The Blind Eye (7 page)

The truth is we could be testing any substance, absolutely anything, and that is because everything has within it the possibility of producing a wide spectrum of varied symptoms, and hence of being used in treatment. Conversely, it is also possible to poison using any substance, provided it is given in sufficient quantities; even the most everyday foods, such as salt or starch, can be toxic if they are given in large doses over a long period of time.

Obviously, the testing we will be doing is not crude. If a substance is administered in toxic doses, we will see a reaction, but what we see will probably be of little use in later treatment. What we want is the finer picture: the highly
refined and specific symptoms that are produced when minute doses are taken. This is what will allow us to determine the resonant frequency at which this particular substance vibrates. The people who are here must therefore be capable of describing the most subtle changes that occur in each plane – the physical, emotional and mental. That is what they will need to record in their diaries.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Larissa and Matthew (the two provers I will be supervising) are writing up their notes. Every so often one of them pauses and looks up at the ceiling. They are searching for the word they want. It is an intense form of self-examination, and in a small group like this, such continual navel-gazing could have its problems. We all know this and we are careful, because each and every one of us has a faith in this process and a belief in its importance.

Rudi Weiss often wrote about the power of a common faith in holding a community together. When Silas first mentioned his name to me, I did not tell him that I had actually heard of him, that he had been one of my heroes when I was a student. I had read about the alternative lifestyle he and a dozen or so others had established on the outskirts of Port Tremaine over thirty years ago. They had wanted a community that was sustainable, one that was based on respect for each other and for the land on which they lived. I was inspired by their work, and I am not just talking about the developments they made in the process of cure.

These articles were all written some time ago. I did not know what had happened to their group until I met Silas and learnt that there was only Rudi and his daughter, Constance, left out there. The others had gone. It was, like so many small utopian communities, a place that lasted for a while and then, for reasons I can only guess at, disintegrated rapidly. Perhaps our own faith, our own belief is not always enough; we need others to confirm the visions we create for ourselves if we are to have any hope of sustaining them.

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Silas told me that it was Thai who always did the rolling.

It was her thing
.

She would lick the paper flat and twist the end with a business-like efficiency; small, skinny joints, one for each of them.

She had guessed he was loaded, and when she had asked him if he could spare a little,
to get her through the day
, he had shown her the stash in his bag and told her to help herself.

Her eyes had lit up.
Jesus fucking Christ
, and her intake of breath was a slow whistle of amazement. It had been a while since she had seen anything as good as that.

Later, when Silas thought of Thai, it was her skinny brown arms that he saw, her silver bracelets, the dolphin tattoo on her shoulder blade, and the torn dirty dresses she always wore; that was what he remembered, that and the sharp blue of her eyes as they narrowed with each inhalation of dope, until eventually she just sat there, lids heavy, oblivious to the kids’ screams as they knocked over each other’s towers, tore each other’s drawings, broke each other’s toys.

When Silas told her about the house, and his plans for fixing it up, she said she’d wondered why he spent so much time walking around that place.

So, when are you going to start?
she asked.

He drew back on the joint.
Don’t know
, and he grinned because suddenly it all seemed too much; it was far easier to just sit and imagine what it could be.

No date, hey?

He tapped his feet on the rotten verandah and looked out towards the gulf, amazed for a moment at the sense of peace this amount of dope seemed to be giving him.
Guess not
, he grinned again and they both started laughing. One of her boys was standing opposite with his hands on his hips as he imitated their laugh with his own,
ha ha ha
. The other kids soon followed suit, until they were all around him, the fakeness of their laughter sharp and harsh in the heat, the flies thick on their scabby knees and runny noses.

Piss off
, and Thai waved her hand at them as you would wave at insects; pointless putting too much energy into getting rid of them when they would be more than likely to return.

Thai told Silas that she and Matt had been in the town for four years. It was the only place where they could buy not just one house but two. They were going to have a bed and breakfast, they were going to be self-sufficient, they were going to get back to the land; there was a lot they were
going to do, problem was she couldn’t remember much of it anymore.

Silas told Thai he was going to take photographs, portraits of the residents, or perhaps he would paint, maybe draw, and he would glance up at the great curve of the ranges, the sheer sprawl of them, and wonder how he would capture them.

Yeah?
she would say without looking at him, and she would roll another.

Matt was rarely there. He was working on a station, trying to pay off debts. On the occasional nights when he returned, he would sit next to Thai and take the joint she offered him, the youngest girl curling up to sleep in his arms while he smoked in silence. Silas would sit with them and listen to the gentle lap of the tide slipping out, far out, and he would close his eyes, the last of the day’s heat still lingering in the early evening, soft and warm.

He once asked Thai who Tricia was and he waved his hand in the direction of the caravan. She stubbed out the end of her joint without looking at him, her bracelets jangling as she ground the tip into the verandah, while Matt got up without a word and went into the house. Silas didn’t ask again.

He also asked who Rudi was, but it was not Thai who told him, it was the others: Mick, Jason and Steve. Word of his stash had got around by then, and at night they would
pull up in Steve’s car, Mick in the back, Jason in the front, all of them in identical jeans, flannel shirts with the sleeves ripped off, beanies and black sunglasses, ready to get down to the serious business of wasting themselves.

Steve had come first, without the others, the low throb of the engine dying to a splutter, the dust settling as he slammed the door and raised a hand in greeting.

Gidday
, and Thai had the paper laid out flat on her lap before he had even crossed the dirt that had once been a flower bed.

He didn’t acknowledge Silas, not until he had drawn back, deep and hard, and then he turned in his direction.

Not bad
, and his look was one of grudging admiration.

Later, when he brought the others, they would all sit on Thai’s verandah, the kids inside, asleep on the lounge-room floor, the black and white television a fuzz of light in the darkness of the house. In the soft purple dusk, Silas would tell them what an amazing place this was.
Look at it
, and he would raise his arm in the general direction of the jetty. Stoned and effusive, with the heat of the day gone and the slow drowsiness of the evening’s smoke thick in his blood, he was in love with it all.

Mick was the only one who responded.
Yeah?
He turned away.
Try living here
.

In the quiet that followed his remark, Silas heard a neighbour’s flyscreen door creaking as she opened it to call
the cat;
Sootie
, her voice quavering, the tap of the spoon against the tin of food a sharp punctuation to the repetition of that one word.

Sootie
, they all called out in unison, Steve, Jason and Mick, and Thai just watched and grinned as Steve stroked her arm;
here pussy, pussy
, his voice a whisper now as she pretended to purr.

There were things going on in that town that Silas hadn’t even begun to guess at, and he let go of his idle fantasies of curling up next to Thai’s wiry brown body. He stood up slowly, his legs heavy and tired from sitting for too long. Perhaps he would just go for a swim, there in the black water, he would float out on the slowness of the tide, alone, and as he contemplated the idea he dangled one foot over the edge of the verandah.

That was when he saw him for the second time; the old man he had noticed on the first night, illuminated for a moment as he walked out along the shore, his gait unsteady.

Where’d he come from?
Silas asked.

Steve shrugged his shoulders as he sucked hard on the last of his joint and let the butt drop onto the dirt below. He took the smoke that Thai had ready for him.
You don’t want to know him
, and he checked to see that Silas was listening because he wanted to be recognised as the source of knowledge, the one with authority, the protector, even to an outsider. It was clearly a role that deserved respect, and
Silas knew he had to somehow muster a serious look on his face.

Jason knocked over the can at his feet as he attempted to stand and Mick just kept smoking, his eyes fixed on the darkness of the road.

Rudi Weiss
, Steve began, lighting the new joint.
Lives out of town. Set up a fuckin’ commune with a group of wackos who poisoned local stock as soon as they saw a hoofprint on the place. Said they were killing the country
, and Steve shook his head in amazement,
cattle, killing the country
, and his eyes closed as he let out a thin stream of smoke.

Silas took the joint that Thai held out for him.
What happened?
The dope was sweet and thick in the back of his throat, and as he stared out across the darkness of the yard, he realised he had failed to complete his question.
To the others?

Steve tilted his head back and took a long swig of beer.
Got tired of living in la la land and left
.

Mick was standing now, looking as though he was making a move to go, but not quite getting it together.

But Rudi stayed
, and Steve shook his head again.
Moved out to the tip and planted a fuckin’ garden
.

Silas felt the heaviness of the dope flood him and he closed his eyes as he leant back against the verandah post. That was something he wouldn’t mind seeing. He would go there, he thought, when he got it together; that’s what he would do.

He must have drifted off to sleep. He couldn’t remember. But when he woke, they were gone, Thai, Jason, Mick and Steve. He pulled himself up, the roughness of the post scratching his hands, and he stumbled into the lounge room. He had to pick his way over the still bodies of the kids, he had to feel his way in the darkness to where he knew his bed was, somewhere out there, somewhere in that cottage out the back.

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