The Unspoken

by Don Zelma

Chapter Seven

  Ruth lay awake, looking at the ceiling. Whatever he was experiencing, she knew he had only expressed a portion of it. Yes, Jay’s passing had destroyed her, but after the accident she had somehow learned to let go. It was God’s will. But she knew the same could not be said about Dan. After hearing the hammering downstairs that evening she had looked out of her bedroom window and had seen the office light go out. He had not appeared upstairs for an hour and she guessed that he had been sitting alone in the dark. What did it mean? She didn’t know, but she didn’t like any of it.

  She had always feared that office. It was down there that he conducted his role as counsellor. Sometimes parishioners would arrive on the front porch at night and he would escort them downstairs. Frequently, she would go to bed and wait, but not see him until the morning.

  ‘Even the good have secrets,’ Dan often said. ‘Stories you would never believe.’

  This fear of the unseen demons always played on her mind.

  She glanced at the window and could see the sky had grown a little lighter out in the yard. The approaching dawn bothered her because she knew Dan would not let go.

  The sun was low in the morning sky and rain clouds were moving in from the east. It was humid and the car door was warm in his palm. Dan got out, took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, and began wiping his brow. He bent down to the side mirror and straightened his tie. He knew that being on the farm made no sense and felt a shot of anxiety that maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Far away, a shed’s tin roof glistened like the surface of a distant pond. The sun-beaten sign to Henry Farm rippled in a mirage and an electrocuted flying fox, sun dried and stiff as cardboard, swung from a power line. There were few trees and nothing but sugar cane of equal height all the way to the horizon.

  He looked at the burnt-out field beside him and listened to the silence. Everything was dead and the place just felt bad. He could hear a harvester in the distance then soon smelt the sweet fragrance of cut cane. He slowly shook his head and looked down.

  ‘You’re a mad old coot,’ he told himself. ‘It’s crazy you being here. Wait and do not move. Just let go and drive away.’

  But, instead of leaving, he began walking towards the distant block, driven by his recent sleepless nights, carrying no leaflets as an excuse.

  The harvester grew louder and it suddenly appeared from the black crop and the huge machine trundled out in a cloud of ash into the open. A tractor, catching the billets from the harvester’s conveyor, began turning alongside it and the farm was suddenly very loud. Dan could see a smoking man in the harvester’s cockpit.

  ‘Well, you’re here now,’ he thought to himself. ‘Do it. Stop the stupid machine.’

  The harvester straightened and Dan stepped forward, keen to intercept it before entering the block. The ground began quaking under his feet and he saw the driver put his face up to the glass. The harvester slowed and its engine howled, loud like a vacuum cleaner. The cabin door opened and a sunglass-glad, bearded face popped out.

  ‘Ned!’ Dan shouted. He headed awkwardly over the furrows towards the machine. ‘Ned Col?’ he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  ‘Yeah! That’s right,’ the driver said. He raised his sunglasses and Dan could see his dark, narrow eyes. ‘What can I do for ya?’

  It’s him, Dan thought. He’s much older, but it’s one of the two men from Jay’s photograph.

  The man called Ned inhaled on his cigarette and was clearly very curious. He was obese, in his mid-thirties, with a tattoo of a snake running around his neck, down under his shirt and appearing again at his wrist. He had long brown hair tied in a ponytail.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Ned said over the noise.

  ‘You’re a hard man to catch!’ Dan said. He stopped at the ladder and the engine was loud. ‘I’m Dan Amos – Jay Amos’s father!’

  ‘Jay?’ Ned shouted. He grimaced, thinking. ‘Oh, OK…’ He hesitated. ‘What can I do for ya?’ He rested his elbow on the handle of the open door.

  ‘Well… you’re in a photograph I have of my son,’ Dan said.

  Ned waited. ‘Is that right?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Dan said. ‘You were in a motorcycle club together, many years ago.’

  There was a long pause. Ned leaned back and scratched his neck. ‘Yeah… That’s right...’ he said. ‘A long time ago.’

  Dan took hold of the ladder and climbed up a step towards the cabin. He reached into his shirt pocket, removed a business card buckled with sweat, and handed it to Ned.

  ‘What’s this for?’ Ned said.

  It was hard to hear over the noise. ‘I just wanted to say hello,’ Dan said.

  Ned worked his cigarette between his lips, looking a little defensive. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Amos,’ he said, ‘but couldn’t this wait for another time?’

  Dan thought about it. No, it couldn’t.

  Ned looked down and read the card. His beard had trapped a lot of ash and his jeans were stained with oil. On his finger he wore a chrome ring with a German iron cross and around his neck he had a silver necklace, thick as a dog chain. He looked up. ‘So, what’s the card for?’ he said.

  ‘Keep it,’ Dan said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘I know you and my son were best friends.’

  Ned slowly nodded. ‘Yes, we were...’

  Across the furrows, Dan heard the tractor cut its engine. He looked at Ned and realised that he was now lost for words. Ned reached into the cabin and killed the harvester and it fell quiet on the farm. His face seemed to harden. Dan’s explanation would need to be good.

  ‘Ned,’ Dan said. He stepped up closer. ‘Jay lost his life and I don’t know why.’

  ‘J—s,’ Ned said, under his breath.

  ‘Is there something I should know?’ he said. ‘Anything in the time before the accident?’

  Ned grimaced, showing his crooked front teeth. ‘Jay Amos died in a motorcycle accident,’ he said.

  Dan responded quickly. ‘Look... I know it may have been an accident, but the circumstances – what can I say? – they have always bugged me.’

  There was pause.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr. Amos,’ Ned said, ‘but are you having a lend of me?’

  ‘A lend?’ he said and leaned back. ‘No, lad. No, I’m not having a lend.’ Ned was still and Dan saw a little smoke leave his nostrils and snake out across his cheek. ‘Ned,’ he said. ‘I’m honest and confidential. Perhaps, you know, there is something you can tell me?’

  Ned waited and it was an uncomfortable moment. Suddenly, his head fell back. ‘Ha-ha!’ He laughed hard. ‘Jay use to say you were a funny bloke.’

  ‘Did he?’ Dan said, smiling. It didn’t feel good. ‘I would like to know more about that.’

  Ned chuckled and slowly shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Amos,’ he said, reaching into the cabin. ‘I don’t think so. I gotta get back to work.’ Ned lowered his sunglasses and closed the cabin door. The engine turned over, began to howl and Dan stepped down the ladder. He walked backwards across the furrows and the harvester’s big rear wheels began to roll. The tractor started and pulled in alongside the harvester and Dan watched the farm machinery lumber away. At that moment he felt a deep, powerful bond with Ned that was impossible to describe, but he just had to get closer to him. He felt like he was chasing his son all over again. He watched the harvester begin cutting its way into the block.

  He exhaled and slowly started back towards the Volkswagen. A hot wind whipped dust up off the farm and he felt it beginning to settle on his skin. He stepped onto the causeway, approached the car and reached into his trouser pocket. He gripped his car keys and felt, surprisingly, that his hand was lightly shaking.