The Amber Trail (14 page)

He rubbed at his temples, then
stepped down the embankment and pushed back into the greenery until
he found the base of a solid tree. He stamped the ground down
around it, creating a flat area of broken ferns and moss. He then
sat down, placed his back against the tree, closed his eyes, and
waited.

A loud rumble and a squeal of
brakes ripped him back into consciousness. The air felt murky and
cold and his arms and legs itched. He waved at a cloud of feasting
bugs.

Ahead of him through the
branches, two cones of light penetrated the gloom. Dig lifted
himself to his feet, pulled on his pack, and crept closer to the
embankment.

The hi-rail truck was parked a
few metres short of the branch that blocked the tracks; its
headlights threw a bright spotlight over its length. The hiss of
air brakes filled the air, and a door clicked open on the far side
of the cabin. The driver stepped down to the ground, his form
illuminated in the headlights. He was short and stocky, with a
thick beard. Dig recognised him a
s
the
forklift driver from the brewery.

The driver studied the branch,
then blocked the glare of the headlight with one hand and studied
the surrounding bushes. Dig ducked away amongst the
foliage.

The driver scratched his face,
then squatted and took hold of the branch. He dragged it roughly to
the edge of the embankment and threw it over the side, shaking his
head and mumbling to himself as he climbed the steps to the
cabin.

Dig eased out of the bushes and
scampered up the embankment
,
then
duck
ed
into the
shadows behind the truck. The rail wheels had been lowered in the
hybrid machine
;
the truck
was balanc
ed directly on the tracks.

The flatbed of the truck carried
a large steel shipping container on the rear of the tray. A
rectangle of space existed between the container and the driver’s
cabin—where a tangle of tarpaulin sheeting was roughly tied with
flexible straps. Dig scurried along the side of the truck and
hoisted himself up onto the bed, then crawled onto the tarpaulin
sheeting and sat with his back against the container.

The driver pulled the door
closed, and with a hiss of air the engine rumbled forward with a
squeal of steel on steel. Dig braced himself against the container
and held on. The hi-rail followed the tracks down over the rail
bridge, then climbed the opposite side of the hill before settling
into a steady pace as it drove toward Hampi.

As they neared town, the truck
slowed and stopped. A whirring vibration emanated from below the
truck tray, and the machine wobbled and settled into a new position
before lurching sideways off the tracks. Dig recognised the
familiar bounce of rubber wheels as they left the rail and rolled
along the dirt road toward Hampi.

Soon after the truck turned onto
a flat expanse of asphalt road
. As it
picked up speed
the
static roar of tyres
on pavement filled the air
.
S
treetlights flashed past like strobe
lights.

If the truck was heading to the
docks, then Dig planned to stay on the vehicle until it arrived.
And if his bus journey over to Hampi was any indication, he guessed
he would be on the truck until morning.

His eyes were sore, his head
throbbed
,
he needed to sleep. But in
front of him, between the cabin and the flatbed, was an open gap
where the asphalt road raced below. If he fell forward while the
truck was in motion he’d become roadkill.

He examined the tied tarpaulin
sheeting below his rear, then pulled a frayed edge to reveal a dark
sliver of space between the material and the metal truck bed. After
considering for a moment, he lowered himself face down and pushed
his way under the cloth.

Beneath the tarpaulin the air was
oily and stale, and the hard metal flatbed was cold and pressed
into his hips—but the straps over the sheeting held him in place
and offered him a chance to sleep.

Dig hugged his pack to his chest
and closed his eyes.

THE TRUCK LURCHED AND DIG
shot
upwards, then fell back to the metal of the truck bed with a jolt
through his side. After a moment of disorientation between a fading
dream and an unfamiliar reality—he pushed out from beneath the
tarpaulin and stretched his neck.

His lower back was cramped and
his lungs full of dust. He tried to clear his throat and fell into
a coughing fit. When it relented, he sat up and rubbed his hip,
willing the circulation back into his muscle.

The truck travelled down an
asphalt road, flanked on both sides by a dense mass of palm trees
and tropical shrubbery. The first light of the morning splintered
through the branches. Water lay beside the roadway in open ditches,
and the air was sticky and warm. He found his water and took a long
drink.

The truck slowed and began to
crunch back through the gears before veering into the dirt
shoulder, where it came to a hissing stop. A tall advertising
billboard faced the truck, partly concealed behind the
palms.

A caption below the picture
stated
Banyan Bitter – It’s My Beer
. It depicted a
slick-haired man holding a b
ottle
. A pair
of aviator sunglasses hung from his wide-collared shirt.

The driver opened his door and
Dig heard the strains of bongos and a sitar. He scrambled under the
tarpaulin before the man stepped down to the ground.

“
Tanhai mein dil
yaadein sanjota hai...
” The driver placed one hand on the side
of the cabin, unzipped his fly, and released a torrent of urine
against the front wheel.

Dig lay still, barely covered by
the tarpaulin and not three metres away from the driver as he
watched his handiwork. If the man looked sideways, they would be
face to face.

“
Kya karoon haye,
Koch Koch Hotai Hai...
” the man sung as a steamy cloud of piss
rose around him and floated up to Dig. He held his breath with a
grimace. The urine fog smelt acrid, and the hairs inside his nose
tickled and twitched, like an army of ants doing laps around his
sinuses.

After a near impossible length of
time the torrent reduced to a trickle, and then the trickle tapered
down to a few short squirts.
The driver
gave a shake and wiped his hand on the seat of his trousers.
He stepped across
the gravel and thunked
up the metal steps to the cabin.

A sneeze began building momentum
in Dig’s nose, and he clamped his mouth shut with his hand. It
couldn’t be suppressed, and when it finally exploded, it came out
as a high pitched “Choo!” The driver’s footfalls up the stairs
stopped.

Dig squeezed his nostrils shut
between his thumb and forefinger. The tickle slowly dissipated, and
he allowed himself to breath
e
while
watching the shadow of the driver beside the cab. There was a
click, and the radio shut down abruptly—leaving a conspicuous
silence, save for a whisper of wind in the palm fronds.

The shadow at the front of the
truck moved, and a foot crunched back down to the gravel. The
driver reappeared, facing the open road shoulder.

Dig lay still on the truck bed,
his fingers clamped tightly over his nostrils, the fabric of
the tarpaulin barely covering him.  

The man took another two steps
forward. His shoulders were bunched, and one arm hung stiffly at
his side, grasping tightly what looked to be a small penknife. The
tendons in his forearm bulged.

Behind him, a small bird of green
and blue feathers floated down from the sky and landed on the top
of the billboard. It stretched its wings, then gave a high pitched
call.

The driver turned quickly toward
the sound. After a moment the bird called again, and the driver’s
shoulders dropped and relaxed. He shook his head and muttered to
himself.

The man pocketed the knife and
climbed back up the stairs of the cabin. The door slammed shut and
the muffled warble of the music returned. Moments later the engine
crunched back into gear and they were moving again.

Dig took a deep breath and slid
back out from beneath the tarpaulin. As the truck passed the
billboard he watched the bird and frowned—unable to pinpoint a
nagging sense of déjà vu.

The truck motored on at a steady
pace as it climbed a hill, and trucks passed intermittently in the
opposite direction, carrying containers. Eventually, the trees on
the road shoulder made way for boxy concrete shacks with peeling
paint. The road topped out on the peak of a vast headland, and Dig
tasted the salty tang of the ocean in the slipstream.

In the distance to the left, a
cluster of buildings crowded behind a long stretch of sandy beach.
To the right lay a wide green harbour, banked by a line of steel
cranes on the shore. A flat expanse of concrete spread behind the
cranes, stacked with containers. Ships were parked in the harbour,
ready to receive their cargo.

The docks,
Dig thought,
and pressed his lips together.

The road followed the ridge of
the hill down toward the harbour. A chain link fence appeared
beside the road, and the truck slowed to a crawl before it turned
into a wide gate. A large, faded sign stood above it, announcing:
MORMUGAO CONTAINER PORT, GOA

The truck rumbled through the
gate and across the concrete, heading for the line of T-shaped
cranes that stood on the harbour’s edge like hulking rusted
crucifixes. Beside them, trucks lined up across the carpark in
rows. The Banyan Brewery vehicle rolled to a stop inside a faded
white rectangle and awaited its turn to be unloaded.

As the cabin door clicked open,
Dig lowered himself to the concrete on the opposite side, squatted,
and crawled across the pavement until he found some cover beneath
the tray of a nearby truck.

From here he could see the
driver’s feet as they shuffled around in front of the vehicle. A
second set of hairy legs in shorts and sandals arrived beside
him.

“
You made it,” said
the owner of the sandals, in a strange accent. “Good
trip?”

“
Yes. There wasn’t a
lot of traffic.”

“
Well you’re booked
in for upload at nine thirty. So you’ve a couple of
hours.”

“
Do you have the
paperwork?”

“
Aye, all here. And
I’ve filled out the customs forms for ye, so you’re ready to
go.”

“
Good.”

There was a flick of a lighter,
and a puff of cigarette smoke rose into the sky. “Well, I’m out of
here.” The owner of the sandals sauntered off, back in the
direction of the main road.

Dig crept after him, following at
a distance, weaving through the maze of parked trucks. The man’s
blonde streaked hair hung to his shoulders, and strings of beaded
bracelets were looped around his wrists.

The man exited the main gate of
the dock and jogged across the road. When he reached the far side,
he stepped down a sandy track that split through the trees and
disappeared from sight.

Dig jogged across the road after
him. A faded sign pointed down the sandy trail:
Baina Beach.
He
followed.

The track snaked around the base
of a rocky cliff and opened out onto a beach covered with coarse,
brown sand. Waves broke along the shore, pushing clumps of
seaweed onto the bank. A fine salty mist hung in the air. Dig
stepped onto the sand and scanned the length of the beach—but it
was empty. The guy had disappeared.

Behind the sand, a dirt road ran
parallel to the shore, lined on both sides of the street with shops
and stalls. The street was busy with people, and the warbled voice
of an announcer filled the air. Dig paced toward the
crowd.

It was a market, with wares
packed tightly on both sides of the street. Spices were heaped on
the ground in pointed piles
,
with vendors
seated beside them. Foul smelling fish were lined up on tables,
covered in flies. An elderly man stood before a vegetable stall,
holding up a handful of greens as he haggled with the merchant.
Shoulders jostled past him, and the hum of conversation filled the
air.

Dig stood on his toes and scanned
 the crowd, then spotted the sandals guy by a motorbike
halfway down the street. The guy lifted a roll of paper from the
rear of the bike, stepped over to a plywood hoarding on the edge of
the road, and tacked the paper billboard up on the wall. He
returned to sit on the bike, and started it up.

Dig dodged through the horde.
“Hey!” he shouted, and waved his arms. But the bike jerked forward
and disappeared into the crowd.

Dig came to a stop beside the
plywood hoarding, his hands on his hips. His brow furrowed and he
slowly shook his head. After a moment he turned to look at the
billboard the guy had fixed to the wall:

THE BANYAN BREWHOUSE

HOME OF BANYAN BITTER

SUNDOWN PARTY

EVERY NIGHT TILL LATE