terracotta pot in the hall.
People came into the shop and there were the Lamb girls, the unmistakeable Lamb girls with their dresses sewn from the same conglomerate of scrap material their mother seemed to tack together in bolts, and their severe hairdos and priceless complexions, their efficiency and sharpness. All of them knew how to count, and the twins had begun to take other forms of arithmetic as well, especially when soldiers came into the shop, bored and fatheaded. Sometimes Yanks came in flashing their big teeth, slapping on the accent thick as bread. They were boys with the voices of men, and it sent the Lamb girls absolutely troppo. Hat had a broad smile and she was starting to look like a woman. Elaine was already prone to ‘spells’ and she never smiled much for fear of seeming young and simple. Red was just a tomboy, she didn’t think about smiling or not smiling. There was a gap, now that Fish wasn’t being the ratbag of the family, and Red was out to fill it. She beat boys at cricket and she terrorized the bike sheds at school with the way she could throw a punch.
The Lamb girls didn’t speak to each other much, but when they did they all agreed that things were on the up.
Medicine
By May, when a chill had come into the nights and the street was subdued and indoorsy after dark with the Lambs’ chooks racked along their perch like mumbling hats, and the air so still you could hear the sea miles off and the river tide eating at the land, Lester and Oriel went to bed bonesore but grateful. It was a time when they talked like the old comrades they were, the way they’d bedtalked in those early farm years before the Depression when the kids hadn’t yet crowded them back into reputation and role.
You know what I miss? Lester said. The singin, that’s what I miss.
Talkin church again. Lester yull always miss singin, army, church or school.
Worldly songs are pretty, love, but the old church songs, they’re beautiful, you gotta say it.
Yairs, she said, it’s true enough. But we shouldn’t talk about it. It’ll only upset us.
Strike, we hold a grudge, Orry.
My oath, she grinned in the halfdark.
The house shifted on its stumps. Their new rooster crowed itself stupid ten hours short of daybreak.
Quick’s lookin blue, said Lester.
Well, Oriel murmured, that’s natural enough.
Blames himself, thinks we blame him.
Don’t we?
Lester turned onto his back to see the ceiling mottled with streetlight. I don’t know. I know it’s not his fault. Why would it be? It’s just what happened.
But do you blame him?
Lester said nothing.
We blame him, she said. And I blame you. And God.
It scares me, he said, hearin you think like that.
Me too, she said. I can’t help it. I’m a sinner, Lest.
Do you ever wish you were like her next door?
Oriel sniffed. Mrs Pickles? No. I couldn’t take ten minutes of it.
She’s hard as nails.
Hard as lard, you mean. I’m the one hard as nails.
Lester coughed out a laugh.
We can’t help it, Oriel said vaguely, none of us can.
You always said people can help anythin and everythin.
That was once.
What about Fish?
Least of all Fish.
No, no, I meant what are we gunna do with him?
We’ll give him the gentlest life we can, we’ll make it the best for him we know how.
Lester agonized. How do we know what’s best? How do we make him happy? What does he think?
Oriel thought about this. It’s like he’s three years old …
You know, Lester says, almost giggly with relief, we’ve never talked about him like this since it—
Lester be quiet, I’m thinkin.
He waited. Lester thought about poor old Fish, that skylarking ratbag turned brainless overnight. There’d been times he’d thought the kid was better dead than to have to live all his life as a child, but he knew that being alive was being alive and you couldn’t tamper with that, you couldn’t underestimate it. Life was something you didn’t argue with, because when it came down to it, whether
People came into the shop and there were the Lamb girls, the unmistakeable Lamb girls with their dresses sewn from the same conglomerate of scrap material their mother seemed to tack together in bolts, and their severe hairdos and priceless complexions, their efficiency and sharpness. All of them knew how to count, and the twins had begun to take other forms of arithmetic as well, especially when soldiers came into the shop, bored and fatheaded. Sometimes Yanks came in flashing their big teeth, slapping on the accent thick as bread. They were boys with the voices of men, and it sent the Lamb girls absolutely troppo. Hat had a broad smile and she was starting to look like a woman. Elaine was already prone to ‘spells’ and she never smiled much for fear of seeming young and simple. Red was just a tomboy, she didn’t think about smiling or not smiling. There was a gap, now that Fish wasn’t being the ratbag of the family, and Red was out to fill it. She beat boys at cricket and she terrorized the bike sheds at school with the way she could throw a punch.
The Lamb girls didn’t speak to each other much, but when they did they all agreed that things were on the up.
Medicine
By May, when a chill had come into the nights and the street was subdued and indoorsy after dark with the Lambs’ chooks racked along their perch like mumbling hats, and the air so still you could hear the sea miles off and the river tide eating at the land, Lester and Oriel went to bed bonesore but grateful. It was a time when they talked like the old comrades they were, the way they’d bedtalked in those early farm years before the Depression when the kids hadn’t yet crowded them back into reputation and role.
You know what I miss? Lester said. The singin, that’s what I miss.
Talkin church again. Lester yull always miss singin, army, church or school.
Worldly songs are pretty, love, but the old church songs, they’re beautiful, you gotta say it.
Yairs, she said, it’s true enough. But we shouldn’t talk about it. It’ll only upset us.
Strike, we hold a grudge, Orry.
My oath, she grinned in the halfdark.
The house shifted on its stumps. Their new rooster crowed itself stupid ten hours short of daybreak.
Quick’s lookin blue, said Lester.
Well, Oriel murmured, that’s natural enough.
Blames himself, thinks we blame him.
Don’t we?
Lester turned onto his back to see the ceiling mottled with streetlight. I don’t know. I know it’s not his fault. Why would it be? It’s just what happened.
But do you blame him?
Lester said nothing.
We blame him, she said. And I blame you. And God.
It scares me, he said, hearin you think like that.
Me too, she said. I can’t help it. I’m a sinner, Lest.
Do you ever wish you were like her next door?
Oriel sniffed. Mrs Pickles? No. I couldn’t take ten minutes of it.
She’s hard as nails.
Hard as lard, you mean. I’m the one hard as nails.
Lester coughed out a laugh.
We can’t help it, Oriel said vaguely, none of us can.
You always said people can help anythin and everythin.
That was once.
What about Fish?
Least of all Fish.
No, no, I meant what are we gunna do with him?
We’ll give him the gentlest life we can, we’ll make it the best for him we know how.
Lester agonized. How do we know what’s best? How do we make him happy? What does he think?
Oriel thought about this. It’s like he’s three years old …
You know, Lester says, almost giggly with relief, we’ve never talked about him like this since it—
Lester be quiet, I’m thinkin.
He waited. Lester thought about poor old Fish, that skylarking ratbag turned brainless overnight. There’d been times he’d thought the kid was better dead than to have to live all his life as a child, but he knew that being alive was being alive and you couldn’t tamper with that, you couldn’t underestimate it. Life was something you didn’t argue with, because when it came down to it, whether
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