Sole Survivor

by Derek Hansen

  ‘I had two brothers much younger than myself. I know what morning sickness is, Rosie. You went up to the outhouse to be sick.’

  Rosie hung her head. ‘I was going to tell you, Red. It’s just that the right time hadn’t come along. I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.’ She looked up at him steadily. ‘How do you feel about it, Red?’

  ‘Is the baby mine?’

  Rosie felt her blood turn cold. She was overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and shame. Standing at the foot of the clearing talking up at Red on his veranda only made things worse. It made her feel vulnerable and isolated. Like a school girl made to stand in the corner, except that she wasn’t facing away with her head cupped in her hands to hide her shame and her tears from the world. At school she’d found comfort in the corner. There was no comfort for her there.

  ‘We live on an island, Rosie. People like to talk. One of Mickey’s crew talked or Captain Ladd. It doesn’t matter.’ There was just a hint of hurt and accusation in his voice and it stung her. Enough to make her feel sick and weak at the knees.

  ‘I’m sorry, Red. I really am.’ Rosie could no longer help herself. She was sorry for him, sorry for herself. She began sobbing soundlessly. She wanted to turn and run away down the track but fought the impulse. Her shoulders slumped and her arms dropped by her sides. She stood staring at the grey dirt watching dust encasing her tears as they hit the ground. Her shoulders heaved. Recriminations hammered at her brain. It took her a moment to realise that Red’s strong arms had wrapped around her, were hugging her and pulling her forward until her head rested on his chest. She had a thousand things to say, a thousand apologies. Her mouth worked but words refused to form. Her arms came up slowly, wrapped around him and held on tightly for comfort. She felt him flinch and let go. She’d forgotten about his ribs.

  ‘Jesus, Red. I forgot. I’m sorry.’ Her voice was thick and halting.

  ‘Come and have a cup of tea.’

  ‘What about the shell?’

  ‘I’ll put it out on the lawn.’

  Red let her up to the veranda and sat her down at the table. She barely had time to see the saw marks on the cartridge case before Red picked it up and carried it away. Her mind reeled. What could she tell him? The time for lies and glib dismissals had clearly gone. All she had left was the truth and a plea, if not for forgiveness, then perhaps for a little understanding and a partial absolution. Red walked past her into his bach. She transferred the tears from her streaming eyes to her sleeve and looked around to see how the world had changed. Red’s chooks were eyeing the shell suspiciously, probably hoping that it contained chicken pellets instead of cordite. Sparrows checked the grass to see if it was beginning to seed, and goldfinches nosed busily into blossoms. It amused her that the most momentous event in her life had come and the entire world apart from Red didn’t give a damn. Archie came up and nuzzled into her hand as if to assure her that he, at least, was on her side.

  ‘Here you are. Water was already hot.’

  ‘Thanks, Red.’ She sipped her tea while Red pulled out a chair and sat beside her.

  ‘The birds and the bees don’t care if I’m pregnant or not.’ She smiled weakly. ‘I thought that was their line of business.’

  Red attempted a smile but it lacked conviction. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘No, I didn’t, you’re quite right.’ She took another sip of tea, stalling, wondering what the best reply would be before deciding that she needed more information. ‘Do you want the child to be yours?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The simplicity and honesty of his response stunned her. Again she felt an upwelling of shame.

  ‘I’ve thought about it quite a bit.’ Red looked away from her, out over the canopy of trees where the hill fell away towards the broad sweep of ocean. ‘I kept waiting for you to say something.’

  ‘It was going to be your Christmas present.’ Rosie took her time deciding what was fair and what wasn’t. She didn’t want to build his hopes up beyond their entitlement nor cause him further hurt. ‘You’re probably the father, Red. The odds favour you, for what it’s worth.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘But I can’t rule Mickey out entirely. I’m sorry, Red. I wish with all my heart I could. Sometimes I think my father was right. I am stupid, thoughtless and wilful. Sleeping with Mickey was pretty dumb.’

  ‘I don’t own you, Rosie.’

  ‘It was still a dumb thing to do. Okay, I was lonely. Okay, you weren’t exactly beating my door down. It was still dumb. I want to have a child by you, Red. By you!’

  ‘Then you probably will, Rosie. The odds are in your favour, for what it’s worth.’ He smiled wryly. ‘If not this time, then next time and, anyway, who’s to know?’

  ‘We’d know, Red.’

  ‘Would it matter?’

  ‘Not to me.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘What if the baby’s Mickey’s? What’ll I tell him?’

  ‘Tell him he can be godfather.’

  She stared at him incredulously, almost as if seeing him for the first time. In some ways she was. She’d never seen him in such a mood. ‘Red, you’re really happy about this, aren’t you?’ His eyes shone and every line on his weathered face was creased into a smile. ‘You’re really, really happy!’

  ‘Yes, Rosie, I’ve thought about this for a while and I’m happy about it. I know it’ll take adjustments and you’ll have to be patient while I learn to manage. But now it all makes sense, doesn’t it? It all makes sense.’

  ‘What makes sense?

  ‘Surviving. That’s the whole point of survival.’

  Rosie held the cartridge case for Red as he patiently cut around it, believing her presence and the child she was carrying would caution him against taking risks. Besides, she just wanted to be with him. Rosie had never been in love before; she wasn’t entirely sure that she was but suspected she was displaying the symptoms. She didn’t care. She just did as she was told and tried to stop smiling.

  ‘Let go now.’

  She pushed her chair back as Red stood and gingerly began pulling the cartridge apart, lightly sawing the threads of metal that still held. Black dust spilled onto the newspaper, covering the table as Red finally separated the two pieces.

  ‘Pass me two of your pots.’ He took the top part with the projectile still attached and placed it by his feet, then emptied the black spaghetti-like cordite from the cartridge case into the clay pots. He ran his finger around the inside to dislodge the last strands. ‘The other bit’s the business end. It’s probably packed with TNT. It’s going back into the ocean.’

  ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘Pretty safe. It needs a detonator to explode it and this one’s probably set to explode on high impact. If you drop it over a cliff it might go off.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound an entirely unattractive option,’ Rosie suggested dryly, as Red picked up the shell and carried it away from the bach to the edge of the clearing. She sat quietly as Red patted down the cordite in the two pots. ‘What about this stuff, is it safe?’ she asked dubiously.

  ‘It would burn if you threw a match on it, but that’s about all. Cordite has to be confined to explode.’

  ‘That’s why you wanted the cork floats to be a tight fit.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘What about the hole in the middle of them?’

  ‘That’s for the fuse.’

  ‘The fuse?’

  ‘Yeah, the tricky bit. Might be better if you moved away a touch.’

  ‘No way, Red. If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you. If it’s dangerous for you I’m not going to let you do it. I’m going to stay here.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  She watched in awe as Red split open the tube of priming mixture and crumbled the powder onto cardboard salvaged from a washing powder box. He took a small amount and sprinkled it in a thin line down the centre of a strip of old toothpaste tube. Rosie could still see part of the label and wondered if the C
olgate company had any idea of the uses Red had found for their packaging. He opened a tobacco tin which had been sitting on the table. It was full of live match heads, which he interspersed along the line of priming mix. He then rolled up the aluminium as if rolling a cigarette and crimped the loose edge tight with his thumb nail.

  ‘Should do the trick.’

  ‘Red, where did you learn how to make bombs?’

  ‘In Burma. Sometimes we had to make explosives so that we could blast out rocks and tree stumps. They had to work in rain and under water. They weren’t very effective but made our lives a little easier. In theory, the aluminium keeps the fuse waterproof and, hopefully, heat from the combustion of the matches and priming mixture will keep water from getting in the open end. The idea is to float our little bombs, so the fuses need to be pretty watertight.’

  ‘How long before the fuse burns down to the cordite and it explodes?’

  ‘That’s the tricky bit, Rosie. I’m going to make a number of fuses of different lengths to see how long each one takes to burn through. I want them to last close to a minute. We’ll just try this fuse first to get an idea.’ Red walked over to the generator shed, reached in and dragged out a four foot length of corrugated iron. He filled a Vegemite jar with cordite and jammed the fuse through the punctured lid. He lit it, dropped the sheet of corrugated iron over the jar and ran towards the veranda. ‘Start counting!’

  Rosie had barely counted to ten when the iron sheet leaped into the air and every bird within three hundred yards took to flight. She could clearly see the hole blasted through the middle.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ She started laughing uncontrollably. As a kid, Guy Fawkes night had been one of the highlights of the year, when they’d lit bonfires and set off skyrockets and crackers. This was better than any crackers she’d ever had. Better than the Mighty Cannons and Double Happies. Even better than the Thunder Flashes one of her Army uncles had once brought along. But a disturbing thought crossed her mind. ‘How big an explosion are you planning on making, Red? You’re not going to try to blow up the Shoto Maru, are you?’

  ‘All I’m going to do is make a loud bang, a bright flash and a big splash. Like I said before, the idea is to warn them off, not blow them away.’

  ‘Will a minute be long enough for us to get clear?’

  Red calculated the ratio of match heads to priming powder and tried to assess the effect of a reduction in both. His fuses would have to be longer and slower burning. He looked Rosie squarely in the eye and watched her mouth tighten. ‘You can come to the rehearsals, Rosie, but understand this. When I go after the trawler I go alone. I don’t want you in the way.’

  ‘And you hear me, hero. If I don’t go, you don’t go. I don’t trust you. I’ve patched you up twice already and it’s getting boring.’

  ‘It’s not a game, Rosie.’

  ‘It’s not a war either, Red.’

  ‘Have the two of you gone mad? I’ve never heard such foolishness in all my born days! And you, Rosie! I expect such stupidity from him! But you! I thought you were smarter. Obviously I was mistaken.’ Angus stood shaking with anger and outrage. He’d heard the explosion and raced up the hill to find the cause. Red told him his intentions and tried to enlist his help.

  ‘All I’m asking you to do is help me bring the shells up from the rise,’ Red persisted.

  ‘I’ll have no part of it, I’m telling you.’

  ‘Oh, I think you will.’

  ‘I’ll not, Rosie. It’s illegal, dangerous and downright foolhardy, and I’ll not change my mind.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to help make the bombs or deploy them. I just need a hand to get the shells off the bottom.’ Red pushed on doggedly. ‘The way my ribs are it’s hard enough for me to pull up just one shell.’

  ‘No, no, no! Do you have trouble hearing? Can you not get it through your thick skull that I’ll have no part of it? You’re mad! You’re both stark, raving mad and I’ll have no part of it, you understand?’

  ‘If you help me I can use a scuba tank. All I need is fifteen shells at the most. I’ll make a cradle and we can pull them up in one go.’

  ‘Can’t you use your winch, man?’

  ‘I want you to operate the winch. I’ll stay in the water and guide the cradle.’

  ‘Why not use Rosie? She can work the winch.’

  Red sighed. ‘Sooner or later we have to manhandle the shells on board. They’re heavy, Angus, too heavy for Rosie. And I can’t do it by myself.’

  ‘I suppose you also expect me to carry them up the trail for you. No way. I’m telling you, the whole scheme is madness.’

  ‘No, Angus. I’ll make the bombs down on the beach. The less fetching and carrying the better.’

  ‘I’ll still not help you.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you will,’ Rosie cut in.

  ‘I’ll not, Rosie, and there’s not a thing you can say to change my mind. Besides, I’ll not stay silent on this matter. I intend to call up the Lieutenant Commander first thing this evening and tell him what you’re up to.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ll do that, Angus.’

  ‘Ohhh? And what makes you so sure?’

  ‘It’s politic to be nice to the father of your grandchild.’ Rosie smiled sweetly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tell him, Red.’

  ‘Rosie and I are going to have a baby.’

  Angus looked from one parent to the other, his face mirroring a conflict of emotions. He wasn’t sure whether to congratulate them or berate them. There they were about to produce the baby he’d wanted all his adult life and the two of them were playing around with explosives! They were waiting for him to say something, both staring at him, the madman grinning like the fool he undoubtedly was. One thing at a time, Angus told himself. First congratulate them, then make them see reason. He smiled finally. The fact was they were going to give him a grandson! That was reason to celebrate!

  ‘I don’t know what to say. Congratulations, man! That’s tremendous news!’ He thrust his hand at Red and they shook hands vigorously. ‘And you, Rosie. I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me.’ He put both hands on her shoulders and for a moment looked like he might kiss her on the cheek. He pulled back, embarrassed. ‘I can’t say I’ve not suspected something. A drink! We must drink to the young fellow!’

  ‘Red, do you have anything to celebrate with?’

  ‘Bernie’s sherry, Rosie. Use it for cooking.’

  ‘Sherry it is,’ said Angus unenthusiastically. He turned to Rosie as Red went to the kitchen. ‘Rosie . . . does he know?’ Angus nodded towards Red, who was busying himself with the cork.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘About the Lieutenant Commander?’

  ‘Of course. I told him.’

  ‘You told him?’

  ‘Yes. Why not?’

  ‘Did you tell him it might be Mickey’s baby?’

  ‘It isn’t, Angus. And don’t you go saying otherwise to Red or to Mickey. As a matter of fact, there’s no need for Mickey to even know I’m pregnant.’

  Angus’ eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘You’re not sure, are you? You want it to be Red’s, but you can’t be sure.’

  ‘A mother knows, Angus,’ said Rosie, but she could see the old Scot was unconvinced. He had the crafty look back in his eyes. ‘I’m warning you!’

  ‘You can’t deny a child the right to know who his real father is!’

  ‘Angus!’ Rosie hissed a warning.

  ‘Sherry.’

  Rosie and Angus turned to Red, who was holding three glasses, both suddenly smiling, their unfinished conversation pushed aside.

  ‘To Hamish!’ proposed Angus.

  ‘To Archie!’ countered Red.

  ‘To the baby, whoever he or she may be.’ Rosie used the tone that both men had come to know and be wary of. ‘Well?’

  ‘To the baby, whoever he or she may be,’ they echoed dutifully.

  Red had only half filled the glasses and they were quickly drained. He
immediately refilled them.

  ‘Now, Angus, tell me how you intend to let the mother of your grandchild risk a miscarriage lifting five inch shells,’ Rosie said.

  ‘It’s probably not the right time to be discussing such matters.’

  ‘It’s precisely the right time, Angus.’

  ‘For my part, I don’t believe any of us should be handling those shells. I think we should just notify the Navy so they can dispose of them.’

  ‘Wrong answer, Angus. Your grandchild, should you ever have the opportunity to speak to him or her, would undoubtedly express disappointment in your attitude.’

  ‘That’s blackmail!’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Have you no shame, woman?’

  ‘No. Just a foetus who would like to be proud of his or her grandfather.’

  ‘Are you going to help me, Angus?’ Red asked the question quietly and sincerely. ‘I’m asking for your help. Just help me get the shells back to the beach. That’s all you have to do. Will you do it?’

  Angus realised Rosie had left him no choice. Even so, he was determined to extract one concession. ‘It’s madness, sheer, bloody-minded madness, but you leave me no option. Aye, I’ll help you, but in return the child must be called Hamish!’

  ‘Funny name for a girl,’ Rosie said evenly. ‘I thought something like Scarlett. Red, Rosie and Scarlett. Scarlett O’Hara has a ring to it.’

  ‘Scarlett O’Hara.’ Red started laughing but Angus stood his ground. ‘I’m not asking to be mocked, Rosie. I’ll not be made a fool of. If it’s a boy child, do you agree to call him Hamish?’

  ‘Well, let me put it this way, Angus – I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands. As you admitted yourself, you have no choice but to help us. I’ll agree to consider Hamish just as I’ll agree to consider Archibald. Along with Bernard.’

  ‘Bernard!’ Both men reacted at once.

  ‘Then it’s agreed?’

  ‘No, it certainly is not!’ Angus cut in hotly. ‘I’ll not have Bernard!’

  ‘Actually, you’ll have no say in the matter. I owe everything I have to old Bernie, God rest his soul. Be a nice way to remember him. But I’ll keep an open mind. Both of you can work out what that means. The only things that are agreed are that you’ll help Red bring the shells ashore and we’ll keep the news of my pregnancy a secret between us. Won’t we?’ Rosie narrowed her eyes at Angus. ‘Hamish might grow on me, given the right inducement.’