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  “Or us? Do you think you might be out numbered now Frog?”

  And there, walking towards them, and standing next to Willie and Joe, were another eight villagers.

  The Cutters eyes were darting everywhere; their heads were turning, looking at their options, looking at their escape routes. The twins started to snivel; their bottom lips quivered, Tu looked down at the ground, kicked a stone, hawked back a green one, thought about spitting it out, thought better of it and swallowed. Farley licked his lips repeatedly, his tongue poking in out of his mouth like a, well like a frog, as sweat trickled down his face and neck. Pleading Farley said, “Look I think there has been a huge misunderstanding here people. I mean were all friends, one big happy family, honestly. We were just trying to help Wiremu and Rex, I mean look at them; they’re hurt. It was lucky we came along. Isn’t that right Jack? Jack me old mate, you’ll vouch for us won’t you?”

  “Not likely Frog,” he spat.

  Desperate now Farley spoke nervously. “Ha, Frog. Only my mates are allowed to call me Frog, eh Jack? See everyone, we are mates. Me and Jack, good mates.” Then, thinking quickly he added, “You see what I really was trying to do was stop Tu and these idiot twins here from hurting Jack and his cobbers. But they’re uncontrollable; as much as I try I can’t do anything with them. They’re just born bad. I mean no one can control them!”

  “Kanga koe poriro purupepeke!” shouted Tu.

  “What did he say Mu?” Asked Jack

  “Oh, he just cursed Farley and called him a bullfrog,” sniggered Wiremu. The crowd of villagers closed around the Cutters and Jack and his friends. A couple of woman from the group fussed over the injuries to the boys while Willie Rasch held out his hand and reluctantly the gang handed over their knives.

  The Publican said, “Now walk with us boys, there’s something you need to see.”

  “Um, do we have a choice in the matter ‘cause I really need to be heading home. My mother is quite ill, has been for some time, and she’ll be expecting me soon,” said Farley.

  “Both your mothers know you’re all here, as does your sister, Tu,” replied the Publican.

  The Cutters looked at each other and wondered what this all meant as they were jostled down the road towards the rubbish dump. As they rounded the corner and came to the end of the road they looked upon an unreal site as just about everybody from Putumu was there. There were all the children from school and the mothers, the fathers, the grandparents and business owners. And farmers and various workers and people from the area and they stood in a semicircle, waiting for them. The Rasch’s vehicle was parked off to one side and in the middle of it all was a sight that made the colour drain from the faces of The Cutters and their jaws went slack as they stared with mouths wide open.

  Four sets of medieval stocks were positioned in a row, open and ready for their victims.

  “Oh my God, no, no, you can’t be serious, you’ve got to be joking, right?” Pleaded Farley.

  “Shit!” Said Tu.

  “What are they, what are they Farley, Tu? Tell us, what they are!” Blubbed the Twins.

  They stopped, refusing to go further but the crowd closed around them and they seized their arms and legs and lifted them off the ground. Two dozen hands holding them as they marched each of the gang members towards the stocks and forced their heads and hands into the holes and then closed the top part of the stock over them, locking it in place with a metal pin.

  Farley looked around, tears streaming down his face, humiliated, he saw his mother in the crowd and called to her “Mum, mum don’t let them do this to me. Pleeease mum!” and she turned and looked away, ignoring him, knowing it had to end. Here, now, today. And Tu sobbed quietly focussing on the ground as the tears and snot dripped from his face. Angry and hurt that he was here in this position. Angry and hurt that Farley had tried to lay the blame on him, had shown that he was in fact a coward when he needed to be brave. Not their friend and leader but a traitor. Nothing more than a weak fat kid, only caring for himself, doing whatever it took to take the heat of himself, willing to drop his friends in the shit. And the twins, screaming hysterically, calling for their mother, the piss running down their legs, not gang members now, but two infants experiencing a nightmare.

  “QUIET!” The publican shouted so loud that his voice echoed in the natural amphitheatre that this dead end road created. The Cutters stopped their noise and listened intently to what he had to say, they were literally, a captive audience. He said, “You boys have been brought here today because the community has said ‘enough is enough!’ You are out of control and we are at our wits end. You cannot be educated nor convinced to change your ways by any normal reasoning, so reluctantly, and with much debate I must say, we have had to take forceful measures to ensure that you will never thrive as a gang nor misbehave in our village ever again. The punishment you are receiving and are about to receive is being carried out with the knowledge of your mothers and guardians, so as much as you may hope that they will come to your rescue, be assured that they are fully aware, and in fact approve of what we are doing today. Over the last few years your little gang has terrorised our children and abused the adults, vandalised our town, stole from us and caused the death of our school’s only teacher. You had to be stopped. And today with the backing of the whole community it will end. Your reign of terror has come to an end and at a place most appropriate. The town dump. For you four miscreants truly belong here, among the rubbish and the rats.”

  The crowd clapped and cheered the publican.

  He continued. “And now people, in an orderly fashion, proceed with part two of the punishment.” And out of buckets and baskets that stood before the villagers, old fruit and vegetables and dogshit and cow and horse dung and sheep pellets were hurled at the boys in the stocks. And then there were animal innards and buckets of blood and maggots poured over their bodies as they squirmed and writhed. The boys in the stocks cried and screamed and pleaded and vomited and crapped and pissed themselves as the crowds laughed and jeered and whistled and yelled and tormented their captives. Some approached them and spoke to them saying things like:

  “That’s for punching me in the stomach!”

  “That’s for stealing my bike!”

  “That’s for leering at my wife!”

  “That’s for smashing my windows!”

  “That’s for breaking bottles!”

  “That’s for carving your initials into the side of my building!”

  “That’s for letting my horse out of its paddock!”

  “That’s for the rats you released in the classroom!”

  “That’s for wuining my twousers!” Said Rex Roberts.

  “Zat is for zee swastika you painted on my store, you ignorant sad little creatures!” Said Willie Rasch.

  And dozens of other accusations until everybody had had enough and they had run out of things to say and throw and pour over the sad, unrecognisable creatures, which were held there against their will. And after a while some of the villagers said, ‘That’s enough now, let them go for God’s sake’ and some of them even felt ashamed of their own behaviour and wanted it to end, now. But it wasn’t over, not yet. There was more to come and earlier they had all agreed on it.

  The publican spoke again. “Some say that you four have suffered enough and that we should let you go now. I’m sure you boys stuck there in the stocks would agree with that, but that isn’t going to happen, not yet. You see we all agreed there would be three parts to your punishment, the third part being most important. We are all going to leave now and leave you boys to it. You’re going to spend the night in those stocks. Now, we all know this is not the nicest place to spend the night outdoors in that it is the rubbish dump, and we all know what comes out at night at rubbish dumps don’t we? So it’s just as well you boys share an affinity with the creatures of the night and should feel right at home with the hordes of rats that will appear after dark and try to feed on all the goodies that you boys are covered i
n. So from all of us I would like to say, Good night ‘Cutters’ and good riddance!” And silently the crowds moved away, some getting a lift in Willies van as they headed up the road, back towards the town, leaving the boys screaming for forgiveness as they prepared themselves for a night in hell.

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  The rats came out of their holes and out of the bush and rubbish as night fell and they scampered over the ground towards the shivering creatures that moaned and screamed, propped up in their medieval supports. There were new smells tonight, smells of rotten vegetables and fruit and blood and innards and...

  Fear.

  Smells that excited the rats and made them bold and attack their food aggressively and without caution, even though the boys kicked at them and screamed and yelled. Some ran up the stocks to sit on the boys’ heads, licking the goo from their hair and even biting their skin, their ears, scrabbling over their faces. And the boys tried to bite the rats back, in their desperation, anything to keep them away. The rats bit through their clothes until they all knew they would not survive the night; that they would either die or go mad in this rat infested shithole, trapped here tonight, and on display, like sacrifices to the full moon. And then, after what seemed a lifetime; a noise, an engine, and then lights washed over them as the headlights of Willie Rasch’s van illuminated the area and scattered the rats. The boys watched as three men got out of the van. Willie, Joe the publican and another man with a hammer in his hand...

  But on seeing the hammer, the boys’ relief was short-lived and they feared the worst. The end must surely come soon. The man rushed over to Farley and swung the hammer. Farley screamed, a blood curdling sound from his lips... But the man wasn’t aiming at him. The pin was knocked from the stocks and Farley was released. The man then rushed to the others and did the same. They all collapsed on the ground and then were helped to stand and straighten, as their time in the stocks, hunched over, had stiffened their backs. The man with the hammer, a carpenter from the village who had constructed the stocks, quickly dismantled them and threw them over the tip face, never to be seen or used again. The Cutters were assisted to the back of the van and driven to Doctor Williams’ place. The Doctor carefully checked them over before releasing them to their own homes, to bathe and recover. The gang is no more. The boys that came together to wreak havoc and called themselves The Cutters had learnt their lesson and would lead separate lives now.

  And never again would they terrorise the good people of Putumu...

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  RETURN TO WANEA

  “H

  ey cool story Dad. Is that how it really happened or is there a bit of embellishment going on?” I asked with a smile. We were around the kitchen table now, sipping on a beer or two.

  “That’s how I remember it. Not sure if that makes a difference or not? Anyway, if you’re going to criticize my story, then that suits me just fine. I’ll end it right there,” he said with a growl then picked up his beer and swallowed at least half of it.

  “Hell no, Dad. It’s just that I thought you were going to talk about this man who came into your life, after your father was killed. When do we get to him?”

  Dad shook his head. “Bloody hell, Keith. You asked about my life and I’m telling you. What happened before the man arrived is just as important to me as what happened after he arrived. It’s my life story! Now, I’m up to the part where he comes into our lives. So shut up and I’ll tell you all about him and everything else that went on back then. What you lack is patience son. Believe me; a little patience goes a long way...”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BACK TO PUTUMU

  SUMMER 1945

  H

  e arrived in early January, half in army uniform, half in civvies. He was in his early thirties and wore a battered ‘Lemon Squeezer’ hat, over dark, lank, greasy hair. The puggaree and badge that indicated the wearers regiment were missing from the hat. A week old beard shrouded his long face and a cigarette hung from his bottom lip, unlit. His shirt was a black singlet, his trousers khaki, ex army. Brown infantry boots slopped on his feet, the laces broken or undone. He was tall and lean with long arms; one that held a sturdy pole that he used as a walking stick as he loped along, the other clutching his haversack slung over his shoulder. His head was down, looking at where he was stepping, not where he was going. It was mid morning on a dull, unseasonably chilly day as he approached the front entrance of the Delaney house and knocked three times on the door. The Delaney’s dogs Jess and Tess, two mixed breed bitches, scrambled around to the front entrance barking and growling, baring their teeth at the intruder. “GET OFFA ME YA MONGREL BASTARDS BEFORE I KICK YA INTO NEXT WEEK!” Shouted the man as he turned to face the dogs and waved his stick. The dogs lunged at him, his actions stirring them up worse. Making them crazier, more volatile.

  “Jess, Tess, settle!” Jacks mother had opened the door and stood in the entrance, unnoticed by the man because of the commotion. The dogs quietened a little and moved back to hover in the background. Wary, ready to strike if given the word. She spoke again, not as loud, to the man this time. “They’re not bastards, they’re bitches actually.”

  “Oops sorry ‘bout that lady, I thought they were goin’to have a piece of me.” He took off his hat and continued. “Is the man of the house about, like to have a word if I could?” He drawled.

  “No, he’s not here right now, what do you want?” She replied a little rudely, unsure about this stranger.

  “S’pose I should introduce myself. I’m Doug. Doug Brown.”

  “Hello Doug, my name’s Ellen Delaney. Now how can I help you?”

  The dogs were still growling under their breath, their hackles raised, pacing back and forth.

  “I’m looking for work if the truth be known, travelled some distance looking for it in fact. Had no luck up till now.”

  “And what sort of work would you be looking for Mister Brown?”

  “Well Ellen, I’m good with my hands, if you know what I mean?” He looked Ellen in the eye and tried to smile but it turned into more of a sneer.

  Stony faced, Ellen stared back at him, her intense emerald eyes cutting through his swagger so that the man had to look away, embarrassed. “You’ve come to the wrong place Mister Brown; we have nothing for you here... Goodbye; and I wish you luck in your search. Jess, Tess, around back!” Ellen started closing the door.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause offence Ellen, it was a dumb comment. Not good with women ya see. ‘Specially pretty ones.” He smiled properly this time. “I’m desperate for somethin’ ta eat, haven’t eaten prop’ly for days now. If ya could just see ya way to givin’ me some tucker I’ll be on my way and leave ya in peace,” pleaded the man.

  “Mister Brown I can’t be giving food away to anybody who asks. There is a war on you know and I have mouths to feed. Any extra we produce goes to the war effort or sold to pay our bills. I just don’t have food to give away like you suggest!” She chided.

  “I agree Ellen. Agree with everythin’ you’re sayin’, that’s why I’m offerin’ ta work for me supper. Anyone can see ya need a hand ‘round here. The gorse is gettin’ away on ya, those fences need mendin’ and those windfalls aren’t goin’ to saw and chop themselves and be stacked for next winter. I don’t reckon you’ll be able ta do that by yerself and ya son’s not ‘goin to be much help if he’s as young as he sounds.”

  “What do you know about my son? I never mentioned him,” said Ellen alarmingly.

  He looked at his feet and kicked a stone with his boot. Looking up again he said “Okay, I’ll come clean with ya Ellen. I spoke to ya neighbour up the road a bit, a Mr. Flynn is it? Anyway he told me that ya may be needin’ a hand, that things have got on top of ya a bit. Look I know you’ve lost ya husband Ellen and that ya tryin’ ta bring a son up and run a farm on ya own. Things have got ta be tough for ya. I can help Ellen. And all I ask is a roof over me head a
nd belly full of tucker.”

  Tears welled in Ellen’s eyes as she heard her misfortunes being rattled off by this stranger. She shook with the anger that began to erupt inside her. Then she lost control “GET THE FUCK OFF MY LAND YOU BASTARD. GET OFF NOW, BEFORE I SET THE DOGS ONTO YA!” She screamed. Then a little quieter she said “Flynn has no right to be telling every person he meets my life story, no right at all! How dare he say I’m not coping, I’ve coped since 1941 without my husband and I can cope now! I don’t need anyone’s help, not yours and not those bloody nosey neighbours who spout off tellin’ strangers everybody’s business. Now go before I see the need to fetch the rifle!”

  The dogs were back snarling, growling, barking, close to attacking.

  “Okay Ellen,” the man said calmly. “I’ll go, but don’t blame Mr. Flynn for this; he was just tryin’ ta help ya I believe. From what he was sayin’ he sounded kinda proud of ya. He knows it’s been tough on ya, it’s been tough on everyone this damn war, some more than others though. From what I understand the neighbours like ta help ya but they got their own farms ta run as well. Look around ya Ellen. Ya may be coping in life but are ya winnin’ in life? Are ya really winnin’ in life Ellen?”

  He stood staring into those emerald eyes. Ellen couldn’t answer and bit her lip to stop it trembling. She looked away from him, he had touched a nerve.

  He continued. “I’ll be off now and I’ll leave ya to it. Remember I’m willin’ ta help ya if ya want. Send ya boy out to find me if ya change ya mind. Tell him I’ll be followin’ the road towards town.” He tipped his hat, turned and walked away, the dogs slinking behind him growling, snarling.

  “Jess, Tess come here; get round back!” She ordered then went back inside slamming the door behind her.

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  Doug was looking for a place to camp for the night when he heard the distinct sound of horse hooves clip clopping, on the road behind him. He smiled to himself as he guessed who it may be.