Old Kingdom 04: Across the Wall (18 page)
Rowan listened in astonishment. This was the first he’d heard of the Hill being used to help launch satellites. His fascination with space was almost as great as his love for the Hill, and for a moment he found himself thinking of how fantastic it would be to have a spaceport close to home. Then he remembered that they would be moving to Sydney anyway, and that the spaceport could be built only if he lost the Hill.
‘The Hill’s not for sale,’ said Bert. ‘Plenty of other places you can build your spaceport, Mr. Ragules. Places already ruined.’
He leaned on one cane and gestured with the other, a wide sweep that encompassed all the huge grey gum trees that stood around like an army of giants, whispering in the wind.
‘There’s trees here that are hundreds of years old,’ said Bert. ‘Animals that have fled here from the farms and the city. Birds you don’t find anywhere else anymore. There are stories here, in the stone and the red dirt, in the bark and the leaves, in the ants and the spiders, the wallabies and the kookaburras. You build a spaceport and they will all be gone, forever. You’ve got thirty seconds now. Roger, you can hand over the key to the gate as well.’
‘Like hell I will,’ said Roger. He stormed over to the old man and seemed about to shake him, till he saw the taxi driver watching with an unblinking stare, the tattoo of a snake on his forearm twitching up and down. Instead he bent over and whispered, ‘We can sell this place for three million dollars, Bert! Three bloody million! We’ll never get offered that kind of money again.’
‘The land isn’t for sale,’ Bert said. ‘We don’t need a spaceport here, anyway!’
‘What are you talking about, you old fool!’ spat Roger. ‘Three million! And I
will
sell it, even if I have to have you declared senile and incompetent!’
‘It still won’t be yours to sell,’ said Bert. He lifted a cane and gently tapped Roger’s shin. ‘Now get off my land.’
‘I’ll be back!’ shouted Roger, the heat in his face now spread like a rash to his neck and ears. ‘I’ll be back with a court order to make me your guardian and stick you back in that Home for as long as it takes for you to finally bloody croak. I should have done it years ago!’
He seemed almost about to push Bert again, then he suddenly whipped around and made a beeline for Rowan, who scrambled behind the nearest tree.
‘As for you, you’ll get a hiding when we get home!’ he roared, lunging around the trunk. But Rowan was already fleeing farther into the bush, pushing blindly through the scrub, crashing through spiderwebs, small tree branches, and spiky shrubs. When he felt he was far enough away, he turned back to look, the pain of dozens of tiny scratches building into the greater pain he felt deep inside.
‘I’m not going back!’ he screamed. ‘I’m never going back.’
The only answer was the sudden well-modulated sound of the Mercedes engine, followed by the noise of its wheels on the gravel near the gate. Then there was silence, the silence of the bush. Wearily, Rowan found a clearer path back to the shack.
The taxi driver was helping Bert to an old chair he’d pulled out of the shack, and was unloading all the gear. When Rowan started to help him, he offered his hand to shake.
‘Name’s Jake,’ he said. ‘Your dad’s a rotten bastard, isn’t he? You’ll have to watch out for him.’
‘I’m Rowan,’ said Rowan. ‘Yeah. It’s lucky you were here, or he might have gone for Bert as well.’
‘How long you planning to stay out here?’ asked Jake as they took the last blanket out and he slammed the trunk shut.
‘I don’t know,’ said Rowan, shrugging to hide his anxiety. ‘I guess it depends on Bert.’
He looked over to where the old man seemed to have fallen asleep in his chair, facing the trees, his canes propped out widely, almost like oars.
‘He looks a bit old to be camping out,’ said Jake dubiously. ‘Do you reckon your dad’ll be able to have him declared senile or whatever?’
‘He’s one hundred and eight,’ said Rowan proudly. ‘And he’s always been much tougher than anyone thinks. He’s got a lot of friends in town, too, people who’ve known him all their lives. I reckon Dad’ll find it hard work to get Bert out of the way.’ ‘Legally, maybe,’ said Jake, looking over to the old man. ‘He might try something else, though. Listen, how about I come back up later to see if you’re okay?’
‘I don’t know …’ said Rowan, eyeing the snake tattoo. Jake seemed like a nice bloke, and he certainly had prevented his dad from running amok. But he’d seen all Bert’s money—
‘I’d just like a chance to talk to Bert,’ added Jake. ‘I mean, it’s not every day you get to talk to someone who was around last century. Hell, tomorrow he’ll have lived in three different centuries! Maybe I could bring my wife as well?’
‘Okay,’ agreed Rowan after a further slight hesitation. He guessed it would be safer than being here alone with Bert. ‘See you later then.’
‘We’ll come up after I get off work. About eight.’
‘Sure,’ agreed Rowan. He thought of his father and added, ‘Come earlier, if you like.’
When Jake left, Rowan checked on Bert, who seemed to be okay. He was just sitting, starting at the bush, blinking occasionally and humming to himself. Rowan left him alone and went in to sweep the shack clean and get the spiders and ants out of the old hammocks.
He was sweeping away vigorously when he heard a car again. Keeping the broom, he went out, his heart already beating faster. As Rowan had feared, it was his father, in the old red utility truck. The vehicle screeched to a stop at the gate, and Roger jumped out to open it.
‘What’ll we do?’ whispered Rowan, edging over to stand next to Bert.
‘Whatever has to be done,’ said the old man, sighing. ‘You know, when I was a boy, Rowan, the bush went all the way to town. There were no cars, no aeroplanes, no radio, no television, no computers. At your age I hadn’t even seen a telephone. When the twentieth century began, I didn’t think things would change much. I was wrong, of course. We’ll be in the twenty-first century tomorrow, and now everybody expects change. Change, change, change, without thinking what it’ll cost in things that can’t be replaced. I saw your face when that man said he’d build a spaceport here. You wanted it, didn’t you?’
‘Not if it takes the Hill,’ said Rowan anxiously, still looking down the track. ‘They can build it somewhere else. But what’ll we do about Dad? He’ll kill me!’
‘No, he won’t,’ said Bert. ‘Help me up.’
As soon as he was upright, the old man started shuffling off into the bush. Rowan walked along next to him, trying to anticipate a fall. Behind them, Roger Salway jumped back into the truck, and it accelerated up the path.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Rowan. ‘He’ll catch us for sure!’
‘I want him to catch up with us,’ said Bert. ‘At the right place.’
He hesitated then, looking around at the rocks and the huge gums, as if he’d forgotten where he wanted to go. Then the glint came back into his eyes and he shuffled off to the right, Rowan following him, most of his attention focused behind them. His father was already out of the truck and running, crashing through the bush without even looking for a path.
As far as Rowan could see, Bert was just making it easier for Roger to beat him up in secret. They were out of sight of the shack now, on the forward slope of the hill. Worse, there was nowhere to run to from here. The slope fell off rapidly into a series of rocky cliffs, and Rowan didn’t want to even try to climb down with his father up above throwing rocks or something. Bert wouldn’t be able to climb at all, anyway.
‘This is it,’ said Bert as Rowan was desperately trying to think of something to do. He could just lie on the ground, he supposed, and hope his father didn’t kick him too much.
‘What?’ asked Rowan. He’d missed whatever Bert said.
‘This is it,’ said Bert, pointing to a crevasse in the rock ahead, so narrow it was hard to see in the fading light. ‘We’ll just zip across this log. I bet your dad doesn’t remember the Narrow.’
Rowan looked at the crevasse they’d always called the Narrow. It looked dark and nasty, a thin mouth stretching all the way across the hill. It wasn’t that deep. He’d climbed up and down it many times. When Rowan was a small child, his father had helped him up and down, standing in the cool, fern-lined shadows below. ‘Course he’ll remember!’
‘No he won’t,’ said Bert. ‘If he remembered, he wouldn’t be trying to sell up.’
Hesitantly, the old man put his foot out on the ancient fallen log that bridged the Narrow.
‘Bert …’ Rowan started to say, but the words slipped away from him as Roger came puffing through the bush, his face red and twisted with rage. Fearfully, Rowan scuttled across the log.
Roger barreled on, sticks snapping under his feet, branches whipped back by his passage. He was bellowing, waving his fists, fists that Rowan knew would happily connect with him. He might even be so crazy mad with anger that he would hit Bert.
‘Don’t!’ Rowan shouted. ‘Don’t!’
He wasn’t sure if his shout was a warning about the Narrow or a feeble attempt to turn away all that concentrated fury and those terrible fists.
It didn’t matter, because Roger was too far gone in his rage to listen. One second he was right in front of them, his face as red as the setting sun, his mouth pouring out words that were so twisted up they sounded like an animal’s howl.
Then he was gone, and there was sudden silence.
Bert shuffled to the edge of the crevasse and looked down. After a second Rowan looked too, shutting one eye because that might somehow make whatever he saw easier to cope with.
‘He’s alive, anyway,’ said Bert, as a whimper came up out of the Narrow. ‘You all right down there, Roger?’
Rowan held his breath while he waited for an answer. Finally it came. A small voice, the rage all drained away.
‘I think … I think I’ve busted my wrist.’
‘Forgot about the Narrow, didn’t you?’ said Bert conversationally. ‘You used to climb up and down it enough as kid. Was it you or your dad who broke his arm down there?’
‘Dad,’ said Roger. He seemed a bit dazed, thought Rowan. He hadn’t heard his father speaking so quietly for ages.
‘And now you’ve done your wrist,’ said Bert. ‘Losing any blood? Anything else broken?’
‘No,’ said Roger shortly. ‘Just my wrist.’
‘Must run in the family,’ Bert said to Rowan, peeling back his sleeve to show a faded scar along his forearm. ‘Not a break. Cut it open mucking around down there.’
‘I can’t climb out by myself,’ said Roger. They couldn’t even see him now, the way the night had poured into the Narrow. The stars were getting brighter overhead, a great swathe of them that you couldn’t see in the city, where they were swamped by artificial light.
‘I guess you can’t,’ said Bert. ‘So you might as well sit down and listen while I tell you a few things.’
‘I’m listening,’ said Roger. Rowan could hear him moving about, settling down on one of the ledges.
‘First, no one’s selling the Hill,’ said Bert. ‘Not while I’m alive, and not after it, either. I had a team of fancy lawyers work out how to make sure of that more than ten years ago. The family will be trustees, no more. If you’d bothered to ask, I would have told you.
‘Second, I reckon your temper is getting out of hand. I’ve got a bit of money put by. Not three million, but a tidy sum. I’m going to leave it all to Rowan. If he feels like it, he might give you some. So if it’s money you’re after, you’d better learn to talk to your son instead of throwing your weight around. You’ll live longer too. Bad for the heart, getting angry.’
There was a really long silence after Bert stopped talking.
Rowan looked at the stars, unable to believe what he was hearing. The Hill not to be sold. His father having to talk to him instead of hitting him.
After a few more minutes when Roger still didn’t say anything, Bert went back across the log bridge, his old arms outstretched for balance. Rowan walked behind him, quite close, so he could steady him if necessary.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Roger. There was a hint of panic in his voice.
‘Thought we’d leave you to think about things for a while,’ said Bert. ‘We’ve got a visitor coming up. It’s New Year’s Eve, remember?’
‘What about me?’
‘We’ll be back next century,’ said Bert. ‘Course, you still have to agree to behave yourself.’
He chuckled a bit then, and started up the hill. ‘Wait!’ called Roger. ‘I agree! I agree!’
Bert kept walking. Rowan looked at him, then back at the Narrow. His father was calling him now, desperation in his voice. In the distance, he could hear a car approaching. It had to be Jake in the taxi, back a bit early.
‘Come on,’ said Bert. ‘We’ll go meet Jake. We can come back for Roger later.’
‘But,’ said Rowan, ‘what about Dad?’
‘We won’t leave him too long,’ said Bert. ‘Just long enough for him to work out what he can do.’ ‘Like what?’ asked Rowan nervously.
‘Like nothing,’ said Bert. ‘That’s what I want him to work out.’
‘So everything’s going to be all right?’ asked Rowan.
Bert shrugged. Then he shakily held out his arms, as wide as they would go, taking in Rowan, the Hill, the night, and the stars.
‘You can never guess what a new year will bring, even when you’ve seen more than a hundred of them,’ he said. ‘Sometimes you see what’s coming and can’t do a thing about it. Sometimes you can.’
He paused and took a deep breath of the eucalyptus-scented air, closed his arms around his great-great-grandson, and added, ‘Out here, right now, I reckon maybe everything will be as close to all right as it can possibly get.’
