Out of Alice (18 page)

She flung up her hands. ‘Oh, why not? She'll only be hot and crabby here. She can help keep an eye on her grandfather – for all the good that'll do.'

‘He'll be careful,' Sara promised. ‘Won't you, Frank?'

He grinned penitently and patted his wife's hand. ‘Looks like I don't get a choice. 'Course I will.'

Becky, to her disgust, still had to do schoolwork.

‘We're not leaving until this afternoon,' Sara pointed out. ‘And you know you'll only have to catch up later.'

‘But it's so hot in the schoolroom when the fan isn't on!'

‘We can take it outside under the trees. You bring your chair and I'll get the little table from the verandah.'

It was so much cooler that they all ate lunch out there too. Copious watering since the previous week's dust storm had brought the lawn through in a greener state than before, and new leaf buds, Sara noticed, were already showing on the lemon. Jack had put in a brief appearance at the meal, wolfed down egg sandwiches, and left again. The knuckles on his right hand were barked from where a spanner had slipped against metal casing. He had found further damage to the wiring that morning.

‘Isn't it dangerous to mess with?' Sara asked worriedly. ‘I mean, you aren't a proper – a trained electrician, are you?'

‘No, but Blind Freddy could stick a finger in it now and nothing would happen. And I'm not sure I appreciate my work being called
messing,
thanks very much.'

‘You know what I mean.' Sara tossed her curls and bit into her sandwich. ‘I know you fixed Mavis's fridge but that's a bit different to a generator.'

‘Yeah. It was gas,' he agreed. The skin about his eyes crinkled in private amusement. ‘Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. And while I think of it, Len, you'd best chuck my swag on. Give the girls somewhere to stretch out when you take a break.'

It was on the load next to a roped-down agricultural bike when they were ready to leave. Sara had pulled on jeans, sneakers and long-sleeved shirt; she then took up her hat and left her stifling room to check on Becky and tell Helen they were off. The child's hair was a sweaty tangle, her face scarlet.

‘It's
boiling
in here, Sara. Can you plait me, please?'

‘What about a ponytail for now and plaits later?'

‘Okay. Dad already loaded Pop's bike. He's gonna ride the other one out to Canteen bore. Can you ride a motorbike, Sara?'

‘No, I can't, chicken.'

‘Sam can. Dad was learning him before he got sick.'

‘You mean teaching. There. Where are your spare scrunchies?' She pocketed a couple and was ready. ‘Let's go.'

Outside the sun hit them like a blow. Sara could feel the burn of it through her shirt and was grateful for her sunglasses and the heavy straw brim of her hat. Frank was a better driver than his son-in-law, who had roared away before them, raising a thin plume of dust that hung, reddish brown above the mulga, until caught and absorbed by their own.

At Canteen bore they pulled into the sparse shade and waited while Frank's bike was unloaded, then the two men collected the camped cattle and drove them slowly away in a nor-westerly direction towards the new bore. She and Becky sat on in the Toyota, both doors wide open for coolness, watching the slowly weaving backs and the bony rumps of the cattle disappear. They were travelling across country, whereas the vehicle would go by the road, the start of which Sara could see heading off into the scrub. Her directions were to follow it for five kilometres, then pull up and wait until the cattle caught up.

‘Don't be anxious,' Frank had cautioned. ‘It'll take a while. You can boil the billy if you want when you hear us coming.'

‘We'll be fine,' Sara said. And now here she was, alone in the bush with a child, desperately hoping that she would be able to follow the track that served as a road, and not wind up lost. A little breeze rose, carrying the smell of dust and the faint odour of dead flesh that seemed to hang over all the bores. It touched her face, as dry and hot as the bare ground where the desiccated cow pats, almost ground to dust, darkened the soil. She was suddenly glad of the water drum lashed to the headboards of the vehicle. There was a full container in the footwell besides, even if it was lukewarm. The knowledge comforted her in a way she would once not have considered possible. The mill moaned as the tail swung about, turning it out of the wind, and Sara realised that the shade had inched its way off the cab and long shadows now lay across the dusty ground. Her watch told her it was after five.

‘Well.' She leaned forward to turn the key, winking at her now be-plaited charge. ‘Here we go, then.'

They drove and waited. The vehicle was heavier than Sara was accustomed to, the steering stiffer. At first she crept along, uncomfortable with the narrowness and inequalities of the track, but as her confidence increased her body relaxed and she drove more easily. Becky chattered and bounced in her seat, then sneezed explosively when the front wheel sank into a hole, sending a shower of dust in through the open window. The gear on the back would be smothered, Sara thought, hoping the tucker-box was firmly sealed.

The five-kilometre limit put them on an open space that Becky called a clay pan. It was a wide red surface, hard as marble, fringed at the edge with mulga. The moment the vehicle stopped Becky bustled off to collect sticks for a fire, then scraped up the narrow grey leaves from under the trees to serve as kindling. Sara was impressed.

‘You know quite a bit,' she said admiringly. Becky wriggled with pleasure at the praise.

‘Me and Sam go out sometimes when the muster's on. Mum comes too. It's fun.'

‘I can see it would be.'

‘Only we didn't muster this year.' Becky spoke wistfully. ‘And Dad sent all the horses down to Uncle Jack's place, 'cept for Star and Lancer. I
wish
it would rain, Sara. Mrs Murray says it will, in God's good time, but when's that?'

‘I don't know, chicken. Do you think we should fill the billy now so it's ready for later?'

Time passed and the light slowly died, the sky leaching to lavender, then grey. The tops of the mulga were silhouetted briefly against it, their branches like pencil strokes, until they merged with their background. The stars shone palely and for the first time Sara noticed the almost-full moon. It cast shadows about the vehicle as she lit the fire, stood the billy beside it and investigated the food supply, wondering if it had gone off in the heat. But Helen would have thought of that.

Becky was up on the load, tugging at the canvas rolled bedding. ‘We have to get the swags off, Sara. Dad always says only cavemen squat. What's a caveman?'

‘Does he? It means when people lived in caves because they didn't have houses, or furniture,' Sara explained. ‘A long time ago.' She helped tumble the two swags off the vehicle and discovered they did make excellent seats. Becky, wriggling herself comfortable, tipped her face to the stars, and sighed contentedly.

‘This is nice. Tell me a story, Sara?'

‘I've got a better idea. Suppose you tell
me
one. All about how you muster – and don't leave anything out.'

The ploy kept Becky amused until the arrival of the cattle, heralded by the faint popping purr of the motorbikes. The mob itself made very little sound, only the click of their hooves as they filed onto the clay pan, black humps in the moonlight with the occasional pale flash of a horn. Once the cattle settled and had begun to lie down, the men switched their bikes off and came to the fire. Helen had made a curry, which Sara reheated, and there were bread rolls but no butter. Frank's first action had been to rig the trouble light, a bulb with a long cord that plugged into the cigarette lighter and cast a brilliant glow over the cutlery, plates and sugar tin that Sara had arranged beside the tucker-box.

‘No problems?' he'd asked, and she shook her head and looked at Len.

‘How far should I go this time?'

‘The next stage is to the fence. They won't walk much further without a spell. Well, just through the fence to where the dozer is. Wait there until we catch up. We'll be a while, past midnight, I'd reckon, so roll a swag out and have a camp. With luck we'll pick up a few more head on the way.'

Once the cattle had gone Sara packed up and prepared to set out again. The night air had cooled and with a bit of imagination, she thought, you could make the clay pan and surrounding scrub into a silver-stippled glade in some forest. She unplugged the light, brushing away the amazing quantity of insects that had flocked to it. No wonder there were bats! An owl called from the darkness and she jumped.

‘What's that?'

‘A boobook. They're like little night birds. I saw one once, all fluffy with big eyes. He was so cute. We shoulda brought a torch.'

‘You're right,' Sara said. ‘Hop in.'

The fence when they reached it glittered silver in the headlights, but the wire gate flummoxed Sara. She stood pulling vainly at the double loop holding it shut until Becky got grumpily out to advise her.

‘You have to lift the lever. On the other side.'

‘Oh, I see.' Sara climbed through the wires and tugged without result.

‘You have to take the pin out first!'

Between them they got it open and in a moment of inspiration Sara, instead of closing it, pulled it wide. ‘For the cattle,' she said. ‘Now, where's this bulldozer?'

The dozer stood beside a wide swath of pushed mulga, lapped by a sea of billowing grey bush. They used the headlights to find firewood, then Sara tipped the swags over the side and unrolled one beside the vehicle. Becky's grumpiness had changed to yawns and in three minutes she was asleep, face pillowed on a grey blanket and one hand curled into her neck. Sara readied the billy and pannikins, found the sugar tin and block of fruit cake Helen had provided, then built up the fire before lying down beside her. It was a little after ten so she had two hours, at least, to wait. She looked for the stars that Becky had shown her, and wondered how Jack's repairs were going. Her bedroom would be stifling and she was glad to be in the cool night air, even if the blanket she lay on smelled faintly of dust. Well, everything did. It would be so wonderful to see this barren land transformed by rain, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Just stars, millions and millions of them, and the white, impassive face of the moon . . .

Sara slept, unaware of the little mob of cattle that came to feed on the mulga, or later the ululating cry of a dingo hunting through the scrub. Becky moved in her sleep, her top arm coming to rest across her companion's shoulders, and at some level Sara felt it there and smiled in her sleep, her throat making a little sound of content.

Len woke her, opening the cab door to find the trouble light.

‘It's on the seat,' she said, sitting up sleepily and yawning. ‘What time is it?'

‘Half one. They've done well. Thanks for opening the gate.'

Frank made coffee and the adults drank and ate slices of the cake, leaving Becky to sleep. The cattle were shoulder deep in the mulga, branches cracking as they moved and fed. Len yawned and leaned back against his rolled swag, long legs thrust out before him.

‘We'll give 'em a coupla hours. We've picked up another fifty-odd. What do you reckon, Frank? Bit under three hundred all up?'

‘'Bout that. Maybe two seventy. They fill their bellies here, they'll be ready for a drink by the time we arrive.'

‘And that's good?' Sara asked.

‘Yeah. Cattle remember water. If they don't drink they'll want to be heading back to where they came from.'

‘I'll stay on with 'em, any road,' Len said. ‘Turn 'em back to the bore in the afternoon. Is there gonna be anything left in the tucker-box, Sara – once we've had breakfast, I mean?'

She got up to look. ‘Plenty of tins. Baked beans, peaches . . .' She moved a can towards the light to read the label. ‘And camp pie. There's sauce and more buns, they'll be getting stale, though.'

He nodded, then slid lower on the swag, tipping his hat over his eyes as he did so. Sara pushed the ends of the fire together and covered the cake. ‘You should rest too, Frank.'

‘I'm good. You sleep less as you get older. Dunno why. You'd think you'd need more.'

His face looked bonier in the moonlight, cheekbones accentuated by the deep shadow his hat cast across his eyes. His voice though sounded strangely young, at odds with the loose skin of his neck and the bony hands clasped over one knee. ‘It's good of you to help out like this. So what do you reckon about bush life now?'

Sara's face lifted towards the stars as she pondered the question. ‘It's satisfying,' she said slowly. ‘I suppose I've got involved with things in a way I never have before. And I'm learning stuff I hadn't even thought about – mainly from your granddaughter.' She watched a star streak across the heavens and vanish. ‘Sometimes it feels like it's what I'm meant to be doing, but that's crazy. At any rate I'm very glad that Beth needed help. This place beats an office job hands down.'

‘Ah, there's all sorts take to the life,' Frank said. ‘One of the best bushmen I ever met – apart from blackfellas, that is – was a Pommie bloke. Grew up in London if you can believe it. Either you take to the country or you don't. Helen did and she was city bred.' He gave a wheezy, old man's chuckle. ‘Turn either of 'em up and you'll find
Made in the Mulga
stamped on the soles of their feet.'

Sara smiled at him. ‘So it grows on Arkeela too?'

‘Yeah, anywhere there's desert. The country there isn't so flat as this, mind. We've got a few ridges and that means spinifex, but say what you like about rubbish country, that's useful too.' He talked on and Sara listened, absorbed, to tales of early struggles, and the hard years he and Helen had endured as they established themselves on the property. There had been no electricity in their first home, which sounded more like a dirt-floored shed than a proper house. There was only a single tap and the windows had been gaps in the walls.

‘Cool in summer,' Frank told her, then shivered. ‘Cold as buggery in winter, though.'