She reached out and trailed her fingers through the water, stood up and walked forward into the pool up to her waist. The blue work shirt floated and she caught her breath. Gasped. Arms lifted and she laughed. Held her breath, closed her eyes and dived forward. Disappeared beneath the surface. After a moment she reappeared and opened her eyes, wiped the water from her face and looked at him. Lay back and floated, arching her neck, staring at the sky. Opened her legs and kicked out, swam out into deeper water. She lay floating, drifting. Her hands beneath her back moving and she lifted her hips up, legs rising.
‘If you fill your lungs with air,’ she said, ‘they become a natural float and you will never sink. If you are ever in doubt, just hold your breath.’
‘Hold my breath?’ Repeated as a question. Smiling away like a fool and shaking his head.
‘The trouble is when you have to breathe,’ she dipped below the water, resurfaced. ‘You sink.’ Laughed as if this was the most hilarious of things. They both knew it was simply the joy of them being here.
Lew sat on the flat stone next to her hat and boots. The straw bag and picnic food she had covered with towels. He raised his hand and nodded. Clara swivelled in the water and swam, breaststroking out into the middle. Stopped, again floated on her back, raised her hand and waved at him. She began to tread water; pulled down and kicked off her jodhpurs; unbuttoned her blue shirt.
‘If you come out to me, I will show you how to kiss underwater so no one will see us. You can close your eyes if you want Lewis. But not when you jump. Keep your eyes open as you jump, it’s more fun to see yourself falling through the air.’
Easterly winds coming over the top of them from out of the desert country.
He looked up and saw the rocks surrounding the pool. The rocks are as ancient as stars and Clara is swimming through the impermanence of water. He frowned at the strangeness of such thoughts, heard a faint humming and looked up. High in an old paperbark, he saw a sugarbag beehive hanging from a hollow branch.
Suddenly knew there would never be another horse without Clara, or another dog without her. Another held breath or held hand, without her. And she waited now, for him in the water.
She reached down and removed her underpants. Kicking her legs as she did so. Turned and swam out to the middle. The roundness of her white backside bobbing. Opened her legs and her hips as she swam, fine and light and perfect; naked she was. ‘No one will see us Lew.’
He shook his head as he rose and began to unbutton his shirt. Took it off and lay it on the ground. Big, capable hands. He unbuttoned his trousers. Dropped them at his feet and stepped out of them. His body was ivory white. A barely visible patch of chest hair spread above his sternum and across his chest like the shape of a flying bird. He stood slightly hipshot for a moment. Lean and strong arms akimbo, wide shoulders and thin hips, iliac crests prominent. His penis growing to erection.
Clara nodding, he could see her wide eyes, white teeth, and she began swimming towards him. ‘Come on Lewis,’ she called. ‘Just jump.’ Her laughter of approval.
He ran and jumped. Suspended for a moment in the air. The naked man, arms and legs running, falling. Building wings on the way down, becoming almost weightless.
He plunged through the surface of the water and twisted, instinctively looked up. His arms suspended among a thousand bubbles and rifts. It was cold and free. Underwater. He opened his eyes and could see Clara’s body, her long legs kicking and the dark triangle between them. She, diving under now, was looking for him. He felt her slippery arms searching, her hands sliding around him. Blowing underwater bubbles from her mouth as she reached for him and their legs and bodies came together. Clara was holding him and kicking so they rose to the surface and as they broke through into the fresh air, he would always believe the rocks began singing and trees nodded approval. But of course it was the wind you fool. And the sugarbag bees. They were drawing great breaths into their lungs and laughing at the same time. He was trying to remind her, saying I can’t swim Clara. Shaking his head and laughing at her. Don’t let go. She, recovering first, leaned forward and kissed him. Her mouth on his and as this happened he leaned back and they dipped just below the surface. He felt her soft lips and her tongue in his mouth and he did not care as they continued to slowly sink. Their feet touching the clean sandy bottom and knees bent they both pushed off from the bottom and rose, again to the surface. Their mouths still locked together, arms around each other. His leg came up between her legs. The heel of one of her feet high on the back of his thighs.
Breaking the surface, again for air; the sun on their faces. Her arms around his shoulders and he held her around the waist as her legs came around him. It was as if she was saving both their lives. They were at the edge of the pool, her shoulders against jagged dark rocks. Keeping him afloat. She groaned and let go of him, waited, studying his face. Pushed him away. Turned, found the edge and pulled herself out of the water. Lew watched her and the sun coming over the turning and bending figure of her, straightening and moving and looking down at him. Her hand held out to him.
He would always remember her like this, the hollow at her throat and her beautiful breasts swaying down to him. Two small skin rolls in her belly, hip and thigh muscles tightening; her wet black pubic hair shining in the sun. How pale her skin and her feet so flat on the rocks. Her gentle voice. ‘Lewis come on.’ Biting her bottom lip and glancing away, just for a second, to her left.
They made their way, naked, through the rocks towards the cave.
He looked up to the formations surrounding the spring and the bor trees with the long white spotted stamens called mirlen, and saw from the corner of his eye other lean men who were not there. Bearded men imagined, watching them while standing, resting on one leg holding thin spears as balance and then looking towards the shining plains for meat. Pointing and taking the colours from the air around them to the bokadje line: the horizon. These old persuaded men speaking among themselves of all men and women. And how our overwhelming desire for each other was the desire to be alive.
She was kneeling and lighting a candle that had been left in the entrance. Turned to him and gestured with an extended hand towards the paintings above them. There were small stones that had been used to grind ochre. The remains of other ancient fires, charcoal. Animal bones. She whispered, look. And he smelled her as she raised her arm to point. The painted figures made him hold his breath.
He kissed her moving jaw. Her finger touched the Southern Cross and Western Star. The candlelight guttered and went out. He felt her turning to him and her arms around him. The paintings watching them in the dark. ‘I dreamed of you,’ Clara said. ‘All my life.’
This intensity of longing for each other. There was nothing else.
CHAPTER 44
The dingoes rested from the remains of the storm and the night running and woke in a grey light. Storm clouds to the west and yet an occasional flicker of lightning as the front moved towards the coastal land.
She walked out to some rising ground above a flowing creek. Stood at the highest point and watched the country from which they had come. After a while the adolescent joined her and they waited. The bitch shook herself again as the last of the black clouds rolled away.
They continued east, always east until they reached a ridge above a long fence. A long wire barrier the white men patrolled and constantly repaired.
They settled, bellies into
the sand, and lay side by side and watched as a line of weitj came hurtling at the wire, running in that way they have, great shaggy coats of feathers moving side to side and their big dangerous legs whirling, crossing the ground in a seemingly effortless roll. The tiny, useless wings out as to fly but now only to balance as they sped towards the fence. Long blue-black necks and big eyes constantly astonished at the world as they passed through it.
The leading emu hit the fence with an almost comic intensity. Bounced off it, rebounding, yards back; another one going halfway through the wire, tearing itself to pieces. The dingoes watched as the carnage unfolded.
The wires breaking and another of the emus entangling as the others trampled over it and continued their frantic travel. Bodies moving side to side and up a rise and disappearing over the other side into the eastern desert. Not looking back for an instant, just running, seemingly unaware of the injured birds left behind them. One of the weitj was badly hurt, entangled in the wire and another was sitting, dazed by the collision. Yet another had deep lacerations across its breast, unable to walk. It began calling, grunting and booming in the direction of the running mob.
The young dog leapt forward before she could stop him. Make him understand to check and see what was making the emu run at the fence like they did. To wait. To circle and listen, to get downwind and stay alive. She stood and growl-barked at him and he stopped as if he had hit a wall. Putting his front feet forward and backside down, he skidded to a halt.
An army vehicle came from the direction the emus had come. It drove down an incline and turned onto the track alongside the rabbit-proof fence and stopped near the injured birds.
Two men got out of the vehicle and crossed to the emus. Both carrying rifles, dressed the same in a drab green. Hats with emu feathers in them. The dogs watched as the soldiers aimed their rifles, and shot the three birds. Opened and closed the bolts on their rifles, bright brass flicking out. Shot them again. One took a knife and cut several handfuls of feathers from the dead birds.
A third man, white bearded, had emerged from the vehicle. He was looking in their direction, the shooter with the ruined car. He began limping up the slope to where they were lying. He too was carrying a long rifle. Behind him the soldiers were cutting the left foot off each of the birds. The proof of bounty.
She immediately wheeled away from the hiding place and began sprinting across the ground. The young dog followed her as best he could, bounding along on three legs. They crossed over a small ridge, turned right and ran north, parallel and beneath the crest until it eased down into a scrub-covered gully.
She stopped in the smoke bush and rock heather. Panting, saliva dripping from her tongue, blinking, she lifted her nose, trying to quiet the sounds of her rasping breath. The heaving of lungs. The young red dog was terrified; he trembled and tried to get as close to her as he could. She put her open mouth on his open mouth to stop them both from whining aloud. To save their lives.
No shot came.
They heard the old man shooter speaking to the other men on the ridge. He yelled when he spoke.
The click as he lifted the bolt of the rifle to make it safe.
One of the younger men said something and the old man replied. The three of them turned away and disappeared from the skyline. After a moment the old man reappeared. She heard his howls and maddened words. Threatening sounds and then another’s pleading. A fainter voice to cease the howling man.
CHAPTER 45
Clara stopped the Land Rover in a hollow out of sight of the homestead. The voices of the dogs coming down through the jacaranda and lilac trees, through the coral tree and across the sheep yards and gates and fences. They knew she had returned and were struggling to contain themselves. The Land Rover motor was still running and Clara was staring straight ahead, both hands on the steering wheel. Lew looked at her and opened the door, got out and closed the door. Bent to look at her again through the window. ‘Your father will be angry. He said it was impossible. When I asked him.’
She turned her face and smiled at him. For a moment her eyes were like a prisoner’s and she shook her head. ‘No, I’ll speak to Dad. I will tell him about us. He will let you stay then.’
She pulled on the handbrake, got out of the vehicle and came around to him. Raised herself on tiptoes, her chin lifted, and put her arms around him. He could feel each of her fingers on his back and it was as if she had found something that was as precious as any treasure. She smelled so cleanly of the cave and the water of the springs. The fine sand and ochre dust of the cave still in her hair.
‘No one saw us,’ she whispered into his neck. ‘But I want them to. I do.’
‘I do too,’ he said. ‘Clara.’
She held his face then for just a moment, let go and walked back around the vehicle and got in. Put the Land Rover into gear, released the handbrake and drove away to the turn-off that led back to the homestead.
CHAPTER 46
Jimmy was standing on the wooden veranda, emptying the teapot into the garden. He saw Clara as she parked the vehicle and walked to the house carrying the woven bags and wet towels.
‘Afternoon Miss Clara. You been having a good picnic? Swimming?’
‘Afternoon Jimmy.’ She smiled and held one hand out into fading sunshine.
‘You look happy Miss Clara.’
‘Yes, it was lovely thank you,’ she said.
‘You out for long drive. Good the rain last night isn’t it?’ Jimmy studied her. ‘Right as rain this time. Let’s hope.’
Clara nodded, her arms folded. Looked up at the sky. The air cooling in the late afternoon. Biting her bottom lip, smiling and nodding, knew Jimmy had something else to say. ‘Yes?’
He stared at her for a while longer before he spoke. Bowed his head in respect. ‘Must be very careful but, Miss Clara.’
She looked at him. ‘And why is that Jimmy?’
‘Must be very careful talking with puki. This one. Puki got no brains.’ Jimmy pointed to his groin and made a sad face. ‘Must be very careful? Sorry but I see you take Mr Lew for picnic to Daybreak.’
Clara burst into a laugh, closed her eyes. Shook her head slightly and walked inside. Her arms still folded.
Jimmy flinched as she turned away. ‘You want dinner then miss?’ he asked. ‘Eggs poached like you like. Some bacon crispy. Cup of chocolate I got chocolate. For good daughter of Mr John…ha ha strawberry jam. My strawberry. Cumquat too.’ He knew how Clara sometimes enjoyed bacon and eggs for her evening meal. Smiled as he heard her call back at him.
‘That would be so good, beautiful Mr Jimmy. You are a darling harbour. I am bloody starving.’
Jimmy nodded. ‘Don’t say bloody Miss Clara.’ She had forgiven him.
She had not heard. ‘Thank you Mr Jimmy. I love you.’
Oh yes I love you too, he thought. Nodded, unsmiling now. Swimming picnic my arse and sandwiches, ginger beer and boom boom jimak all day. Need your strength girl. For that. Darling harbour. My my.
Heard her close her door. She sang something.
You singing now wonder how long you singing, he thought. Bringing home that baby kangaroo Gwen. No wonder you happy ankles saying hello puki meet Mr Lew with the smile. Friendly one. Making her want to laugh all the time, he is the boom boom Charlie. Gwen not the only thing he giving her, yes it is, and already speak like him, saying
bloody.
Throw her life away with a boy like him, shearer rubbish. Run away like his father I heard about him too, old Mr Mac a bad bugger. You can tell how she laughing at me. Oh yes I can save a big mess, Mr John he need to know about this one all right no worries.
CHAPTER 47
‘Get out here son. You in big trouble.’ An angry voice began to wake him.
Lew was lying on his bed, the rolled swag at his feet. He had been dozing. Going in and out of sleep, smiling and half-dreaming of Clara swimming. Suddenly also of Maureen, not having a grave into which to drop a handful of sand for her Peter. Having instead other men’s children. The handpiece became a lizard and as he knelt into the long blow along the spine of the sheep he bent its neck back over his knee and stepped, dancing, making the short cross-throat blows to finish shearing this sheep, keeping it alive no matter what. Lifting the hogget’s front leg and walking backwards now in a desperate race to fall down the tally-out chute and into the cold water of Daybreak. He dropped the laughing lizard and it buzzed and jumped around at his feet.
‘Get out here Lewis McCleod, the young idiot.’
It was Painter’s voice calling out to him. He had never heard him so angry. Lew groaned and rolled over, trying to go back to where he had been. Pulled the pillow over his head and drifted.
‘I won’t tell you again boy. Do I have to come in and get you?’
Lew sat up and stretched. Stood and walked out onto the veranda and looked down. ‘What’s the problem?’ Lew yawned. ‘Mate.’
Painter, his hands on his hips. His ropy arms and shoulders were tensed. The tattoos seemed to stand out around him. ‘What’s the problem with you more like? Got your cock caught in the cash register there son, no worries.’
Coming Rain Page 15