Joe Wilson and His Mates [26]
pupils of his eyes came down. They seemed dull and expressionless,
like the eyes of a new baby, but he was back for the world again.
I dropped on the stool by the table.
`It's all right,' she said. `It's all over now. I wasn't going
to let him die.' I was only thinking, `Well it's over now,
but it will come on again. I wish it was over for good. I'm tired of it.'
She called to her sister, Mrs Brighten, a washed-out, helpless little fool
of a woman, who'd been running in and out and whimpering all the time --
`Here, Jessie! bring the new white blanket off my bed. And you, Brighten,
take some of that wood off the fire, and stuff something in that hole there
to stop the draught.'
Brighten -- he was a nuggety little hairy man with no expression to be seen
for whiskers -- had been running in with sticks and back logs
from the wood-heap. He took the wood out, stuffed up the crack,
and went inside and brought out a black bottle -- got a cup from the shelf,
and put both down near my elbow.
Mrs Brighten started to get some supper or breakfast, or whatever it was,
ready. She had a clean cloth, and set the table tidily. I noticed that
all the tins were polished bright (old coffee- and mustard-tins and the like,
that they used instead of sugar-basins and tea-caddies and salt-cellars),
and the kitchen was kept as clean as possible. She was all right
at little things. I knew a haggard, worked-out Bushwoman
who put her whole soul -- or all she'd got left -- into polishing old tins
till they dazzled your eyes.
I didn't feel inclined for corned beef and damper, and post-and-rail tea.
So I sat and squinted, when I thought she wasn't looking,
at Brighten's sister-in-law. She was a big woman, her hands and feet
were big, but well-shaped and all in proportion -- they fitted her.
She was a handsome woman -- about forty I should think.
She had a square chin, and a straight thin-lipped mouth --
straight save for a hint of a turn down at the corners,
which I fancied (and I have strange fancies) had been a sign of weakness
in the days before she grew hard. There was no sign of weakness now.
She had hard grey eyes and blue-black hair. She hadn't spoken yet.
She didn't ask me how the boy took ill or I got there, or who or what I was --
at least not until the next evening at tea-time.
She sat upright with Jim wrapped in the blanket and laid across her knees,
with one hand under his neck and the other laid lightly on him,
and she just rocked him gently.
She sat looking hard and straight before her, just as I've seen
a tired needlewoman sit with her work in her lap, and look away
back into the past. And Jim might have been the work in her lap,
for all she seemed to think of him. Now and then she knitted her forehead
and blinked.
Suddenly she glanced round and said -- in a tone as if I was her husband
and she didn't think much of me --
`Why don't you eat something?'
`Beg pardon?'
`Eat something!'
I drank some tea, and sneaked another look at her. I was beginning
to feel more natural, and wanted Jim again, now that the colour
was coming back into his face, and he didn't look like an unnaturally
stiff and staring corpse. I felt a lump rising, and wanted to thank her.
I sneaked another look at her.
She was staring straight before her, -- I never saw a woman's face
change so suddenly -- I never saw a woman's eyes so haggard and hopeless.
Then her great chest heaved twice, I heard her draw a long shuddering breath,
like a knocked-out horse, and two great tears dropped from her wide open eyes
down her cheeks like rain-drops on a face of stone. And in the firelight
they seemed tinged with blood.
I looked away quick, feeling full up myself. And presently
(I hadn't seen her look round) she said --
`Go to bed.'
`Beg pardon?' (Her face was the same as before the tears.)
`Go to bed. There's a bed made for you inside on the sofa.'
`But -- the team -- I must ----'
`What?'
`The team. I left it at the camp. I must look to it.'
`Oh!
like the eyes of a new baby, but he was back for the world again.
I dropped on the stool by the table.
`It's all right,' she said. `It's all over now. I wasn't going
to let him die.' I was only thinking, `Well it's over now,
but it will come on again. I wish it was over for good. I'm tired of it.'
She called to her sister, Mrs Brighten, a washed-out, helpless little fool
of a woman, who'd been running in and out and whimpering all the time --
`Here, Jessie! bring the new white blanket off my bed. And you, Brighten,
take some of that wood off the fire, and stuff something in that hole there
to stop the draught.'
Brighten -- he was a nuggety little hairy man with no expression to be seen
for whiskers -- had been running in with sticks and back logs
from the wood-heap. He took the wood out, stuffed up the crack,
and went inside and brought out a black bottle -- got a cup from the shelf,
and put both down near my elbow.
Mrs Brighten started to get some supper or breakfast, or whatever it was,
ready. She had a clean cloth, and set the table tidily. I noticed that
all the tins were polished bright (old coffee- and mustard-tins and the like,
that they used instead of sugar-basins and tea-caddies and salt-cellars),
and the kitchen was kept as clean as possible. She was all right
at little things. I knew a haggard, worked-out Bushwoman
who put her whole soul -- or all she'd got left -- into polishing old tins
till they dazzled your eyes.
I didn't feel inclined for corned beef and damper, and post-and-rail tea.
So I sat and squinted, when I thought she wasn't looking,
at Brighten's sister-in-law. She was a big woman, her hands and feet
were big, but well-shaped and all in proportion -- they fitted her.
She was a handsome woman -- about forty I should think.
She had a square chin, and a straight thin-lipped mouth --
straight save for a hint of a turn down at the corners,
which I fancied (and I have strange fancies) had been a sign of weakness
in the days before she grew hard. There was no sign of weakness now.
She had hard grey eyes and blue-black hair. She hadn't spoken yet.
She didn't ask me how the boy took ill or I got there, or who or what I was --
at least not until the next evening at tea-time.
She sat upright with Jim wrapped in the blanket and laid across her knees,
with one hand under his neck and the other laid lightly on him,
and she just rocked him gently.
She sat looking hard and straight before her, just as I've seen
a tired needlewoman sit with her work in her lap, and look away
back into the past. And Jim might have been the work in her lap,
for all she seemed to think of him. Now and then she knitted her forehead
and blinked.
Suddenly she glanced round and said -- in a tone as if I was her husband
and she didn't think much of me --
`Why don't you eat something?'
`Beg pardon?'
`Eat something!'
I drank some tea, and sneaked another look at her. I was beginning
to feel more natural, and wanted Jim again, now that the colour
was coming back into his face, and he didn't look like an unnaturally
stiff and staring corpse. I felt a lump rising, and wanted to thank her.
I sneaked another look at her.
She was staring straight before her, -- I never saw a woman's face
change so suddenly -- I never saw a woman's eyes so haggard and hopeless.
Then her great chest heaved twice, I heard her draw a long shuddering breath,
like a knocked-out horse, and two great tears dropped from her wide open eyes
down her cheeks like rain-drops on a face of stone. And in the firelight
they seemed tinged with blood.
I looked away quick, feeling full up myself. And presently
(I hadn't seen her look round) she said --
`Go to bed.'
`Beg pardon?' (Her face was the same as before the tears.)
`Go to bed. There's a bed made for you inside on the sofa.'
`But -- the team -- I must ----'
`What?'
`The team. I left it at the camp. I must look to it.'
`Oh!