Tide (21 page)

Whoever it is knows we're here, he whispered. Would have seen and heard us miles away. Would have heard that gunshot as well. Probably freaked them out a bit.

As Pete tried to work out the logic, Kepler lifted himself high and called out, Hell-o! Who's up there?

A woman's voice came back, None of your business, mate! Then, after a pause, What do you want?

Kepler, as usual, took the reins. We're from the mines. Day off due to the shutdown. Just going up to the cool of the caves to have a few beers. Warm beers by now!

Pete wondered why they were bothering being careful and polite.

The woman came back after a while with, We're just going.

There was a pause and then she continued, This is Badimia land. Be respectful.

Pete burst out laughing. Fuck, Kep, it's a darkie!

Kepler's racism reached back through generations and he was proud of it, unlike those other racists in camp who claimed they weren't. He said, Shut the fuck up, Pete, you'll scare her off! Let's have some fun. Wonder how many of them there are. Pity you left the rifle in the car.

You didn't say anything about bringing the rifle, Kep.

I shouldn't have to. You should use your initiative.

Seeing Pete downcast, Kepler soothed him. Only pulling your leg, mate. Same sentence for shooting one of those bastards as shooting a white bloke! Did I get you going, mate? Stir your crotch up a little bit? With that, Kepler grabbed Pete's balls and gave them a hard squeeze. Thought so! he said, gleeful. Pete tried, too late, to knock Kepler's hand away. He laughed it off, irritated but used to it.

They reached the caves and looked carefully around. No sign of anyone. They made for the largest one, where their voices echoed. There was ochre painting on the walls. Figures they couldn't quite make out. And emus, roos and echidnas. It was a gallery. Kepler, suspicious by nature, said, No footprints in here. Not even any roo shit. Nothing's been in here for a long while.

Where was that woman when she called out? asked Pete.

Fuck knows. Somewhere
near
here.

They walked out of the cave and scanned the area. They looked down in the direction of the other vehicle but couldn't see it. But the angle was different. Maybe you couldn't see it from there. No sound of an engine starting, of a vehicle crunching its way across the saltbush and quartz fragments to the dirt road alongside the mine.

They drank the beer even though it was hot. It made them pissed and gave them headaches. Crashing on the cool sand of the cave, they stared at the paintings.

That one looks more like a fucking goat than a roo, said Kepler. Must be a roo, though. I mean, these are really old. Probably painted thousands of years before there
were
any fucking feral goats.

Pete half wanted to vandalise them, as a gift to Kepler, because Kepler was talking weird and made him feel uneasy. But he was dizzy and blanked out.

Kepler lifted himself up on his elbow and gazed at Pete. Fucking chip off the ol' block, this one, he said to himself. He looked back at the paintings, which began to swirl and spiral. Shit, must be the heat, takes more booze than that to get me like this. He was in Thailand again, watching Pete arse-fucking a little bitch. Kepler was laughing as the girl screamed, No more, it hurts, it hurts, and Pete went harder and harder. I hate women but I love them, Kep, he'd said after. I have to hurt them to love them.

It was evening when they woke, bursting for a piss. They stood and moaned and unzipped their shorts. Don't piss on the fucking wall, said Kepler. Pete, confused, went out and pissed over the edge, as did Kepler. Pete looked at Kepler's trunk-like dick, full of admiration. Keep your eye on your own pecker, this one's mine, said Kepler. He was out of sorts.

Shit, Kep, look!

Kepler had seen it. Something quick through the rocks.

Looked like a fucking girl!

They ran and slipped and struggled down towards the vision and couldn't see or hear anything. Jesus, like the bloody Nullarbor nymph! said Kepler.

What?

Don't worry, said Kepler, you're too young.

Pete didn't like that. Kepler rarely referred to the age difference.

Gotta tell you mate, this place is giving me the creeps, said Pete.

We should be getting back anyway, said Kepler. I don't have time for a bunch of blacks playing silly buggers.

They woke the next morning feeling really ill. The mine was still shut, and they had little to do but drink and watch pornos. They tended not to squeeze into the one donga to watch pornos. That didn't seem right in Australia, that was for holidays – though plenty of blokes did it, especially the married ones, away from their wives, who seemed to take comfort in sharing the guilt and the love.

They skipped breakfast, and after hair of the dog, looked forward to lunch. But the sight of greasy meat piled high made them want to throw up. They nibbled, green around the gills, and then left together. The other blokes asked what had got into them. Can't do anything without each other, those two. Odd.

Why are we going back, Kep? asked Pete.

Fuckin' think of anything else to do, mate? At least it's cool up there.

It's cool in the
car,
Kepler, if only you'd wind up your window and let the air-con do its thing. The vehicle clunked over potholes left by mining trucks, and they stammered their
fuck-off
s. Something close to hatred hung in the air. They'd hit the vodka. Not good out in the heat.

Kepler adjusted the rear-vision mirror and caught a glimpse of himself. His face was red and weary and he was getting uglier. Grooves had worn into his cheeks and his eyes were bloodshot. He glanced across at Pete, still fresh-faced despite the sleaze in his eyes. He's treading a well-worn path, thought Kepler, and smiled.

What you smiling at, Kep? asked Pete. Kepler didn't answer, so Pete, pumped, continued. Might see another goat, Kep. Maybe I should get the rifle out.

Fuck off. Kepler gritted his teeth. You shoot a goat and I'll fucking shoot you.

Pete was perplexed. Kepler hated goats. Pete felt he was with a stranger, and it didn't feel good. He thought of Thailand going wrong. He gazed through the window at the laterite and sandstone outcrops that looked like they'd been chewed and spat out. He never could ‘get' this land, though he'd been around it, on and off, all his life. He wondered, if he were stranded, whether he'd eat saltbush and go mad. The sky was so blue it burnt his eyes through the tinted glass, and he turned away, staring down at his jeans.

They reached the cave and flopped on its cool white sand. Pete opened a beer and offered it to Kepler, who waved it away. He was studying the walls.

If you look, he said, you'll see two goats in there among the native animals. Clear as day.

Really? said Pete, who had sculled a can and was flipping open another one. Goats make me want to get hammered.

Kepler turned to him, looked like he was going to hit him, then laughed and took a beer. Pete's spirits were rekindled? On ya, mate. Thought I'd lost you there.

Flaked out on the sandy floor of the cavern, staring at the paintings, they lost track of time. They woke at twilight to the sound of a woman's voice.

Don't drink grog in there, she said.

They looked about them but couldn't see much. It was hazy, getting dark. They had a deadly thirst. Some sort of insects were in the air.

Who's there? yelled Pete.

Only a cicada replied. Stumbling out of the cave and down to their vehicle, the men were covered in scratches and dry-retching when they reached it.

In his donga, Kepler wakes or half wakes. In his head, he hears women's voices. He gags and searches for water. Cold water. He opens the bar fridge near his bed. Full of beer. Just beer.

The mine will be working today. He pulls on some clothes, and the throbbing in his head gets louder. He wants out. He opens the door and falls through to the dust. The slaughtered goat is strewn over the car bonnet, the windscreen, and through the interior. He gags. It is covered in cicadas, aged cicadas that have emerged from their many years below ground, hiding in the cool before confrontation with the heat. Some of the old blokes at the pub call cicadas the true gold of the town. Take as long as gold to form, and they can fly and sing. More than gold will ever buy you. He remembers this as he reaches past the gore to retrieve his rifle.

Then he calls Pete to come out. Pete appears naked at his door. Kepler eyes him off.

Why, Pete? Kepler asks. Why? Why don't you hear what they're saying? We'll always be tourists, Pete. Even you, and you
come
from this fucking red dust hole, you'll always be a tourist.

What are you on about, you old bastard? What the fuck are you doing with that rifle? Pete notices the remains of the goat. Have you lost your mind? I thought you liked goats these days? Fucking booze sent you troppo?

Your idea of a joke, Pete? Sick little fuck.

Kepler shoots Pete in the genitals, then reloads and shoots him in the head.

Bigoted little prick, he says. No respect for women. I've done the world a favour. Appeased the Goat God. He laughs.