Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

There's a snake on the farm. I saw it this morning walking Sapphire from the paddock. Its thick brown body slipped into the tool shed as we passed, down a hole inside the door. Sapphire shied away but I turned him aside and calmed him, holding his head against my shoulder. The heat of his breath through the cotton of my dress, and a spread of saliva through the material warmed me both inside and out. He's always responded well to me, and I love his loyalty, but I'm sure he'd have been a handful for Adam, or any man really. I haven't told Adam about the snake yet.

     I guess I could kill it myself. I've done it before, though I hate to kill anything really. And before, the snakes have always been in the open; easy to spot and get a first strike at.This one's inside the wall and I don't like the idea of having to tease it out of its hole. Either way, it's got to go. We're too far from civilisation to risk leaving it and God knows it might bite Adam, or Sapphire or one of the other animals.

     The nearest town is Gowra, but that's over an hour away and besides, it's a tiny little place just about good for a few supplies. To reach a hospital means another two hour drive to Boorawa. We'd never get there. Mind you, both Gowra and Boorawa are more than they were. Back when I was a kid both places were nothing more than a roadhouse with a couple of shacks alongside. I think Boorawa had a doctor then, though I probably only went there once or twice in the whole of my childhood. Dad didn't like us going too far out.

     Dad built the farm himself, having bought the land from Winch. That crazy sonofabitch practically gave it away, along with the rest of his station. Had some sorry idea of making a fortune out of opals, so he ran off to Goober Pedy and sold off his land cheap to get away quick. Didn't seem to realise he already had a fortune in the station, if he'd only put his back into it. Still, Dad wasn't about to tell him. He and a stack of other fellas were happy to send Winch on his way and relieve him of the burden of his land.

     And so I grew up on the best patch of land you ever saw. God's own little acre; though it's a sight bigger than that of course. I can't think of a better place for a kid to grow up, and I've been so happy. Yeah, I know I missed out on a lot of stuff that city kids got, like friends and school, but I've never once regretted being out here. It sounds like a joke, but I really could ride before I could walk, even if Dad had to be there holding me in position.

     I remember one Christmas I took Lightning, (that was Sapphire's father), out on my own. I was twelve years old. Free from other people and with mile after mile of bush to explore, I just couldn't bring myself to turn back. I kept heading out, following the valley out to the plain and beyond. I guided Lightning across the creeks and ran at a gallop whenever the land let me. Towards noon the air was oven hot, but the rush of it across my skin as we raced still cooled me, drying the sweat that ran down my limbs. I remember the dress I wore; light and airy, and a perfect yellow. I loved the freedom I felt that day, and being able to share it with Lightning, both in the madness of our speed and when we rested. Then I'd hug him about the neck as we stood in the shade of a gum tree or beneath the solid green of an acacia. I'd caress his face, speaking nonsense lovingly into his ears, and brushing the red dust from his solid brown back. Mum gave me hell mind, when they finally found me leading Lightning back up the valley more than two hours after sunset. It didn't matter though.

     I still look out across the valley from the veranda sometimes, and I can't quite believe this has been home for all those years, and all because of some other man's crazy dream about opals. Since then we've had to work real hard to get it into shape and to save it from falling apart, but all the sweat and effort has been worth it. The glorious reward of our home makes it so, and I'm proud of what we've achieved, even if the start we got from Winch was just a piece of luck. On the veranda you can see the slope of the land as it eases over to Tingara; the same stretch where I walked Lightning home and got a telling off from Mum. And as far as you can see belongs to us. We've deliberately left the valley; we don't graze there so we can keep it like it is. The roos have the run of it. And it's not as if we're short of space. There's a wind that blows up the valley some days, bringing dust from the plain with it, and then I have to go inside and look out from our room instead, but with the window shut you're still in paradise.

     Sitting here now, I hear one of the peacocks strutting along the veranda before I see it. Its claws click on the wood where it's still firm, and there are gaps in the sound as it crosses one of the patches made soft by the termites. It comes into view and gives a half-hearted peck at the window, then settles down in front of me. It doesn't seem to mind the dust.

     The peacocks were Adam's idea. They're useless of course and I often joke about shoving one into the oven some day. Really though, I'm glad he got them. They add a touch of class to the place. The hens don't interest me, they're so drab and seem to have less energy than the males. Still, I guess they help to show off the glory of their mates, like the one before me now. Watching it sit and preen, I hear Adam return from the back fields in the ute, skidding a little in the dirt.

     He's got a roo in the back, twisted and bloody from a collision. I watch him haul it to the ground, kicking up the flies that are gathering around the open wounds. He wipes a red hand across his sweating forehead and smiles.

     'Lunch,' he says.

     'Meaning I have to skin it and get it ready, as usual. All you have to do is drive badly.’

     ''Do you want the roo or not?'

     I'm not really angry and the creeping smile on my own face shows. I hug him around the waist and help to drag the roo towards the back door, dumping it on the ground.

     The dripping blood makes a trail of flies back to the ute. An odd thought strikes me, and for once I voice it.

     'It's like they grow out of the ground where the blood falls.'

     Adam looks at the flies but says nothing. 'I don't remember so many as a kid,' I say.

     As I strip the body, Adam sings some song that's been playing on the radio for weeks. I still don't know the words yet. He holds a couple of the dogs back from the meat until I throw some of the offal across for them. Gypsy, as she always does, takes it quickly off to hide some place, sneaking low to protect what's hers. She's always been a loner.

     'Where was it?'

     'Eh?'

     'Where did you hit it?'

     Adam pauses before answering. 'On the back road.'

     I wield the knife a little faster to tear through tough sinew. 'Coming back from the creek?' He just looks at me. 'Get me the saw will you, Adam?'

     When he comes out from the shed carrying the saw, I remember the snake, but I'm not in the mood to tell him. He's OK; there's time for it later. He hands me the saw and then stays close, uselessly moving the carcass around, trying to help. The best he can do is wave some of the flies away. Fixing his eyes on the roo, he speaks.

     'I need to repair the fence down at the creek, and I figured it would be worth putting a gate in. For access. I might start on it later.'

     I grip the saw tighter and set about the roo's neck. Again he speaks.

     'I'll start on that gate this afternoon.'

     'I would have thought we were trying to stop strays, not encourage them.'

     'Yeah, but sometimes 1 need to get to the water,' he replies.

     'There's plenty this side, without you risking falling in over there. Leave it alone.'

     Adam pulls at the roo's head as I work through the bone, and dragging sinew, flesh and flies, it comes off.

     'But the fence then; I'll still need to do that. The creek's dangerous for the sheep. Mary's lost three from her side this month.'

     I stop my work and wipe my bloody hands down my dress. I look at Adam carefully.

     'She told you that did she?'

     'Yeah,' he replies, without looking up. ' I said I'd give her a hand with the fence on her side too.' He fingers the knife I was using and presses the tip into the roo's body.

     'Mind you don't cut yourself,' I say.

     Mary Rodgers owns Tingara, the land back of ours. We're divided by the creek. It's a nice piece of land, but not as good as ours. She's never really been on top of it since her husband died five years ago. I guess she knows enough to make a farm work but somehow she just doesn't put it into practice. Like losing sheep in the creek. It's obvious it needs fencing so why has she got to wait until three are gone before she does something? And why must she hang around until Adam's down there, to do the work for her? He’s a pushover with Mary and she uses him for all sorts of stuff.

     Adam goes to the tap and strips off his shirt. He washes as much blood and dirt off his hands and arms as he can see, then fills the can and tips it over his head. The water runs down his back and he arches against the cold. He's still got the muscles that helped keep this place alive when Dad died, and which no doubt Mary wants to use around her place. The deep tan of his back glistens in the sun. I pause in the cutting for a moment to look at him.

     Some time later I've moved the meat into the kitchen. Adam has put on a clean shirt but I keep the same dress, now flecked with small spots of blood and smeared from my hands. He's fussing with Gypsy in the yard. He's always preferred her to the others, and somehow that pleases me. I watch him come in and hang around for a while, so I know he's got something to say. I know too that it'll be about Mary. He finally speaks.

     'I guess I'll get on with that fencing.'

     He words it as if it's our fence he'll be working on, like I've forgotten who it's really for. I could pick up on him again but it's easier to say nothing. My silence will tell him what I think. He hangs around for a bit longer and then gathers up his hat and leaves. As he brushes past I notice he's wearing that cologne I gave him for his birthday. It's the first time he's opened it. As soon as he's gone I remember the snake, and that I still haven't told him.

     I spend the rest of the day in a daze, half-finishing domestic jobs, and messing with the dogs when I should be working. Gypsy seems odd. She won't come to me when I call. The peacocks go unfed, and later in the afternoon, I play out a fantasy of taking Sapphire over to the creek to confront Mary. In my dreaming, I cut myself carelessly as I tidy up the roo meat. I let the cut bleed.

     Towards evening I am on the veranda again looking over the valley. I think back over all the years here and realise that without Adam, I could never maintain the place. If he went away, the farm would fold. In that, I'm no better than Mary.

     When Adam returns I tell him I intend to sort out the decorations tomorrow and he hugs me, knowing how I enjoy those sorry bits of plastic and glass. In that hug I wonder if it's only his scent I can detect. I don't tell him about Gypsy. Or the snake.

     That night in bed I can feel Adam's warmth beside me and his breathing is a comfort. The peacocks click across the veranda with their claws.

     The following day we shower and I scrub the traces of scent off him. It bothers me that I don't have a clean dress, and have to put yesterday's soiled one back on. I suggest we spend the day checking the farm on horseback. Normally we'd work separately, one of us going around the place in the ute, but the idea of taking the horses and spending time together fills me with excitement. It's been a long while since I had Sapphire out for a decent run, and I can't remember when Adam last sat on a horse. Besides, I want to stay close to him today. But I can tell straight away he's going to turn the idea down, and again the way he pauses alerts me to why. This time I don't let him off lightly and start in on him.

     'You're going to Mary again. Fence not finished, or is there some other service she's in need of?'

     'You're wrong about her,' he replies, 'she's OK, and we should try to get along more. We might need her one day.'

     'Like hell. She's only after one thing and it seems you're happy to provide it.'

     My reply is cheap and I know it. I can't hide my disappointment and worry, but Adam doesn't try to comfort me. He's further from me than I thought. I turn from him but he's already seen the tears in my eyes. Behind my back, he goes out and I hear the ute start up and drive away.

     Later, I set about sorting out the decorations. I don't know why I worry about Christmas really; it's not as if we're religious or have a lot of people coming over. But there's something about the trimmings that comfort me, and I love putting them up. I'll never get used to having pictures of Santa, snow and reindeers around the place though. Not when we're at the hottest time of the year. Perhaps we ought to make up Our own Christmas pictures, with roos and stuff.

     I pull the box out from under our bed where it's been for a year, and begin to sort through. The tinsel's a little squashed and several of the glass balls have broken, but mostly the stuff seems to have survived all right. Pulling bits from the box onto my lap gives me the same pleasure I get every year, bringing back the endless string of Christmases we've enjoyed at the farm. A lot of the decorations are from when I was a kid, and though they've got battered over the years, they still make me feel good.

     Again I think of that day with Lightning, and the memory thrills me. Out on the edge, almost beyond our land, I revelled in the freedom and the space. And that freedom, as never before, infected me with a madness and I could not fight it. There was no-one to stop me, and in that wonderful loneliness I stripped and tore the saddle from the horse's back. Naked, I leapt upon him and ran him back and forth through the gums, snapping leaves aside as we cut past. His hooves dug deep into the turns where the earth was soft, soundless apart from the flick of dirt behind. And where we crossed the iron rock, dark and hard, his shoes clanged like metal and I saw sparks replacing the spurt of earth. Round and round we flew, with Lightning whipping to every pull on the reins and foam flying with his crazy breathing. Our sweat, pumping with our hearts, ran down my legs as our heat moved up. Back and forth, and whirling as if impaled to the ground, I pulled him with me and together we made the turns. Not once did I think I'd fall, or Lightning would stumble, and all around me was the great wide world, spinning as we spun, and all of it mine. Crazy in our dance, we pounded the earth and with every jolt the heat spread through me. I bucked as Lightning bucked, and blinded by both the sun and the dance I arched my back and threw my face to the sky as the final pulse filled me. The scream echoed among the rocks and the gums whispered softly in reply.

     Tension drained with the grunt of breath I pushed out and I sunk to rest against Lightning's neck, his mane brushing my bare breasts as he cooled. Rested, led him to some shade and pulled the yellow dress over my sweat and skin, and when the sun dipped below the line of the rocks, I put on his saddle and led him home. On the long walk back I counted every tree, and noticed every rock, and in my mind I told myself they all belonged to me. And back in the valley I didn't even listen to Mum's frightened reprimand - my mind and heart were simply too full of the rush of our lunatic dance.

     In the space of that one day I'd learnt more about who I was than in all the years beforehand. Or all the years since. And I knew where my home was, and that I'd never leave.

     With our dance still hot within me, I slowly unclench my fists and lift them from my lap. I turn my mind from that day to drift on to the Christmases that followed. I think about how they were the best of times despite our troubles. I think of the big meals we used to have as a family, and how I tried to live up to them the year Mum died. Everyone said it was the best meal ever, but I knew they were just being kind. It didn't matter though. We had a good day, even if the turkey was only fit for the dogs.

     The only really bad year was later on, when Adam got caught up with that woman from Cowra. If Dad had still been alive, he'd have put Adam straight on it, but I was too shook up over his death. I guess Adam was too. I tend to use that as an explanation for his doing what he did, though it's just a reason, not an excuse. Still, she didn't have a real hold on him, and I don't think he'd really have gone with her if she'd lived. Thinking about her though has somehow spoilt what I'm doing, and tainted the memories of both our Christmases and worse, my dance with Lightning on the plain. Faced now with the box of decorations, I take hold of the next layer of trimmings more roughly. Angry at myself for being in a mood, the tinsel no longer seems as bright. It fades with my memories of the past.

     Then, as I lift up a mass of silver and gold near the bottom of the box and place it in my lap, I draw back at the sight of a dark, sticky lump in a corner. I can't believe I haven't smelt it before. It's a rat, dead and decaying, having found the decorations a warm retreat for a while from whatever killed it. It must have been there for months, rotting away beneath us as we slept. By now, the fur has parted in several places and mingles with the maggots and strands of caked tinsel that are trapped amongst the folds of flesh. The smell is awful, and can only have been held back by the seal of trimmings above. I quickly brush the tinsel off my dress and see a stain on the cotton. As if from nowhere, there is the sharp buzz of a fly. It targets the rat's open sore, landing in the wound. I look at the surrounding tinsel but cannot bear to pull silver from red, and quickly take the whole box out to the fire. I won't bother to replace them.

     Back inside, the smell from the rat has spread and with the air so hot, it hangs around like smoke. Taking small, sharp breaths I start to feel a bit faint, but can't bring myself to move out of the room and away from the smell. Besides, I'm certain the poison has already infected the rest of the house. By now, my breathing has started to make my head pound and the stain on my dress causes me to walk stiffly, avoiding contact. It's stupid to let something so foolish make me feel so ill. But as I stand there my mind is full of fused pictures of the rat, the woman from Cowra and Adam with the water running down his back. The dead roo is part of the image too; flies buzzing, with Adam pushing the knife into its flesh. And beneath it all are sharp flashes of my dance with Lightning. And Mary.

     With my head swimming from these thoughts and my body getting more and more shaky, I have to sit down and finally fall into one of the old armchairs by the window. My legs shake from the release of tension and the chill of sweat running down them. I lean forward to the window, pushing it open and drawing in gulps of air. Though clean, it's even hotter than that inside. Leaning against the frame with my eyes shut, I am jerked awake by a screech muffled by a growl. I see before me Gypsy bowling one of the peahens over on the lawn with its neck in her mouth. A flurry of feathers, and fur torn from Gypsy's belly by the bird's claws, float above them. The dog finally shakes the life from the peahen, whirling with it as if pinned to the ground. She gives it a few more flips in the air before sniffing mournfully at her kill. Looking back at me, and with the slightest snarl, she drags the bird into the bushes.

     I am momentarily stunned by the event. Gypsy has never bothered with the birds before. In fact, I've never even known her to bark at one of them. Looking at the last of the brown feathers now as it sinks to the grass, I know I should be horrified, but instead I am thrilled. My laboured breathing is as much to do with Gypsy's kill as with my faintness or the rat.

     Sitting there with my head pounding, I hear the ute again, and am brought sharply back. I steel myself to walk around the house, determined to be positive, determined not to give him away by sulking. But when I round the corner, I see I'm mistaken. It's Mary's ute that has kicked up all the dust, and she's stepping out of the vehicle with a smile on her face.

     'Hello, Mary.' As I speak, I feel I'm about to vomit.

     She raises a hand, partly to shield her eyes from the sun low down in front of her, and partly to brush back the thick brown hair that has fallen across her face.

     'Hi. Adam's back at my place. He's finishing up a couple of jobs he's been doing for me. He's been a big help all day. You're lucky to have a brother like him.'

     'Yeah. I reckon.’

     'He's asked me to get your power saw. I haven't got one and he needs it for some of the fence posts.’

     I look at her and my face is blank. We stand appraising each other for a moment, and I can't decide if there is anything in her look to suggest a sneer or not. As she looks away, out of the glare of the sun, I realise that there is. Immediately my nausea and all traces of weakness pass. I have a choice; whether to say what's in my mind or smile and go along with her. It seems an easy decision to make.

     'It's in the tool shed. Just inside the door. You'll have to dig around in the boxes in there.’

     As she goes to the shed, I take the keys from the ute, walk into the house and unplug the telephone, placing it out of sight in a cupboard. I sit down and wait.

     When Adam returns nearly an hour later, wondering where Mary's got to, I feel fine. The keys and phone are back in their place. Mary is out in the yard. Her brown hair is now coated with dust and already the flies have found her. Adam sees her as soon as he arrives. After going to her quickly, he runs in to me. I am shocked to hear the news, saying if only I'd been working out the front I could have heard her cries. Adam looks at me, but the tears in my eyes draw him towards me and we hug. I tell him he must kill the snake as soon as possible. After all, it could bite us, or one of the other animals.