by Karen Wood
Luke didn’t know what time of night it was when he eventually hosed the sand off himself in the horse wash before heading back to the stables. He knew what he had to do.
Most of the people had gone home, except for a few at the far end of the arena. He heard Ryan’s voice among them as he walked through the feedroom and out the door into the courtyard. He crawled through his bedroom window, and paused to listen before he opened the door and walked three steps up the hall and into the bathroom.
He stared at his bruised face in the mirror. There was dried blood around the corner of his mouth, and he had mud caked in his hair. He turned on the tap and squeezed his head into the sink, scratching at the clump of mud and rubbing the blood off his lip. He towelled off his hair and stared back at the boy in the mirror, stringy and lean with lumpy ribs.
He searched through the cupboard and found a small pair of hair-trimming clippers. Holding his fringe off his forehead, he began to cut with long, slow strokes, letting the thick clumps of hair fall down onto his feet.
Back in his room, he towelled off and got dressed. In the old Queen Anne dresser, he searched for his pocketknife, wallet, some matches, an aluminium water bottle, and a spare shirt. He found a scrap of paper and wrote a quick note.
Annie. I’ll be in touch, Luke.
There was so much more he wanted to say to her, so many reasons to say thanks and sorry. But he couldn’t begin to put it into words. For the moment, he hoped she would understand and not be hurt.
Luke didn’t know where he would go, exactly. But he did know that he wasn’t going to hang around and be assessed and re-homed like a lost dog. The only true family he had was horses, and he was going to find them, find some brumbies. Brumbies were wild and free and owned by no one.
He could go south, down to the Snowies; he knew there were plenty down there. Lawson’s first horse, Dusty, had been a brumby foal from down that way, and he reckoned it was the toughest and most honest horse he had ever owned. Its feet were like iron, he said, and never needed shoeing, even for rocky ground. Brumbies had bred by natural selection in some of the toughest country in Australia.
But that cold mountain country didn’t call to Luke the way outback Queensland did. Queensland had brumbies too, plenty of them. Lawson reckoned he’d seen thousands of them, roaming free in big mobs in and out of the stations. He said the station owners heli-mustered them sometimes – many of them never recovered from the long hot gallop and died days later, but the ones that did made good honest horses.
Luke threw his things into a backpack and as he went to close the dresser drawer, he saw a photo of his mother. He held the photo to his face for a moment, then placed it carefully back in the drawer. Shoving the wallet into his back pocket, he stuffed a small blanket into the pack, slung it over his shoulders and slid open the sash window.
Jess was in the mares’ paddock, a curled-up figure sitting against a fence post in the dark.
‘How come you’re not at the wake?’ Luke asked, letting himself through the gate.
She didn’t answer him.
He sat down next to her and although she didn’t speak, he could feel her, the warmth that flowed out of her. She was loved, loveable. She came from a different world to him. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered.
But still Jess didn’t answer him. She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking. He could tell she was crying and he wanted to hug her, soothe her, the way he did with young horses.
Luke sat watching the black outline of a mare in the paddock, and felt suddenly exhausted. He could have lain down right there and fallen asleep under the shattered glass of the stars, with no need to talk.
Instead, he put his arms around his knees and stared up into the sky, wondering how he could have stuffed up so much in such a short time. A cloud floated away from the big silvery moon, and as though someone had pulled a cloth from over a lamp, light ran over him.
‘What did you do to your face?’ asked Jess suddenly.
Luke’s hand flew to his cheek. It was puffy and his lip was swollen, but he was surprised that she could see it in the dark. Curse the moon. ‘Umm . . .’
He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, so he sat there in silence, feeling a wave of shame wash over him.
‘Something’s really wrong, isn’t it? What happened? Did someone get drunk and hit you?’
‘No.’
‘Who did that to you?’
‘I did it to myself.’
And with that, the questions stopped. She must have realised it was something bad.
‘I’m taking off for a bit.’
‘Where?’ she asked. Her voice got squeaky. ‘Where are you going? Are you coming back?’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno.’
‘Luke?’
‘I don’t know, Jessy.’ It was all he could say. He wanted to sit there and pour it all out, offload it, but he didn’t even know where to begin. ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’
‘Tell me what’s happened.’
‘I’m not going to let them send me to another foster home.’
‘What do you mean? This is your home. Harry’s . . .’
Her voice faded to momentary silence as reality hit home. ‘Oh, Luke . . .’
He stood up and arranged his pack on his shoulders. ‘Just wanted to say bye.’
‘Luke, no. Lawson wouldn’t let that happen.’
Oh, yes he would. Now he would. I’ve stuffed up everything.
Jess’s eyes ran over his face. ‘Oh my God, did Lawson do that to you?’
‘I told you, I did it to myself. I hit him first.’
There was a stunned silence.
‘I’ve got to go, Jessy. I just wanted to come and say goodbye.’
She stood up and faced him. ‘Shouldn’t you sleep it off and decide in the morning, when you’re not so upset?’
‘Sleep?’ He couldn’t help laughing. ‘I’m not good at sleeping.’
‘I don’t want you to go.’
Luke started walking. He felt a tremendous pulling in his gut. He had to get out of there before she convinced him to stay.
‘Luke!’
He spun around. ‘What?’
She untied something from around her neck and held it out to him. ‘Take my moonstone.’ She shrugged. ‘They’re supposed to give you beautiful dreams. So Mum reckons, anyway. Never know, might help you sleep better.’
It was a pale oval-shaped stone, hung on a thin leather strap. He moved it around in his fingers and felt its smoothness.
‘Promise me you’ll come back,’ she whispered.
He could hear the tears in her words, but he didn’t answer. How could he promise her that?
‘Luke?’
‘I’ll see you again, Jess,’ he said. ‘Promise.’
7
LUKE WALKED QUICKLY, cutting through the river flats and across private paddocks, trying not to think of Jess. He wanted to get to the highway before sun-up. Hunger pulled at his belly and he realised he’d barely eaten the previous day.
The sun was just beginning to show on the horizon as he made it onto the highway, and walked another kilometre or so to the truck stop. There, he bought a roadmap of Queensland, two burgers with the lot and a drink.
He sat down, unwrapped a burger and flipped the roadmap open while he crammed as much as he could into his gob.
Townsville . . . Paluma . . .
He’d heard about brumby-culling in a place called Paluma. Paluma: he’d googled it once and seen nothing but rugged dark-green mountains.
There had been a lot of slaughtering going on up that way, too, thousands of brumbies shot from a helicopter. Looking at the terrain, Luke reckoned there’d have to be plenty still hiding. He ran his finger in a circle around the town as he bit into the second burger.
A friendly but solemn voice spoke behind him. ‘That country full of yarramin.’
It was a voice Luke had heard before, somewhere. He looked around in surprise. A man with a dark face, n
eatly trimmed beard and short curly hair was staring over his shoulder at the map. He wore an orange checked shirt with short sleeves, tucked into baggy jeans that were held up with a rodeo buckle. On his head was a big black hat, beaten out of shape and scarred by harsh weather, dirt and diesel. It was the kind of hat that could tell stories of station life.
Luke realised that he had met the man before, at campdrafts. He was Lawson’s mate, and often worked the yards. ‘Bob, isn’t it?’
‘Luke,’ the man nodded. He reached out a large, calloused hand to shake. ‘Met you at Longwood, a while back. You rode the stallion at the funeral yesterday.’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Luke cautiously.
Bob motioned towards the seat opposite. ‘Mind?’
Luke gathered up his discarded burger wrappers from the table to clear a space.
Bob cast solemn eyes over Luke’s swollen face. ‘Been givin’ cheek, ay,’ he said, more as a statement than a question.
Luke nodded.
‘And now you’re taking off,’ Bob concluded, pulling the cap off his water bottle and chugging it down.
Luke bit into the burger and flipped over a page in the roadmap without answering.
Bob placed the water bottle in front of him on the table and held it in both hands, turning it slowly around, as though waiting for Luke to look up and answer him.
Luke could feel his eyes on him. He turned another page.
I’m not going back.
Bob drank from the bottle again, emptying it this time. He placed it carefully back on the table and wiped his beard with his sleeve. ‘I’m headed to the Gulf: plenty yarramin up that way too. You want a lift, you better make up your mind quick.’ He screwed the cap back on the bottle and stood up. ‘Blue HQ out the front. Just gotta fuel up, then I’m off.’
Luke watched Bob walk to a bin and toss the empty bottle into it before walking out the door. He stepped into a metallic blue ute and began backing it out of the parking space.
Luke quickly gathered his maps and shoved them into his pack as he scraped his chair back. The ute pulled up at a bowser, and Bob got out and began to fill the tank.
Luke reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a fifty. He held it out to Bob, who glanced at it and shook his head. ‘Put that away.’
When they were on the highway, Bob put a CD into the stereo and turned it up loud enough to rule out any chance of talking, which suited Luke fine. He looked at the cover sitting on the centre console. There was a picture of some haunted-looking dude on the front.
The sun streamed in through the front window and he wished he’d bought a cheap pair of sunnies at the truck stop. The music was twangy country, similar to the stuff Lawson always played.
They’ve put my soul up for sale / Now there’s darkness on my trail.
Luke put his head back, closed his eyes and breathed in the manky odours that seeped from the upholstery of the seats: the different people, dogs, old buckets, greasy chains, burger wrappers and leather saddles.
The CD played enough times for Luke to start to sing along to the lyrics in his head, and then they faded as sleep closed over him.
It was late afternoon when a bump in the road banged his head against the window. He woke with a jerk and realised he’d been dribbling. The same voice was still singing.
I keep on running / like a river full of pain / it keeps pulling me / dragging on my chain.
He felt something dig into his hip and pulled the moonstone out of his pocket. It was milky and shiny, with faint colours reflecting off it. He untangled the leather strap, pulled it over his head and tucked the stone safely under his shirt, then fell asleep again.
When he woke it was evening and the same voice was still singing.
They’re watching me now / The cockies on the rail / The hammer’s coming down / My soul is up for sale.
Bob sang along loudly as he pulled over into a truck stop, rolled up next to a petrol bowser and wrenched on the handbrake.
Luke got out and stretched his legs. A warm gust of air hit him in the face, bringing with it familiar sounds and smells of the night: mulga trees and red earth, dry air, mixed with petrol and oil, tyres on a distant freeway, screeching bats and country music floating out of overhead speakers.
He went into the roadhouse and ordered two steak sandwiches. While he was waiting for them to cook, he wandered over to the small grocery section.
The first thing he noticed was some bundles of fresh asparagus. Jess’s family had an organic farm where they grew asparagus and other small crops; she used to bring bunches of it over to Harry’s place on the weekends. She reckoned it made you live forever. When Jess had found out Harry had lung cancer, she’d started bringing it around by the boxful, convinced it would save his life – packed with vitamin C, it was. Harry always sneaked the asparagus onto Luke’s plate while she wasn’t looking, which he didn’t mind as long as it wasn’t all soggy.
Luke took two bunches lest he end up a wheezing old man attached to oxygen bottles. Then he grabbed a budget box of muesli bars and a net bag of apples.
Outside, Bob was already getting back into the ute.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Luke, climbing in and pulling the seatbelt over his lap. He pulled out an asparagus spear and chewed on it, then began to unwrap his sandwiches.
‘Mount Isa first, then I’ve gotta catch up with some brothers up in the Gulf,’ said Bob, ‘then a station out there’s got some work for me.’ He screwed up his nose. ‘What’s that green stuff?’
‘Asparagus. So I’ll live forever.’ He held them out to Bob. ‘Want one?’
Bob eyed the green spears suspiciously. ‘I don’t wanna live forever.’
Luke shrugged. ‘What’s in the Gulf?’
‘Big river full of fish,’ said Bob, leaning in front of Luke and opening the glovebox. He placed in it something lumpy, wrapped in foil. ‘You like fishing?’
‘What was that?’
‘Bait,’ said Bob, starting the engine.
‘Never been fishing.’
‘You haven’t lived!’
8
AN EXPLOSIVE BANG came from the back of the car and it swerved violently to one side. Bob swore loudly as he fought with the steering wheel.
‘Blowout,’ he said, guiding the ute to the edge of the road. Each time he touched the brake, the ute pulled heavily into the middle of the highway. Bob let it roll to a stop, pulled on the handbrake and opened the door. He got out and cursed again when he saw the damage.
Luke walked around to the driver’s side. The back tyre was in shreds. ‘Got a spare?’
‘Yeah,’ said Bob, unclipping the big tarp off the back and throwing it aside.
‘Need a hand?’
‘Nah, won’t take long.’
‘I’m gonna see a man about a dog,’ said Luke, looking for a good clump of bushes in the scrub along the side of the road. He spotted some small trees in the distance and began wading through scratchy golden grass and small prickly shrubs.
He hadn’t gone far when there was a sudden burst of activity right in front of him. A small red horse sprang out of the grass and Luke jumped back in surprise. The horse slowed to an agonised hobble on three legs. It was terribly thin and scrambled along with its head lowered, ears flicking around and nostrils flared.
‘Hey, you poor fella,’ said Luke. ‘What have you done to yourself?’
He stood quietly, not wanting to force the horse on further, and looked it over for brands. There were none.
‘You got a home to go to?’ he asked softly, squatting and making himself smaller. He folded his arms across his chest. The horse seemed to relax a little and, encouraged, Luke turned his eyes away from it. ‘I’m not gonna hurt you.’
The horse closed its eyes and screwed up its nose, clearly in pain. Luke tried to see its hoof but it was obscured by grass. He kept his eyes focused well ahead of the horse and crept closer, talking softly. It shuffled a couple more steps forward. Luke
raised himself up and got a better look at its leg. He couldn’t see any swelling. It must be in the hoof.
Luke took note of where the horse stood and then turned his back on it, stepping slowly and carefully backwards, closer to the animal. He listened for any movements but heard none until he was close enough to hear it breathing: short, raspy, suspicious breaths. But it didn’t move away from him.
He slowly crouched down and knelt on one knee. He felt a warm puff of grassy breath on his neck and smiled. ‘Hey, fella.’
Rubbery lips nibbled at his hair.
Luke turned his head and saw a coppery nose from the corner of his eye. He extended the back of his hand and touched the horse’s leg.
The horse stiffened but stood quiet. Luke rubbed the back of his hand up and down the hard bony part of its leg, then down to the hoof. It was held above the ground, trembling. Something sharp was wedged into the sole of its foot.
‘Geez, this is no place to be getting a puncture wound, Red,’ he said to the horse. ‘You want some help getting that out?’
Luke reached into his back pocket for his knife and flicked it open. ‘You’re gonna have to stand still for me,’ he said, sliding the blade down the side of the glass chunk, into the horny white sole. The hoof itself was in good condition, perfectly shaped with a thick wall and no signs of bruising, despite the rough country.
‘If I can get that glass out and it hasn’t gone down to the bone, I reckon that foot might heal okay.’
He dug carefully around the glass and flicked it out onto the stones. Fresh red blood trickled out of the wound.
‘That’s not a good sign, Red, but you’ve got pretty tough feet and there’s no heat in your leg, so who knows, you might just heal.’ He stood up slowly and saw Bob back at the ute, watching him. Luke grinned.
Bob scowled in response and lowered himself into the ute.