Ironbark by Jonsberg Barry

Author:Jonsberg, Barry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: JUV000000
ISBN: 9781741760194
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2008-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

I’m getting up earlier than usual. Mind you, that’s not a real surprise. Back home I’d crawl out of my pit around midday. Except on school days, of course. Then I’d get up at about eleven. In my defence, I wouldn’t get to sleep until at least three in the morning. Too much to do at night – watch DVDs, surf the net. Here, those options are not even on the menu, and it’s lights out at nine-thirty while wallaby guards patrol the perimeter fence. Maybe I should start a one-man riot or dig a tunnel. I’m not having any trouble sleeping, though. No problem with that.

Maybe there’s something in that old saying about fresh air being good for you. I just wouldn’t want to risk it if I had a choice.

So, I’m up and at ’em by eight at the latest. Granddad’s up before me, of course. I get the impression the old fossil is tooling around at four in the morning, milking wallabies or something. God knows why. It’s not like he has to sink fence posts, castrate cattle or plough the odd paddock.

Anyway, I’m feeling kinda good. Body and mind. I even give his porridge a go, though it looks like quick-drying cement. Turns out it tastes like it, too. A hurried wash of the dishes and then we’re outside on the verandah, in our regular places, doing our regular thing. Staring at trees. You can bet your life Granddad will die in that chair. The TAB have stopped taking bets. He’ll be found, one day, stiff, vacant eyes staring out over the fence. I reckon it’ll be tough to tell he’s actually carked it, though. You could talk to him for a day or two and still not know for sure.

‘So what’s on the agenda today, Gramps?’ I say, full of quick-dried cement and enthusiasm. ‘White-water rafting, free-fall parachuting?’

He takes his time to answer, as always.

‘Nothin’,’ he says. ‘Nothin’ to do.’

‘No chores?’ I say. ‘Another shack to build, a few hectares of land to clear?’ I’m serious. I’m tingly with energy and need to do something with my hands. If Granddad hears me, he doesn’t let on. The silence stretches.

‘Whaddya say we chop some more firewood?’ I continue. ‘You could teach me how to use a chainsaw.’

‘Don’t need firewood. Got plenty.’

‘Aw, c’mon. You can’t get enough firewood. I’ll do all the work. You can just act in a supervisory capacity.’ I thought he might be impressed with that last sentence. ‘Beats sitting here waiting for death.’

He mulls this over a bit and then nods.

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘But any dicking around with the chainsaw and that’s it. Understand?’

‘Gramps!’ I say. ‘Language, dude.’

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