For those few hours each day, when he was working his machine hard, he was too busy to think, living just on his reflexes. Then it was like the bad stuff got pushed away and he felt passion and joy again for a little while.
So he would take the extra day of work and the money even though it meant a whole month when he never got home. There was nothing at his home for him anyway, just a bush timber shanty at the edge of Borroloola, with a view down to the river.
So he accepted the phone call, booked the job and, as they did not seem in a great rush to get started, he told them he would ferry over first thing and be on-site, ready to start, about 8 am. Perhaps he would stop over there tomorrow night and see what the community, a former mission, offered before he did a long day of ferrying across the Gulf and black soil to Anthony Lagoon for the day after. The station manager who had just booked him told him they were having a barbeque tomorrow night and there was a bed for him if he wanted to stay on in town.
As he put the phone back on the hook one of the ringers came and tapped him on the arm, giving him the drink sign, beers on in the station mess hall. So he followed him across and ripped the top off a barbed wire yellow stubby, savouring flavour as beer washed the dust out of his throat.
Next morning, with an edge of a headache, he walked over to his new machine. His leg was paining a bit today, that place where the steel plate was bolted in from where they had cut and re-joined the crooked broken bone.
He felt a niggling resentment at this metal plate, he would rather have been hobbled with a half crippled leg than to have gone to hospital for the operation, only to wake up and find Susan gone. He knew if he had only stayed with her that night then she would still be here now, something bad happened when he was not there to mind her. She had run off to God knows where. So now his leg was playing up today. It had not done that for a few days. He hoped it did not signify some further trouble; it seemed to have a mind of its own and acted something like a barometer of change.
As he roared into the air, his helicopter blowing a huge dust eddy that the south-easterly wind picked up, he felt his mood lift. Today was a chance to see some new country and this country, as it rose into the hills of the Cape, was spectacular. It gave him a buzz.
An hour’s ferry saw him at the station where a half white manager, Rick, a man much his own color, greeted him. With him were six aboriginal stockmen who had horses saddled ready. They sat round a table with a map and in five minutes a plan was agreed. Then the stockmen rode off towards the back half of the paddock where he would start working and putting the mob together for them to walk back towards the yards.
Vic talked to Rick for a few more minutes as he topped up his fuel before they both headed out, the manager driving a bull catcher. Vic then flew to the south-east corner about ten kilometres away, it was a pretty big paddock and the manager reckoned there should be six of seven hundred cows with calves in it along with their yearling steers. They both figured they would have these cattle yarded up by about eleven and then there were another couple hours of work to be done after lunch help to muster the bullock paddock which had a couple hundred biggish size boat steers. They would join the Vanrook steers on the next cattle boat to Indonesia.
It was after 3 pm before the boat steers were yarded, and when done Vic knew he still had time to get back to Normanton before dusk. He was restless and tempted to thank Rick for his hospitality offer and head away, to have a night in the pub at Normanton. But there had been too many of those pub nights lately and they gave little joy, the empty hole remained after a night of drinking, along with a new hangover.
There seemed something kind about these people here in this little place, like they had a sense of family and belonging. It reminded him of Alice Springs, with his aunts, uncles and kids all hanging around, and he felt the loss. Plus he loved the kids here, their chatter as they gathered around the helicopter, asking questions, eyes bright. They made him feel good.
So, what the hell, he would stop here tonight even if he thought this barbeque here would be a tame affair. He could get up early and head off to his next job in the morning.
So he walked over to the yards to watch the activity. They were drafting up the cattle. He climbed onto the top rail alongside ten or more school children. The excited screams and chatter, as they watched the cattle work, lifted his mood. Vic felt a wave of nostalgia for similar happy times of his own childhood, and with it an even stronger desire to go back to Alice again to see his mother and favourite sister, to play with her children.
One of the children sitting next to him turned around and shouted out. “Miss Bennet, Miss Bennet, Come and see the cattle.”
He assumed Miss Bennet was a school teacher, as school was out. He turned to see who this person was. There was a lady in her mid-twenties, with dark hair tied back, walking towards them along a dusty road. Two toddlers were walking beside her, each holding a hand. Her eyes were blank as she looked towards him but she was so achingly familiar.
Several of the children jumped down from the rail and ran towards her, two bigger ones taking up the two toddlers in their arms. She patted the black heads affectionately as her own children laughed with excitement at their new found playmates.
Chapter 3 - A Mirage
It looked like Susan, the children looked like her children, but her eyes were empty. She looked at him as if he was nobody she knew or had ever known, perhaps with the vaguely curious appraisal which a new visitor to the town would expect, but no flash of recognition or even significant curiosity.
His eyes bored into her, desperately seeking something more. But nothing came back, except perhaps a trace of annoyance at why this stranger was staring so intently at her, as if it was an invasion of her own being.
His feet impelled him; he climbed down off the rail and walked towards her. He tried for a smile but it came out wrong and in return she sent back something, half of smile and half of frowned puzzlement at his interest, not quite unfriendly but guarded. And yet the eyes were blue and they looked just like her eyes except their sparkle in the light and their joy was missing.
Was it Susan? Or was it just a mirage which he, in his desperation to find her, had created, his mind playing tricks?
He walked towards her, hand outstretched. As he drew close she raised her own small hand which he took in his. “Vic Campbell, helicopter pilot,” he said.
A trace of a smile edged her eyes as she surveyed him appraisingly. “Yes I knew you were the pilot but I did not know your name. Hello Vic, welcome to our small community.”
Vic thought it sounded like her voice but was wrong, the intonation was English but curiously flat, missing her Susan’s vibrant sibilance and confident projection, like but not her. Vic waited for something more, Nothing came; he still held her hand and she had not attempted to withdraw it. It even felt like her hand. He searched her eyes again for some pimple of recognition; still nothing. He found his voice again. “And you are?”
It was like his second statement roused her to life. Quickly she withdrew her hand, glanced at her children to check they were OK and then replied, “Jane, I am pleased to meet you Vic.”
Now she turned to the other children were gathered around and spoke to them. “So today is cattle mustering day and you are all here, watching. Would you like me to come over to the yard for a little while and watch with you, before I take my children for a bath?”
“Yes Miss Bennet, come and watch,” they all chanted in sing song voices.
So she walked towards the rails at the edge of the yards, taking care now to keep her two children in hand. The other children all gathered round her, chattering excitedly, half to her, half to each other.
Vic walked along, a couple steps to the side, not really part of the invited group but there anyway, wanting to talk to her, wanting to ask questions but not knowing how to begin.
As she came close to the yards she looked indecisive. Her face seemed to say that holding the two toddlers up to look, together,
was going to be difficult. Perhaps she was looking to find one of the older children to come and pick one of her toddlers up, but they had all deserted her for the top rail and a better view.
Vic saw this was his chance. “You look like you have your arms full with two. How about I lift one up to give a view and then you will only have one to worry about.”
She nodded; a grateful half smile.
He picked up the closest, a boy, who looked at him with a curious and slightly cheeky grin. As he looked at Vic with the smile crinkling at the edges of his eyes, there was something that was so like Mark that Vic felt a jolt pass through him. It was as if he had just been taken back in time to when Mark was barely more than a baby and he had just seen him for the first ever time, a time more than twenty years before he had ever met him as a grown man. That look held something distinctive, as if this small boy had later became the man he had known. It was a look-smile which screamed out his past friend’s name. Almost involuntarily he spoke. “God you look like Mark”
The kid stared back, uncertain now, as if he may begin to cry. Vic realized that this Jane person was staring at him intently.
Now he felt awkward. He shrugged an apology. “Sorry, your boy looks really like someone I once knew, the similarity startled me. I hope I didn’t frighten him.”
Before she could reply he hoisted the boy onto his shoulders, bringing his head was to the same level as the other children on the top rail and giving a full view of the yard. From here the kid chortled with delight and patted his small hands on Vic’s head.
Now this Jane person smiled again at him, almost a full and genuine smile this time, then she also turned back to look at the cattle.
Vic found himself tongue tied, it was hard to think of anything useful to say. Making polite conversation seemed inadequate. So he stood beside her, drinking in this person’s presence, like the scent of a long lost fragrance. He thought he knew her, the age fitted, the looks fitted, the kids fitted, even the mannerisms and voice sort of fitted. She must know him. He could not shake this huge conviction that it really was her.
But yet she did not seem to know him at all, not even the name of Mark had triggered any recognition. He did not think she was trying to hide it; there was no trace of anything evasive like that. Yet she looked at him like he was a total stranger she had only first met a bare five minutes ago.
They stayed like that for five or ten minutes, not talking, just watching the action unfold as cattle were drafted this way and that. Soon the yard nearest them was filled with cows bellowing to be re-united to recently separated calves. Vic found himself transfixed by unspoken communication with a little person who sat behind his head, a small boy who was captivated by the scene before him and who expressed his enthusiasm with whoops, pats on his head and kicks of his little feet.
For a minute he forgot about the woman beside him as her shared this child’s infectious delight. Then he realized that this woman had laid her hand on his forearm and was talking to him.
“I am sorry; I will have to head away now. I have to bathe my children early. I have promised the others to help set up the barbeque. So, if you don’t mind, I will have to retrieve him from you now,” she said pointing to the child on his shoulders.
Vic grinned, “Of course, let me carry him along for you as you walk home for a little way. I think he is enjoying the ride up there.”
Now the lady gave him a genuine smile. “I think you are right about that. Well if you don’t mind, I live about 300 yards down there, behind the shop. Your place for the night is half way there. I will point it out when we get to it. So why don’t you walk along with me, until then. After that I will take them both on home from there.”
They walked along, side by side, kicking little clouds of dust in the dirt street as they walked. Vic asked politely. “What are your children’s names?”
“Oh,” she said, apologetically “they are David and Anne. Sorry I should have introduced them as well.”
All too soon they reached the front of the bunk house where Vic was staying. She reached for David as Vic handed him down.
David shook his head as Vic went to hand him back, “No, not go,” he said. He grabbed onto Vic’s arm tightly and tried to stay with him.
Jane raised her eyes and said, “Well that is unusual, he will almost never let a strange man pick him up. Yet here he is, him not wanting to come back to me. That really is a change. He must like you.”
“Just the view,” said Vic, patting his head with a deprecating smile.
Turning to the boy he said, “Well you can ride up there anytime you like. If you want to get a really good view, get your mother to bring you for a ride in my helicopter.”
She laughed in return, “I think he has to grow up a bit before then.”
Vic responded, “I was inviting you too, along with little Annie.”
She replied seriously, seeming to let the humour pass her by. “Well thank you. Not today; perhaps another time. I have things to do now.”
With that she walked off down the street with her two children toddling beside her, each holding a hand.
He watched, unmoving, as she went all the way until where the road turned a corner and she disappeared out of sight. As she passed from view she turned back to smile at him, giving him a little wave, before she vanished.
Vic fought down an overwhelming urge to run after her, to call out the name, “Susan” and see if she turned back.
But he could not do that, she surely would not have ignored him if she already knew him. If she had recognized him when they first met she would have come running, with a bright smile on her face, flung herself at him and hugged herself to him. He knew that was how his Susan was.
So who was she? Was she the wife of another man who lived here and who just happened to be a dead ringer for Susan? Was she just a lookalike who Vic had imagined was Susan in his desperation to find her? Or was she the real Susan, with all her memories and former life turned to dust? Could she just be a mirage that he had imagined out of nothing in his mind, one like those seen far out on the black soil plains and, once he came to where he had first seen her, she would vanish into the air and never be seen again.
He found himself unwilling to move from this place, lest he break the spell, lest he find out it was only a mind dream of a person who no longer walked on solid ground. He felt great dread she had returned to the crocodile spirits so now just a faint essence of her still walked in the world of people. He could not bear it to be so, but he felt no other certainty in his mind.
He could not ask her who she was, he could not tear at broken memory strings, but he must find out about her. Tonight at the barbeque he would try and discover, from others, who she was.
It was still too early to go inside so her turned and walked back to his helicopter. He had a photo of the real Susan in his briefcase. He would get that out and look at it and see if there were any tell-tale clues that either linked her, this Jane, to that picture or made it clear she was someone else.
As he came back to the yards the manager, Rick, was there, standing near his helicopter, with some papers to sign, receipts for fuel used. In Vic’s captivation he had almost forgotten about his regular business, now it came back to mind. He wrote out an invoice for five hours of wet hire for mustering and two hours for ferrying, with the fuel taken from here deducted. They both countersigned and the bill payment was promised within two weeks.
Then he asked Rick, “Who is that lass with the dark hair and the two small children, she was here at the yards for a bit.”
“Oh, that’s Jane,” Rick replied. “She is an odd fish, isn’t she? She is the bookkeeper at the shop. She has worked her for around a year and a half now. She doesn’t seem to have any other family or friends from outside, she just keeps to herself, apart from going to church and singing in the choir. She is a looker and a few blokes around here fancied to try it on with her. But she never took any notice, she never seems properly interested in anything
or anyone but her two little kids and maybe God. All the rest of the world passes by and she barely seems to notice it. It is like some part is missing inside her head. Still she is sweet and nice in every other way. So we have got used to her now, stopped asking questions.”
Vic went to the helicopter and found the photo of Susan. He showed it to the man. “Do you think that looks like her?” he asked.
Rick looked at Vic curiously then looked hard at the photo and frowned. “Well yes and no,” he said, “looks wise she is almost a dead ringer even though her hair is cut differently. But the girl in this photo looks so alive. This Jane here, when you look hard at her it is like she is not really alive at all, like you can look straight through her and she is not really there. So it could be her but it is more like two identical sisters, one who is alive and normal and the other was born without a soul, as if someone took it away at birth. So all I can say is, maybe, but I don’t really know for sure.
“But I know you know more about this one,” he said, pointing to the photo. “So, if you tell me the whole story, maybe I can help figure it out.”
Vic looked at him, serious and intent, as if considering. “I would love to tell you. But, as yet, I don’t begin to know what the answer is myself. Once I work it out a bit more I will let you know.”
Chapter 4 - Barbeque
The sun was now falling low in the sky and Vic was conscious of his need to spruce himself up if he wanted to make a good impression tonight at this big social event of the town, the barbeque.
He pulled out his overnight bag from behind the helicopter seat, hoping he had something clean amongst the pile of dirty clothes he had been intending to wash once home at Borroloola. He suspected the pickings would be slim, but he wanted to make a good entrance to his next meeting with this girl, Jane, whoever she really was.
Sunlit Shadow Dance Page 2