Heat and Light (14 page)

Stephanie was fading when I saw the wheel piled under the clouds, close. I pulled her to her feet, spat on the blisters on her toes.

Although it looked close, I knew it would take us hours to get across.

I pulled Stephanie along, only looking at the wheel. I felt a hard pressure in my chest. The wheel was the only infrastructure in the frame. All day there had been no roads or buildings or people visible to the naked eye. Even the lizards didn’t live here. I drooled my dry tongue down my shirt.

Stephanie’s hand stuck in mine. I looked in her eyes, and saw the red lids. The women I saw at Ceremony travelled this journey every year with each other. I didn’t know if I was on the ancestral track.

I felt Grace’s presence overwhelmingly as I made those steps. She was a lift for me. Stephanie and I were still clutching at each other’s hands. I longed for my mother’s touch, Grace’s tug at my hair. The rebelling feeling I had when I’d first set off had gone, replaced by a feeling of stupidity, of pointlessness.

I pushed this to the side when I realised Stephanie must be carried. I knelt down and gently hoisted her up. She was barely heavier than the backpack I used to wear, long left behind, but she was still a weight, and I had to learn to move with her. To feel the life force of someone else so close to me made me think of these women and all the years they’d lived this way.

We got closer until the old ferris wheel rose above us, spread out like a giant spiderweb. I felt out of my body when I stood, almost directly under the wheel. To have made it this far felt like something useful had been achieved, like an adult in a sail boat, sails raised against the sun. Though for us, maybe it was the feeling of
together
. A sort of vitality. The feeling of a new part that felt like home, a hill, or tree, a nut opening in your hand after breaking the casing.

I took Stephanie damply off my shoulders and felt us sink down into the earth in exhaustion. After resting there for a while I heard the sound of water and I lifted my head up in shock. It was coming from the base of the wheel. There was a tank and I could hear it pumping water up. I walked over – opened it and was dizzy at the enormous sight of the pale water inside the white tank. Gallons, it must have held. I put the bottle in and filled it. I went over straightaway to pass water to Stephanie, who was just strong enough to accept it without me helping her. We gulped down the liquid, swapping the flask back and forth.

It wasn’t long until Stephanie’s eyes grew huge at the sight of the wheel. She just couldn’t wait to get up and sit in one of those carts. After another drink I joined her, climbing up the base and into one of the elevated ones. The seat was surprisingly cold, melting the heat of my shorts. The cart had rusted, white metal dissolving into red. The wheel creaked in the breeze, and the cart rocked forward and back a little, as if phantomly operated, as if ghosts were here, old people opened up by the lines of the giant circle cut across sky and land. I curled my chin into the cool face of my knee and looked out, taking in the view. This is the position I stayed in for several hours. My legs hardened from the effort. Stephanie had no words. We had found water and refuge but there was no food and I soon felt ill.

The sun set over the wheel. I got sicker pretty quickly. I had moved past being empty and faint, to a sort of violence. I lay on my stomach in the cart and threw my guts up over the side, onto the ground. What had got hold of my body was winning. I wondered about Grace and Mum and Dad and whether they were worried about me. Now I wanted them to come to get me. I wanted to be rescued. I imagined hearing the burst of an engine, Grace rolling through the dust in her boyfriend’s stolen car. Better still, an ancient bus, the lettering on the front flickering like lightning. But it was Stephanie who got me through, she saved my life. She laid me on my side. She climbed up higher on the wheel to look out all around us and she found where the road would be. She’s not just book smart. She ran almost all that way – there were cars going up and down looking for us and she got them moving towards me. She said it was ‘a miracle’.

I woke up in Broome hospital. Mum and Dad had come as soon as they found out, thinking I may never wake up. But the doctor pumped my body with saline and potassium and I came out of it.

When I started to feel better I asked for Grace. My parents told me, but it wasn’t until they took me home that I realised the truth: Grace had gone, too, but she hadn’t been found. Her friends said she had taken off with Dec in a stolen Camry, she hadn’t left a note. What I didn’t figure out was whether she had gone before or after me. I didn’t want to believe she had chosen her opportunity when her sister was lying in a diabetic coma. Dec and her were really in love, everyone said. Gonna get married. They weren’t seen in Broome, and people thought they went the other way, across the border.

One of the first nights back home there was a real ripper of a storm. Our shanty flashed with the force. The small community, already in strings, was blown almost apart. A week of rain and the dirt I had walked in, I had known, turned to swampland. I thought of Grace, dreamed shelter for her, pathways where the storm couldn’t fit, hidden patches of earth where even a season’s rain couldn’t touch her.

She was one distance that never left me.

Currency

Park drives his family out of the city. Connor sits on his mother’s lap in the back, next to sports bags piled on top of
each other up to the window. They reach the outskirts of the
city, spread-out, fragmented, less sense to the order of things. Connor looks at the petrol stations, car yards, rubbish tips. Park doesn’t stop. The landscape is changing too, drier earth, mountains ahead. Connor watches his father rush, and he is scared. His mother’s knees are tighter than usual, and she says nothing to Park as they reach the edge.

Now they only pass highway rest stops and pie shops. At the rust colour in front of them, Park lets out a breath. Here, there is no longer the city’s taste, the city’s influence, the disease. His family will be safe. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Blue notices cut-open earth often, unmanned machinery. They were drilling here.

Connor is hungry, and Park reaches in his pockets and passes Blue a small nectarine. The habit of Park to carry fruit with him never ceases to amuse Connor and his mother.

Park pulls up at a petrol station, the petrol startlingly cheap. He puts the pump in, Connor watching with intensity from the window. Park rubs his hands on the back of his jeans. He walks inside, there is an older man and a woman by the counter.

‘You come in from the city?’

‘Yeah,’ Park says, paying.

‘Day trip?’

‘No. We’re heading to Boom.’

‘Visit?’

‘Stay.’

‘You got to know it’s a lot different out there. Not what you’d expect.’

Park shakes off the caution. They must’ve picked him from the city clothes, he thinks as he walks back to the car. Park wears a white shirt with a print and sunglasses and jeans. Blue also wears jeans and a V-neck shirt, one of the ones she wore when she was breastfeeding.

Why Boom? He’d seen the place somewhere, on a map or a brochure. A mate worked there once, years ago, he was dead now. Park knew it was a few days away. He’d been looking for a name on the map, in the desert stretching across the paper. Something to reach for; but truth is, he was glad to find anything. There were jobs, he’d heard. In the mines. He’d be off for a while, and Blue and the child would stay put. They’d be safe, they’d find a house and he’d find the time to fix it up. Perhaps Blue could grow something.

Park swears under his breath at the state of the road. He lets out a warning when he nears a bump.

It is Connor who notices a track of camel dung. He glimpses the piles in wonder, and feels a smile pass over his lips. His parents don’t notice.

Just looking at the desert outside the window makes Blue hot. It is so bright, yet so dull. A while passes on the road after the petrol station, quite a long time without seeing anything. Then they all sight the great-sized creature in the distance and talk at once.

‘What is that?’ Blue asks.

‘Don’t worry,’ Park says, keeping his eyes on the road. ‘Camel. There’s heaps around here, apparently.’

‘Hon, it looks strange. It has a horn.’

They pass it at the same speed and Park isn’t looking back. Connor and Blue turn around, the boy’s knees on the seat, watching it grow smaller. It is moving slowly, and horn or not, the sight of it makes them feel something that stays with them.

Park isn’t going to mention what he’s also heard, about the killer camel breed. Ones in particular they want to cull. He knows the gun is there in the dash.

Hours pass until they come across a small town, and Blue says softly, ‘You want to stop here, Park?’

He hasn’t thought of stopping, his grip tight on the steering wheel, but she brings him in, he loosens and becomes aware again of her and Connor in the back seat.

He nods and slows the car, finding a place to leave it on this main street of sorts. There is a small pub and a park and little else. And people. Blue smiles.

Park looks straight at the pub, a dry thirst on his mind. Blue tells him she wants to take Connor to the toilet at the park, and she’ll meet him in there. Park stretches out his back.

He lopes in, hands on his hips. It is dark and there are a few odd-looking people about. He sees, and knows from experience, that at least one of them is carrying a gun. He asks the bearded barman, ‘What you got? What beer?’ The man points. Park digs into his jeans for his wallet.

‘Nah, mate.’

‘What do you mean?’

The man refuses to serve him. Park feels humiliation grow on his cheeks. The other people in the bar look over at him with a roughness in their eyes, stopping him from tempering over.

He walks out of there, finds Blue.

Blue looks across parched dry country. Although dull, there is a contrast of colours, between the deep dark blue of the range and the pale pink desert dirt. There are a few trees here, eucalypts. Connor points out a bird. The bird flies straight across the park – straight as an arrow. Then it floats delicately to ground.

There is a brick toilet block, with children’s art on the gate. She takes Connor in. When they come out he wants to stay for a moment, his eyes following dragonflies hovering above the grass. They walk deeper into the park.

Blue thinks even the bark on the trees looks parched. There is a small creek bed, mostly dry. Above them five ducks fly across – their brown-and-white speckled bodies in formation. It must be good for Connor to see nature. She sits him down on her lap under the trees and they look out.

The metallic glistening of cars up the hill is the only shine. She wonders if it’s a car yard. Could Park get a job there? She’ll tell him. The quiet is broken into by the rasp of a motorcycle somewhere. More signs of life, for the family’s future.

Park explains to Blue what happened in the bar and she puts a hand to his shoulder and says she would like to go in there. He looks back at the pub and says they should just leave, but she convinces him by gesturing at Connor, saying he will need a break in the cool, and a drink of water or Cola.

‘I’ll sort it out,’ she says to Park and he follows her wordlessly, Connor by his legs.

When she gets inside she stands back a little and takes it in, as she is used to doing. The decor is rough, thoughtless. She watches the bar. The bearded man serving doesn’t look up. There are a few men sitting around in a circle. She notices, surprised, that there is no cash register. She sees one of the men sitting in the middle is talking animatedly. She can’t keep up with the flow of it.

When he finishes all the men cheer and stomp their feet and the barman pours a beer in a glass and pushes it across the counter. No money changes hands.

‘Do you know where the river got its name?’ the barman turns to ask her.

She shakes her head. ‘I would like a drink, for my son. How do I pay?’

‘Around here, with a story, love. You got any?’

She thinks he is joking. She stares into his eyes.

‘Blue,’ her husband calls behind her. He is tensed at the window, holding Connor by the hand. ‘Let’s go.’

They walk down the street as a unit, looking around the township, keeping to the shade. Park lights up a cigarette. Blue watches Connor suck another nectarine found in his father’s pocket, the nectar blending into the sweat on his upper lip. They stop to look at the saw mill, peering over the fence. A man emerges wearing a singlet – he has a heavy gut and a sunburnt, smiling face.

‘How you going?’ he asks. A fly studding his cheek.

Blue talks for them. ‘Good, and how are you?’

‘Not bad, not bad. You see that huge tree over there? The red gum on its own? A man once lived in it, many years ago.’

‘Really?’ Blue says.

‘Yep. He was wanted by the coppas for tax fraud, and he had no money, so he packed a bag and walked to the tree; see the opening at the bottom? He stayed there for two years before anyone figured it out.’

Park, who’s been listening, lets out a low whistle.

‘True,’ Blue says. ‘What happened to him?’

‘So he’d been spotted stealing milk from the farmers. The authorities surrounded the tree and told him if he didn’t come out they’d cut the tree down – and he was outside in a flash. He loved the tree, see. The moment he got out a huge branch fell with a crash, and narrowly missed the people below. Among the possessions he left in there was a dog-eared copy of Shelley’s
Frankenstein
. He was sent to jail, but he was only in for a few months, a lot less time than he’d been in the tree.’

They walk nearer to the gum, marvelling at its size. Up close, with the texture of the trunk, the idea of a man living in it seemed tangible.

‘You wouldn’t have a smoke, would ya?’ the man asks.

Park reaches into his pocket and under-arms the man the packet. ‘Thanks.’ He catches it one-handed. He lights up and waves, before he starts back into the mill, whistling as he goes.

They return to the car at nightfall. Park drives them a little bit further, imagining a place of safety as a bit off the town, but close enough for it to be a comfort.

There is a sliver of light behind them from the grid of buildings, and as the car rolls west there is nothing in front of them except bush entrenched in darkness. It is a darkness they are not used to. Park shoulders the car off the road. They pass around a torch as they peel out of their clothes into outfits more comfortable to sleep in. Blue gets the blankets out from under the seat and spreads them across the backs of the seats. Connor is little enough to fit under her arm as she lies down across the back seat. Park leans over his seat and plants a serious kiss on both of their cheeks, the whites of his eyes pinning into the darkness. When he shifts back into place he rests the gun between his legs and leans back. Inside the car all is quiet. Connor’s short, sharp sucking sounds help Park keep time. A few of these a minute and Park feels his wife and child relax into almost sleep. He himself relaxes a bit in turn. He checks off mental lists of protection from immediate and far-away danger. All four doors shut. There’s still the food left in the yellow bag and Connor’s medication.

The lights from the town behind them have gone out. Park adjusts his back into the chair. There is a bump on the car, they are hit by something. And then something again. Park swears, springs up, Blue and Connor stir at the back.

‘What is it?’ Blue mutters.

Park tries to see out the window – points the torch at the glass, but he pushes back from the force of the thing or things hitting the car. He lifts the rifle and keeps it aimed. The car is rocked and Blue screams for him to start it. His hands are trembling too much; the next hit makes him move, he forces himself over the back seat, covering Blue and Connor, getting them down on the floor. A strong, distressing smell suddenly comes in his mouth, wet earth, undeniably camel. He tenses, waiting for the sound of smashing glass, for their safety to burst, but it doesn’t. After a while it stops. Park gets up and shines his light at all sides, but he can’t see anything.

In the morning, when Park inspects the car, he is shocked. As well as dints, and horn-shaped marks, he finds the back two tyres have been slashed by the creatures.
He tries not to show all of his frustration; Blue and Connor are still shaken from the night, and none of them have slept much. Blue makes breakfast by mashing a banana onto grain crackers. They get dressed and start the walk to town. Park is adamant he won’t leave them in the car, they are all staying together.

They are immediately unsettled by the terrain, and drained by the heat. Park carries a quiet Connor on his shoulders. He feels a wave of love for his boy; he would do anything. This time last week he was in the supermarket and he had seen a child his boy’s age with lumps all over his face, sending him into terror. That afternoon he’d starting packing.

Outside the town, a group stands. Three men, all wearing broad-brimmed hats, are in the middle of the road.

‘What should I say?’ he says, turning to Blue. ‘Will they help us?’

‘Tell them about the tree,’ Blue says.

Park licks the corner of his lips. He runs a line in the dirt with his toe and he moves towards the men.

He does not know he has a son who sees the camels in his dreams. They are honey coloured with two long horns, oldtime patterns on the backs of their necks and skinny tails. For this visualisation, he is one of them, sitting on the back of an old girl, and they will never harm him.