Joe Wilson and His Mates [86]
of them have got friends and relations here,
so he thought best to bring her here. He persuaded her that the fairies
were going to bring the children here. Everybody's very kind to them.
I think it's a mistake to run away from a town where you're known,
in a case like this, though most people do it. It was years before
he gave up hope. I think he has hopes yet -- after she's been fairly well
for a longish time.'
`And you never tried telling her that the children were found?'
`Yes; the Boss did. The little ones were buried on the Lachlan river
at first; but the Boss got a horror of having them buried in the Bush,
so he had them brought to Sydney and buried in the Waverley Cemetery
near the sea. He bought the ground, and room for himself and Maggie
when they go out. It's all the ground he owns in wide Australia,
and once he had thousands of acres. He took her to the grave one day.
The doctors were against it; but he couldn't rest till he tried it.
He took her out, and explained it all to her. She scarcely seemed interested.
She read the names on the stone, and said it was a nice stone,
and asked questions about how the children were found and brought here.
She seemed quite sensible, and very cool about it. But when he got her home
she was back on the fairy idea again. He tried another day,
but it was no use; so then he let it be. I think it's better as it is.
Now and again, at her best, she seems to understand that the children
were found dead, and buried, and she'll talk sensibly about it,
and ask questions in a quiet way, and make him promise to take her to Sydney
to see the grave next time he's down. But it doesn't last long,
and she's always worse afterwards.'
We turned into a bar and had a beer. It was a very quiet drink.
Andy `shouted' in his turn, and while I was drinking the second beer
a thought struck me.
`The Boss was away when the children were lost?'
`Yes,' said Andy.
`Strange you couldn't find him.'
`Yes, it was strange; but HE'LL have to tell you about that.
Very likely he will; it's either all or nothing with him.'
`I feel damned sorry for the Boss,' I said.
`You'd be sorrier if you knew all,' said Andy. `It's the worst trouble
that can happen to a man. It's like living with the dead.
It's -- it's like a man living with his dead wife.'
When we went home supper was ready. We found Mrs Head, bright and cheerful,
bustling round. You'd have thought her one of the happiest and brightest
little women in Australia. Not a word about children or the fairies.
She knew the Bush, and asked me all about my trips.
She told some good Bush stories too. It was the pleasantest hour I'd spent
for a long time.
`Good night, Mr Ellis,' she said brightly, shaking hands with me
when Andy and I were going to turn in. `And don't forget your pipe.
Here it is! I know that Bushmen like to have a whiff or two
when they turn in. Walter smokes in bed. I don't mind.
You can smoke all night if you like.'
`She seems all right,' I said to Andy when we were in our room.
He shook his head mournfully. We'd left the door ajar,
and we could hear the Boss talking to her quietly. Then we heard her speak;
she had a very clear voice.
`Yes, I'll tell you the truth, Walter. I've been deceiving you, Walter,
all the time, but I did it for the best. Don't be angry with me, Walter!
The Voices did come back while you were away. Oh, how I longed
for you to come back! They haven't come since you've been home, Walter.
You must stay with me a while now. Those awful Voices kept calling me,
and telling me lies about the children, Walter! They told me to kill myself;
they told me it was all my own fault -- that I killed the children.
They said I was a drag on you, and they'd laugh -- Ha! ha! ha! -- like that.
They'd say, "Come on, Maggie; come on, Maggie." They told me
to come to the river, Walter.'
Andy closed the door. His face was very miserable.
We turned in, and I can tell you I enjoyed a soft white bed
after months and months of sleeping
so he thought best to bring her here. He persuaded her that the fairies
were going to bring the children here. Everybody's very kind to them.
I think it's a mistake to run away from a town where you're known,
in a case like this, though most people do it. It was years before
he gave up hope. I think he has hopes yet -- after she's been fairly well
for a longish time.'
`And you never tried telling her that the children were found?'
`Yes; the Boss did. The little ones were buried on the Lachlan river
at first; but the Boss got a horror of having them buried in the Bush,
so he had them brought to Sydney and buried in the Waverley Cemetery
near the sea. He bought the ground, and room for himself and Maggie
when they go out. It's all the ground he owns in wide Australia,
and once he had thousands of acres. He took her to the grave one day.
The doctors were against it; but he couldn't rest till he tried it.
He took her out, and explained it all to her. She scarcely seemed interested.
She read the names on the stone, and said it was a nice stone,
and asked questions about how the children were found and brought here.
She seemed quite sensible, and very cool about it. But when he got her home
she was back on the fairy idea again. He tried another day,
but it was no use; so then he let it be. I think it's better as it is.
Now and again, at her best, she seems to understand that the children
were found dead, and buried, and she'll talk sensibly about it,
and ask questions in a quiet way, and make him promise to take her to Sydney
to see the grave next time he's down. But it doesn't last long,
and she's always worse afterwards.'
We turned into a bar and had a beer. It was a very quiet drink.
Andy `shouted' in his turn, and while I was drinking the second beer
a thought struck me.
`The Boss was away when the children were lost?'
`Yes,' said Andy.
`Strange you couldn't find him.'
`Yes, it was strange; but HE'LL have to tell you about that.
Very likely he will; it's either all or nothing with him.'
`I feel damned sorry for the Boss,' I said.
`You'd be sorrier if you knew all,' said Andy. `It's the worst trouble
that can happen to a man. It's like living with the dead.
It's -- it's like a man living with his dead wife.'
When we went home supper was ready. We found Mrs Head, bright and cheerful,
bustling round. You'd have thought her one of the happiest and brightest
little women in Australia. Not a word about children or the fairies.
She knew the Bush, and asked me all about my trips.
She told some good Bush stories too. It was the pleasantest hour I'd spent
for a long time.
`Good night, Mr Ellis,' she said brightly, shaking hands with me
when Andy and I were going to turn in. `And don't forget your pipe.
Here it is! I know that Bushmen like to have a whiff or two
when they turn in. Walter smokes in bed. I don't mind.
You can smoke all night if you like.'
`She seems all right,' I said to Andy when we were in our room.
He shook his head mournfully. We'd left the door ajar,
and we could hear the Boss talking to her quietly. Then we heard her speak;
she had a very clear voice.
`Yes, I'll tell you the truth, Walter. I've been deceiving you, Walter,
all the time, but I did it for the best. Don't be angry with me, Walter!
The Voices did come back while you were away. Oh, how I longed
for you to come back! They haven't come since you've been home, Walter.
You must stay with me a while now. Those awful Voices kept calling me,
and telling me lies about the children, Walter! They told me to kill myself;
they told me it was all my own fault -- that I killed the children.
They said I was a drag on you, and they'd laugh -- Ha! ha! ha! -- like that.
They'd say, "Come on, Maggie; come on, Maggie." They told me
to come to the river, Walter.'
Andy closed the door. His face was very miserable.
We turned in, and I can tell you I enjoyed a soft white bed
after months and months of sleeping