wasn’t too sure about it, and now he was positive they did exist after all, because he was on trial for ratting because of them and he was a little angry with them for it too.
Judge McNulty rubbed his chin and scratched his head a lot. And then Old Sid, that whiskery bastard—as Mum called him—got up with a bandage over his nose and testified and called my father “mentally deranged” and lots of other things, including a “low-down piece of roo shit.” And some of Old Sid’s miner-mates backed him up and talked a lot about how much my dad would drink and how he was always interested in other people’s opal and where they had found it. And that confirmed he was a ratter as far as they could see. And then a policeman said how he saw Dad snotting Sid in the nose, only he didn’t say “snotting.”
Well, according to Mum, the judge fidgeted around and whispered things to people. And then McNulty looked at the little jury and told them that the whole question of Mr. Rex Williamson’s guilt depended on whether it should be considered a crime to hit someone on the nose when they have called you a ratter and also on whether the jury believed he was really out looking for his daughter’s imaginary friends that night. And he told the jury that meant they needed to work out for themselves how real they thought Pobby and Dingan
were.
And Mum said you could see the jury mulling it over, and whispering the names Pobby and Dingan over plenty, and she reckoned that most of them were thinking, “Since half the town has been out looking for Pobby and Dingan, why couldn’t it just be possible that the father of Kellyanne Williamson was looking as well?” And then the jury heard from my dad that a funeral of Pobby and Dingan was taking place the next day, organized by his son Ashmol Williamson, and if the judge wanted he and the jury could come along and see what real people they had been. And then Old Sid and his lawyer complained that the funeral had been dreamt up to distract from Rex Williamson’s crime and that Pobby and Dingan were just invented on the spot as a sort of cover-up.
Mum told me that then Judge McNulty did lots of racking of his brains, and sometimes he looked a bit pale, but eventually he decided to break up the court until it was possible to interview Kellyanne. But he only did it after asking Sid about his family. And Sid said he hadn’t got any, and that his wife had died twenty years ago. And the judge asked him if he ever talked to her privately even though she was dead. And Sid said he did sometimes, when he was up at the agitator, because his wife used to help him sift through opal dirt because she had better eyes than he did. But I don’t think Sid realized what was going on, that the sly old Judge McNulty had trapped him into admitting that everybody has an imaginary friend of some kind even if you don’t think they have, and that Old Sid himself was a bit on the short-sighted side.
After that, McNulty announced that the court was going to come together again when Kellyanne was better. And at the end of the proceedings only about twenty or thirty people were outside the courtroom to throw cabbages and things at my dad and hiss: “Ratter. Ratter. Ratter. Ratter.” And only one bloke had a banner saying POBBY AND DINGAN WERE RATTERS on it in red paint like blood.
16
Well, to be honest, all this trial stuff cheered me up no end, and the next day Mum and me got ready for the funeral of Pobby and Dingan with smiles on our faces while Dad went off to fetch Kellyanne from the hospital.
Mum had bought me some new black pants and a black sweatshirt, and so we went out all comfortably to the cemetery and decorated the fence with flowers and opened up the gate. And the priest came and talked things through with us, you know, about what the proceedings were. And Mr. Dan drove up around ten o’clock and shuffled around a little awkward in his suit and tie. And then the coffins of Pobby and Dingan
Judge McNulty rubbed his chin and scratched his head a lot. And then Old Sid, that whiskery bastard—as Mum called him—got up with a bandage over his nose and testified and called my father “mentally deranged” and lots of other things, including a “low-down piece of roo shit.” And some of Old Sid’s miner-mates backed him up and talked a lot about how much my dad would drink and how he was always interested in other people’s opal and where they had found it. And that confirmed he was a ratter as far as they could see. And then a policeman said how he saw Dad snotting Sid in the nose, only he didn’t say “snotting.”
Well, according to Mum, the judge fidgeted around and whispered things to people. And then McNulty looked at the little jury and told them that the whole question of Mr. Rex Williamson’s guilt depended on whether it should be considered a crime to hit someone on the nose when they have called you a ratter and also on whether the jury believed he was really out looking for his daughter’s imaginary friends that night. And he told the jury that meant they needed to work out for themselves how real they thought Pobby and Dingan
were.
And Mum said you could see the jury mulling it over, and whispering the names Pobby and Dingan over plenty, and she reckoned that most of them were thinking, “Since half the town has been out looking for Pobby and Dingan, why couldn’t it just be possible that the father of Kellyanne Williamson was looking as well?” And then the jury heard from my dad that a funeral of Pobby and Dingan was taking place the next day, organized by his son Ashmol Williamson, and if the judge wanted he and the jury could come along and see what real people they had been. And then Old Sid and his lawyer complained that the funeral had been dreamt up to distract from Rex Williamson’s crime and that Pobby and Dingan were just invented on the spot as a sort of cover-up.
Mum told me that then Judge McNulty did lots of racking of his brains, and sometimes he looked a bit pale, but eventually he decided to break up the court until it was possible to interview Kellyanne. But he only did it after asking Sid about his family. And Sid said he hadn’t got any, and that his wife had died twenty years ago. And the judge asked him if he ever talked to her privately even though she was dead. And Sid said he did sometimes, when he was up at the agitator, because his wife used to help him sift through opal dirt because she had better eyes than he did. But I don’t think Sid realized what was going on, that the sly old Judge McNulty had trapped him into admitting that everybody has an imaginary friend of some kind even if you don’t think they have, and that Old Sid himself was a bit on the short-sighted side.
After that, McNulty announced that the court was going to come together again when Kellyanne was better. And at the end of the proceedings only about twenty or thirty people were outside the courtroom to throw cabbages and things at my dad and hiss: “Ratter. Ratter. Ratter. Ratter.” And only one bloke had a banner saying POBBY AND DINGAN WERE RATTERS on it in red paint like blood.
16
Well, to be honest, all this trial stuff cheered me up no end, and the next day Mum and me got ready for the funeral of Pobby and Dingan with smiles on our faces while Dad went off to fetch Kellyanne from the hospital.
Mum had bought me some new black pants and a black sweatshirt, and so we went out all comfortably to the cemetery and decorated the fence with flowers and opened up the gate. And the priest came and talked things through with us, you know, about what the proceedings were. And Mr. Dan drove up around ten o’clock and shuffled around a little awkward in his suit and tie. And then the coffins of Pobby and Dingan
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