Free Crow Country by Kate Constable Page A

arguing.’ He added in a low voice, ‘You get on home, Jimmy.’
    â€˜I got to speak with Mr Mortlock,’ said Jimmy.
    â€˜Telling me I’m not allowed to dam Cross Creek!’ shouted Mr Mortlock. ‘Bloody cheek! Mustn’t do this, mustn’t do that! You’d think it was his own damn land!’
    â€˜Not my country. But this is my business.’ Jimmy stood tall, unmoving. Mr Mortlock’s bluster blew past him like a breeze past an ancient red-gum tree.
    â€˜Steady on,’ said Clarry. ‘No need to get excited. Jimmy, why don’t you come along with me? You can have this talk another time.’
    â€˜Just because you’ve been to France doesn’t give you licence to cheek the boss.’ Mr Mortlock pointed a trembling finger at Jimmy. ‘You remember that, boy. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be rotting on the res- erve with the rest of your miserable, god-forsaken—’
    â€˜All right, all right, Jimmy’s coming along with me,’ said Clarry. ‘This is all a misunderstanding – things will look different in the morning, I’m sure. Good night, Gerald.’
    Mr Mortlock muttered something. Then he jam- med on his hat and lurched away round the corner of the pub. A moment later Sadie heard the sputter and cough of an automobile engine coming to life, and gravel sprayed as the motor roared away.
    Dad led Jimmy across the street; Sadie pressed herself back into the deepest shadows by the kitchen door.
    â€˜Come inside,’ Dad urged Jimmy.
    â€˜No, I got to get home.’
    There was a pause. Clarry said, ‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about, Bird?’
    Sadie had never heard Dad use Jimmy’s army nickname.
    Jimmy shook his head. ‘He wants to flood the valley.’ His voice was deep with despair.
    â€˜Well, it is his land, Jimmy,’ said Clarry. ‘Why shouldn’t he build a dam if he wants to? For heaven’s sake, some of his own family are buried in that valley. If he doesn’t mind covering their graves with water, why should you worry about it?’
    â€˜No!’ Jimmy broke away; Sadie could see the fierce light in his eyes. ‘No. He mustn’t do that.’
    â€˜Jimmy, be reasonable—’
    â€˜It’s like – it’d be like me settin’ that church on fire.’ Jimmy flung out his arm in the direction of the little weatherboard church. ‘What would you say if I set the church on fire, hey?’
    â€˜Jimmy!’ Dad’s voice was shocked. ‘You can’t let people hear you talk like that!’
    Sadie clutched at the tin basin’s rim. The new church, with the bell that everyone had scrimped to pay for, and the coloured glass in the windows. God’s own house, a sacred place. The thought of anyone burning it down filled her with a sick hor- ror.
    â€˜That’s how it is for my people,’ said Jimmy in a low voice. ‘The same thing. That place was a meeting place for our people, a holy place. You seen them trees there? They’re special trees, a special place. You understand?’
    Clarry was silent. At last he said, ‘No, Jimmy. It’s not the same, not for me. I’m sorry, but . . .’
    His voice trailed away, and the two men stood without speaking. All around them, the darkness was alive with the tiny noises of the night: the scamper and rustle of small animals, the sigh and whisper of stirring leaves, the distant creak of ancient trees.
    Clarry shook his head and lifted his hand in a gesture of regret or bewilderment or helplessness. Then he turned and let himself into the kitchen; the door groaned and banged behind him.
    Sadie whispered, ‘Jimmy?’
    Jimmy searched for her in the shadows and gave her a sad smile. ‘I thought I seen you there, hidin’ in the dark.’
    â€˜What you were telling Dad just now – I think I understand.’
    â€˜You think so?’