Tim Winton - Cloudstreet

That’s what?

We stay.

You weren’t really gunna sell, Sam? said Lester, squeezing off an allergenic chord.

No. Some Abo told me it wasn’t worth the money. Actually he said it was bad luck.

That was me! said Dolly, and I’m no Abo.

I dunno, I forget. It was election day. The bugger laughed when I asked him how he voted.

He didn’t vote, said Rose, matter of fact.

What?

Blacks haven’t got the vote, she said.

Sam put his cup on the saucer. Jesus, that’s a bit rough, isn’t it? They need a union.

Rose laughed.

Well, he was shitty for a reason, then. He basically said I was pissweak.

Remember which side of the corridor you’re on! Oriel bellowed. The language!

Well, he was right, said Dolly.

Now, now, said Lester.

More tea? asked Elaine.

Yairs. A toast.

What to?

To us, said Lester. And this old place.

Ere, ere.

God bless er, an all who sink in er.

Gawd, he’s gunna play the national anthem.

Lester! Give over.

Fish, get yer fingers out of it, let him play the song.

That’s a royalist song. Play an Australian song.

They’re all Irish.

The stove roared and hissed from in the kitchen, and heat swelled the house and pressed the families’ shadows into the wallpaper. Oriel Lamb punished her multifabric hanky, thinking that it was something at least, a gain before a loss.

All down the street you could hear them singing, those mad buggers from Cloudstreet, sounding like a footy match.

Inland

Quick was up at dawn, folding some tarps, throwing a shovel and axe into the boot of the X-ray Rugby, carrying out a box of groceries, the billy and frypan, some blankets and toys with Fish at his elbow.

Quick? Quick?

Yes, mate. Hop out the way a sec.

Me, too, Quick.

Look out. Here, hold the door open. What?

I wanna go.

No, Fish.

I wanna.

I’m sorry, mate.

Please is the magic word.

You can’t, mate. This is just for me and Rose and Harry.

And me!

Quick sidestepped him a little, but Fish pressed him against the cold, beaded fender of the car. He was big now, solid, going to fat, wetlipped and tonguesome, and Quick felt the power in the hands flattened against his chest. Oh, shit, he thought, I could do without this.

We’ll see, orright?

Fish looked sideways, considering. I wanna.

We’ll see. Just let me get packed.

Up in the old library, he woke Rose. She rolled his way in a spray of black hair, and he had a mind to slip straight in beside her without delay, but it didn’t seem the moment.

Hi.

Everything alright?

Yeah, I’m packed and all. There’s only breakfast to have. Bloody Fish wants to come, though. I’m tryin to figure out a way of tellin him. Thought maybe he’d listen to you.

Rose lay back with Harry stirring beside her. She let out a sour burst of morning breath and closed her eyes.

Get him packed, then.

What? This is our bloody holiday! We haven’t taken a holiday in—

And neither’s he, Quick. Get him packed before I change my mind.

I’ll wait till you do.

If he wants to come, let him come.

Rose, we’ve orready got Harry to think of. Fish is a big retarded bloke and he’ll cause us a lot of problems that we could do without on a holiday.

Rose grabbed him by the shirt. Listen to yourself. Big retarded bloke — it’s Fish for Godsake.

Mum’ll never let him go.

Oh, crap, You still afraid of your mother?

Why are you so keen?

Well, he’s asked you, hasn’t he? Probably begged you, I imagine. If I said no, we’d both drive out of here feeling like a pair of right bastards. They’d have to lock him in his room and you’d go dark on me for a week. I’d be sitting with Quick Lamb the Absent for a week. I want a good time. I’ve brought Anna Karenin and I want to lie back somewhere feeding Harry with you reading it to us. Fish’ll like that, too. He’s always game for a story.

Gawd.

Go and tell them.

Quick slid onto her, tucked his head into her neck.

The things a man does when he’s in love.

There’s worse yet, Quick Lamb, I’ve got other demands.

From the forested hills, across the scarp and down into the green rolling midlands beyond, the old X-ray Rugby sputters and clatters its way east on the kind of late spring morning that promises hayfever, boiling radiators, carsickness and landscape fever. When they hit the wheatlands and they’re all sung out from ‘Roll Out the Barrel’ to ‘Rock Around the Clock’, Rose slides across the seat to snuggle against Quick.

Well? Where to?

Quick shrugs. A fishin hole somewhere.

She cuffs him. Come on, let’s decide.

It’s an adventure, you don’t decide these things.

Well, there’s Harry and Fish to think of. We need a bit of a plan.

Now she says.

Quick watches the broad breadcoloured flatness spreading before him. He’s thinking of what Sam said last night, a blackfella warning him off. It’s like the stuff he learned as a kid. Wise men and angels. Fools and strangers. Principalities and powers. Works and wonders. He sees Fish watching him in the rearview mirror.

I always wanted to see Southern Cross.

Yeah? Rose sound dubious. Why?

Dunno. The name I guess. Because of the stars. I used to watch them out here when I was a shooter.

Is it far?

A few hours more.

Okay. Let’s make a stop soon, though. Give the boys a stretch. Southern Cross, eh. That sounds like our adventure.

Lookit the water! The water! Fish yells. Lookthewater! His head shoves up over the seat and his arms spread up on the upholstery behind them. He points forward out through the windscreen at the heatrippks pooling and writhing on the road in the distance. Ah! Hurry, Quick. The water.

They pass through bald, silent wheat towns: Cunderdin, Kellerberrin, Merredin, Bodallin, inland beyond rivers, beyond rain and pleasure, out to where they are homeless, where they have never belonged.

Southern Cross turns out to be just a wheat town. Squat. Plain. With a rarefied air of boredom, almost a tangible purity of boredom that blows in through the windows as they roll down the main street past diagonally parked utes and council bins. Harry and Fish are asleep on the back seat. Dust and pollen settle on the upholstery. Rose’s eyes water and Quick can’t help but smile.

Well. So much for that idea, Rose said through her hanky. On with the adventure.

You know, it’s just how I thought it’d be.

How small our dreams are.

The main street finishes and they’re back on the highway, still crawling.

Was that what you were expecting?

What did you want — Ayer’s Rock?

I’m sorry.

It’s just a wheat town. I used to live in one just like it. I went to a church there where they actually called me Brother Lamb, and at night I shot kangaroos. It was a nice life. Those kind of towns are like heaven, in a way.

Rose blew her nose. Why didn’t you stop, then?

I only wanted to stop if I saw someone I knew.

Who’re you gunna know out here, Quick? For Godsake.

I just took a chance. A Pickles sort of impulse.

And how did the knife turn, Lambsy?

Oh, I reckon it’s still turnin.

I don’t get you at all mate. I think I married a bloody lunatic.

Out on the plain Rose sees the great travelling shadows of clouds moving with them, overtaking them, marching east.

The Shifty Shadow, she says with a chuckle that isn’t quite genuine.