The Ottoman Motel (10 page)

Tarden let his hand ride the air current that flashed past the
driver's window. It surfed the wind for a beautiful moment before a rogue gust pushed it back to the edge of the sill. His other hand rested lightly on the steering wheel, two fingers to keep the car on the bitumen. They'd had to take the long way to the lake; the dirt track that ran from the back of the house was slush after the rain.

The familiar beauty of the landscape never failed to captivate Tarden. His childhood, those days when memories first formed, had been framed by steel, by the static shadow-shapes of the urban fringe. Coloured in rail-yard greys, hemmed by highways in every direction and reminded of his boundaries by the burnt-out cars that never made it out. The bush, that mythical quarry for terms like
scrub
and
sea
and
outback
was nothing but an abstraction then.

And yet, here he was, twenty, thirty years later, truly knowing what the country was, his discovery all the sweeter for the extra freedoms it contained. And Robert Kuiper, a man he could have never imagined, here with him.

Robbie, Tarden had to admit, had chosen a rural life for business, not pleasure. He was a man whose veins pumped harder with more bodies around him, with less space to live in. Although Robbie spoke little of his early life, Tarden had pieced together snatches of speech and intimate, near-sleep whispers. He had a blurred image of a large family, a childhood fortressed by money, an unimpeded view of opportunity in a country of skewed privilege. Robbie's upbringing went some way to explaining his almost ravenous sense of entitlement; he and his family had suffered much, Tarden gathered, since apartheid's demise.

He knew Robbie had once been a confident, bulletproof spirit. The head of his own company, a shining light of commerce. It saddened him deeply, this listless, apathetic, shadow of the man Tarden imagined he once was. Even when they first met, in the grey-washed light of prison—where every spirit was inevitably dampened—Robbie was a rare point of brilliance. Sharp where other minds were blunt, alert where others slumped; attractive in a way no one else had ever been.

Tarden glanced over. ‘You right there?'

Kuiper shrugged, staring into his lap. He was wearing the same black shirt he'd been wearing for the past three days. ‘Hungry.'

‘Really? We only had breakfast a couple of hours ago.'

‘Yeah. Well.' Kuiper brought his hands up to his face.

Tarden stared straight ahead at the road. Without realising it, his fingers had hardened to the steering wheel. The thing he was most worried about was how much Robbie was using. Since the kid's parents had arrived—and the complications that came with them—Robbie had been on edge.
More
on edge.

Kuiper reached into the backseat and came back with a sun-melted chocolate bar. ‘Want one?'

‘What sort is it?'

‘I dunno. Something.' The wrapper had faded to a light brown.

Kuiper tore off the top with his teeth and spat it out. ‘Mars Bar,' he said with a mouth full of caramel.

‘I'll be fine,' said Tarden.

‘Come on,' Kuiper said. ‘Helps you work, rest and play.' He waggled the moist end of the bar at the corner of Tarden's mouth.

‘I said I'm fine.' Tarden brushed away Kuiper's hand.

‘Suit yourself.' Kuiper went for another mouthful. ‘Ah, fucking hell.' He put the half-finished bar on the dashboard to peer at his shirt. He found the dropped chocolate and tried to rub it off. White, chalky stains began to appear.

‘Fucking thing,' he said. ‘How am I supposed to eat one of these fucking things without it dropping all over my fucking shirt? Piece of shit!' He spat on his fingers and rubbed them against the cotton, then picked up the Mars Bar and threw it out the window. ‘This wouldn't have happened if I could've fucking eaten at home.'

Tarden had been following Kuiper's snack food tragedy with some amusement. ‘Don't worry about it. It's only a bit of chocolate.'

Kuiper sneered at the dashboard. He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I'm not worried,' he said. ‘Only a bit of chocolate.'

Tarden looked back at the road.

‘It's just that I don't like being dragged out on a perfectly good—' Kuiper's hands flailed, ‘whatever the hell day it is. Couldn't even have a shower. I mean, why are we even bothering to go out there? It's not as if anyone's going to—'

‘You told Madaline we would. Besides, everyone else is going out to help.'

‘I say a lot of things, Jack. It might surprise you to know I don't follow up on all of them.'

Tarden took a hand off the wheel and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I just think it's a nice thing to do for the kid, if no one else.'

Kuiper slid back in his seat. ‘Nothing nice about it. We're only doing it to make sure this thing doesn't get any more complicated than it has to.'

‘You've got to feel for him, though, don't you? And Ned…it can't be that easy.'

Kuiper wheezed out a laugh. ‘Well I guess I'm what they call
objective
. I don't spend as much time fraternising at Ned's house as some others.'

‘That's not fair.' Before the words left his mouth, Tarden regretted rising to the bait. He hadn't told Robbie about Iris being related to the Sawyers. He shrugged. ‘I help out where I can. Ned's a good man.'

‘Surely they don't need that much help. What is it you're really after, Jack-me-lad?'

Tarden breathed out heavily. ‘I'm not going to continue this conversation.'

‘And why is that?'

‘Firstly, Robbie, because it's a stupid question, and secondly, because I know your brain's halfway up in the ether.'

Kuiper spat out the window. He bit his lip, then laughed and leaned back against the headrest. ‘The funny thing,' he said, ‘is that some people can't see what's right in front of them.'

Tarden returned his eyes to the road, silent.

The water from the lake gleamed like metal, glittering through the trees, reflecting back what little sunlight there was into focused, knife-sharp flashes. Simon sat in the back of Ned's blue station wagon. Gin was in the front passenger seat and Audrey sat next to Simon in the back. Pony had disappeared when Ned went looking for him, and Simon was somehow disappointed not to have him here as well.

They followed the faint dust-spray of Madaline's Corolla as it threaded its way carefully along the rain-pocked road. Audrey's hand brushed his as they drove over a pothole. She seemed to have forgiven him for his words about her mother, about not believing in ghosts. Gin had changed into a new outfit. Red T-shirt and shorts, with
Flash Gordon
written in comic book writing on both. Ned's hair made its way through the gap in the driver's headrest, blonde strands ruffling in the wind.

Underneath his borrowed jumper, Simon's borrowed shirt was beginning to itch. He had left his own things in the plastic bag Madaline had brought; he would put on proper clothes when he was back with his parents. He put his cheek up against the door, but it was harsh fabric, not the warm leather of his parents' car. He watched the sky. It was bare of snaking powerlines but shapes still fractured the clouds: snarling, palsied wolves and dragons.

Audrey tapped him on the shoulder and put an envelope in his hand. On the envelope, in triple-layered writing, was his name. Simon remembered how he used to write like this sometimes, holding three textas together at once, writing like a rainbow.

‘What's this?' he said.

‘Just open it.'

Simon opened the envelope and some glitter fell out onto his lap. Inside was a card, with leaves pressed to its front. Audrey grinned at him.

Dear Simon, You are cordially invited to Julian (Gin) Gale's 5th Birthday Party. Venue: Our House. Time: 11am-3pm. Please RSVP to Audrey Gale, 1st Floor.

‘Thank you,' said Simon.

‘You're welcome,' Audrey replied. ‘It's tomorrow. You and your mum and dad can come.'

Simon smiled.

They rounded the lake and came out at the top of a gravel carpark where a dozen or so cars were parked. Simon didn't recognise any of them, except for Tarden's yellow four-wheel-drive. Simon's whole body jolted. Where was his parents' car? He felt a fresh squirt of panic. Maybe Madaline had taken it as evidence as well. Maybe there was more than one carpark.

Ned parked the car. He turned around in his seat. ‘Simon,' he said, ‘we don't have to stay here. Any time you want to leave, you just tell me.'

Simon nodded. His face felt like a cold flannel.

‘He'll be fine,' said Audrey. ‘Won't you?' She picked up Simon's hand and squeezed it. ‘There's nothing to be scared of.'

Ned and Gin got out. Simon undid his seatbelt and sat for a moment with his fingers on the door handle.

‘It's really okay,' said Audrey. ‘We're all here to help you.' She had a mole at the corner of her eye that Simon hadn't noticed before.

Simon got out of the car. Magpie Lake was a white place: not light, but bleached. Nothing like the postcard picture he had imagined: it was grey water and naked granite, weary winter grass. He stared out across the lake.

Groups of people had gathered below the carpark. They'd formed tight circles on the grass, mostly men. Fishermen, Simon guessed, who knew the lake. They were smoking, laughing, drawing shoe-patterns in the dirt. Schoolchildren waiting for their teacher. Simon noticed Jack Tarden talking to two other men. One was thin, his neck bent down like a vulture, wearing a peaked cap. A trail of cigarette smoke whispered from his fingers. The other man was large, with curly black hair, wearing a blue and black chequered shirt that was dark in waves where his sweat had stained it.

Madaline busied herself in the boot of her car and emerged with large rolls of paper and a megaphone. Gin was walking along the top of one of the wooden barriers that fenced the carpark, his arms outstretched for balance.

Audrey came up next to Simon. ‘They'll probably use a grid,' she said.

‘What do you mean?'

‘They divide a map up into a grid, and then every grid gets
a number. You cross each number off on a list so you know
where you've looked.' She made hatch-patterns in the air with her fingers.

‘How do you know?'

‘I've done it before.'

‘When?'

‘I just have,' she said. ‘And that's how you do it.'

Simon imagined black lines running away from him, down over the rocks. ‘What about the water?' he said.

‘The water?'

‘How do gridlines work on the water? You can't walk across it to check.'

‘No,' said Audrey, ‘of course you can't do gridlines on the water. That's just stupid. What a stupid thing to say.' She turned around and walked off to watch Gin balance-beaming.

Simon went over to where the other searchers were gathering—most standing in a large semicircle around Madaline's car. A
large piece of paper was spread over the bonnet, weighted down
by a megaphone and what looked like a walkie-talkie. Simon counted twenty-three people, the rising wind tugging at their clothes. To the edge of the group, the waitress from the Ottoman was looking off into the distance, slowly revolving the piercing under her lip.

A little further away, Madaline and Ned were talking to Tarden, along with the thin smoking man and the fat checked-shirt man. Ned saw Simon and beckoned him over. ‘We're about to start the search,' said Madaline, ‘and I just wanted to know how much a part of it you wanted to be—whether you want to go with one of the teams, or just stay here.' She made it sound like a playground game.

‘Are you using a grid?' said Simon.

‘A grid?'

‘On a map. Are you using a grid on a map?'

Madaline's face looked half-amused, half-worried. She said, ‘Something like that. We're going to have different teams search different parts of the dam. We're going to lead one each.' She motioned to the others. ‘You know Mr Tarden of course.'

Tarden nodded. ‘Jack,' he said, ‘please.'

‘This,' said Madaline, ‘is Mr Kuiper. A friend of Jack's.'

The thin man smiled at Simon. He had thick lines under
his eyes, and at the corners of his mouth. ‘Hello, Simon. A
pleasure.' He had a strange, high-strung voice and an accent Simon didn't recognise.
Kuiper
, thought Simon.
Viper
.

‘This is Mr Patterson.' Madaline gestured at the fat man. ‘He owns the Ottoman.'

‘Call me Nat.' He smiled at Simon. His skin was brown and soft, like Madaline's leather chair. Curls hung over his forehead like the tendrils on ferns. ‘Pleased to meet you, Simon.' He reached out his hand and Simon shook it. Nat's fingers were brown, but his palms were pink.

‘Nat's going to lead one of the teams,' said Madaline. ‘His family used to live around the mountains out this way.'

Simon looked at Nat, wide-eyed. ‘Really?'

‘A while ago,' said Nat. ‘Before I was born. I'm sure it's all up here somewhere, though.' He tapped his head.

Kuiper suddenly began to cough violently. He doubled over, hugging his waist with his arms. He quickly straightened up and cleared his throat. ‘Sorry,' he said. ‘My allergies are hell this time of year.' He wiped an invisible tear from the corner of his eye. ‘Where were we, Madaline?'

Simon felt Kuiper's sharp accent cut through him.

Madaline took off her hat and put it under her arm. ‘Well,' she said, ‘I just need to talk to Simon about what he wants to do this morning.' She crouched down so her eyes were at Simon's height. ‘Do you know if you want to come along with any of the teams?'

‘Yes,' said Simon. ‘I think so.'

Ned rubbed his hands together. ‘I was thinking maybe Simon could come with me,' he said. ‘I could take the other kids as well, just down around the shoreline. Nothing too hectic.'

‘That might be good,' said Madaline. ‘Simon, does that sound okay? Going with Ned and Audrey?'

Simon thought for a moment. ‘All right,' he said. ‘But how will we know if another team has found my parents?'

Madaline removed a metal whistle attached to some string from her pocket. ‘Each leader has one of these.' She strung the whistle around her neck. ‘If anyone…When someone finds your parents, all they have to do is blow on the whistle. You'll be able to hear it for miles out here.'

Simon looked out at the surrounding hills. He imagined the sound of a whistle circling the dam. ‘Okay,' he said.

‘Good lad,' said Ned, zipping up his green jacket so it closed up just under his chin.

‘All right,' said Madaline. ‘Let's go.'

They made their way over to Madaline's car, where the rest of the search party were waiting. Simon's stomach pitched and reeled like a wave-tossed boat, but his head was somehow clearing. Any sense of fantasy, of imagination, was leaving him. This was real. This was his answer. The pain of not knowing would be replaced by one overpowering truth: everything, eventually, had to end.