The Boys from Binjiwunyawunya Read online

  ‘Flexitime,’ replied Mumbi, spitting several pips into his hand.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m on flexitime. I don’t start till about ten-thirty.’ ‘You’re kidding aren’t you? What do you think this is? The public bloody service?’

  Mumbi shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s the way we work, bloodnut. If you don’t like it — stiff shit.’ He took another bite of his orange and spat some more pips into his hand. Norton shifted his gaze from the balcony to the floor and shook his head.

  The boys chanted and danced non-stop till twelve-thirty sharp; then they abruptly knocked off for lunch. They’d taken it in turns to have an hour off at a time, but always making certain there were two men constantly chanting. Les was there to watch them most of the time, except when he had to go out and get the sandwiches, and ended up spending almost an hour scouring Redfern in an effort to find a place that sold Twinings Prince of Wales tea. Consequently he wasn’t in all that good a mood when he got back to room 9 and made a brew, using the kettle and teapot that had been left outside the door with the sheets. But the boys were quite happy for a change, giving the tea a resounding thumbs up. They even said the chicken and salad sandwiches were okay too, though they would have preferred wholemeal bread to plain brown. Les prostrated himself on the floor and begged forgiveness, swearing on his mother’s dying oath that it would never happen again.

  ‘Okay,’ Les said, slapping his hands together and checking his watch after they’d all finished eating. ‘One o’clock, back to work. Come on.’

  ‘Hey, don’t go putting the bustle on Les,’ said Mumbi, draining his cup.

  ‘I’m not putting the bustle on Mumbles. But you’re being paid to work you know. Not to sit around drinking tea all day.’ He gave them all a thin smile as they stared up at him impassively from the lounge. ‘Of course I wouldn’t dream of trying to break down any of your conditions. I’m even going to make afternoon tea for you later on. In fact what time would you chaps care to have your afternoon tea?’ he added sweetly.

  ‘Three o’clock on the dot,’ replied Tjalkalieri quickly. ‘And we knock off at quarter to five sharp.’

  ‘Quarter to five? You’re supposed to work till bloody five.’

  ‘Fifteen minutes washing up time,’ said Yarrawulla.

  ‘Fifteen minutes to have a bloody wash? You’re kidding.’

  ‘How long do you think it takes to wash all this blood and shit off?’ said Mumbi.

  ‘Shouldn’t take you quarter of a bloody hour.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Tjalkalieri. ‘You just make sure you’ve got the soap and towels waiting in the amenities room at quarter to five, mate. Or the management might find it’s got a rather large industrial dispute on its hands — and we haven’t even discussed site allowance yet!’

  Norton shook his head once more and started picking up the cups and saucers and tidying the mess. ‘The unions are fucking this country,’ he said. ‘You know that don’t you.’

  Meanwhile, over at the AWEC office Percy Kilby was getting sicker and sicker as the day grew longer.

  His headache, bad enough as it was to begin with, got worse. He felt weak as a kitten, his eyes were watering, his temperature was up, and his nose was running like a tap. He would have gone home to bed but he felt that crook he was too tired to move. At ten he told Frank that if anybody called he wasn’t in. At eleven he got Frank to put a sign on the door saying the office was closed for the day. Frank suggested he drive him home, but apart from being too tired to move Kilby said he’d had a gigantic argument with his wife on Wednesday and had belted her one. The thought of being in the house all afternoon, in his condition and with her nagging at him, was just too ghastly even to contemplate. He’d end up choking her. The odd part about it all, though, was despite his illness he was still hungry. At twelve he sent Frank over to get him three meat pies and half of litre of chocolate milk. Sitting in the office, Frank couldn’t believe it as he watched his sick and suffering boss sneezing his head off and trying to blow the sinuses clean out of his nose while he wolfed down the pies with sauce.

  ‘Perce. You’re going to have to see a doctor, mate. This is getting ridiculous.’

  ‘Yeah I know,’ mumbled Kilby between gulps of pie and gravy. ‘But I just got to get something into my stomach. I’m bloody starving.’

  Frank shook his head. ‘It just doesn’t seem right mate. You’re as sick as a dog and you’re still stuffing all that rubbish into yourself. What do you reckon?’

  ‘What do I reckon?’ Kilby finished the last pie and wiped the sauce from his mouth. ‘I reckon you can go over and get me some chips. Plenty of ’em. With vinegar too. And a large bar of fruit-and-nut chocolate. And hurry Frank — cause I’m still bloody hungry.’

  Frank shook his head, then walked over and got his boss what he wanted. By the time he’d got back Kilby had brought up the three pies and chocolate milk and was ready to go again, hungrier than ever.

  In the Thames Tavern the boys kept up the chanting till they stopped for smoko at three, then continued till they finished for the day at four forty-five sharp. For the last hour and three-quarters all three men had joined in the chant, giving Kilby a solid blast of non-stop bone pointing till they called it quits. Norton was a little curious about this last burst of enthusiasm because so far they’d stuck strictly to their so-called union rules — with their flexitime, tea breaks, washing-up time and whatever else they could think up just to annoy him. He inquired about this while he watched them getting cleaned up.

  ‘We don’t do any more chanting now till Monday,’ answered Tjalkalieri, wiping the last of the paint and blood from him with a small face cloth.

  ‘No more till Monday?’ said Norton. ‘That seems a bit strange. You’ve only been going for what?... barely two days. Won’t the spell or whatever it is wear off?’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong, Les,’ said Mumbi. ‘Don’t worry. We’ve given him heaps the last couple of days. Now we let him off the hook for a day or two and he starts to think he’s getting better.’

  ‘That’s right,’ chipped in Yarrawulla. ‘We sort of lull him into a false sense of security. He thinks he’s over it and bingo! On Monday we all get into the act and hit him with the old double whammy. And by Tuesday, it’s adios senor Kilby.’ Norton nodded his head and continued to watch as they finished cleaning up and changed back into their tracksuits.

  ‘So what do you intend to do all weekend?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Tjalkalieri. ‘Sleep, read, just take it easy. We won’t even leave these rooms.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Norton was a little surprised. ‘Don’t any of you want to go for a bit of a walk or something. Take in a movie?’

  Tjalkalieri shook his head. ‘That chanting takes a lot out of us you know. We’re pretty buggered. Besides, we’ve built up a kind of an aura in this room with the spirits. For any of us to leave could damage the aura.’ He smiled at the look on Norton’s face. ‘I know it’s a bit hard for a wombat like you to fathom, Les. But that’s the way it goes.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ replied Norton with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘But what about your girls back at Binji. Do you want me to give them a ring and tell them you’re all right.’

  Yarrawulla shook his head and sat down on the lounge. ‘No need to Les. We sent them a telegram before we went to bed last night.’

  Norton screwed up his face. ‘A telegram? I don’t remember any of you going to the post office.’

  Tjalkalieri winked at Les as he and Mumbi joined Yarrawulla on the lounge. He didn’t say anything, just tapped his middle finger against his forehead; then all three of them smiled up at the look on Les’s face.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Norton. ‘What next?’

  ‘What next?’ smiled Mumbi, rubbing his hands together. ‘A nice cup of tea’d go down well Les.’

  ‘Yeah. Then you can get us something to eat,’ added Yarrawulla. ‘How about some pizzas tonight boys,’ he said, turning to the oth
ers. ‘I don’t think I could handle another gutful of that so-called Chinese food.’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ nodded Tajlkalieri. ‘I’ll have a large pepperoni.’

  ‘Pizza it is then,’ said Norton quietly, still shaking his head.

  By this time Kilby’s condition back at the AWEC office had deteriorated further. Just before five he closed the office and got Frank to drive him home, promising him he’d definitely be seeing a doctor first thing tomorrow. Kilby continued to sneeze, cough, blow his nose and groan the entire journey. Then about five minutes from his house he stopped sneezing, turned to Frank and stared at him in amazement.

  Frank caught his boss’s eye and looked back at him curiously. ‘What’s up now Perce?’ he asked, starting to get more than a little worried again.

  Kilby continued to stare at Frank for a few moments before answering. ‘Frank’ he said incredulously. ‘You’re not going to believe this.’

  ‘Believe what Frank?’

  ‘You know how crook I’ve been all day.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Well mate, I feel as good as gold now.’ Kilby took in a deep breath through his suddenly cleared nose, held it for a moment, then let it out. ‘I feel terrific, look at that, clear as a bell. That stinkin’, rotten flu must’ve worn off.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Frank kept looking curiously at his boss. ‘I dunno Perce. Fifteen minutes ago you looked like you were ready to kick the bucket.’

  ‘I know. But I’m telling you I feel fine now. Better than I’ve felt for ages.’

  Frank pulled the car up outside Kilby’s house but didn’t turn the motor off. ‘I still don’t know, Perce,’ he said, more mystified than ever. ‘I still reckon you ought to be in bed. And see a doctor first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Ohh bullshit.’

  ‘All right, suit yourself. Anyway, do you want me to call around in the morning?’

  Kilby blinked at his employee. ‘Why, where are you going now?’

  ‘Home. I’m gonna have a few beers first, then I’m going home.’

  ‘Well I’m coming too.’

  Frank continued to stare at his boss. ‘Yeah... but.’

  ‘What do you mean, yeah, but. Aren’t I allowed to have a beer with me old mate after work?’

  ‘Yeah sure. But.’

  ‘Well. Come on, let’s go. I don’t want to go inside, I’ll only end up hitting her on the chin again.’

  Frank put the car into gear and did a U-turn. ‘You’re the boss,’ he shrugged, shaking his head at the same time.

  ‘And stop at the TAB on the way. I still haven’t picked up our winnings yet.’ Kilby threw back his head, roared laughing and gave Frank a friendly punch on the shoulder. ‘We’ll give that a nice nudge before the night’s out Frankie boy, I can tell you.’ Kilby laughed again. ‘You reckon I don’t feel good.’

  Frank continued to shake his head as he weaved into the traffic. ‘You’re the boss,’ he repeated.

  Kilby managed to get good and drunk all right that night. They hit the Redfern RSL about six and left just after eleven in separate taxis. Kilby was that happy and relieved at his sudden and unexpected recovery from the flu or whatever it was that had laid him so low the last couple of days he gave Frank $250 from the winnings at the TAB and then made sure he never put his hand in his pocket the rest of the night. Consequently both men had hangovers the following morning big enough to sell advertising on. But Kilby was so glad it was only a hangover he almost enjoyed it — the headache, the furry tongue, and the feeling that his head was a length of guttering and several people were banging on it with tyre levers. Compared to what he’d just been through it was almost enjoyable, so he didn’t bother to take Frank’s advice and ring a doctor. A glass of Eno’s, two digesics and a feed of bacon and eggs and coffee had the AWEC boss feeling almost on top of the world.

  Les Norton, on the other hand, never went out. After getting the boys their pizzas, orange juice, Stag Lager and whatever else they wanted, they ate and settled down to a boring night watching TV. When the old John Wayne movie finished at ten-thirty they were all yawning their heads off and so tired all they wanted to do was go to bed anyway.

  Norton figured the boys would be tired from all that chanting and would be hot candidates for an early night; maybe there was an aura in the room like Tjalkalieri said and it was making him tired as well. Though by now — although he didn’t like to admit it to himself — Les was beginning to get just a little sceptical about this bone pointing. He trusted Tjalkalieri and he knew the boys had done it in the bush, but in the big city it could be a different kettle of fish altogether. Especially with what struck Les as their rather flippant attitude towards it now that they’d started. Going like mad one minute, then turning it off for the weekend, then hitting Kilby with their so-called ‘double whammy’ or whatever it was on Monday. He hoped to Christ they knew what they were doing and he hoped to Christ it worked or he’d end up making a nice dill out of himself and Price would be more than entitled to take the $100,000 back out of his thick Queensland hide. A few doubts and misgivings were swirling around in Norton’s mind when his head hit the pillow that night, but he slept soundly enough. Even Tjalkalieri’s snoring, coming from barely a metre away, didn’t bother him.

  So, unlike his two adversaries, Norton woke up around seven-thirty feeling rested, refreshed and without the slightest trace of a hangover. He was first up, so after finishing in the bathroom he decided to go up and get the boys some steak sandwiches for breakfast before they had a chance to start whingeing.

  It wasn’t much of a day when Les stepped out of the Thames Tavern — cloudy with a cool southerly in the air and the thick band of black clouds gathering across the city skyline promising rain before lunchtime or early afternoon at the latest. There were quite a few people about for early on a Saturday morning. Mostly heading for work, thought Les, and not looking too happy about it either as they pulled their collars up against the wind and walked briskly towards the station.

  The Greek in the hamburger shop whipped up the stack of steak sandwiches pretty smartly, throwing on plenty of extra onions as Norton ordered. The shop also sold the morning papers so he got two of each plus some bottles of fruit-flavoured spa water and dropped them in the carton as well. On the way back Norton ducked out to the hotel carpark to make sure his car was all right. He was quite pleased to see that apart from a few pigeon deposits across the roof and bonnet the old Ford was resting quite comfortably next to a couple of cars equally as battered and dirty as his. Well for Redfern that’s a plus he thought. Though I might pull the coil lead out before I go to bed tonight. Not that anyone would want to steal it. But there just might be someone around here who needs my old Ford more than I do. Les was whistling softly to himself as he jogged up the stairs to room 9.

  ‘Jesus, don’t tell me you’ve managed to make yourselves a cup of tea while I was away.’ He stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind him with his foot. ‘Must’ve been quite an effort for one of you. That teapot can get pretty heavy when it’s full of water.’

  Yarrawulla looked up expressionlessly from where he was sitting. ‘We had to, Les,’ he said taking a sip from his cup. ‘You make it that weak it needs a pair of crutches to get out of the pot.’

  ‘Fair dinkum.’ Norton chuckled and shook his head as he placed the carton on the table in the middle of the room. ‘It wouldn’t matter what I done. One of you drop kicks’d have a go at me over it.’

  Tjalkalieri got up and smiled at Norton as he walked over and had a look in the carton. ‘You know what, Les,’ he said, ‘you’re right.’ He gave the big red-headed Queenslander a wink and a friendly slap on the back. ‘These steak sangers don’t look too bad though.’

  They mustn’t have been because in less than twenty minutes there wasn’t a crust, a skerrick of meat or a shred of onion left, and Mumbi had made a fresh pot of tea. They sat around reading and half listening to the radio while they sipped their tea. It was all very relaxed with n
o one saying much and the next thing it was well after eleven.

  Flicking through the sports section, Les noticed that one of Price’s horses was in a welter at Canterbury that afternoon. A couple of the tipsters had it down for a place and according to the papers it was 8–1. Norton wouldn’t have minded having something on it but he wasn’t too sure of its form and there were some other things on his mind as well. Although he could have, he didn’t want to get into the habit of running backwards and forwards to the TAB all day and leaving the boys in the room alone. Running out to get the food for a few minutes at a time was all right, but he would have preferred to be with them the whole time. Especially in that old pub on a Saturday afternoon in Redfern; anything could happen. He was probably overreacting a little, but you never knew. Someone could start banging on the door while he wasn’t there and upset the boys. A drunk could wander up from downstairs and cause trouble. The two old pisspots who originally had the rooms could come back and start something. Even a drainpipe merchant could unsuspectingly climb up over the balcony intent on robbing the joint. Yes, he was no doubt overdramatising things, but knowing his luck he’d only be out of the room a few minutes and something would go wrong. He’d stay with the boys and keep an eye on them. He’d appointed himself minder and that’s exactly what he would do. There was too much at stake. And besides, it would be all over in three or four days, one way or the other. But he wanted to back that horse and he’d have to get in touch with Price to get the drum on it.

  That was another thing. Les wasn’t all that keen to ring Price just yet because Price would want to know what was going on, and what could he tell him? Yeah Price, it’s all sweet. The boys chanted for a day and a half; now they’ve knocked off for the weekend. Chanted? Price would say. What’s with this chanting? How was he going to explain that to him? How was he going to explain anything to him? Unless you knew just what was going on the whole idea was preposterous. Even if you knew what was going on, the whole idea was still preposterous. But he wanted to back that horse and he had to know if it was going first. He stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment then glanced at his watch. It would be no good ringing Price now anyway. He’d either be out at the track or over at his trainer’s stables at Randwick. What about George? No, he’d be out playing handball somewhere. Billy? Billy’d be either helping his wife with the shopping or watching his kids play soccer. Norton glanced over to the open balcony door where the southerly was sending a thin mist of rain across the tiled deck from a sky that was beginning to reflect Norton’s mood. Wait a minute. What about Eddie? He folded his paper, got up and closed the balcony door.