The Glass Mountain (12 page)

22

My God!' Sheralyn puts her head in her hands. She looks up. ‘And Ossie?'

‘Gone too.'

She takes a deep breath, draws herself up and reaches for the phone. ‘Thanks Kate,' she says. Before she has finished making the calls a car is screeching into the drive. Sheralyn Smythe braces herself and goes to the door.

‘What do you mean gone? Gone where?'

‘Come into the office, Mrs Butcher, Mr Butcher — take a seat.'

‘She's old — she's ill — how could she escape?' Marjorie Butcher paces up and down. She sits, stands, bangs on the desk. ‘Don't you check on them? Isn't that your job?'

‘She's shot through before —'

‘Shut up, Jeffrey.'

‘Mrs Butcher.' Sheralyn speaks carefully. ‘I'm as concerned as you are. As are my staff who are dedicated and vigilant.'

‘Obviously.'

‘I'll call Sister Curran.' She presses a button. ‘She'll explain how she discovered your mother was missing.'

‘I can't believe this.' Marjorie Butcher throws back her head, wags her finger wildly. ‘You'll pay for this,' she hisses.

‘Calm down, dear, they're doing their best.'

‘Jeffrey, if you're going to interrupt, go and sit in the car.'

‘I think,' says the director, ‘we should all calm down and try to think what —'

‘She couldn't. Not on her own.' Marjorie Butcher is suddenly silent. Alert. ‘Where is he?' she asks slowly.

‘He?'

‘The bikie, the thug, the criminal you employ. Where is he?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You must know.'

‘His term of employment finished yesterday.'

‘So, where did he go?'

‘As I said, I don't know.'

Mrs Butcher takes a deep breath. ‘He's kidnapped her. He's kidnapped her, Jeffrey. I knew it. I knew this'd happen —'

Jeffrey Butcher gives a small cough. ‘If that's the case, dear,' he says, ‘what we must determine is where he would take her.'

‘Oh God!'

‘Mrs Butcher —'

‘We'll never find her in the city — we'll never find her. She's dying. She could be dead now. He's probably killed her. Quick, ring the police.'

‘I have. They'll be here any minute. Oh, come in, Kate.'

Nurse Curran enters and takes a seat. She describes the events of the morning, starting from the time she arrived.

It is then she remembers the letter …

23

Essie sinks onto the bed. ‘I must rest, Ossie,' she says. She closes her eyes. ‘Do a bit of exploring —'

He wanders away from the township along the flat ribbon of road. It's one o'clock. Dust rises at the kick of his boot and is licked up by the wind that has risen out of the plains. He thinks maybe Kev might like a hand. That garage could do with a bit of a clean-out anyway. He stops, lights up a cigarette and ambles back.

A bus, an ancient looking bone-shaker, is idling outside the general store. It's full of kids all decked out in red and black. Ossie stops, and stares into the window at everything from bread loaves and biscuits to saucepans and sun hats.

‘Who are you?'

He looks around. An oldish guy, also in red and black, has emerged from the store. ‘Who are you?' he repeats.

‘Who are you?' echoes Ossie.

‘The coach.'

‘That's very excellent.'

‘Our ruckman's fallen off the roof.' Ossie glances up.

‘— The shearing shed. Done an ankle. We need a ruckman and you're tall. We're the Scorpions, see.' The man waves in the direction of the bus. ‘Today we're up against the Dingoes. You'd be doing them kids a real favour.'

Ossie looks towards the bus. From grimy windows serious faces peer.

‘I can't,' he says.

‘If you don't wanna —'

‘Got a plate in my leg. Can't run.'

‘You don't have ta. All ya gotta do is belt the ball with ya hand.' The speaker comes closer. ‘Look, we're not gonna win. We never win. We're at the bottom, see. Been there forever —'

‘That's all I've gotta do?'

The coach raises his fist and there's a throaty bellowing from the bus.

‘What's ya team?' enquires the centre half forward as they rattle off.

‘Tigers.'

‘Hey, Bonehead, ya got a mate.'

‘Carn the Tiges.'

There's a handful of spectators roaming around the ground, as well as a mass of Dingoes in yellow and brown. Ossie pulls on the red and black.

‘Wow,' exclaims the full forward. Scorpions gather. The coach has observed the pit vipers also. ‘You can lead us out,' he chortles. ‘ As a way of saying thanks,' he adds, rubbing his hands together.

And now a whistle blows and groups of Dingoes and Scorpions disengage themselves. A cheer comes from somewhere, for the umpire is holding the ball aloft ready for the opening bounce.

Ossie gives a whack. His Dingo opposition comes up to his shoulders — hasn't a hope. The ball sails beyond the fifty-metre mark. Scorpions race, trip over Dingoes, collide with each other. The ball wobbles on and through the big sticks.

The extraordinary figures on the scoreboard at halftime indicate that the Scorpions are only two points behind. The ball has been down the Dingoes' end on few occasions. The full forward Dingo snarls. He's there to kick goals — puts his boot into a Scorpion for practise.

The coach is pumped up. He's going to take risks. ‘Just flood with the ball, all of yers,' he bellows. The opposition coach is deflating fast. ‘You —' he addresses his star player — ‘into the ruck. Ya haven't touched the effing ball.'

‘I haven't seen the effing ball to effing touch it, have I?' the full forward yells back.

The second half is away. The ball is bounced. Ossie and his new opponent lock eyes, fists. The Dingo wins it, wins it again. Then Ossie, who's been doing a bit of flooding and some kicking and passing as well, hits out. A Scorpion marks, kicks — the scores are level. And only three minutes to play before full time. The Dingoes score, and score again. Now the Scorpions score. There's one point between them and fifty-one seconds left …

The umpire bounces, Ossie leaps and he gives an almighty thump. The ball floats high into the air and lands, plonk! — right in the arms of the full forward who is five metres out. His mouth drops open in surprise. As the whistle blows, he turns and kicks. The Scorpions have won!

“We are the Scorpions dadada da da dadada da da —”

Most have forgotten the words, but they sing like they'll sing forever and very loudly too. And the coach hugs pit vipers and his eyes run. And his nose as well …

It's 5 o'clock by the time Ossie is dropped back at the motel.

‘I've had the most pusillanimous day, ' he says.

‘That's wonderful,' chirps Essie from the bed. ‘Tell me about it.'

The star ruckman points to a length of blood and grime. ‘Could do with a shower first,' he replies.

24

He tells her of his day as they sit at the little table gobbling salad, chips and the best pies in the district.

Outside, the wind sweeps and blusters and rattles the windows. Inside, the heater crackles, and wheezes warm air …

Ossie yawns, and yawns again.

‘You're exhausted.' Essie smiles. ‘You must be — up at four, driving all this way, playing a Scorpion.'

‘We could watch the box for a bit,' he replies.

‘You go ahead. I'm going to lie down.'

She disappears into the miniscule and not particularly clean en suite, reappears dressed in a pink nightgown and slips into the bed.

He watches some cabaret show, changes channels, starts to watch something else and switches it off. In the cupboard there's a spare pillow and blanket. He pulls them out and arranges them on a chair.

‘What are you doing?'

‘It's alright, Essie. I've slept in places that would make this most pardonable chair seem like a very excellent four poster in one of them palaces.'

‘Ossie, stop being chivalrous. The bed's very large and I'm very small. Come on —'

He flicks off the light, pulls off his jeans and boots, his jacket and shirt and slides quickly between the sheets. He lies in the dark, still, like a stone person. From time to time headlights flash across walls and ceiling. Now something in the garden has begun to tap against the window. Quite rhythmically, in three quarter time.

‘Hear that, Essie?'

‘You've got a beautiful mind, Ossie.'

‘Aw —'

‘As I said before —'

He stares into the ceiling at the peeling plaster. ‘I've been bad, Essie. Ya don't know how bad.'

‘Ossie you were in a war zone. You've seen pictures of like children, in their eyes the pain, the fear, the loss of innocence. Except your battlefield was the home … A child is without guile, Ossie, he knows no hate, no cruelty or prejudice. These things are learned. And your world was angry, confusing and you walked alone unable to speak of it. For how can a child describe the incomprehensible? And if you can't use language you lash out —' Essie pauses. The twig on the window waltzes on. ‘You were deprived of your birthright,' she continues, ‘Security and love. I, on the other hand; was overwhelmed by it. But I didn't value it. I followed my own dream, a separate happiness. You see, Ossie, I've been bad too. It's because of my selfishness that my daughter and I are uncomfortable with each other. And possibly always shall be. If there had been a child we might have had another chance, but either she couldn't have any or she didn't want one. She's a school teacher, she must like children.'

‘In my experience with teachers, Essie, liking them's not always perpendicular.'

There's a silence. The lights of a vehicle sweep in and out.

Then Ossie says, ‘I've hurt harder an' I've known how much. I've known what to say an' when to — but I haven't. They're only little words — an' only three at that — but they're the hardest to say in the whole exercisable world … An' I reckon ya not the first one to find that out — nor me neither.'

‘Oh, you'll most certainly say those words and many times too — and sometimes in pain but most often in joy.' Essie pauses. ‘I think that fate will be kind to you, — that in your wayfaring through life you'll find that which we all seek, and have done since the beginning of time —'

‘What?'

‘Arcadia.'

‘Where's that?'

‘Not where, Ossie. Arcadia's found in a relationship — in love.' She rotates the small emerald ring she always wears. ‘Et in Arcadia ego,' she murmurs. ‘And I in Paradise.'

There's a quick silence. Then Ossie says, ‘I've seen paradise, Essie —'

‘What did you say?'

‘I've been there, nearly. See, in the hospital I was real close to carking it an' I knew it 'cos I could see it all. I was floating right there on the ceiling an' I could see myself lying there an' the doctors an' nurses an' all an' the tubes an' stuff sticking outa me an' Essie I looked very mor-ticious indeed. An' I could hear the doctors an' nurses talking too — everything they were saying — an' then there were these other voices an' it was like they couldn't make up their minds 'bout what to do with me …

‘An' then everything gets dark an' I'm trying to see an' screwing up my eyes an' all 'cos I know if I don't the body I can see is gonna be flat out on that slab for good. An' then it's light again, but this time it's different 'cos this time I can't see the body that's me down there any more. I can't see nothing, nothing 'cept clouds. An' these rays, an' it's like they're singing an' they're coming outa the clouds all silver an' gold an' Essie it's so beautiful. An' then they sorta join up an' start turning round an' round an' all of a sudden there's this tunnel all silver an' gold an' it's turning on an' on an' there's this light at the end an' it's like a star, it's that bright, an' it's shining for me to come … An' I want to — I do, 'cos the feeling's like that somebody wants ya with them 'cos they love ya … But I couldn't move — it was like I was pinned to the roof …

‘I reckon I saw heaven, Essie. I reckon I was nearly there. An' I reckon now I could go round an' about telling everyone that heaven's a very excellent place to be. It's true, Essie, I was leaving my body — I was nearly there … Then everything went dark again —'

‘And you came back.'

‘Yeah.'

‘Fate had not done with you, Ossie.'

‘I could hear them, the doctors an' them, their voices saying “— closing up”. They'd stopped the dark from closing up …'

‘Where life exists love exists,' she murmurs.

Ossie yawns and he turns on his side.

‘Love stops the dark from closing up —' Essie lies there, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders, hearing the steady inhaling and exhaling of his breath. She reaches out and runs a hand lightly through tiny curls.

Suddenly he turns, flings out an arm and cradles it around the pillow above her head, as though in an embrace …

25

It's the next morning and in the kitchen of Camleigh Gardens Kate Curran has finished making tea. She knocks on the office door with her foot.

‘Thanks Kate,' says the director and takes the tray.

‘She's gone home,' Marjorie Butcher states for the third time. Tea swishes onto the saucer from her cup. ‘Oh dear —'

‘I'll get you another,' whispers Kate discreetly.

‘She's gone home,' Marjorie Butcher repeats. ‘They've been sighted travelling north on the A1. What more do you want?'

‘If you were going to “do a little wayfaring”, as she put it, would you take the main road?'

‘Oh Jeffrey, be quiet.'

‘We can't be absolutely sure she's gone home,' interrupts the director.

‘I know her and they're travelling in that direction, for God's sake.'

‘It's over five hundred kilometres.'

Marjorie Butcher drops her head into her hands, ‘God! Five hundred kilometres on a motor bike! Jeffrey, say something —'

‘She's in a sidecar, dear.'

‘Oh God!'

Sheralyn gives a polite little cough. ‘Mrs Butcher, you read the letter. Essie assured both of us she'd be alright and not to worry … The police up north have been alerted. It's just a matter of waiting.'

‘They'll be easy to spot, that's one thing.'

‘They will, Mr Butcher.'

‘I can't wait. And I won't.' Marjorie Butcher leaps up. ‘I know exactly where she'll be, right to the seat she's sitting on. Jeffrey, we're off!' She turns to the director. ‘Get in touch with the state police. Tell them we're on our way.'

‘Don't you think you should —'

‘No. I tell you, Miss Smythe, when Mother gets there there's no guarantee —' she stops. They all stop. Something loud is heard. And it's getting nearer.

‘Oh Lord.' Sheralyn Smythe jumps up and stares through glass. She sees the bikies dismount.

‘Good.' Mrs Marjorie Butcher whips up her coat and strides to the door. ‘They can escort us.'