Oddly predictable rhythm:
side
roof
other side
wheels
side
roof
other side
wheels.
Headlights pick up the world outside: turning, churning over and over and the ground’s coming up to meet my face, my eyes, and the windscreen smashes in and the driver’s window implodes and there’s glass in my face, my hair, my mouth. Shards of glass between my teeth.
Something solid hits my forehead.
MIA: Ghaaaaaaaa.
ASH: Whips across my chin.
MIA: Ghaaaaaaaaaaa
ASH: and I wonder …
MIA / ASH: how long can this go on / how long can this go on
ASH: before it finally ends.
And then the last measured tilt as a three-thousand-kilogram troop carrier pirouettes on an axle; trying to make up its mind whether it’s going to land on its wheels or roof, sways slightly from one point to the other; finally tips roofside and does a sluggish roll.
MIA: Breathe.
ASH: The sudden stillness.
MIA: Breathe!
ASH: The silence.
A roo stares in at me through the upside-down night,
red-eyed and frightened.
Moon outside the window frame, hanging there all yellow and pocked.
MIA: Nothing for miles.
No-one.
ASH: You know this road. Just biologists and mad people.
The odd tourist following a GPS into nothingness.
Council workers, once a year, to grade the road where it turns to dirt.
Vast tracts of emptiness.
… just …
me.
MIA: Out of nowhere.
ASH: Hanging upside down in a twisted troopy
MIA: Serrated dagger slicing through my belly
ASH: and the space sets in around me
MIA: from navel to cunt and back again.
ASH: like a snow dome of terror.
MIA: Slower.
Deeper.
Cramping pain through to my coccyx.
Jagged.
Double over with it.
Breathe.
Breathe!
Then another.
Barbed. Grip-gripping. Angry. Pain.
Surging. Carving into my back.
Bowels impaled.
Rectum breaking open.
Waves. Regular, rhythmic.
… And I know what this is …
HAM: Midnight. Central Desert.
MIA: Stop. No.
HAM: Full moon shines its neon light across the world.
MIA: Hold it in, hold it in.
HAM: Something’s not right.
MIA: Wait, little one.
HAM: Nights like this, you can smell it.
MIA: Hang in there.
HAM: That porous feeling in my bones.
MIA: Angry blood clot gushes out.
HAM: Luck, or chance, or choice, or fate.
MIA: Knot of death.
HAM: Foreboding.
Something bigger than us, out here.
ASH: Click-clack of a car indicator pulses through the night.
HAM: Something bigger than anything.
ASH: Dingo calls across the land.
Thin, eerie, high-pitched.
Like …
a baby crying.
The creak-creaking of metal.
Tick-cooling of an overheated engine.
Sudden chill of midnight desert air blasts through the broken glass.
HAM: … gonna tell her …
ASH: My brain kicks in with the sharpness of it.
MIA: Ghaaaaaaaaaa.
HAM: Can’t do it.
ASH: I’m still here.
HAM: Drive away, into the cosmos
MIA: No.
ASH: Intact.
HAM: … just …
MIA: Not right. It’s …
not right.
ASH: I can feel one leg, but I can’t feel the other.
HAM: … drive.
MIA: Don’t leave me.
ASH / MIA: Blood streams / Blood streams
ASH: across my field of vision.
MIA: … pushing on my bowels …
HAM: If you listen hard enough, you can even hear the stars falling.
Something once whole,
spinning through the cosmos.
… disintegrating …
MIA: … aaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrr …
ASH: Head exploding. Vision blurry.
HAM: Burning through the atmosphere and turning to dust.
MIA: Nonononono. Not yet.
ASH: Mouth flubbery and shapeless.
HAM: Road up ahead been washed out by the rains.
ASH: Fucked.
HAM: Pothole. Slow down.
MIA: Hold it in!
ASH: Nothing I can do about it.
HAM: Thin strip of bitumen, edges crumbling.
Verges close and raggedy.
MIA: Clench.
ASH: Someone else’s call now.
MIA: Clench.
HAM: Tyre marks going off, side of the road.
Skid marks. Fresh ones.
ASH: Give in.
MIA: Breathe.
ASH: Let go of terror.
HAM: Straight into the scrub.
ASH: Come to like the hanging. The upside-down-ness of it.
MIA: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
HAM: Blinking light: on; off, on; off.
MIA: Grip the benchtop.
ASH: Like all of us kids, strapped into the Mondial Rollover
HAM: Pull over.
MIA: Grit teeth.
HAM: Get out.
ASH: … a lesson in trust …
MIA: Breathe.
HAM: Indicator in the air, behind the scrub.
Cracked moonbeam of a single headlight.
Rollover.
MIA: Ghaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
HAM: Run through the scrub.
Mulga.
Scratches, torn shirt, thorn going in me somewhere
ASH: I piss myself
MIA: waters running down my thighs
ASH: the warm of it runs upside-down
MIA: warm-pink-red
ASH: up my belly, between my breasts, along my neck
HAM: adrenalin.
MIA: soaking my red dress.
ASH: in rivulets. Like a fruit bat.
MIA: The one he likes.
HAM: Troopy. Rolled. On its roof.
ASH: And I hear myself laugh with the strangeness of it all:
MIA: Standing in a pool of …
ASH: upside-down flowing urine
HAM: Something inside, howling
thin, eerie, like—
MIA: Ghaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
HAM: —a dingo
ASH: and the coarse ragged beauty
MIA: Breathe.
ASH: of a plump full moon.
HAM: … or a baby …?
MIA: The intensity. Think I’m gonna faint.
HAM: Coming from in there.
ASH: And then blackness smothers me in a thick warm blanket of relief.
HAM: From inside the cab.
MIA: Squat.
HAM: I reach the driver’s side.
MIA: Slip.
HAM: Shattered window.
MIA: Squeeze-cramping.
HAM: Full moon rays shine in.
MIA: Hold it in!
HAM: Spotlight on a woman, hanging upside-down.
MIA: Blood. Red.
HAM: Face. Blue.
She’s unconscious.
Howling.
Unconscious.
And I know by the colour of her face …
MIA: Too late.
HAM: Pooling inside her head.
MIA: Life slowly leaking out.
HAM: Wound on her forehead. Deep.
MIA: Pressure. Too much.
HAM: Door’s stuck.
MIA: Have
to push.
…
Slithers out.
Lump of butter.
Oily. Yellow.
Still as wax.
Stillborn.
Still.
Born.
Not even a child, yet.
Not even strictly alive.
Yet.
HAM: Take stock:
MIA: Perfect arms.
HAM: Twisted leg.
MIA: Full lips.
HAM: Bruised neck.
MIA: Curled hands.
HAM: Not breathing.
MIA: Breathe.
HAM: Nothing.
MIA: Please.
HAM: Too much blood.
MIA: Exhausted.
HAM: Pale.
MIA: Can’t look at him.
HAM: Blue.
MIA: Look at him.
Can’t.
HAM: Listen to your instincts.
MIA: Oh, Jesus.
Perfectly shaped.
HAM: Run back to the truck.
MIA: A miniature Buddha.
His face so serene, I think he’s kidding me.
HAM: CB into Alice for an ambulance.
MIA: But he’s not.
Not moving. Nothing.
HAM: Two hours, minimum.
MIA: Look closer.
Tiny. Translucent.
Ears you can see through.
HAM: First-aid kit.
MIA: Eyes closed tight. Curled toes. Perfect, every one.
HAM: Blanket.
MIA: Scrunched little fists, hanging on till the last.
HAM: Leatherman.
MIA: Pressure builds up behind my eyes. Wants to break through, but …
can’t cry.
Cold.
Nothing left.
Empty.
HAM: Reach in through the broken-ness.
ASH: Alpha Centauri smiles down at me;
half-man, half-horse clip-clopping through the desert.
Drumming of hooves in slow canter across the sky
… makes me think of a song …
horses and moons and stars and deserts and then—
a shadow, shifting
blocks my view of the moon.
HAM: Cut through the seatbelt.
MIA: I hold him in the palm of my hand
HAM: Odd angle.
MIA: and he doesn’t even cover it.
HAM: Nearly drop her.
MIA: Weight of a body.
HAM: Hook her arm around my neck,
MIA: Breathe him in,
HAM / MIA: she’s … / he’s …
HAM / MIA: beautiful. / beautiful.
HAM: Wrap my arms around her lifeless form.
Fragile.
Ease her out. Watch the glass.
ASH: Horse-man picks me up.
MIA: Not even half a hand’s worth.
ASH: Cradles me.
HAM / MIA: Growing cold. / Growing cold.
ASH: Feels like flying
MIA: I don’t want to remember him like this: blue and rigid.
Take him outside, stand under the stars, look up and think: which one are you?
Or are you too new for a star yet?
ASH: … soaring …
MIA: And then I see a tiny one. A barely-there star. And I know that’s his. And I realise he doesn’t have a name yet, so I whisper ‘Michael’ up into the barely-there star
raise my tiny Buddha towards the night
… and set him free …
ASH: lowers me down
MIA: Watch him disappear into nothingness.
ASH: into the earth.
MIA: Become a barely-there star which I can never find again.
ASH: The red desert earth.
MIA: … search for it …
ASH: Hovers above me …
MIA: Gone.
HAM: Not breathing.
ASH: lowers himself down.
MIA: I curl into the earth.
HAM: Clear the airway.
MIA: The red desert earth.
ASH: Snort of warm horsy nostrils.
HAM: Mouth-to-mouth.
ASH: Soft. Like velvet.
MIA: Rock myself.
HAM: One breath,
MIA: Gently.
HAM: one second.
MIA: Rhythmic.
ASH: Covers my mouth.
MIA: Hum him a farewell lullaby.
ASH: Singing. From far away.
HAM: And again—
Wait—
ASH: Can’t catch my breath, he’s stolen it away.
MIA: Claw into the earth.
Dig.
Dig.
Dig.
HAM: Shit. Fight!
MIA: Ashes to dust.
HAM: Come on!
MIA: Sink into nothingness, and hope to stay there.
ASH: Last bubble of air rises up in me,
floats to the top …
MIA: Disappear.
ASH: escapes my mouth; a bubble of pure peace.
And I go up with it, floating.
Above myself, looking down.
A man kissing me. Strong arms. Full lips.
White light draws me upwards—
floating; weightless. Peace. I feel …
HAM: … and again.
ASH: … peace …
HAM: Breathe!
MIA: Something wakes me.
Curlew, calling into the night.
Screaming, like …
a baby.
Earth gone cold.
Shit.
Time.
What’s the time?
HAM: Nothing.
MIA: Get up.
HAM: Breathe!
ASH: White light.
HAM: Pump her chest: one
MIA: Brush off the earth.
HAM: two
ASH: Too bright.
HAM: three
MIA: Head inside.
HAM: four
MIA: Mop the floor.
HAM: five
MIA: Towels.
HAM: six
MIA: In the wash.
HAM: seven
ASH: Swim towards it.
HAM: eight
MIA: Double rinse.
HAM: nine
MIA: Shower.
HAM: ten
MIA: Soak it off.
HAM: eleven
MIA: Off.
HAM: twelve
MIA: Off.
HAM: thirteen
ASH: Blinding flash.
HAM: fourteen
MIA: Wash my hair.
HAM: fifteen
MIA: What’s the time?
HAM: sixteen. Come on!
MIA: Clean the dirt from under my fingernails.
HAM: Twenty
MIA: Earth embedded.
HAM: twenty-one
MIA: Scrub. Scrub.
HAM: twenty-two
ASH: Hurts.
HAM: twenty-three
MIA: Dry off.
HAM: twenty-four
MIA: Dressing-gown.
HAM: twenty-five
MIA: Fluffy one.
HAM: twenty-six
MIA: Feel like a kid again.
HAM: twenty-eight
MIA: He’s late.
HAM: twenty-nine
Fuck you! Breathe!
HAM lowers himself to ASH’s mouth, gives her two breaths, watches her chest for movement.
MIA: Sit outside and watch as night shifts its layers of time.
ASH: Chest. Pulls me back down.
MIA: Drink whiskey till the bottle runs dry—
HAM: One
ASH: Light disappears.
HAM: two
MIA: … and wait …
HAM: three
ASH: Sudden flash to blackness.
HAM: four—
ASH gasps.
She’s back! Jesus Christ.
ASH retches.
Good. Good woman … that’s it …
Roll her on her side.
Stabilise her.
Clear the airway.
Check her breathing.
Keep her safe.
ASH: Holds a bandage hard to my head. Checks out my chin. Gash.
HAM: … bit of gaffa’ll fix that …
ASH: … strange sense of humour …
HAM: Here y’go, love.
ASH: Cotton gauze and elastoplast.
HAM: Fix you right up.
ASH: Keeps talking at me.
HAM: Tell her the ambos’re on their way. Keep her talking, like we’re trained to.
ASH: Asks me stupid questions.
MIA: Finally.
HAM: What’s your name?
MIA: Headlights break the pre-dawn gloom.
Spotties.
S’how it’s done around here—
rifle, spotlights, Jarvis Walker rod ’n’ baitcaster;
house ’n’ shed and a five-metre tinny.
Pool for the kids and a dog for the back of the ute.
… the great northern dream …
ASH: Ash. My name is …
HAM: Ash?
MIA: The chug of the diesel switches off.
ASH: as in phoenix.
MIA: Crunch of Blundstones on gravel.
HAM: I’m Ham. As in cured meat.
MIA: Cooling tick-tick of the engine.
Feet up the stairs, two at a time, onto the verandah.
ASH: My dog. Where’s my dog?
HAM: What dog?
ASH: She was with me.
MIA: Flywire door swings open.
ASH: In the car.
MIA: Boots off. Hear them hit the floor.
Fridge opens. Dull clud of hand around a beer.
Cracks it open.
‘Tsch’.
ASH: She was with me.
MIA: Can’t do it right now.
ASH: Sitting next to me.
MIA: Want to scream. Go to the bedroom. Lie down.
ASH: In the car.
HAM: No dog in there, love. She musta taken off. Had a fright, that’s all. She’ll be back when she’s hungry enough.
ASH: She’s still in there.
HAM: Don’t get up!
ASH: Fuck. FUCK!
Sharp, spiteful, jagged pain. Slicing into me. Shooting up my calf, thigh, torso.
Into the left side of my brain.
HAM: I’ll have to cut that off.
ASH: My foot?
HAM: Your boot.
ASH: Like fuck you will.
HAM: It’s swollen.
ASH: I’ve just worn them in!
HAM: Don’t be a dickhead.
ASH: Back off!
HAM: I’ll get you another pair.
ASH: They’re my Docs!
HAM: Listen.
ASH: OFF!
HAM: No. Listen. That foot swells up any more you’ll cut off the circulation. Then you won’t be needing a pair of boots, you’ll just be needing the one because they’ll have to take your foot off. Get me?
ASH: Fuck.
HAM: She nods at me.
ASH: He slices his knife clean down the outside of my ballooning ankle.
HAM: Cut off her boot.
ASH: Peels it back.
HAM / ASH: It hurts. / It hurts,
HAM: I can see that.
ASH: … hurts like fuck …
HAM: You’re tough though. I’ll give you that.
ASH: I’m strong. It’s different.
Broken Page 2