Aunty Sugar is an old devil. She likes makin people shame, specially young fullas. I remember when I first took Antman out ta meet her. Aunt’s got a big old tea chest she calls her glory box. It’s full a sheets and towels, pillowcases, tablecloths, pots and pans, cups and saucers. Her ma and dad started it for her when she was a little kid. They wanted her to have all the things they didn’t when she finally grew up and married. The thing is Aunty Sugar never did git married. She was thirty-six before they stopped buyin her stuff.
Aunty Sugar just wasn’t one for the lads. She liked muckin round with em, havin a drink and laugh, but she reckoned she never met one that pushed any of her buttons. She worked all her life as a shearers’ cook and earned a lot of money and owned a little house just outside town. She decked out the place with a lotta stuff from the glory box, but there was so much more in there she wouldn’t ever use. So on birthdays, all her nieces, if they was around, got ta go and pick somethin out of all the things that was left as a present.
Aunty never had any romance as far as anyone can tell. Ma reckons a nurse come to work at the hospital one time and her and Aunt spent a lot a time together. Reckoned they was real sweet on each other. But Ma reckoned Sugar just wasn’t able to come ta terms with what she was feelin, so the nurse left town. Ma reckoned that nurse cried like her heart was breakin when she got on the train and went back to the city. No one saw Aunty Sugar for a long while after that. Ma reckoned she told her she was a fuckin fool for lettin that chance for a bit of love and happiness git away. Aunt looked at her like she didn’t know what she was talkin bout. But ya can’t fool Ma. Not ever.
Anyway, Aunty Sugar got over it all and seemed content livin in her little house, with her bantam roosters and three dogs and cookin for the shearin teams.
But like I said, she was a devil. Anyway, this time I was out home for my birthday and she sent Dad up to fetch me. So me, Antman and Fleabag went out to her place. She was out the back in the yard collectin some eggs from her chooks when we turned up. She’s got everything out there. A vegie patch, grape vines, fruit trees. She’s always sendin eggs and fruit to relations. She turns to us with a box of eggs and tells us to take em home to Ma and Dad.
She gives me a big kiss and hug for me birthday and says, ‘you know where the glory box is, baby girl. Go and pick somethin out for your present.’ So I goes in and all the stuff’s wrapped in tissue paper and packed up nice and neat and there’s mothballs scattered all around. The smell of camphor is overpowerin.
Ant aint ever smelt it before so when Aunty comes in he asks her what the smell is and Aunty Sugar tells him, ‘It’s mothballs, boy. Aint you ever seen mothballs?’
‘Course I have,’ reckons Ant. ‘I just forgot what they smelt like.’
‘So you’ve not only seen mothballs, you’ve smelt em too! Well tell me, boy, how’d ya git their little legs open?’
I aint ever seen a blackfulla go red till that day. Aunty Sugar roared with laughter.
She looks over at me and starts wipin her eyes with her hanky and says, ‘It’s an old one but a good one eh, daught?’
‘Sure is, Aunt,’ I reckoned. I had ta borrow a hanky meself.
Aunty Sugar don’t mind shamin whitefullas either. I remember one time we was all at a weddin. It was one of her nephews and he was marryin a white girl. Her brother told her she could go but reckoned she wasn’t allowed to muck up and drink too much and give cheek. She promised she’d behave. ‘On my dyin oath, brother,’ she reckoned.
So she turns up and she’s all dolled up and bein nice as pie. She’s sittin with me and Ma, Dad and Antman and tryin her level best not ta fuck up. She was goin real good too. We nearly got to the end of the night and Aunt hadn’t insulted anyone, and as much as it was killin her cos it was free, she was goin real easy on the grog.
Anyway, right towards the end of the reception one of the old white women from the bride’s family comes over to our table for a yarn. She’d been loosenin up a bottle of gin and had a bit of the old wobbly boot on. She plonked herself down next to Aunt and started makin small talk. Aunt was nice as pie answerin all the lady’s questions and keepin a ‘civil tongue in her head’ just like Uncle wanted her too. The lady told Aunt how the family had been worried about Gretchen marryin an Aboriginal at first, but he’s turned out to be such a lovely boy. ‘My gosh,’ she said, ‘if you closed your eyes you would think you were talking to a white man when you’re talking to Dane.’
Aunty grit her teeth and says, ‘Yeh, I don’t know how, but sometime we fluke a good one.’
‘You certainly do,’ said the lady takin another swig from her gin.
Then the lady started complimentin Aunt on her good looks and her nice skin and Aunt’s lappin it up. Then she asks Aunt how old she is and Aunt tells hers she’s sixty-five.
The old lady looks surprised. ‘Sixty-five?’ she says. ‘How unusual. I didn’t think you Aboriginal people lived that long. I mean with all the violence and the alcohol and the drugs and whatnot.’
‘Well,’ says Aunt, takin a big slug of beer and fixin her large black eyes on the lady. ‘Well, my dear,’ she says in a really flash voice. ‘I only sniff unleaded petrol.’
Even though Uncle told us to keep an eye on Aunt and chip her if she mucked up, we couldn’t help ourselves. The whole table just busted out laughin.
The old white lady looked at Aunt in a confused sort of way. Then when she at last realised she was gittin the piss taken she got up and staggered off. Unc saw the commotion and come stormin over. When we told im what happened he started laughin too. He went and got Aunt a fresh beer. A whole jug all to herself.