‘Sure they would. But I’m no burden. Never. So, catch you later.’
I couldn’t contain my frustration. ‘Fuck, Lou, don’t do that.’ I looked her in the eye, beyond the sadness and the tears. ‘Let me help. Come work my place with me.’
She didn’t answer.
‘I’d love the company…’
She smiled—a tiny, flickering thing. ‘Now, why go and ruin a good thing?’ She winked.
I decided to let it go, for the moment. ‘So, what’s the plan then?’
‘Don’t really know. Probably hit the road and hope I get picked up and shipped to the camp. After that, if I’m lucky, head up to the line.’
The Brisbane line. The southern-most border of ‘civilised’ Australia, sealing off the majority of the population from the desiccated wasteland that some of us still called home. Unexpectedly and desperately depressed, I tried to find something to say.
‘Don’t,’ she said. She started to cry. She turned and looked away, pretending to inspect the empty liquor shelf behind her. ‘I don’t want to leave. But as much as I love it here, I’ve got no choice.’
I could barely hear her. She turned back, tried to smile, made it happen. She placed the bottle of tequila on the bar, filled our glasses to the brim. We drank. Around us, the party grew wilder still. Louise and I knocked off a second shot, and then another and then another. Our spirits soared once more.
After a while, I kissed her on the cheek and got to my feet. I started to sway, shook it off, and cruised through the bedlam.
Much later, Tobe and I headed out behind the pub to smoke a joint in private, dragging Louise with us. She got us singing a song that was old news when I was a boy, and we ended up sprawled on the bonnet of a rusted-out Holden that had given up the ghost next to a wild garden of cacti and succulents. They broke up the bare earth, some ten feet tall and strong and proud, some in great bushes of spikes and spines, some with bright flowers in all the colours you can imagine. We shared the joint in silence, staring at the stars—three little monkeys sitting in a row and grinning in the moonlight.
In no time, my mind started to wander. I was pretty drunk, pretty high, and pretty happy.
Tobe and Louise started talking excitedly, their words slurred. Still lost in the stars, I tuned them out and listened to the wind, the dim hubbub spilling from the pub. The sky was bright, the full moon getting closer. I started counting the shining needlepoints of light.
At some point, I tuned back in to Tobe and Louise’s conversation. He spoke softly; she ummed and aahed.
‘…take over? You know me, I love this place, I’d hate to see it go. Hell, when I’m around I’m in here every night. You know, I’ve already got a couple of ideas for the old girl. If you knocked down…’
I walked away in a happy daze, made my way back to the fire, which had now burnt down to glowing embers. Someone I barely recognised—one of the Kumari kids from the border properties, who mostly kept to themselves—heaved dead twigs and dried leaves onto the embers. They flared up and the Kumari Kid (as I promptly, drunkenly dubbed him) tended them well, the fire blazing, sparking, reaching for the sky.
‘Come on, this party needs life!’
He threw his head back and actually roared, a ridiculous expression of animal energy. He jittered, twitching like his skin was too tight, and started dancing around the fire, his bare feet kicking up dust and ash. He babbled; invented words, gobbledegook. Some of the hippies staggered out of the pub, drawn by the noise. They picked up their drums, began playing again. A few of the First Country folk laughed heartily and joined in. Like a flash, I was up dancing next to the Kumari Kid. And then Tobe was next to me, the three of us smashing our feet into the hard ground, moving as one.
The drums kept on.
‘I think I’m the new proprietor of our favourite local,’ Tobe said, yelling in my ear.
He was pretty drunk, his eyes red and unfocused. We knocked our cups together, spilling tequila all over ourselves.
‘Good one.’
Without the slightest warning, a raging noise blew in—a roar that tore through the night and shook the earth. The dogs out the front of the pub started howling. Conversations faltered as everyone fell quiet. The noise kept on, steadily growing louder. Tobe and I turned, scanning the sky, seeing nothing. I looked over at him—he was already running for the road, heading for the hill behind the pub.
I followed, unexpectedly clearheaded, taking everything in as if it had been laid out on display.
Everyone ran with us. Sheldon huffed and puffed, cursing his old body. Louise jogged next to me, smiled at me, rapidly overtook me. The Veidts hurried along, somehow making the process look dignified. Max and Maxine moved fast yet made it look like they were taking it easy. Cathy Ng half-limped and half-ran, clutching at her dressing gown, trying not to catch herself in it. The Kumari Kid darted back and forth, circling the crowd, urging everyone to move faster. The First Country captain led his people on, trailing well behind, watchful and wary.
We kept running. We crested the hill. We all stood in silence, raggedly trying to catch our collective breath.
The wind started, furnace-hot. Its screaming whine and the roar that tore through the sky were the only sounds in the world. From the corner of my eye I saw someone lick their finger and hold it up in the air. I heard someone else say: ‘It’s coming from the west, dickhead.’ And then the word rain seemed to be falling from everyone’s lips.
A flash lit up the horizon, staining the sky dull-orange and crimson-red. Someone started yelling: ‘Light! Light! Light to the west!’
For a moment, it burned too bright, blinding me. It soon faded away, only to then happen repeatedly. I looked around; everyone seemed to have their eyes shut and their fists clenched.
The world shook again.
We waited, all eyes fixed on the horizon, everyone saying the same word over and over: Rain! Rain! Rain! But none came. After a while, people started drifting away and the only sound left was their angry mutterings and disappointed sighs. I turned my back on the horizon as well. Like everyone else, I stared at the ground as I walked. No one wanted to look anyone else in the eye.
Back inside the pub, no one was saying much—scowls and frowns were the twin expressions almost everyone wore. I looked around, becoming aware of an unsettled silence that had fallen over the room. A gloomy moment of calm; we were crushed by our disappointment and resigned to the fact.
I pushed up to the bar. Louise smiled sadly. I returned her smile, although mine held even less cheer than hers.
She opened a bottle of tequila, poured me a shot. Eyes red-rimmed but still sharp, she was doing a good job of keeping it together, embracing what helped her keep her chin up. Serving drinks was only part of it. Making people feel at home, that’s what she loved. The pub, our town square, our shire hall, our fiddler’s green, had only kicked on because of her.
Overwhelmed by a sudden lethargy, a melancholy pisshead once again finding solace in the company of other melancholy pissheads, for a moment I wanted to just give up and chuck it in. I asked for a fresh round instead. It was either that or run desperately into the night, screaming wordlessly.
My drink appeared in front of me. I pulled out my possum-skin pouch, tried to roll up some bush tobacco, made a mess of myself. Louise eventually took the pouch from my unsteady hands and did the job for me. I lit up, raised my drink and finished it a single swallow.
Louise poured me another. We settled in for a long night.
THREE
I woke up thirsty, already drenched in sweat. I groaned aloud. It was a desperate, pathetic sound and I hated it. I struggled to sit up, propping myself on my elbows, looking around the dark room, trying to remember what had happened after returning to the pub. I gave up as my head started pounding, my hangover kicking in. When everything’s homemade, everything’s stronger, both your pleasures and your poisons.