Free Smoky Joe's Cafe by Bryce Courtenay

seen a Nog soldier cry, but I reckon he’ll do me.
    It’s nearly two o’clock, time to get the mob up to the
pub for a good night’s kip before tomorrow arvo, when we get the debrief on Shorty’s bloody stupid idea. It’s been a long day and I’ve got to get up early and clean the joint. I only pray there are no nightmares.

CHAPTER THREE
    I ’m up at sparrow fart to clean up the cafe. It looks a bit like a mine has gone off inside the joint. I’d forgotten how many tinnies eleven blokes can drink in one sitting, because, of course, Bongface doesn’t drink, though he’s got through a fair few cans of Coke. They’ve, I mean we’ve, also polished off Shorty’s plonk and there’s cold chips, tomato sauce and bits of hamburger leftovers on just about every flat surface.
    A broom and a mop, a bit of a wipe and a hose down where Animal’s been sick out the back and, by the time Wendy gets in around eight o’clock, the place is ship-shape and ready to trade.
    Three of the old-timers are in for their regular breakfast. They eat at Smoky Joe’s and not at the pub because they’ve all had a blue with Willy McGregor some time in the past. As there is only one pub in town they’re forced
to drink his grog, but they’re buggered if they’re gunna give Willy a penny more than their thirst demands. Small towns are like that, forgiveness comes real slow.
    Wendy feeds Anna and gets her mum up and into her wheelchair. The old chook is already grumbling but Wendy takes no notice, she’s always cheerful around Anna and won’t let the old girl spoil the day. First she does her mother’s hair while the silly old bugger holds up a mirror and gives instructions. Struth, she’s foreman material all right, can’t help herself, she does bugger all except carp and criticise and I can hear her all the way downstairs as she has a go at Wendy. ‘Yer never get it right, do you. You want me to look old, that’s it isn’t it, old and miserable!’
    I hear Wendy laugh, ‘Mum, you are old and miserable but I love you anyway.’
    â€˜That’s what you say to me but what do you tell him, eh? Behind the door when you think nobody can hear!’
    â€˜Been sneaking up in your wheelchair, looking through the keyhole have you, Mum?’
    â€˜Humph! Don’t think because I’m sick I can’t hear. Nothing wrong with me ears, girlie.’
    â€˜What do you hear then?’ I hear Wendy say, her voice still light.

    â€˜Never you mind. Plenty!’
    There’s a pause and I can imagine Wendy sighing. ‘Half your luck, Mum, there’s not a whole lot going on in our bedroom you couldn’t tell in Sunday School.’
    I can feel myself getting hot around the neck. She’s right of course, I haven’t made love to her in months and when I do it ain’t exactly fireworks.
    â€˜Nanna says I’m sick because of Daddy,’ I hear Anna shout out. ‘Is that true, Mummy?’
    â€˜Mum! How dare you!’ I can hear Wendy’s anger. Then, ‘No, darling, it’s just something that happens sometimes in families. We’re going to make you better.’
    Now there is silence upstairs and I groan, stupid old bitch has gone and upset Wendy. She’ll be real quiet when she comes down and when I ask, ‘What’s the matter?’ she’ll say, ‘Nothing, it’s just Mum.’
    Then I hear Anna giggling and I know Wendy’s plaiting her hair and tickling her under the nose with the fuzzy end of the completed plait before she asks Anna what colour ribbon she wants.
    The old biddy will be sitting with her back turned to them feeding her face with a bowl of Cornflakes, milk dribbling down her chin. I wish she’d hurry up and die and leave us in peace. I wouldn’t put it past her to leave
her half of Smoky Joe’s to the Anglican bishop instead of her daughter!