honey and the egg man

8/14/2019 Honey and the Egg Man

1/10Page 1 of 10

Honey and the Egg man.rtf 29/12/09 7:30 PM

Honey

and the Egg Man

The door from the yard squealed open, letting them both in. Hot moist air

wafted after him and they both circled around her kitchen. She looked down at the

three eggs in the bowl and tried to concentrate. Small pieces of shell floated on the

surface past the outside edge of her spoon. She tried to scoop them out. Cornering

one big piece she flipped it into the sink, then began chasing for the rest of the

shrapnel. Behind her the rusty top hinge on the pantry door squeaked in protest.

Wheres the damn honey?

We dont have any. She told him.

The pantry door slammed shut. Too much to ask for a bit of honey on toast?

Weve got eggs. She offered.

I know we got eggs. Damn it, thats all weve ever got!

She gave up chasing the shell pieces, placed the spoon in the sink and picked up

the whisk. Peter wont be coming home this weekend either. She studied the eggs,

small pieces of brown shrapnel still floating near the yolks.

Did you expect him to? He grunted, He never comes here no more!

She began to beat the eggs, Not even for birthdays.

His chair scrapped on the terracotta tiles. Ive gotta get more feed.

She didnt dare look at him. At Jake. He was in the foulest of moods again.

Pouring the beaten eggs into the pan she began to stir them under a gentle heat.

David wont be here either.


2/10Page 2 of 10


A hacking violent cough filled the room. Them chooks eat like pigs.

She took the chance and glanced over her shoulder. He was sat with his head in

his hands, sweat stains darkening his pale blue shirt. Hes overseas. She added.

Healing them damned Africans! He muttered, face still buried.

She turned away. At least hes doing something - something worthwhile!

Hes no sense of responsibility.

Who? David? She asked, astonished.

No. Peter.

She stopped stirring the eggs, they were good enough for him. Walking quietly

to the table, pan in hand, she slopped the scrambled mess onto the dry toast on his

plate. Peter has a family. I suppose they come first.

He grabbed at the fork, Christ! Were family! Arent we?

She sat down, resting the empty pan on the side of the table, and quietly poured

them both coffee. He ate remorselessly, stopping only to gulp down the hot black

liquid and spit out bits of egg on the side of his plate.

Clean shirt? He grunted.

Smiling, she poured herself more coffee. Where they always are. Want me-

He stood quickly, scrapped the chair legs on the terracotta tiles again.

Unbuttoned his shirt and he headed for the wash room.

She plucked up the courage and her cup, I have something to ask you.

Not now, He called, I gotta get feed.

Later then.

Later. He agreed.

When he came back he headed for the sink, poured a glass of water and downed


3/10Page 3 of 10


it as he looked out of the window, her window, at the dust bowl of a yard outside.

That storms getting closer. He said.

You hoping again?

Praying dont do no good.

Maybe itll come and wash everything away.

Like sins, you mean? He laughed, bitter and hollow.

Like the chook sheds. She didnt smile.

Pushing open the fly screen door, keys in hand, he headed for the truck and

town.

She spent the day as she had spent most of her days, alone. Counting time in

broad swathes of loneliness. Washing, ironing, cleaning, reading, and thinking.

Mostly thinking. They lived in an old house. Leaky, and creaky, but clean at least. So

clean it usually took her less than an hour to finish her chores. Then she would sit at

the kitchen table dreaming of the life she wanted, of the people she would love to

meet, of the places she had always wanted to go.

The truck swung noisily into the yard, its battered engine complaining of the

strain. The engine died and a door slammed shut followed by the shed door moments

later. She stood and walked to her window, to her place. For the rest of the morning

she saw him occasionally, stalking to and from the sheds across the dirt baked yard,

kicking the dust out of his way. Through her small kitchen window on the world she

could see the cloudy sky darkening as the day wore on. The storm fermenting in the

north was gathering packs of clouds, playing hide and seek behind the red ochre

rocks of the Taylor Ranges. Ominous and grey. Tinged purple with anger. Waiting.


4/10Page 4 of 10


Shed seen them this way before. For most of the afternoons of the summer the

ranges had been like this. Theyd rumbled through the afternoon to evening, sheet

lighting brightening the dark skies. Occasionally, a lone cloud would scout the farm,

dampening a paddock or two, before retreating. But nothing really happened. Not

much anyway.

Jake came in to the house only once. Midday. Shook his head at a sandwich and

pulled a beer from the fridge. Downing it in one go the drips from his soaked chin

hiding with the sweat on his shirt.

Whats for dinner?

Chicken a lorange.

He laughed. She meant it. He frowned.

Throwing the stubby in the recycling bin he retreated back to the safety of the

humidity outside. As the afternoon wore on thunder rolled across the land, coming

closer with each clap. It didnt stop him, or slow him. She could see him working all

afternoon. Back and forth across the yard. In and out of the sheds. Endlessly.

Remorselessly. As if, in stopping, he would some how cease up or worse still, start

thinking. He came out of one of the sheds with two birds in his hands, Strangely still,

necks long and thin, feathers on the wings fluttered only by the breeze. He carried

them like two shopping bags towards the dog pen. Carla had two young pups, who

yelped and ran around exited. She sat patently waiting. Experienced. Jake tossed the

birds into the pen. Carla rose and caught one in mid air, pulling it to the ground. The

second bird landed in the dust and bounced. Her young pups skidded across the dry

ground trying to wrestle the prise from each other. Jake turned and headed back to


5/10Page 5 of 10


the sheds. In the distance the clouds had finally overcome their fear and were

advancing in ragged formation across the parched hills towards the farm.

Just before six, as the darkest of the clouds had reached the farm. He headed

for the house. From her window on the world she watched him advance, steady,

determined foot falls. This was it. This was what they did these days. She watched

him. As he ate, as he slept, as he read, as he worked. Like a DVD without a pause or

rewind. An endless loop of someone elses reality.

The rain began to fall. Big heavy dollops of wet, splattered down from the

heavens. In the middle of the yard he stopped and turned, looking at the sky.

Gripping his broad hat with his left hand, he held out his right palm to the heavens,

in praise of the downpour? Seconds later his shirt and pants had darken as the drops

of wet merged to drench him completely. He just stood there, like a statue in a

museum, letting the rain wash across his body. Taking off his hat he let the rivers of

waters run down his brow and rinse his matted, grey hair.

She was fascinated. She had never seen him act so strangely. It was, as if she

had never seen him before, or at least, not seen him this way in a long time. She

could make out the shape of his body through the clinging wet clothes, older now but

still taught. The lightening had intensified and with it the wind began to blow with

the fury of a banshee, driving the rain almost horizontally at him. He turned more

fully into the storm, letting its icy fingers tear at his face and body. The bright

lightening outlined him against the dark chook sheds. His broad shoulders, thick

arms and wiry legs silhouetted by the flashes.

He looked magnificent.


6/10Page 6 of 10


Her hands gripped the edge of the sink as she stood mesmerised. She had not

thought of him this way for years. Hed become almost an inanimate object in her

life, a fixture, like curtains, reliable but fading with age.

When had she forgotten what he meant to her? When had all they meant to

each other slipped from their minds?

It had been so different then, so long ago at the local fate. He was running rides

on his new Harley up and down the high street. Shed paid for a ride. Hed asked her

out. Theyd fell in love. After a week he whispered, I love you. I want to stay with you

for the rest of my life. She smiled and kissed him. How long ago was that? Twenty,

thirty years? Was it really that long? Only they were to blame it hadnt stayed that

way. When was the last time hed told her he loved her? She tried hard but couldnt

remember. She had decided. It was now or never. She would make him tell her

tonight. He would say it, word for word, or shed leave him in the morning.

He stepped through the door smiling, water pooling on the floor beneath him.

Rains here.

Get out of those wet things. Youll catch a cold. She ordered, Dinners ready.

He sloped off to the wash room, happy to be wet for once with something other

than sweat. As he went he struggled, pulling the wet, skin tight clothing from his

soaked body. When he returned he had a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still

dripping. Hed put on some weight over the years, who didnt? But not much. His

grey chest hair matched his head, but his skin showed his age. Brown and creased,

more on the arms and face than across his chest, but wrinkled none the less.

Wrinkles, the grand kids called them both. She looked at her hands. They were cruel


7/10Page 7 of 10


but correct, as only children can be.

Up stairs and get dressed. Youre not eating at the table like that.

He turned and left. She pulled his dinner plate out of the oven and placed it on

the table then turned back to look out of her small window. The rain was drumming

harder now, battering against the tin sheeting and drowning out her thoughts.

Pounding relentlessly on the steel protection above her head, the water gathered and

cascaded off the veranda roof, pooling in great lakes on the hard baked ground.

Filling the once dusty depressions in the yard before scurrying away between the

sheds towards the creek at the back of the property. It was a long time coming but the

wet had finally arrived.

Thought you were joking about the chicken.

She turned. He sat in anther clean blue shirt and jeans, prodding the pale

looking legs with his fork and suspicion.

Why did he like blue so much? She couldnt remember. You could go

vegetarian.

More chance of wining the lottery.

Despite what he said, he devoured the potatoes and peas, then nibbled at the

chicken as a last resort, before finally pushing it away. The storm outside was

gathering strength, battering the old house. The weather boards creaked and

groaned. The wind constantly rattled the old corrugated sheeting on the veranda and

the claps of thunder shook the panes of glass with each tremble. Slowly, inexorably,

the sound of the thunder and the flashes of lightening merged, creating an awe

inspiring display of ancient power. Raw, unadulterated nature at its worst, and best.

He was still sat at the table, tiredness overtaking his face. You wanted to say


8/10Page 8 of 10


something?

Did I?

His voice as exhausted as his muscles, You said.

She shook her head.

Damn it. Ive been sweating all day, and you wanted to tell me something and

now you wont.

Its nothing.

Its something.

Its- She fell into silence, unsure, when she thought about it, of how to ask for

what she needed.

You dont ever say things without meaning, but you mean a lot without saying

anything. Just like your old man.

Leave dad out of it.

Youre just like him. Made me promise to look after you, he did, and this place,

everything. He said it was the one thing I could do for him, and I did, didnt I?

They sat staring at each other, the silence between them unhidden by the noise

of the storm. He stood, pushing back his chair, scrapping the tiles again and carrying

his plate over to the sink. Im going to bed.

She should ask him. She needed to know.

She should make him answer. She needed to hear it.

What was wrong with her? Was she really so scared of the answer? Was this

lonely life, living a lie, better than knowing the truth? It was now or never. She stood

and quickly trailed him into the hall. He was already half way up the stairs, climbing

slowly, his legs forcing his weary body up against the weight of the world. She cupped


9/10Page 9 of 10


her hand together, pray like.

He was on the sixth step. Jake.

Now the eighth step. Jake!

Then the tenth step. Jake! Jake there is something I gotta know.

Hed made it to the landing. Do you love me? She asked.

He stopped, as if someone had wired the banister and suddenly flipped the

switch, the voltage denying him free will he was rooted to the spot. She waited. She

would wait all night if need be, she had to know. The storm roared around them but

their silence drew all the heat from the house. She wanted to shiver, to let her

muscles lose in uncontrollable shaking, to bring warmth back to her body, to bring

back love to her aching heart. He turned slowly, his eyes hidden in dark shadows cast

by the upper landing light. Then he began to descend.

Thirteen step. His right hand holding the banister rail, gripping it tightly.

Ninth step. His body seemed to lurch and sway oddly. Was he angry?

Seventh step. His eyes still hidden. What did they say?

Fifth step. She still couldnt make out his eyes. She lowered her hands. No need

to pray now.

Third step. She could see his eyes. Dark. With Anger? Fear?

Last step. She was welded to the spot, her feet fused to the nylon carpet. Then

he was there, in front of her, towering over her. He stepped closer still and wrapped

both his huge arms around her small, tiny frame. He pulled her to him. Her arms,

immobile at her side. She felt his strong fingers slide up her shoulders and around

her neck, his thumbs rested on her Adams apple, his fingers cradling her spine. She

tried to inhale but couldnt, his fingers were squeezing tighter, trapping her breath


10/10Page 10 of 10


in her lungs. She felt the blood thumping through her jugular, her eyes losing focus,

her ears beginning to buzz.

He was speaking to her, You know damn well I hate this job.

He did too. Who wouldnt? Old chooks couldnt be keep for ever, they had to be

of value, had to contribute. You just couldnt afford to feed if they didnt lay. If they

didnt contribute. It was an essential part of running a farm. She knew he didnt like

doing it, but if a job was worth doing, it was worth doing well. And shed give him

that, he knew how to wring the neck of an old chook.

honey and the egg man

Documents