The farm boy in Martin came out when we entered the expansive property in the Wimmera district of Victoria. Dad had driven down with us as well to stay with his brother Adam. Loan had flown back to Vietnam. The two had an arrangement in which she stayed alternative months with Adam and during that time cooked masses of great Vietnamese food kept in containers in the giant freezer. I sampled some of her cooking when we first arrived and I’m hooked forever on Asian food. Martin is easy peasy but generally he’s a meat and potatoes man.
I still can see the look on Martin’s face after he asked Adam how big the property was.
Forever the laconic Aussie, even more so than Dad, who is usually 180 degrees, Adam replied, first taking off his usually fixed bucket hat and scratching the back of his head. ‘Ten thousand acres.’
I held Martin’s right arm because I thought he’d faint.
‘Holy mother of God,’ he breathed and just shook his head.
I helped him through his wonderment. ‘This is dry land. He needs that much for a big broad-acre crop. Wheat, barley, oats, lots of canola and some lucerne as well. And a lot of sheep in the back paddock.’
The dogs barked and ran out when they heard the giant tractor start up. Adam opened the door and in they jumped with wagging tails. I remembered Grandad when they all went with him throughout the day, killing any snakes which were about.
I turned to Dad. He knew I’d ask about Ted, his great Labrador.
Dad pointed. ‘Up on that hill.’
I brought Martin into the conversation as well. ‘Martin, do you remember when Dad sent photos of Ted? He said Ted followed me home but I heard a different story of how Dad came to have him. Ted went to live on the farm later as Dad was away a lot. He was a great mate.’
Adam joined in singing the praises of Ted the Lab. However, Dad made no further comment about how he acquired Ted.
Adam spoke. ‘Well, jump in, young fella.’
Martin obeyed and off they went all day.
I heard the noise of the tractor coming back around five o’clock and saw the dogs jumping about in the cabin. My man was driving. He jumped down with a wonderful look on his face and hugged me. I brushed his shoulder and stared at him. He had a look which I had not seen before.
He patted the wheel of the machine. ‘Thanks so much, Adam. Never been on one this big before. Hell, mate, air-conditioned cabin listening to Suzie’s CDs and nursing the dogs all day.’ Martin loves dogs as much as my family does. He shook Adam’s hand.
Then something I had never remembered from the quiet Adam: Adam hugged him and said, ‘Any time, young fella – any time.’
Later that night Martin was still in bewilderment about the high-tech machine with its computer which tells the driver when to sow, the expected profit, which ground has more moisture and so on. I went to sleep while he was telling me the whole story. But I was very happy we had come to the farm of my childhood.
Jane and my nephew Michael visited each day because they were not far away. There were a lot of family matters to catch up with. Shane is in the Army Reserve and is a military police officer. He told us that he was soon to go on a six-month tour of duty to East Timor. It was a training assist role and the money was very good, enough to pay off the mortgage. Dad cornered him later outside. I suspect he was telling him about some of the dangers in the developing country. I never had any bad vibes about his tour and guessed he would come through OK. Martin said nothing about East Timor but I think he knew more than he was letting on.
I sat on my old bed in the house a few days before we left to visit Rosemary, our cousin in Canberra. Martin dearly wanted to see the War Memorial.
The room was deadly quiet. It was a breezy day and the windows were shut. I was thinking about Mum and how she used to read stories to me. I looked under the bed and there was the old suitcase of my school days. I opened the case and found my Beatrix Potter books. My hand brushed the cover of my favourite. I opened the book and sniffed. A familiar aroma of lavender and rose scent came into my senses. They were Joan’s favourite and I clearly recall how she brushed the underside of her left wrist with the perfume throughout the day. I looked at my feet and saw my shiny black school shoes. My feet were crossed. I looked down and saw at my feet my old school lunch box and I opened it. There was an alfoil-wrapped sandwich with tuna, lettuce and an apple in the box as crisp as the day when I sat there. The alfoil was flat without any creases. Mum used to say, ‘Smooth as a baby’s bum.’ That’s what she was like. Who would take the trouble nowadays to run an iron over a piece of alfoil?
Wind came from nowhere, blowing the mobiles still fixed to the ceiling. I looked into the bedside dresser and froze at the sight: she was sitting alongside of me, misty, but it was her all right. I felt no freezing cold (which is supposed to be the announcement of spirits about). She was knitting and occasionally looking up. I dared not turn around lest she fade.
I picked up the Beatrix Potter book, still open at the first page, and placed it on my right side, where she sat. I whispered, ‘Read me a story, Mum, please, please,’ as if I had reverted to a six-year-old child.
I heard the pages being flicked over.
Then her voice, a bit quieter than I remembered, not like her great belly-rocking laugh: ‘This is a good one, dear.’
I sat stunned while she read the three pages. I could not resist it. I turned my head very slowly and then she misted away to wherever spirits go when they’re tired. I looked back in the mirror. She had definitely gone. I cried and cried yet felt a strong hand on my shoulder and saw her wedding ring still in place.
‘Don’t worry, dear. It’s all in God’s hands.’ It was a raspy whisper.
I stood and heard a fading belly laugh which stopped near a door which I had closed but was now wide open. The wind gusted in and blew away my mum, back into the other world.
In spite of what Martin said, I hadn’t gone to sleep. ‘It wasn’t a dream, mate.’
He knew not to meddle with my psychic senses.
I told Dad later.
‘She comes to me a lot, Suzie.’
He held my hand very firmly the next day on the drive to the airport. I was in my trackies, wearing my Pumas as well.
There was a waiting time and I visited the toilet, which isn’t a place one would expect to find spirits. The door was closed. I reached over for the toilet paper and was amazed when it floated in the air and then I heard her laugh, ‘I’m so proud of you, love. So proud.’
I stood and flushed the loo, put the roll back on the hook and walked up to see Martin and Dad. How did I explain this one to them? I felt the flushed energy all over my face. I paused, waiting for their attention.
‘Listen, both of you. She was there in the toilet. She touched me. I know it.’
Dad spoke first. ‘Well, why not? Humans spend a lot of time in dunnies, you know.’
Martin giggled but stopped when Dad went on, ‘Shit, she’s just laughed in my left ear. It’s her. I know that laugh real well.’
I hugged Dad and walked to the plane. When I looked back to wave, he was standing there having a bellowing laugh along with Mum, I opined, on his own. I guess people walking past him would cast furtive glances and rush away from the mental man talking and laughing to himself. However, I know and he knows and maybe Martin does as well, Dad was not alone, in spite of a crowded airport with strangers flashing past intent on their own journey and not noticing the man talking to a loved one in another world.