Читать книгу Goodbye Lullaby - Jan Murray - Страница 9

It was her second day on the road; Long, lonely days. Endless miles down an empty highway. Red earth country. A parched landscape. Anthills and spinefex grass. An uncanny stillness broken only by a sudden squawk of cockatoos off in the distance. A chorus of cicadas. A dog day afternoon. A day to induce ennui.

Coming into a township an hour or so ago she had passed a school where students were playing sport, supervised by a group of nuns. One young nun had her habit tucked up and was running with a hockey stick but it was the two teenage girls down by the fence, away from the others that captured her attention. Driving past, she wondered if those two would still be friends years from now.

Speeding towards her, a car. A black one. It passes and in its tail wind comes the realisation she has been driving on auto pilot.

She surfaces into the present.

Looming up ahead is the familiar old one-pump service station and garden cafe; no more than a wooden table and bench beneath a lonely mulga tree. Stuck out in the middle of nowhere, but doing a valiant job of creating a welcome pit-stop for the weary traveler, thought Miki as she eased back on the throttle and turned into the yard, bumping over broken bitumen until she came to a stop at the faded pre-war pump.

‘Thanks for the welcome, old sport,’ she called out to the yelping blue cattle dog. Old Blue had been lazing under the veranda before hearing the approaching vehicle. Comatose, like everyone else in this heat, thought Miki.

The first time she called in here the dog had almost taken her leg off. Now they were buddies and the mutt was spinning around in paroxysms of delight, stopping only long enough after every tight rotation to cock a leg on each of the Jeep’s wheels. She had a mango for him. It was always the way. Each time she passed, going north or south, she and Old Blue renewed their acquaintance with these small offerings of friendship; dog piss and mangoes.

Miki smiled as the dog gave a grateful bark and snaveled the mango from her hand and wagging his tail, trotted back to his dusty hole under the house to savour the gift.

The screen door on the fibro cottage flew open and a heavily pregnant woman came waddling down the veranda steps, followed by a toddler.

She flung her arms out to greet the little boy, disappointed when he hung back behind his mother’s skirt.

‘The only thing he’s going to hug right now is his bottle. He’s just woke up and a bit of a sook,’ the mother said. 'Aren't you, baby? A sookie boy. You say hello to Miki. Go on.'

Reaching into the back of the Jeep, Miki retrieved a small black and white panda and handed it to the child, trying not to show her hurt when the toddler rejected the gift with a determined shake of his head, and sliding further behind his mother’s skirt. Embarrassed, the young woman thanked Miki with a smile and squatted down awkwardly, attempting to interest the boy in the panda. When both women looked up they saw the husband standing on the steps of the cottage. Miki helped the pregnant woman back on her feet.

The solidly built man zipped up the last inch of his fly and ran a bunch of fingers through a disheveled head of fair hair before ambling across to them. ‘G’day, mate,’ he said, addressing Miki in a slow country drawl.

‘Hi,’ she replied, realizing with embarrassment what she might have disturbed.

‘Howz things? It’s been a while,’ said the man.

She indicated his wife’s condition and smiled. ‘Things haven’t stood still, though.’

‘Don’t she look great?’ he said, putting an affectionate arm around his wife.

Miki watched him scoop his boy up and bounce him high in the air. The child threw his head back and giggled each time his father tossed and caught him, his toddler arms and legs flying out parachute style with each high throw. He squealed, wanting more, turning to the visitor mid-air with a look that said this beats your panda hands down.

She couldn’t argue with that. 'Fill it up, Gus, thanks. Water and oil's all good.'

'She goin' okay?'

'So far.'

She left the Jeep and walked across to the dilapidated phone box with its busted windows and precariously hanging door. A battered white-pages phone book, its edges torn and curled, its leaves turned in as markers by previous users sat on the dusty bench. She had no need of it. Their phone box was the only number she needed. She unhooked the receiver, but before dialling she took time to stare through the booth's dusty glass to the perfectly framed tableau over by the pump.

The petrol cap was off. The woman held the hose while her husband stood behind her, fondling her breasts and her swollen belly. Turning her head around, the woman smiled suggestively up at her man, her free hand cradling his erection. Unambiguously, he placed his big hand over hers on the nozzle and helped her guide it into the hole. The woman threw back her head, letting him nibble her earlobe while, together they filled the tank.

Love in the outback. She hoped the Jeep’s tank wouldn’t overflow before the couple’s passions cooled.

Old Blue was back at her feet, licking the salt from her legs, looking for seconds. 'Sorry, sport. Outta luck.'

The mutt slunk off to where the toddler was riding his dinky backwards and forwards over the panda.

Overtaken by an urge to be back on the road, she returned the handset to its cradle and stepped outside. She was dog-tired and her body felt dirty, the grit everywhere; in her eyes, between her teeth and running in red rivulets down her arms and the backs of her legs.

She would make the call from further down the highway.