‘It’s all right,’ Sheldon said as my shoulders slumped. ‘It’s been waiting a while, a bit longer can’t hurt.’
‘Cheers.’
Shamefaced, I turned away. I unlocked the barn’s tall wooden doors, waved him inside. He took it slowly, swinging the truck around and backing in. As always, I wondered about the almost illegible letters on the side of the truck that spelled out CFA, but didn’t bother to ask Sheldon what they meant. Instead, I followed the truck inside.
The engine died with a shudder. Silence fell. I did my best to ignore the ghosts that called the barn home.
Sheldon jumped down from the cabin, manhandled a firehose from its nook, connected it to my tank, and refused my offer of help. He started the pump, pulling hard on the whipcord; his old body was still strong.
Blessed water started to flow from the truck.
Sheldon let the pump do its thing and I followed him as he walked outside. He squatted on his haunches in a thin sliver of shade thrown by the barn; I squatted next to him, waiting for him to say something. His back against the wall, his feet scuffing the gravel apron, he just took a tobacco pouch from his pocket and adjusted his battered hat. He rolled some bush tobacco, took out a tinderbox, started a tiny fire, lit up. He stared into the distance, looking like he had always been there, like he had grown out of the dirt. When it became apparent that he was quite happy to sit there in silence, I offered him a drink. As always, he shook his head no, offering me some from his canteen instead. This time, I shook my head no.
It was a well-rehearsed routine.
‘Tobe reckons it’s been raining somewhere out west, not too far from here,’ I said, attempting to break the silence.
‘Yeah, I heard the same.’
That was all he said. I tried again to make conversation.
‘What do you reckon those lights were?’
‘Don’t know.’
The pump groaned, choked, and then went back to beating monotonously. Flies buzzed, birds sang, the wind blew. You could almost hear the slow creak of the world turning. Neither of us spoke. The tiny fire at Sheldon’s feet crackled almost inaudibly. At some point, the pump stopped. For a moment, Sheldon and I just basked in the quiet. But then he put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. We walked back into the barn; he once again refused my offer of help, shut off the pump, pulled the pipe from the tank, bundled it away. He pulled himself into the truck, settling in the cabin. For a moment, he sat there looking through the open barn doors.
‘I grew up here, Bill. I’ve been here forever, always worked the family farm. It used to be beautiful, full of life. Now, there are only a few of us left. And with the pub on its way out… Shit, what’s a town without a pub?’
His voice was shaking, soft. He looked like he wanted to cry but didn’t know how. It was the longest speech I had ever heard him give; he never said much, a different kind of classic.
He caught me staring. ‘I’m all right,’ he said. He didn’t want or need my pity. ‘Anyway, maybe she’ll kick on. Maybe Tobe’ll work his magic. You never know…’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
His face closed up shop, folding in on itself. ‘Look, just forget it,’ he said, starting the truck, all business again. ‘I’ll let you know when I need a hand.’
‘Catch you later, then.’
‘You bet.’ I waved him off.
A little disheartened, I watched Sheldon’s truck become nothing more than a dirty red blur in the distance. It turned a corner, disappearing behind a line of ironbox trees. The toot-toot-toot of the horn was all that was left, the tiniest echo on the wind. I locked the barn, glad to be done with the place, wishing I would never have to enter it again.
I tramped back to the house, the dying grass snapping beneath my feet like so much broken glass.
I hung my hat back on that old rusty nail, and headed straight for the bathroom. I ran the tap into the bath, stuck my head under the stream. The fresh water in the tank would hold out, as long as I didn’t make a habit of it. I smiled, stupid and wide, washing dust from the scratchy fuzz of my hair, rinsing grit from the bird nest of my beard. The water finally ran clear. I cupped it in my hands and drank.
I ignored the cramp in my stomach and drank some more.
Out the window, I saw the golden glow of twilight. I left the bathroom, stopped at the spare room that served as a library, the walls lined with shelves of books, magazines, photo albums. I stared at them for a long time, ended up choosing a book at random. I went out to the front veranda to enjoy the setting sun. It was beautiful, caressing me softly rather than cooking me in my skin. A cool breeze blew in from the south, bringing blessed relief.
I listened to its lies. I let it tell me that everything would be okay.
As always, I scratched a black line on the wall of the veranda, marking another day without rain. Grouped in blocks of five, the black lines filled the wall. I gave up counting the most recent row when I hit one hundred or so. I laughed, without a hint of humour, trying not to worry about it.
What else could I do?
I turned away from the horror story it told. I stretched and yawned. To be honest, the day had done me in. I slouched on the battered old couch under the veranda, kicked off my boots, rolled some bush tobacco and lit up. The bleached-yellow grass of the paddocks and the mottled greens of the bush slowly softened in the light of the setting sun.
I looked out at it, truly happy.
FOUR
I was reliving the past, trapped in a nightmare, the same one as always. Everything happens slowly, too slowly, forcing me to take in every detail. Images move and are yet somehow static, frozen blurs with sharp edges. I’m forced to watch them, again, again, again. I can’t look away. I scream the whole time, silently.
And there I am, treading the dirt road, hiking home with Tobe after celebrating his engagement. We’re bathed in the light of the setting sun. We’re so young, barely out of our teens. Tobe’s head is thrown back. He’s laughing. I’m gazing into the distance, smiling to myself. It’s a perfect moment. I hate it because I know what comes next and all I can do is watch it happen. I keep screaming as we just continue walking. The sun sets. Tobe and I are at the driveway gate. The house is dark, completely dark. It’s weird; the family was home when we left.
Helpless, I can only watch myself shrug.
Tobe and I stride through the gate, walk up the driveway, stop at the house. I know what we find there—empty rooms, nothing else. I would do anything to change what comes next. But I can’t; all I can do is watch as we start a desperate search that ends at the barn. I watch as I ignore the tattered note on the door and walk inside. I see nooses, stools, bodies—my parents’ bodies. I smell the dead meat smell, the stink of piss and shit. And then Tobe and I jump the house fence, running blindly into the night, calling her name.
The nightmare wouldn’t let me go.
I let loose an animal howl and then a gunshot cracked through my torment, waking me suddenly. I thrashed around, almost falling off the couch. The nightmare faded.
I managed to sit up. It was dark, apart from a soft glow that flickered somewhere behind me. The world was bathed in cold moonlight, the dying grass rippling like the far-off ocean, the easy wind cutting patterns through it.
I stood up, spotted the soft glow—the stub of a candle was burning away, sealed inside a battered lantern hanging from a rafter. I was pretty sure that I hadn’t put it there. I froze, looked across the shadowy paddocks, saw nothing unusual. The faint noises of the night seemed too loud.
Nothing.
My hand shaking slightly, I pulled down the lantern. On the ground a few metres beyond the veranda, I found a note written with a stick, the letters cut deep into the dirt.