by Jessie Cole
Forced by the rain into eavesdropping, we listened as Hamish made phone calls. He called the hire company and the SES about his car, and tracked down his work number through information. Nothing could be done to get him out until the creek water receded. As I predicted. We tried to ask him a few questions—about family, about work—but his answers were so non-specific it hardly seemed worth it. Family—broken up and scattered all around. Work—‘consulting’ for some big company I’d never heard of. It was pretty much gobbledygook to me. He didn’t ask us anything. I don’t think he knew where to start. Mum’s not big on company these days and so after a bit she headed off to the storeroom, searching out fabric to make Rory some new clothes. Sophie crashed out with Rory and the baby around lunchtime.
At some point Hamish and I started playing flood games. Canasta, Monopoly, Euchre and finally Scrabble, and it was fun for a while but by the afternoon, time was starting to drag. I’d already snuck out a few times to check on the calf, and I was about ready to do a runner down to the creek to see how high the water was when Anja poked her head around the kitchen door.
Anja is my oldest friend. She’s tall and gangly and strong like a horse and always wears the most revealing clothes she can muster. Mum says she’s a sight for sore eyes, but I can never tell if she’s being ironic. As a kid Anja was wild, not in a naughty-type way, but like an animal. She’s always lived with her dad up on the hill behind our place and they never got electricity. When she was real small she used to sleep in a hollowed-out tree trunk in the forest, right on the edge of a big drop. It was as if walls couldn’t hold her. Somewhere along the way she got obsessed with Marilyn Monroe and everything changed. She dyed her hair bombshell-blonde and started wearing bright red lipstick all the time, even when there was no one around to see. I love her but I’m a little scared of her too. There’s no predicting what she’ll do next.
‘Mema!’ She stepped inside, shaking off the raindrops like a dog. ‘I’m going crazy up there. Let’s do something.’
She was wearing the shortest cut-off jeans you could possibly imagine, with a tiny halter-neck top. I glanced around to see Hamish visibly jolt.
‘Fuck, who’s that?’ Anja said to me, blushing the brightest pink. She was a practising sex bomb but she didn’t actually have much practice.
Hamish stood up and opened his mouth to speak but Mum got in first, shouting out from the storeroom, ‘Mema rescued him from the creek, Anja! Like a kitten!’ She chuckled loudly. ‘A half-drowned cat.’
‘I’m Hamish,’ he said, the colour rising ever so faintly on his neck.
‘Yeah? Hi.’ Anja’s voice was squeaky and she tossed her blonde locks.
It was a pleasure to see her, dripping water on the floor. I stood up too, and Anja came round the table and hugged me sideways, not taking her eyes from Hamish. Well, he was exotic in these parts. A fully grown, clean-cut man.
‘So …’ Anja was trying to make conversation. ‘How long you been here?’
‘Just since last night.’
Hamish leaned his back against the kitchen bench. He looked casual but I could see he felt awkward. Looking down, he turned a Scrabble tile in his fingers.
‘You like Scrabble?’ Anja asked.
‘Yeah, it’s okay.’
‘I hate Scrabble, don’t have the patience. I mean there are so many things you could be doing, right? Why would you spend hours staring at square letters till your eyes go foggy? Mema always wins anyway.’ Anja was rambling now, but it was true—I always beat her. Scrabble was her least favourite game.
‘Not against Hamish. He’s a strategist.’ I didn’t really mind losing. I just liked the shape of words.
Hamish scratched the back of his neck. ‘It is a game. You play to win.’
‘It’s all about winning and losing, Mema,’ Mum called out. ‘You remember that.’
I was pretty sure that was aimed at Hamish. Mum had a way of finding everyone’s weak spot. It was a gift. I know it made some people nervous but I appreciated it. Weaknesses were far more potent when they stayed hidden. Your own and other people’s. Rising up to ambush you in unexpected moments.
Hamish looked at the floor. I didn’t know what he was thinking.
‘I mean,’ Anja was standing close beside me, her elbow clunking against my upper arm, ‘I know it’s still raining, but I thought maybe we could go do something.’ She bent her head towards me. ‘You know? Pick some passionfruit or something?’ As far as I knew, there were no passionfruit to pick, but Anja was twitching at the edges, just a little, on the verge of some big emotion. Oftentimes her dad got to drinking and things at home unravelled. It had been like that from the beginning. She’s spent half her life at my house.
‘Let’s go then,’ I said, grabbing my dad’s old raincoat. ‘You want an umbrella?’
I knew she wouldn’t. ‘Nah. I’m soaked already.’
At least in summer it was so warm it didn’t really matter how wet you got. I didn’t want Hamish to come ’cause I knew Anja probably needed to get things off her chest, but he was glancing anxiously at the storeroom. Evidently, he didn’t want to get stuck with Mum.
‘You want an umbrella?’ I asked him.
He looked down at the clothes he was wearing. Mum’s oversized jumper, still hanging down low at the neck. Feminine on his broad shoulders. They were the only clothes he had.
‘I guess so.’
Outside on the veranda I hunted for the umbrella. It was black and a bit buckled. I shook it out for spiders and then handed it to him.
‘Thanks, Mema,’ he said, really looking me in the eye. Hamish had a steeliness that mostly stayed beneath, but every now and then you’d catch a whiff of it. I nodded back at him, but I was thinking about my mum hiding herself in the storeroom.
Anja grabbed my hand, squeezing it hard, and then we all stepped out into the rain.
4.
When I brought the stranger home, I knew it would unsettle Mum. More than the flooding rain and more than Sophie’s tears. More than the thousand and one irritations of our quiet life—no electricity, leaking roofs, crazy animals and dirty, wet footprints all over the wooden floors.
There were some things no one knew about my mum, some things no one knew but me. That’s how it is when you live with someone forever—you become accustomed to their every move. Every sigh is full of nuance and even the tread of their feet on the floor has its own temperament. No doubt Mum felt the same about me. Secret habits emerge from the darkness and even the most hidden thoughts find an open space. This familiarity was among the things we never spoke about, and lately the list was getting longer. Privacy was a deep thing for my mum, though the town had always watched her. She didn’t shrink away from the stolen glances at her big, overripe body, but she liked more and more to be alone.
There were things that everyone knew about my mum. That she made huge earthen pots out in the shed, curved and dark and heavy. That the sale of a single pot could make good money at the fancy city galleries, but that she didn’t make too many sales. That her tongue was as sharp as a razor’s edge, but her touch was gentle and sure. That for a bit of wood-chopping, or roof cleaning, or grass slashing, or even a basket of fresh bread and vegies, she was good for a roll in the hay. Even at her age, even now.
And so it was that sometimes I would happen upon her, pressed up against a fence post, skirt riding high, while some lonesome neighbouring farmer breathed in the smell of her. And though it wasn’t a secret, I caught my breath every time.
The secret things I knew about my mum, and the things that everyone knew, had played on my mind for some time, since I was real little, I guess. Sophie and my brothers had such trouble at school, juggling all those knowns and unknowns, that by the time it came to be my turn, Mum didn’t send me.
‘What’s the world got to offer you, Mema?’ she asked. ‘I’m not playing that game anymore.’
You don’t even need a reason to home-school. You don’t have to be a conscientious objector. Yo
u just have to prove you do it. And Mum had no trouble proving that. Those home-school inspectors had one peek inside, one look around those piled-high bookshelves, and they knew I was learning. Books are for learning, after all, so I was learning, and that was that.
I didn’t fight it. School seemed pointless anyway. All the rules and regulations, made to be flouted. I’d watched Anja and my siblings become parched and sad with the stupidity of it all, and I figured I wasn’t missing much.
What did the world have to offer me?
When I was small, all around me flowed, gentle and sweet like the quiet edge of the creek. Then my brothers grew too big to be hemmed in, and Sophie met a bloke, moved out and had babies, and things became harder. The older I got, the louder those secret things inside me became, all those knowns and unknowns, until—apart from Anja—I’d rather talk to animals than people. Chat with Old Dog, muck around with the crazy cat, or follow the wandering Bessie. Make friends with the magpies and whip birds. Listen for the squeaking of baby mice and leave out crumbs to help them on their way. Sit with my legs dangling in the creek and let the guppies nip at my toes. And it was the same for Mum, ’cause she stopped talking quite so much to me.
Outside, with Hamish in tow, Anja and I headed off to check the creeks. The rain was falling hard again, not torrential like yesterday, but steady, as though it would never end. Our house is up on a hill and the paddocks curve gently downwards to the closest creek. From above, you can see the creek stretched out across the land like a giant serpent, winding off into the distance. Sometimes the view gets lost in clouds, or mist, or simply the rain, but when it’s clear, it’s magic. Those green hills stretching out forever, like they were sculpted purposefully to please the eye. When it stops raining you can hear the rush of the floodwater and it seems as though the creek is quite close, but actually it’s a series of small hills and plateaus away. Big grassy paddocks. Easier on the way down than the way up. Used to be mostly dairy farms and bananas, but nowadays it’s just the occasional small crop and a scattering of cattle. And then out on the flats, on the other side of town, there are the cane fields.
Anja started off walking, as sedately as she could, but soon she picked up speed and I knew it wouldn’t be long before she broke into a jog. Running in the rain is quite a pleasure, especially if there isn’t really anywhere you have to be. Anja and I discovered long ago that it could be twice as much fun in company, most specifically with each other.
Still holding my hand, she pulled me forward, testing my gait.
‘How’s the foot holding up today, Mema?’ she asked, tugging on my fingers.
‘Good-o,’ I replied, smiling across at Hamish. I wasn’t sure how to explain, and he looked puzzled under his umbrella, walking fast to keep up.
‘How about a race down to the old footbridge spot?’ Anja seemed to have decided ignoring Hamish was her best defence against awkwardness. ‘I’ll run in circles and you can go straight.’
She took off then, in a wide arc around us, like a puppy that was finally unleashed. I glanced at Hamish and shrugged.
‘What does she want us to do?’ Hamish asked, swapping the umbrella from hand to hand.
‘Race. Down that way.’ I pointed down towards a big tree at a curve in the creek.
‘Why?’
It was hard to explain our rain-running, or the ways we’d invented to even out our discrepancies in pace.
‘It’s raining,’ I said, hoping it was enough.
‘Why’s she running in circles?’
I looked down at my foot. ‘To make it fair, I guess.’
Anja stopped in front of us then, oblivious to the raindrops bouncing off her face.
‘Come on, Mema!’ Her eyes were bright.
She finally spoke to Hamish, ‘Come on, flood guy!’
‘It’s better if we do,’ I said to him. ‘Everything is better.’
Hamish looked from me to Anja, uncertain. A few seconds ticked by, like he was weighing things up, and then he tucked the umbrella down low over his head and took off jogging in the direction I’d pointed.
‘He thinks we’re crazy,’ I whispered to Anja.
‘Flick your hood back,’ Anja said. ‘You know it works better when you get totally wet!’
She reached over and pushed my hood away and the raindrops started pelting my head. Pretty soon my hair would be soaked and the drips would slide down my face, down the back of my neck.
‘I need it today, Mema. I need it. Dad’s been real bad,’ she blurted out, looking down at the ground. ‘I don’t care about the flood guy. I don’t care what he thinks.’
‘Alright.’ I knew the deal and I wrapped my arms around her, giving her a squeeze. She was wet and cold and jumpy. ‘Let’s run.’
I took off over the mushy grass and Anja circled wide around me. I guess with my foot it was more lope than run, but it always got me to where I was going. If we pushed it too hard my hips would ache and I’d be all creaky the next day. I’d been rain-running since I was real small so I guess I was used to it. Somehow or other, even with the bung foot, my body had taken up the slack.
It wasn’t long before we caught up to Hamish, warding off the rain with the umbrella.
‘Where exactly are we headed?’ he called out to me.
There were all different places we liked to go along the creek, but when we raced it was always to the same spot. ‘See that big tree down there where the creek curves? On the last flat?’ I shouted back, beginning to pant. ‘There used to be a footbridge there. That’s the spot. You got to run!’
He picked up his pace.
‘Go on, Anja! Stop circling me. Give him a run for his money!’ I yelled to her as she raced out in front of me.
‘You reckon?’ She was starting to puff.
‘Yep!’
And she took off like a rocket. Outstripped him in no time. I liked our rain-running, but partly I just enjoyed watching Anja. No doubt there were better runners in the world, but Anja put everything she had into it. Arms, legs, everything whirled. It wasn’t graceful but it was energy in motion.
When I got to the old footbridge spot under the tree, Anja was bright red. Her face held colour for ages after she’d run, like she’d been scalded. Hamish and her were both still faintly panting.
‘That was … funny,’ Hamish said, glancing from Anja to me. He was trying not to smile.
‘It’s alright to have a giggle.’ I was still puffed. ‘Giggling is part of it. That or having a good cry.’
Hamish laughed then, an unfamiliar sound.
‘Fuck,’ Anja said, and then her eyes welled up and spilled over.
‘Do another lap,’ I said. ‘It’ll all come out if you do another lap.’
And she took off again, out into the open paddock.
‘You do this a lot?’ Hamish asked me. Anja was just a speck, moving in the distance.
I shrugged. ‘Only when it’s raining.’
‘What about you, Mema?’ He was watching me closely. ‘Laugh or cry today?’
‘I don’t know.’ My breathing was slowing. ‘Usually it’s only the two of us and I guess we bleed into each other. Usually we do the same. Together. But with you here I’m stuck in the middle.’
‘Between laughing and crying?’
‘Yep.’
‘That’s life, I guess.’
I didn’t know what to say to that.
‘How long have you known Anja?’
‘Forever.’
‘Only forever?’
He was trying to tease me.
‘Yep.’
‘She’s …’
‘She’s pretty quirky, but I love her,’ I interrupted, not really wanting to hear his verdict.
‘She’s very beautiful.’
This took me by surprise. Anja was one thousand things besides beautiful. It bothered me that it was the only thing worth remarking on.
‘She runs pretty fast,’ I replied.
‘She’s built like a thoroughbred. It’s
no wonder.’
Anja ran about in the distance, galloping at high speed. From the way she was slowing I could see she’d cried it out. After a bit she stopped in the centre of the flat and let the rain wash over her. Hamish stood watching her, and I watched him.
‘I’ve never seen anything like this place,’ Hamish said, his blue eyes back on me. ‘It’s different.’
‘I guess.’
‘You’re different, Mema.’
I suppose deep down I knew that was true.
‘In a good way,’ he added softly.
I don’t know what it was about those words but they got inside me. When I looked back at Hamish I saw something new. Something inside me opened, just a tiny crack. When eggs hatch, cracks are how the chicks are born. The smallest of fractures and the world seeps in. So maybe it was only a glimpse of me I was seeing, a part of myself I liked that I’d kept hidden. After that I watched Hamish in a way I hadn’t done before. Keenly, as though he was the first man I’d seen. And just like that, everything changed, and it was fast, like rushing water, nearly knocking me off my feet.
5.
That evening it stopped raining and after it had been dry a while the power came back on. It was always like that. Some part of the wiring had got wet and we just waited for it to dry out. Once the weather cleared, it never took long. Anja had run home before it got dark. She was scared of her dad when he hit the booze, but she worried about him too, so she was always up and down, checking he was okay. I don’t know if I’d be able to love someone who treated me so mean, but Anja was used to it, I suppose.
It’s always a relief to get electricity back on, even though it’s nice without it. The electronic clock on the fridge starts beaming the wrong time, someone sets it, and life gets back on track. There’s a bunch of things that need power to get done—clothes in the washing machine, toast in the toaster. That low hum of machines at work slides so quickly into the background you forget how loud they sounded when they first blinked back into operation.
When the lights came back on, Sophie stumbled out of the bedroom mumbling, ‘I’m going to have a bath.’ They were the first coherent words I’d heard her say in a while.