The Broken Ankle

We got there, and ever since I can’t for the life of me recall how we managed it, except it was painful and exhausting. Clearly I am not the western hero type.

Smithy slipped from my back and flopped down on the ground. I fell beside her. I suppose this should be the moment when I reached for her full swelling breasts as our lips clung passionately together. The strings of the studio orchestra would swell as we realised we were in love.

Well, I didn’t and the orchestra strings didn’t. If there had been an orchestra, and it played according to my mood, it would have been a very brassy and discordant noise. I felt a sort of resentment that “the silly bitch” had been stupid enough to try climbing down the declivity in the first place, and follow this with the unforgivable sin of busting her ankle, and thus putting me to great inconvenience, near frostbite and physical ruin.

Mind you, after Smithy’s initial kindness in loaning me her washing goodies, I had said if I could be of help any time. She had pointed to my bumbling uselessness, so now at least, she would have to eat her words.

After lying there for five minutes, I went in search of water and food. I found some dry biscuits and one of those large sausages. I got water from her jerry can and returned to feed the wretched woman.

We sat eating and drinking for a while, and then I recalled I had some aspirin with my gear. I made my weary way to my camp, got the pain killers, and returned to her. I took a look at her ankle, which was now thoroughly bloated and a horrible purple colour. I gave her some aspirin, thinking it was like trying to kill an elephant by throwing a pebble at it.

I took a couple of the tablets myself to try and quell the ache in my joints. The effect was slight.

Smithy had said nothing since we got into camp. I think her pain was too bad for her to want to speak.

“Smithy,” I said, “If I can get you into one of vehicles I can drive us out of here. We can make for The Hill.

“Take me home,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”

I looked at her lying there, eyes shut and tears squeezing out from under their lids. My anger with her dissipated. On first meeting she had looked tough and belligerent, now she looked very frail and vulnerable.

We’ll use your vehicle,” I said. “It’s a lot younger than mine and built for this country.”

“Keys are already in there,” she said. I gathered she meant in the starting lock.

I managed to pick her up, western cavalry officer style this time, and got her to the vehicle. As I planted her in the seat I thought, “Bloody hell, he must have been some tough bloke. I only carried this one a few metres and I’m almost dead.”

The motor started easily, and I began the drive along the track towards the distant road. It seemed to take an eternity but we finally made it.

“Which way,” I asked. She pointed to the left – the opposite direction from the direction I had come from The Hill. I turned on to the road, and started to make better progress, even though we shook and clattered over seemingly endless corrugations.

Smithy either fainted or went to sleep and she lay hunched up in the passenger seat. I kept a sharp look out for any sign of habitation and drove on and on. Eventually I spotted a well used track turning off the road with a simple notice stating, “G. Smith.”

I turned on to it and saw at some distance a large house. It was one of those built in earlier days with deep verandas all the way round, to keep the place cool. As I approached a man came out from the house followed by two women. They must have heard the vehicle approaching.

I pulled up in front of the house and the man came striding across to me. He must have been six feet four or five, and built like a heavy weight boxer.

As I stepped out of the car he roared, “Where’s my daughter?”

I indicated the passenger side and when he opened the door I was treated to another roar.

“You bastard, what have you done to her?”

I was exhausted, aching and hungry, and this was too much.

“I’ve just pulled her out of hole, carried her God knows how far, and fucking well driven her here, look at her bloody ankle.”

The woman had come up by this time, and through the haze of my fatigue I saw an older version of Smithy. The man towered above her, but when the woman spoke, I heard the voice of Smithy.

“Get out of the way, you silly great idiot. Much good your shouting is doing!”

The giant visibly withered in the face of the woman and backed away. She looked at Smithy, and although I could not see that side of the vehicle, she must have examined the ankle. She turned to the man: “It’s obviously a broken ankle and not a simple fracture at that. I’m going to radio the flying doctor. She’s not conscious so you pick her up – and damn well do it gently – and take her to her bedroom.”

“Right, love,” the humbled giant muttered.

She turned on me. “Young man, you look just about bushed. She turned to the second woman and said, “Mavis, take him to the kitchen and get him something to eat and drink, then show him where he can rest. He looks ready to drop.”

I followed Mavis and entering the kitchen I said, “A sandwich and a cup of tea will do, I’m more tired than hungry.”

She nodded and began to prepare the food.

As she worked she asked, “What happened?”

I gave her sketchy outline of events, being too weary to do more. “Sounds like she could have died,” Mavis commented.

“She could have,” I agreed.

“Poor kid, as if she hasn’t had enough to put up with.”

“What?” I asked.

Mavis looked embarrassed. “I’d better not say anymore. Gordon or Marge will tell you, if they want to.”

The sandwich was ready and the tea made. I was not inclined at that moment to curiosity, so I shut up. When I finished eating and drinking my tea, Mavis led me to a small bedroom.

“You look dead beat so I think you’d better rest in here,” Mavis said. “I’ll tell Marge where I’ve put you, so try and have a sleep.”

I needed no second telling. I stripped off to my underpants and fell into the bed. I must have gone straight off to sleep.

I’m not sure how long I slept but the room was dark when I woke. I got up and groped near the door for a light switch, and finding it, turned on the light. Not being sure what time it was, I didn’t know if everybody was in bed asleep, but I decided to venture out and see if anyone was still up.

I dressed and opened the door. It opened on to a wide passage that seemed to run the length of the house. There was a light on in the passage, and from somewhere a bit farther along I heard a rumbling sort of voice, followed by a lighter, female voice. I went in their direction and came to a door partially open and the room beyond lit.

I put my head round the door and saw the giant and Marge sitting there talking. “Excuse me,” I said.

They looked up and Marge said, “Come in, we were just talking about you.”

I stepped in and Marge rose and came to me, and to my surprise, kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said.

The giant had risen and approached me with hand extended. “Bloody good job…er…Brent, isn’t it? Gordon Smith.”

My hand was engulfed in an enormous paw and vigorously shaken.

“She could have died out there. Thank God you were around.”

“I…I er…well…where is she…er…Smithy?”

“Flying doctor came in a few hours ago and they’ve taken her to the hospital at The Hill.”

“Will she be all right? I mean... the ankle… and she was lying in that declivity long before I found her, and then she was there all night…”

“Yes, we know,” said Marge. “Norma told us. You were marvellous. The ankle is very badly broken, and she’s suffering from shock, but I’m sure she’ll be all right.”

“Poor little bugger,” said Gordon, “as if she hasn’t had enough to put up with.”

This repeat of Mavis’ remark did arouse my curiosity this time, but I thought I’d better not pursue the matter until invited to do so.

“Brent has only had a sandwich,” Marge interrupted, “perhaps he would like something now.”

I suddenly realised how hungry I was, and agreed I would like something to eat. Marge left the room to prepare the food. As she left the room she said, “Gordon, you’d better tell Brent about tomorrow. “

“Ah, yes,” rumbled Gordon, “Tomorrow, yes. All your gear and Norma’s is still there. I don’t know if you intend staying there, but Stan, my station foreman can drive you out there tomorrow, and he’ll be collecting Norma’s stuff and bringing it back. If you like you can come back here and rest up for a few days.”

At that moment it occurred to me that I had not given a single thought to the reason for my being in those hills at this time. Jackie had not even crossed my mind. As she came to mind now, I felt not a single pang of anguish. “So much for my undying love for her,” I thought.

“How long will Smithy…er…Norma be in hospital, because I’d like to visit her, if that’s okay with you.”

Gordon seemed embarrassed by my question, and said, “Well, they’ll only patch her up at The Hill. She’ll be gong on from there to the Royal City Hospital. You see, she’ll need, well, special treatment.”

“Oh.”

“Look Brent, we’d like you to come back here, even if it’s only for a day. You see, there’s something about Norma…I suppose you don’t need to know, but you saved her life and…well, Marge thinks you should be told. I’m not sure why, but she can tell you better than me. So how about coming back here and spending a bit of time with us?”

Puzzled about what it was Marge thought I should know, and not averse to the idea of spending a day or two with Smithy’s…Norma’s – bugger it, what should I call her? – parents, I accepted the invitation.

“Good,” rumbled Gordon. “Do you think you’ll be fit for an early start tomorrow?”

“I should think so.”

“Then I’ll tell Stan seven o’clock, okay?”

“Fine.”

The meal had arrived in the form of cold meat and salad and a mobile tray was trundle over to me so I could eat sitting in an armchair.

As I ate I was questioned for details of my Norma “rescue.” It seemed that Norma had only been able to give sketchy details because of her shocked condition and the speedy arrival of the flying doctor.

I did my best to satisfy their curiosity, but I was beginning to feel weary again, and seeing this, Marge said, “I think Brent ought to be off to bed again, he’s had quite a day.”

I stood to leave the room and Marge came and kissed me again, offering further thanks with Gordon rumbling his in the background.

Marge came with me to the door of the bedroom and pointed out where the shower and toilet were, and asked if I needed anything. I indicated that my clothes were filthy and sweat stained, and asked if there was anything I could borrow.

Her brow furrowed at this request, but she said, “I can get you a dressing gown, so why don’t you take a shower and pass your clothes out to me, and I’ll see what I can do for the morning.”

After the shower I fell naked into the bed and disappeared into some dreamless chasm.

I was wakened from the dark hole I had descended into by a sharp knocking on the door.

“Yes?” I called out.

“Time to get up,” said a voice that sounded like Mavis’.

“Right.”

“Can I come in? I’ve got your clothes.”

“Okay.”

Sure enough, it was Mavis carrying my own clothes, but clean and ironed.

“How did you manage that?” I asked, indicating the clothes.

“I didn’t,” she replied, “Marge did it. Washed them, dried them in front of a fire then ironed them”

“But…”

“Don’t you worry young fella, you’ve earned a medal with us. Breakfast in five minutes.”

With that speech she departed. I got up, dressed and washed, then made for the kitchen.

Gordon and Marge, together with Mavis and another man, were seated round the table eating porridge. Marge, Gordon and the man bade me good morning and Mavis indicated for me to sit.

“Porridge okay?” she asked.

“Certainly,” I replied.

“This is Stan,” said Gordon. Stan extended his hand across the table and we shook hands, or rather, he crushed my hand. “Pleased to meet yer,” he said. “Hear yer saved our girl. Good on yer.”

With that he returned to his porridge.

I briefly studied him. Even seated he gave the impression of being tall and powerful, and clearly indicated in his handsome features was an aboriginal background. As I was later to learn, he was married to Mavis, and the two of them were almost the backbone of the place.

I came to the conclusion that out here they grew the men big and the women small, but the women seemed to be at no disadvantage for all their small stature, and when they told their men to jump, they jumped. There came into mind the somewhat imperious manner exhibited by Smithy, until her accident.

There was some desultory conversation mainly focused on my “heroism” to which I was not inclined, nor was I given opportunity, to respond.

Breakfast over, Stan looked at me and asked, “Right?”

“Sure.”

“Let’s go then.”

I added to my previous assessment of the males, “They also breed them laconic.”

Stan rose, nodded to the company, kissed Mavis rather like a little boy leaving for school, and strode outside with me following. We went out to a big shed inside which stood an array of vehicles.

The one Smithy had used was there, but Stan said, “We’ll use the Land Rover.”

We climbed in, Stan started the motor, and we shot out of the shed and up the track to the road.

There now began what for me was a hair-raising drive that Stan seemed to think was normal. As we hurtled forward he made odd comments about the passing scene, like, how many head they had mustered “over there” last year, and how the feed was sparse this year.

His one reference to the adventures of Smithy and Brent was to comment, “Bloody good job you done, son. Sweet kid. Known her from when she was a baby. Bloody awful what that bastard did.”

I ventured to ask what the “bastard” had done, and got the reply, “Not for me to say. Up to Marge.”

From then on conversation stayed in neutral, centring on head of cattle, feed and those “Bloody emus everywhere,” until in about half the time I had taken to traverse the countryside, we reached the camp site.

We packed Smithy’s and my gear, and Stan, looking disparagingly at my vehicle commented, “Reckon she’ll make it?”

“It’s all I’ve got.”

“I’ll drive behind yer in case she falls ter bits.”

Irked at his disparagement of my beloved station wagon, I thought it would be best not to respond because, truth to tell, she might “fall ter bits” on that track.

With me leading our return to the house took considerably longer, but we arrived in time for lunch.

This time only Marge and Gordon were present for the meal, Stan having gone for his lunch with Mavis in the house they occupied behind the main house. I noted that there were half a dozen other houses which I assumed correctly, were occupied by other people who worked on the station.

We ate mainly in silence, but I could feel that something was impending. When we had finished Gordon excused himself, muttering something about going to the south paddock to “have a look.”

I helped Marge clear up, and when finished she said, “Let’s go and sit on the porch.”

Her invitation sounded a bit ominous and I wondered what was coming.

We sat for a few minutes in silence, Marge clearly trying to work out what she wanted to say. I observed her more closely than I had previously. I could see the marked similarity between her and Smithy, even to the same manner of speaking. Marge must have been in her mid forties, but had retained her figure and attractive looks.

“Promises well for Smithy,” I thought.

When Marge began it was in a low voice.

“We love Norma very much, Brent.”

I could not think of a suitable response, so stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

“She’s the only child we have, and very precious. She’s had a bad time and…well…we feel we failed her. Gordon feels very guilty.”

This time the statement that Smithy had suffered in some way was too much for my inquisitiveness and I asked, “What happened to her?”

Marge seemed to ignore my question and went on, “I don’t need to repeat how grateful we are to you for what you did.”

“No.”

“You see, Brent, in a way it’s partly our fault again – Gordon and me.”

“I don’t see how. It was just an accident.”

“Yes, but we shouldn’t have let her go there.”

“Could you have stopped her?”

Marge shrugged, and then seemed to make up her mind.

“You see, Brent, something terrible happened to her there…I mean before, when she was fourteen.”

“What, did she injure herself like this last time?”

“No, she was raped.”

I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. I hardly knew how to respond, so I said, “I see.”

“Look, Brent, she was the sweetest little thing, so loveable, then afterwards…well…”

“How did it happen?”

“She was on holiday from the private school she attended in the city. We only saw her during holidays in those years. Gordon was mustering prior to selling stock. He wanted to find if there was anything wandering about round those hills before he sent the men out to round them up. It would be a waste of time if there was nothing, so he sent one of the station hands, Ted, just to have a look around.”

“Norma used to go out there with Gordon when she was quite little, and she always thought she would find dinosaur remains in the hills…you know how children are. At the time of that holiday she hadn’t been out there for several years, and she begged Gordon to let her go with Ted.

We had no reason to think that Ted…well…you know, he’d been with us for years and we never noticed anything…I mean he lived in one of the houses and had a pretty wife…and well.”

“Being our only one, I suppose we spoilt and indulged her, but she never became greedy or demanding, just the contrary. Gordon especially indulged her, and so he let her go with Ted.”

“To cut a long story short, when they got out there he raped her. He told her if she said anything he’d kill her.”

“When they came back we could see something was wrong. She was sullen and all the sparkle had gone out of her and she seemed to be in pain. Then I noticed bruises on her wrists and arms and she wouldn’t say how she got them. For a whole day she said nothing, and then in the evening she walked into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame and said, ‘Mummy’, and fell down in a faint.”

“We called up the flying doctor, and when he came he examined her, and of course, the truth came out. He’d not only bruised her wrists and arms, but there were bruises and marks all over her body. Worse still, she was not one of those girls who mature early, and her poor body just wasn’t ready for male penetration, and he injured her badly.”

“It was obvious who had done this to her, and Gordon went nearly mad. He went to Ted’s house and dragged him out into the yard and would have killed him if some of the men hadn’t dragged him off Ted.”

“It was terrible, with Ted’s wife screaming and the men struggling to separate them. Thank God the doctor had taken Norma back to The Hill hospital so she didn’t see what happened.”

“In some ways the rape wasn’t the worst that happened. The police came and took Ted away, but he claimed Norma had led him on and well…I suppose the police have to do their job. They questioned Norma over and over again, seeming to imply that she was a young slut who wanted Ted to do that to her. They never actually said that, but that’s how Norma felt.”

“That Ted was guilty was really obvious in the end, and he got eight years jail. But there were people, and because of the media the whole business was out in the open, who said things like, ‘There’s no smoke without fire’. You know what people say.”

“When Norma came out of hospital and the trial was over, everything looked all right at first. She’d had counselling, and although she was quieter than usual, she seemed okay. Then it started. It was bad dreams at first with her calling out for me night after night. Soon after that we noticed that she would not let Gordon touch her.”