Texas

by Sarah Hay

  ‘Would you like some more?’ asked Hans.

  The fan continued its idle rotation above their heads.

  ‘I’m fine thanks.’ She looked around. ‘So what’s it been like?’

  Her eye followed the shelving along the wall and above the bench and sink; most of it was empty except for the odd pale blue plate, some light-coloured bowls and old-woman teacups with delicate handles and saucers, placed there, she decided, by someone who must have been hopeful. Hans glanced at her and then to the left of her shoulder; he looked as though he’d been crying, but perhaps he was just sunburnt.

  ‘It has been very quiet. No people. No one. We see John two times, maybe three. And we go to the roadhouse two times. In the north of Sweden it can be like that sometimes. When the snow is very heavy.’

  ‘So what do you do?’

  ‘One day we went for a walk. We tried to climb the hill. It was very hot. There was a big lizard like a dinosaur. Very big. And then we see it again with a bird in its mouth. Here.’ He gestured to the door. ‘And it swallow the bird and its stomach, you could see the bird in there.’ He shuddered. ‘We do not go far.’

  Laura wasn’t sure whether she believed him. As big as a dinosaur.

  She stood up and placed her mug in the sink. ‘I think I might go outside. Have a look around.’

  Hans stood up quickly. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll come with you.

  ‘You know,’ he said when they were beside the oleander bush in the middle of the yard, ‘there is a strange sound here every night. Like rain but there is no rain.’ He looked at her.

  ‘When do you leave?’

  His face relaxed a little. ‘In ten days’ time.’

  Across the yard she could see the low line of the shed roof and from that direction she heard the vehicle start up.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ she said, turning back towards him, smiling in a way she hoped was reassuring. And then behind him she noticed, above the roof of the homestead, some sort of aerial, obviously no longer in use, with a creeper entwined around a horizontal bar and the vertical bar above it. From this angle, it looked like a crucifix made of bush.

  ‘How do you contact anyone here?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s a phone at the roadhouse,’ he said.

  John pulled up at the fence and Sven got out of the vehicle.

  ‘I think we’re leaving now.’

  His eyes left hers.

  ‘Enjoy the rest of your travelling,’ she added.

  She glanced back quickly before the homestead was obscured from sight. There was no sign of anyone. John looked in the rear-vision mirror and then at her.

  ‘So what did you think?’

  About what? she wondered. And then: ‘They seemed very nice.’

  Texas ‘Not bad blokes. A bit useless. Went without power for a week or so. Couldn’t work out how to get it going again after they ran it out of fuel. They put more fuel in but didn’t bleed the injectors so they had air in the fuel pump.’

  ‘I spoke to Hans. He seemed a bit . . .’ She searched for the right word as the landscape slipped beneath the vehicle. ‘Nervous.’

  ‘There’s always something to spook you in this country. If you go looking for it.’

  ‘They’ll be all right?’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ John braked and the vehicle slowed. ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘What?’ Startled, looking to where John was looking, suddenly aware that her sense of well-being was easily disturbed. ‘What is it?’

  The vehicle stopped. John opened the car door. But he stayed where he was. His eyes searched the scrub, which in that section of the track had closed in, with the range rising steeply behind it and the gullies shaded like folds in fabric.

  ‘It was a bloody big cat. I’m sure of it. Biggest cat I ever saw. The size of a dog.’

  She was thinking lions, tigers.

  ‘Not much point in getting the gun out. It’d be long gone.’

  ‘What sort of cat?’ she asked as his attention returned to the middle of the road and he pushed the gear into first, the vehicle slowly gaining speed.

  ‘Cat gone wild. You know, like a domestic cat. The thing is, it’s a few generations on, and god knows in this country, with plenty of tucker, what we might end up with.’

  The vehicle retraced their tracks, occasionally deviating slightly when John avoided a rock or a dip in the road. The constant bumping, changing down a gear, slowing for rough patches, changing up, the sun slipping lower so that at times it shone directly into her window, brought on a pleasurable somnolence that seemed to suspend time. They reached the river which, other than the line of ranges they were leaving behind, was the most defining aspect of her landscape. The light had yellowed and with it, green became green-gold and the blemish-free limbs of the river gums glowed. As they descended the bank, she thought of being stuck there, sunk in sand that was striped now by shade. But John took the vehicle through a slightly different route where the ground was firmer and they got to the other side without any trouble. The top of the bank was covered in grass. When they reached it he stopped the vehicle and turned off the engine. Birds rose nervously from the treetops like fluttering triangles of paper, shifting across the sky in formation, noisy and indignant as they settled again in the trees on the far side.

  ‘Corellas,’ he said.

  He offered her a can of beer from the esky. They sat side by side on the tailgate of the vehicle. She was feeling comradely while he began to talk. He became more expansive, revealing his passion for the country, how his grandfather had taught him to ride and describing the place that would have been his. Then he moved on to how Susannah made him feel, saying that his wife didn’t understand. That she never appreciated how hard he worked. The job was tough, always battling against people who wanted to keep things the way they were. It was nothing like running a few sheep down south. He had to prove to the boss he could do it and he had to prove it to his bloody wife as well.

  Unlike the old man Irish, John had no reticence when it came to talking about himself. Sitting overlooking the riverbed, birds riotous and intrusive, Laura felt included and then, after the second beer or was it the third, he jumped off the back of the vehicle and stood in front of her, placing both hands on her knees.

  ‘Laura,’ he said. His head was tilted upwards and his hat fell off, revealing oily blond hair pasted to his skull.

  She realised he expected her to lean towards him, kiss him perhaps.

  ‘Ever since I saw you, I knew you felt the same.’

  Fuck. What was it about men that they didn’t realise she was only being friendly? That she was just being polite, showing an interest in what they were saying. She’d enjoyed his company, his knowledge of the country, but for godsake why did it have to end with sex? She watched with horror as his hands moved from her knees, up her legs, his fingers sliding across her jeans, touching her inner thigh, and then he grasped her waist, his body leaning closer, his breathing louder. She remembered Ben and felt sick. The sympathy she felt when he told her about his relationship with Susannah evaporated. What a stupid man. She inched backwards a bit and brought up her right knee and used her leg to push him from her. She jumped off the vehicle and moved away, looking over her shoulder, seeing him pick up his hat from the dirt. She followed the track away from the river.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he called after her. ‘It’s a long walk back.’

  She heard the vehicle start and then it was behind her, its lights obliterating his face. She had no choice but to climb inside and they didn’t speak for the rest of the way. Instead of being angry, he seemed embarrassed and she knew she was partly to blame. She should never have appeared so interested.

  VI

  The kitchen floor smelt of disinfectant and the benches were spotted with droplets of water. Laura hesitated by the flywire.

  Susannah glanced at her and filled the kettle at the sink and then lit the stove.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ asked Susannah.

&n
bsp; ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Are you going to sit down?’

  Laura pulled out a chair.

  ‘There are some biscuits on the table.’

  Laura reached for one out of the jar.

  Susannah took another cup from under the bench.

  ‘Susannah,’ Laura began. ‘There’s something I want to tell you.’ Susannah straightened. Laura watched her pause before the window, both hands holding the empty cup. ‘Yesterday, John . . .’

  ‘Look, I don’t want to know.’ Susannah turned, eyes avoiding hers. She filled both cups and moved one of them across to Laura. ‘Sometimes,’ she added, looking down, ‘it’s better not to know. You’ve just got to get on with it. Don’t you think?

  ‘Sugar?’ she asked, pushing the bowl towards Laura.

  ‘Yeah, thanks. I suppose,’ said Laura and she took a deep breath. After a while she continued. ‘But then if you don’t have all the information, how can you make the right decision?’

  ‘It’s always the right one at the time. You have to think that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Otherwise you’d spend your whole life regretting things.’

  ‘I don’t plan on doing that.’

  Susannah smiled tightly.

  ‘None of us do.’

  VII

  When shadows lengthened and the light softened and corellas roosted in the tree above the yards, Laura slipped the bridle from her horse and gently tapped its rump to send it off out into the paddock. She had just hung the bridle on the nail beside the saddle when the birds rose again. She looked to see what had disturbed them. Metal bolts slid and clunked and hinges of gates groaned as the stockman moved through the barriers between them.

  ‘Hi,’ said Laura.

  ‘You need to get a swag from the missus. Boss said I’m taking you out to the camp.’

  Light leaked through the finger-like leaves of the eucalypt in front of them. The skin of its trunk glowed white and galah shapes flew over its shadow. They were noisier than the corellas.

  Laura looked around the small bedroom, then collected her clothes from the cupboard, leaving a dress and two skirts hanging in the wardrobe. There were footsteps. Susannah held a bundle of sheets and a blanket in her arms.

  ‘I thought you might need this.’

  Laura looked down at the torch that sat on top of the bedding.

  ‘Thanks.’

  She took it and placed it in her backpack.

  ‘Is there anything else you need? From the stores?’

  ‘No,’ said Laura, trying not to betray her nervousness, her sudden realisation that there would be no electricity. That she was going to be out in the bush.

  ‘I don’t think you should go. You don’t have to.’

  Laura stopped what she was doing and looked into the face of the woman in the doorway.

  ‘But I want to,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah well, just be careful of the blokes.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be fine. I know Texas.’

  Texas Susannah blinked rapidly and then turned away. It wasn’t like Susannah to show that much emotion but Laura couldn’t worry about it now. This was her adventure. She stuffed the bedding into the top of the backpack, fastened it and lifted one of the straps over her shoulder.

  Texas was waiting by the vehicle. The canvas bed-roll they called a swag was on the back and she lifted her pack on there as well and opened the door. The window was streaked by a mess of insects, squashed and spread by wiper blades. She drew a mark with her finger in the dust on the dashboard. He slid in behind the wheel, his hat almost touching the roof. The key turned over. He pumped the accelerator to inject more fuel into the engine. Something clicked and then it rattled into life, fumes filling the cab. Hot engine air breathed through the rusted cracks in the chassis, warming her lower right leg. She wondered how he could see anything through the windscreen.

  About twenty minutes later they pulled up at a gate. The sun had sunk behind the bush and the purple sky was darkening by the minute. She waited by the gate as the vehicle passed and, as she closed it, the motor stuttered and stopped and the sounds of the bush were suddenly amplified. A screeching erupted from the treetops which sounded almost human, and even though she knew it could only be some outback animal, it made her feel a long way from home. Her fear—or was it excitement?—intensified. Sometimes the emotions were too similar to separate. The engine took over again and Texas wound down his window to let out the smoke of his cigarette.

  He turned on the headlights and they defined the dark edges of the track.

  ‘Cheeky snake up there maybe. Those black cockies, they don’t like him much.’

  He passed her his tin of Log Cabin and released the clutch.

  She attempted to roll herself a cigarette but the tobacco fell out of the paper and onto her jeans. She could feel him glancing at her every now and then. And then he slowed the vehicle.

  ‘Here, you gotta roll the tobacca like this. Rub it first, break it all up. See, like this.’

  He handed her a slim, firmly rolled cigarette.

  She smiled her thanks. The taste was strong and even though she didn’t often smoke, it brought a sense of unreality that was quite pleasurable. And she was able to view from a distance her journey in the cab of that vehicle with a man she barely knew, as they glided through soft sand, bounced and rattled over potholes and corrugations, the dark behind the windows creating a mirror which reflected the flash of the match light and the warm end of a cigarette.

  Fate threw them

  together

  I

  It was still dark when Susannah got up to make the salt-beef sandwiches. She wrapped John’s lunch in greaseproof paper and put it in the cold room. She placed the other sandwiches in the small foam esky. She was looking forward to the trip to town. John opened the flywire door. He didn’t bother to take off his hat.

  ‘You got a full tank and I checked the oil,’ he said.

  ‘What about the tyres?’ she asked, feeling his eyes on her as she put away the tomato sauce.

  He was watchful. He had been ever since Laura left for the stock camp. Susannah knew why, of course, but she was never going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. There was no point. It wouldn’t lead anywhere or change anything.

  ‘There are two spares,’ he replied.

  She wiped the bench and the lino tabletop again. All she had to do was wake up the boys and put them in the car.

  ‘You got that list for O’Malley?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her shoulder brushing his as she passed him in the doorway.

  She stepped onto the lawn, noticing the hint of light behind the hills. Small birds, erratic and cheerful, darted in different directions. She placed the esky and her handbag in the ute and went back for the boys. John left the house for the work sheds, the brim of his hat tilted towards the ground. She thought of her father and wondered what he was doing. Perhaps he wouldn’t be up yet. The sun appeared, roughly in the direction she would be travelling, and transformed the sky into coloured ripples of cloud.

  The wheels slid a little on the loose stones. Following the track as it curved around the thick body of a tree, she remembered the red ribbon of dirt, highlighted by headlights, as it unravelled before them the night they arrived. But she hadn’t been able to see the tall rocky outcrops that sloped away from the road. Sunlight spread from a gap between the hills and lit the spinifex clumps, glowing yellow and bright, outlined by green and the copper-coloured grasses in between. The dirt was iron red. White posts signalled the end of the driveway and the ute slowed for the cattle grid. She glanced at the boys and they all vibrated over the bars as they drove across it, laughing together. The glove box opened and a couple of cassettes fell out onto the floor. She turned towards town onto a road that was barely more than a track; the tyres rattled on top of rocks

  Texas and caused the wheel to shake and her hands that gripped it. She drove slowly and carefully, slipping into the grooves carved by other vehicl
es, trying to prevent the wheels from sliding. She had to concentrate. Otherwise she might think about John and Laura and imagine what had happened between them. On both sides of the road was a chaotic tangle of grass and sharp-angled rock that looked as though it was cut from a quarry. She didn’t blame John really. How could she? It was probably her own fault. She should have been more cheerful. But just thinking like that made her feel so tired.

  The hills had ridges like scar tissue and gullies and cracks through them that would have been carved by heavy rushing water. Trees stood out from the slopes like spindly twigs reaching for the sky, with ground-cover grasses the same colour and texture as the coarse bleached hair of a surfer. In places the grass was burnt and white snappy gums seemed naked amongst the new shoots of green. In the distance a red hill was like a lump of clay, set hard before it could be moulded. A blackened tree stump became a rearing horse. Rough dark bark, livid green leaves. A Buddha created by termites squatted beneath the trees. More mounds like the wet sand sculptures she remembered some children making on a beach. She had forgotten that holiday. Lying beside John on that beach, the two of them sharing a towel, and when he sat up, brushing the sand from his shoulders. She blinked quickly. It was another time, before there were children. She remembered he had been so attentive that weekend, away from his job. They’d driven to the sea while the overseer’s cottage was being painted. They stayed in an old two-storey hotel set back from the beach and because the bar was full of young surfers, they sat out on the veranda and he told her his plans and she thought his plans were enough for both of them. She wiped the corners of her eyes. There was no way back now.

  Her eyes narrowed. There was something on the road ahead.

  It was a bullock. She slowed, knowing it would move away as they got closer. A horned head turned towards her; the beast was tall with enormous front quarters that curved into a small pelvis. A meatworker steer. The car was crawling. Beside the road cattle sheltered under a tree, tails flicking their rumps.

  She changed out of gear and revved the engine. The bullock sprang up and trotted into the bush. The wheel was slippery. It reminded her of the night they arrived. She looked across at the boys, who weren’t big enough to see out of the window. Every now and then the road dipped for a creek. Mostly they were dry gullies but sometimes there was a puddle at the bottom to skim through. Later in the year when the rains came, swollen waterways would cross the country and prevent them from leaving the station. They would see no one for months. It would be just her and John and the children. She knew that if she tried to speak to him he would only get defensive, and then it would be her fault. It was better to leave things as they were.