Free True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey Page A

adjectival glutton.
    Mrs Kelly now you know that aint polite.
    He’s already ate 20 quid of mine to pay his solicitors and he still aint in the clear. I don’t know why we don’t let the b– – – – rs hang him.
    Well what is called gluttony in one man is a healthy appetite in someone else.
    My mother leaned back on her bench and crossed her arms.
    She don’t like him whispered Dan and at 1st he appeared to be correct my mother’s expression had now turned v. hard.
    I have a fellow’s normal appetites Mrs Kelly.
    Annie give a groan she pulled a pillow across her head and commenced to kick at us again.
    But said Harry I have been so denied the satisfaction of one of them that I envy any cove what can eat as freely as James Kelly. I have a stricture in my bowels said he.
    Annie come out from under the pillow hissing into my ear that I should put Dan back into his bed but I were watching Harry remove his big thick hobble belt twisting it to illustrate the exact nature of the stricture and I seen how this demonstration made my mother soften it were a very rapid transformation that he extracted from her Is that so my mother said.
    Later I would watch Harry do this so frequent that I were no longer amazed at the uses to which he could put his bowels but this 1st time were a wonder to see the glow in my mother’s eye and the angle of her head displaying a very powerful female sympathy. Would a little bacon tempt you Harry?
    It would damn me Ellen.
    Do you fancy lamb?
    I dream of lamb said Harry Power I like it very pink and tender.
    He licked his lips delicately and my mother gazed at him distractedly she asked him what of beef?
    The very same.
    They went through a list of every known animal and I found the conversation both confusing and disturbing and I saw the way my mother took the belt when Harry offered it and how she rolled it neatly and then smoothed it on her lap. I had been very taken with Harry Power but as he looked at her neck and bared his teeth I didnt like him not at all.
    Excuse me I called.
    O Holy Jesus my mother cried.
    Does Mr Power think Uncle James could be got off being hung?
    Harry Power glowered up at me. What is it boy?
    Its Uncle James Kelly. We never wished him hanged.
    Harry took the belt back from my mother wrapping it once more around his girth he seemed very out of temper.
    The trouble with your Uncle James is that his solicitor is a famous fool.
    That had a sharp effect upon my mother she did not like to hear this low opinion of how she spent her hard earned money.
    Harry’s tumbler were not empty but she suddenly picked up both the glasses and removed them to the skillion.
    What would you have me do she called.
    Zinke.
    Whats that?
    A solicitor in Beechworth he’s the boyo for us Zinke’s your man Ellen.
    When she come out from the skillion her hands were empty her eyes were hard and black as buttons. Zinke!
    But just as she come to the precipice of her famous temper at that very moment Harry Power extended his hand seeming to caress her palm then withdrew again leaving her as peaceful as a broody hen.
    You give this to Mr Zinke said he and he will get James Kelly put safe and sound where no rope can attach to him.
    I could not see the 10 gold sovereigns from the foot of Annie’s crib but certainly heard my mother crying and saw her seize the cove’s broad and damaged hands and cover them with tears and kisses. In a settler’s hut the smallest flutter of a mother’s eyelids are like a tin sheet rattling in the wind.
    Angry bunions swollen veins it were a queer thing to see a stranger’s big flat feet sticking out the bottom of my mother’s blanket next morning and to be honest I will confess I would much prefer that she invited no new husbands to her bed but seeing as I couldnt have this wish then I preferred old Harry Power. No woman was ever the worse for knowing me he told me once and even allowing for his feet and bowels he were far superior to the other coves who come