While I live

CHAPTER 17

The next day started early, like so many of them do. Right on dusk the night before I’d noticed a cow with a prolapsed rectum, so we moved her into the cattle yard. Before going out to the school bus I nicked into the yard with a sleepy and complaining Gavin.

Dad had taught me what to do with prolapsed rectums and uteruses but it wasn’t nice before breakfast. There was too much of it to push back in so I got a piece of poly pipe, about thirty centimetres, and drilled a hole halfway along it. Then I had the fun job of finding the actual hole in the cow, through all the maggoty mess of intestines.

‘Hope you wash your hands after this,’ Gavin mumbled.

Once I’d found the bum, with a bit of careful pushing and experimenting, I got the pipe in, up to the hole which I’d drilled. Gavin gave me the needle and the twine and I got stuck into my needlework. A bit different from the needlework all those elegant ladies had done in the nineteenth century. Basically I was tying the twine round and round the prolapsed part, using the hole in the pipe, until I could tie it off and let the cow go back to the paddock. After a while the prolapsed part would drop off, because I’d cut the circulation to it. And the twine would rot away too. The pipe would drop out and the cow could go on with her life, able to mix with her friends again without the embarrassment of poly pipe sticking out of her bum. In the meantime she’d have to poo through the pipe.

We only just made it to the bus but I didn’t dare miss another day of school. Gavin and I must have had the worst attendance records in Wirrawee. I didn’t like it for me, because I didn’t necessarily want to spend my whole life on the farm. I wanted to go to university, at some stage, and although I couldn’t begin to think how to manage it, I didn’t want to slam the door on the possibility. But I’d have to do a bloody lot of work and get some serious passes in some serious exams.

And I didn’t want Gavin to miss any more school, because he too was way behind. It wasn’t just the war. I don’t think he was the most academic person in the Wirrawee area, and being deaf made it harder because it took him longer to get the instructions. Plus he didn’t get as much information as other students. I got the sense that the teacher would give the class a five-minute speech about something, much of which Gavin would miss, and then she’d give Gavin a twenty-second summing up of his own. So he got about a tenth of what they got. I was too distracted by everything that was going on in my life, most lately of course Liberation, but I kept thinking I had to do something about Gavin and school. The trouble was that it kept getting pushed down the list of priorities.

Anyway, at least this day we arrived on time. I watched Gavin get off first, when we stopped at the primary school. He hated for me to wave to him or acknowledge him in any way. So he usually ignored me. This day though, our eyes met, and I smiled, and he even gave me a glimmer of a fraction of a tiny grin back. That was extremely rare.

I felt guilty that I hadn’t talked about school with him much lately. In the old days, from what he told me, on the rare occasions when he talked about the old days, he had a special aide in the classroom most of the time. Now the government couldn’t afford such luxuries and he was on his own, in a classroom of thirty-five kids. And apart from his naughty little mate Mark, he probably was on his own. He certainly sat on his own in the bus, but there were only eleven primary kids on our bus, and five of those went to Our Lady of Good Counsel, and four of the others were girls. I had a feeling the girls would be cautious of Gavin.

Our Lady of Good Counsel. Catholic schools always have such poetic names. In Stratton there was Saint Joseph the Worker, and Our Lady Help of Christians. In the city I saw a Catholic high school called Star of the Sea. And I went to Wirrawee High School. Why didn’t they rename it? ‘Place of Learning Among the Pines.’ ‘School of Wisdom and Enlightenment.’ ‘Saint Ellie the Irresolute.’

I saw Jess as soon as I arrived. It was my first day back since the raid on the guerilla camp and I could tell the moment Jess looked at me that she knew. She had a little secret smile. ‘Nice one, Ellie,’ she said offering me a Tic-Tac. ‘It’s true what they say about you.’

‘What do they say about me?’ I asked. I was off-balance.

I wasn’t sure these days if I still liked Jess, but I thought I probably didn’t.

‘Oh well, you know, all that stuff about you being such a war legend. I didn’t know how much of it was exaggerated. But you sure saved Homer’s ass.’

‘Well, Lee and Gavin managed to give a bit of help from time to time. So, who told you?’

‘Homer. But don’t worry, I’m safe with secrets.’ She pulled a newspaper clipping out of her pocket. It was already wearing away through being folded and unfolded, even though it was only a day old.

I guessed what it would be about. Unconfirmed reports suggest that missing agricultural consultant Nick Greene has been rescued by the guerilla group calling itself Liberation. Greene, who had been accused of distributing Christian literature across the border, was taken hostage nearly two months ago, and grave fears were held for his safety. Greene is a member of Cross-Country, a group committed to reconciliation between the two countries. A spokesperson for Cross-Country said only that ‘Greene’s circumstances had changed’, and a further statement would be made within forty-eight hours. No comment could be obtained from Liberation, who are a notoriously secretive group. Greene is thought to be recuperating with family members in the Stratton-Wirrawee area.

I shrugged and gave it back to Jess. ‘Did you do the Legal Studies?’ I asked her.

She looked at me. ‘God, it’s true, you do have ice in your veins,’ she said.

It sounded like she was quoting someone else and I wondered who it was. Would Homer have said a thing like that about me? I didn’t have ice in my veins when it came to wondering what other people thought of me, but then I was a teenager after all.

I headed for my locker but just as I got there I ran into Ms Maxwell. She was our Year Coordinator these days and every day she looked more harassed. Her hair looked wilder and her face was thinner and her glasses were further and further down her nose. ‘Oh, Ellie,’ she said, ‘I’m so glad you still remember where your locker is.’

‘Ha-ha very funny, Ms Maxwell,’ I said.

‘Well, I need to talk to you about your attendance, Ellie. What about you come and see me at the staff room at recess?’

‘OK, Ms Maxwell,’ I said. Great start to the school day. As if a cow with a prolapsed rectum wasn’t enough. I wondered how Ms Maxwell would go stuffing a bit of poly pipe up a cow’s bum at seven o’clock in the morning.

The day didn’t get any better. We had double English, which was another reason I’d made an effort to get to school today. I don’t mind the occasional English lesson. This year we had Mrs Barlow. I’d had her in Year 7 for English and Year 8 for Social Studies. That’s another problem with a small school, you get the same teachers over and over again. Still, as you get higher up, things improve. Teachers treat you more like a friend, kids are nicer to each other, the atmosphere improves about a thousand… something. What do you measure school atmosphere in? Kilos? Metres? Degrees? I don’t know.

We’d been doing some quite good stuff in English, including literary archetypes and fantasy novels. Mrs Barlow is a bit of a fantasy freak. She’s always got some twelve hundred page epic under her arm. But this time I got the fatty end of the brisket. ‘Would have been better to stay home and hoe out the early thistles,’ I thought. ‘Would have been better to get involved in another border raid with Liberation. Would have been better to watch reruns of “The Nanny” on TV.’ Because for one hour and forty minutes all we did was listen to a taped interview with a guy called Joseph Campbell. Unbelievable.

I did all the things you do when you’re bored in class. Redecorated my folder. Wrote a letter to Fi. Kicked Homer when he made stupid remarks, which he still did with about the same frequency as he had in Year 8. For example: the guy on the tape is talking about mandalas, and how they represent harmony and balance within the self, so Homer deliberately hears it as Mandelas and announces that Nelson Mandela is so balanced he can sit on both ends of a seesaw at the same time. Like, not very funny, but probably better than listening to the tape.

At lunchtime I sat with Homer and Jess and Bronte. It was awkward having Bronte there because I wanted to talk more about Liberation, and even the raid to get Homer and Nick back. Sure I’d been extra cool with Jess, but that was showing off really. I did want to talk about it. It’s natural: after riding up to the gates of death on a four wheel motorbike and then racing away again, you want to go over and over it with anyone you can. But I couldn’t talk about it in front of Bronte, although for all I knew she could be a member of Liberation too. Watching her sitting there all calm and peaceful I realised how much I really did like her. Even if she was a year behind us at school she seemed as mature as anyone in my year. More mature than Homer, for a start.

I asked Jess about Jeremy, just to turn the tables a bit. I was pretty casual. ‘So, have you seen Jeremy Finley lately?’

She did go quite red. She leant back in her chair and fixed her strong eyes on me. ‘Oh, yes, at the weekend. Just for a barbecue. We should have asked you.’

It had already struck me that no-one was asking me to anything these days, I suppose because they were still nervous of me after Mum and Dad’s death. Maybe they thought I was too busy? I kind of hoped these were the reasons. I’d hate to think it was for anything more personal, like I had a bad dose of BO, or my sense of humour didn’t rate anymore, or I was too up myself.

‘So how’s Jeremy?’ I asked.

She’d got back her cool. ‘Sexy as ever.’ She laughed. ‘I’m making some progress. I’ll keep you posted.’

Bronte opened the lid of her lunchbox. It looked pretty interesting in there. Riceballs and something a bit sushi-ish, and silver beet and something light green. Not the typical contents of a Wirrawee lunchbox. ‘What’s that stuff?’ I asked, pointing to one of the vegetables.

‘Celeriac,’ she said.

‘Celeriac.’ Nice word. Up there with insouciance, tissue and alligator.

When the first bell rang I walked back with her. But as we arrived at the lockers I saw Ms Maxwell striding towards me. My heart suddenly sagged inside my chest.

‘Oh, Ms Maxwell,’ I said.

‘Ellie, you were meant to come and see me at recess.’

‘I’m sorry, Ms Maxwell, I clean forgot.’

‘Well, you can come and see me now, thank you.’

‘But Ms Maxwell, we’ve got Drama.’

‘I’m sure Mr Elliot can do without you for twenty minutes.’

I followed Ms Maxwell along the corridor, staring gloomily at her back. She wore one of those tailored suits, an olive green pattern that looked like wallpaper. It made her bum look big. One side of her bum was having a pillow fight with the other side.

In her office she settled herself comfortably at the desk. I settled uncomfortably on the other side. She checked a file then looked over her glasses at me. ‘Ellie, I know life has hardly been easy for you lately.’

She seemed to expect an answer so I nodded obediently. ‘Yes, Ms Maxwell,’ I said, not really thinking much, because people said stuff like that to me so often these days that it no longer had an impact.

‘And we have every sympathy for you, and every desire to help you.’

‘Yes, Ms Maxwell.’

‘But at the end of the day we have to operate within guidelines laid down by the Department.’

‘Yes, Ms Maxwell.’ Teachers mentioned the Department in the same way that priests mentioned God.

‘And, Ellie, I have to say that I can’t see how you are going to meet the Department’s minimum requirements for a pass.’

I sat there numbly. So much to deal with, and now this.

‘You’ve missed so many classes, you’re way behind on assignments, you’re scoring failing grades right across the board.’

I’d given up saying ‘Yes, Ms Maxwell.’

‘There is one thing. You can plead special circumstances. Certainly in your case there are a lot of special circumstances. There’s your wartime experiences — and of course nearly everyone can claim some kind of special circumstances as a result of the war — but more particularly there’s the death of your parents.’

I nodded.

She waited quite a while but I couldn’t think of anything to add. So she went on: ‘To tell you the truth, Ellie, I’m a traditionalist. Yes, if you put in for it, I have no doubt you’d get special consideration. But where does that leave you? You’d get a pass without earning it. You’d get a pass even though you don’t have the same knowledge other students have. And what happens next year, and the year after that? For how many years would you keep getting special consideration?’

She leaned forward and looked at me earnestly. ‘I know a lot of people would say I’m being hard on you. And I’m not saying you should “get over” your problems and “get on” with life. You can’t force that, believe me, I know. It will only happen when it happens. I am saying that if you can’t pass this year you should repeat the year, and see how you go the second time around. Better that than to get credit you haven’t earned, better that than to go on to university and have lecturers assume you know things you don’t.’

I left her office in a state of confusion. I thought the idea of special consideration was that you would have passed the exams except for some disaster. That seemed fair enough. I mean, if I got that and eventually went to university, I might have problems. But not in all subjects. I didn’t think it would matter so much in English or History, for example.

I didn’t want to seem like I was looking for excuses though. Maybe Ms Maxwell was right. I didn’t know. It was awfully confusing having to think a problem like this through, to work it out on my own. I wanted to sit with someone at the kitchen table for hours, exploring it inside out and upside down, then taking it on a long walk through the paddocks. But instead it just had to take its place in the queue.