Fallow
by philippa yelland
GABRIELLA ARMSTRONG bleared out of yet another five-hour meeting at YourBank, the insides of her cheeks shredded from chewing back the protests at the lies, hypocrisy and cant. She resigned five minutes later, effectively immediately. Early next morning, she drove from Sydney to Bega, stumbled through Jane and Rick Hauser’s backdoor and gazed down on the Zupps’ paddocks, dry and fallow. Easing back in a squatter’s chair, she swung the leg rests around and stretched out on the planks. From the back veranda, she drank in hills, ancient undulating south into town.Perched on a hectare carved out of Zupps’ dairy farm, Jane and Rick’s 100-year-old house crowned Hergenhans Lane. Jane bustled, fly-screen door banging closed. ‘Damn,’ she muttered, ‘must fix that hinge. Rick, fix the backdoor. Gabriella, your glass is empty.’Jane disappeared inside and emerged with tonic water and Wild Wombat gin. ‘Wrap your chops around this little beauty,’ she told Gabriella, filling the glass with gin. ‘Oh, and some tonic.’‘What part of the wombat do they use?’‘Read the label.’ On her squatter’s chair, Jane smiled. ‘You’ve arrived just in time.’ She patted her kelpie, Griff.Loud knocking on the front door jolted Gabriella out of bank meetings. Jane carolled ‘Hullloooo. Come through to the back.’Bolts of fabric shot through the door as the costumier tripped over Griff circling. ‘Damn dog,’ Ken smiled. Jane handed him a Wombat.‘Thank God.’ Ken flopped in the chair next to Gabriella, gulped the Wombat and lent over to her. ‘Gabriella, my dear, don’t worry about introductions. Jane’s told me you’re an excellent dressmaker. I’ll never get these done in time.’ He gestured to hand-drawn patterns cascading from his bag. Jane bubbled. ‘Gabby, first-night is Friday. Two costumes still to be made. Ken desperate. You’re assistant costumier. You can’t sit around doing bugger all and licking your wounds. The show must go on.’‘What show, Jame? What opening night?’‘Gabriella, welcome to Wane of Drones. I’ve written it for the drama group. Game of Thrones with a twist. Women on top, men useful for reproduction.’ Before Gabriella could reply, another knock, followed by a man’s voice. Griff barked ecstatically, Jane halloo-ed ‘Come in, Matt’ as the dog skittered on the veranda. Matt Zupp filled the doorway and held out his hand to still the joyous kelpie. Griff froze, raising a paw of supplication. Matt touched the dog’s head, Griff’s eyes closed in bliss. With the storm calmed, Matt turned to Gabriella, went to shake her hand.‘Do you dog-whisper me too?’ she said.‘If you want me to,’ the farmer hushed. ‘I don’t roll over.’Matt took her hand. ‘Not today – that’s lesson two.’She wanted to laugh at the farmer’s flint-sharp reply but not give him the satisfaction of two whispering triumphs in five minutes.Matt tried on his costume, a doublet, a shimmering blue confection crowned with ruffled neck and winged with leg o’mutton sleeves. Grimacing, Matt barked at Jane. ‘I look like a huge bloody lamb chop.’Matt turned to Gabriella. ‘How do I look?’Magnificent, Gabriella thought. ‘Like a huge bloody lamb chop.’Ken flapped around. ‘Stop. The basting will break.’ Pulling the two front pieces together, frowning at the front-join. ‘I don’t want lacing – too predictable.’Gabriella traced on the scintillating blue. ‘I’ll interstitch two rows of white herringbone and then two of red interlacing threads.’‘Brilliant,’ Ken hugged.
ZUPPS’ COWS stood along the back fence, mooing and snorting. Matt had put them in the Hergenhans paddock after milking at 5am. Cows’ lowing drifted into Gabriella’s dreams until she surfaced, baffled at mist curling through louvres. Haul on jeans boots stumble into kitchen to Jane. Gabriella groaned. ‘I couldn’t swallow the corporate bulldust one second longer. I was at the end of my failing elastic. I sat in that interminable meeting on Monday, making notes on stuff we’d discussed the month before and the month before and the year before and the tether inside me snapped.’‘What now?’‘Haven’t a clue. No more drinking corporate Kool-Aid. I’m not going back.’
BY MID-MORNING, Gabriella had done the first rows on both sides of the doublet, by lunch, she had interstitched the second rows. By dinner, it was finished.Even before the driveway gravel crunched, Griff barked at Matt’s ute. Dancing, the dog circled the man and offered his paw. On the front veranda, Gabriella greeted the farmer, dressing him as Ken parked in the circular driveway.‘Oh. My,’ Ken gasped. ‘Matt, you are beyond magnificent.’Gabriella thought, You took the words right out of my mind.‘Gabby, what’s wrong,’ Jane clucked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’‘No. Heard one. Myself laughing.’‘You’re coming back to life. Here’s to Gabby.’ Jane raised her empty hand. ‘Rick! We don’t have any glasses.’ Rick rolled his eyes in loving exasperation, hugging Jane then loping to the kitchen. As Ken and Jane headed inside to spread costumes on the dining table, Matt eased into the chair beside Gabriella. He smiled. ‘What’ve you been doing that your own laugh spooked you?’‘Working to pay the mortgage, roof over my head to work, pay the mortgage, support myself.’‘When do you go back?’‘I don’t. I quit. Drove here.’‘Don’t they need you?’‘No. People don’t need the analysis I do. They like the idea of it, not the application.’‘What are you going to do?’ Matt asked.‘No idea. Work in Maccas in town?’
‘FIVE MINUTES to curtain,’ Jane boomed to the actors, the audience. In the orchestra’s alcove, the musicians played a pastiche of Game of Thrones’ titles music. Lights up. Music down. Enter the queen followed by her prince consort, Matt, in dazzling blue.
ON SATURDAY MORNING, Gabriella slept until 7am after Drones’ first-night triumph. Three curtain calls. Tonight was sold-out, so even Jane could rest for the day.Pulling on jeans shirt sweater riding boots, Gabriella headed for the kitchen and then coffee on the front veranda. Griff yipped, low-soft heralding friendly approach, as Matt’s ute turned into the drive.Matt loped towards them, shaking Griff’s paw and almost hugging Gabriella’s shoulder. ‘Gabriella, I’m riding to the top hill-paddock to check fences, and I need a hand. Could you help?’Gabriella smiled at his presumption she had a free morning, could ride and mend fences. A spontaneous ‘yes’ surprised her. And him.‘Hop in the ute.’ Griff leapt into the tray. ‘Not you, Griff, you goose.’ Matt opened the door for Gabriella. I can’t remember the last time a man did this for me.Two minutes down the road, Matt turned into his driveway that led to one of the Zupps’ many houses built on the farms over decades as sons and daughters had married, procreated, divorced, widowed, drowned, died, or disappeared. In the saddling yard, two thoroughbreds whinnied at the ute’s approach. Matt’s kelpie stood, ready for work.‘Gabriella, meet Dog.’‘Your dog is named Dog?’‘Ran out of names that day.’Gabriella brushed the mare to hide her laughter. Mount, breathe deep the forgotten honesty of horses, dogs, cows, and perhaps men.Matt’s gelding was champing at the bit, tossing his head as Matt sidled him to the gate and undid the chain. Gabriella sat deep in the saddle as muscles long-forgotten began to stir. Mist was still rolling up from the Brogo River flats, both horses snorting in the morning light, Matt alternately leading or riding beside and then behind Gabriella – to check the mare’s gait, he said.Reaching the foothills, Matt pointed to the top of the ridge and with no sign Gabriella could see, the gelding moved to a slow canter, the mare following, slipstreaming up the hill. At the brow, Matt reined in, turning to Gabriella who was laughing.‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.‘I’d forgotten how good this feels.’Matt kneed the gelding to the fence, trotting slowly beside it, then walking if post or wire needed checking. The mare followed, so Gabriella allowed herself to look at the Zupps’ paddocks spreading below in greens-yellow-mauve patchwork. Matt circled. ‘Fences are all fine up here.’‘Matt, the paddock below Jane and Rick’s – what are you doing with it?’‘It’s fallow. I’ll sow Coolibah oats or Saio for the cows. Then lupins. And sunflowers.’‘Sunflowers?’‘Gives milk a strawberry flavour. Sell it to city people who want organic strawberry milk with no added strawberries.’She could not see his face. His shoulders were shaking and for one second, Gabriella believed him.‘Matt Zupp, look at me and say that again.’ Something bubbled in Gabriella. ‘This reminds me of that song,’ She sang. ‘Now the green blade rises from the buried grain, wheat that in dark earth many years has lain …’Matt nodded. ‘What’s that song?’‘An old French tune. Then a hymn.’‘You’re a horse singer. You could do cows as well. I need an apprentice dairy … maid.’‘I’m hardly a maid.’‘The cows don’t know that.’‘Job accepted.’Matt sidled his horse over, leaning in to pat the mare’s neck. ‘Can you start today?’Gabriella nodded and began to pick her way down the hill, humming the rest of the verse. ‘Love lives again, that with the dead has been. Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.’
ZUPPS’ COWS stood along the back fence, mooing and snorting. Matt had put them in the Hergenhans paddock after milking at 5am. Cows’ lowing drifted into Gabriella’s dreams until she surfaced, baffled at mist curling through louvres. Haul on jeans boots stumble into kitchen to Jane. Gabriella groaned. ‘I couldn’t swallow the corporate bulldust one second longer. I was at the end of my failing elastic. I sat in that interminable meeting on Monday, making notes on stuff we’d discussed the month before and the month before and the year before and the tether inside me snapped.’‘What now?’‘Haven’t a clue. No more drinking corporate Kool-Aid. I’m not going back.’
BY MID-MORNING, Gabriella had done the first rows on both sides of the doublet, by lunch, she had interstitched the second rows. By dinner, it was finished.Even before the driveway gravel crunched, Griff barked at Matt’s ute. Dancing, the dog circled the man and offered his paw. On the front veranda, Gabriella greeted the farmer, dressing him as Ken parked in the circular driveway.‘Oh. My,’ Ken gasped. ‘Matt, you are beyond magnificent.’Gabriella thought, You took the words right out of my mind.‘Gabby, what’s wrong,’ Jane clucked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’‘No. Heard one. Myself laughing.’‘You’re coming back to life. Here’s to Gabby.’ Jane raised her empty hand. ‘Rick! We don’t have any glasses.’ Rick rolled his eyes in loving exasperation, hugging Jane then loping to the kitchen. As Ken and Jane headed inside to spread costumes on the dining table, Matt eased into the chair beside Gabriella. He smiled. ‘What’ve you been doing that your own laugh spooked you?’‘Working to pay the mortgage, roof over my head to work, pay the mortgage, support myself.’‘When do you go back?’‘I don’t. I quit. Drove here.’‘Don’t they need you?’‘No. People don’t need the analysis I do. They like the idea of it, not the application.’‘What are you going to do?’ Matt asked.‘No idea. Work in Maccas in town?’
‘FIVE MINUTES to curtain,’ Jane boomed to the actors, the audience. In the orchestra’s alcove, the musicians played a pastiche of Game of Thrones’ titles music. Lights up. Music down. Enter the queen followed by her prince consort, Matt, in dazzling blue.
ON SATURDAY MORNING, Gabriella slept until 7am after Drones’ first-night triumph. Three curtain calls. Tonight was sold-out, so even Jane could rest for the day.Pulling on jeans shirt sweater riding boots, Gabriella headed for the kitchen and then coffee on the front veranda. Griff yipped, low-soft heralding friendly approach, as Matt’s ute turned into the drive.Matt loped towards them, shaking Griff’s paw and almost hugging Gabriella’s shoulder. ‘Gabriella, I’m riding to the top hill-paddock to check fences, and I need a hand. Could you help?’Gabriella smiled at his presumption she had a free morning, could ride and mend fences. A spontaneous ‘yes’ surprised her. And him.‘Hop in the ute.’ Griff leapt into the tray. ‘Not you, Griff, you goose.’ Matt opened the door for Gabriella. I can’t remember the last time a man did this for me.Two minutes down the road, Matt turned into his driveway that led to one of the Zupps’ many houses built on the farms over decades as sons and daughters had married, procreated, divorced, widowed, drowned, died, or disappeared. In the saddling yard, two thoroughbreds whinnied at the ute’s approach. Matt’s kelpie stood, ready for work.‘Gabriella, meet Dog.’‘Your dog is named Dog?’‘Ran out of names that day.’Gabriella brushed the mare to hide her laughter. Mount, breathe deep the forgotten honesty of horses, dogs, cows, and perhaps men.Matt’s gelding was champing at the bit, tossing his head as Matt sidled him to the gate and undid the chain. Gabriella sat deep in the saddle as muscles long-forgotten began to stir. Mist was still rolling up from the Brogo River flats, both horses snorting in the morning light, Matt alternately leading or riding beside and then behind Gabriella – to check the mare’s gait, he said.Reaching the foothills, Matt pointed to the top of the ridge and with no sign Gabriella could see, the gelding moved to a slow canter, the mare following, slipstreaming up the hill. At the brow, Matt reined in, turning to Gabriella who was laughing.‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.‘I’d forgotten how good this feels.’Matt kneed the gelding to the fence, trotting slowly beside it, then walking if post or wire needed checking. The mare followed, so Gabriella allowed herself to look at the Zupps’ paddocks spreading below in greens-yellow-mauve patchwork. Matt circled. ‘Fences are all fine up here.’‘Matt, the paddock below Jane and Rick’s – what are you doing with it?’‘It’s fallow. I’ll sow Coolibah oats or Saio for the cows. Then lupins. And sunflowers.’‘Sunflowers?’‘Gives milk a strawberry flavour. Sell it to city people who want organic strawberry milk with no added strawberries.’She could not see his face. His shoulders were shaking and for one second, Gabriella believed him.‘Matt Zupp, look at me and say that again.’ Something bubbled in Gabriella. ‘This reminds me of that song,’ She sang. ‘Now the green blade rises from the buried grain, wheat that in dark earth many years has lain …’Matt nodded. ‘What’s that song?’‘An old French tune. Then a hymn.’‘You’re a horse singer. You could do cows as well. I need an apprentice dairy … maid.’‘I’m hardly a maid.’‘The cows don’t know that.’‘Job accepted.’Matt sidled his horse over, leaning in to pat the mare’s neck. ‘Can you start today?’Gabriella nodded and began to pick her way down the hill, humming the rest of the verse. ‘Love lives again, that with the dead has been. Love is come again, like wheat that springeth green.’