A Short History of Richard Kline

by Amanda Lohrey

  Nine lives, he had once said. I have nine lives.

  When Rick turned to follow Raoul into the hallway, Martin called after him. ‘Rick?’

  He looked back.

  ‘I don’t believe I’ve thanked you.’

  He laughed, and shook his head. Of course Martin hadn’t thanked him. It was unnecessary, and they both knew why.

  Raoul saw him to the front door. ‘You could always stay overnight,’ he said. ‘I forget to tell you. Before she left, Mrs Coleby said it would be okay.’

  ‘Thanks, but no.’ It had never occurred to him. He would not impose on Martin in that way; it would be entirely the wrong kind of intimacy. But the proposal gave birth to an impulse. It was a long weekend; Zoe was at a conference in Brisbane and Luke at a sleepover. There was no rush to get home. The last time he had spent a night in the Blue Mountains had been over two decades ago, and on the drive to Katoomba he had passed near the resort where as a young man he had been part of that crazy corporate abseiling jag. He could not see the hotel from the road but many times had registered the sign beside the freeway, and the turn-off to where it lay among dense bush on the rim of the Jamison Valley. Here he had failed some kind of test, had hung against the cliff-face like a stuck pendulum.

  He decided to spend the night there.

  It was just after four when he pulled into the grand circular driveway lined with dwarf she-oaks. The car park was almost full, and a black limousine idled outside the main entrance with a white ribbon attached to its bonnet.

  ‘You’re in luck,’ said the clerk at the desk. ‘We’ve got a wedding tonight and there’s only one room left.’

  Since he had no luggage, he pocketed his room keys and returned to the front garden. He had decided to walk to the lookout. He remembered the path and had time to catch the last of the evening light. It was only a short distance through stands of ti-tree and banksias, and within minutes he was on the small rock platform that jutted out over the cliff edge. And it was all just as he remembered it.

  He stood with his arms braced on the steel fence and looked down into the purple depths below, canyons of eucalypt and mountain ash.

  By now the golden stone along the cliffs was deepening into a burnished flame-coloured red; the grandeur of it was exhilarating. And yet, just two weeks before, a student had fallen to his death from this same lookout, the horror of his fate compounded by the possibility that he might have jumped. And that man, he thought, might once have been me.

  Below him in the valley some rock-climbers were completing their ascent of the eastern cliff-face. Locked on to the rock like giant stick-insects; they moved with excruciating slowness; the intensity of their focus could be felt even at a distance. The narrow rope that connected them was barely visible but the late sun glinted off their white helmets with such a dazzling flash that for a moment they appeared to him as a party of luminous pilgrims, scaling the face of an unknown god.

  For a long time he continued to stand there, gazing out across the deepening hues of the escarpment, until he became aware that a shadow had begun to creep over the valley. Soon it would be dark, and he must turn back. Halfway along the track, he reached into his pocket and felt for the pebble. He had been certain that it was intended for Martin, but no, Martin insisted it was for him. So he was none the wiser; just when he thought he had a fix on things, the smallest and most inert of objects could throw him off balance. There was more to come, and the riddle was not yet unravelled.

  When he emerged from the narrow track the grand dining room was lit up, its chandeliers ablaze. French doors opened onto the terrace and he could see waiters darting among chairs swathed in white satin bows and tables set with flowers and purple helium balloons.

  Because he was the only houseguest not attached to the wedding they offered him an early meal in the old red-velvet bar, small and womb-like. There he sat in a quiet corner and drank himself into a daze. The muted sound of revellers wafted in from the dining room until at last the band struck up a brassy fanfare, followed by a round of excited applause.

  Now he was tired. He walked to the east wing, down a long corridor of red carpet patterned in dark blue diamonds. His room was at the very end and looked out onto the smoky blue depths of a canyon.

  When he entered the room he felt a thin shaft of terror strike him between the shoulder blades, felt he had opened the door into a void and teetered now on the brink. With one arm he braced himself against the wall, and as swiftly as the dizziness had come over him it subsided.

  Slowly he undressed, and stood for a long time under a blissfully hot shower so that the billow of steam enveloped him and the water washed away his fear. Now he would like to meditate, but he had drunk too much. He lay on the bed and rang Luke to check that he was okay. Then he rang Zoe and they talked for over an hour.

  ‘What on earth are you doing there?’ she asked. ‘Something to do with abseiling,’ he said, and realised he had never told her about his pendulum experience. ‘I’ll explain when I see you,’ he added; it was too intimate to go into over the wire. ‘It’s alright,’ he said, ‘I’m in a good place. Tell me about the conference.’

  He thought that afterward he would fall asleep instantly, but instead he drifted pleasantly on the threshold of oblivion. When at last he did sleep he dreamed that he was in the midst of a wedding. It was midday and the wedding guests wore bright clothes and stood about in a field of dry wheat. The sun was high overhead and gave off a searing white light, and as he walked among the sun-struck crowd it came to him: I am the bridegroom.

  Well, then, he must hurry and take his place, and he made his way to the front, and stood there with his back to the others. He looked down and saw that his feet were bare, and his pockets weighted with pebbles. He could not see his bride but knew that she lingered on the path behind him, an ethereal presence, a column of light, a promise. He stood still, he waited on her arrival, he could not see her but he knew that she approached …