Road Kill
Arthur S Firkins Alice Springs 2010
She sat quietly in the court room after the hearing, alone, silent, just to remember the last time she had seen his face and tears came to her eyes. She could imagine the voices around her from that afternoon in the crowded court room, she could picture the faces, hear, the comments, the insults, the sly remarks. “Sometimes people just get sick of taking crap from them boongs”. “It’s understandable, if somebody had thrown a bottle at my car, and honestly I don’t know whether I would have lost it”.
She had sat in that same court room every day, every single day, for the past five weeks, in the same spot, listening, watching, labouring every moment, every move, staring at the four boys, the lawyers, the reporters, their community, her community — “you know they fight so much, one of them is found dead every week,” — — “You know they fall out the back of their utes or spear each other, fight in one of their camps, yeah something like that” all of the people from his country, all of the uncles, the aunties from her country, all of the countries of the centre, every single one had walked far to see the four white boys in black suits, blue ties, white shirts, polished shoes and fake smiles.
She remembered that morning the police had come; she was staying with her aunty on one of the many town camps that ringed Alice, her mother’s sister, the one who raised her. She was in town to attend her uni course, and she always stayed with auntie three days during the week, the days she loved, the days she could see young Darry, the days she looked forward to and lived for. It was a sergeant, a lady with a young male officer on that day “excuse me love, are you Jen?, young Darry’s misus” “Yeah, that’s me”, “can we come in, we have some bad news for you we need to talk, it’s about young Darry”. Her face went pale, silent, she was almost sick hearing that her love had been found beside the Stuart Highway, lying in a ditch, still, silent, like the kangaroos after a road train had been through. She listened, her aunty listened, they all listened as the policewoman spoke, her two uncles until one had to say it, had to say something, they all really wanted to say “bloody white fellas I bet”.
She sobbed first in the arms of the young policewomen, then in her auntie’s arms. Now she sobbed again, that last day, as she sat silently in the court room, as she had cried every day the four white boys were, led into the court, now for the last time, this time for sentencing, as she would sob every night in her dreaming and in his dreaming.
It was only that afternoon before he died that she had seen him. He had been drinking, they had a fight and he left to drink some more “bloody women” and he walked off across the causeway that cut across the Todd River. She couldn’t even remember what they had argued about, what they had said, it didn’t matter now.
Was it that he wanted her to give him some money, was it that he didn’t want to spend the evening with her and preferred to drink with his mates or was it that she was returning to her country that following week for the holidays and he didn’t want her to go, he wanted her to stay with him.
Whatever it was it wasn’t important now. Her other Uncle was angry “Its them white boys again, I’m sure of it the police should do something about them and stop picking up the blacks”. “Yeah you bastard should have been doing your job”. The young policewoman looked apologetic, the policeman ashamed both reassured the family that they would find out what happened.
Darry loved the machines, so did auntie “It’s a good investment, those machines or at least the little buggers won’t steal it from me; those kids got my pension last week, little mongrels” her aunty use to say.
White and black were both welcome around the slot machines and the bar, as long as they had some cash in their hand. Alcohol flowed freely in the city of the red dust, in a way that the Todd did not and the gold was passed around freely in the casino, the gold that Lasseter could never find, changed hands in the place that now bore his name, Lasseter was buried in the Alice cemetery, the same cemetery where young Darry came to rest.
His mother was devastated by the news of her son’s death “They chased my son down as though he was an animal, no better than a kangaroo dead on the side of the road” — -“I knew straight away that they did it because he was a black. They wouldn’t have done it if they had seen a white fella walking down the road, nuh, they never would have done it” — -“Because he was an aboriginal man walking down the road on his own with no one else around, that when they stopped, did a u-eey, came back and got stuck in — — bastards!!”
Despite all, the local constabulary held their ground “The police believe that it just so happened that Mr Darry was an Aboriginal person and the people driving the vehicle well, so happens, were white people; people need to calm down, we see a lot of violent incidents in Alice and we would be a pains to suggest that they are not racially motivated” “It is inappropriate to speculate”. “There are several young men assisting police with their inquiries, and it is purely coincidental that they are all white.” Yet deep down the police knew who did it, knew why, but they didn’t want to face the truth, they were just as embarrassed as everyone, their efforts to bridge the divide seemed to have floundered, gone in a moment of craziness.
Her uncles were clear “Don’t be bloody stupid of course it was bloody racist, they went back and bashed him, — — you call that accidental, — do you think he accidently got bashed? — — bloody idiots”. So too was the editor of the local rag had lived in the town of the red dust for twenty years. “What do you expect, those boys have no respect for these people, they don’t even care that they have lived on this land, they don’t even think about it”.
“Well your honour, my husband and I were standing on ANZAC Hill and I noticed a fellow walking down the highway. I said to my husband it’s a lovely time to be out walking; we had driven up the hill to see the view, we drank a coffee, we love to see the town and the emptiness, so beautiful”. “My husband and I came to live in the centre from Devon, ten years ago, we love it here, I am an artist, I love the landscape and I love the people and their stories”. “My husband is retired, he helps part time at the local church and works part time as a doctor on the communities”.
The Todd River was neutral ground, dry as the desert and people camped and meet in the dry bed, yarned, drank sang, but that night was different four youths decided to drive up and down the river bed, decided no one would sleep that night. The old woman who gave evidence spent nights camping in the river bed, “They nearly ran over us with the white ute, it’s a twin cab and I could see them faces laughing”. “What did you see; can you tell the court what you actually saw” — “Ow yes, we, um, sorry, I saw a white car come up behind and it went past, not far past, screeched to a halt, did a u-turn and drove back- he was just road kill for them white bastards.”
The father of one of the accused boys thought otherwise “Yeah yeah, they are always there, you know there is a law, yu know, a law, says they weren’t allowed to camp in the riverbed after 6pm, bloody bongs”.“The boys they always drive up and down the river harmless fun, they shouldn’t be allowed to sit there”.
Another witness for the prosecution saw what they were doing. “Tell the court what you saw, who was driving and who were the passengers?” “Your honour I was walking my dog like I always do at that time along the river bank, everyone knows that Aboriginal people sleep and camp in the riverbed; the car really seemed to be aiming for a group of campers”. “The car really seemed to be aiming for a couple of old blokes; they had to mover real quick”. Another old woman camped at the river confirmed what the witness had said “he was very angry that those white racist bastards had been driving their car up and down the river terrorising people, whets the difference, they are the same as terrorists we were all frightened”
But only she knew the truth, he was walking to his uncles place, as a white ute passed him he recognised it as the car that almost ran him down in the river bank, he was walking back to her. He threw a bottle at it and it smashed against the side of the pick-up. A loud screech, smell of rubber, the car turned around and came so close that the boy could reach out and clutch the bull bar. He was scared but defiant as `the four got out and one kicked him, the other struck him over the back of the head with a bottle “don’t fuk with us”, the last words he ever heard as he fell, they got in the ute and speed off. He had a history of a heart problem, his body couldn’t take it, and he lay alone in a ditch beside the Highway and died, passing, alone, like so many of his people before him, dead, in a ditch, forgotten.
As she looked around the courtroom she could see, the picture of the Queen, the wood panelling of the bench, the shabby chairs, the coat of arms of the Northern Territory, the slow turn of the overhead fans, she could imagine his face, her love, her beloved boy. They had played together on the mission, they had gone to school together, ran together in the bush around St Teresa, wagged school together, and moved together to attend the high school in Tenant Creek they were inseparable, only death could part them.
The police commander reported that “the lad was an Aboriginal person and the people driving the vehicle were white people”. “We would be at pains to point out and to emphasise that the incident was isolated and appears not to be racially motivated”. On hearing that the young lads mother told reporters “not racially motivated, he’s got to be kidding, my son is black, them boys white they beat him up and left him, not racially motivated bloody idiot”.
She sat now silently, the day was done, the court room was empty but the judges words would haunt her dreaming forever “the jury have found you guilty of manslaughter” “To leave a young boy injured on the side of the road like you did after injuries you inflicted on him is an action that this community is yet to understand and frankly cruel and callous and you have shown little remorse…”
Her auntie appeared beside her, took her by her arm, then by the shoulders, gently stroking her hair, hugged her, raising her up “come on luv let’s go, it’s over, you will see him again, one day, he is dreaming you, and you him, let’s go home luv”.
