‘Ah. A place that keeps its secrets?’
‘You could say that.’
They walked along the rocky track in silence. Birdsong enveloped them like a warm cloak. Cherie Blossom pointed to a butcherbird, high on a limb of a red gum, as its sweet trill pierced the air and briefly suspended all other song around them. After a few minutes the track ended in a mass of dense and knotted vegetation.
‘Looks like I’ve taken us the wrong way,’ said Tom.
‘So you’re human after all.’
‘More human than you think … I’m positively ruined.’
They turned back along the track and retraced their steps, this time, slowly, languidly, the sound of dry twigs and leaves and pebbles and fine gravel crunched beneath their feet, amplified, and Tom felt the tremor of life coursing through his entire body, and as this feeling shivered through him, only he and Cherie Blossom existed. Time knew no coordinates. He ran the palm of his hand over the surface of a sandstone boulder striated with honey and caramel tones. Cherie Blossom pressed her open hand over the sandstone in an action that mirrored his.
‘So much history is embedded in these layers,’ Cherie Blossom sighed. ‘Do you think there are more prehistoric fossils to be found?’
‘I’ve no doubt. The story is there. You just need to chip away at the stone to find it.’ Tom stopped walking, stunned as his gaze landed on a tree several metres to his left. Cherie Blossom saw it too.
‘What’s that?’ She pointed at the trunk of a red gum tree, where the thick and dark outer layer of its surface was hollowed into the shape of a large diamond to reveal the inner part of the trunk.
‘It’s a scarred tree. You get that when you cut out bark with an axe. The scarring is permanent most of the time, so it stays as the tree keeps growing. Sometimes it stays for a couple hundred years.’
‘An indelible mark.’
‘Yes,’ said Tom, absently. Beside the scarred bark he noticed a distinctive etching, of the letter ‘J’, cut deeply into the bark.
‘Why would you need to cut out bark like that?’
‘Aborigines, I reckon, that used to live here. They probably had plenty of uses for bark. For shelters and canoes … to hold water and whatnot.’
He couldn’t take his eyes off the letter ‘J’, etched unambiguously into the tree. It was the work of an assertive hand. ‘J’ marks the spot. There, within that etching, was a story, inexpungible. This was the hand of Big Jack. He’d seen this signature carving from his dad’s childhood, on many trees in Bishops Bay. This had been his father’s childhood stomping ground, he’d always known about these caves.
‘Let’s find the other caves,’ he said and pointed to the narrow track. The late morning light had turned to a soupy green as the clouds thickened. Shadows crawled over the rocky escarpment as the sandstone transmuted from golden to ash grey. What had been a shimmering dazzle of light over the sparkling bay was now sombre and muted, and as he looked down below the slope of the hill, beyond the heathland and daggered tree branches into Bishops Bay, he could barely see the water at all.
‘Reckon you can remember how to find them, old man? I’m starting to have my doubts.’ Cherie Blossom smirked, her freckly nose crinkling into a delicious medley of blurred sprinkles.
‘Glad you’re still game.’
‘This is important … too important to ignore. I’m really digging it. Thanks for bringing me, Tommy-boy.’
Tom smiled. She was a smart one, that Cherie Blossom. She wouldn’t disappoint him. One of the greatest qualities of the fervent is their ability to galvanise others with an idea. She had that hot burning look on her face. He was only just starting to learn that he didn’t need to do everything himself.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The air was cold. Dark clouds hung low and long and there was a hazy grey funnel of rain in the distance. Nayeema stepped into the pharmacy, triggering a jingle from the bell as the door opened. She’d left the lunch service early, leaving Goldie to manage the houseboat on her own. She checked her watch. Two-thirty. She would normally wait until after the cafe was closed before running errands. Today, she needed a pretext to speak to Bev before the afternoon rush at the pharmacy.
Fawzy and Bev both looked at her with surprise.
‘Hi Bev.’
‘Noreen,’ said Bev to Nayeema. Her voice was as flat as a table, as bitter as burnt garlic. She immediately resumed conversation with a woman Nayeema didn’t know. This was going to be difficult.
‘I need to use the car this afternoon.’ Nayeema looked at Fawzy, noticed he was looking thinner than usual. There was a sliver, a germ of something uncomfortable that troubled her about him, lately. It had not fully gained shape. She couldn’t define it, but it insinuated itself as a bucking feeling inside of her. Her reluctance to embrace his decisions—moving to Burraboo, wanting to buy the pharmacy—had created a landscape of silence between them. Silence was safe. To speak was to argue. But his diminutive appearance made her want to rock him in her arms the way her mother had, when Nayeema needed comforting.
She moved closer to him, pressed her hand against his, squeezed his lean fingers. They were the fingers of a surgeon. He could have been a doctor, if only he’d been given the chance to study medicine. Incredible. That the shoe, Edward Campbell, insisted that Fawzy complete his high-school education and gain a university qualification. Edward Campbell, the twisted alcoholic, had financially supported Fawzy and his mother, Monna, for years. He had made one stipulation. That Fawzy’s ambition was to extend no further than the study of pharmacy. Fawzy could never be a surgeon.
In his quietest moments, she knew Fawzy resented Edward Campbell for not letting him soar higher. Edward Campbell was a cruel man. She thought of the Englishman’s cheeks flushed with whisky and delight as he gave Fawzy presents of socks and shoes, while mocking the boy for manners that were never quite British enough. Publicly, Fawzy spoke only of Edward’s kindness, that without Edward, he would never have finished university and might have lost his way altogether. ‘I could have become a hopeless man … a nobody. But today I am somebody, a respected pharmacist,’ he’d often said to her.
The entrance bell rang. The shrill tinkle skimmed across the back of Nayeema’s head.
‘Oh my. Look who. The little thief, Annabel,’ Fawzy mumbled into her ear. ‘I have to keep my eye on her.’
Nayeema turned slowly to observe Fawzy’s thief. She looked to be fourteen or fifteen years old. Her bag was slung loosely over her shoulder and hung limp, suggesting that there was little in the way of school books inside. School had not yet finished for the day; it was too early in the afternoon. The hem of Annabel’s school uniform was defaced as an entire row of checks, the pattern on the fabric, had been coloured-in with a black marker, drawing attention not only to the absurdly short length of her uniform, but also to her stumpy legs which tapered down to her ankles like a funnel. She wore thick, ribbed, navy-blue stockings. She reeked of nicotine.
Fawzy waved cheerily. ‘Annabel,’ he called out, perhaps to let her know that he was aware of her presence. Nayeema knew that his patience was at a low. She could tell, even through his cheerfulness, that he wished to slap the schoolgirl.
Fawzy turned to Nayeema. ‘The keys, you say?’ He reached for the keys in his back pocket. ‘Why are you not at the houseboat?’
Before Nayeema could answer, there was a rattle, then a thud in the third aisle. Fawzy jumped. He looked at Bev, who was still talking. He rolled his eyes at Nayeema before scurrying towards the suspicious sound. Nayeema peeped into the aisle. Annabel was sitting in a squat position, the hem of her school uniform was just covering her knickers, the gusset part of her stockings on clear display. All around her on the floor were scattered packets of eye drops and antihistamines. Her bag was zipped up. Fawzy squinted at her. Nayeema figured she had had a couple of seconds to collect a packet or two with those deft teenage fingers.
Annabel looked up at him from the floor. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. Her c
heeks were flushed. ‘My bag knocked them over.’
‘I see,’ Fawzy said, sternly.
Sheepishly, she deposited the merchandise into Fawzy’s outstretched arms.
He clumsily shoved the items back on the shelf.
Nayeema’s mouth gaped as she watched him resist the desire to organise the items neatly.
Gruffly, he said, ‘What can I help you with, today?’
‘Um, yeah. I need some paracetamol for my mum.’
‘Is she sick with a cold?’
‘Nah, just the usual headaches.’
‘Does she always get headaches?’
‘All the time. Every day.’
‘She should come here and talk to me herself.’
Annabel rolled her eyes.
‘Or else, tell your mother to visit Doctor Wilson.’
‘Yeah,’ she snorted, ‘except that she doesn’t need to see a doctor for the types of headaches she gets.’
Fawzy slowly steered Annabel towards the payment counter. ‘You shouldn’t be so sure about that. Headaches can be a symptom of a more serious condition.’
‘Yeah? I hear that getting out of bed can be pretty serious.’
He frowned. ‘Bev will take care of the payment,’ he said, nodding cordially.
‘Sure, love,’ said Bev. ‘Bye, Gracie,’ she said, finally waving off the woman with whom she had enjoyed such animated conversation.
Fawzy scurried back to the scene of the crime as Bev transacted the sale. He widened his eyes as he passed Nayeema, indicating that something was awry. He eyeballed the shelving. Nayeema guessed he was counting the packets of antihistamines. His mouth curled up at one side, as it always did when he was excited. He pressed the car keys into Nayeema’s hand.
She nodded. They stared at one another, conspirators together, their eyes anchored with an understanding that was uniquely theirs. Fawzy, her old friend. She knew his eyes better than she knew her own hand. Guilt soared to her temples as she recalled why she had come to the pharmacy this afternoon.
They both looked at Annabel from behind. Her body stance was all schoolgirl tough. There was a hint of the repulsive, too, in her swagger.
‘Thanks,’ Annabel said to Fawzy on her way out of the pharmacy. Fawzy was now in a position to act.
‘Go,’ whispered Nayeema.
When the tinkle of the door subsided, he said to Bev, ‘I’ll be back in a few moments.’ With urgent steps he followed Annabel out of the shop.
Nayeema stood in the pharmacy, alone with Bev. This was the opportunity she had hoped for. Bev was flicking through the pages of a magazine.
‘You should come to my cafe one day,’ said Nayeema, feebly. ‘Take some lunch and whatnot.’
‘I’m not one for big lunches.’
‘Try my food. Maybe you change your mind.’ Nayeema smiled.
‘Uh-huh. You reckon?’
This was a fairly clear situation where a question wasn’t actually being asked.
‘We have heating inside the houseboat. Is very warm inside. Have a cup of tea. Enjoy the beautiful bay.’
‘The bay is beautiful whether or not I have a cup of tea.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Nayeema, pleased to have finally reached a point of agreement. ‘I love the bay.’
‘Yup,’ Bev said, sourly.
Nayeema contemplated her cuticles. This had been a foolish idea. Her chest felt tight. Bev had winded her.
‘Have good afternoon. Bye-bye.’ She hurried out of the pharmacy.
Back on Main Street, she scanned for any sign of Fawzy and Annabel. To her surprise they had not progressed far from the pharmacy and were talking on the road verge opposite Kevin’s bakery. A group of women were seated outside the bakery drinking cups of steaming tea on Kevin’s new bistro tables and looking at Fawzy and Annabel with some interest. She recognised among the group of women her neighbour Joan, who had stopped talking entirely and was fixed on the confrontation between Fawzy and the schoolgirl.
Nayeema’s throat tightened as she made her way closer and saw Annabel’s fearless face. When she was close enough to hear what Annabel was saying she stopped and pretended to look for something in her handbag.
‘Are you kidding me? You have no right to look in my bag,’ the girl said to Fawzy.
‘That’s true … ordinarily. Except that I am entitled to inspect all bags that pass through the pharmacy. There is a sign saying so … it’s right there next to the door, you can’t miss it when you walk in. You agreed to this inspection when you walked through the door. So … now, you really have no choice but to show me.’
‘You know, I’m not feeling very well. I think I need to use the bathroom.’
‘Of course, of course … you may go as soon as I check your bag.’
‘I’m serious, I think I am about to be sick.’
He snatched the bag off her shoulder with enough force to cause her to lose her balance.
‘Hey!’ she shouted. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? You hurt my arm!’
Fawzy spun away from the girl. He pulled at the zipper and groped inside the bag. It didn’t take long. With flared nostrils he pulled out two rectangular packs of antihistamines. ‘Ah-ha! And what’s this?’ he spat, his voice ragged with anger. Too much fury, Nayeema thought, for the situation. What had the little thief unleashed within him?
‘What’s that?’ said Annabel, lifting her eyebrows and cocking her head to the side with feigned surprise.
‘How do you explain this?’
‘I don’t know how they got there.’
‘Oh, you don’t? I’ve been watching you. I know about the other times.’
‘Like I said, I don’t know how they got in there.’
‘Perhaps a visit to Senior Sergeant Barry will help you to remember. Perhaps you would like your parents to pick you up from the police station when he has finished arresting you?’ said Fawzy.
‘No … no,’ she stammered. ‘Come on.’
‘You come on! Do you realise how much money you have cost the pharmacy since I started working there? Do you think I work as hard as I do so that lazy and stupid people like you can disrespect me? Why do you do this? Who gives you these orders? Is my stock being sold at parties, or to chemistry students at a university in Sydney? I know what goes on.’
She folded her arms over her chest. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’ Her bottom lip trembled. ‘Please don’t tell Bargearse Barry. Please.’
Nayeema noticed a gentle roll of fat just below the girl’s armpit, which was touchingly childlike. She could not help but think that Fawzy had caught a baby sparrow for his dinner.
‘You and your accomplices are despicable,’ Fawzy said to Annabel. His eyes fixed on hers. ‘Do you promise to end this stealing right now?’
‘I swear to God.’
‘Do you believe in God?’
‘Maybe. I dunno.’
‘Well then, swear on something that you believe in.’
Annabel’s mouth twisted and puckered for a moment, before her pale face went blank. Her chest started to heave, like a spluttering engine, and then the tears came. ‘What the hell kind of a thing is that to say to me? You’re a real arsehole, you know that?’
‘I’m asking for your word.’
‘You got my bloody word.’
‘Don’t swear. And don’t steal.’
‘I promise I will not steal from you again.’
‘Good. If I have your word then I won’t report this to the police but I have two conditions. First, I expect you to tell your parents about your stealing from the pharmacy. Second, I expect them to pay back the value of the goods you have stolen.’ He pulled out a small notebook and pencil from the pocket of his white coat and reviewed the itemised running sheet of missing stock. ‘Your parents will not be happy,’ he tutted as he ripped the paper off the pad and handed it to her.
Annabel’s eyes widened. ‘Shit. They’re gonna kill me.’
‘I am giving you two days to tell your pa
rents. Forty-eight hours. If the money is not returned before then, I am going straight to Senior Sergeant Barry.’
‘You are a proper arsehole,’ she mumbled.
‘You need to understand decency.’
Suddenly, Annabel snatched her bag from Fawzy’s hands and began to run away, faster than Nayeema thought was possible for such a heavy girl. Fawzy watched her mutely, his body had gone limp and his face was red with the exertion of holding in his anger. Suddenly aware that he had attracted attention, Fawzy straightened his spine and smiled genially at the women at the bakery, the two packets of antihistamines still in his hands. ‘Her poor mother has been dreadfully unwell … it can be such pressure on children.’
Nayeema walked quickly to Fawzy and grabbed him by the elbow. ‘You have to go back to work. I heard everything, let’s talk at home,’ she whispered under her breath.
This plan of Fawzy’s wasn’t working well at all. She doubted that Annabel’s parents would pay for the stolen items. And what of the other stolen items? Nayeema could see what Fawzy couldn’t; he could not resolve these thefts on his own. She looked over at the women seated outside Kev’s bakery, their open mouths and wide eyes a cartoon of disbelief. But it was the grim look on Joan’s face that caused Nayeema’s birthmark to explode with heat like a burning torch on her chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tom took one of the thick books on his coffee table and walked to the back verandah. He’d asked Denise to find him quality textbooks on the history, stories and mythology of ancient Egypt. Neema’s story about the lion guardians of the horizon had stayed with him for days, rose in his dreams and soared into his thoughts like the scent of a new lover. He was captivated by the multiple identities of the sun, where a different god represented the differing phases of the sun—at noon, in the ebbing light, in the morning light. It made sense to him, just as he was one man with many faces. The eternal return of the sun had been the beginning of his study. He devoured story after story about kings and pharaohs, gods and deities who ruled over the everlasting.
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