By Raymond O'Brien

Oates was next to Hansel in the chain gang.

“Look, the witch has got herself a convict girl,” he said.

“So?” Hansel could not be bothered to look. What did he care of witches and girls? He swung the axe and cut one more step on the new road to Windsor. Would he ever see it finished? Already a year since he and Gretel had disembarked at Sydney Town. One year served of seven. For stealing gingerbread! He swung the axe again. “You know this witch?”

“Lives on a farm up beyond Windsor on the Hawkesbury, past the first big bend,” Oates said. “Keeps pigs and grows crops. Dharugs raided the place last year. Said it was their land stolen from them so they was only taking back what was rightfully theirs. She and her man hid in the barn and lit a torch to scare them when they came looking, but the torch set the whole barn on fire. He was killed but she got away, though she was burned. That’s why she keeps her face covered.” Oates nodded towards the witch and leaned closer to Hansel. “Mind, how she got away is why they calls her a witch. The Dharugs said she flew away on a broom. Straight up into the sky, screaming with her hair on fire.” He stared at Hansel with his finger in the air. “Anyhow, she’s from High Germany and no one understands her. Probably why she got the girl. To speak for her.”

The bull-necked foreman swaggered towards them, his whip swooshing at the end of a thick arm. “Shut it, Oates. Back to work!”

Curious now, Hansel took a quick glance upwards when the foreman passed. He saw the witch’s shawl and hood that covered her face, and long flaxen hair underneath. Hair just like his sister Gretel’s.

He had just processed the similarity when he realised the girl walking next to the witch also had blonde hair, and she was his sister. Hansel saw her wince when the witch grabbed her by the arm to hurry her along. He resisted the urge to shout — he’d just found out where she lived. He reached down and placed a rock into the fold of each rolled-up trouser leg.

***

A flash of lightning, a rumble of thunder and the rain started. Hansel turned in his bunk, thanked the gods, and brought his leg up. The five seconds between each flash and rumble allowed him to time the hits of the large rock against smaller one that was wedged into the crack of a chain link.

After the third blow Hansel sensed the gap was now big enough, and he twisted and pulled the chain off. His legs were free to move now. He took the strips of cloth he’d ripped from an old tunic and wrapped and tied them around the loose chain to muffle the rattle. Then he slid quietly along the floor and waited with his back to the wall. On the next crack from the sky he pushed, felt the planks give way, and dropped to the wet ground outside.

From there it was a sprint across the compound, over a brick wall, and down to the river. There was a small boat tied to the bank. Hansel ran over, quickly slipped it into the water and rowed.

***

It was her. Hansel crouched in the bushes and watched Gretel through the window of the cottage. The witch appeared beside her, shouted, and slapped her across the face. Hansel bit his tongue and resisted the urge to immediately run inside.

A minute later Gretel came outside with an oil lamp and a bucket. Hansel watched her walk to the pig pens. He scampered after her and waited until she put the lamp down and emptied the bucket.

“Gretel, it’s me, Hansel!” he hissed.

She froze.

“I’m coming over.”

Hansel watched his sister slowly turn around with her hands to her face as he approached. She fell into his arms.

“Oh Hanse, Hanse,” she sobbed. “It’s really you.” She took his hands and kissed them, then placed her hands on his cheeks.

“Yes. I saw you today. I promised I’d find you, didn’t I? I’m sorry it took me a year. But I found you.”

“Oh, my brother, don’t apologise,” Gretel said. 

Despite the rain and the weak light from the lamp, Hansel could see the bruises in the insides of his sister’s arms. “She hurts you?”

Gretel nodded.

“I’ll kill her.”

“No Hanse, you can’t. I must stay here to serve my time. And you must go back.”

“No, Gretel, I can’t, I —” 

Bang! 

The witch shouted as Hansel hit the wet ground. “Voss maxt do here?”

Hansel looked up, dazed, and saw the witch above him swinging a large piece of wood. Where had she come from so quickly? He saw Gretel run away. When the witch raised the huge club to strike again its weight took her off balance and she slipped in the mud. She landed on her hands and knees near Hansel’s feet as the club spun away. He lashed out with an iron clad foot that collided with the witch’s forehead and sent her sprawling to lay with her back against the fence. She was about to raise herself up when Hansel saw Gretel run towards her and swing an axe that landed on top of the witch’s head and split her skull. Brain matter splattered all over the fence. The witch was dead. Instantly.

***

Hansel was happy to let the current take them down the Hawkesbury towards Windsor. He looked at his sister at the bow and the prime pig in between.

“Do you think we’ll get a good price for him at the market?” he asked.

Gretel smiled and patted the pink mottled skin. “Of course. Hasn’t he been fed on the best German meat?”

“True.”

“Look, we’re almost there. Cover your face.”

Hansel pulled the witch’s shawl above his head and took out his own long blonde hair to let it hang in front of his chest, surprised at how much it had grown in the last six months.

“Remember, I do the talking for you,” Gretel said, as the boat touched the bank.

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