Shell Shock

By Andrew Mansell

After the needless death of his father and twin sister during the Japanese bombing of Darwin, Albert, flees with his mother. They reach the small town of Tooradin where Albert’s grandfather takes the role of main carer and shapes Albert into a man. With the help of the dreamtime, where his father and sister are safe, Albert seemingly overcomes the trauma suffered in Darwin. Becoming a man though, only makes Albert more aware of who he is. His life as a half aboriginal is a constant struggle against a culture that openly and subtly casts him to be an outcast. Amidst Albert’s constant struggle, he finds love and has a daughter, only for them to be taken away. He is beaten physically and mentally. In the depth of a living nightmare which could be the rest of his life, he is offered hope. His daughter is alive and he must find her, he must tell her about the dreamtime, pass his belief down to another generation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Mansell
• Release date: Sep 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9780992596705

Andrew Mansell

I was born on the 26th September 1969 at Coburg, Melbourne – so it was documented. Nothing but a blur for me. I first wrote with my pointing finger in the sandbanks on the Rosebud foreshore. Just as I became comfortable with my words, they were covered by the rising tide. I tossed and turned all night, somehow hoping my words would reappear but when the tide receded, the words were gone. I wasn’t angry though, just lost for words, but now I like to think those words still float somewhere in the sea and occasionally wash up around the place or reveal themselves from the sand.My first dabble at poetry was writing limericks on the back of building site toilet doors as a teenager. If you’re lucky enough or perhaps unlucky enough, you may stumble across my fading black Texta in those forever reusable but temporary amenities.Writing seriously began for me in 2001 with a collection of short stories called Seven Ways in response to the suicide of my brother’s best friend. In 2012, I obtained a Diploma of Professional Writing & Editing at Gipps TAFE. I’m thinking that means my writing will become far too serious, but I’m hoping it will just be easier to read. In any case, I desire to give voice to those that are never heard.

Book preview

SHELL SHOCK

ALL GIANTS EVENTUALLY FALL

Andrew Mansell

Shell Shock

Written and edited by Andrew Mansell

Copyright © Andrew Mansell 2014

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

If any of the fictional characters in this publication resemble real people, please don’t be alarmed. The author has some morals.

Want  more from Andrew?

His blog:  www.storyseep.com

Twitter: AndrewMansell@andrewmansel

Email: [e-mail]

E-book formatting by Maureen Cutajar

E-book Cover design by Lindsay Landis (Purr Design)

E-book cover photo by Rocky Vitacca

Print ISBN 978-0-9925967-0-5

CONTENTS

Prologue

1: The Beginning

2: The Wandering

3: The Ending

PROLOGUE

A

So long as mum roughly knew my whereabouts and I was back for dinner, she didn’t seem to care for details. Way to go, mum. Perfect for a sixteen-year-old boy who begun to be drawn to and appreciate the curvature of the opposite sex. The girl more alluring than any other was Anne. Not just because her breast brushed against my chest once, well that did help, but it was her smile and friendly persona that just made me feel the same, sort of like contagious laughter. Out of the blue, I found myself daydreaming of Anne, or was it fantasying? I can’t clear up that blurry line. Even while engrossed in reading, my favourite pastime, images of Anne overwhelmed the words I read. And then there was dad’s nagging rhetorical question, have you got a girlfriend yet? Girls were beginning to make some sort of sense, their being grow in significance.

On New Year’s Day, Dad’s snoring penetrated all rooms of the house; any louder and he could of forced open the flyscreen door. I was glad to escape before he woke, wanting to go fishing again – boring. As I said bye to mum, I remembered the night before and how Anne and I managed to dodge our parents and kiss twice behind the boat shed. I’m sure Anne’s mum never trusted me and was glad we only saw each other over the summer holidays. That was going to change big time when I got my driver’s licence. I planned to drive the four hours to Bright and take Anne out. Anne said her mum would have to let me stay the night. Can you believe, Anne even heard her mum, tell my mum, that Anne and I were too young? I’m glad mum just laughed and took nobody’s side.

An eerie calm accompanied my walk down Cove Avenue towards the entrance of Point Nepean. I could still smell fireworks in the sprinkling mist but the noise and spectacle of the night before were long gone. I wanted to run but held back and walked as fast as I could. I had to appear calm, not in a hurry, and definitely not like one of those goofy walkers that call themselves athletes. I knew Anne would be waiting for me near the visitor centre. She always got there first. I saw her behind the bike rack, leaning against the straggly trunk of a tea tree. Of course she’d already seen me – she smiled. All of a sudden an excited nervousness overwhelmed me and I too couldn’t help but smile. I wanted to kiss but we didn’t touch, just in case somebody watched. We already knew our plan

‘Hi,’ I said and fixed my eyes on hers.

‘About time,’ she said, just staring back.

Her tease had no effect on me. My eyes were not about to shift their gaze. She could even have called me a dropkick and I wouldn’t have cared. I felt like we were trapped in a timeless spell, gawking at each other.

‘Come on,’ Anne finally said, ‘let’s go.’

We began our walk towards the old fort.

‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said.

‘Chill out.’ I laughed. ‘We’ve still got today – and tonight.’

‘I know but I want these holidays to last forever.’

‘Will your mum let us kiss goodbye?’ I couldn’t help but joke.

‘Shut your face.’ Anne frowned in a nice way and grabbed my hand.

The mist vanished and the sun began to sting. Anne’s auburn hair radiated like fresh honey. Her dimple like shoulders barely held up her singlet straps as she walked. I even imagined the straps to fall down completely or not be there at all. I was glad when we veered off the main path and took the back way through the tea trees. Nobody could see us there and being alone excited me even more. I held Anne’s hand a little tighter. I’m not sure if it was Anne’s presence or the steep incline to the observation tower that got me panting more. The tower was fenced off but I suppose if you scaled the fence and broke in, its first floor windows overlooking the old shooting range would offer a vantage point, enabling us to spot somebody coming at us before they saw us. Something felt weird then, the smell of gunpowder intensified as if fireworks had just been let off. We walked past the tombstone like targets that stood solid despite obvious dents into their faces and chunks missing from their edges.

‘Look at this,’ I said and picked up a handful of shattered stone. They’re fresh.’

‘Ha, ha, ha,’ Anne laughed mockingly and pulled me along. ‘Are you trying to scare me?’

I dropped the pieces and thought nothing more of them; Anne made sure of that by kissing my cheek. At the end of the range we came to a sign Enchanted Forest. Not very original, I know, but some big kid, I mean adult, really has put up the sign.

‘Let’s not go all the way to the fort,’ Anne said and kissed my lips. ‘I can’t wait any longer.’

Enchanted or not, it was my turn to lead. We walked along Banksia tree stump pavers large enough for four feet and into the forest, around a few bends and off the track to where I was sure nobody would bother us. I kissed Anne. We pressed hard against each other, pressed more. Her singlet straps fell; she didn’t seem to bother moving them back up. One of her nipples rubbed along the inner of my bicep. Her chest was so taught, nothing like mum’s saggers, sorry mum. I motioned to grab Anne’s chest but she pulled my hand away. I was under a wanting spell and tried again with the same result. We took some time to catch our breaths.

‘Not yet,’ she gasped. ‘I’m not ready to go further.’

‘No sweat,’ I said.

Anne pulled her straps up and drank from her water bottle before offering, ‘drink?’

I had a mouthful and was glad one of us remembered a drink. I looked at her, of course I smiled. We sat down.

‘You know, I’ve never been kissed before,’ she said.

‘Me too.’

‘Promise to kiss nobody else while we’re apart?’

‘Sure.’

‘No – promise,’ Anne leaned towards me. ‘I want you to say promise.’

‘I do.’

She opened her mouth, pretending to kiss me but instead asked, ‘How’s It coming along?’

‘Finished it off, after you left.’

‘What do think?’

‘It’s all over the place at the start, like when dad tries to pull start the lawnmower. When it gets going though, Stephen King, like my dad does an awesome job. I’m fascinated how a monster can take the form of whatever you fear.’ I kissed Anne on the cheek.’ Do you want it?’

‘No.’ Anne kissed me back. ‘I’ll stick with The Thorn Birds and leave Stevie to you.’

‘Your mum wouldn’t let you read it, anyway.’

‘Shut you face,’ Anne said and hugged me.

We laughed and kissed again until Anne stopped abruptly. She gasped and I sensed she wanted to tell me something but instead raised her eyebrows in the way she wanted me to look. I turned around to see a barefooted old man in a dirty khaki shirt and shorts too big for his thin frame, making him appear more anorexic than he already was. His shady limbs looked like salami casings hanging on strings and wobbled unsteadily as if they had been shaken and would never settle. Somehow, he held a rifle in one hand and a frayed hessian bag in the other.

‘You’d better move on,’ he said. ‘The Japs have landed.’

Puzzled, frightened, I looked at Anne, she at me. I wanted to run but was unsure where, how. I wanted to get up but felt paralysed and focused on the old man again. He seemed to be looking for something but kept his eye warily on us. In his bag that seemed to be falling apart, I could make out the tip of a bullet, a pencil and a ruffled up pack of gum, juicy fruit, the ones mum likes.

‘Go on,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘I’d use the path you came in on, if I were you.’

‘Alright,’ I said, somehow managing to squeeze a word out my contracting throat. ‘Just don’t hurt us.’

I grabbed Anne’s hand and pulled her up. We backed slowly away. I could hear my heart thump the inside of my t-shirt as I watched the old man. There was no way I was going to turn my back until we were around a bend. It seemed like ages to we lost sight of him. That’s exactly when we started running. Out of the Enchanted Forest and past the targets to the tower we ran, no breath taken until,

‘hang on.’ Anne puffed.

‘No, keep going,’ I also puffed but wanted to be further away.

We ran down the hill and through the tea tree until Anne said,’ stop, that’s enough.’

I bowed slightly and Anne rested her weight on my shoulders.

I puffed like an overexcited pet dog that despite chasing ball for hours, still wanted more, waiting for its owner to throw again. Unlike a dog, no more running for me. My breath eventually returned. ‘What a psycho,’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ Anne still puffed. ‘I wanted to laugh at his chicken legs.’

‘Me too,’ I burst into laughter. ‘I’m never going to forget that kiss.’

Anne shook her head. ‘Don’t embarrass me,’ she said. ‘And we should keep moving – like out of here.’

‘Shit, yeah.’

A little further along the track, I noticed a piece of Juicy fruit and two bullets lying near the edge of the path.

‘He came through here,’ I said and bent down but wasn’t game to pick anything up.

Anne kneeled next to me and pointed. ‘What about that?’

I looked a little further off the path to where a book lay. Its shiny gold plated button and unblemished black leather indicated it hadn’t been there long. I pushed the button and it opened smoothly like a roof opening on a Ferrari convertible, just on a smaller scale though. Inside, the pages were bright white and weighty, obviously of some quality. The first page was blank.

‘What’s in it?’ Anne asked.

I turned to the second page and said,’ could be a diary of sorts, a memoir.’

‘Do you think it’s the old man’s?’ Anne grabbed my wrist.

‘If it is, I sure as hell am not finding him to give it back.’

‘Just leave it here,’ Anne shook my wrist. ‘Come on.’

‘Wait,’ I said curiously. ‘Let’s check it out while we can.’

The second page was not blank and oddly the writing was in grey lead, very neat though with the first capital I, imaginatively surrounded by twirls and knots as if it were not a letter but a tree trunk. I read aloud. ‘I do not write to justify myself or give a reason for my actions. I write solely to tell my story.’

‘Maybe we shouldn’t do this?’ Anne said.

‘Why would anybody write and not want to be read?’ I gazed at Anne.

‘Well, I have a diary and don’t want anybody peeking at it.’

‘After we’ve finished this, I’ll have to find that diary.’

‘No way, sunshine.’

‘I bet there’s something about me in your diary.’

‘Get lost.’ Anne said and tried to give me a bear hug.

I pulled her up, somehow keeping the memoir in hand. I then lead her away from the track till we came to a small clearing, far enough away from the track not to be spotted but close enough to see people approaching.

‘Are you reading with me or not?’ I asked.

‘Alright then,’ Anne huffed. ‘I’m turning the pages though.

CHAPTER

1

The Beginning

1

On the 19 th February 1942 around 10am the sky hummed and the ground shook like a giant walked upon it. Air sirens rang belatedly. A swarm of huge gleaming dragonflies with eyes of red circles on their wings and sides approached. The White siris tree shook Vera and me from its branches. I was still seeing stars when mum screamed at us to get inside. I ran towards the back door and into the comfort of her arms.

‘Vera,’ mum shouted.

I turned to see Vera on the ground, not moving. Patch, our Blue Healer licked at her paling face. The giant’s footsteps closed in on us. Then it was as if the giant stamped his foot into a muddy puddle, except the puddle was not made of mud but dirt that splayed everywhere. The explosion pushed mum and me to the ground. I blacked out, for how long, I’m not sure.

‘Wait here,’ was the next thing I remember. With her nursing costume in tatters, mum walked around the crater that now occupied our back yard and to Vera who was turned on her side with Patch still beside her. They were both motionless. The smell of freshly dug dirt hovered in the air. The giant’s steps had become like distant thunder. ‘Vera,’ mum howled as she put her fingers on Vera’s throat, then near her wrists. Mum kissed her and brushed her wavy black hair to the side. She picked up Vera’s limp body and carried her past me into the bathroom. Mum removed Vera’s dirty dress and ran the water. ‘Vera, my girl,’ mum cried as she washed Vera’s hands and forehead, cleaned the blood from her lips. A rusty stream trickled, vein like, along the bath and down the plug hole. My sister never moved. ‘Those bastards,’ mum whined. For what felt like an eternity, mum hugged me as she held Vera’s hand. We sobbed in a painful duet. The Japs had bombed Darwin and Vera and Patch paid with their lives.

2

Iwaited for mum on the front porch, watched soldiers and trucks pass to and by, most were heading away from Darwin.

‘You’d better get out of here, boy,’ one of the soldiers shouted at me. ‘The Japs are coming.’

I didn’t answer. I hadn’t spoken since telling Vera that dad was taking me tracking again once he’d sorted out a deal with the Nackeroos. Dad told me I wasn’t to tell Vera anything as it was supposed to be top secret but Vera promised not to tell. And after all, twins always share everything.

Mum dressed Vera in her best frock and carried her piggy back. The police station was just around the corner on the Esplanade and as we walked, I expected dad to run into us as he came to see if we were safe. I helped mum by holding Vera’s legs up; she felt cooler than me and her lightly framed nine-year-old body weighed more than it should have. I coughed on the black smoke that lingered in front of the post office that had become rubble. Down the Esplanade, we seemed to be heading against a torrent of distraught disorientated people. The further we walked the louder their sobs and confusion became.

‘George,’ mum shouted as we approached where the police station once stood. Bricks lay scattered like from the remains of a demolished building, forgotten and covered in dust. If ever there was a fireplace, then it lay strewn as well. ‘Where are you?’ mum pleaded into the dirty vapour the flowed thick from the burning ships on the wharf ahead.

‘You can’t go any further, luv,’ a soldier’s voice commanded.

‘But my husband’s here,’ mum pleaded.

‘Just over there.’ The soldier pointed to a row of dark grey blankets on the other side of a huge crater.

From one side of the blankets, I could see boots of various sizes, some lying straight and others splayed out. There were a few sets of trouser cuffs and white flesh showing, depending on the height of the deceased. An officer came up to the soldier. We started walking but were halted again.

‘No darkies,’ the soldier said. ‘Leave the body and the boy here.’

Mum gasped.

‘Hang on, private,’ the officer said in an American accent. ‘We’re all in this together.’ He came up close to mum and said, ‘pass me the girl. I’ll carry her.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ mum said.

‘What’s your name, boy?’ the officer asked and patted my head.

I didn’t answer but sensed the officer was a good man.

‘This is my son, Albert,’ mum answered for me.

‘Well, there were two other men killed in front of the police station. Part of a secret operation, I believe.’

As soon as the officer said secret, I knew one of those men was dad. Mum and I followed the officer back up the Esplanade to an abandoned area were my uncles used to gather. A pair of soldiers placed dad on a stretcher and began to walk away from us.

‘Stop,’ mum screeched, ‘that’s my husband.’

I wanted to run to dad but at the same time was afraid of his blood, just like Vera’s. Would he never move again? I followed mum in her seemingly surreal walk, imagining we were walking with broad smiles to the front door, to greet dad after he’d finished work. His bloody and bruised body soon brought back reality. Mum collapsed to her knees and then onto dad. I thought no tears were left within me after Vera and Patch but when I rested my ear on dad’s sunken chest and heard nothing, my eyes filled again and I wept from a pair of overflowing little wells.

‘Where are you taking him?’ mum sobbed.

‘To the hospital morgue as ordered, miss,’ one of the soldiers said.

‘Wait,’ mum snarled and snatched Vera from the officer. She placed her beside dad, wrapping her under one of his limp arms. ‘Please take his daughter with him.’

‘Yes, miss,’ the soldier said and saluted the officer.

The soldiers carried the stretcher off into the smoke. The last I saw of dad and Vera were their white soles. Although they never wore shoes, I imagined shoes being taken off their feet to reveal those white soles, just as if the boots had been taken off all the dead soldiers. Underneath – everybody is the same.

B

‘N o wonder the old man is freaked,’ I said and wiped sweat from my forehead.

‘Shush,’ Anne said.’ I’ve a few more lines to read.’

I looked towards the path, hoping the old man hadn’t decided to trace his steps back. The bullets openly glinted.