if he calls himself doctor or professor or His Majesty; only the devil asks for blood.”
She dismissed Oliver’s offer to walk her home with a wave. “I’m fine. You take care of each other and have a good night, my dears. Good night to you, too, Cornelius.”
After she left and a comfortable silence settled on the house, Natty piped up, “’Sberry?”
“Oh, my sweet boy,” said Oliver, lifting his son up.
“I didn’t forget, but all I found was still green and bitter.
We’ll go back in a week and gobble ’em right off the bush, just you and me. Will that do, my pet? My handsome fellow?”
Cornelius was exhausted. The avalanche of talk, the pain in his leg, the loss of his livelihood—he closed his eyes, hoping for sleep. But Oliver tapped him on the shoulder.
“I can’t let you stay out here, old man,” he said. “The mosquitoes will chew you up.”
Cornelius was too tired to disagree and let Oliver do with him as he wished, which was to settle him on the bed where he’d seen Judy Rhines lay her head many times. He slept badly in the heat and woke up sore and thirsty, determined to be as little bother as possible.
He ate when his hosts ate, slept when they slept, and spent the rest of the day sitting in the shade. And although he did nothing, Cornelius wore himself out traveling the distance from boredom to misery to resignation, and back again.
After three identical days, he finally noticed the ceaseless activity going on all around him. Polly washed the baby’s bottom, carried the water, aired the linen, and all the while chattered to Natty, encouraging him to name his nose, his
213
DOGTOWN FINAL PAGES 27/9/06 2:07 PM Page 214
A N I T A D I A M A N T
knees, the bucket, the dog. She cooked and served and washed dishes, washed the baby again, set more water on to boil, and sat down only to nurse.
Once Oliver returned in the evening, Polly had still more to do: cooking the fish and then clearing the dinner, handing Oliver the baby so she could hem the petticoats sent by ladies in town. Cornelius grew weary watching her go from one task to the next.
The next morning Polly had to lay down her bucket three times to attend to David, who kept wailing regardless of her every effort to soothe him. “He must be getting ready to cut a tooth,” she said, wiping her brow.
“Sorry, Missus.”
Polly considered his apology for a moment and held the red-faced baby out to him. “Would you hold him so I can get to the stream?
“He’s a good boy, honest,” she said, arranging him upon Cornelius’s chest. “Mostly what he wants is to be held so his belly is warm. I don’t know why. Natty wasn’t that way.”
The baby settled the moment his stomach touched
Cornelius, and Polly set off for the stream at a trot, glancing back three times before disappearing. Natty did not follow at his mother’s heels as usual, but stayed and watched as the big man cradled his tiny brother. David smiled whenever Cornelius stroked his tiny bare feet, which provoked an unselfconscious smile in the big man as well.
When Polly returned, David was fast asleep where she’d put him. “You sure you don’t mind, now?” she asked from time to time, taking David up only to feed him or clean him.
That night in bed, Polly told Oliver about Cornelius’s talent as a nursemaid. “I think he might enjoy it,” she
214
DOGTOWN FINAL PAGES 27/9/06 2:07 PM Page 215
The L A S T D AY S of D O G TOW N
whispered. “I’m sure that I saw him kissing David’s forehead. Can you imagine?”
The next morning, Cornelius reached out for the baby before Polly could ask. He was grateful for the distraction, and also fascinated by the feel and smell of the infant, and the way he responded to touch. When Polly disappeared into the house or down to the stream, he ran a light finger over David’s hands and feet. He traced the bare outline of his eyebrows, the warm crooks of his elbows. He took the whole of David’s hand on his thumb, in awe. But when he cupped a hand over the top of the baby’s skull, Cornelius nearly jumped out of his skin.
The moment Polly returned from the stream he said,