Me, Antman and Fleabag was in the river country visitin Antman’s mob.
We was stayin with Antman’s uncle, Old Billy Swindle. He lives on the riverbank with his dog, Kooru, and his goat, Mona Lisa. He was born there, under a tree. He aint never left. He’s got a little caravan to sleep in and a tin shelter that’s got a table, chairs, a kerosene fridge and a portable gas stove. He’s got a battery radio, a guitar and a dartboard.
Old Billy aint never had a job cos he don’t pay rent. He grows his own vegies, catches his own meat and fish and Mona Lisa gives him plenty of milk. If he needs cash he traps some foxes and sells the pelts. Everyone’s been tryin for years to git im ta go and live in town.
‘C’mon, Unc,’ all his mob says to him. ‘We’ll git you a nice little flat. Everything’s inside. Ya can have a little garden if ya want.’
He’s even run a coupla social workers off his camp with a shotgun in the past when they was tryin to tell him it would be best if he lived in town. He reckoned he’d be the fuckin judge of what was best for him. Those fullas got a bit windy of him after that and pretty well left him alone. Suited Unc just fine.
Seems Uncle Billy told em ta stick their flats up their arses. He reckons it’s livin in little boxes where ya shit and piss inside where ya supposed to be eatin that makes us blackfullas sick.
‘It’s no good for the old blackfulla ta live that way,’ he reckons.
And he’s probably right cos he aint been sick a day in his life.
Old Billy aint never married neither cos all the women he was ever with wanted to live in a house in town. They wanted him ta git a job too. But he wasn’t havin any of that. He don’t like bein back-chatted either, and he reckons women can’t help doin that. ‘Best ta leave em alone,’ he says.
Anyway, one day we was fishin for yeller belly with Uncle Billy. We was just sittin there real quiet when we hear these speed boats. They sounded like mosquitoes in the distance and then they got louder and louder and ya could hear fullas yellin and laughin.
Next thing ya know the boats are flyin past us at a hundred miles and hour, churnin the water up and frightenin the birds clean outta the trees.
Unc looks at us. ‘By the fuckinjesus,’ he says. ‘Those fullas have got the dust flyin now.’
Me and Ant looks at one another. Ant goes, ‘Ya not wrong, Unc.’
Nutha time we was sittin round the fire with Unc, drinkin big mugs of tea. It was really early in the mornin and the mist was still hangin over the river. We was all real quiet, like fullas are when they aint been awake for too long. So anyway, we was watchin the fire and next thing we see this bull ant start walkin up this big twig. He keeps goin. When he gits to the top, he stops for a second and then throws imself into the fire.
‘Must have been jilted,’ Unc reckons.