The Journey (9 page)

F
ollowing the road as it led up into the uncleared and unsettled areas, gaining height all the while, Argus saw ahead of him the figure of an old man on the road. The man was shabbily dressed but had a blanket-roll on his back much like Argus'. His head was bald on top but was ringed by long grey curls, which fell almost to his shoulders. Despite his venerable age he was walking quite rapidly, and Argus, who wanted to catch up with him, had to stride out vigorously to do so. When he reached him, he walked along with the man for quite a distance before either of them spoke. At last however the old man, without looking at Argus, said, ‘I have one very good friend'.

‘Oh yes?' said Argus politely, wondering if the old man were perhaps mad.

‘Yes,' said the man, ‘and here he is.' With a flourish, still not looking at the boy, he drew a large orange from his pocket and held it aloft. Argus was now sure that the man was mad. ‘This is my very good friend,' said the man firmly, then he began ripping the peel from the orange and stuffing its flesh into his mouth, gulping it down voraciously. Argus thought of a number of facetious remarks he could make but wisely decided to make none of them. The old man finished the orange and spoke again.

‘We're on a road to nowhere,' he said, ‘and the only way we can get there is by eating our friends.' He danced a few steps, stirring up clouds of dust in the road. ‘What do you want to know?' he asked. ‘Any question you want to ask me. Go on, any question at all.' Argus was taken aback and did not know what to say. But the man was flitting on to another topic. ‘There's nothing to say and no time to say it in,' he declared. ‘There was a rabbit and an eagle, and then there was an eagle. Everything becomes the eagle in the end. But then, there's another way of looking at it. When there's a lot of light, you don't notice the dark. When there's a lot of dark you always notice the light. Now that's a strange thing. And so I dance and I sing.' He proceeded to do both, singing:

‘That's true,' said Argus, clutching in relief at what meaning he could recognise among the meanderings. ‘Ah,' said the man, ‘but is it as true as that rock? As true as this road? As true as the word “true” that comes out of your mouth? Now there's true and there's true and there's true, and that makes three, and that's three trues, all different and none of them lies. But that can't be right, because if there's a true there must be a lie. And each true must give way to the next true that comes along. And so,' he said, peering into the distance, ‘I see our road coming to a junction, and you are going a different way from me, and we must part.'

‘But,' said Argus, astonished, ‘How do you know that I am going a different way?'

‘Because whichever way you are going, I am going a different way,' said the man. ‘Do you go the same way as a bird? As a kite? Do you know the way home? Is there air in your shoes and between your toes? I expect not. So fly in circles until you find the air.'

They had reached the crossroad and Argus stood, irresolute. The road they were on continued to the west, still a well-defined route. The road crossing it was a straggling track that hardly deserved to be called a road. The boy looked at the man. The man gazed away, deliberately not looking at the boy.

‘Which way do you suggest?' Argus asked at last. The old man shrugged. ‘One to the topmost,' he sang, ‘and one to the coast.

His dry crackled voice gave little comfort to Argus, who decided however that the way ahead looked boring, and so took the track to the left, to the south. The old man promptly took the one to the north and strode off along it, singing and muttering to himself. Argus shrugged and set out along his own chosen way.

The morning still had the cool freshness that characterises the early part of the day, before the sun has set about drying and heating the air and the ground. Argus walked and whistled. This was no time to be sour. He realised, with pleasure, that he was again noticing little things: the way a single blade of grass trembled as though palsied, though all around it was still; the way a creeper took such a tortuous path to the sun; the way one bird hopped on two feet while another walked, one foot in front of the other.

But the track soon began to dwindle into a path that was completely grassed over in places. A recent storm had crashed timber across it, so that Argus was now forced frequently into going over, under or around. After a while he began wondering what made him go on: not the rational thought that the track should lead to something. Perhaps the irrational reluctance to give up and return through what would be, with each step he took, stale territory. So he kept going, though with less and less of his earlier pleasure, and with less interest in the journey, as it took him through timbered country that was becoming depressingly uniform.

There was life, however, among the trees. A bird rose, almost at his feet, and flew swiftly away, with a harsh echoing cry. From bushes to his left a large black-and-white bird was hunted furiously by a small, aggressively maternal green and grey thrush. Detouring around yet another smashed and splintered tree Argus came face-to-face with a doe. He was enchanted. She gazed at him with troubled round eyes, big and brown, while the muscles under her coat trembled. She looked away, as if to say, ‘This is not supposed to happen. What can we do?' Then, at some slight, half-imagined movement from Argus, she turned on the spot and fled, floundering through the broken branches in her hurry.

Argus went on. The country became more interesting: the forest was increasingly varied and the undergrowth thicker. The softness of the track and the moisture on the leaves indicated to the boy that he was passing into an area of greater rainfall. Presently the track crossed a creek. Argus slid over on a log but had to cast about for some moments to find the resumption of the path. It was obscured by fallen timber and marauding undergrowth.

More creek crossings followed, until inevitably Argus came to a substantial river. The water, although shallow, flowed rapidly. Looking up and down the river for a place to cross, Argus was struck by the beauty of the scene. Trees, tree-ferns and flowers crowded the banks on both sides. The further bank sloped steeply down to the water and vegetation covered every inch of it. Argus wondered at the inadequacy of a language that could provide only one word ‘green' to describe the infinite variety of colours and shades on the slope.

The river itself was almost a continuous rapid: white water spumed among rocks, flurries of foam peered over huge boulders, providing just a hint of the churning below. Yet here and there were dark pools of extraordinary clearness. They reminded Argus of the eyes of the doe. He threw off his blanket-roll and approached one of the pools, gingerly stepping from rock to rock. A mottled dark-brown and green trout, sensing the boy's shadow, swerved with frantic speed out of the pool and was lost in a rapid.

Argus saw another huge pool further down the river, with two old white logs forming a bridge across the end of it. He clambered down to it. Through the clear water he could see every stone on the bottom, every aquatic insect, every grain of sand. Just beyond the centre of the pool was a dark and deep hole, its darkness a challenge to the clarity of the water; yet Argus could even see the rocks on its bottom. He pulled off his clothes and slung them across one of the white logs, took his customary glance down at his body to satisfy himself that he was growing properly, then dived in, his teeth gritted in what was both a smile of pleasure and a grimace of appalled anticipation of the coldness of the water.

Everything was disturbed by his dive. Huge ripples spread, meeting the banks like breaking waves. The mud and sand were stirred into dark clouds. Insects fled, and a piece of bark, lodged for a long time against a rock, was set free and swirled away downstream. Argus saw none of this but instead continued the disruption of this tiny universe by slapping the water with his hand, running in an arc around his body. He laughed delightedly, but the sound of his own voice made him self-conscious in a way that his body and its movement had not, and he made no further sound.

For five cold, exhilarating minutes he explored the pool, diving repeatedly, bringing up stones and throwing them away, even going to the bottom of the deep hole and bringing up a small red stone so beautiful that he wanted to keep it. He placed it next to his clothes on the log, and went on playing.

When he was too cold to continue he used the log as a fulcrum to swing himself around and out of the water, and sat on the edge, feeling the warmth of the sun dissolve his goose pimples. As he dressed, he noticed that the red stone had dried, but it had lost all its colour and lustre. Frustrated, he threw it back to the edge of the pool, where it sat dully among the other dry rocks.

At last, reluctantly, Argus continued on his way. The path dropped down now into a small valley and gave signs of an approaching destination. Ahead, the tops of trees were replaced by clear sky. But Argus was still surprised when he came into a fertile and grassy clearing; at its edge was a small hut, built of timber on a base of rocks. Argus walked steadily towards it. It bore all the traces of habitation: a couple of chairs with clothes draped over them were on a verandah and an open book lay on the ground. The door was ajar and a cat walked casually out as the boy approached.

Argus went to the doorway and knocked, peering with naïve curiosity into the dark interior. There was no answer, but he thought he heard a soft moan. He called out, ‘Is anybody there?' The cat brushed past his legs as it strolled back into the hut, unconcerned at his presence. Argus called out again, ‘Anyone home?'

There was a sound behind him and he turned, puzzled. It took him a moment to identify the noise as the wind rushing through the trees on the hill overlooking the clearing. He could see the trees bend as they were thrown around by the gusts; then the trees further down the hill started to toss as the wind advanced. It blew across the valley floor and Argus felt its cool strength rustle and buffet him.

He turned again to the doorway, this time certain that someone had moaned within the house. He called out, ‘Excuse me, do you want me to come in?' and on receiving no answer went in anyway. The hut was small and untidy, but it was clean. There was a main room, which seemed to be the living and eating area, and two doorways which appeared to lead to smaller rooms. In the ceiling was a loft, reached by a ladder. A huge fireplace contained several large cooking pots.

Argus went to the left-hand doorway and looked in. He found himself staring into the face of a young girl who was lying on a low bed. Although her eyes were open, she seemed not to see him. His heart began to beat very quickly. He realised at once she was ill, and his mind flew back to the hut on the beach that he had visited with Temora.

Feeling awkward and embarrassed, very much a trespasser, Argus tiptoed to the edge of the bed. He had been slow to take in the details of the sickroom, but could see now that the girl was pregnant and in labour. He had a fierce desire to run, but fought it down. He said to her, ‘Are you all right?'

She did not answer but seemed to refocus her eyes so that they were now resting on his face. Argus asked, ‘Is there anyone else around? Is there anyone helping you?' Again there was no reply and the boy felt a little lost as to his next move. Finally, however, he went out to the main room again, poured a glass of water from a jug on the table, took that in and gave it to the girl. At first she seemed unable or unwilling to drink, but when he held it to her lips she showed more interest, and began at last to take small sips.

When she had finished Argus put the cup on the floor and said to the girl again, ‘Have you got anyone to help you?' She looked at him now with eyes that showed understanding but she still did not answer.

Argus saw that the bottom half of the bed was soaked, and there were traces of blood on the wet sheets. He glanced around and was gratified to find piles of sheets, blankets and towels in a big box in a corner of the room. He fetched two towels and two sheets and carefully peeled the wet top sheet off the girl. His embarrassment and disconcertment at finding that she was naked from the waist down were quickly effaced by the sudden onset of her contractions.

Again a calm voice of sense inside Argus told him not to panic; he took the girl's hand and held it in his. It felt like a wet little bird that he had once found in a nest blown from a tree. She struggled and panted and cried out as the contractions gripped her. She squeezed his hand tightly and it was not until some moments after the contractions had ceased that Argus could get her to release her grip. He then dried her, as much as he was able and, afraid to try to pull out the bottom sheet, he instead raised her body a little and slipped dry towels in at several points.

Argus remembered something about boiling water and childbirth but wasn't sure what the boiling water was for. Besides, a new series of contractions was beginning and there was no time to do anything but hold on to her hand again. He realised that the birth of the baby must be imminent and no sooner did he have this thought than he saw the top of its head, an innocent pink island in a dark forest.

‘Its head's showing,' he said to the girl in encouragement, but wasn't sure if she understood. Suddenly she began a new series of contractions that became almost continuous and she began talking in a low, hurried voice.

‘Oh how it hurts, oh how it hurts. Push push push, how it hurts. Make me better, Jared.' Argus doubted that she knew what she was saying. She seemed to faint for a moment: her skin became pale and she fell back on the pillow again.