The Burial

by Courtney Collins

  The sky was vast and clear and hung above them, revealing stories in its constellations for anyone who looked. And as the fire dwindled they did look up and they recognised some of its stories and some they did not know but told anyway, making the stars their own. It was the roof of their world and they were at ease with their world, looking up and feeling that they had explored great distances in the universe that night, all the while sitting by the dwindling fire.

  They saw a girl spinning. Her hair was like a comet’s tail, splitting against the sky. And when they blinked they could both see the thousand smaller stars that made the detail of her collar and a thousand more that made the buttons and seams from her wrists to her elbows. Hair and lace collars and buttons all made of stars.

  As the girl was spinning, a Master of Menace bore down from the west, and his cape was made of darkness, not of stars. He threw back his cape and from his boots he drew a knife and launched it through the night, aiming at the girl who was still spinning.

  And then out of the night a lasso fell around him and the girl got away and circled her opponent on her dappled horse. She circled him and then she did a handstand and the boy and Jessie saw all of this playing across the sky until they finally lost her when she flipped off her horse and tore out of their view.

  What did you do down there, miss, with all of your days?

  Rustled horses and cattle mainly.

  Rustlin’—you mean stealin’?

  Plain and simple. Horses and cattle, both. We’d bring them in, rebrand them and sell them on the other side of the mountains.

  I’ll be sure to tell Joe that, said the boy.

  And then he said, You know we’re a gang, miss. Me and Joe and the others. And you been rustlin’. I’ll be sure to tell Joe.

  DAYS AND DAYS passed and the boy kept saying, They’ll be back soon, miss, they’ll be back. All of his talking was like a mad little tick and she began to worry for them, Joe, Bill and the others. She imagined them, hungry as thieves.

  Jessie and the boy set themselves jobs to keep their minds off the others’absence. They tidied the camp and chopped wood. They waded across the waterhole to the green garden where everything grew beautifully in rows—spinach and lettuce and rhubarb, and pumpkin vines that had been cordoned off with string. The whole thing was fenced off with pieces of chicken wire tied together with twine. Attached to sticks stuck into the ground were tins made into propellers that whirred in the wind. We made them to keep the birds away, said the boy. She asked the boy whose idea it was to grow their food and he said, That was Joe. He is the oldest one here. He is sixteen.

  More days passed and Jessie began to wonder if it was just going to be her and the boy and the dog forever, and if something had happened to the rest of them. And she worried more for them when she turned her mind to all the things that can happen droving horses and selling them. She did not tell the boy her concerns. But by the way he was fidgeting, she guessed he was thinking the same thing.

  It was half dark when she was woken by a vibration in the earth like an earth tremor and it soon heralded a great cavalcade of horses and then the sighs of their riders dismounting.

  She watched them from her bed, which was a cave in the rock, and she could see the riders all drawing nearer the fire where the boy was waiting. She could see from their silhouettes that all of them were lean and some of them were as tall as saplings, and they all stood gently together, and they all bent down to embrace the boy. Then the one she took to be Joe lifted the boy onto his back and jigged him around the fire until they were all laughing.

  When she rose the sun was high in the sky. The boy was unloading supplies into the camp kitchen, which was another cave with its opening on the ground. The cave was deep enough to stand up in and the gang had built shelves, balancing them on rocks and sticks, and on the shelves were cans of things and things in sacks. Hessian bags covered the opening of the cave and some of them were rolled up and tied and the boy passed supplies under to someone on the other side.

  The boy said, Jessie, this is Bill. Bill is the best cook on the mountain.

  Bill, standing behind the rolled-up hessian, looked through it but at the ground and just said, Hello, and went back to arranging things on the shelves.

  Jessie wandered around the camp and saw signs of its inhabitants that were not there before. Boots kicked off outside the caves, saddles propped up off the ground and ropes in circles in the dirt. And then walking into the clearing she saw that while Joe and the others may have sold horses they had brought back a dozen more. The horses in the holding yard were wild; kicking and bucking and biting, they were trying to establish who ruled in the yard and beyond. She observed them all with a distant curiosity, wild creatures fighting, until she saw what she wished she would see. Houdini was in there among them, more ragged than she had last seen him, but still rearing up like any belligerent stallion.

  There was no way out for any of the horses. The branches were piled high and sharpened at the ends. Jumping would mean breaking their neck or their legs in the tangle of sticks. She couldn’t bear to see Houdini in there, scraping around wild and fighting with the others. Keeping her head down, she let herself in through the thatched gate. Houdini saw her, made a path to her, and then they walked a lap of the yard to calm the chaos of the others. When she neared the gate again, Jessie opened it quickly and together they slipped out.

  There was a wooden box near the holding yard with leather straps for hinges and when she opened it up she found what she needed—brushes, bridles, ropes and leads. While Houdini pushed his nose into her neck she chose a brush. And then she led him to the shade of a tree, away from the holding yard and the brimming discontent of the other horses, and she brushed him down.

  Under his coat patches of skin had been torn and healed rough and other patches were covered with burrs. His mane was dreaded into cocoons and within them were live colonies of insects. She clipped them out and brushed him down and he stood as still and content as she had ever seen him.

  She was about to swing herself up onto him to ride him through the bush when the boy appeared and behind him Bill and an older boy she took to be Joe.

  And it was Joe who said, Well, what have we here? Who’s this who has found us and now rides our horses? He was smiling, though, and his eyes were kind and bright.

  This is Houdini, my horse, and I am relieved to find him. I had to leave him to his own devices or we would not have made it up the mountain, him or me.

  How do we know it is your horse? said Bill, who looked more suspicious of Jessie. In the light of the clearing Jessie saw that Bill was dark skinned—Aboriginal, she guessed.

  Well, he let me lead him out of that ruckus and brush him down and soon you will see me ride him.

  The boy was turning stones over with the toe of his boot and Joe and Bill looked so serious standing there.

  We’ll need to consult with the others, said Joe, about if you can stay.

  I had not thought of it, said Jessie. The boy and I discovered each other and we have been good company but now that you are here and I have my horse, it may be best to leave.

  We’ll talk on it with the others, said Joe. Jessie nodded without speaking then Joe added: You see, you are the first to have found us and the boy tells me you can rustle. As you may have guessed it, that is what we do, and though we’re not recruiting it seems that you’ve travelled a long way—it’s a long way up, we know. It seems that it is some kind of coincidence that you have found us, though we do not yet know where that coincidence might lead to. But give us the day to talk it over and we’ll make a decision about what we should do.

  Jessie nodded again and swung up onto Houdini’s back and rode him slowly out of the clearing. The boy came running after her. He’d wrapped up half a fresh damper in a bit of cloth.

  This is for your lunch, he said. But come back before dark.

  I’ll be back, she said. And she winked at him and turned Houdini again towards the scrub. When she looked
back, the boy was still standing there, watching.

  For so long, she had wanted to be in the mountains. She had thought only of escape. She had dreamt of her freedom and now she had it she did not know what to do with it. She led Houdini along a ravine and then she sat by it, as if the ravine itself would speak up and offer her counsel.

  She ate the damper the boy had given her then she lay down on her back and watched the clouds passing over. There were forms racing cloud to cloud and she could see creatures in those forms and creatures becoming other creatures, each thing changing and nothing ever visible for long. And it was all set against the pristine sky and it was all moved along by the wind.

  Houdini tore at the grass with his teeth and the sound of it was music to her ears. She lay there with Houdini beside her until the clouds became like wool, all spindling over.

  She thought of the boy. He reminded her of Bandy Arrow. Yet she knew that no matter how much time she spent around the fire with him, it was not a story she would share.

  It had been more than ten years since she had last seen Bandy Arrow, and the last time she had seen him was the fall. It remained so clear to her, the sounds and textures of it, and she wondered how that memory, after all these years, could still carry such feeling.

  The night of his fall, she was standing on the balustrade, urging him forward. On the tightrope he was as light as a feather and his balance was perfect, and yet he was afraid of heights. She had climbed the ladder with him, as she did every night, and every night she said to him, Bandy, don’t look down. There was no safety net at Mingling Bros Circus and that was what set the circus apart—the danger was real. From the balustrade, she would concentrate on his feet and will him safely, step by step, across the rope. Mirkus called the two of them ‘The Winning Combination’; with Jessie’s help, Bandy had performed the stunt successfully every night for a year. But this night, for some reason, he looked down.

  To her eyes, his feet were not the first things to slip. It was his body which leant away from the rope and he fell sideways and then down. He landed feet first. There were screams from the crowd and then gasps of awe as some of them thought for a moment they were witnessing something miraculous, a freak performer. But when he hit the ground he kept on travelling, his spine on a vertical path downwards, his legs redirected. The incompatible destinations were measured at his knees and like a hinge without a spring he collapsed.

  She had rushed down the ladder and to his side along with Mirkus, the ringmaster. And she had cried as she held Bandy’s head and turned it to the side while he vomited out the shock he was in.

  It’s nobody’s fault, said Mirkus. Sometimes we just fall.

  He called for a stretcher and Bandy Arrow was loaded onto it and carried away. Jessie went to follow but Maximus said, We must keep performing, that’s all we can do.

  And so she did.

  And when the show was over and the crowd shuffled out, she returned to the place where he had landed. There were strokes in the dust where his fingers had made trails and his limbs fanned out.

  She traced his imprint on the ground. That was it. She knew she would not see Bandy Arrow again.

  When she woke it was almost dark. Houdini was standing, a towering creature, nudging her arm with his nose. She sat upright. She felt odd—as if some great fissure had finally opened up, and all of the convolutions of herself were meeting at the surface, like so many coincidences at once. And somewhere in it all was her own distinct nature.

  Sitting by the ravine she felt her past was not behind her or beneath her, it was everywhere at once, living through her, and the boy and Joe and Bill were just like those she had known before and here on the mountain was something like a second chance, a chance to love well, and she did not yet know its limits.

  When she returned to the camp the gang were all sitting around the fire. She could see the boy and Joe and Bill and another three with them. Joe stood up and welcomed her and she sat down and they all smiled at her and she could smell sweet things roasting on the fire.

  Joe remained standing. The boy says you are a rustler. We know that you are brave enough to take on the mountains and walk through a yard of wild horses and lead your own horse out. And you know we have a gang and we aren’t recruiting, we are solid as we are. But now that you are here we believe there is some fate in it. You have seen that we bring in wild horses and some of them are branded and we sell them, and we sell cattle in the same way. And we prefer to live here, as we are, for now. We are safe from all that would harm us. But there may be a day when we have to move on and each of us will do that as they please. One day we may build a house of our own and all of us live in it together. And there may be a time when we don’t have to do things that are illegal. But that day has not yet come, and until it does we’ll keep on because we have all run from something one by one. Just as you have found us we have all found each other, like magnets attracting. And now we are happy that you are among us. And not to offend you, miss, but we guess you are older than us—old enough to sell our stock at the sale yards.

  Joe sat down and everything fell to silence. He was a natural leader and he spoke with sincerity. Joe looked to Bill and their eyes met and both were brightened by the flame. Jessie took in the other faces around the fire, all of them young and shining, and they were all looking at her quietly, waiting for her to respond.

  Joe, all of you, riding horses and stealing cattle is what I do, and I know I do it well. And it is my good fortune that I have found you. I have been in these mountains alone for too long and, without knowing it, it is your company that I have craved. I am happy to represent you. I would like to be counted as one of you.

  THE NEXT DAY Jessie was up before the rest of them making a fire and tea. The air was damp that morning and the wood was slow to light and the camp looked as though it was deposited not on a mountain but on a cloud. She sat cross-legged on the ground, feeding the fire with kindling and blowing on it to bring it to life.

  Slowly the rest of them emerged from their caves. One by one they sauntered through the fog, their collars up and their shirttails out, their hair twisting in cowlicks around their foreheads and their crowns. Never in all of her life had Jessie seen more elegant or perfect creatures. They moved in towards the fire, quiet with the sleep that still hung about them. She ladled sweet tea into tin mugs and she took pleasure in watching them roll their faces over the steam.

  The boy ran off and brought back a bag of oranges. He handed one to each of them and they all became animated, biting off the skin with their teeth and throwing the skin into the fire and laughing as the juice dripped down their chins. The air carried the companionable smells of tea and oranges and soon it was all mixed with the smell of oats cooking.

  Jessie noticed Jo was drawing shapes and lines on the ground with a twig and she asked him, Are you planning something?

  And one of them, Zef, added, Is it almost time?

  In a week or so the moon will be new, said Joe. Yes. It will soon be time to head back down to Phantom Ridge and bring in the cattle.

  There’s still a week’s work in the ropes and preparing, said Bill. And we’ll need everybody’s hands if we are to get down there by the new moon as Joe plans.

  As they ate breakfast Joe explained the heist to Jessie.

  Miss, we’ve been planning this six months and our thinking is that we will do but one big haul in a year and it will be enough for us to live well and buy all the supplies we need and it will give a healthy cut to all of us. There are five of us who can drive it, not including the boy, and now with you there are six and by our count there is almost a hundred head of cattle to move in the night. Soon the sky will be at its darkest and that is the best time for vanishing things, you know. The rope you will see will be like one giant lasso, only we will not throw it like that. We will herd the cattle together and we will keep the rope low around them and then we will move them. We will all have a hand in it. And of course there is risk, there always is, of stampe
de, but watch and see if the dark moon doesn’t dull those beasts completely.

  As Joe set out the plan and continued to make marks on the ground, Jessie’s heart raced inside her. It was so long since she had been droving. Fitz had put an end to it when he discovered she was pregnant when she was too large to hide it from him. Under Fitz’s rule, droving and duffing was her only experience of freedom, however fleeting.

  And when you move them, how will you get them to sale? she asked.

  Wait till you see it, miss, said Joe. Inside this mountain is a miracle. There’s a whole system of caves and tunnels that run from the north side to the south, and over time we have tracked and mapped our way through them and out the other side. We’ll have to get them to the sale yards in under two days, before the owner finds his cattle gone and before he can send warning. But in that time we can get them there if we move them day and night. We will stop only to rebrand them. Zef here has a calligrapher’s hand and he has drawn us up a certificate, a note from the owner if you like, though it looks like a letter from the prime minister himself. ‘I hereby declare this is my cattle and I give these drovers full licence to sell them on my behalf.’And if you could tuck your hair up, miss, we have a few smothers that you can wear. If you don’t mind me saying, you are handsome and could pass easily for a gentleman. And between us we could represent the owner well.

  It took all of them to spread out the ropes and when they were done the ropes looked like pale vines stretching through the camp. There were seven ropes in all and six joins that needed to be woven together. The gang took their places on the ground and set about weaving; Jessie watched on as the boy unplaited two ends of rope and then, with practised hands, began to weave them together. She watched intently the pattern of his interlacing fingers and then she asked him to slow down so she could learn the pattern herself, to relieve him. The boy then demonstrated the sequence by counting. It was elaborate to her eyes.