It was a special feast day of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and Sister Agnes told us that if God hadn’t answered our prayers, we could pray to Mary for help because she was his mother. Being Catholic, I understand that God has extraordinary powers – he made the world, didn’t he? But how can your mother be a virgin unless you’re adopted? Harry and I talked about some of these things last year, and he’d assured me that Mary might’ve been a virgin before she fell pregnant with Jesus, but even if it was an immaculate conception, nobody who has given birth could still be a virgin. I see his point but I have a few unanswered questions, not all to do with religion, and I’m not sure who to ask.
To celebrate the Virgin Mary’s feast day, Mrs Lucas was cooking up a feast for dinner. All going to plan, yabby, rabbit and chook would be on the menu, but we had to catch and kill them first.
‘When the hens stop layin’ they’re only good for one thing,’ Mrs Lucas said.
I watched in horror as Lance wrung the neck of the first chook then dropped it on the ground to pick up the next one. He wrung its neck with a quick twist of his large man hands.
‘Here, Joe, I kept these last two for ya. Ya not scared of a couple o’ chooks, are ya?’
‘No!’
‘Joe’s scared o’ the chickens! Bok bok bok bok bok bok!’ Lance strutted around, flapping his elbows and making chook noises.
When I was little, I watched Dad wring a chook’s neck in our backyard. It was the last one we had left – all the others had died. Her name was Cleopatra.
‘I’ve got to help Henry skin some rabbits. I’m late – he’ll be waiting for me,’ I said, running off with Pete and Charlie following close behind.
‘Why didn’t ya do it?’ Charlie asked.
‘He didn’t hafta if he didn’t want. Lance was bein’ an idiot,’ said Pete, who always sticks up for me, no matter what.
‘Ya still shoulda done it,’ said Charlie.
‘Well, I’m sick of doing everything that Lance tells me to!’
Henry was kneeling down on a patch of grass outside the barn, skinning a dead rabbit. While we’d been busy milking cows early that morning, Henry had been out shooting rabbits. ‘Easy targets,’ he said. ‘There they were in the veggie garden, munchin’ away on the spinach. Four shots is all it took; scared the others off – they disappeared quick smart. As soon as they came back, I was waitin’ for ’em an’ banged a couple more.’ Henry cut chunks of flesh off the skinned rabbit and handed them to me. ‘They’re for the yabby traps. Go down to the creek an’ see what ya can catch for the feast tonight. Yabbies love fresh meat – works every time. I’ll skin these other bunnies and get ’em to Mrs Lucas for the stew.’
Charlie and Pete got the yabby traps out of the barn while I carried the fresh chunks of rabbit meat. They felt warm and slimy, and I tried not to look at them. As we walked down the track to the creek, I thought about Kit’s letter. I could feel it in my side pocket and it was reassuring to hear the sound of the paper scrunching as I walked.
We sat on the creek bank, threading chunks of meat onto hooks inside the yabby traps. After doing up the catches, we lifted the traps by their ropes, swung them backwards and forwards and threw them into the water. Sitting back down on the grassy bank, we watched the traps sink slowly.
‘It’s my birthday on Thursday,’ I said.
‘Mrs Lucas is gunna be busy bakin’ another cake!’ said Pete.
‘How old will ya be?’ Charlie asked.
‘Thirteen.’ I threw a rock into the creek but instead of skimming the surface, it sank.
‘Idiot, ya’ll scare all the yabbies away!’ Lance said as he sat down on the grass next to me. There were some ducks swimming further up the creek, taking it in turns to flap their wings and splash water. Lance threw rocks at them and they flew off. I went to say something to him but changed my mind.
‘Anyone ever tell ya ’bout Racin’ the Moon?’ he asked.
‘What’s that?’ I said, trying not to sound too interested.
‘It’s a Farm tradition, got banned by Sister Agnes ’bout two years ago. Every spring, at the start o’ the first full moon, Henry’d take some boys on a night hike to say prayers on top o’ the mountain. That’s what he told Sister Agnes an’ she believed ’im.’
‘As if she’d believe they’d climb up there to pray!’ Pete said, laughing.
He had a point.
‘Probably hoped you’d run away and never come back,’ I said.
We all laughed. Lance gave me a filthy look.
‘When ya go Racin’ the Moon, ya hafta leave as soon as ya can after the moon comes up, then try an’ beat it to the top o’ the mountain. I went with Henry an’ the boys two years ago. Henry an’ I used hatchets to cut all the vines an’ branches that had grown over the track from the year before. It’s rockier an’ steeper than ya think. We got down on our hands an’ knees in some places. Henry showed us a secret cave with rock paintin’ done by some Aboriginals who used to come up every year from the coast. Took us three hours to get to the top but it was worth it.’
‘Did you beat the moon?’ I asked.
‘We sure did!’
‘What did ya do when ya got there?’ Charlie asked.
‘Probably howled at the moon,’ I said, laughing.
Lance hit me across the head. ‘I’ve just ’bout had enough o’ ya. We didn’t howl at the moon – we told stories ’bout murders, ghosts, yowies an’ stupid boys like you. Billy was one o’ the new boys. He got spooked an’ tried to run back down the mountain, but he ran the wrong way. Before I could stop ’im, he ran right off the top o’ the cliff. Tried to find ’im on our way back an’ for the next couple o’ days, but couldn’t. Henry an’ the police from Wollongong came with some dogs – still no luck. ’Bout a year later, an Aboriginal tracker was helpin’ police look for two escapees from the prison farm near Mount Kembla when they came across some bones.’
I was hanging off every word as Lance told the story of Racing the Moon; not that I believed everything he said. I was excited by the danger of it and could picture myself up there on the mountain. I wanted to climb that mountain and see the full moon up close.
Back home, I used to climb the old oak tree with Kit to hide from Dad and watch the moon rise above the rooftops. Some nights, I’d lie awake in bed for hours watching the moon through my window. Every part of my body wanted to race that moon.
As Lance stood up, he tripped over me trying to pull up one of the yabby traps. When he lifted it out of the water, it was empty. ‘Best leave ’em for another hour or so. The chooks are ready for pluckin’. Let’s go!’ he said, waiting for Charlie, Pete and me to go past, which wasn’t like him at all. Lance always likes to be first, leading, telling everybody else what to do.
When we got back to the house, there were four headless chooks hanging upside down on the clothes line with small pools of blood below on the grass. Lance came out of the kitchen carrying a bucket of water and set it down near them. ‘Put ’em in the hot water first to loosen up the feathers then they’ll come out easy,’ he said. ‘Back in a minute – I hafta take a piss.’
I’d rather get one of my teeth pulled out than to pluck a dead chook. I watched Charlie and Pete put their chooks under the hot water, and then it was my turn. I put Cleopatra to the back of my mind as best I could, and pushed my chook under for a half a minute or so, then lifted it out and started plucking. I could hear Lance’s voice nearby and some boys laughing. When I turned around, I saw Lance holding a letter. I stopped plucking to listen.
‘I hate wearin’ shorts – everyone laughs at me hairy legs. Were yer legs as hairy as mine when ya were eleven? Noni an’ Fred are getting engaged in two years when Noni turns eighteen. Woo, woo! I’d like to get a bit o’ that tart,’ he said.
My mind just snapped. I ran at Lance like a charging bull, ramming him right in the guts. ‘You bastard!’ I said, grabbing my letter. ‘And you’re a thief !’
No sooner had I put the letter in my pocket than Lance king hit me – knocking me out cold.
I woke up on the sick bed inside the house with Sister Cornelius waving something putrid under my nose.
‘You’ve got a lump the size of Queensland above that eye,’ she said. I tried to get up but the room started spinning and there was more than one Sister Cornelius. ‘You know fighting is forbidden.’
‘He started it.’
‘It doesn’t matter who started it, fighting is a sin,’ she said, bathing the lump on my head.
‘Ow, that hurts!’
‘Your eye’s swelling up – it’ll be black and blue by morning. Sister Agnes said you’ll have to go into another work team until things settle down between you and Lance. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move.’ She picked up the dish of water and left.
I looked up at the crucifix on the white wall above my head but it hurt too much. Closing my eyes, I tried to go to sleep. I might’ve scored a black eye and a massive headache, but at least I had Kit’s letter safely in my pocket.