‘You what?’
The truck edged through the gates. I shook my head, confused. The truck turned onto the driveway, struggled to climb the modest hill. I reluctantly hurried away to the barn that housed the water tanks, hating that shadowy room of bad memories. The truck drew closer. The bark of the engine stalling carried on the wind. Sheldon swore, loud enough for me to hear. There was a moment of silence before the engine started back up with a throaty cough—the truck veered off the driveway, cutting a path across the paddock, heavy tyres crushing the dying grass.
‘Morning, Sheldon,’ I yelled as the truck crunched over the gravel apron of the barn.
He nodded at me over the noise of the engine. A solar-powered fan bolted onto the rear-view mirror stirred the air in the cabin, tugging at Sheldon’s wispy hair. A homemade fly-strip hung next to it. Junk cluttered the dashboard: pairs of broken sunglasses, faded maps, a beaten metal hipflask, animal bones, bits of dead wood.
‘How’s your hangover?’ I yelled.
‘Not bad, I didn’t drink that much. I’m too old to keep up with you young folk. How about you?’
‘I’m feeling it today.’
The idling engine droned on. Sheldon said nothing more. I looked up at him.
‘Mate, um, sorry to ask, but what are you doing here?’
His weather-beaten face was expressionless. ‘You don’t remember?’
I didn’t answer, didn’t need to.
‘Last night, you said you were running low and that you could do with a hand. So here I am.’
And so I discovered another hole in my memory. I smiled pathetically, trying to hide my embarrassment. ‘Did I mention how I was going to fix you up?’
Sheldon laughed. ‘Yeah. I’ve got some work that needs doing back home, including a new bore to dig. You said you’d help out.’
He laughed again. Shit. The sun was already dipping, a shimmer on the horizon. The day had been hard enough; I didn’t fancy working through the night as well.
‘It’s all right,’ Sheldon said as my shoulders slumped. ‘It’s been waiting a while, a bit longer can’t hurt.’
‘Cheers.’
Shamefaced, I turned away. I unlocked the barn’s tall wooden doors, waved him inside. He took it slowly, swinging the truck around and backing in. As always, I wondered about the almost illegible letters on the side of the truck that spelled out CFA, but didn’t bother to ask Sheldon what they meant. Instead, I followed the truck inside.
The engine died with a shudder. Silence fell. I did my best to ignore the ghosts that called the barn home.
Sheldon jumped down from the cabin, manhandled a firehose from its nook, connected it to my tank, and refused my offer of help. He started the pump, pulling hard on the whipcord; his old body was still strong.
Blessed water started to flow from the truck.
Sheldon let the pump do its thing and I followed him as he walked outside. He squatted on his haunches in a thin sliver of shade thrown by the barn; I squatted next to him, waiting for him to say something. His back against the wall, his feet scuffing the gravel apron, he just took a tobacco pouch from his pocket and adjusted his battered hat. He rolled some bush tobacco, took out a tinderbox, started a tiny fire, lit up. He stared into the distance, looking like he had always been there, like he had grown out of the dirt. When it became apparent that he was quite happy to sit there in silence, I offered him a drink. As always, he shook his head no, offering me some from his canteen instead. This time, I shook my head no.
It was a well-rehearsed routine.
‘Tobe reckons it’s been raining somewhere out west, not too far from here,’ I said, attempting to break the silence.
‘Yeah, I heard the same.’
That was all he said. I tried again to make conversation.
‘What do you reckon those lights were?’
‘Don’t know.’
The pump groaned, choked, and then went back to beating monotonously. Flies buzzed, birds sang, the wind blew. You could almost hear the slow creak of the world turning. Neither of us spoke. The tiny fire at Sheldon’s feet crackled almost inaudibly. At some point, the pump stopped. For a moment, Sheldon and I just basked in the quiet. But then he put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. We walked back into the barn; he once again refused my offer of help, shut off the pump, pulled the pipe from the tank, bundled it away. He pulled himself into the truck, settling in the cabin. For a moment, he sat there looking through the open barn doors.
‘I grew up here, Bill. I’ve been here forever, always worked the family farm. It used to be beautiful, full of life. Now, there are only a few of us left. And with the pub on its way out … Shit, what’s a town without a pub?’
His voice was shaking, soft. He looked like he wanted to cry but didn’t know how. It was the longest speech I had ever heard him give; he never said much, a different kind of classic.
He caught me staring. ‘I’m all right,’ he said. He didn’t want or need my pity. ‘Anyway, maybe she’ll kick on. Maybe Tobe’ll work his magic. You never know …’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
His face closed up shop, folding in on itself. ‘Look, just forget it,’ he said, starting the truck, all business again. ‘I’ll let you know when I need a hand.’
‘Catch you later, then.’
‘You bet.’ I waved him off.
A little disheartened, I watched Sheldon’s truck become nothing more than a dirty red blur in the distance. It turned a corner, disappearing behind a line of ironbox trees. The toot-toot-toot of the horn was all that was left, the tiniest echo on the wind. I locked the barn, glad to be done with the place, wishing I would never have to enter it again.
I tramped back to the house, the dying grass snapping beneath my feet like so much broken glass.
I hung my hat back on that old rusty nail, and headed straight for the bathroom. I ran the tap into the bath, stuck my head under the stream. The fresh water in the tank would hold out, as long as I didn’t make a habit of it. I smiled, stupid and wide, washing dust from the scratchy fuzz of my hair, rinsing grit from the bird nest of my beard. The water finally ran clear. I cupped it in my hands and drank.
I ignored the cramp in my stomach and drank some more.
Out the window, I saw the golden glow of twilight. I left the bathroom, stopped at the spare room that served as a library, the walls lined with shelves of books, magazines, photo albums. I stared at them for a long time, ended up choosing a book at random. I went out to the front veranda to enjoy the setting sun. It was beautiful, caressing me softly rather than cooking me in my skin. A cool breeze blew in from the south, bringing blessed relief.
I listened to its lies. I let it tell me that everything would be okay.
As always, I scratched a black line on the wall of the veranda, marking another day without rain. Grouped in blocks of five, the black lines filled the wall. I gave up counting the most recent row when I hit one hundred or so. I laughed, without a hint of humour, trying not to worry about it.
What else could I do?
I turned away from the horror story it told. I stretched and yawned. To be honest, the day had done me in. I slouched on the battered old couch under the veranda, kicked off my boots, rolled some bush tobacco and lit up. The bleached-yellow grass of the paddocks and the mottled greens of the bush slowly softened in the light of the setting sun.
I looked out at it, truly happy.
Four
I was reliving the past, trapped in a nightmare, the same one as always. Everything happens slowly, too slowly, forcing me to take in every detail. Images move and are yet somehow static, frozen blurs with sharp edges. I’m forced to watch them, again, again, again. I can’t look away. I scream the whole time, silently.
And there I am, treading the dirt road, hiking home with Tobe after celebrating his engagement. We’re bathed in the light of the setting sun. We’re so young, barely out of our teens. Tobe’s head is thrown back. He’s laughing. I’m g
azing into the distance, smiling to myself. It’s a perfect moment. I hate it because I know what comes next and all I can do is watch it happen. I keep screaming as we just continue walking. The sun sets. Tobe and I are at the driveway gate. The house is dark, completely dark. It’s weird; the family was home when we left.
Helpless, I can only watch myself shrug.
Tobe and I stride through the gate, walk up the driveway, stop at the house. I know what we find there—empty rooms, nothing else. I would do anything to change what comes next. But I can’t; all I can do is watch as we start a desperate search that ends at the barn. I watch as I ignore the tattered note on the door and walk inside. I see nooses, stools, bodies—my parents’ bodies. I smell the dead meat smell, the stink of piss and shit. And then Tobe and I jump the house fence, running blindly into the night, calling her name.
The nightmare wouldn’t let me go.
I let loose an animal howl and then a gunshot cracked through my torment, waking me suddenly. I thrashed around, almost falling off the couch. The nightmare faded.
I managed to sit up. It was dark, apart from a soft glow that flickered somewhere behind me. The world was bathed in cold moonlight, the dying grass rippling like the far-off ocean, the easy wind cutting patterns through it.
I stood up, spotted the soft glow—the stub of a candle was burning away, sealed inside a battered lantern hanging from a rafter. I was pretty sure that I hadn’t put it there. I froze, looked across the shadowy paddocks, saw nothing unusual. The faint noises of the night seemed too loud.
Nothing.
My hand shaking slightly, I pulled down the lantern. On the ground a few metres beyond the veranda, I found a note written with a stick, the letters cut deep into the dirt.
‘I’m out getting something to eat. Stick the billy on. Tobe.’
I groaned aloud; Tobe’s company was the last thing I wanted. I headed into the kitchen nonetheless, lugging the lantern with me. I filled a pot with water, stoked the potbelly, wished that Tobe would get around to finishing the solar-powered hotplate that he had been promising for years. I spooned out some billy tea, rolled some bush tobacco, lit it off the fire. As soon as I finished my smoke, I whipped the pot off the stove, poured a cup and smothered the fire. I checked if there was enough left for Tobe. There was some, he would have to make do—if he wanted more, he could make it himself. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to my home.
I yawned, stretched, cracked my back. The urge came over me to see the stars and breathe the cool night air. I picked up the lantern, headed out to the back veranda, sat at the creaky wooden table Tobe and I had knocked together when we were still young and hopeful.
I strained my eyes to catch a faint glow, hoping to spot Tobe. All I saw was the same shadowy darkness as always: the faint movement of an owl or a bat or some other nocturnal beastie; gnarled branches, their edges cut sharp in the pale light, swaying back and forth; dead leaves blowing into drifts of dry fuel; fallen trees resting in the arms of those still standing. There was no colour to catch the eye.
Our ravaged world was utterly unmoved by the life that trod upon it. It didn’t care that I looked on, didn’t care that I couldn’t look away.
It should come as no surprise that the unexpected tap on my shoulder shocked me stupid. Trying to get out of my chair to confront the bastard, I rammed my knee into the table and started to fall. Strong hands caught me, kept me steady.
‘G’day, Bill,’ said an annoyingly familiar voice.
I spun around and vented my anger.
‘Tobe, what’s wrong with you? I’ve seen some stupid shit, but that takes the cake. Mate, you should know better than to sneak up on someone in the dark … And come to think of it, I’m not over last night yet. I was hoping to get some good sleep, but no, here you go again, showing up in the middle of the night …’
I trailed off as I realised what he was wearing. Gone were his everyday clothes, his stubby shorts and ragged T-shirts. Instead, he was all in black, a one-piece suit that looked hard, like some kind of body armour. He shrugged, with no effort. A black balaclava—rolled up off his face—hid his short hair. Black gloves covered his hands. His rifle hung on his shoulder, pointing into the sky, as if he aimed to shoot the moon. Hanging from it, dangling from a piece of animal skin fashioned into a cord, was a dead rabbit, blood dripping from a hole in its head.
I whistled low.
Red and Blue appeared next to him, surprising me. They hadn’t made a sound. Their tails weren’t wagging; their tongues weren’t lolling. They looked at me with hard, watchful eyes, standing so still they almost didn’t seem to be breathing.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me …
His body steady, somehow taut, revealing a side of himself that I had never seen before—this new Tobe scared me. A deliberate and dangerous capacity for anything showed itself in his blank eyes, in his humourless smile.
He dropped a black hiking pack to the ground, and lay the rifle and the dead rabbit on the table. The rabbit seemed to look me in the eye, and I had to turn away.
‘Fuck, mate, these things ride all the way up,’ Tobe said, tugging at his crotch and then sitting down.
Same old Tobe.
‘Dickhead.’
I rolled some bush tobacco, lit up, looked at him again. He was terrifying. Red and Blue seemed to guess that the hunt was over—they ambled my way, tails wagging.
‘Good boy, good girl.’
I gave them a scratch; they lapped it up, but the crash of a startled animal echoed from the bush and they disappeared into the night. Tobe looked back at me, staring into my eyes. He didn’t say anything. Even when the smoke from my bush tobacco drifted into his face, he didn’t look away. My discomfort grew—his silence was too much, I didn’t know how I was supposed to react. So I decided to just ignore whatever had made him play dress-ups in the moonlight.
‘How you going?’ I asked. I stubbed out my bush tobacco, made sure it was truly dead, stuck the butt in my pocket.
‘Yeah, I’m all right,’ Tobe said. ‘There’s no other way to be on a night like this. How about you?’
‘I’m okay. Still a bit hungover, pretty tired too. You know, with it being the middle of the night and all …’ I waved around with all the futility I could muster.
Tobe let it go straight over his head. ‘Did you get the tea on?’ he asked, slumping in his seat and yet somehow still looking tense.
‘Yeah, give me a sec to warm it up.’
I stood. So did Tobe. He followed me smoothly, treading quietly. I caught his reflection in the window; his face was still, apart from his eyes, which slowly swept from left to right and then back again.
‘You sure you’re all right?’
‘Yeah, of course.’
I let him be, kept on into the kitchen, relit the potbelly, and reheated the cold tea. Tobe slowly started to relax, peeling off his gloves and tucking them into a pocket. He propped himself against the bench, made a tiny gulping noise, assumed an exaggerated expression of thirst, and fell to his knees. I poured him some water. He stood back up, drank it in a single hit, and then passed the empty cup back. I filled it again. He drank it in another single hit.
‘Got to get it in you when you can.’
I had no idea what he was talking about. Times might have been tough, but they weren’t that tough. Not for someone like Tobe.
‘Here, wrap yourself around this. Maybe you’ll make a bit more sense.’ I passed him his tea.
‘Cheers,’ he said, taking the cup.
He abruptly turned away and walked back outside. After quickly smothering the fire in the pot-belly, I followed him out, somewhat meekly, reasonably confused.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked, finding him sitting at the table under the back veranda.
No reply. My words hung in the air. The silence stretched on. After a while, Tobe pulled his pouch from his pocket and started rolling some bush tobacco. He lit up with his antique lighter, cracked his knuckles, picked up his cu
p, and took a long sip of tea.
‘You know, I’ve been thinking that it’s time for a road trip,’ he said, abruptly breaking the silence. ‘It’s been a while—you could do with getting out of town and clearing your head. I’ve even got a few buttons left. We could head out to the middle of nowhere, have ourselves an experience.’
‘Look around, Tobe. We’re already in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Yeah, but you know, it’ll break it up a bit.’
‘Bullshit.’
I drew the word out, splitting it into its separate syllables, taking the piss without a second thought simply because that’s what we do.
‘You know that no matter where you go, it’ll be the same as here,’ I said.
‘Maybe not. Anyway, are you up for it? We should head off soon, while there’s still enough night left to make it worth it.’
‘It’s the middle of the bloody night—what’s the hurry?’
He didn’t answer, wouldn’t look at me, and then drew into himself for a moment.
‘And what’s with this? Expecting trouble, are we?’ I asked, gesturing at what he was wearing.
He sighed deeply, tried to change the subject. ‘Come on, Bill,’ he said. ‘It’ll be like the old days.’
‘No, it won’t. It’ll be you and me tramping through the bush in the dark.’
‘But …’
‘Go find someone else to round out your expedition.’
‘Look, mate …’
‘Don’t.’ I begged him, as much as my dignity would allow, which wasn’t very much. ‘Please don’t.’
‘Bill, I need someone out there with me this time, someone I can trust. And that means you.’
‘You’ve never needed someone before.’ It came out petulantly. That wasn’t how I had planned it, but I guess that’s how I meant it.
‘Yeah, well, sorry,’ he said, looking away, avoiding my eye. It was as sincere an apology as I could hope to get.
The Rain Never Came Page 4