CHAPTER SIX

THE JUDGE AND JURY IN BLUE

A whole day passed and Charlie’s words about the calm before the storm were quite prophetic. Tim and Charlie and Sam who dropped by occasionally, observed the police make up to ten arrests. The police were serving men and women with warrants which in some cases were years old and forgotten by the Koories themselves.

All of the black dealers had been busted except for those who had hidden their stash. The white dealers up the road continued to sell their marijuana unabated. The few junkies who remained on the block were starting to experience the severity of their self-imposed sentence. Tim did not judge the junkies, only lamenting the predicament which forced them to run after the white powder that in the end would kill them.

Charlie motioned at a figure coming down the street. It was a man in his thirties, and his woman was running towards him from the other end of the street carrying a baby. They didn’t even acknowledge each other. Their eyes were glassy and hanging out of their sockets. They turned and jogged past Tim and Charlie. By now it was obvious that the man had just scored some hammer and it had been some time since the last one. Tim knew the man and used to look up to him when he was younger and more innocent. He epitomised strength and fighting qualities then, but now was like a shadow of that figure.

It was early afternoon and Tim wanted to go for a walk. He would’ve preferred to go to the beach but he couldn’t be bothered being hassled by the transport system. Just once up and around the shops, perhaps a shish-kebab on a pitta and a few bets at the TAB.

Sam was at the TAB and was completely down on his luck. Tim avoided having a bet after Sam bit him for ten dollars, and he soon left the TAB to go back down to the block. The atmosphere ‘uptown’ was peaceful and relaxed. A far cry from the harassment and squalor which the indigenous residents had to endure. Tim was jealous of the peace every other Australian enjoyed while hearing rhetoric from the government about how well it treated ‘its blacks’.

Tim shrugged these thoughts off as he turned into Eveleigh Street. He recognised several faces and nodded and smiled a happy g’day. Being happy didn’t dispel the feeling of oppression which had intensified over the last couple of days. A police car cruising down Louis Street did nothing to revive his confidence in the reconciliation process being offered by the white governments, both state and federal.

Charlie was sitting with the old man when Tim got back. The old man had been busking earlier in the day and paint was still on his face. A number of one-and two-dollar coins were on the table. They sat and smoked, drank tea and talked for an hour or so.

“I thought the police or other featherfoots would get to me before this would,” the old man said, holding up his bag of pot and then laughing.

“Other featherfoots, old fella?” Tim asked.

“Don’t worry about me, they been on my back since my first initiation.” The old man then added, “The opposition have got featherfoots too.”

“What law do we operate under?” Tim asked.

“The law written in your heart, boy. Our mates across the road don’t have any such laws. They don’t care about the little fellas like we do.”

“So they got money and power and we got a motley crew,” said Tim.

“Better a motley crew with heart than money and power with a dick for brains,” said the old man. Then he stood up and told them that he had to visit another old friend.

Sam turned up as the old man was leaving. It was obvious he had lost at the TAB so Tim didn’t talk about it. Charlie was about to go and drop some things off to Sylvia. He wanted to check to see how she was handling things. Tim was glad Sam was there and thought he’d probably tag along with him for the rest of the afternoon for something to do. Sam had a friend in Glebe who owed him some money so they set off for there. The pub they went to was frequented by black students who attended an Aboriginal college close by. Tim had been there before and got so drunk and stoned with the students that he had put it on his “Don’t go there” list.

Today there were a couple of students and some punters and the rest of the pub was filled up with regulars. Tim relented about gambling that day when he saw a horse that he normally followed taking its place in the field. He’d have a good go at it, he thought, and put five dollars each way. Sam’s friend was not there, so Tim lent him twenty dollars. He was able to be generous because he’d saved money to come down to Sydney and it was not a problem. They made their bets and Tim shouted a couple of schooners. “I’m glad I live in the bush,” Tim said.

“Why?” enquired Sam.

“Because I can dry out when I go home!” He shook his hands and added a mock expression akin to a cold-turkey-stage alcoholic.

They listened to the race and Tim’s horse was in a photo for third. “I hope the one on the inside gets third,” said Sam and showed Tim his ticket. Tim then started hoping he’d get beaten too. “Ya got a cigarette?” Sam asked.

“I’m out, I’ll get a packet.” Tim got up and went to the bar. The barmaid smiled brightly at Tim and asked, “Anything else?” when she handed over the change for the cigarette machine. Tim said, “No” and added, “But I’m sure I’ll be back,” and she laughed. Tim wasn’t very good at picking if women were just being friendly or giving him the come-on. He asked Sam if he knew her. Sam had a good look and said, “She’s new, been here a couple of weeks, I think.” Tim gave her a lingering look and she smiled at him. Sam observed this exchange and pushed Tim in her direction by downing his schooner and telling Tim to get two more.

Sam’s horse won the photo, unknown to Tim. He returned with the beer and saw Sam grinning like a Cheshire cat. They did the high fives and the “fuckin’ good on ya” bit while startled patrons looked on. After they settled down, Sam suggested that Tim should ask the barmaid out. “I don’t like asking barmaids out,” Tim stated emphatically.

“I’ve got to go to Newtown in half an hour,” said Sam. “I’ll have a couple of more bets and go.”

“Righteo.”

Sam made his bets and collected his winnings at the same time. He discreetly handed Tim a hundred, adding, “This’ll help ya buy a few drinks tonight.” They left the pub and Tim started walking. “Hey. Fuck that walking, let’s catch a cab. I’ll drop you in Redfern.”

Tim opened the door at Charlie’s at around nine o’clock next morning. Sam was sitting at the table with a woman he introduced as Cindy. There was a half bottle of whiskey and a bag of pot on the table. Sam was obviously half drunk.

“This arsehole”—talking at Cindy, not to her—“this arsehole was too frightened to ask a woman out.” Sam tended to swear a lot when he got drunk.

Tim unconsciously picked up the bag of dope to roll a joint.

“Yeah, that’d be right. Go out all night and come home and smoke me dope. Ya fuckin’ bastard.” Sam roared a couple of decibels higher than the stereo next door, and Tim concluded that Sam was not half but fully drunk.

“Where’s Charlie?” Tim asked while rolling.

“No idea,” was Sam’s answer.

They smoked the joint and Sam took Cindy up to the room Tim slept in. He was glad to see them go, because Sam could get quite aggressive when drunk, although harmless. He put the kettle on and rummaged through the fridge for something to cook.

Feeling satisfied after breakfast, he put a Paul Kelly tape on and sat back to think. The music was quite calming and soon he nodded off on the couch. He woke up to see Charlie coming through the door. Tim got up, stretched and followed him into the kitchen.

“Bit of a late night,” mused Charlie. “You’ll end up with alcohol poisoning.”

“I don’t mind, most of my friends drink and smoke. You know the old saying, when in Rome...” Tim smiled. “That’s funny, she didn’t say a word when she was down here,” he added as they heard moaning coming from upstairs.

“Sylvia’s play opens tonight in Surry Hills. Are you gonna come along?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah, I’d love to come.” Tim laughed as he explained to Charlie that when he was out of a job and broke, he used to go to opening nights to get a feed.

“You’re silly, you’ve got lots of friends in Sydney.”

“I got sick of putting the bite on ‘em. It will be good though. I haven’t been to the theatre since I left.”

“Yea, theatre is good. At least our kids open up a bit and laugh and enjoy themselves.” Charlie said. Then his expression became serious and he added, “Cause when they get back here they got fuck all.”

“A few radicals don’t go astray when the goin’ gets tough,” said Tim.

“Yes, we need them too,” Charlie agreed. “But I don’t reckon it helps our kids much.”

“It looks as though Louise might’ve been dobbed in to the police,” said Charlie, offering his suspicions. “Sylvia’s been having trouble with some people on the Land Council.”

“I wouldn’t look into it too much. The coppers probably put the heavy on some youngsters. You know the story. Especially in this climate.”

“I’m not taking sides, Tim. Sylvia can deal with those problems. It’s just when innocent people get hurt, I start gettin’ jack of it.”

“Well, they’ve cleaned most of the blacks out in Redfern. They might go away now,” Tim said hopefully.

Sylvia and the old man were sitting beside Louise in the intensive care unit of the Prince Alfred Hospital. They talked quietly while Sylvia held Louise’s hand.

“I know the worst is over. I don’t feel angry anymore. It’s gonna take a lot to nurse her back to health,” said Sylvia to the old man who was observing Louise as she slept.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, she’ll be right.”

“She’s been traumatised so much since she was a little kid. She should have been spared this horror. Heroin! The bastards should be strung up,” added Sylvia painfully. “Isn’t the government supposed to send in people to sort out the problems and help the community get back on its feet after something like this? No way that’ll ever happen in Redfern.”

The old man’s concern turned to Sylvia, “You know the New South Wales Land Council is involved in this.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle. I’ll be getting out soon.” They sat together in silence, watching Louise.

Then Sylvia stood up, “I have to get ready for the show tonight, buy some flowers and stuff for the cast.” She added, “I hope you’re coming.”

“I am,” the old man reassured her.

They took a bus into town and the old man got off at Central Railway Station while Sylvia continued on. When he got back to Redfern he went to Charlie’s house.

Charlie and Tim were sitting around in the kitchen talking. The old man explained where he’d been and Charlie enquired about Louise. “She’s alright, out of the worst part. Just gotta wait now,” replied the old man. Cindy, Sam’s friend, had left by now and Sam came unsteadily downstairs. It was after midday and the daily paper was spread across the kitchen table. Charlie and Tim had been studying an article about crime and Redfern Koories. All good intentions and hyperbole from the press cashing in on a murder, Tim thought.

“Where are the races today?” asked Sam, grabbing the sporting section out of the paper and heading for the toilet. Charlie inclined his head over his shoulder at Sam and Tim chuckled with him.

“What are you bastards laughing at?” came a strained voice from the bathroom.

“You, ya silly goose.” Charlie laughed.

They sat and talked with the old man for an hour or so while smoking pot and cigarettes over cups of tea.

“You know the cycle. This one stands up and has his day and then he gets knocked down. The next one gets up and then he gets knocked down. It’s an ancient process on this planet,” the old man said. He then continued, “There are only a few who know what we’re up to and they’re shit scared of Minna. You’ll beat him. He’s old and ugly. He’s been on the payroll of the mining company that has a vested interest in which way the New South Wales Land Council votes.”

Tim was thinking hard and was pleased to hear the old man had faith in him. “There’s another mob working with TNT and other major businessmen to shift the Koories out of Redfern. Now we can ask ourselves this question. ‘Why is Redfern full of drugs, alcohol and dirt poor blacks?’”

They topped up their tea and kept talking.

“This fella, Tim,” the old man said as he moved closer, “I missed him ten years ago.” And then the old man mimicks a bird. “Flew away just like that.”

Tim realised that he was being asked to do away with a whiteman.

“Someone taught him in the ways of our people.”

“Who?” Tim asked.

The old man looked hard at Tim and said, “A greedy featherfoot from our clan.”

“Where’s he now, old fella?”

“He’s dead.”

Tim didn’t have to figure out why.

“He calls himself a blackfella but he’s not, and he’s doin’ a lot a damage.”

“Wouldn’t be a rich white diamond miner,” Tim mumbled to himself.

The old man took off his shirt and showed Tim three scars. “Feel this,” he said. Tim felt one of the scars an unusual lump within it. “These scars make your magic very powerful.”

The old man paused. “If you succeed you will get one of these,” he said, and he held up a small diamond that glistened as the light bounced off it. “I been telling them fellas in the centre that you’ll be coming and that you’ll have this with you. I call it The Wind. If I didn’t have to call you in it would’ve been mine.”

“I won’t let you down, old fella.” Tim reassured him.

Sam headed for the TAB while Tim and Charlie kept talking with the old man. The old man finally got up to leave, saying he had to contact some places where he’d been booked to perform. Charlie offered him the use of his phone but the old man declined, preferring to walk and get some exercise. Tim walked the old man out to the street. The old man wandered down the street purposefully, ignoring the police car driving past. Tim made up his mind to go and see a movie, by himself if necessary. Charlie was still waiting to see whether it was safe to sell pot again.

The old man was deep in thought on the way up to the Cross. He was wondering how Tim would handle his final job. The old man was a bit sad because it would be the last time he would see Tim in his capacity as his teacher.