Madukka by Julie Janson

Author:Julie Janson [Janson, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UWA Publishing

CHAPTER 25

11th July

It was the Wilga Rodeo Day, but June didn’t go – she hated seeing animals beaten and kicked. It didn’t seem fun, just bloody cruel. She remembered the carny people in full pulse, and dagwood dogs everywhere, and luminous red sauce running down children’s arms. Faces sticky with fairy floss. Even the clown with a silly hat running away from a bull in pain was stupid. She thought she might just turn vegetarian.

The town also seemed full of drunks and disappointed betting men. Their faces looked like someone had hit them with a shovel. The show was set up with a jumping castle and a shooting gallery of rusty ducks. Nearby, the local paddock was full of abandoned show bags and kewpie dolls on sticks and wrecked cars covered in animal shit. It was a day when winter dust blew in people’s faces, their eyes squinting under Akubras.

Inside June’s heart and head was a pulsing, deep-thinking Black woman, a person who valued self-deprecation and a lack of meanness. She gave to whoever needed it and showed generosity in most things – but she couldn’t tolerate someone who stole from other people, like the TAB. Above all, she hated those who stole from nature and ripped off the environment so they could buy a new shiny BMW. Her impulse was to scratch the duco with her keys. Yet the feeling that was foremost in her was compassion. If she spotted someone crying in the street she couldn’t walk past. And she had brought home countless homeless people to stay awhile until she found a refuge to take them in. ‘A real Mother Teresa’ her brother called her. All living things deserved compassion and empathy. Except the river robbers. They could rot in stagnant ponds with dead fish stinking around them.

Then there was the never-ending mystery about her cousin Thommo. She saw his little son walking to preschool with Duckie. June waved and thought that she needed to do more to find the people responsible for his dad’s death. Poor little boy.

She never wanted to stand out from the rest of the mob, to be a big-noter or loudmouth. There were plenty of fellas to take those roles, but she could never sit still and watch people abused or set upon by bullies; she couldn’t tolerate a thug having a go at a little fella or kid in a playground or a disabled person. She had often helped her mate with cerebral palsy cross the road or have a go at roller skates, always with all the kids jeering at him. He dribbled and waved a favourite stick all the time, but she knew him to be quite smart and funny; he cracked jokes that as a kid would make her wet her pants. Her dad always said, ‘Stick up for the underdog,’ so she did. He also said, ‘If you’re the only person in the room who knows something is wrong and all are against you, hold your ground, stick to your beliefs and don’t be scared.

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