Mullumbimby by Melissa Lucashenko Read Free Book Online Page B

feel that the next day.’
    â€˜Last time we done any real fencing was out round Canungra as young blokes, eh?’ Laz chipped in. ‘Must be a good, what, fifteen years since I sunk any posts.’
    â€˜Well, anytime you feel like rediscovering the lost art, brother, just say the word,’ Jo replied. Like Twoboy, Laz was tall and well-built. He looked like he could shift a fair bit of timber without too much effort. But Laz simply laughed. No fucken way, his gap-toothed smile said.
    â€˜So, you fellas been round town long?’ Jo asked, as Therese handed her a beer.
    â€˜We drove down from Brissie with our old Mum a couple of weeks ago,’ Laz answered. ‘She gone home to the grannies in Logan now, but we’re staying put. We got a nation to rebuild.’ And it will take a nation of millions to hold us back, Jo thought automatically.
    â€˜True. So you’re Bundjalung then?’ Jo replied with a faint hint of suspicion. You’re pretty dark for Bundjalung boys. Where the hell are you from? Are we related, or enemies by default, thanks to some long ago war that our relatives fought with each other? Or so distantly connected that we might be what dugais call strangers?
    The temperature at the table dropped a couple of degrees. Laz grew still, and the gap between his front teeth went into hiding. It was Twoboy who replied, with ice just beneath the calm surface of his voice.
    â€˜Too right we’re Bundjalung. This is our great-grandfather’s country we’re sitting on here.’ Twoboy palmed the air in demonstration, Tupperware style. ‘This pub’s on our land. Nudgel. Tin Wagon Road. All the way up to Crabbes Creek. Us Jacksons are claiming the lot, onetime.’
    Jo could just about hear Uncle Oscar Bullockhead in Piccabeen having a heart attack from where she sat. These two black bastards waltz into town and start chucking their weight around, telling lies about whose country this is...
    Twoboy waited for some sign of assent or approval, but Jo found she had no words. What was Uncle Oscar going to do when he heard about this declaration of war? And Aunty Sally Watt? The silence at the table grew taut as Jo imagined the firepower of the Bullockhead and Watt families coming up against the two Jackson brothers.
    â€˜So you’re dead set slapping a claim over the valley then?’ she asked.
    Her grin made this something between an innocent query and an outright challenge. The silence at the table expanded, bulging at the seams with unspoken tension.
    Twoboy put his stubby back down and then laced his fingers together behind his head. Slowly he leaned backward and gazed across at Jo. His tongue found the inside of his top lip and pushed it out. Anxiety burned all the watching faces. With his hands behind his head, Twoboy’s biceps had flexed into dark sinewy peaks half-showing beneath his snug black t-shirt sleeves. Jo wondered if he knew how gorgeous he looked, and thought that yes, he was a smart bloke and he probably did. But when Twoboy finally spoke, there was no flirtation left in his voice or his eyes. What he was lusting after, Jo suddenly saw, was not a woman for a night or a week, but for his country. The man spoke with utter certainty and great emphasis.
    â€˜That’s it, sis. I’m the eldest and that makes me the one true black-fella for this place la. Our great-grandfather, Tommy Jackson, he knew this valley back to front and inside out, and he knew who he was too, a Bundjalung man robbed of his rights by the land-grabbers. Fred Wheeler kidnapped him into the Native Police in 1864–’
    When she heard the words Native Police, Jo gave a tiny involuntary flinch sideways. Twoboy noticed, but he continued in a strong, level voice.
    â€˜â€“and the first chance grandad Tommy had – after about a week – he shot that booliman over him. He took off running and didn’t stop till he got past Rocky.’
    Ah.
    â€˜He