by Peter Docker
You got a photo?
Kizzo takes out his phone and opens it. Izzy grabs the phone off him.
I’m really busting.
Don’t mind me.
Kizzo goes to the urinal and starts to piss. Izzy looks at the photo. A man has a uniformed white cop by the throat, with his other hand drawn back ready for a punch. But the protagonist is not who she was expecting. This punchy is a white man. She quickly forwards the photo to her own phone. She deletes the image off Kizzo’s phone. She then forwards the photo to Macca.
Here, she says, and hands Kizzo his phone, which he takes with his free hand.
Does Mort know you had this?
No way.
Don’t tell him.
Why? What do you mean, had?
But Kizzo is talking to an empty room.
Izzy comes back into the bar through the other door, past where Queenie is sitting next to Presti. As she draws level she speaks quietly out of the corner of her mouth.
We gotta go.
Izzy does not break her stride back to where Mort is leaning on the bar.
I hope he didn’t ask you to hold it for him?
She smiles and takes a drink.
How’d you get here?
Hitched. I’m unemployed with no prospects, remember?
You mean ‘on holiday’?
Same thing.
You could come and work for us.
Who’s that?
Mort laughs.
Channel Seven.
Izzy glances back up the bar. Queenie is gone. Then they hear a big commotion from the street outside. Through the window they can see the Channel Seven car, now under a hail of rocks thrown by unseen assailants. Captain Trim Beard is shouting and gesticulating up the street.
Who’s that?
Driver, says Mort.
They see Cap Trim Beard go running up the street, shouting. Rocks keep smashing into the white car.
He looks like he might need a hand.
Mort gives her a smile, and his best Arnie voice.
‘I’ll be back.’
He heads for the front. Izzy watches his arse as he goes. She catches Kira’s eye, and they both smile. Izzy gives her a little nod, and heads for the back door as fast as she can, taking her phone apart as she goes.
The big blue Monaro is there, burbling away, with Queenie at the wheel.
Izzy jumps in, and Queenie fangs it out onto the main drag. Xavier is running from the white station wagon, which now has four flat tyres. Queenie brakes hard, and Xavier dives in through the open window, crawls across Izzy, and into the back. Up the street a bit are Mort and Cap Trim Beard chasing about ten Aboriginal kids, who are still pelting them with rocks as they run away.
Queenie floors it. Mort and Cap Trim Beard hear the car, and turn to see them roaring away westward, onto the highway. Mort is running back to the Denver to look in the front windows. He clocks the slashed tyres on their vehicle. He and Cap Trim Beard stand in the wide Clint Eastwood street, and watch them go.
The People Have Always Lived Here
Queenie stares ahead at the highway. No one has spoken since they left the Denver over an hour ago. Eventually, the Monaro slows and turns off the highway onto a gravel road. There is a sign by the highway, but it has so many bullet holes in it that it is unreadable. Queenie pulls up off the side road and turns the engine off. The two women jump out and head into the scrub. Xavier jumps out and stretches by the car. The women arrive back at the car at the same moment.
Where are we headed? asks Izzy.
Community.
People live out here?
The people have always lived here.
They got a payphone?
Solar powered.
They climb back into the car, with Izzy getting into the back, and Xavier behind the wheel. Xavier takes off in a tyre-spinning, engine-howling, gravel-flinging cloud, and they race away down the dirt road.
Why are you helping me?
You’ve asked me that before.
I’m a journalist. We ask questions.
I’ll ask you a question. Who is he?
Who?
Don’t go shy with me. Him?
Oh.
Yes. ‘Oh’.
The dirt track twists and turns, and Xavier flicks the big coupé this way and that to stay on the road.
You were expecting Silver Hair, and Four Axehandles, and he showed up, says Queenie.
With Captain Trim Beard, adds Izzy, thinking out loud.
Izzy glances at Queenie. How could she have the same nicknames for the players? Does Queenie know that the man in the photo with her grandfather is Izzy’s father? When she decided to run – Queenie was right there with the old blue Monaro. Izzy can’t keep her mind still. She is thinking of being back in the hotel room with Mort, his body, and that scar.
I’ve been played, Queenie.
He has got a nice chassis, though.
And a big motor, adds Izzy.
Hey! I’m in the car, protests Xavier.
The girls laugh. Xavier drives. Izzy stares ahead into the darkness. All sorts of thoughts are swimming through her mind and body. She closes her eyes, and drifts off.
When she wakes up the car is motionless. It’s still dark. Izzy sits up. The air is crisp. Xavier and Queenie are nowhere to be seen. The Monaro is parked next to a shed. Izzy pushes the front seat forward, opens the door, and climbs out. The first thing she does is look up. The night sky above her is filled with stars that seem close enough to touch. Away from the lights of town, there are whole constellations that become visible to the naked eye, floating through the sky like distant cities. She reaches both hands up above her head and grasps for them. She is genuinely surprised when her hands come back empty.
Izzy looks around. There are about eight buildings, all dark, and beyond that, the bush on every side. There is one light coming from the long-life globe in the phone box out in the open. On the roof of the phone box is a bank of solar cells, angled up at the stars. Izzy crosses to the phone box and takes out a phone card. She steps up to the phone, lifts the receiver, and is surprised to hear a dial tone. She quickly dials the Queensland area code, and then Macca’s home number. It rings for a while.
Yeah, comes Macca’s raspy voice.
You get the photo?
Yeah.
Who is it?
Who do you think it is?
Might be our guy?
Everything on that guy came up as classified. So I ran the photo of the copper he was attacking through the system. Then I spoke to him. The photo was taken at the airport in Perth. These officers were attacked out of the blue by a deranged SAS soldier.
Wasn’t ‘out of the blue’, protests Izzy.
That’s what he said.
Out of the black, would be closer.
Anyway, the same officer was called to give evidence at a trial for this soldier.
What trial?
The soldier was charged with conspiracy to commit grievous bodily harm. His girlfriend got pregnant without his permission. He tried to have her bashed so she’d lose the baby. Sounds like a real charmer. A corporal in SAS discovered the plot. Guilty. Two years.
Two years?
Girlfriend pleaded for clemency. He is a decorated soldier.
Is he still inside?
Yep.
Damn.
Don’t call me here, again, Izzy. You know that place that we went that time with Big Bill to celebrate?
With the garlic tiger prawns?
I’ll be there every day from four, my time.
What’s it called?
I gotta go, Izzy.
Which jail?
Eastern Goldfields Prison.
There is a long silence down the line.
Are you still there, Izzy?
One other thing ... what was the name of the SAS corporal who discovered the violence plot?
...It was Rossiter, Councillor ... Mortimer. James Mortimer.
Mort, says Izzy quietly.
I’m goin back to sleep, says Macca.
The line goes dead. It seemed like such a good match: a soldier with some kind of chip on his shoulder, a man with such a high level of training that he could take out those hard bastards, maybe even a helicopter. It certainly makes sense of what is clearly a military operation going on back in Baal, with covert agents everywhere. Whoever he is – he’s got something to do with Mort. Izzy goes back to the Monaro, and plonks down into the front seat. She takes out a menthol cigarette, lights it up, and looks up at the stars. She expels smoke as if she were sighing. And sighing is not what Izzy Langford is known for.
Explaining the Racial Vilification Act
Izzy is still turning it over in her mind when the sun starts to come up.
Something makes her look around, and she sees a dozen Aboriginal men walking out of the bush in the half-light on the other side of the settlement.
The men move as silently as the sunrise with their heads bowed like monks.
They wear red loincloths, red headbands, and their bare bodies are covered in designs painted on with white clay. The man at the back of the single file is carrying a still-smoking branch from a fire. The second-last man is Xavier. Izzy watches them from the front seat of the Monaro without moving. The procession goes to a dwelling made from corrugated iron and files straight inside.
Izzy has that feeling like she’s seen a ghost. She closes her eyes, and waits for the sun to warm her eyelids.
You wanna cuppatea?
Izzy opens her eyes. The sun is a full fist above the horizon. Queenie stands next to the Monaro holding two steaming mugs. She looks fresh and clean, and is wearing a new bandana, a Harley Davidson design in black and red.
Izzy gets out of the front seat.
Thanks, whispers Izzy.
You sleep good?
I ... not really...
Izzy sips her tea.
I ... saw these men ... just before...
No you didn’t.
They were...
You didn’t ... We can’t...
‘These aren’t the droids you’re looking for: move along!’
Queenie blows on her tea, watching the steam from the tea be pushed over the edge of the metal rim of the pannikin and disappear into the crisp morning air.
Izzy sips her tea. It is hot. She blows on the surface, making little waves that rise and fall with the breath/wind but never break.
Thanks for the tea, says Izzy.
We don’t have a word for ‘thanks’ in our language.
Why not?
No need. We share everything anyway. That’s our Law.
But don’t you have manners?
Protocols – yes. Manners, I’m not so sure about.
Izzy takes out her phone and starts to reassemble it.
Whaddaya doing?
I want to show you something. Battery is nearly gone anyway.
Izzy gets it together, turns it on, and flicks to the photo she got from Kizzo. The white man grips the copper by the throat, his fist poised. The copper looks terrified.
You know this man? asks Izzy.
You sound like a munartch.
My father was a copper.
Queenie looks hard at the photo.
What’s he doin to that munartch?
He’s explaining the racial vilification act.
They laugh. Izzy rips the battery back out of her smartphone.
Do you know im? asks Queenie.
You always do this.
I’m naturally curious.
Naturally guarded.
Wonder why?
I know where he is, says Izzy.
Where?
Eastern Goldfields Prison.
Oh, poor fulla.
Where is it?
Big Rock. Three hour drive, maybe.
Izzy takes out a menthol and lights up.
He’d like you, says Queenie.
Who?
Smokey. His name is Smokey.
As in Smokey the Bear?
He ain’t known for putting out fires.
They laugh. The police officer in Kizzo’s photo who is about to get smashed looked absolutely terrified.
You’re not going to tell me all you know, are you, Queenie?
Definitely sound like a munartch.
Journalist.
Not my place.
They drink their tea. A big mob of magpies start up their morning warble. They both look to the sound.
Izzy waits. Nothing else comes.
You ever meet his girlfriend? Izzy asks.
Once.
She look anything like me?
Bout same height, but black straight hair. And...
Queenie gets the giggles, and looks away.
What?
She ... you know ... she has it all on show.
Queenie gestures with her hands and body to paint the picture of cleavage and belly showing. For a brief moment, Izzy feels Queenie’s sexual power.
So – she’s a slut?
They both laugh.
No, I ... you know, she’s one of those yorgas who manipulates her man with her...
Queenie glances down in the direction of their groins.
You don’t like her?
Queenie shrugs.
Why you arksing?
Because I reckon it’s high time Smokey got a visit from his woman.
Queenie nods.
We gotta change vehicles. Your boyfriend knows the Monaro.
Not my boyfriend.
Sure, Iz-Izzy. Sure.
Rock Holes and Old Shafts
The short-wheelbase Land Rover flies down the gravel road with red dust billowing out behind. Izzy hangs onto the handle on the dash, and lets the warm air rushing in through the window play through her curls. After half an hour of driving in silence, Queenie slows the vehicle and pulls off the bush track, parking in the scrub. The languid dust settles. The bush around them hums, buzzes, and crackles with life. A single crow calls out.
Queenie jumps out, grabbing two empty plastic water bottles from the back. There is an almost invisible track leading off to the right of the dirt road. Queenie goes down the walking track, and Izzy follows. After she has walked a few metres, Queenie stops. When she speaks her voice is hushed as if they were standing in a cathedral, or a mosque.
This is a special place. I’m going to call out to the ancestors and the spirits of this place so they know us.
And Queenie steps off again, calling out to the ancestor spirits in the ancient tongue they know. In another ten metres there is a small clearing. In the middle there is a rock hole about two metres across. There is no river or creek or any kind of marker, just the rock hole going down into the earth, brimming with cool clear water. Queenie continues to call out to the spirits. She bends and scoops up a handful of dirt, which she rubs in the armpits and neck. Izzy follows her lead. Then Queenie takes a small pebble and drops it into the rock hole. Izzy does the same.
I’ve told the spirits who you are. You’ll be all right now. Safe.
Queenie bends and fills up the two water bottles. She scoops some of the water into her mouth. Izzy squats next to her and also has a drink.
It’s so sweet.
From deep in the earth.
This is incredible, says Izzy quietly.
They’re here, says Queenie. Can you feel them?
Izzy fights the urge to look up and scan the bush for bands of naked Wongatha walking out of the bush to get a drink. She’s not sure, but she does feel something, almost as if they are being watched. If the old people are here, she doesn’t want to disrespect them with a direct look. She gazes into the deep mirror of the rock hole.
This is what it was all about for us, says Queenie. This was a paradise for us. The Garden of Eden.
But it’s a desert?
It’s changed now. Since the old people stopped caring for country – it has all changed. It was dry country – but always plentiful for us. Forever.
I would love to
have seen what it looked like, says Izzy.
Then the white man came. We clashed first about the water, then our women, then the land. The minerals. Always the land.
Would it be dangerous to arrive without introducing ourselves?
Might be. Be rude for sure. Would you walk into someone else’s house without knocking?
So you do have manners.
Protocols.
They both drink again.
Our culture is all about respect. Through respect we come to realise that all life is sacred. All things are sacred. We all have our story: people, trees, rocks, animals, clouds, and rock hole water. These rock holes were made by the Waakyl – a giant rainbow serpent who lives in the river near Perth.
He was a long way from home.
He had to make these rock holes for the old people, so they could live out here and honour the story for this country.
Can I take a photo?
I’m sure the old people wouldn’t mind.
Izzy takes a couple of shots of the rock hole. The killer shot is the one of Queenie looking straight down the barrel, a single finger dipped into the cool water of the rock hole. After a while, they head back to the Landie, and drive off.
All the way back to Baal, Queenie never goes on a main road. She follows a network of ungraded red dirt and gravel roads at bone-jarring speed in the Land Rover. Eventually the dirt road leads them to the outskirts of Baal. They come in on a winding track that picks its way through old diggings and slag heaps.
Stay away from the old shafts, says Queenie.
I heard blokes on the plane talking about an old shaft that came up under a pub, says Izzy. They reckon the diggers used to go for a beer at smoko.
Go and sell gold stolen from the company, more like. All under Baal is a network of shafts, unmapped and unknown by most people. Last year, someone’s backyard caved in.
The track Queenie negotiates is rough, and in some places barely there. The shacks out here with their broken-down fences, decaying walls, and rusted-off roofs, look like they could be in Uganda. The trees all look dead. There are empty grog cans and bottles and rubbish strewn around. Queenie steers for a group of four tin shacks on a bush block, and parks the Land Rover under a corrugated iron bough-shade. Queenie and Izzy get out to stretch.