John Davis - Talk to Me Tenderly, Tell Me Lies

‘Isn’t it?’ he grinned.

‘No!’ she laughed. ‘You beast! No, no, no, I’ll have you know I’m a pillar of Australian society! I’m the lady they all talk about in reverent whispers in Burraville! I’m the After-lady in the Before and After advertisements! Have another beer?’ She sparkled at him, clutching her puppy: ‘I will if you will …’

Dundee was waddling around the kitchen, sniffing here, sniffing there, occasionally squatting. Helen pulled some paper off the kitchen roll and dropped it on a puddle.

‘I’ll start teaching him tomorrow,’ she said cheerfully.

‘But,’ Ben said, ‘I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye and thank you. What kind of hippy do you take me for?’

‘I know that now. But I didn’t this morning with a king-size hangover and a terrible case of the blues. And you’re not a hippy.’

He gave that smile. ‘Aren’t I? What’s a hippy? Some guy who doesn’t give a shit about making money and just takes off?’

‘On a 1000cc Thunderbird!’

‘Harley-Davidson. Anyway, that makes me a hippy in the eyes of most Australians I’ve met. Or a wandering Jew, which is worse.’ He added: ‘Without the commercial instinct anymore.’

Helen had moved on to the wine which Ben had produced from his saddle-bags. She held up her glass: ‘Here’s to the wandering Jewish hippy on his 1000cc Harley-Thunderbird then!’ She took a big sip. ‘Did you ever have it? The commercial instinct, I mean.’

‘You can’t spend your life in the diamond trade and not have it, baby.’ (She wished he wouldn’t call her ‘baby’.) ‘You can’t spend your life amongst Jews – even if your name’s Sunninghill – and not have it. Cash-flow,’ he rubbed his fingers together, ‘that’s what business life’s about. But,’ he shrugged, ‘no more, for Mrs Sonnenberg’s little boy.’

She said enviously: ‘But you’ve got enough cash-flow to say to hell with it.’

‘Enough? Yes, if I take it easy on the fleshpots.’

‘And when it starts running low?’

‘I’ll work somewhere for a bit. I’ve got my jeweller’s tools with me; jewellers can always get a job. Anyway, what I’m going to do soon is buy a small yacht – you can always make a bit of money with a boat.’

‘A yacht?’ she echoed, almost indignantly. ‘I thought you were going back to Africa to do your foot-soldiering for the animals?’

‘I am. But when I get back to Africa I’ll need a home of some kind. So instead of paying rent I’ll buy a yacht and that’ll be my base – a mobile one. Between stints in the bush I’ll sail it here and there. In fact, when I get back to Perth I’ll buy a boat there, if I find one at the right price, stick my motorbike on the stern and sail back to Africa.’

Helen didn’t know how much of this to believe – it all sounded too romantically macho for a little New York jeweller. ‘Single-handed?’

Ben shrugged. ‘I’ll try to find somebody who wants to come along for the ride. But, if not – sure, single-handed.’

She looked at him, trying to imagine him doing it. The wind in his hair, his beak-nose to the flying spray. ‘So you really are an intrepid sailor?’

‘It’s not such a big deal, crossing oceans. There’re no rocks out there, are there? The danger for a boat is when you get near the real-estate. It’s like flying an airplane – the higher you are, the more air you have beneath you, the safer you are.’

Helen wasn’t so sure he had a licence to fly a plane either. But it was fun to talk. ‘What about the big waves?’

‘Well,’ Ben admitted, ‘I haven’t crossed an ocean on a small boat yet. But there’s probably more danger from big trucks when riding a motorbike. However, I’ve done a lot of sailing round New York. I know the winds – what to do with them, how to harness them.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe my Jewishness – getting something for nothing. The wind, the elements, they’re free – and non-polluting. It’s very satisfying working with the sea. So clean. So … harmonious with Nature.’ He shrugged. ‘Sure, I can cross an ocean.’

Helen sighed. She believed him. ‘And how much will such a boat cost?’

‘Maybe forty thousand bucks. Depending on where you buy it, its condition and so forth. But I can fix just about anything.’

She believed it. His self-confidence was infectious. ‘And you can always make money out of a boat, huh?’

‘Well, you don’t pay rent, for a start. And if I run low on money I’ll look for yachtsmen who want their boats fixed up. Ten bucks an hour.’ He shrugged. ‘Easy, I’ve tried it. Walk along any marina and holler “Who wants jobs done?” Plenty of work. Anyway, I don’t need much. A bag of rice goes a long way, and the seas are full of fish.’

Oh, she envied him his freedom from worries. That reminded her of Billy. ‘I must radio Clyde at lunchtime about Billy. The bastard’s still drunk. Drunker. His wife too and you know what they’ve done? Torn the bloody door off the hut and used it for firewood!’ She waved a hand. ‘Plenty of wood out there. But no – the door.’

‘Really?’ He added: ‘And what will Clyde do about it, two thousand miles away?’

She glanced at him and sighed.

‘Nothing, I guess. He’ll tell me to get on with it.’

‘And do what?’

She nodded wearily. ‘What indeed? Give him a bollocking when he sobers up. What else? I can’t fire him – I’d just have to look for another Abbo stockman. The devil I know is better than the one I don’t.’

‘So you’re radioing Clyde for his sympathy?’

Helen raised her eyebrows wanly. ‘Guess so.’

Ben sat back and shrugged. ‘Sure. Why not? That’s what marriage is all about. And you deserve sympathy.’

She glanced at him. Was that sincere? She decided it was.

‘No, you’re right – I won’t call him. I called him only last week, and it’s quite a performance to get hold of him. I’ve got to radio the mine captain’s office and get them to tell Clyde to stand by the radio at a certain hour, then call back.’

‘Does Clyde ever call you?’

‘Occasionally. But it’s a favour really, to use the mine captain’s office – he doesn’t like asking too often. And it’s not very satisfactory – you can’t get too personal on the air, can you? Anybody can listen in if they find your frequency. He won’t discuss money, for example – he doesn’t like the neighbours to know we’re hard-up. Though it’s obvious – why else is he on the mines? And,’ she smirked, ‘he can never bring himself to tell me he loves me.’

Ben raised his eyebrows.

‘Well, as long as he tells you in private …’ He paused, then: ‘Does he?’

For a moment she wondered about that question’s possible direction. ‘Of course he does.’

‘Enough?’

She was taken aback by his persistence. No matter how grateful she was for his help and company, she didn’t like that. She frowned. ‘Yes. Why?’

He disarmed her with his impish smile. ‘Because I’m told it’s very important. And I’ve heard that Aussie men are often a bit too macho to show much affection. I’ve heard that the definition of an Aussie male’s foreplay is’ – he put on a creditable Australian accent – ‘“You awake, luv?” Heard that in a New York bar, from an Aussie girl.’

She smiled. ‘Yes, that’s an old one. And I believe it’s mostly true, unfortunately.’

‘But not in Clyde’s case?’

She resented that. Too familiar. ‘No!’

Ben sat back. ‘Sorry.’ He smiled self-effacingly: ‘Too familiar.’

Again she was disarmed, and surprised at his perceptiveness. Word for word!

‘It’s all right.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘But what do you mean you’re “told” demonstration of affection is important? Don’t you know ?’