Free The Beloved by Annah Faulkner Page B

swallowed. The lump in my throat wouldn’t go down. The truck began to reverse, its whine filling the air. It came level. A black face peered out.
    â€˜Where you going, piccaninny?’
    There were whiskers around his mouth and the whites of his eyes were yellow. I jammed my sticks into the dirt. My head was wobbling so hard it nearly fell off. I took a step forward.
    â€˜Hey, piccanin’.’ He put the truck in gear and snailed along beside me. ‘I arksed you where you going?’ He leaned his elbow on the window as he drove, rolling a cigarette and licking its edge with a purple tongue. ‘You lost? You want a lift?’
    â€˜No. My father’s coming. He’s coming right now and he’ll get you. Go away!’
    He grinned.
    I swung a stick over my head. ‘I’ll bash you!’
    He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and snorted. ‘You wanna walk? Walk. Doesn’t bother me.’ He spat and a slimy gob hit my boot. I stared at it sliding down the leather; heard him put the truck in gear. Gradually the sound of it grew small.
    The pain in my leg was like the goblins had bitten right through. I sat down at the side of the road by a ditch. Where was my father? The sun burned. I picked up a stone, drew stringy hair and whiskers in the dirt.
    In the distance, I heard another motor. A car was barrelling down the road towards me, a small brown blob that got bigger and bigger. I slithered into the ditch and made myself small. I heard the car coming closer and closer and . . . slow . . . slower. Tyres crunched across the gravel.
    The engine stopped. For a moment everything was quiet, and then came a voice. A man’s voice. Not Dad’s.
    â€˜I’m sure I saw something,’ he said.
    I reached out and filled my hands with stones. A shadow fell across me. I pulled my arm back and flung the stones as hard as I could.
    â€˜Shite!’
    I grabbed two more fistfuls.
    â€˜Bertie, no!’
    Mama?
    She slid down beside me. ‘God almighty, baby, are you all right?’ She pulled me against her chest.
    â€˜Is she all right?’
    I pulled back my hand.
    Mama put hers over mine. ‘It’s okay, Bertie; it’s Doug Davies from down the road.’
    We sat in the back seat of his car. Mama cupped her hands. ‘You can give me the stones now, love. You’re safe.’
    I would have given her the stones but my hands wouldn’t let go.
    â€˜Never mind.’ She dusted my face. ‘What on earth made you walk? Don’t you know how dangerous it is for a little girl out there on her own? Anything could have happened to you, sugar . Anything.’

    Timmy was sprawled at the end of the couch poking at blisters on his heel. Mama held a cup of Milo while I drank. My hands still wouldn’t let go the stones.
    We heard the jeep crunch into the yard. A heavy red ring appeared around Mama’s neck.
    He whistled as he came up the stairs. Bounced in and tossed his Gladstone bag on a chair. ‘Hello, all.’
    I stared at his face as it began to shift and drop.
    â€˜What’s wrong?’ he said.
    Mama put down the Milo. ‘You left your children.’
    Dad sucked in his breath. ‘Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I forgot.’
    â€˜They waited over an hour for you then Tim ran home, two and a half miles in this stinking heat to get help for his sister who was forced to wait alone at school – aged seven, if you remember, but old enough to work out that I couldn’t go back for her because I didn’t have a car. So she decided to walk home and guess where we found her, Doug Davies and I? In a ditch at the side of the road because a man had come along and scared the pants off her. Look at her. Look at her hands. She can’t let go of the stones. How could you?’

    Mama put socks over my hands before I went to bed and during the night the stones fell out. Tim and I went to school the next day on the bus. We put