by Pene Henson
Claudie can’t help imagining Lien listening. The girl always listened with so much of herself. Claudie touches the stack of CD cases on the table. Lien packed these up. It’s kind of her to send them. It’s a bit of a boost to hear this right now.
Claudie turns the music up and opens the windows to the treetops. She sits in the chair she slept in that first night Lien was there.
The lyrics aren’t relevant; it’s not a song about a crush on a faraway girl you can never have. Claudie thinks about Lien nevertheless.
When the first CD finishes she opens a second. Lien’s put a note with this one, too:
“Track 4 is wonderful. I know you’re happy where you are, but I am convinced that there is a market for your solo work. I’m not just saying that. I know the industry, and I have an ear for what’s next. People would be excited about this stuff.”
Claudie’s not sure. But performing at the bar has become the best part of her week, and these recordings unlock a longing in her.
She’s booked to play at Sheila’s open mic the next night. Everyone’s there. She cheers for one guy who plays some pretty awesome folk. When she gets on the stage she plays some Rolling Stones. Then she plays an original, something she’s played over and over again out in the bush for the past couple of years, something she played for Lien. It goes over well with everyone except Loop. But then, it's not Billy Joel.
“Sorry, Loop,” she says. “Next time I’ll play ‘Downeaster Alexa’ for you. But this one’s something new.”
When she's done, she sits with Shelley and some of the other locals.
“Did you hear they’re moving the sand out of the park?” one of the guys asked.
“The mining-waste sand. That’s good isn’t it?” Claudie says. They don’t mine coal in the park any more but there are reminders of that history.
“You won’t be the one watching ten trucks a day go down your fucking unsealed road.”
“You got a better idea to get it out of there, Graeme?” Shelley asks.
“Nah. Nah. Just wanted to make sure you all knew.”
“That was a gorgeous set, Claudie,” says one of the women.
“You’re killing it,” says Shelley and pats Claudie’s thigh. “Thatta girl.”
Claudie’s only now ready to make these connections. She doesn’t blame herself for that. Still, it seems pretty stupid to get to know these people right when she’s realized it’s time to go.
Claudie calls Shelley before she does anything, before she even calls the National Parks and Wildlife Service. In Shelley’s house, they sit on the soft red and cream striped sofa and drink herbal tea as though they’re a couple of hippies.
“I’m thinking about moving back to Sydney, Shell.”
Shelley nods and says, “I knew it. Ah, hell. I’m so happy for you.”
“You knew?”
“Well, of course, sis. You’ve got the city in your veins, too. And your music. As soon as you called about the open mic I figured it was all over. I didn’t know how long it’d take you to catch up.”
“I could do music up here.” Claudie’s not sure whether she’s trying to get Shelley to convince her to stay or to go.
“You could, but you haven’t.”
“Fair point.”
Shelley sighs. “I only hope they find someone kind of decent to replace you. I’ll make them let me do the interviews. I have an eye for that kind of thing.”
The whole thing’s going more easily than Claudie expected. She expected resistance, but only her pride minds that it’s not there.
“You’re not angry?” asks Claudie after a quiet moment.
“Of course not. It’s your life. And I reckon it’s the right decision for you. I liked you being here, but I’m not about to try and keep you.” Shelley frowns. “I am a bit annoyed about one thing, though. I wanted you to be here when I, uh—No one except Dylan knows yet but I’m having a kid.”
“Oh, my god.”
Shelley turns back to Claudie and smiles as if she can’t stop. “Yep. Watch out world, there’s going to be a mini-Shelley running around.”
“Maybe the kid’ll take after Dylan.”
“If we’re lucky.” Shelley laughs.
“I’m so happy for you. That’s amazing.”
“I know. Australia could do with another proud Bundjalung kid.”
It’s not only Claudie’s life that’s changing. Everything moves on. Shelley and Dylan will be teaching their kid about wildlife and camping and their language. Claudie gives her a hug. They don’t hug often, but it’s not awkward. Claudie wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Shelley sniffs.
“Well, it’s a long way off yet. Gives a mother time to get ready, I guess. More tea?”
As Claudie leaves, she says, “I’m nervous.”
Shelley nods. “I’ll bet you are. You haven’t taken a risk like this in years. It’s a good risk, though.”
“I don’t want to lose what I’ve found here, either. The wilderness, and you.”
Shelley says, “You’re not losing us. The park will always be here. Me too. Come up and stay with me and Dylan and the sprog any time.”
“Thanks, Shelley.”
14
A morning mist has settled on the mountain. Shelley drives with one hand as she takes a gulp of her coffee. She offered to bring Claudie down to Casino for the Sydney train despite the painfully early departure time. They drive past tangled trees covered in vines. As the car breaks free of the bushland, the sun dispels the mist and lifts over green and gold grasslands. The road scores sweeping curves through the fields as far as they can see.
Shelley says, “You reckon you’ll see that Lien girl once you’re back in Sydney?”
Claudie’s heart compresses at Lien’s name, even in Shelley’s broad accent. “No,” she says.
Shelley narrows her eyes.
“Hey, we had an interesting few days, but she’s dating someone else. She’s the kind of girl who’s always dating someone else. She’ll never stay still.”
“I’m not sure that’s a reason not to see her. She took the time to send you all that music. Maybe you should take a chance.”
Claudie shakes her head. There are enough risks in going to Sydney. “She sent me music because she’s into music. If she wanted to see me, she’d have sent her number. Anyway, I’ve got to rebuild a life in Sydney. I can’t spend time hunting down people I’ve got no reason to see.”
“You like her. That’s a reason.”
“I like a lot of people.”
Shelley laughs. “You’re a big old liar, Claudie Sokolov.”
Claudie grins. “I like you.”
Shelley laughs again. “I’ll give you that one.”
Casino station’s quiet. The train is already here. Claudie and Shelley stand in the parking lot. The moment warrants a quick, fierce squeeze. Claudie lifts her head to the bright sky and blinks back tears.
“You were here the longest,” Shelley says. She sniffs. “Of all the rangers. It’s supposed to be a short-term role. Six months to one year, they say. You stayed.”
“I stayed because I loved it.”
Shelley shrugs. “I know. And also because you were hiding.”
Claudie bites her lip and doesn’t argue. “Not any more, I guess.”
They stand together. Shelley shifts on her feet. “Right, well the train’s due to leave. You’d better get on. I’ll miss you, sis.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
Shelley squeezes Claudie’s hand before she walks back to the parking lot. She turns back before she leaves the station. Claudie lifts a hand in farewell.
It’s thirteen hours by train to Sydney, down the long coastline of New South Wales. Claudie has two seats to herself. The first part of the journey is mostly farmland. This summer’s rains have kept the f
ields green. Cows watch the train pass. Toward Coffs Harbour, banana plantations press up against the train line. There’s a brief point where the train crosses a sandy inlet and the ocean emerges between the trees, an endless dazzling blue. Claudie naps for some of the morning, scribbles some new songs in a notepad, eats a breakfast bar and later a sandwich. Towns slip past, then more bushland and hills rolling into the ocean.
Slowly, the city of Sydney spreads out before her. Shops and cars appear alongside the train tracks. The bushland thins. Claudie’s in the suburbs of Sydney, surrounded by brick homes and backyards and suburban streets, long before she can see the city skyline.
She sent most of her gear into storage until she finds somewhere to live. She has two guitars, though, and a bag full of the clothes that will work in Sydney as the season turns from summer.
Her parents collect her from the station nearest their place. Her mother’s waiting as she exits the platform.
“Sweetheart,” Regina Sokolov says. Her hair is as long as it was when Claudie was a kid and tied in a thick, steel gray ponytail. She holds Claudie by the shoulders to inspect her. “Are you still growing?” she asks.
“Not since high school.” Claudie smiles down at her.
“Your father’s with the car,” Regina says.
The car’s the same make they had growing up, an ordinary white sedan. Her father helps lift her bags and guitar in. He’s lost weight since she last saw him and his pants sit oddly around his hips, but his round face and gray eyes are bright with humor.
“Your room’s ready,” her mother says once they’re in the car. She turns to pat Claudie’s knee. Claudie feels young, here in the backseat again.
“I made your mother put some of her boxes of books in the attic,” her dad adds.
“They weren’t all mine, Vedran.”
“They were fluid dynamics texts, Reggie. You’re a physics professor. I’m a biochemist. They certainly weren’t mine.”
“Thanks for letting me stay, guys,” Claudie interrupts before they start arguing about the relative value of the various sciences. Her sister’s a hydraulic engineer. Claudie’s out-of-left-field career in music had surprised them all, but the family’s never been anything but supportive, if slightly confused.
“Of course we want you to stay with us,” says her mother. “We’re delighted. Your father wants someone who’ll play Scrabble with him.”
“‘Eulerian’ is not a Scrabble word, Regina.”
“No, dear,” her mother says.
Claudie’s touched that they’re willing to take her in with no fuss. They made no fuss about her leaving Sydney either.
“A cabin,” her mother said. “I can imagine you there.”
“Can you handle the loneliness?” her father asked.
“It’s only a year-long contract,” Claudie said. “And I’ve been unhappy for a while. I need some time to regroup, I think.” But as soon as she got to the cabin she loved it and needed it and had stayed three years.
The house is at the edge of the bush, far from the train line to the city. Claudie will need to find herself an apartment soon, preferably one closer to public transport than her parents’ place. She’ll also need a job. She has a bit of a financial buffer; she’s hardly used any money in the last three years. The cabin came with the job, and she barely left it. But she doesn’t want to spend everything she has. Music’s easier to make when you know you have money for food.
“You’ll want a shower I expect,” says her mother. “And we’ve saved your dinner.”
“I’ll set up a game of whist for later,” says her father. “Or royal rummy.”
Claudie’s old room is bare-walled and mostly empty, aside from the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that still seem to hold an impressive number of scientific texts. She sets her guitars in the corner, plops her bag on the floor, and sits on the single bed. Her posters used to hang here; she studied at the desk against the window. This was where she started dreaming of music and of women: the Lilith Fair and Tracey Chapman and Liz Phair.
She’ll feel better after a shower. And a game of rummy might be fun, if she can recall the rules.
It’s a tough time to be finding a place to rent in Sydney. At least, that’s what it seems based on the legions of people who are at the first open house Claudie attends. The real estate agent is narrow-lipped and unwilling to answer questions. Claudie stalks out and doesn’t bother to fill out an application. She’s not going to get this place. She doesn’t even have a regular job.
She’s searching for an apartment in the Eastern Suburbs: Darlinghurst, Paddington, Rose Bay. She tries not to think about the fact that Lien lives near here. That’s not what matters, it’s certainly not why she’s here. This might be Lien’s neighborhood now, but long ago it was Claudie’s too. She was one of the artists making the place. She doesn’t know the bars and the locals by name any more but she knows the streets and the history.
The first nine hundred and seventy-five places she inspects are no good. Either there are a hundred applicants crowded into the living room and bedroom looking at the poorly built wardrobe or the wall has an actual hole in it or the place has no running water. Claudie’s lived without running water in the bush, but this is Sydney. She needs to wash.
The nine hundred and seventy-sixth place is perfect. It has a nice neat kitchen and even a glimpse of Sydney Harbour if you stand on one foot and lean from the balcony. Claudie fills out an application form. But the agent’s already shaking hands with a polished looking Indian couple, so no doubt they’ll get that place.
Claudie stops at a bar on the corner. The bartender inspects Claudie as she pulls the beer.
“New to the neighborhood?” she asks as she hands over the cold glass.
“Not really,” says Claudie.
It’s early afternoon on a Wednesday, so the place is pretty empty. Two guys are gazing into one another’s eyes in the corner. Claudie sits alone in a window that looks onto the sidewalk.
Across the street is a row of shops. A girl with a sheet of black hair, brown legs, and a short white dress looks into the window of one of them. Claudie recognizes Lien. She looks down at her beer, unable to breathe and unsure what she should say. When she looks up again the girl’s closer and isn’t Lien at all; she’s white-skinned and blue-eyed and taller than Lien by approximately five feet.
Claudie shakes her head. She keeps expecting Lien around every corner and at every bus stop and in the queue for coffee, even though Lien doesn’t drink coffee. Now Claudie’s fucking seeing things.
The shop the girl was looking into is a guitar place. It has a “help wanted” sign in its window. Claudie finishes her beer in three mouthfuls and crosses over.
“Hi. You’re looking for someone?” she asks, indicating the notice.
The woman behind the counter nods. She leans forward to shake Claudie’s hand. “Yep. You got a CV?”
Claudie hands it over. The woman scans it, then she scans Claudie. The woman is not young, but she’s wearing a kitten T-shirt, her skin is brown, her dark eyes are round, and her blue hair is in short pigtails that stick out from her head.
“I’m Dee Dobbins, the owner.” She studies Claudie, looks back at the resume. “I remember your band around town a while back. You guys…” She trails off and frowns. “And you’ve spent the past few years—?”
“Working as a park ranger up north.”
Dee raises her eyebrows. “What, a bit of a tree change?”
Claudie blushes and opens her mouth to answer.
“Nah, sorry, mate,” Dee says. “Stupid question. I’m not laughing at you. It’s a huge thing to work alone. I can’t even imagine.” She barely pauses. “You’re gonna get back into music. Play Sydney?”
Claudie nods. “Yeah.” It’s the first time she’s said it so clearly. “That’s the plan.”
Dee nods s
lowly. “And you want a day job. You ever worked retail?”
“No. Though I manned the band’s merch table for the first couple of years.”
“Can you restring a guitar?”
“Of course.” Claudie’s restrung a six string in the middle of a set while she kept right on singing.
“Okay.” The woman looks at her with her head tipped to one side. “Right. The job’s part time. Weekend days and Thursday nights are my busiest times so I’ll need you then as much as possible. We’ll be flexible other than that. When can you start?”
“As soon as you want me.”
“I’ve got six guitars out back that need stringing. Want to start now?”
“Sure.” Claudie’s warmed to Dee.
Dee looks at the clock on the wall. “I make it one-thirty.”
It takes a couple of hours to restring and then tune each guitar. Then Dee teaches her to handle payments and the phone. Claudie tries not to show how much she doesn’t like having to answer the phone.
On the train home, Claudie stretches her legs out and leans against the window. She’s tired. A train draws up beside them, heading the same way for this stretch of track. The carriages move in sync, making everything seem slow motion. A little kid is staring out the window. They travel side-by-side.
The commute home is not short. It’s two trains, then a bus. But at least it’s a commute now, not just a trip. She has a job she can put on the rental applications.
Through the window of the bus, the light’s evening soft, and the streets wind around the bush. Claudie grew up here. It’s not home, but nowhere really is. She gets off a stop early and walks.
Claudie finds an apartment down the road from the guitar shop. The place is tiny, but it’s at the back of the building and it has a fire escape and an outlook over some trees. She'll have room for some potted plants and herbs on the tiny balcony. She can walk to the shop, the bus, and about seven hundred local bars.