If he succeeded in debunking Strang, he would gain his brother’s respect and Janine’s, too, no doubt. And, if Strang had truly discovered something groundbreaking, then getting involved would be almost as good. Either way, he couldn’t lose.
Strang was strangely easy to convince. The guy really wasn’t on the planet, Frank decided. Not that he had promised much other than to meet. He hadn’t asked for anything either. Frank guessed that would come once he’d taken the bait. Then he’d find out what being part of the trip would cost. He didn’t have any time to consider it though. Strang said they were leaving in three days. Frank booked a flight immediately, packed a few things and left.
When he arrived at Strang’s place, nestled in the bush in the hills above Ballina, he knocked on the door. A woman answered. She was tall and handsome, though unadorned by makeup.
“I’m Rose,” she said. Frank felt odd. Rose reminded him uncannily of Janine, though she was a good ten years older and not quite the stunner, she had some of that same allure, a similar, slightly abstracted look, which intrigued and disarmed him at the same time.
“Vernon is around the back,” she said. She walked down the veranda and led him through the lush garden full of tree ferns around the side of the house.
“It’s beautiful here,” Frank said, making conversation. “What do you do, Rose?”
“I make tapestries, and weave,” she replied.
“So, you’re an artist,” he observed. Just like Janine.
“Yes,” she smiled at him. “I like to think so.”
“Maybe one day you’ll be in the Louvre,” Frank said.
“Sightseeing,” Janine laughed. “Vernon’s closer to getting recognition than I am, and he’s worked long enough for that.”
The sound of voices had already alerted Frank to the fact that there was some sort of gathering at the house, and as they reached the back yard he saw that a barbeque was in full swing. A man turned, tongs in hand, as if sensing their presence. He was tall and reminded Frank of some sort of bird, though his hair was more like a lion’s mane, abundant and black, except for a little grey at the temples.
“G’day,” Strang said simply.
Frank introduced himself. He wasn’t sure if Strang heard. His gaze seemed elsewhere.
“No worries,” Strang said. “Snag?” He held out a sausage.
“Put it in some bread for him,” Rose laughed. She went to get a plate and a couple of slices and brought them back.
“Oh, yeah,” Strang said. “So, you’re interested in our work?”
“Absolutely,” Frank assured him. Rose took the sausage and put it in the bread on the plate and handed it to the new guest.
A girl came up to Strang and took the tongs from him, “Let me do that, Dad.”
“Yeah, no worries,” Strang said. “Can’t multitask,” he said to Frank with a shy grin. “Probably bloody burn everything if it was left up to me.”
Frank’s gaze was still on the girl. She was even taller than Strang’s wife and, if anything, even lovelier than Janine, who had become Frank’s standard of beauty, though she had nothing of the dreamy demeanour of either his brother’s wife nor Strang’s.
“That’s Stephanie,” Strang said, “though I guess you know that if you follow our work.”
Frank coloured with embarrassment, realising he was staring.
“Of course, I recognised her,” Frank lied.
“Yeah, she’s my right hand,” Strang said. “Anyway, I can’t promise you anything. There’s a lot of people who want to see the site, but they have to be cleared by the Elders, like I told you on the phone.”
“Yeah, no worries,” Frank agreed. “But I’m really keen to see it. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to qualify. I’ve done pretty well in my business so I’m in a good position to help out.”
He wondered what it would take. Strang had been cagey about the money side of things so far. It would have been easy to believe he really didn’t care about it.
“Ah, that’d be handy,” Strang said. “It costs a lot to do these tours and things, you know. We make nothing out of the books and articles.”
“Really?” Frank tried to hide his doubt. “I would have thought with all the exposure you’d had lately you’d be raking it in.”
“Doesn’t translate into a lot of sales,” Strang said sadly. “With the internet everyone expects everything for free. Makes it hard to do the work. Rose has had to support a lot of what we do.”
“Oh? Well, I’ll be glad to help out,” Frank repeated.
“Thanks,” Strang said. He slapped Frank on the back. “You want a beer?”
“Love one,” Frank said.
“Stephanie, love,” Strang said to his beautiful daughter. “Could you get our guest a beer?”
“Sure,” Stephanie smiled. “I’d love to.”
It was late. Strang and his wife had retired. The other guests had gone. Frank had drunk too much and didn’t want to leave. Stephanie seemed to like him. They had certainly spent enough time talking together. They had much in common. The young woman appeared to be so much more down to earth than her father or Rose, who turned out to be Strang’s second wife. Stephanie’s mother had died of cancer when she was twelve. Strang had met Rose five years later. She was ten years his junior and more like an older sister to Stephanie than her step-mother. It was from her real mother that she had inherited her hard-headedness and, Frank suspected, her intelligence, for he was still disinclined to take his host seriously. He’d kept a lid on that pretty well, but it was late and the booze was taking its toll. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d said but Stephanie showed herself every bit as sharp as he’d suspected, to his regret.
“I’m starting to think you have doubts about our work,” she said.
“Well,” Frank lied, “I’ll be totally honest with you. While I find your research very fascinating and I respect your father’s passion, I think there’s a few leaps of logic there. A bit of a gap in a lot of the data, and let’s face it, it does go against the main thrust of accepted science and history.”
“I know what you mean. I’m more the methodical, analytical type myself, like you. But you have to understand that a man like my father goes about things the opposite way around. He has an insight and then he finds the facts to support it. He’s a visionary. And he knows the truth when he sees it. He respects the Elders. For him, their words are like divine revelation. Even when they amaze him he takes it on board and he goes looking for the evidence to back it up and, you know what? He keeps on finding it. I know it goes against the main thrust of academic thinking, but it’s almost as if his faith is rewarded. The universe sends the truth to him; it directs him toward the evidence.”
For a moment Stephanie looked at Frank. Her eyes were shining. She was stunning in the soft light of the night. Frank leant toward her. She backed away hurriedly, alarm writ large in her eyes. Maybe disgust. God, he was twenty years older than her—what was he thinking! He pulled himself back.
“Lost my balance,” he said, lamely.
Stephanie’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes this time. “Well, it’s late and you’ve had a bit.” Was there a hint of censure in that remark? “We should retire. I’ll get you a blanket.”
Frank settled back on the couch, hot with humiliation. The girl had returned swiftly and held a light rug out to him.
“See you in the morning,” she said. Then she was gone and the night was still. Frank lay staring out of the window, thinking of the young woman and how she spoke of her father, her face glowing like a convert’s. She had the fervour of an acolyte. Strang was a visionary, she said. He would not be the first charlatan to hide behind that façade, nor the first to successfully adopt one and cultivate a cult following.
Sleep eluded him, and a koala began to scream out in the bush when finally he drifted toward slumber, as if all the fates conspired to ensure his lack of ease.
A day later, close to dawn they set off. Two dozen people took the t
rip, piling into three vans and a four-wheel-drive that took them into Queensland. Frank was surprised at how little cash Strang had asked from him. He wanted to think that he at least took a commission for the hire of the vehicles but it hardly seemed enough to pay for the petrol and food they would need. When Frank spoke again of his willingness to ‘help out’ Strang had just smiled vaguely and said, “We’ll talk about that later when we need to.”
They drove all day and the weather was hot though the sky burgeoned with clouds that taunted them with the promise of rain. After an overnight stay in Townsville they drove on past Cairns. Frank chatted desultorily to the other guests who were full of excitement at the prospect of being in on the find. Their enthusiasm irked him and the more he spoke to them the more he became convinced that they were as gullible a bunch as had ever been assembled, connected by nothing so much as their desire to believe. Yet he was careful to hide his dissent.
On the second day of the journey, though, he had fallen asleep in the muggy van and jolted awake in surprise to find that the vehicle had jerked to a halt on a dirt road. The bush was on his left, on his right the sea stretched on forever. The dusty ribbon of the track was the only hint of civilisation in sight. Everyone was disembarking and he hurried to follow.
Strang was standing with a small group of Original Australians, as he insisted they be called. Frank had never seen him seem so alert. So alive. As he spoke to these old dark-skinned people in their simple country attire his face shone with the same sort of fervour Frank had seen upon his daughter’s face. Stephanie held up her hand as the others drew near. Apparently only Strang and his closest cohorts were entitled to approach these august personages without further instruction.
“What’s going on?” Frank asked.
“Interview time,” Stephanie said.
“Will there be any hypotheticals?” Frank joked.
“You’ll see,” Stephanie smiled again.
Frank felt strangely nervous. He was there on false pretences. What if they saw through him? But that was all wrong, he reminded himself. It was as if he had been infected by the aura of reverence he had had to endure from these dupes for the last two days. These old Aunties and Uncles, these Elders or Clever fellers or wirijuns or whatever they were meant to be, wouldn’t have a clue about much of anything from the look of them. He was an educated man. He had a degree. He knew science. What did they know?
He looked out to sea and for a moment an overwhelming sense of his own smallness washed over him. Then Stephanie was calling his name again and he realised it was his time to meet the Elders. The Elders, that’s what they were. All of a sudden his confidence deserted him. They didn’t seem to pay him any attention.
“This is Uncle Billy,” Strang said, in a tone that would have served to introduce the Pope.
Frank put out his hand to offer a handshake. Uncle Billy only glanced at his face for a moment. Slowly he reached up, ignoring Frank’s palm and grasped the inside of his forearm in his warm dry hand. The grip was gentle but firm. He didn’t shake. He didn’t say anything. Frank searched for the old man’s gaze, eager to show him by the steadiness of his eye that he was a man of honour, but the Elder showed no interest in any such fake evidence.
“What’s he doing?” Frank asked, finding his voice with difficulty.
“Feeling your blood,” Strang said matter-of-factly.
Uncle Billy dropped Frank’s hand. He grasped his upper arm for one moment. Oddly it seemed like a small sign of comfort, though it had the opposite effect.
“Just go wait over by the van,” Strang said gently.
Frank went and stood by the vehicle, watching thunderheads gather over the ocean. The rumours of rain the sky had whispered for days seemed ready to be spoken aloud. Everyone was returning to the vans, one by one. Finally Strang joined them.
“Come with me please, Frank,” he said. They walked off a short distance together.
“I’m sorry,” he proceeded, as soon as they were out of earshot of the others. “I’m afraid we can’t take you with us.”
“What do you mean?” Frank said, amazed.
“Sorry,” Strang said again, “I told you we’d have to get the Elder’s permission and they feel you shouldn’t come.”
“But why?” Frank protested.
“It’s for your own protection,” Strang insisted. “You have to have a certain mindset to learn some things, and you don’t have it.”
“But, but how do they know?” Frank blurted. “They didn’t ask me anything about myself.”
“Frank, they don’t need to.”
“Bullshit! So what did you tell them then? What did you say about me?”
“Frank, please,” Strang ran his fingers back through his lion’s mane. “Calm down. It’s not up to me.”
Frank forced himself to calm down. He knew what was going on, he realised at last. He was slow sometimes.
“Look, Verne,” Frank said evenly. “I know this is a huge find and it’s a big honour and I don’t just expect you to share it with just anyone for nothing.”
Strang looked at him with what seemed like real surprise. He was good, Frank thought, really good.
“I know you need money to do this work and you haven’t asked me for nearly enough, but let me tell you how much I believe in you and in the work you’re doing here, and let me tell you how much I want this. Just tell me, Verne. How much is it going to take?”
“Sorry, Frank,” Strang shook his head sadly, “money has nothing to do with it. Some things you can’t buy.”
“Fuck you!” Frank cried. “Is this because I made a pass at your daughter? Is this some petty act of revenge?”
“You what?” Frank wasn’t quite sure what the look on Strang’s face meant, but it seemed to be comprised of equal parts disgust and pity. He just turned on his heels shaking his head and walked away.
“They’re never wrong,” Frank heard him mutter.
I must have lost the plot, Frank thought. Strang was a fake, so why was he so desperate to go on the trip? How much would he have been willing to pay to see his phony find? Yet, he wasn’t really sure it was phony, was he, because if he was, why would he feel genuinely rejected? He had never really stopped being a believer, deep down inside. That was why he was in love with his brother’s wife. That was why he looked forward to their debates; why he listened to those idiotic programs like Purplevoid so avidly, even while he kept up a running commentary on what was wrong with them, because he was hoping that they would prove him wrong. Hoping that they would say just one thing that would be his entry into that world he had always known was there but was somehow closed to him. It was the realm the Elders seemed to walk in and yet they would not let him follow, because he was unworthy.
But he had come this far and would not turn back.
Of course there was another explanation. Maybe he hadn’t hidden his doubts as cleverly as he’d thought? Maybe they didn’t want someone finding their fake and debunking it? Maybe he should just stick with plan A? Frank decided he was chronically confused. He didn’t know whether he wanted it to be a fraud more than he wanted it to be real. Presuming there was something to see out there and they weren’t all just heading off to have an orgy or take psychedelics. Either way, Frank had to know. He would follow them at a safe distance.
At least they were sticking to the coast. Frank reasoned that this way he could not get lost. Still, he feared, maybe he was losing the plot. They were in the middle of nowhere. If he turned an ankle or was bitten by a snake there would be no one to help him. Maybe he was ill. It was as if an odd fever was upon him, a kind of insanity. Yet there was no quitting from this path, no matter how unwise it might seem. Frank kept after the group, hanging well back, spying on them through his field glasses. The sweat clung to his body, the thunderheads grew darker, but refused to release their bounty upon the earth. The world stayed hot and dark while lightning played out over the ocean.
His pack was well stocked with rations but he ate sp
aringly. As night fell he saw the party make camp. There was no orgy. There was quiet laughter and someone sang with a voice of haunting beauty, which carried to him in the emptiness of the night, interrupted only by the occasional sounds of surf and the rumble of distant thunder.
Laughter floated to him across the distance as well and an incredible sadness and longing welled within him. He settled down to sleep as close to the others as he dared. In fitful dreams he heard the singing all night and imagined that he heard other voices. Fears flitted across his mindscape like wallabies bounding through the night. Visions played in his head of strangers stumbling upon him and driving him away at the point of a spear.
The morning was so overcast that the sun did not wake him and when he arose there was no one in sight. The camp was deserted and the campfires cold. Frank rushed on, careless now of being discovered, terrified of being abandoned out in the bush. He reminded himself that he was on the coast and could retrace his way with ease, if need be.
It seemed that he had lost track of time. This was madness. Surely it would be better to go back. Strang had been cagey about how long it would take to reach the site. All Frank knew was that it was on the coast. They were meant to be gone a total of two weeks, but Strang would not say how many days would be spent marching and how many on site. Frank thought about turning back but the sun had been hidden all day and there was no way of knowing if it was one hour to dark or five. He decided to press on up the coast until night fell and then persist until he came upon the party. They would stop to camp and he would find them. He would hear their laughter and singing and see their fires and he would set the alarm on his phone so he did not sleep past dawn again.
The day seemed impossibly long and a state of trance seemed to creep over him by slow degrees so he no longer knew if he walked half asleep or dreamt that he walked. Finally he found himself walking in darkness and did not know how long it had been so. How had he proceeded so far without consciously monitoring his progress? How had his feet carried him safely without the assistance of his mind? Where were they? How could anyone possibly miss them? Surely they were not so much faster that he had not caught them yet? Could he have passed them somehow? Exhausted, he lay down to sleep at last. The clouds that had pressed down on him all day, blocking out the sun, persisted, and hid the stars from his sight. The heat was oppressive. The only thing he could count on was a series of nightmares to disturb his sleep. Enough, he decided, in the morning he would turn back.
Cthulhu Deep Down Under Volume 2 Page 13