Corroboree by Graham Masterton Page B

Salve.
    â€˜You’ve not undressed,’ she said.
    Eyre started to unbutton his shirt. ‘I felt too sore,’ he confessed. ‘And a little too tired, too.’
    â€˜The salve will soon make you feel better.’
    She tugged off his clothes in a businesslike way, until he lay naked on the bed. Then she carefully washed out his bites, and sponged the rest of his body, his chest, his back; and laid a cool wet cloth on his forehead. ‘You sometimes remind me of my son Geoffrey,’ she said.
    â€˜Yes,’ Eyre acknowledged. She had told him that several times before.
    â€˜Geoffrey always used to say that life was like a sugarbasin.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Eyre agreed.
    Mrs McConnell washed the dark crucifix of hair on his chest, so that it was stuck to his skin in whorls. Quite matter-of-factly, she held his penis, and rolled back the foreskin, and washed that, too. He looked at her through puffy, half-closed eyes, and he was sure that for a second he saw something in her expression that was more than matronly; but then she smiled, and clapped her hands, and said, ‘You must have a clean nightshirt. I’ll bring you one of Geoffrey’s.’
    He lay on the bed waiting for her. He smelled of camomile and vanilla and tincture of zinc, which seemed to be the principal ingredients of Keating’s Salve. He found himself thinking of Geoffrey. Poor Geoffrey who had said that life was like a sugar-basin, because every taste of it was so sweet. Geoffrey had gone riding, a keen and straightforward young boy of eighteen; so far as Eyre could gather; and been bitten in the ankle by a death-adder, the snake the Aborigines called
tityowe
. Mrs McConnell hadstayed in her back parlour with the drapes drawn for nearly three months, until Dogger had at last come home from Broken Hill, and persuaded her to start living her own life again.
    That night, Eyre dreamed of Yanluga, sobbing, crying for help. He dreamed of Charlotte, too, gliding across the lawns of Waikerie Lodge as if she were on oiled wheels, instead of feet. He dreamed that Mrs McConnell came into his room naked, but with the black body of an Aborigine woman, and that she knelt astride his face and buried him between her thighs.
    He woke up at dawn; when the sky was a thin, cold colour; and he was shivering. He climbed stiff-legged out of bed in his ankle-length nightshirt and went shuffling to the window, and leaned against the frame. Hindley Street was deserted. The only signs of life were the lighted window of Keith’s Fancy Bakery across the street, and a single Aborigine boy sitting close to the bakery steps wrapped up in his
buka
, a puppy crouching between his bare feet.
    Eyre began to feel that something momentous was about to happen, and that his life had already changed beyond recall. He sat down on the side of the bed, frowning, still shivering, not understanding why he felt this way. And the morning breeze which lifted the dust in the street also rattled the casement like a secret message from one prisoner to another/it’s time to be free.’

Six
    Mrs McConnell brought him a breakfast of oat cakes, ham, and soft-boiled eggs, with honey from old Mr Jellop’s apiary. She parked her big bottom on the bed and watched him eat; smiling and nodding in encouragement each time he forked a piece of ham into his mouth, or bit into an oat cake.
    â€˜You’re going to have to rest for a few days, get your strength back,’ she said.
    â€˜Mrs McConnell, I’m a little bruised, but that’s all. I really want to go and get my bicycle back, before some blackfellow steals it, or Lathrop Lindsay finds it and smashes it to bits.’
    â€˜You’re not thinking of going out there today?’
    â€˜As soon as I’ve finished my breakfast, as a matter of fact. And then I’m going to cycle over and see Christopher.’
    â€˜But you’re still invalid! I can’t allow it! Supposing you came over