Outback Weather (1)

“The De-neglection” 

IT WAS SUPPOSED to be raining.  Alas this day dawned as blue and cloudless as the day before, and any other day for that matter in the past three months or more! 

Jim Slade had booked his ‘Ute’ in for a long overdue service, on his own instincts as well as the previous day's forecast.  He always reckoned that the best thing a farmer could do on a wet day was to go to town. However, wet or dry, he was committed, and after attending to a few minor duties, he headed out the gate.

 Edward Saunders was the sole qualified mechanic in the district, which was probably the only thing that set him apart from anybody else around, and was commonly called "Spanners" by the locals, although Jim always claimed the name should have been "Tweezers" because of the way he was able to  squeeze money out of him! 

Arriving at the workshop more or less on time, (although a couple of hours either way wouldn't have mattered greatly), Jim drove straight through the doors without asking; or rather as far as a couple of partly dismantled ride-on mowers would allow. Spanners emerged out of the rear obstacle course as Jim dismounted with a simple: "'Mornin' Jim," in slow motion.

 "Morning Spanners", the answering words coming out at a similar speed.

 "Mornin', Jim” came back again, and then silence, as if each was searching for words that might continue the conversation.

 "Cattle must be fattenin' up nice if you’re bringin' that thing in for a 'de-neglection',” Spanners uttered, being first to break the stale-mate.

"No money in cattle, you know that.  And there never has been." 

"Then why do you still bother?"

"Because I'm not a moneybags mechanic, am I?" 

"Are you callin' me moneybags?” 

The prices you charge, you've got to be loaded," Jim ribbed. 

"I got no money."  The answer was meant to be light-hearted, but carried and underlying hint of honesty.

 "Well it won't be for long, the way you're heading, so don't let it worry you!" 

"Now don't be like that,” Spanners was trying to sound serious. "We all gotta make a dollar."   

"And that's just my point.  The prices you charge, I can't make a dollar.  

"Well if I went  yer 'alves  in everythin', we'd both starve!" 

"There's no doubt you've got dough," Jim persisted. "You've got all the answers." 

During this jibing back and forth, which had endured some twenty years and more, Spanners had located and assembled the various tools he needed to tackle the job in hand and was now poised. He disliked customers, or even friends for that matter, watching while he worked, and always managed to weave some subtle hint into the conversation. 

"If yer don't stop distractin' me with yer useless chatter, it'll take me a lot longer to do the job,” he lied, "an' then I'll 'ave ter charge yer extra." 

"You can't get your mind off money, can you? But since you put it like that", Jim was trying to sound indignant, "I might just cross the road and check on the quality of the ale.  Just remember though", he added without looking back, "I'll be keeping my eye on you through the window."

Having a hotel opposite one's workshop could be the downfall of many a mechanic, especially during the harsh summer sizzle. However, for this "tool toiler", who had supposedly never drunk alcohol in his life, (though he had his skeptics, claiming he had been seen downing a glass or two when it was free one Christmas Eve) the arrangement had proven to be a consistent source of revenue.

Nudging his way through a side door, Jim meandered to his usual place at the bar, stopping on the way to acknowledge the familiar faces.  Then straddling "his" stool, produced a $10 note, and placing it firmly in a patch of spilled beer, accepted the barman's unsolicited offering with,  "I suppose you'd better refill my neighbour's glass here, before he makes the usual remarks about the length of my arms."

 “Thanks Jim”, his lifetime neighbour Sam Giles spoke; then without any other preliminaries continued, “I thought I’d catch up with you in here.” 

“How did you know I’d be calling in?” 

“I seen you drivin’ out when I was goin’ down the road this mornin’.” 

“That doesn’t mean that I’d come in here.” 

“Have you ever come to town without comin’ in here?” 

“No, I don’t suppose I have,” Jim answered, without considering the remark, “but if I’d known you were waiting for me, I just might have made an exception.” 

“Well seein’ as you are here, I want to talk to you about that southern boundary of ours.” -these words Sam uttered without any hint of having heard the previous slight. 

Jim clapped his hand to his forehead in feigned exasperation. The position of their boundary fence had been a perpetual topic for trivial debate ever since the pair had gone to school together and frequently broke out whenever conversational items dried up. The view that the fence was three feet the wrong way, Sam had adopted from sources unknown, while Jim’s counter attack rested on the weak point that their respective fathers had agreed on the position when they both settled the land, and that was where it was going to stay.

 “Not again!” Jim clapped his hand to his forehead a second time. “You’ve been going off about that fence since you could talk, and none of your words have come to anything yet.”

“I didn’t say anythin’ about the fence- I said the boundary. Get your ears blown so you can pay attention!”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s the boundary fence or just the boundary, it’ll still be twaddle. It’s your shout.”

 Sam nodded to the barman before slowly ingesting the final mouthful of beer that had been waiting patiently in the bottom of his glass. It was not until the replacements had well and truly arrived did he give thought to payment, and then spent considerable time exploring each pocket of his attire until enough loose change had accumulated on the bar to cover the transaction.

 “Now, as I was sayin’,” Sam picked up where ha had left off, “or about to say. When our places were first mapped out, part of that boundary was along the creek.”

 “That’s right,” Jim said, agreeing with his neighbour for the first time that any one could remember. “And even you can’t argue about that.”

“Ah, but I can,” he triumphed, “’cos over the years the creek’s shifted- you know that as well as me.”

 "Creeks always shift.

"Sure, but the boundary remains where the creek used to be, not where it is now!"

"Go on.  It doesn't matter so long as we've both got access to it, and we have." 

The pros, cons and legalities of such a natural occurrence were parried back and forth, and only interrupted when two more ales slid into easy reach. 

"Now you look here," Sam beckoned, dipping a finger in some spilled beer to draw an illustration on a dry section of bar.  Finally satisfied with the artwork, he looked up and continued: "The way the creek's gone the last few years, as I'm showin' you, your cattle are feedin' on my land."

"I don't see anything wrong with that," came the reply.  "Anyway, I reckon your cattle must be drinking some of my water, and that sounds like a fair swop to me."

"I didn't think your brain could handle the subtle detail of the problem, and I was right." This raillery, between the two continued for an hour or so, during which Sam’s theme occasionally became blurred in the mild alcoholic haze that developed.  Jim, on the other hand, made attempts at steering the subject away from the boundary to more practical issues, but his neighbour never failed to wander back to the original frivolity whenever the conversation waned. 

"What I’m gettin' at with that creek!' he persisted, re-establishing,,, the topic once more, "is that if the erosion keeps goin' the way it is, we'll have to do somethin' about it.” 

"Like what?  If you think I can shift the creek back to where it was, you must have a pretty good opinion of my abilities, and I doubt that." 

I don't think you could shift your arse if you was sittin' on a cactus.  It's your shout." 

Jim responded-and the creek kept shifting! He deemed the time was right for his presence to be relocated on the other side of the road and was now poised to steer the conversation into a finale

 “All I’m tryin’ to get into yer thick skull,” Sam picked up yet again, “is that when it gets bad enough, we’ll have to do somethin’.” 

“Well you let me know when that happens and I’ll do something myself.”

 “You will?” A look of surprise spread across Sam’s rugged face. “And what would that be?”

 “I’ll start patronizing the other pub!” And with that retort, Jim bade farewell to all and left as he had come.

 While approximately retracing his steps to the garage, from the middle of an almost deserted road he could observe Spanners doing hard labour with an invoice book and a pencil stub. Idling inside, he leaned back against the door of his ‘Ute’, and waited.

Spanners continued his scratching without looking up. When the sound of a full stop was made by driving the pencil from a considerable altitude onto the account, the mechanic sat up, admired his creation, and proceeded to tear the top sheet somewhere near the perforated line.

 “There…” broke the silence, as he handed it over, “an’ that’s cheap. An’ don’t complain about the cost o’ the bits…I give ‘em to yer for what they cost me!”

After inspecting the parchment, Jim remarked, “The ‘Ute’s’ only been in here for two hours but you’ve charged me 2½ hours.” 

“That’s right. It took me ‘alf an hour to get the parts. I ‘ad to go to two shops ‘cos some places don’t stock things for older models these days.” 

“My ‘Ute’s’ not old,” complained Jim. “It’s only done thirty thousand.” 

“Thirty-eight thousand, an’ anyway it’s not ‘ow far she’s come,…it’s when she started out that counts.”

During this interchange, Jim had settled into the driver’s seat and removed his cheque book from the glove box. As he was writing, he quietly muttered: “You know mate, I reckon it’s about time you took your Missus out to dinner again.”

“’Ow do you know when we went out last?”

 “I don’t. But my Missus, and yours, have both got telephones you know. The time they spend on them, I figure that they’ve got to talk about almost everything, and that hasn’t been mentioned lately.”

 In something akin to military precision, Jim signed the chit, returned his book to the glove box, replaced the pen in his top pocket, started the engine, selected a gear at random, carefully folded the payment, said farewell, and lastly handed over a cheque for $50 more than the account demanded.

Heading out onto the road, he caught sight of Spanners in the rear vision mirror, repeatedly dropping the cheque on the pavement in full view of all and sundry, in a pretentious attempt to see if it would bounce.

 This day had been a good one, Jim reflected heading back to the farm, in spite of the lousy forecast. 

It was supposed to be raining!

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 © F.L. Kemsley 2003     

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