Vanishing Point

by Alan Moore

  Her attractive features caused male students walking past to take a second look. She sported shoulder length light brown hair, unstyled and framing an oval face, with a pert, symmetrical nose and hazel eyes. She dressed in the casual style of the day and wore a white blouse decorated with embroidered, colourful flowers around the neckline, a ruffly, mid-length skirt and strapped sandals.

  ‘Say, would you like to join us for tea tonight?’ Shelley’s question to Petri was so direct and unexpected that it was obvious she had not been listening but had been engrossed in her own thoughts.

  ‘Sure, if that’s all right with you folk. I’ve nothing planned. I don’t know many people over here. I was just going back to my hotel and perhaps watch a bit of television or read. I’d love to join you, but don’t want to be in the way.’

  ‘No, of course you won’t. You’re more than welcome.’

  Alec added his affirmation, ‘Of course. It would be great to have you along.’

  ‘Alec and I are going to a restaurant in Lygon Street. That’s in the city. Where are you staying? Perhaps we could share a taxi.’

  ‘No, I have a hire car so let me pick you up.’

  ‘Great idea,’ Alec said. ‘And thanks. I’ll leave my bike in the department. The walk between the station and the University tomorrow will do me good.’

  * * *

  The shared meal proved to be the start of new and happy friendship between the three. Petri, Alec and Shelley found themselves together every time that Petri came over from Perth. Even when he felt he had little more to garner from the University or Dr Fleming, Petri found reasons to visit. The friendship grew in strength through common interests in geology and music. The three loved to argue and debate. The social and political changes affecting Australia and the world were ideal for debate. They argued late into the night on subjects such as the war in Vietnam, the women’s liberation movement, hippies and all those that heralded major changes in western society.

  About a year after their first meeting the three were sipping coffee after attending a concert in the city. As was common when they were together conversation became debate. It started with arguments for the justification for war.

  Petri told them, ‘I’m a pacifist. War just creates misery. It is the most extreme form of violence and violence solves nothing in the long run.’

  ‘Surely there are some times when war is justified,’ argued Shelley. ‘I’m against violence but you have to make a stand sometime, I mean, just think where we’d be if no-one stood up to Hitler. How could you remain a pacifist under those circumstances?’

  Petri tried to explain. ‘During most of the war my father was in Scotland. He was a cryptographic expert and worked for the British Army as an adviser and code-breaker. He was fluent in Russian, English, German and Finnish.’

  ‘How come he was in code breaking?’

  ‘Cryptography was a hobby. It developed out of his skills as a mathematics lecturer at the University in Helsinki.’

  ‘So he was involved in the war, even if indirectly,’ said Shelley.

  ‘Yes, but not directly in the violence and mass killing. My father strongly opposed the Finnish alliance with Germany. Remember, as a child he lived through the Finnish civil war in 1918 and that framed his attitude to war and violence.’

  ‘I suppose exposure to war and battles would be traumatic.’

  ‘It wasn’t just battles. The civil war killed more people through terrorism and prison camps, massacres and atrocities. It was horrible and hardened attitudes between the left and right factions. All this killing made him a pacifist and I learnt from him.’

  ‘But he got involved in the war for the British Army. Why not the Finnish?’

  ‘I guess the defeat of the Reds in 1919 rankled with the communists so Stalin took the opportunity to invade Finland in 1939, the ‘Winter War’. They bombed Helsinki.’

  ‘I suppose that would be enough to make anyone opposed to war and battles. But wouldn’t that unite Finns against the invaders?’

  ‘You’d think so. Instead it almost reignited the civil war. Even though Russia invaded a neutral country at the time, he could not see how supporting Hitler helped the Finns. Anyone wavering could be thought to be supporting the invaders.’

  ‘It must have been a very difficult time for him.’

  ‘And all Finns. Although the Finns fought heroically, they could not withstand the might of the Russians. Severe peace terms were imposed, including the loss of much Finnish land. My father was opposed to any alliance with the Nazis. He disliked their policies and belligerence. He believed supporting them would just lead to more Finns being killed or maimed. At the university where he taught his was not popular, nor was his vocal opinion. I mean, you can see the problem. Finland was caught between occupied Norway, belligerent Russia and untrustworthy Germany.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘In 1941, soon after Petsomo was bombed by the British, killing even more Finns, he secretly crossed the Baltic to Stockholm in an old fishing boat. There friends with links to British Intelligence contacted him. They persuaded him that assisting the Allies could end the war sooner. They helped get him to London where he was made very welcome in the cryptographic services of the British Army.’

  ‘Quite an adventure.’

  ‘Yes. So you see why I believe there are ways other than violence to solve problems!’

  ‘Is your father still alive?’

  ‘No. He met my mum in Glasgow, got married and had me within a year. When I was six we migrated to Australia and settled in Perth. They both died in a motor accident about five years ago.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,’ Shelley said, patting his arm.

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, Petri. I know how hard it is to lose people you love,’ Alec echoed. At least you know what happened and when.

  ‘Anyway,’ Petri continued, ‘Dad never forgot his homeland and throughout my childhood the music of Sibelius echoed through the house. From Sibelius and Finlandia I grew to like other classical music. So, talking of which, what did you think of the concert tonight?’

  The conversation had been deftly changed.

  Each time Karl visited he became more enamoured with Katherine. It was the longest time he had spent close to a woman and a beautiful one at that. As his lust grew so did his frustration. The problem was crazy Benjamin. He could not afford to cross Benjamin; he was so dependent upon him. His most precious possessions were in Benjamin’s name. Inside his utility, neatly hooked behind the seats, was his pride and joy, his Lee Enfield number one, Mark III rifle. It was old but, fitted with telescopic sights, it was ideal for shooting kangaroos, dingoes and even pigs. A .303 bullet shot out at a velocity of almost half a mile per second. But, like the Toyota, it was registered in Benjamin’s name. Even the radio’s call sign was not his own. He could not afford to get any licences for fear that the police might track him down. In anything official he dared not use Karl’s name and details because he was dead. He had to remain anonymous, a non-person. Perhaps he could work on Benjamin’s strange religious beliefs and so-called visions so he’d get access to Katherine.

  He’d spent the past month away shooting vermin on a station in the north. Now Karl he was on the way to deliver some supplies to Benjamin, all the time thinking of how to resolve his problem: the woman.

  The heat was unbearable. By midday even the hardy eucalypt mallee shrubs were wilting as waves of still air simmered above the baking red sand. From the veranda the perimeter fence appeared to move and bend like some exotic dancer. Silence surrounded the buildings.

  Both Benjamin and Katherine sat in the shade of the veranda while Carolyn played at their feet. Apart from her bright pink cheeks she seemed oblivious to the heat. Benjamin wore only his shorts and, overcome by lethargy, sat staring into space. Katherine was dressed in one of her remaining short skirts, which was now slightly too large for her but better than nothing. On her lap was her shirt which she was repairing, again.


  ‘We really need new clothes. These are finished. I can’t see how I can fix this shirt again.’ She held it up for Benjamin to see the thin cotton and the patches. ‘I’ve got only what was in my case: they’re so old everything is falling apart.’

  ‘Yeah, reckon ya right.’

  ‘And Carolyn needs clothes too. She can’t just run around naked all day, like this. She gets burned. And what about when winter comes? And she’s growing —’

  ‘Yeah. Okay. Okay. Write down what ya want an’ I’ll get it. I’m goin’ south next week. Gotta take some hives down.’

  In the early days Katherine wondered how it was that bees were successful out in the desert where the floral displays were so spectacular but erratic and short lived. She later discovered that Benjamin regularly moved the hives, sometimes great distances, to follow the blossom or for pollination of crops.

  Benjamin continued. ‘Karl’s gunna be here today an’ he’ll look after ya when I’m gorn.’

  This news drew very mixed feelings from Katherine. She’d hoped she’d be able to persuade Benjamin to let her travel with him on his next trip rather than being left alone for weeks. For ages she’d tried to behave as quietly and unobtrusively as possible to achieve this, even absorbing the strain of being friendly towards her captor, hoping to convince Benjamin that all thought of escape was forgotten. She now knew her efforts obviously failed. The idea that Karl would be there with her was disturbing. She did not relish the thought of being alone at the Factory with him. She did not trust him. In the past when he visited his behaviour in front of Benjamin was exemplary but, when Benjamin was out of sight, he made kissing faces at Katherine and, on one occasion, even put a hand on her bottom and breast.

  Each time he grew bolder in his advances but always when Benjamin was out of sight. Katherine had not been sure how to deal with this. She tried talking to Benjamin. ‘Your mate, Karl, doesn’t behave properly towards me.’

  ‘Yeah? Wadda ya mean?’

  ‘Well, in front of you he’s fine. But if you’re not there he, well, makes faces to me. And once he touched me up.’

  ‘Huh! Faces? Touched ya? Wadda ya saying, woman?’

  ‘I’m suggesting I don’t trust him. And I don’t think you should either. He makes eyes at me when you’re not around.’

  ‘I know what ya on about, woman. Jist tryin’ to stir up feelin’ between me an’ Karl. We been real mates for a long time. He’s a good bloke.’

  ‘No, I’m serious I —’

  ‘Karl wouldn’t do nothin’ ta upset me. He depends on me for everythin’. Can’t do nothin’ without me so he’s not gunna try an’ take me woman.’

  ‘I just think he’s not all he —’

  ‘Now ya tryin’ ta stir up trouble between us. He reckons I’m ta soft on ya. I don’t treat ya proper like a man should a wife, an’ ya should be obedient like what the Bible says. Wants to know why ya sleep on ya own. Wadda ya think?’

  All her efforts at being friendly, almost submissive, to try to get Benjamin to think that she accepted her confinement suddenly evaporated. Her frustration at not being able to go and the loss of a potential escape plan caused her anger to boil over.

  ‘I am not your wife, no matter what you and your Bible say. I am still another man’s wife! Alec’s wife. You kidnapped me and that’s a serious crime. We’re living in the twentieth century, not two thousand years ago. Can’t you get that into your thick skull? Even after all this time I still desperately want to go home. I don’t want to be your wife, or have anything to do with you. I hate you. You keep me here in a prison, you rule me. I don’t even have a name here, you just call me “woman”—’

  ‘Ya know from Genesis, God told us man is to rule over woman and jist as Adam named Eve, it’s me right to name ya.

  An’ I named you ‘Woman,’ my woman, ya belong ta me. Ya mine. I own ya.’

  ‘Belong to you? Own me! I’m not some property, a slave, something to be bought and sold. I am a person, a woman. I don’t belong to anyone. Not me, nor my child.’

  ‘Is ya kid yours? Does she belong to ya?’

  ‘Yes, she is mine. But she’s a child.’

  ‘An’ a woman is like a child. Men must look after em. An’ a wife belongs to her man. God says so. He made woman to be a help ta man. An’ you belong to me. Jist like ya bubs belongs to ya.’

  Katherine realised she was not going to make any head-way in this argument. She switched tracks. ‘Carolyn is nearly ready to start school. My child is growing up to be a weirdo, no friends, no father, no —’

  Benjamin interrupted her, his voice rising. ‘No father? I’ve bin a father to her. I feed her, talk to her. Brought her toys an’ even them kids books like ya wanted. I didn’t want, but I gave in ta ya. I’ve bin like a husband to ya, but you ain’t been a wife to me, eh. Anyways, she’s a girl, so ya kin teach ‘er everythin’ she needs ta know.’

  The noise of an approaching vehicle made them look up, ending the argument. A short while later a swirl of dust in front of the gates heralded the arrival of the dogger.

  Benjamin reached into his pocket and threw the keys to Katherine. ‘That’s Karl. Go, woman, an’ let him in.’ He emphasised the word, ‘woman’.

  Katherine carefully put down the cotton thread and needle; simple implements became valuable under these conditions. She pulled on her partly-repaired shirt and slowly walked over to the gate. She no longer cared much about her appearance. Only a few years ago she would never have dared to appear in front of a stranger without being properly dressed, her hair combed and face made up. Yet here she was, wearing only a threadbare shirt and worn-out skirt. She lacked make-up to cover her perspiring face and her ash-blonde hair, now grown long again, hung past her shoulders. She slouched forward, unlocked the gate and opened it.

  ‘Ta, luv,’ was the laconic comment Karl made as he slowly drove in, pausing to look out the driver’s window. His dark eyes stared at Katherine’s face then down to her chest and her shapely, tanned legs. He grinned, one of his self-rolled cigarettes hanging in the edge of is lip, and drove in.

  The men were already seated on the veranda by the time Katherine returned from locking the gate. She started to sit on the steps but Karl spoke to her, ‘There’s beer in the esky, should still be cold. Go get us a couple.’ He pointed to his vehicle.

  Katherine stood, turned and obediently walked to the truck. She opened the door to pick up the esky sitting on the passenger seat and saw the rifle. She’d seen it before, but since the argument with Benjamin, she looked at it with new eyes.

  She glanced back at the men on the veranda. They were deep in conversation.

  She leaned in and touched the rifle. Fear overcame her as she realised that she knew nothing about guns: not how to load one or even aim. Perhaps it was already loaded. Nervously she lifted it from the supporting clasps. It was heavier than expected. Slowly she fingered the mechanism, trying to decide if it had a safety catch, how to work it and discover if it was loaded.

  A gnarled hand suddenly grabbed her firmly by the shoulder. Another curled around her hair, pulling her head sharply back.

  ‘Put it down, bitch. Don’ ya mess with me fuckin’ rifle, ya stoopid bitch.’

  In shock she dropped the rifle back on to the seat. ‘Ouch, sorry. I —’

  ‘Shuddup.’ Still holding her head right back, Karl pulled the esky to the edge of the seat. ‘Open it, ya bitch an’ get two stubbies.’

  She grappled in the esky and picked up two bottles by feel.

  ‘Shut it.’

  She closed the esky as ordered.

  Karl pushed her roughly back to where Benjamin sat, forcing her to shuffle awkwardly. It hurt but she couldn’t put her hands up to try to ease her pain without dropping the beers.

  ‘Serve ya man,’ Karl ordered, forcing her to her knees in front of Benjamin.

  She held out the beers.

  Karl grinned, he was enjoying her pain and humiliation.

  ‘What ‘appened?’ asked Ben
jamin.

  ‘What ‘appened? Ya fuckin’ woman was tryin’ ta get me fuckin’ gun. Reckon ya need ta take ‘er in ‘and a bit, mate. She’s bloody dangerous. Ya need ta control ‘er more or she’ll kill ya. Or me, or both of us.’

  Benjamin didn’t object to Karl’s swearing. Instead he looked at Katherine still kneeling in front of him. His eyes narrowed. ‘That so? Ya gun, eh?’

  By now her the pain in her scalp hurt so much it was making Katherine cry. A mixture of pain, fear and uncontrolled anger welled up inside her.

  ‘Yes, it is. I want to go home. I thought I could force you to take me home if I took the gun. I’ve been your prisoner for too long. I just want to go, to get out of here. Please, I beg you, please let me go. Take me and my child home.’

  ‘Home? Ya is home.’ Benjamin turned to Karl, still holding Katherine’s hair in his fist. ‘Ya came at a good time. We was jist talking ‘bout her not being a proper wife. Jist listen ta her. Home! I reckon I’se bin patient enough. When is long enough? Wadda ya think, eh?’

  Karl looked at Katherine, kneeling on the floor, crying. His mouth curled into a mirthless grin. ‘Sure ya have, mate. Real patient. How long’s ya gunna wait, eh?’ He ground his cigarette into the ground and leaned into Katherine’s face. ‘How long, eh?’ His breath smelt foul, but it was not the smell of stale tobacco. It had a sweetish scent to it.

  Benjamin continued. ‘The gun, eh? No proper wife would take a gun ta her man. Ain’t right.’

  ‘Ya right, Benjamin. She’s dangerous an’ not a proper wife ta ya. Mind ya, I reckon I could help ya there. I could teach her to be a proper wife, like ya wants? Like ya told me the Bible says she must be? I reckon God wants me to help ya.’

  Benjamin responded to Karl while looking at Katherine, ‘Well …’ He hesitated. ‘I’m goin’ ta Perth tomorrow. Be away ‘bout two weeks. Ya gunna ‘ave ta look after the place an’ her anyways. Mebbe ya kin teach her to obey her man like the Bible says?’

  ‘Sure, I’d be pleased ta help ya. She’s gunna be real pleased to see ya back, eh? I promise.’