Bohemian
Bob Tells His Version of the Wastes (3)
Not to give too much away about
ya dad, Nicky, but it was like a man coming in from a drought. He was dehydrated,
a little delirious, and desperate to quench his thirst, and when he finally found
a billabong – so to speak – his whole face went into that nourishing pond and
came up sopping wet, hair lank, eyes filmed with satisfaction. The grit and
grime of the dirt that had caked onto him slid off in slick, streaky lines.
If
the metaphor isn’t clear, Sharmayne was his long cool drink of water. His
chance to connect with something that wasn’t the Ministry Good. In her, he
found a fiery spirit who wielded a Magnum revolver like a fencing sword and provocatively
proclaimed her independence, her will, her future at the head of the Walker
family. She was the queen of the eastern suburbs, the scourge of the Taylors,
the roughest and toughest of the Toll Gang capos. All Sharmayne’s talk of
desire and autonomy, of striking the east from Melbourne as its own city-state,
it was all but sacrilege to Rudgier’s indoctrination, his own beliefs. Yet,
they were also tantalising and forbidden, wrapped then delivered in a voice that
balanced on the edge of jazzed smoke and dictator eloquence. For a man still trying
to find his own voice, hers was a lure which he could not resist. She was his
shadow double: everything he was and was not. He was still a young man, Nicky …
though, I guess, temptation knows no age.
He
told me all about her one night. To be honest, I still don’t know why. Maybe he
was seeing me as a confidante, ya know? We’d been out there for a few weeks and
had each other’s back. The families may’ve let us in, but we were still Ministry,
and a Ministry scalp to hang on the veranda would’ve been a neat addition to any
eastern suburb décor. Yep, even back then. But Rudiger wasn’t the chatty best
mate type. Not like yours truly. Even drinking, he held onto himself. He was
observant and analytical and always interesting – just you never felt like you
were talking to him, yeah? The Ministry Good fell out of his mouth more
often than not, and though he delivered it with all the sincerity and poetry of
a preacher, he was always looking into it, asking me questions about it. The
only answer I ever had was, it’s a job. For some reason, this placated him. It’s
a purpose, he’d say. The Good is circular. You spread it because it needs to be;
and it needs to be spread because it is. No wonder he lost it in the end.
Which
is all to say, we rarely sunk into personal matters, so when he goes and tells
me about Sharmayne, I didn’t know what to say. Beers had been had, Nicky, but I
wouldn’t have thought enough to set tongues wagging and teeth chittering. He
spoke humbly, but, admitted to his naivety, the first timeness of these feelings.
I think he needed to get it out, admit to a doubt that didn’t often dare to
cross Rudiger without him interrogating it first. All I did was sit there wary
and worried. There was danger in this: a man finding his heart for something
other than a cause for the first time, ‘specially as it come up as we were
tryin to convince her family to war. A war, mind you, she would lead the charge
in. Rudiger was quick to assure me he could perform the classic split between business
and pleasure, and all I could do was say, sure you can. We drank some more that
night and I spoke of old flames me self. He listened as though taking notes. It
was all new to him. Really, he was more than the thirsty man I tried to say he
was. I don’t know if he’d ever seen liquid.
Course,
there are dangers when it comes to dunking yourself headfirst into unfamiliar
waters. Like, ya never know if a croc dwells somewhere under the surface,
waiting to have a cheeky munch. When it may decide its hungry or bored enough
to act on its most bastard desires.
Aayden
Taylor was that sharp toothed smiley fuck lurking just below the smear of mud
on top of the water. His own ill repute camouflaged under that muck.
The eldest of
the Taylor brats, Taylor was a rev headed thunder cunt if ever there was one. A
proper force of personality and possessiveness, who was properly infamous round
the east for the casual off-handedness of his brutal behaviours. Collecting
Stations adorned with the decimated, disrespected heads of Walkers. Merchants
unable to pay his toll neutered and then set off into the rain wilds of
Ferntree Gully. Destruction derbies where the cars were set with explosives,
then filled with eastern locals Aayden found disloyal.
The less said
about his experiments in that torrid fucking situation people call the Vermont
Vermin incident, the better. Rudiger and I saw a few of them poor, mutated bastards
lingering around the far east when we went out on expedition with the Taylors. They
were hiding under old trees and bridges, desperate to avoid the light. And he fucking
giggled, Nicky. Him and his little disciples, while every other Taylor turned
their eyes and spoke about the weather.
Rudiger had
been wary of him right off. He disliked violent men who used violence for its
own end. Whose satisfaction was steeped in those actions. Ever the rational
Biff, he needed to understand action before committing to it. And it was
obvious that Aayden didn’t really get Rudiger – he was thoughtless action
incarnate. He tried to be matey with him. Go shooting or driving. Surely, they shared
a love for the sound of a man’s skull cracking under impact. Tried to invite
him on a few “hunting” expeditions. Hunting for what? Out there? Nicky, I’d
rather not guess. But ya dad, he turned him away and kept his distance. Went
back to the older, more venerable Taylors. Even they worried about Aayden, even
if they found him to have his uses. Every family needs their own bunyip.
Personally, I
found Aayden useful. A torrential gossip who always took the bits of the story
that he liked and ran with it. Like, Aayden didn’t listen to the parts of the legend
that told of Rudiger’s hesitation, his sadness that people didn’t understand
the Good. Aayden only heard the bits with the cricket bat. So, telling him that
there was treasure at the Walkers – he didn’t hear ‘treasure,’ not even gold
when it got to that. All Aayden heard was that they had something, anything,
that he didn’t, and cos of this, he wanted it and wanted it now.
Probably, why
he was obsessed with Sharmayne.
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