toes began to tap and hands clap to this stirring tune. The band, lustily blowing brass instruments and beating cymbals, marched smartly down the street. In their wake there followed floats. Every important business in town seemed to have come out in a flash of gayness and brilliant colour.

Then we saw again Vicky McLean. She was perched on a milk cart. A sign on the cart read Victoria Britannica and Neptune. She was covered over in what appeared to be sea weed. A silver tiara adorned her silky blond neck. In her erect bangled arm she held a trident. Neptune, also in seaweed and with a grey beard matted in shells, stood beside her. Little mermaid girls lay on a make believe sea-bed around them. They stopped in front of the Mayor. She knelt down. He grasped her hand and kissed her. The crowd cheered wildly.

I glanced at Gustav. Tears were running down his cheeks. He picked up a streamer and threw it into the cart. Then he ducked away before he was noticed by the McLeans. The delighted crowd cheered again.