Albert remembered what Jack had told him about wombats and their desire to have the same day repeated endlessly. His days in the zoo had been the same endless repetition, and he was beginning to realize that his escape was as much about a need for change as it was to try to find an Australia where he belonged.
The stories of Old Australia had circulated every evening in the zoo, yet none of the other animals had tried to seek it out. In the end they always went back to what they knew—their pens, their cages, and their regular meals.
Perhaps those animals were wiser than Albert. He looked over at the sandstone outcrop and listened very carefully. The rocks were silent and Albert was left without an answer.
8
The Gates of Hell
Albert started walking toward the distant mountain just before dawn. The trail he had been following from Ponsby Station and the country it passed through began to change. Albert found himself picking his way through undulating hills of cracked basalt and saltbush. The ancient lava flow had cooled in folds and then pulled itself apart. In some places the cracks had become deep crevasses, and walking was dangerous.
Morning turned to midmorning, and the heat of the sun began to reflect back from the black basalt. From time to time Albert lost sight of the mountain as he moved carefully through the ups and downs of the lava field. Albert was drinking more water than he intended, and he knew he was soon going to have to find a place to wait out the day.
He moved up a ridge to get another look at the distant mountain, and when he got to the top of the ridge he found himself looking down a gentle slope into the sandy bottom of a large crevasse.
The crevasse formed a narrow canyon that led deeper into the lava. It was shady in the canyon, and the black sand of the canyon floor was easier to walk on than the rough basalt above. The canyon seemed to be heading in the direction of the mountain, so Albert followed it for fifty yards before sitting down. It felt good to sit in the shade with the weight of his rucksack resting against the side wall of the canyon. Albert was cool for the first time since the sun had come up.
He shook his canteen and didn’t like the sound of it. His water was getting short, and he had no idea where or when he would find more. He could wait out the sun here in the canyon, but that would mean trying to walk through the lava flow at night, which given the nature of the country could be difficult if not fatal.
He took a drink from the canteen and looked up the canyon walls at the thin ribbon of sky above him. It was like looking into a river; wisps of clouds, like ripples in a current, moved slowly in the direction of the distant mountain. Albert watched the clouds for a few moments and decided that following the clouds down the canyon was as good a plan as any.
All the decisions had been made for him in the zoo, but now he had to make them for himself. The more he made, the easier it became, but it was also becoming obvious to him that some decisions were better than others and that a really bad one could have serious consequences.
Albert stood up, tightened the shoulder straps on his rucksack, and began moving deeper into the canyon. The longer Albert walked, the higher the canyon walls became. The sandy bottom of the canyon would narrow in some places and widen in others. In the wide sections the walls were too far apart to touch with both arms extended. In the narrow sections Albert’s rucksack would scrape against them, but there always was enough room for him to squeeze through.
The canyon would veer to the right and then veer back to the left. Several times the canyon bifurcated, and Albert would have to choose which way to go. He would look up at the sky above the canyon walls and try to see which way the clouds were blowing. If he couldn’t see clouds, he would take the gold sovereign from his pocket and flip it in the air. Heads he went to the left, tails to the right.
Albert moved through the canyon for most of the day, stopping every so often to rest and take a small drink from his canteen. He knew that he was lost in the canyon, but it didn’t bother him very much. After his walk from Tennant Creek, he learned that if you didn’t know, or didn’t care, where you were going, there was no such thing as being lost. He didn’t know where he was when he entered the canyon, and the fact that he didn’t know where he was now didn’t really change anything. It was cooler in the canyon than it had been on the lava flow, and that was reason enough to be there.
He walked on through the afternoon until the canyon began to darken and deep shadows clung to the walls. The sun was setting somewhere, and Albert knew it was time to start making a camp. He was in a narrow section of the canyon, and he wanted a wider section of the canyon floor on which to lay out his blanket. He began to walk faster, hoping to find a better place to camp before he lost the light.
Suddenly, the canyon opened up into a section that was twenty feet across with side canyons radiating out from it in all directions. It was brighter in the open section. The walls around the opening were not as high as they had been in the rest of the canyon, and they didn’t block as much of the fading sunlight. The walls were still too high to climb, but the lower walls gave Albert hope that he was coming to the edge of the lava field.
Albert decided to camp in the opening and deal with which way to go in the morning. The canyon floor was covered in deep sand, which would make a comfortable place to sleep, and if he put his blanket in the middle of the open section, he would be able to see the night sky.
He was in the process of taking out his blanket and a tin of sardines when he glanced up at the canyon wall across from him.
There was a very small, hand-lettered sign painted on the wall of the open space next to one of the side canyons. The uneven surface of the basalt had absorbed the paint in a haphazard fashion, making the sign difficult to read. Albert walked and took a closer look. The sign was a few feet above his head, but even in the dim light he could read it. The sign read “HELL,” with a little arrow pointing toward the side canyon.
Albert pondered the sign for a few moments. Any place called Hell was most likely to be unpleasant. Albert didn’t really believe in Hell, but one could never be sure.
He could wait where he was until morning. If Hell was really down the canyon, there was no telling what visitors might show up while he was sleeping. Then again, he could immediately head back the way he had come, but there was nothing back there except dashed hopes and some angry kangaroos. Albert knew that whatever future he had lay in front of him, and the most likely path to it was down the little canyon with the sign.
Albert went back to his rucksack and put the blanket and the sardines away. He took out the matches and put them in his coat pocket along with Jack’s pistol, then shouldered his rucksack and walked over to the sign pointing the way to Hell.
He moved into the side canyon and almost immediately lost the light. The walls of the little canyon were very close together and curved back and forth. Dusk was beginning to fade to darkness, and the narrow confines of the canyon added to the gloom.
Albert moved as rapidly as he could while he could still see the canyon floor, but soon it was too dark to see even a few feet ahead of him. He extended his arms, and his paws touched the canyon walls. He moved slowly ahead, using his paws to keep himself in the center of the canyon. He tried going as fast as he could, until he stepped off a small ledge on the trail and fell face-first into the sand of the canyon floor. After that he moved much more carefully, extending each foot slowly to gently touch the ground in front of him. He moved forward like that for what seemed like an eternity, until he ran bill-first into solid rock.
He touched his bill to see if he was bleeding, but didn’t feel any blood. He struck a match against the rock in front of him. In the flare of the match, Albert saw that he had run into a giant granite boulder that blocked the canyon exit. The boulder had a sign painted on it that said “HELL,” with an arrow pointing both to the right and to the left. The match burned Albert’s paw, and he dropped it into the sand. He lit another match and, holding it in front of him, squeezed through a narrow gap
on the right side of the boulder.
Albert was out of the lava flow and on a rocky plain. He could see several other large boulders in front of him, but the light of the match carried only a few feet, and it was impossible to tell how many boulders might lie ahead of him. When a gust of wind blew out the match, Albert stood quietly for a few minutes and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. There was no moon that night, but the stars were bright enough to give shape to the rocks ahead of him. Based on the shadows, Albert thought that the field of boulders went for some distance. He started making his way slowly forward, when suddenly a rocket shot into the sky from beyond the field of boulders.
The rocket arched high into the night sky and burst into a red ball of fire that lit up the field of boulders for a few seconds before it consumed itself, leaving a few sparks to fall earthward. In the brief flash of red light, Albert could see that all the boulders had the word HELL written on them, with arrows that all pointed toward where the rocket had come from.
Albert made his way forward. He went from boulder to boulder in the direction all the arrows were pointing. Another rocket shot into the sky and lit up the boulder field for a second time. After the rocket burned out and Albert’s eyes readjusted to the darkness, he could see a faint glow of light coming from where the rocket had begun its ascent.
Albert headed toward the light, which grew brighter and brighter until he rounded a boulder and came to its source. A large one-story wooden building stood at the edge of the boulder field, and a number of lamps hung from its side. Torches had been planted around the front of the building and large canvas signs were hung from poles on the top and at the sides.
The largest sign, lit by paraffin lamps with reflectors, was on the roof of the building. It read “WELCOME TO THE GATES OF HELL.” One sign on the side of the building read “WHISKEY AND AMMUNITON”; another read “DRY GOODS.” A smaller sign by the front door read “RELIGIOUS MEDALS, MAPS, FEMALES,” although someone had taken a paintbrush and crossed out the word FEMALES with a couple of rough strokes.
Just as Albert finished reading the signs, a large wallaby smoking a cigar walked out the front door of the building carrying a skyrocket. He wore a white tuxedo jacket and was missing half an ear. The wallaby walked over to a section of pipe that had been pounded into the ground near the front door. He put the rocket in the pipe and lit the fuse with his cigar. Then he stepped back and watched the rocket shoot upward. After the rocket exploded in the sky over the building, the wallaby turned to go back inside. As he turned, he noticed Albert standing by the boulder.
“If you’ve come for the party, it’s inside,” he said.
Albert hesitated.
“We have cake,” said the wallaby.
Albert wasn’t quite sure what cake was, but the wallaby seemed friendly enough. Albert started walking toward the building. The wallaby walked ahead of him and opened the door. When Albert reached the door, the wallaby said, “Welcome to the Gates of Hell—it’s our third anniversary,” and escorted Albert into the building.
9
Bertram and Theodore
The inside of the Gates of Hell was a large, low-ceilinged room crammed with barrels, boxes, pieces of scratched furniture, dusty bolts of cloth, and piles of things that Albert didn’t recognize. The room was as dark as the outside of the building was light, and Albert couldn’t see the far wall of the room.
A small table, covered by a dirty checkered tablecloth, and two ladder-back chairs had been placed in the middle of the room. The table and the room were lit by a candle stuck in the neck of a whiskey bottle sitting on the table. Melting wax from the candle had run down the bottle and pooled on the dirty tablecloth.
Sitting in one of the chairs was a ring-tailed possum wearing a cravat and a once-white tuxedo jacket, much like the one worn by the wallaby. The possum was drinking out of a shot glass when Albert and the wallaby walked into the building. The possum looked over at Albert and blinked several times.
The wallaby hurried over to a pile of furniture and started looking through the pile.
“You’ll have to excuse the lack of light. Theodore is allergic to light, aren’t you, Theodore?”
The possum gave a small nod and took a sip from his glass.
The wallaby pulled another chair from the pile and took it over to the table. He wiped dust off the seat of the chair with a corner of the tablecloth.
“Do sit down. Our other guests aren’t here yet, so we have time for a little chat.”
Albert took off his rucksack, put it by the chair, and sat down. The wallaby sat down next to him in the empty chair.
“I’m Bertram,” the wallaby said, extending a paw.
Albert shook Bertram’s paw. “Albert.”
“Our pleasure, isn’t it, Theodore?”
Theodore didn’t say anything. He pushed his now-empty glass in Bertram’s direction.
“Could I get you a drink, Albert?”
Jack’s warning about publicans offering free drinks flashed through Albert’s mind. He took the canteen off his shoulder.
“No, thank you. I have water.”
“Well, then, at least let me get you a glass.”
Bertram went over to one of the piles lying around the room and extracted a bottle of whiskey and two dirty glasses. He brought them back to the table, where he wiped the glasses with another corner of the tablecloth. He gave one glass to Albert, then filled his and Theodore’s glasses from the bottle.
“What brings you to the Gates of Hell, Albert?” Bertram asked.
“I saw some signs pointing this way, and then I saw the rockets,” Albert answered as he poured the last of his water into the dirty glass and looped the canteen strap over his shoulder.
Bertram smiled widely. “The power of advertising… As I have said more than once, Theodore and I owe our success to advertising. Don’t we, Theodore?”
Theodore nodded.
“We have even considered starting our own newspaper,” Bertram continued.
“Why do you call this place the Gates of Hell?” asked Albert.
“Hell is a metaphysical concept that incites curiosity, and curiosity is a key factor in advertising. It brought you here, didn’t it?”
After a brief hesitation, Albert responded, “I guess so.”
Bertram continued. “We could have called the place the Gates of Heaven, but it would have attracted the wrong sort, and besides, ‘Hell’ has a much better ring to it, don’t you think? Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?”
Albert shook his head. He was beginning to get a very bad feeling about Bertram and Theodore. Albert slowly put his paw into the pocket of his jacket.
“I was wondering if I could purchase some water and supplies from you?”
Bertram looked over at Theodore. The possum gave Albert a hard look, then nodded to the wallaby. Bertram turned back to Albert and smiled.
“Actually, we don’t sell supplies.”
“But the signs outside—”
Before Albert could finish, Bertram interrupted him. “As I said, Theodore and I owe our success to advertising, not to being truthful.”
“Then what do you do?” Albert asked, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.
“We rob people,” said Bertram.
Albert looked over and saw that a small pistol had appeared in Theodore’s paw.
“It’s not that we started out thieves. Originally, we had a vision of creating a vast mercantile empire, didn’t we, Theodore?” Bertram said earnestly.
Theodore nodded. The barrel of the pistol pointing at Albert’s stomach remained steady.
“Unfortunately, buying low and selling high is not as easy as it seems,” Bertram continued. “It takes time to build a business, and Theodore became impatient.”
The possum picked up his glass with his free paw, finished the whiskey in it, and, without ever taking his eyes off Albert, put the glass on the table and pushed it in Bertram’s direction.
“Are you sure I
can’t get you a drink, Albert? I’m afraid I lied about there being cake.” Bertram picked up the whiskey bottle and filled Theodore’s glass.
Albert shook his head.
“We started a small store in a town quite far from here, and as I said, Theodore became impatient. One thing led to another and we had to leave. But, as someone once said, ‘All’s well that ends well,’ and here we are celebrating the third year in our new business.” Bertram lifted his glass in a toast. “To the Gates of Hell.”
Albert sat quietly and made no move to pick up his glass. Bertram looked over at Albert, and for the first time his voice had an edge to it.
“It wouldn’t be polite not to toast our success, Albert. You should know that Theodore gets very mean when he’s been drinking.”
Theodore cocked his pistol.
Albert had become convinced that his chances of leaving the Gates of Hell alive were rapidly approaching zero. He wasn’t quite sure what to do next. Albert had his paw on the pistol Jack had given him, but he had never fired a gun, and from the looks of it Theodore was not operating under the same handicap. He decided to try to keep Bertram talking, if for no other reason than to delay the inevitable. Albert picked up his glass with his left paw.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting his glass. “To the Gates of Hell.”
Bertram nodded approvingly and took a drink from his glass. Theodore drained his glass and put it back on the table. He gestured toward Albert’s pack with his pistol.
“Theodore is impatient to find out whether robbing you was worth our while. Personally, I prefer to linger over the moment.” Bertram took another sip from his glass. “You’re not the kind of creature we normally rob. In fact, I don’t recall ever seeing anything like you before.”
Albert of Adelaide Page 6