Lonesome Howl (7 page)

Jake out here in the mist,

alone on Sheldon Mountain.

Lucy: stupid

Stupid.

Why didn't I turn back when Jake wanted?

Why did I only think of myself,

wanting to go on and on forever

to get as far away as I could?

This mountain seemed a good place to come.

Any excuse to leave.

Wolf?

Who cares.

The only animal I knew

was the one I wanted to escape from.

And now?

I'll find us somewhere to shelter tonight

and tomorrow I'll take the long walk back,

straight to the Jackson farm,

and when Jake's dad sees me running . . .

well, everything he thinks about the Hardings

will be right.

Jake: the crow, and the cave

A crow swoops down from the tree

and lands on the cliff edge,

not five metres away.

It looks at me

and lets out a pitiful squawk.

‘I know how you feel,' I say.

The crow spies something below and flaps away.

That reminds me.

We have apples, water,

Lucy's bread

and the last of the sandwiches.

Enough for the night.

I gently touch my ankle.

It's almost swelling before my eyes.

Lucy calls a loud ‘coooeee' from above.

She's easing down the track,

her hair bouncing.

‘Guess what I found?' she says.

‘A doctor out on a bushwalk!'

‘No.'

‘A luxury mountain resort?'

‘No, silly.'

‘A rescue helicopter!'

Lucy laughs.

‘A cave. Just up there.

It only goes a few metres into the cliff,

but it's dry,

out of the mist and the wind.'

I say, ‘I'd prefer a helicopter.

I've always wanted a free ride.'

Lucy leans down to help me up

and says,

‘If you don't stop joking

I'll break your other foot.'

Lucy: in the dark, in the quiet

He's holding his foot

making pathetic jokes

and I'm sure he's doing it for me.

I know how much pain he's in;

how much it hurts when things get damaged.

I put that out of my mind.

It's my fault for rushing, escaping, so quickly.

Now I have to make it right.

We'll be okay.

A night in a cave,

in the dark,

alone.

I carry Jake's pack

and help where I can

as he drags himself

up the narrow track.

When he rests,

I hold his hand

and he grips tight,

steadying himself,

breathing slow and heavy.

‘It's not far now, Jake.'

Wishing us into the cave.

Jake: a few hundred metres

A few hundred metres.

An hour.

Crawling,

dragging,

sweating

and shivering

in the mist.

My fingers are numb

from digging into the dirt,

pulling myself along.

Lucy walks beside me,

leaning down to hold my hand when I rest.

‘It's not far now, Jake.

Not far.'

I think of the cave

and the cold

and Dad in our farmhouse

drumming his strong fingers

on the kitchen table,

waiting for me,

thinking I'm lost somewhere,

with a Harding.

He'll be wrong.

I'm not lost.

And I'm glad Lucy's here.

SEVEN
The cave

Jake: the cave

The cave is narrow

but deep enough for shelter.

I drop my bag against the wall

and slump back,

exhausted from the slow climb.

My foot throbs –

an angry pulse.

I cup my hands

and blow warmth

into my aching fingers.

Lucy stands at the entrance,

hands reaching to the roof,

looking into the misty cloud.

She's thinking the same thing as me.

Firewood.

‘We won't be in darkness all night.

I've got a torch,' I say.

She turns to me.

‘It's too wet for firewood.

We'd smoke ourselves to death.

I'm not scared of the dark anyway.'

I grin.

‘That's good.

Because I'm petrified!'

Lucy says,

‘Fractured ankle,

scared of the night,

no firewood.

Anything else I should know?'

‘A few things,

but I'll tell you later,

when it gets really dark

and the mist creeps in,

and the wolf howls . . .'

We both laugh at ourselves

and our big wolf adventure.

Jake: night

Lucy sits beside me.

We're in this together.

Outside the light is fading.

We listen to the sound of water

dripping off the cave entrance.

I flash my torch

at the wall opposite,

waving it up and down.

Lucy taps my arm

and points at the beam.

‘What's that?

Your cave drawing of a wolf?'

‘No.

SOS by torchlight.'

‘Very good, Jake.

Pity there's no one to see it,

except me.'

‘You'll do.

At least you stayed, Lucy.

Your brother,

he would have left me here,

alone, waiting until morning.'

‘Peter would have got lost hurrying home.

You'd be a skeleton in a cave!'

‘Well then,

I'm
really
glad you're here.'

Lucy smiles and goes to punch my arm,

but I grab her hand and hold it tight.

She wraps her fingers in mine.

Neither of us wants to let go.

Our hands drop gently between us

and, for a moment, all I feel

as I rest against my backpack

is her warm hand in mine.

Lucy: Jake's pulse

I don't get any of this.

We're sitting next to each other

in the vanishing light

holding hands.

If anyone tried this at school

I'd slap them.

What happens now?

I'm glad it's dark in here,

to hide my blushes.

Maybe this won't be so bad.

At least Jake doesn't hate me.

I lean back

and I'm surprised to feel

his pulse,

beating steady through his hand.

Or maybe it's my own heartbeat?

Imagine his dad walking in now.

Imagine my dad.

Shit.

I don't know who'd be more scared,

me or Jake.

To hell with parents.

They're not here.

Not tonight.

Lucy: in the sunshine

Sometimes when I'm alone

by Wolli Creek

in the early morning,

all I hear is a gentle ripple

of water over rocks.

I sit on the bank,

close my eyes

and time just drifts.

Sunshine warms my body.

I swear my heart beats slower

and that's all the movement I need.

I read about meditation once.

It must be like this.

You switch off

every bad thought and memory

and all you know is warmth

settling on you.

I stay by the creek

as long as I can.

It's my place,

where no one can reach.

Sitting next to Jake,

his hand in mine,

that's like sunshine

beside Wolli Creek.

Jake: Lucy's prayer

‘Jake?'

Lucy's voice is a whisper

in the ink-black stillness.

‘Do you pray?

At night, for things you want?'

I can feel my heart,

beating,

tracing a blood line

down to my throbbing ankle.

I don't answer.

‘Every night

I lie in bed

listening to Peter snoring

in the next room

and the dogs scuffling outside

on the creaky verandah.

I pray for impossible things.

No more wars.

No more floods

or bushfires.

Sometimes I list everything bad in the world:

kidnapping,

murder,

terrorist attacks,

car crashes,

death by lightning,

death by drowning,

and I pray for it all to stop.

I'm not sure who I'm praying to.

But alone,

on our shitty little farm,

a minute of prayer can't hurt.

Look,

it's better than what my brother does

in bed at night.

Fart-bombs.

Flapping blankets and giggling.'

Lucy: my little world

I've never told anyone

what I just told Jake.

About my prayers.

I just blurted it all out.

He listened

and I think he understood.

He kept holding my hand.

As I was talking

I wondered,

am I horrible for being pleased

we're stuck here tonight?

Is that bad?

I'm sorry about his ankle

and the hurt he's got,

but I'm glad he's here.

I feel like one of those Trobriand women.

This cave is my island, my little world.

It's good.

I just want to enjoy this feeling.

This powerful feeling.

Jake: the locusts

I shine the torch

towards the cave entrance

and the impenetrable mist.

I switch it off

and we sit in the dark,

our shoulders touching.

‘Do you remember the locust plague

a few years back?

After the rains,

all the paddocks were green

and the sheep were eating their fill

for the first time in months.

Remember?

Then the locusts came.

The sheep huddled under the trees,

while the grass disappeared

in a brown haze,

like wicked magic.

I was so angry

I put on my cricket helmet,

stretched mosquito net over the face guard,

took my bat

and stood in the middle of the paddock

practising my hook shot

until the bat was stained yellow.

It was all I could do.

Mum and Dad sat on the verandah

watching their work go bad

while I played cricket,

and lost.'

‘What did they say, Jake?

When you came in?'

‘Dad shook my hand,

and Mum said,

“Good innings, son!”

And the next morning,

Dad was out early on his tractor,

unloading bales of hay in the paddocks,

feeding his sheep,

as if nothing had happened.'

Lucy: the plague

I remember the plague too.

I was twelve.

Mum and Peter were in town.

Dad and I went out to round up

the few sheep we had left.

We spent hours in the paddock,

running back and forward,

chasing the sheep in circles,

whistling at the dogs,

locusts crashing into our faces.

Dad got madder and madder,

yelling at me;

blaming me for the wandering flock,

for the locusts,

for him being stuck on the farm.

I was running flat out

trying to get the sheep into the shed

with Martha and Winnie.

All afternoon,

running around the stupid paddock,

chasing stupid sheep,

getting splattered by stupid locusts,

with my stupid father

waving his arms like a madman,

shouting abuse –

not at his dumb sheep,

or his worthless dogs,

or the locusts –

but at
me
.

What was I to do?

Somehow I got the sheep in the shed.

I fell down on the hay,

exhausted,

while Dad kept swearing,

calling me useless.

I was twelve

for God's sake.

What did he want from me?

Jake: eucalypt

We stop talking,

exhausted by the climb

and the memories of locusts.

I drift asleep for a few moments

but the pain stirs.

I feel Lucy's hand go limp,

then squeeze,

then go limp again.

She's having a dream,

or a nightmare.

I hold her hand firm

to let her know I'm here.

I think of the wolf,

and how Dad's story has led me and Lucy

to this cave.

I don't care about my ankle.

I'm glad we came here.

Lucy's body jerks

and her legs flex

as though she wants to run.

I whisper her name

but she doesn't wake.

I lean close to her hair.

It smells of eucalypt.

Jake: on hard ground

My body feels numb

sitting on this hard ground,

helpless,

waiting out the night,

knowing the chance to find the wolf is gone.

I feel my pulse race

as the ache throbs through my body.

Now it's me who wants to howl,

in pain and frustration at being stuck here,

knowing that when I get home

Dad's going to blame Lucy

and tell me again,

the Hardings are no good.

He's wrong, but how do I convince him of that?

There's more chance of him

believing the wolf is just a wild dog.

He knows what he believes.

It's up to me to prove him wrong.

Peter

She's run away, I reckon.

Don't you, Mum?

She's taken her bag

and she took food.

I was going to eat that!

Maybe she's not coming back.