Deeper Water Page 17

  ‘So, Frank’s got a thing for your Mum.’ He changed the subject, aiming for something light. ‘I’ve been trying to get him to visit since I first arrived there, but he’s a very stubborn man.’

  I knew he didn’t have a clue about Mum, about how the town saw her. Clearly no one had enlightened him.

  ‘Do you think he’s got a chance?’

  I thought of my mum, her angry back, her silence, and I just didn’t know.

  ‘Do you?’ I asked him, unsure what else to say.

  ‘Frank’s a good sort. Your mum looks like she could do with a good sort.’

  Gazing through the green at Bessie, I thought of the day Hamish washed up. All fresh and clean from the tossing of the floodwater but quickly mucky and bloodied from saving the calf. A stranger, turning my world on its head. How could it be that nothing felt the same? I grieved it, this loss of all I had known before.

  ‘I guess we all could,’ I said with a shrug, wishing he couldn’t see my face.

  I turned then, on my bung foot, and headed back to the house. It seemed a long walk, the pup prancing along at my heels. Every now and then she would stop, peeking back at Hamish, tugging against the lead, but I just kept on walking.

  19.

  All my life I’d heard about the randomness of love. Coming at people sideways like a cyclone, wiping out life as they knew it. But my ears had never been sympathetic to love’s secret calling—my heart had not fluttered with want or need. I’d placed no trust in that thing that ripped your roof off when you least expected it. But though I had turned my back on all that love promised, still love came raging in.

  I lay awake, looking back on the days since Hamish had washed off the bridge, trying to make sense of how it happened. It had started after the rain-running. From then on whenever he was in the room my breathing had become shallow, my heart clattering around like a pigeon trapped indoors. Next, I’d found myself studying the back of his neck, as though it was a great work of art. Finally, I’d felt those awful surges of anguish when I’d pictured the other girls. All of a sudden I was aware of this terrible force within me, this uncontainable feeling, and wondered how long it had been building. I wondered how much of myself I’d missed.

  I didn’t know where to put all that misplaced emotion, where to funnel it. And so, once blooming, that love lived on inside me. Trapped and corrosive, it began to eat away at me from within. Hamish didn’t come and visit again, but my cheeks stayed hot, my heart tight and heavy as stone. There were times when I could hardly breathe. The days I didn’t see him stretched on forever. I knew he would be gone soon—off to the next place—and gradually I became wordless, his rebuff filling me with an irrational grief. How could I have done it? Fallen so hard for someone so unfixed?

  Slowly, I began to view myself with a kind of disdain. I took to disappearing with the dog he gave me on long walks down the bitumen road, boot-clad and sweltering, hoping I could stamp out my feelings. Hobbling along, I was desolate and unfathomable, even to myself. More disturbing, I could feel a pulse between my thighs that seemed to radiate upwards, making me burn.

  On my walks I tried not to examine my feelings. Tried not to analyse his every word, his every past look. But what else to fill my head with? I counted my short, hot breaths. I looked aside when the farmer’s trucks passed me, not meeting any of their prying eyes. None of them were his, so I held my face away. I focused on the green swell of the mountains around me. But I was blinded. I was disabled. For the first time, I was truly lame.

  And meanwhile, like a signal to the town at large, little Blossom came on heat. It had been so long since we’d had a young dog, we missed the first signs—the sudden spots of blood on the veranda, the late night howling of dogs in the distance. It was only when the town’s mongrels started hanging at our fence line that we began to understand. The pup herself seemed at a loss. Blossom watched the dogs pacing on the borders with uneasy eyes. She made no attempt to approach them, and in the evening we locked her indoors while we listened to the mongrels howl.

  But the days were steamy, and my love sat like a rock in my belly, so I took my little pup on those long walks, heedless of her spots of blood, and the pattering steps of dogs in the distance that didn’t dare come nearer. Like hyenas, they prowled just out of our sight. I walked and smouldered, hoping against hope I could burn my love out.

  On the third day one of the trucks slowed and crawled along beside me. I could see the bloke inside winding down his window, getting ready to ask something.

  ‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he said, cocking his head to the side. ‘Nice day for a walk.’

  This surprised me, usually they just drove on by. ‘Yeah.’ I nodded, wondering what he was after.

  ‘Fine dog,’ he added. ‘You gunna breed her?’

  He wasn’t old like Frank, but he was older than me. Maybe Sophie’s age. I didn’t know him.

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ I said, still walking, the pup at my heels.

  ‘She’s a good mix, you wouldn’t want to mate her with any old mutt.’ He inched the truck along slowly. ‘I got a beagle at home. He’s sired a few litters in his time. Nice pups they were.’

  It seemed odd to talk about mating dogs with someone I’d never met.

  I shook my head. ‘She’s still just a pup.’ I knew Blossom was on heat, but she seemed like just a baby to me.

  ‘Not for much longer.’

  I suppose that was true.

  ‘Let us know if you do want to breed her.’

  I nodded, cheeks hot, wishing he’d drive away.

  ‘Well, see ya,’ he said, glancing one last time from me to the pup.

  I lifted my hand in goodbye but I didn’t say a word. He took off then, his wheels spinning on the loose gravel at the side of the road. Blossom whimpered beside me. Out in the open I felt suddenly exposed. I cut across the paddocks and walked along the shady creek, trying to wash the feeling away. Tucking my skirt up, I carried my boots, cooling my legs in the still, crisp water. Blossom sniffed happily at the bank alongside me, looking up now and then to check things were right.

  When I walked back to the house I felt soothed. I picked a few weedy-looking dandelions from the grass and put them behind my ears. Blossom sniffed at the hem of my tucked-up skirt and I wondered if she wanted flowers too. I couldn’t place stems behind her floppy ears, so I linked some dandelions together and hung the chain about her neck.

  ‘So pretty, Blossom. Such a pretty girl.’

  She seemed to shimmy in response to my words. Maybe she was trying to shake the flowers off, but I didn’t think so. Every girl wants to look pretty sometimes.

  When I got up the top, Frank Brown’s ute was in the front yard. I started trembling on the chance he’d come. Hamish. And instantly the throbbing heat was back.

  Walking inside, all bare legs and flowers, I came face to face with Frank. His cheeks were red, and at the sight of me a rough noise spluttered from his throat. He took a step back, but he touched his hand to his forehead in greeting. I nodded in response. There was no sign of Hamish and I could feel my spirit droop.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked. There was something I was missing.

  ‘You’ve got to tie the dog up,’ Frank said, his voice steady. ‘A couple of the blokes in town have asked me to have a word.’

  Mum never lets anyone tell her what to do, but this time I saw her hesitating. She looked at Frank and shook her head, ever so slightly.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I don’t fucking believe it.’ Mum rarely swears. I glanced from her to Frank and back again.

  ‘She’s spreading her scent all over the place. Everyone’s going crazy. I don’t want there to be trouble.’

  ‘She?’ Mum said, glancing over at me with a sad smile. ‘And by that you mean the dog?’

  I looked down at my legs, all muscular and brown in the afternoon light, singlet strap hanging down my bare shoulder, hands full of flowers. I could feel my heart fluttering uneasily in my chest
.

  ‘You’re all disgusting.’ Mum held out her hand to me and I crossed the floor towards her, a kind of alarm sounding in the back of my mind. ‘Just fuck off.’

  Frank looked bewildered, like he’d taken a knock to the head.

  ‘The bitch is on heat,’ his voice was slow, choked.

  ‘Well, why don’t you tie up your dogs? It’s a simple solution, Frank.’

  My mum’s body was quivering with rage. I’d never seen her so angry. There was a tic at Frank’s temple, his eyes darted from Mum back to me. The dog was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘The dog hasn’t done anything. It’s not her fault,’ I said, knowing somewhere deep inside that Frank wasn’t here about the dog.

  ‘A whole town can’t tie up their dogs just because one bitch is on heat.’ Frank’s forehead was gathering sweat and he wiped at it with the back of his hand. ‘It’s not practical.’

  Mum shifted towards him and Frank stepped back until he was almost standing in the doorway. It was hard to tell what Mum would do from the way she was moving, but it looked like she wanted to give him a whack. When she got close, Frank held up his hands as though warding her off.

  ‘You scared of me, Frank Brown?’

  He shook his head real slow, but I could tell he was.

  ‘Just get out of my house and don’t come back.’

  Frank’s mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. Then he turned on his heels and walked back to his truck.

  ‘Mum, what’s happening?’ I asked, moving towards her, but she stepped away from me and out the door, heading to her shed.

  I followed her, my alarm rising.

  Once she got there she moved quietly between her pots, surveying them one by one. The white ones still to be fired and the coloured pots that were already done. I stood outside watching her, the fluttering, uneasy feeling in my belly only getting stronger.

  ‘Mum?’

  She didn’t even seem to hear me. The pup came slinking out from wherever she’d hidden herself and sniffed around my feet. I crouched down to give her a pat, pulling off the chain of dandelions. The flowers were a bit wilted and squashed. I knew Blossom was only a dog, but her eyes were so full of feeling—I could have sworn she was as confused as I was. The sound of the first pot smashing took me completely by surprise. I tumbled backwards from where I was squatting, the breath jolting out of me. I sucked in air and called out to Mum, but my voice came out strangled.

  Pulling myself off the ground, I stumbled into the shed. Mum held another pot high above her head, ready to slam it on the ground. There were fragments of pottery lying around her feet. A scream was building deep inside me but nothing came out. Mum’s face was red, her arms trembling under the weight of the pot, but she threw it onto the ground with such vehemence that when it smashed I could feel the earth vibrate beneath my feet.

  ‘Mum, stop!’ I yelled.

  She didn’t even look my way, but just took another one off the shelf and threw it on the floor. It always feels bad to break a plate, something that you’ve eaten off for years, wiped down at the sink and stacked carefully on the rack. And then with one clumsy movement it cracks apart and becomes useless. A broken thing, and there’s nowhere much for it but the bin. I mourned those fragments, but this was much worse. When my mum made a pot, it was taking something shapeless, a giant block of clay, and making it whole. To see her smash pots into pieces made my heart squeeze and my throat close.

  I tried to cross the floor towards her, but my feet were bare and there were so many broken pieces. I was stranded, stunned. Blossom started whimpering beside me, pushing in between my legs, trying to hide beneath my skirt.

  ‘Mum.’ My voice was raw. ‘What are you doing?’

  She didn’t answer me but hefted another pot into her arms.

  ‘Please, Mum,’ I cried out. ‘Please stop.’

  ‘Mema, baby, you don’t know anything about the world,’ she said finally, her eyes filling up. ‘You don’t know anything at all.’

  And she threw the pot, but without as much force. When it hit the ground it cracked and splintered open, but I could see the fire was gone. Mum swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand.

  ‘Mum, you’ve got no shoes. Let me run inside and get you some.’

  I bolted into the house to find her sandals. When I got back she was sitting on the floor of the shed, head buried in her hands, sobbing. I froze at the doorway. Mum never cried. Blossom had found a way through the shards and was standing close, trying to lick her tears. Mum didn’t even bother pushing her away.

  I stood staring at the broken pots, shards lying upturned on the dirty floor like there’d been an earthquake. The air around me felt different, stilled somehow, like it feels after a storm. I picked my way through the wreckage. Putting my arm out, I called off the pup, and Blossom tumbled towards me, knocking against my legs.

  ‘Mum?’ I said, holding the dog tightly, my voice strained.

  She looked up at me, wiping her eyes with the heels of her palms. Her movements were rough, her face red and patchy. She looked utterly different from the mother I knew—vulnerable and broken.

  ‘Can you get up?’ I asked. There were so many things I could have said, but nothing was coming out. ‘Come and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ It was a feeble offer, but it was all I had.

  When I was small, my mother’s body was a welcoming place, but now I had no concept of how to touch her. I stood, holding back the dog, unable to do more. Mum pushed herself forward onto her knees and slowly she rose. I passed across her sandals and she slipped them on. She still hadn’t spoken. Gripping the edge of one of the shelves for a few seconds, she steadied herself and then stepped forward. I helped her across to the house and into her room, pulling back the covers of her bed. She clambered up as though her body was made of lead, curving her head against the pillow.

  ‘Come on, pup,’ she said, looking down at Blossom, who was trailing us around, still jittery from the smashed pots. She patted the bed with her hand. ‘Come and lie with me.’

  The bed was high and Blossom jumped up, her two front paws on the edge, her back legs scratching around on the wooden floors. She stretched her neck out to get closer to my mum, but she couldn’t quite reach.

  ‘Mum, she’s in heat. She might get blood all over your bed.’

  Mum shook her head, as though my words meant nothing. ‘Help her up, Mema. Give her a boost.’

  I lifted the pup’s wriggling body up onto the bed and she bounded over to lie against Mum’s belly. She snuggled right in, and whenever Mum tried to pat her, she’d start crazily licking her fingers.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Mum said to me from across the room. ‘You’ll be okay, Baby-girl.’

  I nodded, but I wasn’t worried about me.

  ‘I’ll go make a cup of tea,’ I said quietly, moving over to the bed and pulling off her sandals. She didn’t shift an inch, just closed her eyes. Once Mum was still, Blossom stopped licking her hand and settled down. My mum never let the animals into her room, let alone onto her bed, and even though Blossom was just a pup and hadn’t been with us long, she seemed fully aware of the exception. She lay there quietly, as if any second it might end, any second she might be banished back to her mat on the floor, or even shoved outside onto the veranda. She might have been only a dog, but she knew how to savour the unexpected. I watched them for a minute feeling suddenly like an outsider.

  Stepping through the bedroom doorway and down the hall, the walls of my home seemed to push in against me. I looked around at the old flaking paint, the skirting boards filled with borer holes, the worn scratches on the floor, and I knew I had to get out. The sun hit me in the face as I walked outside, stinging and bright. I squinted at the long road that ran towards the bridge. The road Hamish had washed off. The road Frank Brown had driven here on, and then driven away on. The only road in here and the only road out. And for the first time in my life I longed for the leaving.

  20.

  You get a feelin
g when someone is watching you, the skin at the nape of your neck prickles. It’s like your body has an extra sense, some other way of seeing. After Frank Brown came that afternoon, telling us to tie up the dog, I started to feel like I was being watched. I knew it could have been Anja, skulking around at the edges of things, unable to make herself come in, but I wasn’t sure. I’d glance up quickly, hoping to catch a glimpse of some shadow, a pair of eyes, but there was never anyone there.

  Sophie had come and given me the talk. The one where she tells me that Hamish is a bad bet, that he probably has a girl in every port, that men who kept all their worlds in separate compartments were always the ones to watch out for. I wasn’t sure where she’d gathered this knowledge from, but I assumed it was true enough. I didn’t know how to tell her she didn’t have to worry. That Hamish had already saved me from himself. That I wasn’t a girl in a port, that I didn’t have my own compartment. I just let her words wash over me and fretted about the unseen eyes I felt at my back. I thought about the dogs hanging at the fence line, waiting for little Blossom to slip up. There was an ominousness to it, this kind of mating. A harangued sort of endurance. I wondered if I should turn things on their head. If I should go out bulling.

  Mum lay pretty low for a day or so after Frank’s visit. Staying in her bedroom, keeping to herself. Sophie and I fussed over her, but it didn’t do much good. I’d never seen her like that, although Sophie had. We were worried, but what could we do except wait?

  On the second morning she appeared for breakfast, sitting down at the table, while I made her some toast. She was watching me fondly, the way she used to, and then she let out a little laugh.

  ‘What?’ I didn’t know if I was ever going to fully understand her.

  ‘I keep thinking of your name,’ she answered, massaging her knee beneath her skirt. I could see she was stiff. ‘I called you after the huntress. You know, the one who doesn’t tussle with love.’

  I’d never heard her explain it that way before.