The Boy from the Brothel: An Australian Story

6

Part 1

Chapter 1

Robbie Madison

My life really began at the age of eleven, when Constable King came to our front door to tell my mother that my father was dead.

But, in reality, he was late with his news. Dad’s Labrador dog, Stupid, had been behaving strangely since mid-morning, moaning and then rushing to the front gate and looking down to the railway line at the bottom of our street. Once he hurdled the front gate, ran down to the fence bordering the railway, stopped and looked inquiringly back at me. I didn’t move so he returned at pace, hurdled the gate again and sat at my feet, looking up at me. His tail wasn’t wagging so it was no game. I thought it was just Stupid being stupid or perhaps getting ready to greet Dad when he arrived home, which would be soon.

But Stupid knew something and he was right; and my life changed.

Everything before that day is really a blur of birthdays and Christmases and sports achievements and holidays by the sea, and the bush, where I spent most of my time with Frog Smith and Merv Scholtz. We came home at dark and then only because that’s when the snakes came out and we were cold and hungry. But the snakes were the thing, although not one of us admitted it. Snakes were ok in the daytime, but we were wary, nay, scared of them at other times. An Aussie kid never admitted to that fear, ever.

This terrible day of my father’s death was the day when I started to grow up and I suddenly realized that all that had gone before was ended and I would now have to look after my mother.

I know! I was kidding myself, but that’s the way I felt. We had plenty of friends in Monto but we had no relatives, here or elsewhere in the world. We were Madisons alone.

I felt very calm and tall and grown up—in control.

My mother wasn’t home at that time and I told the Policeman that I didn’t know where she was. Not a clue. She’d gone out with Aunt Marilyn, leaving me at home this summer’s day to look after Susan, Marilyn’s daughter. We weren’t family, the Blacks and us, but Dad and Peter had grown up together as had my mother and Marilyn. We were better than family and did everything together, living next door to each other. So I suppose Mum and I weren’t really alone, were we?

All this before I knew that Peter was gone too.

Susan, who was nine, could be a drag at times, but I really liked her and put up with her, when I was left to look after her, which was often. She played with her dolls and tiny tea-sets almost endlessly. And then she’d switch to a colouring-in book and that would be the thing for the next week.

Dad and Peter were so close that they’d joined the railways together, in Queensland, and now they were together on a special trip from Gladstone to Monto and then back again to Gladstone, in Central Queensland. It was a steam train and Dad was the driver and Peter the fireman, and they couldn’t have been happier. It was an important trip, I think, from the way Mum fussed over Dad’s uniform. She even polished his watch, hanging with its chain from his waistcoat. They should have been on a diesel and I never did hear, until much later in my life, at the inquiry, why they were on an old locomotive towing a coal tender and a lot of empty wagons.

Constable King stood at the door for a fair while and then sat down on the wooden front steps.

‘I’ll wait awhile, Robbie, and see if Mum gets home soon. It’s important. What’s the matter with the dog?’

It was very hot and he was in the direct sun of a Queensland summer so I took him out a glass of cold water with Susie following me to the refrigerator for the jug; to the cabinet for the glass, watched me pour it and then ran over to open the screen door for me. She did that—like a little puppy dog.

He took it and I sat on the step beside him, grabbing hold of the Golden Labrador and making him sit quietly. But his head was up and alert.

‘I think Mum and Marilyn went down to the Railway Hotel to wait for Dad and Pete. They always sound the whistle when they come around the last bend,’ I said. Why hadn’t I told him that before? Perhaps, thinking about it now, it was because Dad didn’t like Police, and I’d picked up on that. Never tell them anything.

Constable King’s chin sagged on his chest and he said, softly, ‘Shit!’

Then, after a few minutes, he said, ‘I’ll go down there then, Robbie. Are you sure?’

This was a question from the Police so I had to be sure of my answer but I said, ‘Yes. Pretty sure. It’s Friday and they’re due home.’

He only had the old Police motorbike so he walked out to it and started it after quite a few kicks and some muffled swearing. He was overweight and puffing hard when the bike started. Susie was giggling until I shut her up.

But before he could get going, the Station Master’s car roared around the corner at the bottom of our street, and skidded to a dusty halt outside our house.

Mum and Aunt Marilyn jumped out and ran towards us. Mum snatched me up and Marilyn lifted Susie in a big hug. They were both crying. They carried us into our house and I knew then for sure that something had happened to Dad and Pete. Stupid was leaping all over Mum.

Constable King came into the house and so did the Station Master, Mr. Caldwell. They stood awkwardly while Mum clutched me and kissed me all over my face, sobbing hard. She had a lot of tears.

Marilyn was doing the same with Susie who was herself crying by now, picking up on the adults.

I just waited. Soon someone would tell me that my dad was dead and what had happened. I would cry, I thought, but nowhere in the open. I’d hide first.

Mum dragged me into the front bedroom and pulled me down on the bed with her. I’d never seen nor heard my mother cry before and it bothered me. She was so happy and lively, a singing type of person usually. She kept kissing me and pretty well soaking me with her tears.

I still didn’t cry, although I felt like it now, with my mother’s sorrow. I felt I should be joining her, in sympathy. I didn’t like to see her so unhappy. My wonderful world had collapsed.

And then she stopped and we lay there with her nearly crushing me in her embrace. I waited.

Soon there was a soft knock on the door and Marilyn came in, with Susie clinging to her.

‘Charlie, I think we should be together tonight. I’m afraid to be home without Peter. What do you think?’

The bed was a big one and my mother extended her arms to her best friend, who gently lay beside her and they took each other softly in each other’s arms. Susie had been left standing. She was looking worried and mystified and she was two years younger, and she’d always been my responsibility so I pulled her down onto the bed with me. But our mothers were now crying again and Susie was looking at me with big, worried, hazel eyes, and I had nothing to say to her. I pulled her in close and we all lay together---me and Susie and our mothers until somebody made a move. It was summer and it was very hot on that bed with four people on it.

My mother and Marilyn went quiet. I think they were asleep so I quietly moved Susie out of the bed to leave the room. I sensed huge grief and unhappiness would cloak this place for a long, long time and knew that there was a happier place in my tree-house at the back of the house. Susie was absolutely banned from the tree-house, but things were different today.

When I took her out into the lounge, Dr. Crawford and the Station Master and the Sergeant of Police were there. Stupid had been shut out and was looking longingly through the screen door.

I didn’t wait to be asked. ‘Our mothers are asleep; they’ve been crying a lot.’

I sent Susie out to the veranda at the back.

‘My father’s dead, isn’t he? The loco went off the rails didn’t it? What about Uncle Pete?’

They all looked at me in silence and I stared back. I wasn’t afraid of the truth. Dad had talked to me about accidents and what could go wrong. I’d often stood on the footplate in one of the old loco cabins while Dad explained everything and all I ever wanted to be was an engine driver like him. I worshipped him.

Dr. Crawford said, ‘I think your mother should be here with you when you hear the news, Robbie. And Marilyn, with Susie.’ Did he really think I was that dumb?

I said, ‘That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll tell Susan, but I don’t think she’ll understand. I’ll try.’

And then, realising again that, suddenly, I was the man of the house in the Madison and Black families, I spoke up.

‘If my mother and Marilyn know, then I can’t see any reason for you all to be here. It’s nice and I know you’re trying to help but I think Mum and Marilyn and Susie and me should be alone for a while. I’m taking Susie to my treehouse and we’ll be there until we get hungry.’

I meant no insult and later realized that it could have been one, but I didn’t wait—walked out the back, took Susie a glass of water and then held her small hand and said, ‘You can get in the tree-house with me, Susie, but you have to promise not to be silly. You have to stay inside the tree-house all the time and not go climbing off and you must promise that you’ll never, never come here without me. Do you promise?’ Her big eyes were solemn as she nodded her head vigorously. Susie hadn’t said a word since all this had happened.

So she climbed the ladder, with me close behind her, ready to grab her if she slipped, and she entered the hallowed space. I had mates, Frog and Merv, who came here but never a girl. But Susie was different. She looked around quickly but there wasn’t much to see. It had been packed with cricket bats being oiled and books and all sorts of things, but the summer brought rain and all those things had been stored away by my dad.

Stupid had sensed where I was and had come around to the back but had now settled quietly at the base of the tree. He looked very sad. I wonder if dogs cried.

And then it hit me. I didn’t want to cry in front of Susie—I’d never hear the end of it, so I sat in my favoured corner, pulled her over to sit between my legs, hugged her hard until she yelped and wriggled, and said, ‘Susie. You have to be very brave, now. Can you be brave? I’m trying to be brave.’

Her head nodded under my chin. Her soft hair felt nice.

‘Ok! Your Dad and my dad have gone to Heaven today, together. God needed them up there to drive his trains and so he took them. To do that, he had to make them die in an accident with their train---old 62 down. They’re both gone, Snoz, and we won’t see them again. Now let’s just sit here and think about them. Soon, people will be all over us, trying to care for us, but we have each other, Snoz, and we really only need each other. Do you believe me, Susan? Do you believe Robbie? Trust me, Susie. I’ll look after you, all your life.’

She twisted around and nodded her curly hair into my face and then settled into my arms.

She said a soft little, ‘Yes, Robbie. I think I understand. But I want Mum.’

I don’t know what she was thinking, but she was only a small girl and there was too much to take in. But she did sit silently, instead of her usual squirming and complaining, and then I think she went to sleep. And I sat holding her—my small sister, sort of--- and thought of all the great times I’d had with Robert Madison, my great mate and father, and I’d never see him again. It was more than I could take in, like Susan perhaps.

And I never cried once.

Chapter 2

Robbie

I shall never forget that day. Some memories since are blurred, but not that awful, awful day. The evening was even worse when our mothers started to scream for us in a panic until I shouted out where we were. And then I came down the ladder with Susie stepping carefully above me and inside my arms and our mothers watching anxiously. They’d stopped crying and I was guessing that they’d run out of tears.

It was a terrible week. Our mothers were great at times and then sobbing, sweaty, wet messes at other times. I stocked the tree-house with a lot of Susan’s things and when the stream of visitors began, we’d duck off there. Occasionally, we were ordered down to receive the gracious expressions of sympathy that were offered by the superior people of the town—the Shire Chairman, the local Member of Parliament and the like. I was just old enough to understand, but Susie stood, mystified, on one leg and then the other.

One magnificent day, when the Shire Chairman called, Snoz stood picking her nose. I was the only one who noticed, for a while, until Mum pushed her hand away and wiped it with her handkerchief.

The visitors were offered and accepted tea, and Mum and Marilyn spent some time baking, until Mrs. Gilchrist, next door, arrived with boxes of scones and cakes, accompanied by very strong feelings that the girls should never have been put to this trouble at this time of sorrow. That day she took me and Susie home for lunch and then again for dinner, to give Mum and Marilyn time to themselves. The funerals were coming up, or rather a joint funeral, and Mrs. Gilchrist, kind-hearted, fat Mrs. Gilchrist, understood that Mum and Marilyn wanted to look their best….she said, ‘for their men’, but I didn’t understand that one.

Frog’s father owned the hardware shop and was the undertaker and Frog explained to me and Merv that Dad and Pete were in a big refrigerator at the hospital and would be put in coffins for the funeral.

‘They both looked ok when I helped Dad get them to the hospital,’ he told me. ‘They were a bit banged up from the accident but Dad fixed all that and, Robbie, they looked good.’

Of course, I shouldn’t have known all that but it was strangely comforting. I wished I could tell Susie, but these things were beyond her understanding.

As the bad day neared, our mothers became more and more occupied with themselves; Mrs. Gilchrist took more and more care of Sue and me, and we spent more and more time in the tree-house.

But, on the Saturday morning, the day of the funeral, we seemed to be forgotten. Mrs. Gilchrist was pre-occupied with catering for the wake and Sue and I seemed to have been cut adrift.

I explained to her what was going to happen and her eyes got bigger and bigger. I tried to explain about coffins but she didn’t understand, at first, but grew alarmed as she started to understand. Her dad was being buried in a box underground! He’d never get out!

‘You told me Daddy was in Heaven, with God. How can he be in a big box in Monto,’ she said accusingly. An explanation of this was beyond the limited theological training I’d had at Sunday school.

‘What I said is true, Susan. The daddy you knew is in Heaven with God. The Daddy that everyone else knew is in the coffin and they want to say goodbye. You said goodbye to him that day in the tree-house, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, trusting me. And that was the best I could do.

In the absence of our mothers, she and I picked out the dress she wanted to wear and the shoes and socks, and I sent her into the Madison bathroom for a shower. I stood by. There was no sign of our mothers.

She came out with wet hair and really hadn’t dried herself properly so her undies were wet too. I took her into the sun at the back of the house. She complained, but she was dry in minutes. I helped her dress herself and then brushed her curls. She wanted a ribbon and supervised my tying of it in her hair and, in the end, I reckon, it looked alright. I was a nervous attendant and made her sit with a book while I went and had a shower, donned my new grey serge suit, tied my tartan tie and put on my long grey socks and polished shoes.

Our mothers were nowhere to be seen and I started to feel a fair bit of resentment building up. I felt that they’d forgotten us.

I went outside and tied Stupid up at his kennel and gave him some food and water. All the life had gone from our dog and I knew that he knew, alright.

I sat beside Susie and she took my hand in hers. When I looked at her, she was starting to cry a bit and I knew that she knew more of what was going on than I’d suspected. She hadn’t seen her daddy for days.

‘Don’t cry now, Snoz. You’ll spoil your nice dress. There’ll be plenty of time for that later. I’m here and I won’t leave you.’ I’d stocked up with handkerchiefs and gave Sue two from my stock.

I’d never been to a funeral except to watch from afar, and Susan certainly hadn’t. Frog had told me what happened to the bodies, up to the coffin stage, and I knew more, from reading about them being six feet under and all that. The horror of a rotting body, underground, was something my mind skittered away from.

Once, in our constant pedalling around the town, we’d come across a funeral, just as the coffin was being borne from the church. As they neared the hearse, one of the bearers stumbled on the rough footpath and fell. The others tried to keep the coffin level and off the ground but they failed and the heavy box fell on top of the fallen bearer. People rushed to help and the coffin was eventually lifted into the hearse. Merv and I were watching. Frog was helping his dad.

The funeral procession was started, smartish, because the ambulance had