A Far Country

by John Fletcher

  God knows what I will find when I get there, she thought, but did not slow her steps. There was no time to think about such things now.

  Jason and Alison looked up, startled, as they heard her steps on the path.

  At least they are clothed, she thought. That is something, at least.

  Jason was on his feet before she reached them. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Blake,’ she panted. ‘He came to Whitby Downs looking for Alison.’ She turned to the girl who was scrambling white-faced to her feet. ‘Get home as quickly as you can. I told him he had just missed you but you might have decided to go for a ride rather than head straight home. As long as you don’t take too long it’ll be all right.’

  Pray God, she thought.

  They hurried up the path as quickly as they could. Asta stood beside her as Alison swung herself up into the saddle. ‘Go steadily‚’ she instructed. ‘Don’t get home in a fluster. And think what you’re going to tell him.’

  She and Jason watched as Alison rode away southwards.

  ‘You think she’ll be able to manage it?’ she asked him.

  ‘Of course she will.’

  Asta heard the uncertainty in his voice. Alison had better manage it, she thought. She did not dare think what Blake might do to her otherwise.

  Alison rode through the last of the scrub that surrounded the Bungaree homestead.

  All the way home she had been lecturing herself. Be calm; be relaxed; be surprised when he tells you he has been out looking for you. Laugh with him a little, if he will let you. You can do it. You must. What if he hits you? a part of her mind screamed. What if he knocks you down and kicks you? Kicks you in the stomach? What will that do to the baby?

  Stop it, she told herself fiercely. That won’t happen. He has been much better lately. Hasn’t laid a finger on you for—what?—months. Why should he start again now?

  Because now he is suspicious, she thought. You were careless and now he suspects. Now he knows. He will look at you with those dead eyes and his fist—

  Stop it, she told herself. Stop it!

  She rode into the sunlight, her head up proudly, drawing the air deep into her lungs as she tried to steady herself. Her eyes slanted nervously in every direction, seeking danger. Finding …

  Nothing.

  The palms of her hands were wet. Despite all her efforts, the nerves were vibrating in her stomach. She dismounted, opened the door of the harness shed, took off the saddle and went inside, hung it in its place. When she came out Blake was standing by her horse. His shirt sleeves were rolled over arms bulging with muscle. His head was thrust forward belligerently. He did not smile or speak.

  Her nerves screamed. Somehow she managed to smile at him. ‘Hello.’

  ‘I rode out to meet you‚’ he said. ‘I couldn’t find you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Where did you go?’

  ‘I went to Whitby Downs. That Matlock woman said you’d just left.’

  ‘I went for a ride through the bush‚’ she said.

  ‘Best be careful.’

  She frowned. ‘Careful?’

  He eyed her, jaw still belligerent, and she held her breath. ‘Them blacks is still about‚’ he said eventually.

  ‘They won’t harm me.’ There had been a time when Alison, like her mother, had been terrified of the natives, their spears and savage appearance. Now she was more frightened of her husband than she had ever been of them.

  ‘Be careful, that’s all I’m sayin’.’

  ‘I will‚’ she promised him. ‘I really will.’

  He studied her a moment longer, then turned and stamped away. Relief made her weak. Once more she had survived. It couldn’t go on, though, she knew that. Jason was right. They would have to go away.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Three days later Jason left the Matlock mine to ride back to the Whitby Downs homestead. He had travelled about a mile when he saw a shadow move in the dense bush bordering the track ahead of him. He hauled in on the reins, reaching for the rifle he carried in his saddle holster, and Mura stepped out into the daylight. The last time he had seen him Mura had been wearing European clothes; now he was naked and carried a bundle of spears in his hand and Jason had to look at him twice to make sure it really was his friend.

  ‘My God, Mura‚’ he said, ‘you want me to shoot you, you’re going the right way about it.’

  Mura did not smile and when he spoke it was not in English but in the Narungga dialect that was the only language either of them had spoken in the days before the Matlocks and all the other white settlers had arrived on the peninsula. ‘We are going away‚’ he said.

  After so long a time Jason had to think out his words before he could reply. ‘Going where?’

  Mura shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If you go into another clan’s area there’ll be trouble.’

  ‘What choice do we have?’

  ‘You can stay here. No-one bothers you.’

  Mura drew his lips back over his teeth. ‘Benson and Sergeant Dawkins, you think they don’t bother us?’

  ‘They’re long gone.’

  Mura shook his head. ‘They are on their way back again. They will be here within two days. They will keep on coming back, them and all the other white men who think like them. They will never stop until they have destroyed us.’

  ‘You said yourself that the white ways were the ways of the future‚’ Jason reminded him. ‘You wanted to be a part of them.’

  ‘And was I allowed to be a part of them?’

  ‘Takes time, I suppose.’

  ‘Men like that will never allow it. They force us to remain as we were, yet that is impossible. The old ways are gone but we have nothing to put in their place. It will be even worse when there is no more game. What will we do, then?’

  ‘We’ve always allowed you to take a sheep or two.’

  Mura gestured angrily at the landscape around them. ‘This land is mother and father to us. Now it is all taken by the whites. You think we should stay here forever, living on the white man’s charity?’

  ‘I don’t see what else you can do.’

  ‘We can do what we are doing. Go away and keep moving until we find another place.’

  ‘The whites will keep coming after you‚’ Jason warned him. ‘I don’t reckon they’ll ever stop.’

  ‘They will stop at the desert‚’ Mura said. ‘You cannot feed sheep in the desert.’

  ‘The desert is not your place.’

  Mura turned. His eyes, shadowed beneath their heavy brows, dwelt once again on the land he was leaving. ‘This is not our place, either‚’ he said. ‘Not any more.’

  ‘What about Reverend Laubsch? And Karinja?’

  ‘They are coming with us.’ Mura shrugged. ‘Laubsch likes to think he leads us. We allow it; it does no harm. As for Karinja, he is an old man. I think he will die before we get where we are going but we are the only home he has.’

  They looked at each other, two friends who would almost certainly never see each other again.

  ‘We have far to travel‚’ Mura said. ‘I must go.’

  To Jason it didn’t seem right that such a casual meeting should end years of friendship. Words of farewell and regret struggled in his mind but he found he could put his tongue to none of them. Instead he raised his hand. ‘See you.’

  Mura raised his hand in return. A second later he had turned and vanished into the bush. For an instant there was a black shadow gliding, then nothing. Jason watched after him for a minute, then rode on.

  ‘Some ways I envies you‚’ Blake said.

  ‘How come?’ Dawkins asked.

  ‘You come and go. We’re stuck here but you see the country.’

  ‘What there is to see.’ Dawkins belched.

  The two men sat in Blake’s house with glasses and a bottle placed conveniently on the floor between them. Dawkins topped up his glass and drank appreciatively. He had a waggon load of whisky parked under the trees a mile away but had no obj
ection to drinking Blake’s liquor, if that was what Blake wanted.

  ‘What brings you back so soon?’ Blake asked.

  ‘Thought we’d get rid of some more of our grog to the abos but it looks like they’ve moved out.’

  ‘Wasted your journey, then.’

  ‘Maybe not. I got a bone to pick with a bloke. Get half a chance, I’ll settle with him while I’m here.’

  ‘Jason Hallam‚’ Blake said.

  Dawkins scowled. ‘Know about it, do you?’

  ‘Heard somen,’ Blake admitted.

  ‘Friend of yours?’

  ‘Friend?’ Derisively. ‘That’ll be the day.’

  Dawkins glanced at Alison, busy at the fire. He leant forward, voice confidential. ‘Lots of blokes got somethin’ in their past‚’ he said. ‘Things a man like me might be interested in knowing. You wouldn’t happen to know if Hallam’s got anything like that?’

  Blake hesitated but for the moment the tradition of saying nothing to the authorities was too strong. ‘Don’ know nuthin about that‚’ he said.

  Dawkins watched him. ‘Might be a reward for the right information.’

  ‘Tole you. Don’ know nuthin.’ Blake tipped the remains of his drink down his throat and stood. ‘I got to get back to work.’

  ‘If you ever hear—’

  ‘I’ll tell you. Yeah.’

  Blake watched as Dawkins limped away. One of the black troopers had told Cato Brown that Jason had smashed Dawkins’ balls for him. Looked like he still hadn’t got over it.

  Somen happened at Burra Burra to bring Jason back so fast, he thought. I’d swear to it. But if I breathe a word to Dawkins and Asta finds out I’ll be out of a job. Best leave it. He smiled. They weren’t my balls he smashed.

  ‘I shan’t see you for a few days‚’ Jason said. A hundred feet below them the surf creamed peacefully. ‘We’re starting shearing tomorrow and I won’t be able to get away.’

  ‘I think you should leave altogether. Get right away from here.’

  ‘Not before we finish shearing. I can’t just walk out on Asta after everything she’s done for me.’

  ‘I’ve got bad feelings about it‚’ Alison said.

  ‘Soon as it’s over I’ll go‚’ he told her. ‘Ballarat should be far enough.’

  ‘No mining‚’ she warned him.

  ‘It’s all big companies now. No room for little blokes like us. I ought to be able to get a job in a mine office, maybe. I was good at that. When I’m settled I’ll send for you.’

  ‘We can get a little house‚’ Alison said. ‘Somewhere for the baby. With fruit trees, maybe. I always fancied the idea of fruit trees.’

  Jason looked about him. ‘I’ll miss this place.’

  ‘Maybe one day we’ll come back for a visit. Anyway, we won’t really be leaving it.’

  He looked at her. ‘If we go, of course we’ll be leaving it.’

  She shook her head. ‘A part of us will always be here. And this place will always be a part of us.’ She looked at the rocks about them, the trickling thread of water, the sea’s expanse. ‘Wherever we go, it’ll go with us.’

  ‘You got some funny ideas‚’ Jason said.

  ‘I must get back‚’ she told him.

  ‘We’ve only just got here‚’ he objected. ‘Why, we haven’t even—’

  She stood, brushing shreds of grass off her skirt. ‘I told you. I’ve got a bad feeling about things, today.’

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her. ‘If I go, you will come, won’t you? Later, I mean? You won’t let me down?’

  ‘You’re my life‚’ she said.

  They walked up the path to the tethered horses. Jason watched her as she rode away. Just a little while and we’ll be together, he thought. For always.

  He mounted Tommy and rode north. A minute passed, then another horse and rider rode out of the undergrowth.

  Blake looked along the track from which Jason had now disappeared. ‘I were right, then.’ His voice, tight with rage, broke the silence. ‘Right all the time, by God!’

  He wheeled his horse and took off southwards, riding fast.

  I’ll teach the pair of ’em. By God I will.

  The hooves echoed his thundering heart.

  ‘Got somen to tell you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  At Dawkins’ back two loaded waggons stood, ready to leave.

  ‘Jason Hallam.’

  The trooper’s eyes lit up. He smiled maliciously. ‘Thought o’ something?’

  ‘He were up at Burra Burra, see? When he come back here he were in a hell of a rush. Like the law were after him, mebbe.’

  Dawkins waited for Blake to continue but he did not. ‘So?’ he asked impatiently.

  ‘What you was saying about people havin’ secret things in their lives … Maybe that’s ‘is secret.’

  ‘You reckon he did something at Burra Burra?’

  ‘Could’ve done.’

  Dawkins’ expression was sour. ‘Ain’t much,’ he said.

  ‘Why don’ you check up? All we know, he maybe killed a man.’

  ‘And maybe he didn’t.’ He thought about it a minute. ‘We’re pulling out of here, heading north. I could always check up at the mine, seein’ we’re goin’ that way. Wouldn’t hold your breath, mind,’ he warned. ‘Probably ain’t nuthin to it.’

  ‘When will you be back?’ Blake asked. ‘If you find anything?’

  ‘’Bout three days, give or take.’

  A flicker of movement, that was all it was. A patch of light in the shade, a few yards from Dawkins’ tent. Walking back through the bush Blake’s eyes were drawn to it. He watched it without turning his head. It vanished but he knew he had not imagined it. More, he knew what it was.

  When he got back to the house Alison was busy at the stove. Blake had long got out of the habit of looking at his wife but did so now. It was stinking hot inside the house and her face was flushed. No doubt because of the heat, she had hitched up her skirt to her knees. He thought she looked very pretty. He wasn’t sure what love was, wasn’t sure it existed, but certainly there had been a time, shortly after their marriage, when he had felt tender towards her. He had never told her, of course; no man worth the name would talk about such things, but he had felt it, all the same. Not for a long time now, though. Least of all today.

  ‘Bin anywhere?’ he demanded.

  She did not look at him. ‘No.’

  Liar, he thought.

  Slowly he walked across the room towards her. ‘Look at me.’

  She had just lifted a heavy pot from the fire, the steam gushing around the iron lid. She stood and looked expressionlessly at him.

  All their married life he had tried to find her, to seize hold of the very essence of Alison. He had failed. Now that sense of failure came back with a rush. He remembered what he had seen earlier on the cliffs and his frustration turned to blood-red rage.

  ‘Bitch!’ he shouted. ‘Bloody whorin’ bitch!’

  One step, steadying himself. He hit her once with his clenched fist full on her left breast. She dropped the pot. The boiling contents exploded down her legs.

  A clang as the iron pot struck the hearthstone. It fell on its side, spewing scalding liquid and steam. A sudden, excruciating agony savaged her. A high, shrilling sound that only later Alison identified as herself, screaming. She was running, frantic. The air was like a branding iron on her scalded skin. She fell, lay writhing, mouth agape. Merciful darkness washed away the pain.

  When she came to, a single thought was beating in her head. The baby … She lay on her back, eyes still closed, not daring to move. Cautiously she sent out little tendrils of consciousness, checking, testing. Her breast throbbed painfully. Her legs were on fire. Anything else? She held her breath, still checking, but nothing else seemed damaged.

  Cautiously she opened her eyes. Memory returned, as painful as the throbbing in her breast.

  Blake’s fist. The rage
and calculation in his eyes as he hit her. It had been deliberate, hitting her where he had. He had intended damage, perhaps even to kill.

  He knows, she thought. Nothing else could explain that expression of hatred.

  She could remember little after the pot had slipped from her hands. There had been the pain, of course. She seemed to recall tearing at herself, throwing herself on the floor. Her hand explored. She was not on the floor now. She turned her head. She was lying on the bed. Of Blake there was no sign.

  She tried to get up but was too weak to move. As for her breast, that was nothing. At one time the thought that he could strike her on the very spot that had given them both such pleasure would have devastated her. Now, apart from the bruise itself, she felt nothing. She no longer had any feelings for Blake, neither love nor hatred. At last she was free of him.

  I shall go away with Jason. We shall find somewhere together. She tested herself again, trying gingerly to raise her legs and failing. A few days, she thought, that is all it will take. A few days and we shall go.

  By now night had fallen and Alison, unable to move, lay in darkness until, an hour later, Blake returned.

  After he had lit the lamp he came and stared down at her. ‘All right?’

  ‘My legs are burning‚’ she said. Her voice sounded stronger than she had expected. She had thought she would never be able to speak to him again but it was easy; indifference had unlocked her tongue.

  ‘You burned yourself with that there pot. I put some grease on ’em. They’ll be better soon.’ He turned away and went out into the main room. She heard him say, ‘Christ, this place stinks.’

  It did indeed; some of the contents of the pot must have fallen in the fire and the smell of burning hung acrid in the air.

  Blake came back. ‘Any food?’

  ‘There’s some cold mutton in the meat safe.’

  He grunted and went out again. He did not offer her any, not that it mattered. The thought of food made her sick.