Lessons from the Heart (20 page)

‘We can sit over here.' He's whispering now, and when we do find a spot and sit, he moves quite a bit away so I can hardly see him in the dark. And the moon's out and the stars but the darkness is dense too once you get close to the red earth, and it doesn't give back any light at all like sand or gravel does, and it's so quiet. In Sydney, even in the quietest suburbs like the one we live in, you at least hear a car occasionally, or even, very late, an owl, or something. The noise from the ceremony, which I thought'd be loud and you'd hear singing even if it was only a drone and you couldn't make out any words, and you'd at least hear music sticks clicking though no digeridoo because that's male, you can barely hear it at all, and the loudest thing I hear once is a woman laughing. And I think of Nala and wonder if it's her, and think how close she is, right now, and how far away, and wonder really why we've bothered to come. And it's not as if Jason's a problem or anything, I decide, he's sitting so far away, or more squatting now, when I stare closely, or as if he's brought me here just to try and pash on. But I'm still puzzled, and there's nothing else to say, so I ask him:

‘If you don't come from here, where do you?'

‘Originally, you mean?'

‘Yes.'

‘Not far from here …' And just like with Mr Prescott before, I catch sight of his head silhouetted against the sky, except Jason's hair's so long and thick, it's almost part of the bushes around him, but I still see him pointing with his chin. ‘Out that way,' he says, ‘out towards Ebenezer.'

‘That's a mountain, isn't it? I saw it on the map.'

‘Shh! Voices carry. It's also a station. I was born out there.'

And I nearly ask if there was a hospital because it's just a tiny dot on the map. But don't, because something tells me it'd be stupid.

‘But after that?' I say. ‘Before you came here?' Because he's already told me he's only been here eight months.

‘Down in Adelaide.' This surprises me. I'd never thought of him in a city. And he must feel like talking after all because next second he's moved over and is sitting up against me, and I never even heard him move. ‘But things didn't go right for me there.'

‘Oh,' I say. And I don't feel I want to ask any more about this. But I've started him off now.

‘And once you do one little thing wrong, people get on your back, you know. You mess up once, and they expect you to mess up again, eh?'

‘Yes.'

‘They pigeonhole you.'

‘Yes.'

He's digging at the ground now with a piece of stick he's picked up. I can see the little spurts of earth leap up, hear them land on the stiff cloth of his jeans.

‘I've done some wrong things, Laura, I'm not saying I haven't.' His voice is as flat as any time I've heard it. ‘Some bad bad things.' The thing with Jason, I'm finding, is you never know where he is. Not just physically, but his mood. It's like his voice, it kind of comes and goes.

‘Some really stupid, really bad things,' he says. ‘You know what I mean, eh?' And I catch myself wondering then what Nala and the other women would say if I just arrived, if I just burst into their ceremony, if I'd be had up or something. ‘Things I'd never want to tell you about.'

‘No,' I say. And I can't move, it'd be like saying I was scared or something, and I can't hear anything now, from the camp or the women at the Rock, and I wonder if they're even still there or if they've gone, and God, I think, why didn't I tell Toni.

‘Cos you hate yourself then, when you do.'

‘Yes, I know.' Toni would have said
The Park? With Jason? At night? Oh, no, you're not, Miss.
‘But you don't now,' I say to him. Hoping.

‘Don't what?' he says, so close to my cheek I feel his breath on it. But I don't look at him. And I wonder if he's angry, or has just lost the thread. Because he does this. But I don't look, because I don't want to know.

‘Don't hate yourself now.'

‘Oh no.' He laughs and rocks back on his heels and sounds so normal I find I can edge away a little bit, just moving one buttock, and he doesn't seem to notice, and it's like there's metres between us now, where there's still only centimetres. ‘No,' he says, shaking his head and looking down between his feet. ‘That was before.'

‘Before?' I say. Because it seems better when we talk.

‘How do you mean,
before?'
he says.

‘Well, you said it was before something. You used to hate yourself.'

‘Yes, I did. I was in this place –'

‘Place?' I have to ask.

‘It was a Centre, and they were going to throw away the key. They said they were going to, but then I told them.'

‘What?'

‘I'd found Jesus.' He laughs, and I don't know whether he's mocking me. Or himself. Or is even serious. ‘Have you, Laura?'

‘What?' I say, and I would move, but his hand is on my arm and it's as hard and intense as steel.

‘Found Jesus.'

‘No,' I whisper. And it's the only sound in the Park. ‘I'm not –'

‘Have you been washed,' his breath is right in my face, ‘in the Blood of the Lamb?'

‘Please. You're hurting.'

‘I have,' he says. Laughing. ‘I've been washed in the Blood of the Lamb, and Jesus has lifted my sins from my shoulders. Can you believe that?'

‘Please, Jason.'

‘Jesus loves me, Laura. You know I never knew that. Till I was in that place.'

‘I'd like to go back now.'

‘And He came to me, and I
was
a sinner. I was one of the worst. But He just said: “He that believes in Me will come with Me before My Father who is in heaven. And live forever.” And He didn't care what I'd done or what I'd been.'

‘Jason.'

‘He didn't care at all. Because He loves every one of us, and He gave His life to prove it. He just said, “Follow me, and I will lead you to the Kingdom of God”.'

‘Jason, let go,' I shout, ‘let go. You're –'

‘Shh!' he hisses back at me, and reaches out to put a hand over my mouth. ‘Shh!'

‘I'll scream,' I tell him.

‘What're you shouting for?' He's kneeling up above me now, and his face is screwed up with fear and anger. ‘I haven't even hurt you yet.'

‘I just …' I force myself to speak quietly because I know it's my voice that's doing whatever it is to him. ‘I just want to go home. Back to the Resort. That's all. I won't tell anyone, or get anyone into trouble.'

‘I haven't hurt you. You can't say –'

‘I wouldn't. You haven't.'

‘Well, then. What did you come for?'

‘I'm just asking, that's all. To take me back. Or let me –'

‘Why should I?' And he looks at me then, cunning, as though it's a trick, or a clever question, and everything depends on my answer.

‘Because,' I say, ‘Jesus wants you to.'

And it's the longest minute in my life while his eyes search every inch of my face.

‘Yes,' he says then, ‘Yess,' and throws himself up to his feet, and his hands into the air above his head. ‘Let's go,' he cries, and doesn't seem to mind who hears. Just grins and hurries over to his bike, and pulls it upright. He hands me my helmet, and starts the engine, revving it furiously. ‘Riding,' he shouts, ‘for Jesus!'

It's way after midnight when we get back to the camp entrance. Jason has hummed and sung all the way back, and pointed out vistas of the Rock and special trees and pathways. He seems deliriously happy.

‘Thank you for coming, Laura,' he says, as shy and polite as ever.

‘Thank you for taking me, Jason.' I move quickly under the lamp and towards the section where our tents are pitched.

‘Would you like to go again?' he calls from behind me. ‘Tomorrow?'

I nearly stop at the phone box to ring Mum, just to hear her voice and tell her I'm all right, but I imagine her voice saying, ‘Why wouldn't you be?' and ‘Where are you?' and ‘Why are you up, and why are you ringing at this hour?' and ‘Laura? Are you all right?' And I know she'd insist on waking Miss Temple and talking to her there and then. So, I don't. But I'm so glad to see a torch on in our tent, and Toni must be back when I half expected her to be out all night.

But she must hear me coming, and the light goes off even before I start unzipping the tent.

‘Toni? I know you're awake.'

But she won't answer, and I think this is so mean I won't talk to her even if she is awake. I just climb into my sleeping bag with all my clothes on and shiver till I get warm and stop, even though it's not cold at all but
freaky weather,
the forecast and the ranger's office said, and I lie there thinking of Mum and the picture that comes is her feeding Thomas and normally I'd just go, ‘Yuk,' and put it out of my mind, but this time the experience's so strong I can almost hear him sucking and snuffling. And I smell his hot fuggy breath. Or someone's.

And it's Toni's, I realize. And she's been crying.

‘Are you going to sleep all day?' Toni says, and shakes me. It's hot and close in the tent, and it smells like a storm.

‘What time is it?' I feel spacey and out of it. In the night I kept waking and wondering where I was, and I'd have to reach out and touch the cotton of the tent. Now the flap of the tent is half-folded back on itself, and I can see it's not dawn yet, but there's the same strange light in the sky still, and low grey cloud. ‘What time is it?' I say again.

‘These are for you,' Toni says instead.

‘What are they?'

‘What do you think they are? Bananas?'

She's holding out a spray of wildflowers. There are sprigs of wattle and young gum shoots in amongst the flowers, and they're all wrapped at the bottom with aluminium foil.

‘Who are they from?'

‘Who do you think? He dropped them off a few minutes ago. I was out near the gate, and he was on his bike, on his way to work.'

‘Did he say anything?'

‘He didn't know if you'd want to meet him tonight. He said the same time, he'd be waiting.'

‘Oh.' I take the flowers from her. The foil is cold and metallic under my hand. I smell the flowers once – the scents are all subdued and subtle, I've noticed, out here, even the gums, not obvious and overwhelming like in Sydney – and I put them on the floor between our two mats. I just want to go back to sleep. I see Toni looking at the flowers, and then at me.

‘Lolly. Did something happen?'

‘When?'

‘Last night.'

Part of me doesn't want to answer. It wants to say: You never tell me anything. But I look at her face. ‘I just didn't enjoy it much,' I say, and roll over on my back. I'll never get back to sleep now. I rub my eyes. Toni's, I see, are dark or bruised underneath, like I imagine mine will be. But her face is full of life and determined; it's like whatever's been upsetting her has been banished. ‘What's the matter with you?' I say.

But she won't be distracted. ‘Did something happen?' she says. And then, while I'm thinking what to tell her, she asks again: ‘Where did you go?'

And she sounds just like Mum.

‘To the Park.'

‘Lolly, you didn't. With Jason?'

I nod.

‘Did something happen?' She's kneeling right beside me now. She's got her hand on my shoulder? ‘Did it?'

‘Something, nearly,' I say. ‘But I don't know what.'

‘Lolly, you're not to go there again.' And she's not just being bossy – I hear – but worried as well. ‘You hear me?'

‘You never tell me where you're going.'

‘You know why not. I've told you why not.'

‘Why does everybody think they have to protect me all the time?'

‘Because,' she says. As though that was supposed to explain everything. And then, as if she's exasperated or something: ‘Lolly, just look in the mirror one day, will you? Just once? Without poking faces at yourself?'

I poke a face at her.

‘Promise you wont go anywhere again, with him. Without telling me.'

‘He's all right. I think.'

‘Lolly, there's something about him.'

All right,' I say, but I don't need to be persuaded. ‘I won't.'

‘Promise?'

‘Promise.'

‘You've got to shower first, and it's breakfast time already.'

‘I'm not hungry. You go.'

‘You're not being
given
breakfast,' she cries, pulling back the top of my sleeping bag. I curl my knees up, trying to trap the remaining warmth, while she pulls. ‘You're
serving
it, remember?'

‘Oh God,' I groan.

‘You didn't think you were getting a free trip all for nothing, did you? And after breakfast, we're going to the Olgas for the day. C'mon, c'mon …'

‘What are you so bright about?' Toni's pulled me upright by now. ‘You won Lotto or something?'

‘Wish me luck today, Lolly,' she says, her eyes shining.

‘Luck,' I say. But then, because I have to bring her down to earth somehow before she floats away with the tent and everything, I say: ‘You have to get a ticket first.'

Under the shower, I finally begin to wake. Enough to realize I haven't brought anything, soap or toothbrush, just a towel. The water's warm – not that we need it. The day's hot already, though not like yesterday – more sticky – and maybe there will be a storm.

‘Toni?' I shout over the noise of the showers. ‘Lend me your soap, I've forgotten mine.'

Her hand appears almost instantly around the edge of the cubicle. The white soap is cupped within it. Its whiteness against the tan of her hand is a shock.