Free Gith by Chris Else Page B

February. It's held in the Domain, which is to the
north of Anzac Street beyond the war memorial. In the old
days it was all agricultural, with the local farmers showing
off their prize bulls or their ploughing. There was still a bit
of that, but now there were also a lot of other things, like the
classic car parade and the skeet shooting. People turned up
from all over the district to flog off their arts and crafts or
their tomato relish. The guy from Bibliotalk had a stall for his
books, and the Smeeles usually brought along a bunch of stuff
from Bank Antiques. There was live music and plenty of food
and a big tent with a bar in it. Generally, the whole thing was
just everybody walking round and having a good time.
    Ma and the Old Man got to our place first thing. Ma was
already dressed in her Victorian outfit and the Old Man had
made a special effort too. He was wearing his tweed suit and
a shirt and tie. There was even a hankie in his top pocket. He
had a walking stick to help with his sore ankle. He was still
limping a bit but he wasn't complaining.
    Ma and Gith went into the living room to get Gith's outfit
sorted out and the Old Man and I stood on the back verandah
and looked out at the sunlit paddock. He raised his stick and
pointed at our sheep.
    'How's the faecal consistency?' he asked.
    'All right,' I said.
    'Hmmph.'
    The Old Man has a thing about faecal consistency. And
faecal egg count. For a good few years he and Bill had only
been putting their ewes to rams that had droppings like
marbles and the lowest egg counts. The aim was to cut the
need for drenching and dagging. I never bothered with the
ins and outs of it but I knew they were happy with the way it
was going. One of the Old Man's proudest boasts is how little
dagging they do.
    When Gith was ready we found we had time on our hands.
Pita Ratene, who mans the pumps for us on weekends and
when we need a break, hadn't turned up.
    Pita was in his mid-fifties. He used to be an office
administrator at the freezing works in Katawai until they had
a reshuffle and he was given the push. Somehow he never got
round to finding another full-time job. I guess he figured the
kids were grown up and his mortgage was paid off so why
should he bother? He finished up spending most of his time
doing the garden and working his TAB account. Plus he did
odd jobs here and there, a bit of book-keeping or minding the
store now and again.
    While we waited for him we made a cup of tea and sat
down in the kitchen. Gith was excited, wriggling around in
her chair. It worried me a bit, this mood. If she got too wound
up she could easily get pissed off with her lack of words and
flip into a black rage. Ma and the Old Man were good with
her though. They could both get what she said and read her
hands pretty well by now, and if one didn't get her meaning
the other would generally pick it and keep things going.
    'Are Bill and Leece coming down?' I asked.
    'Leece'll be here. A bit later,' Ma said.
    'What about the kids?'
    'They'll be here.'
    'They've got jobs to do.' The Old Man made it sound like it
was good for them. What he didn't say was that Bill wouldn't
be coming because he had too much on his plate. I thought
about saying something but stopped myself. Keep the peace,
you silly bugger.
    Ma said she wanted to pop in and see how Len was doing
but the Old Man talked her out of it. There wasn't time now.
    Pita turned up, said sorry for being late, and we set off. Ma
and the Old Man went first, and Gith and I followed behind
in the Riley. It was a pretty short trip from our place, maybe
fifty metres along the main drag to the war memorial and
then left another eighty down Anzac Street to the Domain
gates. Gith took it at a steady twenty-five mph by the Riley's
old speedo.
    There was a big crowd already. Dally Yankovich was acting
    as main marshal, directing visitors to the car park and the people who were
    doing stuff to wherever they had to go. Gith wound down the window and he
    leaned