by Louise Allan
Rex slowed and changed gears, and we veered northeast off the main road onto gravel. Our jaws juddered as we bounced over the ruts. I laid my forehead against the glass and felt the vibrations through my bones. I gazed up, right up, past the pale trunks to the branches and leaves.
‘The trees are so tall,’ I said.
‘That’s mountain ash. She grows pretty big out here. Tallest in the world, they say. Well, I’ve never seen anything like it anywhere else.’ He was quiet for a while before adding, ‘Never been anywhere else, though.’
The road narrowed even more, and branches and ferns clawed at the sides of the truck. Then we emerged into a clearing that looked as if a hand had reached down and scooped out the forest. Rex cut the engine and pulled up the handbrake.
‘Home sweet home,’ he said.
I looked around. Five or six huts, a chain or two apart. Nora had been right, they were huts, not houses. No bigger than sheds, wooden, with brick chimneys and tin roofs. At one end was the mill, which was just a few sheets of tin over a steam engine and a long bench with a saw. On one side, the hewn boards were stacked neatly and, on the other, the logs lay lined up like corpses. Next to them was a pile of sawdust and another pile of off-cuts. To the side of the huts, fenced off by chicken wire, were a couple of milking cows and hens.
All around us the eucalypts rose, hundreds of them, like a battalion of protective troops. They were straight and almost bare right up to their tops, where their leaves clustered, swaying in the wind.
It was the last place on earth I could imagine someone like Nora.
Alf opened my door. He was neat and clean in a crisp shirt and trousers. I stepped down from the truck, and he squeezed me to his chest. He smelt of soap, and under that I could smell the wood and sap ingrained in his skin.
‘Careful,’ I said, ‘or you’ll wind me.’
‘Good to see you, Ide.’ He grinned, and I noticed new lines around his eyes.
I followed him towards the huts, watching my feet as I trod over the twigs and bracken and the lumpy ground. The air was sharp and stinging, and I pulled my collar up against the cold. I could smell the tang of the forest.
We stepped under cover of the eaves—a rusty sheet of tin held up by a couple of wooden posts—of one of the huts. Alf levered off his boots and set them next to the woodpile, then held the door open for me.
The inside smelt the same as outside—of the forest and the sharp air. Then I spotted him and my heart leapt into my throat. I didn’t notice anything else after that, not the cold, or the starkness, or Nora beside him. There he was, sitting in a chair, blonde curls around his face, as he fed himself with a spoon.
He jumped down when he saw me, and my words stuck inside my throat as I scooped him up and kissed his curls and his pumpkin-streaked cheeks. For the second time that day, I felt as if I’d come home.
Nora was slow to rise and held her belly as she stood. Her face was pale and long, and she had dark shadows under her eyes. I hugged her and felt the bulge of her fertile womb against my barren one. She didn’t smile as she sat back down slowly, like a ship coming in to berth.
I sat with Ted on my knee. Alf lit a roaring fire, and the air crackled and smelt of burning eucalypt. Then he lit the kerosene lamp and the room filled with light. The hut was spartan but still managed to look dishevelled. The grey mat by the front door was muddied. The table, the shelves, the dresser were in disarray and covered in dust. The only decorations were the statue of the Holy Family on the dresser and a picture of Pope Pius XII that hung from a nail on a wall stud.
I scrubbed a pot and cooked dinner—spuds boiled over the fire, and some silverside and bread I found in the meatsafe—and we ate at the table in the centre of the room. Alf closed his eyes, brought his hands together and said the grace, and we thanked the Lord for all the goodness he’d provided for us that day.
Nora toyed with a potato on her plate. In the firelight, the shadows under her eyes seemed darker. She barely ate a morsel.
‘You all right, Nor?’ I said.
She glared at me. ‘This isn’t how I envisioned my life, Ida. None of it is.’
I winced, but Alf’s face gave nothing away. It was as if he’d heard it before.
‘You’ll feel better when the baby’s here,’ I said, trying to sound reassuring. ‘Not long to go now.’
‘The baby’s not going to fix things,’ she said without lifting her eyes.
The fire hissed and popped, and outside a gust of wind rattled the roof. ‘The wind’s coming up,’ said Alf. ‘Rain might be on the way.’
I nodded. Alf and I chatted about the wet weather and tried to keep the mood light. But each of us stole glances at Nora, who sat in silence and barely ate.
I cleared up when we’d finished eating, while Nora sat at the table. Then I readied Ted for bed and buttoned him into his pyjamas. After I’d kissed him goodnight, Nora took him into the bedroom. While she was gone, Alf made up the camp bed.
When she returned, I said, ‘You look tired. Why don’t you retire, too?’ Arm-to-hip, she lilted towards the bedroom and the door closed behind her like an exhalation.
I made a pot of tea, and when we sat at the table, I pulled out my knitting—a layette for the new baby in fine white wool.
‘I know it’s not much, living here,’ said Alf. ‘And I know it’s hard on Nora. But I’ve told her we won’t be here forever. I have plans, Ida. Big plans. That’s why I’m working hard.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘One day I’m going to build her a house, a proper house, a really nice one. So she can live how she should, like what she deserves. Surrounded by nice things. Nice furniture and pictures. And a piano she can play. And maybe she can even sing again.’
Outside, a possum scuttled across the roof.
‘I’ll do my best to take care of her, Ida. And the rest of our family as they come. I promise.’
I nodded. ‘I know you will, Alf.’
‘Rex and I have to work tomorrow. Fell as much as we can before the rain sets in. So I’ll say goodnight.’ He stood. ‘It’s good of you to come.’
‘’Night.’
After Alf had left the room, I swilled the last of my tea and wound up the wool. Then I changed into my nightie and turned down the wick on the kerosene lamp until the light disappeared. The room was black except for the winking firelight. The sheets felt like ice as I climbed between them and the pillow smelt of sawdust. I pulled the blanket and quilt around my chin, before rolling over to face the hissing embers.
Outside, the wind rushed through the treetops, and the hut creaked and moaned. An owl hooted in the distance and some Tasmanian devils screeched nearby.
I hoped Alf was right, that Nora would be happier in a nice house closer to town. But the disquiet I felt didn’t abate and the embers had faded before I fell asleep.
Chapter 15
The rain fell against the tin all night, and the next morning a westerly was still blowing the rain across the roof in sheets. The bedroom door creaked and Alf crept in. He was unshaven and his hair stuck up, making his face appear even more square. He padded past me, almost soundless on the floor.
He scrunched up some newspaper and gathered kindling from the basket. The twigs crackled alight and he set a log on top. Soon, I could smell the burning eucalypt—a minty, clean smell. He straightened and rubbed his hands together. ‘Soon be warm,’ he said, and slipped back into the bedroom in silence.
He returned dressed in his singlet and trousers, braces swinging, a towel over his shoulder. He scooped water from the bucket into an enamel bowl and slipped outside. I climbed out of bed, the blanket around my shoulders, and opened the curtain over the sink. The window was foggy and I cleared a gap with my hand. Outside, the weather was blustery and grey. Alf was under the eaves, leaning over the bowl on the stump and scooping water into his hands. As he lifted them to his face, the water streamed from between his fingers, and when he shook his head, the droplets sprayed around him, some of them caught in the wind. He pulled the
towel from his shoulder and wiped one side of his face, then the other, before raising his face towards the sky.
I let the curtain drop before he noticed me watching, then filled the kettle and hung it over the fire. Alf was shaved and dressed when he returned and ate the eggs I’d boiled. He pulled on his oilskin and turned the collar up. I watched him through the window as he loped across the clearing towards the mill, the rain pelting down on his hat, and the smoke from his cigarette curling upwards until it disappeared into the mist.
Nora hadn’t been up long when she began rubbing her belly. ‘It’s just those false labour pains you get a couple of weeks before the baby’s due,’ she told me when I looked worried.
Outside, the trees hurled about like dancers, tossing and turning in the wind. Rain battered the roof, drumming and pounding the tin. In the distance, the steam engine at the mill clanked and hissed, and its saws droned as they buzzed through the wood.
I kept my eyes glued to Nora as I swept. When she started holding her belly and breathing through pursed lips, I said, ‘I think I should get Alf.’
‘Stop panicking, Ida,’ she said.
A minute or two later, she gripped the edge of the table as she breathed through a contraction.
‘I’m fetching Alf,’ I said, but she was too busy breathing and clutching her belly to answer.
I threw my coat over my head and ran out into the pelting rain. The wind was blowing and the rain was teeming. In the distance, I could see Bill, Alf’s brother, shovelling wood into the furnace at the mill.
‘Bill! Bill!’ I called as I ran, but he couldn’t hear me over the racket of the engine and the saws. I kept calling. ‘Bill! Bill!’ At last he glanced up, red-faced and sweaty.
‘Nora’s having the baby,’ I called as I puffed and panted. ‘Fetch Alf!’
He spun around and ran straight out into the teeming rain, not stopping for his jacket or hat.
Back at the hut, I collected Nora’s suitcase and helped her into her coat. We were waiting with Ted by the door when Alf returned. Rivulets of water ran from his hat and oilskin, pooling on the floor. He took Ted in one arm, Nora’s case in the other, and ran out to the truck.
Nora and I followed more slowly, clasping our hats to our heads and trying to shield the rain from our eyes. I led Nora by the elbow, pulling her towards the truck as the rain swept across the yard.
Alf had climbed in with Ted and leant across to open the passenger door.
‘C’mon Nora, in we go,’ I said.
‘I can’t!’ Her voice was shrill.
‘Yes, you can. Just put your foot on the step.’
She gripped the door of the truck and didn’t move. The rain streaked over her and a puddle formed at her feet. I couldn’t tell if it was the rain or her waters breaking.
‘You can’t have the baby here,’ I said.
‘Aaargh!’ She clutched the door, breathing in and out through tight lips.
The contraction passed. I pushed her from behind while Alf pulled her by the arm until she was up and in the truck.
I climbed up next to her and took Ted on my lap. Alf started the engine and put his foot on the accelerator. The wheels spun but we didn’t move. He released the pedal, then pressed down again. I twisted around to see mud spraying like a chocolate fountain behind us, but we stayed where we were.
‘C’mon,’ said Alf, and tried the pedal again. ‘C’mon…’
The wheels whirred and the mud splattered, but we didn’t move.
Nora was breathing in and out through drawstring lips.
Alf pressed the accelerator once more, but it was no good—we were bogged.
‘I’ll get Bill,’ he said, and jumped out into the wind and blustering rain.
‘It’s all right, Nora,’ I said, patting her hand. ‘We’ll get you to the hospital.’
She didn’t answer but gripped my hand and squeezed as she let out a groan. ‘Aaargh!’
Bill and Alf came back with a couple of planks. They poked and prodded at the back of the truck, then Alf climbed in just as Nora started screaming.
I squeezed her hand again. ‘We’re on our way now, Nora. Just hang on for a bit.’
‘No, the baby’s coming,’ she screamed. ‘Aaargh! I need to shit!’
‘Hold tight,’ I said, as she squished my fingers between hers
‘I can’t. It’s coming…Aaargh!’ She was spreading her legs.
‘Alf, this baby isn’t going to wait,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to deliver it here.’
He blanched.
Nora screamed again, then gasped, ‘Take Ted inside. He can’t see me like this.’
Alf took Ted and sprang out onto the mud, shutting the door behind him. With Ted tucked under his coat, he took off through the rain towards the hut.
Nora was panting. Her hair was stuck to her forehead and rainwater trickled down her face. ‘Don’t leave me, Ida.’
‘I’m here,’ I said.
Righto, I thought. I’ll have to deliver this baby on my own. I blessed myself—I needed all the help I could get. The rain pounded on the metal of the truck and the wind howled around us, whistling through the gaps. We were sheltered, at least, in the dusty cabin. The two of us. Two about to become three.
Nora lay across the driver’s seat, her head back, her belly a tight hillock between us.
‘It’s starting again,’ she said. ‘I can feel it…its head.’ She began to spread her legs. ‘Aaargh!’ A guttural noise, coming from deep within. The noise that comes when words can’t.
The contraction eased, and when her breathing settled, I pushed her further towards the driver’s side.
‘We’d better get your pants off, Nor,’ I said. I slid my hands under her dress and either side of her bum, grabbed her knickers and tugged them down to her ankles. I lifted one leg out and bent it up on the seat, then I lowered the other leg onto the floor, amongst the leaves and twigs.
‘I’m gonna take a look at what’s happening,’ I said, trying to catch her eyes, but they were closed. I lifted the hem of her dress and peered between her legs.
There it was—the opening, stretching and thinning around a small patch of dark.
‘Oh, Nora,’ I said. ‘I can see it coming. The baby’s on its way.’
‘I know it’s on its bloody way…Aaargh!’
‘You’re doing good,’ I said. ‘Just keep breathing.’
‘Aaargh!’ She lifted her head from the seat, set her chin on her chest, and pushed. ‘Aaaargh!’
I kept my hand on her thigh and rubbed and patted, rubbed and patted. ‘You’re doing great. You’re doing great.’ I kept repeating those words because I didn’t know what else to say. ‘We’re gonna have a baby soon, Nora.’
In between contractions, I glanced over at the hut where Alf and Ted waited inside.
‘Aaargh!’ she cried. ‘You won’t leave me, Ida?’
I grabbed her hand. Her fingers gripped mine tight as a mangle. ‘I’m right here,’ I said.
‘Aaargh!’
I looked between her legs again. The dark patch was bigger. ‘It’s coming,’ I said again. ‘Keep pushing…’
‘Aaaaaaaaarrrrrghghghgh!’ Her skin stretched, thinning so it became almost transparent. I reached out, my hands ready to take the baby that was coming. With each contraction more of it came, little by little, a dark oval shape, then out, out, more and more, until Nora opened up and there it was: the head. Face down. Swollen and purple, and streaked with mucus and blood.
‘The head’s out!’ I cried. ‘The head’s out!’
‘Where are you, Ida?’ Nora called, her eyes shut, her head propped against the driver’s door.
‘I’m right here,’ I said. ‘I’m right here and you’re doing a great job. This baby’s nearly out. Keep going, keep breathing, keep going.’
‘Aaargh…Aaargh!’ she screamed.
‘Breathe in…and out. That’s it. One shoulder. And again. In…and out.’
Out came the other shoulder, then th
e body and the legs slipped into my hands in a whoosh of fluid.
A boy.
He was limp and purple and not moving. He lay across my hands, still attached to his mother. Breathe, I urged him. Breathe. Go on, boy. Breathe.
He opened his mouth and cried the soft, sharp cry of the newborn. He was alive!
I felt as wobbly as a half-set pudding. I lifted him up to Nora. She stared up at the roof, her eyes not moving, her hair stuck to her skin, her face sallow.
‘Do you want to see what you have?’ I said, and held him out.
She kept her eyes upwards. ‘I don’t care what it is,’ she whispered.
‘It’s a boy!’ I said.
She nodded and closed her eyes.
I brought him towards me and held him against my chest. I caught sight of the hut, still and silent in the squall. I wanted to jump out and run over with the baby and show Alf his son, show someone this baby. We had a baby!
I found a knife in the glove box and extracted a shoelace from my boot. I cut the lace in half and tied each piece around the umbilical cord, tugging the knots as tightly as I could, before I cut in between. The baby was free and breathing by himself. I unfastened my coat, took off my cardigan and wrapped it around him. Then I laid him on Nora’s chest.
‘Congratulations,’ I said. ‘You have another son.’
‘The afterbirth is coming,’ she said, and didn’t move.
I took it when it came, heavy and thick with blood. I climbed out, leaving Nora lying on the seat with the babe on her chest.
The rain was easing now and the wind had settled. My hair stuck to my face, and the air blew cold through my dress. I walked into the bush and through the wet shrubs until I found a spot by a thicktrunked mountain ash. I knelt on the ground softened by rain and laid the afterbirth beside me. The blood trickled from it and mingled with the water and seeped into the thick soil. I scooped the mud with my hand and dug a hole deep in the ground—I could smell it, the thick, wet earth—and I placed the afterbirth in its grave and piled the soil back over the top.