Dark Oasis

by Dulcie M. Stone

  The dog wagged its tail, and raced ahead for the house.

  Rick did not follow.

  He was looking back, out over the vineyard. Tall and slim, tanned muscles rippling in the golden light, he wore khaki shorts, a sleeveless shirt, broad-brimmed hat and heavy work boots.

  He removed the hat, ran his fingers through his sun-bleached hair, dropped the cigarette he’d been smoking, and ground the butt into the dust at his feet. Every movement was measured – and very very slow. He shuddered, his knees buckled. He was about to fall!

  But then, recovering, he straightened and once again stood tall and slim and heartbreakingly alone.

  He did not move.

  Fear transfixed her. This moment, this second, is special. Do not touch it. Do not influence it. DO NOT FORGET IT.

  His uncovered head was turned from her. The line of his fine-boned face was silhouetted against the immaculate sky. The column of his strong neck was proudly held, defiantly turned; and tragically vulnerable.

  Her heart leapt.

  In that moment she grew from child to woman.

  Moved only by his silent pain, and apprehension that it would never heal, he truly became her life. Do not forget this moment. He turned from the vines, saw her, and waved.

  She waved in reply. He should know: Whatever your need.

  He started towards her, but again shuddered, then fell to his knees.

  “Rick!”

  The window was closed, he could not hear.

  She struggled to open the window. “Rick!”

  He was still on his knees, the dog licking his face.

  “I’ll be there!”

  She raced down the passage, through the lounge, past his family in the dining room, out the door. “Rick!”

  “What’s wrong?” Gus followed.

  “Rick! Something’s wrong!”

  Across the lawn to the path from the vines. “Rick!”

  He was not there. His dog was not there.

  “He was here!”

  “He’s probably gone back to the cottage.” Gus was out of breath.

  “He was coming in for lunch.”

  Ryan was close at their heels. “Changed his mind, I reckon.”

  “He’ll be right,” Amy reassured.

  They seemed not to be worried. Or was it more of the same? Appearance masking truth.

  “What’s wrong with him, Amy?”

  “I’m sure Rick would tell you if there was anything he wanted you to know.”

  “I’m going.” She started for the cottage.

  “He’ll be right.” Amy barred her way. “Leave him, Gail.”

  “I have to be with him!”

  “Leave him alone!” Gus stood beside his wife.

  She looked to Ryan.

  “He has to be alone,” Ryan answered.

  She turned back into the house. They were giving her no choice. She would obey them. For now.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I missed you.” She was anxious not to seem accusatory, or to be complaining.

  Two days. She hadn’t seen him for two days, not since the distressing lunch-time episode. Flouting family objections, she’d searched the block; he’d not been there. Nor in his cottage, the house, the work shed.

  Tom, who’d been repairing the cottage door which was off its hinges, had told her, “He ain’t here. Ask the Missus.”

  Amy had told her, “He had to go away for a couple of days.”

  Gus had grunted, and stalked off down into his vines.

  Ryan had laughed, and left for his club.

  Jake, who’d visited on the second evening, had advised, “Be patient. He’ll tell you himself when he’s good and ready.”

  Tonight, as though there’d been no two-day interval, he’d come in as usual for the evening meal. He’d eaten, happily conversed with his family, and invited her for their customary walk.

  “I missed you,” she softly repeated.

  He led her from the house. “It’s a great evening for a walk.”

  The sun had set, the cosy aftermath of a perfect autumn day was warming the purpling sky, the stars were waiting, the evening star already beginning to glow. They started down the track through the vines, their feet sinking into the soft carpet of fallen leaves, Blue racing ahead, knowing their destination.

  “Where were you, Rick?” He would answer or he wouldn’t. There was no suggestion of mistrust.

  “Didn’t they tell you?”

  “They said you’d tell me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, Gail.”

  She stopped.

  He turned, closely searching her face, but quietly and without displeasure.

  She stood her ground. “I know something’s wrong.” Not mistrust, not petty curiosity; the acute need to help.

  “I’m sorry.” He kissed her. “You’re right. There is a problem.”

  “But you aren’t going to tell me.”

  “Gail.” His eyes darkened, and filled with the too-familiar pain.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay.” She must not insist. Not if he didn’t want her to. “It’s okay.” She moved on, her feet sinking into the decaying mulch.

  He followed.

  At the rim of the vines they stopped, sat on the thin grass overlooking the river bend, watched the evening birds dive for insects, patted the panting dog and waited until it had settled close by.

  “When are you going home?” He cradled her against his warm body.

  “Do you want me to?” She kept it light, teasing.

  “I never want you to leave me. It’s not the point. Your sister has to be worrying about you.”

  “I write often. Why should Barbara worry? She’s off overseas soon.”

  “She needs to know you’re well again,” he smiled. “Very well.”

  “I know. I have to get back. The house can’t be left empty. Besides, I can’t stay here forever. It’s not fair to your mother.” Her fingertips, consciously creating a memory of something inexplicably endangered, traced the sweet curves of his face. “I just can’t bear to leave you.”

  “So don’t go back for too long. Come back to me.”

  He was as he should always be. Whatever had happened in the last two unexplained days, he’d come back cheerful and even, dared she hope, optimistic. No. She dared not hope. Because underneath, even as he held her, even as he laughed, she felt it – his secret pain. An unrelenting constant, she was touching it with these same fingertips. Maybe she really could help, maybe this would help. What if it didn’t? What if she was about to add to his pain – whatever its cause? How could she even think of adding to it?

  She must take the risk. She had no choice.

  She straightened. “I have something to tell you. You must not worry. Promise you won’t worry.”

  “No promises,” he laughed. “It’s not possible. I’ll worry about you if I want to. So what is this something?”

  The precious sound of his laughter was heartbreaking; she should not answer. She must.

  “A secret?” He chuckled. “You are too young for dark secrets.”

  “That’s not fair!” Whatever the outcome, she must speak.

  “I’m sorry,” he was immediately contrite. “I shouldn’t laugh at you.”

  “Promise you won’t worry.” There was no way to prepare him.

  “So serious? Surely – nothing’s that.”

  “I think I’m pregnant. My period’s late.”

  His arms tightened.

  “You’re hurting!”

  He loosened his grip. “I’m sorry.”

  “Say you don’t mind. Rick! Say you don’t mind!”

  The quivering muscles of his arms again began to tighten. She wouldn’t cry out again. No matter how he hurt, she would not cry out again.

  River and vines and stars and darkening sky were blinded by tears. She fought them. His body against hers was rigid. Still, there was only the empathy of his agony. Even now.

  “Rick. I’m so sorry. You asked me n
ot to involve you.”

  He did not answer.

  She didn’t dare move. “Rick … I’m so desperately sorry. How can I ever …? I’m so sorry.”

  “No! No! Don’t! Don’t! You are. You are … everything. Don’t … don’t …” His voice a whisper; until the sound died and his arms fell from her.

  “Rick!” Alarmed, she started up. “I’ll get …”

  “Don’t leave me!” Barely audible, yet loud.

  Still sleeping, the dog barked, twitched, and resettled.

  She took him in her arms. He rocked compulsively. Touching, they were achingly separate. She held him close, as a mother her child. She did not know why.

  The sky glittered, close enough to touch. A sleeping bird chirruped, an unseen fish splashed the muddy water. The rising moon leered through the river gums. Back down the track, the farmhouse lights glowed from low windows.

  Two hours, and more, they sat. Gradually, slowly, agonisingly, the rocking eased. She held him – still, quiescent, silent, compliant. As a mother her child.

  Premonition screamed. This moment must not end!

  He ended it. Gently, but firmly, he set her aching arms aside. She let him. He moved from her, to sit at a measured distance.

  The space between them, moon-shadowed, was no accident. The space took on a life of its own. She must conquer it. She started to move.

  “Don’t come any closer, Gail.”

  She obeyed.

  “If you find you are pregnant …”

  “I told you. I’m not sure. It …”

  “If you are pregnant,” he interrupted. “You will have an abortion.”

  “I told you.”

  “Listen to me!”

  “It’s all right, Rick. Really.”

  “No.” His face was in the shadows, his voice without emotion. “It is not all right. It will never be all right. If you’re not pregnant – go home and get on with your life. If you are – go home, have an abortion, and then get on with your life.”

  “I can’t! I love you! I can’t just stop loving you.”

  “You must.”

  “You blame me, don’t you.” He’d begged her not to trap him, and she hadn’t listened. “You warned me. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m an adult, Gail. I should have stopped this. Have the abortion.” “I’m so …”

  “For Christ’s sake! Stop snivelling!”

  Immediately, she flared, “Damn you!”

  “That’s more like it!” He jeered. “That’s the girl I know. You’re no more ready for kids than I am.”

  The swish of overhead leaves caught her attention. Was it the restless bird? An owl perhaps? A timely warning? Careful …

  “What’s wrong Gail? Can’t take the truth?”

  “Go to hell!”

  Across the shadowed divide she saw him nod, then turn away.

  Standing, she looked down. At his fair head burnished by the risen moon, at his rigid back. Who was he? Was he being deliberately offensive? Alienating her for selfish reasons? Alienating her for her own good? Or both? Both, probably. An enigma still. Whatever his truth, he was the man she loved.

  The truth was unimportant. She knew his centre, his heart. She reached out, to touch him, to repair what he’d just attempted to destroy, and withdrew her hand. A touch, and renewal would be easy. He was vulnerable, especially to her. She could win him over, as always.

  Not this time. This time, he must act. This time she must not coerce him. Love does not coerce. He need only say a word. Any word.

  He did not speak.

  Amy met her at the back door. “What’s wrong?”

  She ran to her room.

  Amy followed. “Gail. We have to talk.”

  She threw herself on the bed. “Go away!”

  Amy settled in the armchair. She ignored her.

  The moon waited outside the window, insects beat against the pane, a night-owl screeched, a dog howled. The pillow stifled her sobs. Over half an hour later Amy switched on the bedside lamp, closed the blind and drew the curtains.

  The light from the lamp and the sounds of movement penetrated the folds of the pillow. “I thought you’d gone.”

  Amy placed a bowl of tepid rain water, sponge and towel on the bedside table. “Dry your eyes and freshen yourself up.”

  She obeyed, but felt no better. “Thank you. I’ll be all right now.”

  Amy resumed her place in the armchair. “We have to talk.”

  “I’m all right. Truly. I feel better. Thank …”

  “You want to be left alone. I can’t do that.”

  She turned her head away.

  “Believe me, Gail,” Amy insisted. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to leave you alone. I can’t.”

  “Tomorrow. In the morning …”

  “Tonight, Gail. We have to talk tonight.”

  “Please! Not yet! Not yet!”

  “This has already been put off for far too long.”

  “I can’t!”

  Amy stroked the tangled hair. “I know, child. I do know. I’m so … Can you ever forgive us?”

  She re-buried her head in the saturated pillow.

  “Can you forgive us?”

  For what?

  “I’m so very sorry.” Amy withdrew her hand. “We should never have let this happen.”

  She sat up. “How did you know?”

  “How could we not know?” Amy responded. “Rick loves you so very much. We shouldn’t have let it happen. He hasn’t been so content since … tell me … what did he tell you tonight?”

  Amy was not talking about the possibility of pregnancy. She was presuming Rick had broken some confidence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I thought tonight … I thought he must have …”

  “Why shouldn’t you have let it happen? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Of course,” Amy was relieved. “He would never tell you.”

  “Tell me what!” Already she was regretting her fury in the last minutes by the river. She should never have doubted him. “What are you so sorry about?”

  “If you don’t know …”

  “We love each other. Is that what you’re sorry about? Do you wish I’d never come here?”

  “Ah …!” Amy’s sigh stretched forever. “That, I do wish.”

  “We love each other. You can’t stop us.”

  “I don’t want to. I know Rick loves you so much more than you can ever possibly comprehend.”

  “Then I’m good for him.”

  “Nobody’s good for him, Gail.”

  Only an incredibly possessive mother could be so arrogant.

  “You misunderstand,” Amy’s eyes clouded. “What I mean is –

  Rick’s good for nobody.”

  Rick’s good for nobody. Almost his own words.

  “We should never … we … when you came here. When you got burned. He felt guilty. He felt he was responsible.”

  “For leaving me in the sun.”

  “Precisely. We – Gus and I and the boys – we felt he needed to relieve his guilt. He was doing that, by reading to you. We never … we should have …” Eyes averted, hands restless in her lap, lips quivering, Amy was unable to go on.

  The same torment. But, unlike Rick, Amy wasn’t going away to some place inside herself. She seemed determined to communicate.

  She waited. As she knew she must. There was no choice. Patience! Patience, unfamiliar and intolerable, was essential. Patience, and she would learn his secret. Nothing could be as terrible as imagination pictured. Whatever it was, they’d deal with it. He’d tried to alienate her because he loved her. He loved her so much, he’d sent her away! Now she’d find out why. And she’d cope, because she loved him as he loved her.

  Patience …

  Tiny winged insects were gathering around the lamp, when Amy took the silver-framed photograph from her pocket. Rick in army uniform; cockily handsome, relaxed and untouched and happy. “I brought this for you.�
�

  She caressed the smooth glass. “I wish I’d known him then. How old was he?”

  “A baby. Nineteen.”

  “Is it for me?”

  “Of course. There are no others. Not since.”

  “Oh no! I can’t take it. Not if it’s the only one.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “But you do. I’ll get a later one. He’s aged so much. We’ll get one of us together.”

  “Gail. That’s what we have to talk about.”

  At last she was to hear the truth. She didn’t want to, not while looking at the beautiful young man in the picture. Again, she caressed the bland glass. “He’s so …”

  “Gail! You have to listen!”

  She set aside the photo. “I’m listening.”

  “He’s been wounded.”

  “What’s so special about that? My father was gassed. That’s much worse. Rick’s working. He’s fit.”

  “He’s fit, yes. But … no, he’s not well. They didn’t get him to the hospital soon enough.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means they saved his life. They successfully saved his life.

  That’s what it means.”

  Patience …

  “He was wounded. A head wound. They operated. They put him together. They repaired the physical trauma. But …”

  Wait …

  “Physical or psychological, they can’t … won’t … say. Both, I suspect. Though they’re unwilling to be specific. I don’t think they really know. He saw so many terrible things. He probably did terrible things. He’s gentle …”

  He is gentle and kind and he loves me.

  “As with many men in the Great War, your father’s war, Gus’s war, so in this last war,” Amy went on. “You’re familiar with the term shell shock. Of course you are. It’s irreversible.”

  Insects, thick around the pink lamp, were falling, incinerated, to the floor. She switched it off, crossed the darkened room, drew back the curtains and opened the blind. Through the window the high moon lit the bed, the silver brush set, and the photo.

  “Did you hear me?” Amy queried, but softly, “Rick will never recover.”

  “He’s fine. You’re exaggerating.”

  Amy stiffened.

  “It’s not true,” she protested. “It can’t be true.”

  “I’m so very sorry, Gail.” Amy patted the bed. “Here. Sit beside me.”