Free Season of Hate by Michael Costello Page A

their house with their mother, to suck on their lollies and play by themselves.
    It must have been three hours since we arrived to when Dad packed up. The casserole had been placed at the edge of the fire and the dampers under a cover away from the flies and the weather. Dad made a point of walking through the group before giving one of the larger blankets to the woman and her two children. Behind the curtained front of their shack was a filthy mattress flat on the ground and one worn blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The mother seemed a little suspicious and cautious of accepting his gift at first, but took the blanket nevertheless. The other women looked on, none to pleased.
    "I'll be back again through the week. I want to see how things are going. Take care, my friend. And remember, only put creek water you've boiled to refill the drum," Dad instructed, shaking Ganan's hand. The old man placed his other hand over Dad's in a tight grip and shook it vigorously.
    "Thank you Doctor Harry."
    As we made our way back to the car, I turned and looked at the dusty group. It seemed strange. They were all smiling and waving, despite their situation. At the time, I thought that bringing the food seemed to be a good idea, for it stopped them from killing and eating us and using our skin for slingshots.
    Driving home, Dad asked us how we felt about what we just saw.
    "They weren't like I expected," I stated, a little disappointed.
    "What, no bows and arrows and war paint?" Dad replied with a grin. He'd read my mind, again.
    "That and, I don't know ... they were friendly and that I guess, but … how come their skin's so dark?" Doug chimed in.
    "Everybody's different. Some people are tall, some short, some skinny, and some fat – all different. And some have dark skin, some pale, and others every shade in between. But underneath, we're all the same."
    "What about those two lighter kids?" I asked.
    "They're called half-castes. Half black, half white."
    "Like black and white cows?" I asked.
    "No, but I understand your thinking. No, in their case it's where their mother was black and their father was white." Then Doug piped up with a really good question, I thought.
    "Well why aren't they living with him in his house?"
    "That's very complicated. The upshot is the father doesn't want the kids even though they're his, because he had them out of wedlock and in all probability he's already married to a white woman." Dad noticed we were struggling to understand.
    "But if he was already married, isn't he wedlocked?" Doug offered.
    "To another woman, not the mother of these two kids. You can't be married to two women at once. And these kids were born to another woman other than his legal wife." Dad tried to explain but our faces showed we weren't comprehending fully. "The woman you're talking about is Ganan's daughter. And as you both saw, they live separately in camp. For some reason, they're not fully accepted by all of the tribe – especially the women. I think its got something to do with the fact she's Ganan's daughter."
    "That's not fair," reasoned Doug.
    It all seemed very confusing to me at the time. Doug and Dad both had light olive skin that tanned, while mine was white and freckly like Nan's and burnt easily. But no one was mean to us. I sat there thinking for a bit.
    "I'm glad we live in a warm house with plenty of food and that. I'm glad we have you Dad," I eventually added.
    He patted my leg as he looked across at Doug and me with affection, before going into one of his quiet thinking spells.
    "Boys, remember when I talked about taking an oath to help everybody who needs my help?"
    "Yeah," we sung in unison.
    "Well a long time ago, a very important British religious leader called William Penn once put it something like this: 'I expect to pass through this life but once …'" he paused to remember the exact words. "'If therefore, there be kindness I can show, or any good thing I can do for any fellow being, let me do it