Chapter 12: Whatever Happened to Chivalry

They lay back on their towels in silence and buried their feet in the sand as the sky behind turned dusty with the approaching sunrise. The first of the gulls shook themselves clean in the pools amongst the rocks of the breakwater as the night’s hood was pared back. The first sleepy rays peered in strands over the ridge of dunes to pierce the pale mist hovering over the ocean, a beacon to a new day.

Alby formed the nucleus of the group, with Pilar’s head on his chest and Hazel’s on his stomach, their bodies stretched out perpendicular to his. Alby’s hand lay casually on Pilar’s taut brown stomach, and Marshall listened to the madness turning in Hazel’s stomach.

They squinted against the ignited sky. The tide rushed half-heartedly against the sand. The morning was unhurried; they had nowhere better to be other than right here soaking in the dawn and the gentle lapping of the ocean. Their breathing marked time with the ebb and flow and their heartbeats murmured in alignment. It was Saturday morning and the world would move in its own time.

A handful of morning joggers passed along the wet sand between the group and the sea, their panting adding syncopated beats to the early morning rhythm. Swimmers adjusted goggles over their sockets as they squeaked across the sand and porpoised into the fragile surf.

“Whyyyyy,” Pilar complained. “Why would anybody do that to themselves?”

Alby chuckled.

“It’s sick is what it is,” Hazel agreed.

Alby snorted.

“Alby, you really would laugh at anything, wouldn’t you,” Marshall said.

His volume increased into an unabashed guffaw. Heads complained at the assault on their comfort.

With time the shadows of the dunes retreated up the beach and the sun cast its autumn rays across their bodies, lizards warming up to the activities of the day. They hid their eyes behind their elbows and meandered to the realisation of dehydration and the first gentle throbs starting to pulse through their heads.

“Is there any more drink? I’ve got a hangover coming on.”

Alby shook the blue polystyrene container to be met with a hollow silence. “Nah, we’re all out.”

“That’s because you dumped the dregs over my head, you arsehole,” shot Pilar.

He sighed. “Yeah. Those were the days.

Marshall snorted.

Pilar wiped the sticky remnants on her face against Alby’s chest and let her head fall back down and let out an exaggerated sigh. They lay catatonic for another while as the crescendos in their heads grew.

“My head’s really starting to hurt.”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Need.water.*gasp*.Can’t.move.”

“Urrrggh.”

“Hey guys, I’m fine! Not drinking does wonders for your body. I feel like I could run a marathon!”

A light came on in Marshall’s head- not once had he seen Alby with a drink in his hand. He was now even more confused about where Alby’s boundless energy came from.

“Lay down, shut up and keep still, motherfucker.”

Alby stayed were he was, laughing silently to himself. The world reverted to its reverie as they lay there prone and mouths agape, basking under the warming sun. Isolated pods of towels, shirts and thongs accumulated along the beach. A crisp offshore breeze picked up and the sound from the sea got heavier. The squeaking of feet grew more prominent as real estate on the waterfront became ever more scarce. Grandparents eyed the four of them cynically and diverted their grandchildren away. Regulars muttered to each other at the incursion.

“Fuck this.” Hazel reached down and grabbed a handful of Alby’s leg hair, ripping them out with a sharp snap of her wrist. Alby writhed like a cut snake, disturbing the harmony of the cluster and sending them sprawling and towels flying. Hazel squirmed away from Alby’s grasp and Marshall face-planted into the sand. He came up spitting grit. Pilar squealed in delight as Alby got hold of Hazel, hoisted her over his shoulder and set off towards the water.

Pilar turned to Marshall with a grin wide on her face. “Aren’t you going to try and save her?”

“She got herself into that mess...” he shrugged.

“Tut. Whatever happened to chivalry?” she put the back of her hand against her forehead and swooned mockingly. Alby was running into the wash, Hazel bouncing precariously on his shoulder. He launched her like a shot-put into a wave breaking just in front of them. The slap of skin against the approaching wall of water was sharply audible from the beach. They winced. Hazel came up spluttering, strands of copper plastered against her face. She caught sight of her attacker and, ignoring her reddening skin, sprang headlong at him, catching him by the legs and hobbling him until he too fell into the sand-churned water. She pushed his head under again for good luck and walked, smiling serenely, from the sea. Alby sat in the shallow sandy water and laughed.

As the easterly began to throw sand along the beach they collected their belongings and trudged heavily back through the soft white dimples to the car park. Alby jostled with Pilar while Marshall ran his hands over Hazel’s bottom under the pretence of wiping sand off her underwear.

“I’ve got sand all up in my bits,” complained Hazel.

“Ummm, his name’s Marshall…” was the ignoble response from Pilar.

They bundled everything into the boot and meandered back through the suburbs towards the city. Marshall and Hazel spooned across the back seat, their hands wandering surreptitiously. Pilar slumped against her window and fell asleep, while Alby concentrated on the road from behind foggy eyes.

“Can you put some music on?” Marshall asked. Alby obliged, sliding the cassette into the machine with a clunk. The subtle hiss of white noise emanated from the speakers as the tape wound on. Under the cover of noise Marshall slid his hand inside Hazel’s underwear, an act so brazen that he himself was shocked. His heart accelerated into cacophony as his fingers dislodged grains of sand clinging to her hairs and skin. Hazel arched her back, bit her lip and breathed out measuredly as his finger entered her, giving herself over to his touch completely. She held onto him in solidarity. Alby kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead while Pilar softly snored.

Arriving at the girl’s house, Marshall readjusted his jeans. Alby and Pilar slumped inside, eyes half closed in front of their exhaustion. Hazel glided sleekly across the paving like a cat warm from the sun. Marshall thought he heard her purring as he followed, bent over like an old man.

Inside her room they quickly disrobed, wiped the sand from their bodies and fell into bed. Sunshine streamed in around the edges of the curtains. A line sluiced across the bedspread. They set upon each other again, this time without any illusion of restraint. There was no pretence of romance, only lust and raw undisciplined sex. They devoured each other as if they hadn’t eaten in days; skins of salt and sand. Barely restrained, he bit her nipple and pushed a finger inside her. She grasped his cock forcefully and massaged its end. Their breathing was course and ragged.

As he lay threatening atop her she asked if he had a condom.

He groaned. “Shit.”

“Shit. Fuck.”

“Sorry. I don’t go out expecting these things to happen.” He rolled off her, bitter at his thoughtlessness.

“No no. It’s not your fault.” She slapped her forehead. “Shit. I’ll have to search Donna’s room.” Hazel rolled out of bed muttering, tied a towel around her body and padded down the hall. Marshall hid his eyes behind the crook of his arm and berated himself.

Hazel crept past Pilar’s door and into Donna’s room, careful not to make any noise lest she disrupt her friends and become the focus of their teasing. She opened the top drawer of the bedside table and rummaged through loose pieces of paper and boxes of aspirin, tampons and antihistamines. She found what she was looking for and removed a silver foil square from its box. She slid the drawer shut and turned to leave the room. Twin silhouette’s blocked the doorway. Marshall heard Pilar’s shriek, Alby’s rumble, and Hazel’s hissing at the pair of them, the sound of a door closing and hurried footsteps approaching. Hazel returned grasping a square of foil like a trophy above her head. She smiled a tilted smile.

“That was so embarrassing! I’m not going to hear the end of this.”

Marshall blushed. “Well, we don’t have to…”

“Oh god yes we do!” She straddled him and lowered her head to his. He smiled. She held his wrists to the headboard and slowly traced her lips down his neck, his clavicle, his torso. Her hair tickled his skin and it broke out in goosebumps. The raw passion that had threatened to burn them alive had collapsed into something more languid and erotic.

They lay prone for a few moments before he removed the condom and deposited it in the plastic bag next to her desk. A strange sense of embarrassment rolled over him as he turned towards her and saw her eyes looking, through half closed slits and lips turned upwards into a lazy smile, at his manhood. He felt her scrutinise him and worried how he measured up. He blushed and pulled the sheet up to his throat. They held hand for a few minutes before rolling over, all too aware of the unfamiliar presence of the other at their backs, and slept restlessly, steadfastly refusing to thrash around for fear of disturbing the other.

The phone started to vibrate next to the bed. Marshall lurched. Yoshi. Through bleary eyes he hit the power button. He lay staring at the ceiling rose, his sudden insomnia powered by the admonishing beats of poisoned blood at his temples and an acute awareness of the quiet body next to him. He could feel the black bags beneath his dry and bloodshot eyes; his throat a cracked mud flat. He swallowed what saliva he could produce and waves of discomfort followed the peristalsis down his neck. What’s the time? With his arm over his face he listened intently for the telltale clicking of a clock. Nothing. He groaned. Rolling over he picked up his phone from on the hatbox and switched it back on. The display told him the hour. 2 hours sleep? You’ve gotta be kidding me! It beeped a received message. Voicemail.

“Har-Mar SuperStar! It’s Yoshi. Just calling to see if you want breakfast. Give us a call.”

Marshall rubbed his face. He swivelled to sit on the edge of the bed before standing up, careful not to wake Hazel or to move too fast in case of vertigo. Hazel rolled onto her back and flung an arm across where Marshall had been sleeping. She looked at him with one eye open, watching curiously.

“Want some water?”

“Mmmm *cough* yeah.” She smiled.

He slipped his pants on and snuck into the kitchen. He rinsed a glass from the bench under cold water, eliciting a yelp from the shower. He grimaced, mouthed an apology at the wall, and raided the fridge for the remnants of the apple and orange juices in the door. He removed them from their rack and delivered them to Hazel’s room. She had wrapped herself in an oriental dressing gown and sat cross-legged on the bed awaiting his return. Her hair hung in knotted tendrils over her shoulders. Smeared makeup, dark rings and the furrows in her pained brow lent her the unnerving appearance of a brothel madam. He held the cartons out and she pointed at the orange juice. They scrutinized each other in the cold light of day down the lengths of the plastic bottles.

“I didn’t get water coz someone’s in the shower. Didn’t want to disturb ‘em.”

She dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “Fuck ‘em.”

The wooden floorboards reverberated from rapid and heavy footfalls coming their way. The shadows of two legs were visible through the crack beneath the door. “Are you guys fucking?” Silence. “Hey? What are you up to?” Hazel and Marshall could hear two voices whispering, then muted giggling. They held their breath.

A woman’s voice. “Hey Hazel. Do you wanna watch a DVD? We’re watching DVD’s. You can choose. Hazel?”

“No thanks,” she sang.

“We’re coming in...”

“Fuck off!” Hazel shouted.

The latch scratched metal on metal and the door creaked as it slowly opened. Marshall leapt to lean against the inside of the door, the weight of one man leaning against the other; an inverse tug-of-war. Hazel helped him and together they managed to get the latch to click back into place.

“Awww, c’mon. We can make popcorn.”

“We’ll be out in a minute. Just give us a sec, alright?”

“Are you naked?” Alby turned the doorknob again and Marshall braced himself against the door again. Alby’s inevitable giggle could be heard though the door.

“No we’re not naked. Just give us a minute.”

“All-riiiiiight,” a singsong reply.

Marshall and Hazel waited a moment, but shadows remained.

“Go away! We can see you under the door.”

Pilar clicked her tongue and the sound of socked feet echoed down the hall.

“You too, Alby.”

“Awww.” He skipped away down the hall after Pilar.

Hazel blew a raspberry. “Do you want to stay for breakfast? I don’t know if we have much, but we could rustle something up. If you can put up with those two, that is.”

“Nah. I got a call from Yoshi.” Hazel looked at him non-plussed. “Asian-looking guy, scrawny, about this high.”

“Ah yeah.”

“He wanted to know if I wanted to get breakfast. I think I’ll get a lift home with him. I don’t want to walk home like this.” He felt like he was trying to come up with excuses. “Thanks though.”

They watched at each other awkwardly. Marshall shuffled his feet. “I should call him back and confirm, though.”

“OK.” She abstractly pushed at her hair and looked around at the mess she’d made of her room in the panic of deciding what to wear the night before. Discarded costumes lay over the back of a chair, the foot of the bed, on the desk. Used tissues dotted the floor. She berated herself for leaving her room in such a state. ‘At least I’d made my bed’ she thought. She started to clean around him while he made the call, trying to convince herself that she wasn’t always so untidy. She wrote down her address on the back of a piece of scrap paper for Marshall to relay, then sat back on the edge of the bed. Marshall tried not to stare at her inner thigh gleaming through the gap in her gown.

“He’s getting a taxi now.”

“OK. Cool. Do you want to wait on the step?” It was more of a rhetorical question as she started to move towards the door.

They emerged into the daylight and sat down on the tattered blue couch, averting their eyes from the blazing morning sun. The scent of nectar from the bottlebrush next door drifted on the wind. Dozens of bees flitted over the stamen. They sat in terrible silence taking in the sights and sounds of the Saturday morning. Everything seemed to be happening hazily, lazily. They slouched and sighed. If you had to be up and about on a hangover morning, this was the type of morning that could makes all the troubles and drama of a hangover worthwhile. They smiled across the driveway, only partially watching each other in the periphery. The night was now a hazy memory. Each passing minute further obfuscated the accuracy of the night before. By tomorrow it will have blurred into a series of discrete events and by-lines: pre-drinks (standard), concert (wasn’t the music great?), after-party (madness), beach (sexy swimming; the ride home), bed (sex. unaccountable sex).

“So... Can I umm get your number… or...”

“Ummm, sure. I guess.” Both thought it would be left just as a one-night-stand, but neither wanted to be the first to admit it. How do you just leave? Do you say ‘Thanks’? Maybe it’s better to get their number to save face?

Marshall wrote her name (What was it? Hazel), then number, into his phone and hit ‘save’. “OK then. Thanks. I guess.” He extended his arm awkwardly towards her.

A smile spread across Hazel’s face at the absurdity of the situation; almost laughed. She accepted his handshake. “No problem. Thank you.”

Now it was Marshall’s turn to smile. They both recognised it for what it was. A fling. A one-night-stand. Hedonism.

A yellow taxi crept carefully up the street trying to identify the numbers on the letterboxes. Marshall waved it on to where they were. “Well, thanks again. It was a great night. I had the most fun ever.”

“Me too. See you again some time. Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Haha yeah. You too. K.F.C. Mmmm,” he rubbed his belly sarcastically. While fried food seemed like a good idea now, he knew that it would seem like a bad idea later. Hazel laughed.

“Bye.” They waved, embarrassed, yet satisfied with the way things had paned out all the same.

Marshall got in the car and buckled his seat belt. As the car started to roll forward Marshall held his hand up towards the woman on the couch. He felt a sudden pang of misery that in all likelihood this would only be a one-off. It was a bitter feeling, of opportunity missed, or worse, wasted. Her eyes met his dolefully. Alby and Pilar rushed out the front door waving madly. “Bye Marshall. Bye!” they shouted, setting the neighbours dog to barking. Hazel swung her fist around and caught Alby in the ribs, setting him off into hysterics as the taxi pulled away from the curb.

As they set off down the road Yoshi extended his hand for a high-five, and bashfully Marshall obliged. “Good work.” They shared a smile.

 “So?”

“So what?” Marshall asked trying to act cool and collected, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Yoshi looked at him incredulously and dropped it for the time being. “To KFC! Get the man some celebratory chicken!”

“How about you. What did you get up to?”

“Casino. Came out a hundred and fifty ahead. That’s booze for the week. The rest goes towards celebratory chicken! My shout”

“Damn straight.” Marshall afforded himself a chuckle at the absurdity of life.

By the end of the day, after nausea and a nap, Marshall had convinced himself that he would message Hazel. ‘What the hell’ he reasoned ‘what do I have to lose? We had fun, right? Why shouldn’t I message and just see what happens.’ But when to send the message? I don’t want to seem too eager, but don’t want it to seem like some bored after-thought.’ He wrestled with himself, this eternal question, then told himself ‘Fuck it. Just send it now. Fuck the consequences.’ Something about the combination of the night and the hangover had given him a new bout of confidence. Or recklessness, it was hard to tell which. He wasn’t expecting it to work out for him, and if he did so happen to be shot down in flames at least he had had a go. And that at least was something to take away from it other than just the fading memories and nostalgia for bygone joy.

Chapter 11: Mapping Their Veins and Flesh

I’m fairly sure I regained some form of consciousness after about 18 months. Before that there was nothing. No light, no sound, no taste, no smell, no pressure inside my nondescript box. There was no ticking of a clock to mark the time, no calendar to cross off the days. I have no memory- much like looking back on your infancy and childhood, trying to recall what happened. You know it happened, but you’re damned if you can remember. Then as you grow details begin to stick, memory fades in and out. You remember those random instances like drinking cordial on a summer’s day, or drowning your sister’s doll in a puddle, but important milestones slip your grasp. The order of events is jumbled. You can’t say with certainty if you first took a bite of an apple, or hit your head on a doorknob.

I cannot recall the exact order, but I remember the sensation of being cradled, like a child being held too tightly to its mother’s chest. I had an overwhelming feeling of comfort. I’m fairly certain that my first concrete memory amongst the jumble of half-thoughts was of being softly tickled. I remember thinking it a curious sensation.

I remember the taste of air. Sweet, glorious air flowed through the microscopic cables and pores of my body. The decay and fertiliser of my body, my atoms and ions, were siphoned through billions of miniscule pores by nano-pumps, delivered to the core, distributed and fed through the walls of trillions of cells. My carbon sequestered in cellulose and my remaining oxygen powered up the trunk, out the branches, through the leaves and into the atmosphere.

Weightless and at peace. I closed my eyes and soared.

I filled out leaves, mapped out their veins and flesh. I remember sunlight. I leaned back in glorious recline to bask in the healing glow of its radiation.

My education has continued since my death- through the whispers of the bush, the voices of the living as they pass, and the letters left buried at my feet. Even now I am sure I have but scratched the surface of the skin of all there is to know. I certainly wouldn’t be so gormless as to suggest that I know as much as those looming wistfully over the wires. Their wisdom is ageless and I am but their eager student.

Much of my learning has occurred in parallel with my siblings. As I was coming into consciousness they conspired to dig a cubby-house underground, a hide-away from the eyes of the other kids, their own secret club. They dug into the hill some meters across from my grave. With picks, mattocks and shovels stolen from the shed they dug down and into the gravelly hill until they reached the chunky sheets of ironstone barely 3 feet down. They lay scraps of corrugated iron over the top to act as a roof and piled sticks and branches on top as camouflage against invading forces. They toiled for weeks during breaks in their lessons and chores, digging first one room, then a passage leading to an another and a third separated from the others by a trapdoor made from a flattened drum. Alcoves were dug into the walls for stolen candles to lend an ethereal quality to the stale air of a thousand centuries. All the while Mum and Dad looked on bemused, yet thrilled by the ingenuity of their offspring.

The cubby-house became their personal library. They would secretly slip small pieces of paper into holes drilled into the walls, offering their thoughts and feelings up to the unjudging worms and microbes. They wrote down their feelings, the things they deemed too emotional, too obscure, to ever say out loud. These were their heartfelt words.

They did this while not even aware that the other was mimicking their own actions. When these- their heartfelt words- could be translated into words they would slip away from the house, peel the soiled hessian sacks from the doorway and burrow down on all fours into the darkness. Illuminated by parallel lines of light filtering in through nail holes in the roof, they would light the candles with the matches they stowed in their pockets and cast shifting shadows against the walls of their secret tomb. They would loosen the dirt at a non-descript part of the wall and burrow a small hole in which to bury their notes, then leave, sneak out as if the softest sound would reverberate through the earth and alert the world to this private act, never to return, surrendering them to the bugs and the germs.

I enclosed their hideaway in my loving embrace. I pined for them. As my embrace tightened, my roots discovered the abandoned parcels. My fingers wrapped around them and I devoured their very being, taking the ink up into my body and memorising their shape and form. Slowly I built a compendium of words and taught myself the conventions of the English language, piecing them together to form sentences of my own. It was from these notes and against their emotions that I learned to write.

My self-discovery was like a mirror of my childhood learning. At first I had no control over letters and words, just as I had no control over my new body. With time and practice I could reorganise the jumble of characters to form words. I could control which part of my body I inhabited. I learned to read, then to write. I could manipulate my limbs, my leaves, my pores. I could compose my own stories and treatises. My body and mind became perfectly aligned and I became myself.

I became attuned to the whispers and conversations of the spirits around me- sometimes whimsical, often wistful, always wise. I learnt the secrets and knowledge of the bush and became myself a part of that world. They rejoiced at the sight of life, and in time my voice would rise in unison. We hushed as one in reverence at the climax of death and mourned the loss of another friend.

As I grew, so too did the space surrounding me. My peers were removed by Progress and with each loss the silence of the spirits spread. In solidarity I grew that little bit more erect, spreading my limbs ever wider to compensate for the air cleft between our bodies. To compensate for this growth I diverted the energy from the maintenance of my canopy, so that with each loss a leaf would fall until I was but a standing skeleton, bereft of cover, alone on the hillside; a naked reflection to man’s world. My arms raised in alarm to the sky; my silhouette stark and disquieting above the bare ridge, a permanent reminder of the mortality of spirit. Men would stand and look and wonder at the omens I represent, wonder at their own transience before turning back to their work in fear of their grim reality.

I started engraving the stories of the past into the new bands of my growth as a permanent reminder of where we are from. Just as when I was a child my first attempts at writing in my new form proved jarring and uncontrolled. But as I learned to control my body my hand improved. I etch out this story between here and the sky- from the morning-edge of moss, all the way around my core until my prose reaches the end of its annual thesis. What start as microscopic pores spelling out my words transform into widening grooves as they are pushed outwards by the next year’s growth. As I grow taller my template increases, giving me license to outlandish bursts of poetry and prose, until I finish this story and move onto the next- the grand narrative of the land itself.

Now I stand here, stark against the sky waiting for the day- and it will come- that I shall die again. I shall lay there in wait for the day, the day that has already come, that you open me up and carefully separate the rings from my trunk, from my branches, and from the buds that never develop into leaves- the day the saw carves into my story, my life. If you do this for an entire forest you can read the stories of the spirit, the great, all-encompassing story of this land; this whole absurd conglomeration of life. It is a library waiting to be read. But be careful, for the spirits themselves will be lost and all that will be left behind will be their stories; and once they are told they cannot be taken back, cannot be edited, and cannot be finished.

Chapter 10: On A Mission

Yoshi stubbed the butt of his cigarette into the underside of the banister. He stood slowly, stretched and broke his silence. “Right. I think I’ll leave you kids to it. Cheers for the party and all that.”

“You could crash here if you want,” said Zach.

“Nah, tsawright. Don’t really feel like sleeping yet. I’ll get a taxi to the Cas’ for a spot of hard-core gambling.”

“Huh. Really?”

“Yeah. It’s either that or a titty-bar, and I can’t be fucked tormenting myself like that right now.”

“Well, don’t blow all your pay. You gotta eat something next week,” Marshall advised.

“’tsOK. I’ve a stockpile of mee goreng in case of emergency. Should see me through,” he grinned and fluttered a casual wave around the circle. “Be good,” he pointed at Marshall and walked down the stairs to the street.

They all yelled their goodbyes after Yoshi’s silhouette until it could no longer be distinguished from the Box trees lining the road.

“Good fella,” Alby said contentedly.

Donna uncurled from Zach’s lap and stood stretching. She offered her hand to help Zach to his feet and wrapped her arms around him. “Well, we’ll leave you kids to it, too. I’m calling it a night and taking my boy with me.”

“Alright. Nighty night.”

“’night guys.”

 “So, how about you guys? You all ready for bed?” asked Alby.

“Not really. I kinda feel like waiting for the sun to rise. I haven’t watched a sunrise for ages,” said Hazel.

“Hmmmm. Me too,” said Pilar.

They all stared wistfully into the perforated blackness of the sky, lost in their own thoughts and sentiments. They sighed as one.

“Well, what should we do in the meantime?”

“I’m kinda enjoying this,” Hazel indicated to the shroud above them. “Just staring out into infinity and getting drunk and getting sentimental and nostalgic.”

“Wanker,” Pilar coughed into her fist.

Marshall smiled. “The fragile scent of the moon bathes the world in such delicate sentiment.”

Laughter exploded from Alby with such force as to make him fall off the sofa. Pilar pretended to vomit over the edge of the chair.

“Niiiice,” Hazel applauded, appreciating Marshall’s efforts.

“Thanks. I’m proud of that one.”

They paused once more to bask in the reverie of silence. After the madness of the night it was good to just sit, relax and readjust to the pace of reality. They each chased their own internal monologues and dove down tangents safe in the company of friends. A yawn rolled around the circle.

Alby jolted upright, struck by a thought lingering at an intersection of his neuronal highways. “Why don’t we go to the beach? It can be our mission!”

“As long as we can get snacks on the way” Hazel said.

“Yes. Yes we CAN!” he exclaimed. “We must! It is our duty to have snacks.” Alby was on his feet now, wringing his hands and pacing, restored to hyperactivity, organising a course of action and plotting the ascent of man. They went inside and added another couple of layers of clothing and grabbed towels in case they were struck by the impulse to go for a swim. They were in love, but with what they couldn’t say.

Alby tried to rouse Zach from his room, but Donna was having none of it. She had plans of her own and wasn’t going to let Alby spoil them. She leant a chair under the knob of the bedroom door, and yelled at him when he tried to hip-and-shoulder it open. They traded barbs through the keyhole. Donna told him that if Zach went he would only distract him from his chemistry with Pilar; that they had danced around each other long enough, and that they should just do it already. Alby tried to fob Donna’s comments off with a laugh, but his embarrassment showed through the façade. If she could have seen, he would have blushed.

As Donna was blocking progress, Alby turned his attention to Zach. He pleaded with him, taunted him for being pussy-whipped and warned him of the fun he’d be missing out on, but Zach stayed quiet. He knew how dangerous it would be to side with Alby. There would be recriminations if he were to follow.

Pilar sashayed around the bedroom, picking up odd pieces of costuming strewn across the floor and commenting on their practicalities and uses. Alby poked his head around the corner and walked in, his normally demeanour now somehow stiff and stilted. Under normal circumstances he was perfectly capable of innocent flirting, but the threat of physical manifestation made him apprehensive. Suddenly, wherever he looked there were all these real or imagined signals. He flitted about the room, giggling nervously at everything Pilar said and reading subtext into every flippant comment.

Hazel and Marshall distracted themselves by hunting for snacks amongst the ruins of the kitchen. They compiled a picnic hamper of sorts, filling a canvas bag with the remnants of half-eaten packets of chips and lollies. Leftover punch was siphoned into a portable cooler together with handfuls of ice from the washing machine and wild mint from the backyard, and the dregs of assorted spirits were poured in for good measure. Glances were half-missed across the table.

As Marshall was draining the last drops from a cask into the cooler a face, eyes wild and bloodshot, popped up at the window before him. Marshall jumped back. The bulging eyes stared, the face tenses, straining into a look of frightful disapproval as nostrils flared above a dishevelled moustache and dark stubble. Marshall strangled a scream. A tongue flicked out between teeth.

Hazel followed his line of sight. The face turned towards her. He hissed behind bared teeth and ducked out of sight. She tiptoed around the table to the window and peered through the glass towards the ground. She caught the flapping of a coat turning around the corner of the house. Turning to Marshall she put her index finger to her lips and crept along the wall following the direction taken by the coat. She crept to the back door and pressed her back against the wall. Marshall screwed his brow at her, concerned. Hazel slowly reached for the doorknob. She closed her eyes for a brief second, then all at once grabbed and turned the knob and jerked the door open. She flung herself into the cavity and screamed. A startled and panicked shout responded from the darkness. Hazel burst into laughter. The voice outside sounded again, this time with as much relief as fear. A man staggered into the house clutching at his chest. Hazel made way and laughed at him. Marshall finally recognised the face of the almighty megaphone man, albeit a more dishevelled version thereof.

“Fucking hell, Haze. You scared the shit outta me.” He sighed deeply, and moaned as if rearranging his startled organs. At last his composure returned. He smoothed his moustache back into some sort of shape, looked over at Marshall and arched an eyebrow at Hazel.

“Marshall. A friend of Alby’s brother.”

“Ah. Mattias.” He extended a hand. Marshall accepted it.

Mattias turned back to Hazel. “I’d better be going before you finish me off. Have you seen my phone?” He wandered through the lounge and picked up a phone from atop the speaker. “Don’t worry. Found it.” He looked suspiciously from Hazel to Marshall and back again, a sinister smile dancing on his lips. “I’ll be off then.” He saluted with his phone and stumbled off down the hall and out the front door. The flyscreen slammed shut behind him.

With the hamper packed and clothes and towels gathered, they piled into the Gemini; Alby and Pilar in the front, Hazel and Marshall in the back. A bad 90’s mix-tape was pushed into the tape deck and Alby steered out onto the road. Uninhibited laughs and excited voices bounced off the windows. The elephant sat heavily and looked quizzically at each of them in turn as they exchanged secret glances, coy flicks of hair and light touches on arms.

The traffic lights along Vincent St were optimistic as those in the car sang along and earnestly acted out the lyrics to ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’. Alby beat his fists against the steering wheel, Pilar dived into interpretive dance, while in the back Hazel sang towards Marshall, who laughed nervously, excited to not only bear witness, but to also actively participate.

“Once upon a time I was falling in love, but now I’m only falling apart. There’s nothing I can say; a total eclipse of the heart.”

Hazel concluded, a parody of an emotional wreck, her head against Marshall’s chest, her hands covering her face.

“Turn around bright eyes,” Marshall intoned with the fading strains, placing a hand under her chin and lifting her face towards his. They looked deep into each other’s eyes, holding the pose for a little longer than absolutely necessary. Alby glanced in the mirror and smiled, eyes twinkling fast. Marshall summoned all of his courage and drew Hazel’s enraptured face towards his, their lips were a feather from touching, but as the last of the strings subsided both pulled their faces away fast, shielding their faces with their palms in mockery of a love lost.

Alby and Pilar laughed their appreciation. The opening bars of ‘Summer of ‘69’ crackled through the tinny speakers. Alby clapped with delight. “How are you going to re-enact this?”

Hazel sat back up and straightened her cardigan as Marshall removed his hand from her back and repositioned it on her knee, maintaining contact with memory. He held his breath and his heart tore at his chest. She didn’t flinch.

They kept singing their way through Floreat and over the paved dunes to the invisible panorama of the ocean. The lighthouse on Rottnest Island winked in time. Marshall could feel Hazel’s warmth against his palm. She leaned on his shoulder and ran a surreptitious hand up his leg to leave it lingering on his thigh, a promise. Tingles ran through his body and his heart jumped a beat. He was thrilled at the night and the position he found himself in. His mind retracted his steps to this moment. It had been a night of extreme joy, and now he found himself surrounded by the brightest lights in the city. This was how he imagined life.

The car park was deserted. Marshall and Hazel separated. Pilar grabbed the hamper from at her feet and Alby sprinted across the grass, trailing towels behind him like flags and singing the national anthem at the top of his voice. He jumped from the rock wall down onto the yellow beach, misjudging the distance and losing his balance, sprawling face first into the sand. He got up, flung the towels aside and proceeded to perform cartwheels in the sand. Pilar ambled after him alone in her own grinning world.

Marshall and Hazel lagged behind, bumping each other and taking it in turns to be piggybacked. Hazel sat on a swing and pulled Marshall towards her. He stood in front of her with his feet buried in the soft cool sand. He looked over her head at the slumbering ocean. The sea half-heartedly collapsed onto the sand as if turning in its sleep and lapped at the tide-line as if licking its lips. He lowered his head towards Hazel’s and closed his eyes as their lips formed a kiss. They both wondered whether the other could hear their heart over the rustle of the ocean. Their mouths moved in synchrony- lips opening and closing in harmony, tongues dancing in time. The mist of passion clouded their minds and the rest of the world ceased to exist.

He had grown up with the belief that girls were somehow above the sweaty palmed excitement of sex, or even the suggestion thereof; that the topic of sex never crossed their minds. He had believed that the base pleasures boys and girls enjoyed eyed each other off from the opposite sides of the spectrum. To his mind boys were depraved while girls were virtuous. That was just how he had been brought up. The purity of girl-kind kept them floating above the squalid murkiness of innuendo and perversion that swamp the male mind. It had never really occurred to him that girls might indulge in these activities too- that they too could get caught up in such pleasures. But in the position he now found himself in, the light ignited in his head and he was illuminated by the knowledge that girls are just as depraved as boys. He laughed at himself as she placed her hands on him.

Their focus was broken into a semi-dazed reality by the sound of a wolf-whistle from the beach. In the half moon light they could see Pilar sitting on a square of towels and Alby further away standing shin-deep in the water and waving at them. Marshall raised his arms in surrender, and Pilar joined in the heckling. Hazel adjusted her clothing and blushed.

“I guess we should join them.”

He begrudgingly nodded his agreement. They realised that they couldn’t abandon a mission just because something shiny caught their eye.

Marshall helped Hazel to her feet and they ambled hand in hand down to the beach. Pilar was getting stuck into the goodie-bag, ignoring the shouts and incantations of the maniac in the surf.

“Alby! You forgot the drinks. The esky’s still in the car. Can you go get it?” It was more of a demand that a question.

“Put on me jandals and jersey and git sex choice fush and chups from tha chully-ben, bro.”

“Good one dickhead.” Hazel rolled her eyes at him.

Ceasing the opportunity to show off his athleticism he sprinted up the soft sand and leapt up the 5-foot rock wall in a single stride. He turned to his audience, flexing and peacocking, before doubling over in laughter at his own brilliance.

“Yes. Very good, dear,” Pilar shouted as if placating a child.

            “Any luck?” Hazel nodded towards the silhouette on the rise.

            “Ha. Not likely.”

            “Well come on then. Make your move. We all know he won’t.”

            “Yeah… I don’t know.” She looked uncertain.

            “You should. You know it won’t happen otherwise.”

            “I dunno…”

            “Oh come on.”

            Pilar ran her fingers through the sand. She was in a fix. If she went ahead and put the hard word on Alby she knew she would have to face up to the gossip in the morning. She knew that Hazel and Donna would sit her down and not let her so much as blink until she had told them everything- the quality, the timing, the positions, and most importantly the dimensions. It was a ritual akin to interrogation. She had been an interrogator alongside both Hazel and Donna before, so knew just how brutal they could be. She at least found some consolation that she could deflect attention away from herself and back onto Hazel should the occasion arrive.

            “What do you have to lose?” Hazel pleaded. She didn’t want to see her friend pass up this opportunity. Pilar and Alby had been running around the matter for months, but they never seemed to be able to get over that first hurdle, that first sincere touch. It was a source of frustration not only for themselves, but for those close to them as well.

            “I don’t know if it’s the best idea.”

            “Don’t give me that. You’ve both wanted this for months. Get on it, already.” Hazel flapped her arms around in exasperation.

            Pilar collapsed into a state of quiet panic. She was feeling the pressure. She wanted to get together with Alby, but she was also scared of the consequences. She didn’t want to start something that could tear their friendship and even the whole group apart.

            Alby ran back and collapsed onto all fours in the sand next to them, panting. Between gasps he spoke, “Sorry I’m late. I ran here as fast as I could. Those hills over there are steeper than they look, and I was attacked by a bear on the way. See? It mauled the legs of my jeans. It’s a good thing it was only this big and his body was over-stuffed. That was the only reason I got away.” He started filling plastic cups with ambiguous fluid from the cooler. “So who’s thirsty?”

            They took their drinks and stared out to sea, summing up their options. Even Alby calmed down. Without the momentum of his stream of conscience ramblings they all stretched out and gazed westward over the white chop to the invisible horizon beyond. Hazel rested her head on Marshall’s chest and he wrapped an arm around her.

It was a perfect cloudless night. The sky above them morphed from a near-perfect black out to sea, to a dull and hazy dark blue glow above the city. While out to sea the slow arc of even the dullest galaxy could be traced, the city lights behind them illuminated the ceiling and masked the presence of all but the very brightest of stars. Occasional comets drowned themselves in the horizon. They lay there at the intersection of the universe. The world tilted over itself.

“Right. Who wants a swim?" Alby’s inevitable return to consciousness jolted them all back to reality.

Hazel was first to her feet, offering her hands to help Marshall up. “We are. Why don’t you stay here and keep Pilar company?”

Alby was a little taken aback and the prospect of what was meant by ‘keep company’ weighed heavily on his mind. He was daunted by the prospect of lowering his defences to let another person in, and of having them do the same in return. He looked at Hazel sideways and waggled his finger. “Heeeey. I know what you’re up to.”

“Yep. I think we all do. Use your time wisely. We intend to do the same.”

Marshall’s eyes widened at Hazel’s forthrightness. Alby and Pilar laughed, but their veneer was thin. Hazel slipped her cardigan from her shoulders and untied her bodice, her nipples rose to meet the cool air through her shirt. She removed her skirt and Marshall blushed involuntarily and tried not the stare open mouthed at the lithe body standing practically naked in front of him. Anxiously, Marshall whipped his shirt off and nearly fell over his jeans as he tried to step out of them. His arousal was painfully evident behind his underwear.

“Hoo-weee! You’re onto a winner there!” said Alby.

Marshall blushed deeper. Hazel started walking towards the edge of the earth, a sly grin on her lips as Marshall trotting along behind. The juvenile catcalls continued from the towels. “Make sure you use all of it!” “Are you sure it’ll fit?” “Is it hot in here, or just in his pants?”

Hazel strutted brazenly along the hardened sand unbuttoning her shirt before casually tossing the limp material onto the sand. Marshall watched the arc of its fall. As his gaze rose he took in the view. Her Achilles stood out fiercely from the back of her ankle to create twin, elongated hollows on either side. The tendons rose to strong, shapely calves that pulsated with each stride, creating a dichotomy between beauty and ugliness. He took in her taut hamstrings, her rounded bottom and slender angle into her waist and out again as it rose to her chest, her broad shoulders, the flow of shimmering red from her crown. A feeling of intense lust and awe washed over him as he followed her into the wash.

She glowed luminescent in the starlight. She seemed almost transparent amongst the inky wash of the sea and the impenetrable darkness of the sky above. Galaxies blinked on, gazing witnesses to their first tentative steps. Marshall gave a shiver of thrill.

She tied her hair into an impromptu bun atop her head as she strode out beyond the sandbank. He followed her with his body, with his eyes, by the sound of the wash against her skin, by her sweet citrus scent. He wanted to reach out and touch, to caress her tender curves with his own hands, to run his fingers over her body.

She stopped and turned; her hands cupped her breasts. Beyond her self-assuredness she felt the need to control complete access to her body until the time was right. He approached her and she stretched her arms out to meet him, the water swelling around her chest. He gazed in breathless wonder, trying not to stare, but secretly wishing for a trough in the swell to expose her. He fell into her open arms.

They kissed and groped there in the ocean, all pretence of romance and restraint cast back into the restless shore. From the wanderings of their hands and mouths they came to know each other better than if they had spent their time talking. A squeeze became a question, a sigh a response, and exploring finger a philosophy for better living.

On the shore Alby and Pilar watched in fascination and fear for a while, before succumbing to embarrassment at their own potential. They distracted themselves with nursery rhymes and forgotten childhood songs while casting veiled glances out to the water. When the sea started to froth and foam and erupt they forfeited to discretion. They strolled away along the high water line. They laughed at the folly of lust, secretly wishing for the fulfilment of their own.

Chapter 9: Gone Bush

The men were up on the hill above the Monroe’s place next door. Over the autumn and into the winter they had churned up the flats and ploughed fertilizer through the grey earth. We had bought seeds and had planted the first crops of onions and potatoes, and while they were content to slowly dig their way into the soil and reach, yawning, into the sunlight, our attention turned to the imposing hardwoods as the rains hit with the full fury of winter.

While the older kids- the teens- were expected to pitch in with the men, those of us still snapping at legs were restricted to the homes. The ridge was a place for grown-ups. We would grumble and grizzle against the injustice of it all every morning as Dad ate his toast and drank his black, bitter tea. We assured him we wouldn’t get in the way. We would help. We could stack broken limbs, chase rabbits, or just watch quietly from the sidelines. We wouldn’t get bored, we wouldn’t be a nuisance. We would be saints, angels. We wouldn’t raise so much as an eyebrow out of place. If only he would let us follow him.

And every morning Dad would pat us on the head and tell us “Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Once you’ve grown enough to reach my nipples.” And we’d stand, Dad, Margie, Albert and I, with our backs to the wall as Mum sized us up to check if, during the night, we had miraculously grown enough. And every morning would end the same- with Dad lifting us up in turn to kiss us goodbye. He’d pick up his tucker box and thermos and whistle off on his horse. We would watch and listen as he disappeared once more into the bush.

So we had to stay around the house, helping in the garden and the kitchen, and tend to the sheep and chickens scratching around the house. In the mornings we would tend to our chores and the reading and writing lessons Ma assigned us. The afternoons however were practically our own. We would make mud pies in the garden, or try to control nature by damming the creek with whatever we had at our disposal- rocks and sticks as foundations, broken reeds, mud and slime to fill the inevitable cracks and crevices. As our wall rose, so too did the weight of the water behind its barrier. It rose faster than we could build, flowing over the top and dislodging our reinforcements until we had to concede an altogether inglorious defeat. But rather than wallow, immediately started plotting the build of a bigger and better dam as soon as the creek dried up over summer. Ma would watch us through the kitchen window and smile to herself at our antics.

All day we would listen to the distant thunder of sharpened metal biting into wood and the rhythmic whir of steel teeth eating back and forth through dense-grained timber. They served as sirens- calling to us, luring us. And we’d pause in whatever we were doing and wish that we were all grown up and able to go with our father to do the things that we most wished to do. To lift and grunt and heave and thrust and swing and sweat. We wished to be men. The monotonous thuds rolling through the bush resonated inside us until they were too strong for us to ignore.

One morning in the height of that first winter Albert and I were sitting in the middle of the chook pen simultaneously terrifying the hens, trying to bathe the chicks, and preparing mud pies to feed to the sheep, or, if we were sneaky enough, Margie. Before long the hills began to reverberate with that heavenly score drifting down on the cold westerly wind. Every now and then the earth shuddered with the shock of a great jarrah or marri separating from its stump and crashing into the mud below.

Albert looked around before leaning in to whisper something in my ear. He suggested we go exploring. See what the men got up to when they were out of our sight. It could be a reconnaissance mission. I retorted that we weren’t allowed. That Mum, or worse Dad, would have our hides if they found out. We were used to being scolded by Mum, but Dad was an entirely different proposition. If you got bellowed at by Dad you knew you were in trouble.

Nevertheless, it didn’t take much for Albert to convince me of the merits of his plan. He was older, persuasive, and quite naturally I looked up to him as someone wiser than I. He knew that I was just as curious as him and that all he had to do was to keep at me and eventually I would cave.

We knew we would have to slip away quietly, but would also need supplies. Albert used his cunning to concoct a plan. I would distract Mum, while Albert would slip into the kitchen and procure some biscuits and cake. Our biggest challenge would probably be distracting Margie and throwing her off the scent or else she could ruin our plans quick smart.

As if by intuition, Margie squinted at us from her swing beneath the gnarled Redgum tree. Her eyes bored into us, stripping us bare. She watched us suspiciously, waiting for us to slip up and give away whatever treachery we plotted, looking for any evidence at all so she could run inside and tell Mum that we were up to no good.

Acting like nothing was wrong, we stalked around the woodpile searching for the perfectly shaped weapons to take with us in case we were ambushed in the forest. We leant our rifles and pistols against the chicken-wire fence and stood whispering, trying to concoct a plan to distract Margie, but when we looked over to the swing she was gone, the wooden seat gently rocking back and forth from the bough.

We cursed her out a bit, called her names like dummy, pest and loser. We knew she’d try to wreck our plans. She always tried to wreck our plans. But we decided to go ahead with it anyway. After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

As the butterflies set to flight in my stomach I circled the long way around the house so as not to arouse any undue suspicion. My heart pounded in my chest and my breathing got faster and shallower until I was nearly panting. My skin flushed and my palms started to sweat. I knew I was doing something very bad. Lying to Mum was about as bad as it could get. A crime punishable by the words: just wait until your father gets home.

I took a deep breath, trying to still my heart and compose myself, and turned the corner of the house and stepped up onto the veranda. I practised my tummy-ache face, and pushed the door open.

Damn. Margie stood directly in front of me, waiting. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at me accusingly. The baubles in her plaits dangled either side of her face staring at me like a second pair of all-seeing, all-knowing eyes. Oh, why couldn’t she have confronted Albert? Why did it always have to be me?

“Wodarya up to,” she hissed more as a declaration of guilt than a question.

“Nothin’. I gotta sore tummy an’ needa see Mum.” I wanted to boldly push past her, but my legs were rooted to the spot under the intensity of her glare. I swallowed hard, hoping she would buy the lie.

“Do not.”

“I dooooo! Lemme past”, I whined.

“Don’t believe you. I seen you two running ‘round the yard. You’re up to somethin’.” She paused as if summing up her options. “I’m gonna to tell Ma.” She turned on her heels and marched through the kitchen, down the hall and into Mum and Dad’s bedroom to where our mother was folding washing. “Maaaa! Albert and Henry are up to somethin’. Henry sez he’s got a tummy ache, but I reckon he’s lyin’.”

“Oh why are you so suspicious all the time, Margie?” Ma sighed. “Come here Henry.” She ushered me past Margie, who refused to give up any room, bumping me with her shoulder as I squeezed past. “What’s wrong?” She placed the back of her hand against my forehead.

“I don’t feel well. My tummy hurts.” I put on my best hangdog expression. My tummy gurgled. So this is what it’s like to lie?

“Hmmm, you don’t feel hot…” Margie grinned at me menacingly and I shot her a look of hatred. “When did the pain start?”

“A while ago.” I said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.” *gurgle, gurgle* At this rate I would give myself a real tummy ache from the stress.

“Hmmm. You should always let me know if you feel unwell.”

“But he’s fakin’ it!” Margie implored.

“That’s enough, Margie. Here, take your clothes to your room. Now, Henry. Have you done poo’s today?”

Margie huffed out of the room with clothes in arms as I put some thought into the question.

“Ummm. Can’t remember. Ahhh, no?”

“Hmmm. That might be it. How ‘bout you go to the toilet and see if you can do poo? Okay?”

I nodded, trying not to giggle at Mum saying ‘poo’. I bit my lip, embarrassed, and left the room quietly. My mind returned to the final goal and whether Albert had enough time to get in and out with supplies. I panicked and made a bid for more time, turning back to Ma and Dad’s room.

“Ma? Thanks. I love you.” I flashed her my most charming and innocent smile. As I look back on it, it could seem to an outsider that I didn’t mean it; that I was just stalling for time. And I guess I would have to concede that in part this is true, but I know that I actually did mean it. Here was a woman that would love me unconditionally forever. And I would love her the same. And even then I knew that I would remember this moment forever.

“Awww, come here.” She held her arms wide and I came to her, hiding myself in her bosom. “I love you, too.” She hugged me for what felt like too long, intensifying my guilt at firstly the lie, and secondly the fact that I was about to betray her trust. My tummy gurgled and I could hear the sound reverberate off the walls. Tears of shame welled in my eyes. I swallowed the bitter pill. As she let me go and wiped a tear from her own eye I knew I would never feel this bad again in my life.

“Go do poos.” She had a smile on her face as broad as all of the oceans of the world.

I left the house quickly, suffocating on the guilt trapped between the walls and roof. I needed air. I ran to the chook shed and leant with my backs against its slats. I tried to steady my heart and breathe normally, but I could only suck air in short, sharp bursts, panting like a dog. I felt my head go light and the world start to spin and blur. All the light in the world condensed into a solitary point before my eyes and then there was nothing.

I came to with Albert shaking my shoulder.

“What are you doin? I’ve got supplies. Let’s go.”

I blinked against the slow jolt of consciousness. My brain pounded against the sides of my skull as if it were trying to escape. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening. All my thoughts were muddled. I sat up and leaned against the chook shed. My fingers moved to my temples and I groaned.

“What’s goin’ on,” I croaked.

“Wodya mean ‘What’s goin’ on’? We’re goin’ bush. I’ve got the supplies.” He lifted a hessian sack as proof.

“Oh. Yeah.” I rubbed my face.

“Come on. Get up. What were ya doin’ sleep’n in chook poo for?”

“Huh?” I looked down. My entire left side was caked in muck. I smelt like the long-drop. “Awww, shoot.”

“No, shit.” He giggled at his subversive use of a swear word and I joined in weakly, not wanting to look square.

I slowly got up leant against the wall and started wiping muck from my clothes. A sour taste coated the insides of my mouth. I needed water.

“Hurry up, would ya! Do you want us to get caught, or somethin’?”

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’. I just need a drink.” I staggered to the water tank and took a long drink from the tap.

My bowels started to groan and I remembered the lie. The guilt rose again and acid rose up into the back of my throat and my breakfast sprayed out of my mouth and over the leg of the tank-stand. A feeling of relief flooded over me as I glibly accepted the punishment for my sins.

My insides tried to turn themselves inside out. I rushed to the toilet, dropped my pants and aimed my bottom towards the hole as fast as I could. I launched a fluid line and groaned in pain and relief. I grinned at the irony of taking Mum’s advice, albeit unwillingly.

Albert hissed something at me from outside and I responded with a moan. He resorted to throwing rocks at the dunny. The musty air inside the bathroom rang as he took to throwing stones against the iron sheeting.

Once I was certain that I’d evacuated all that there was to possibly evacuate I emerged, beaten, from the loo. Albert stopped mid-throw and dropped his stone.

“Jeez, you look awful!”

“Mmmnngmm”

“You gonna be ‘right?”

“Hhhgn. Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe we should wait till tomorrow. You look really awful.”

“Nah. I’ll be fine. C’mon. Let’s go.” I walked back towards the chook shed as confidently as I could manage and Albert trotted to catch up. I didn’t want to appear to be some kind of sissy, especially with so much at stake. My legs wobbled like cold custard, but I kept up my stoic pace.

“You sure?”

“Yeah sure.”

“K then.”

        We picked up our supplies and our guns and headed up the hill away from home. We hadn’t specified a route, but were led through the bush by the sound of the axes marking time ahead of us. We picked our way between the trees, giving a wide berth to the prickly leaves of the Banksia and long spines of the Blackboy, and the ticks we knew to be hiding within their foliage.

            The canopy pressed down on us like ominous green clouds gathering for the apocalypse. Knotted brown arms grappled at us as we passed. We’d been in the bush before, but never without our parents, and this loneliness bred a menace feeling that clung to our skin and pervaded our pores. The silence sounded so much denser when we were alone.

            As we clambered over rusty ironstone outcrops any noise amongst the leaf litter became the quick-snap slither of unseen snakes. Each crackle would stop us in our tracks and thrust our hearts into our throats- never mind that it was winter and any self-respecting reptile would be burrowed up somewhere safe and dry. We felt certain that the incessant throbbing in our chests would bring them sliding from the rocks to sink their glistening fangs into our flesh. Our skin crawled. We took to whistling to still our hearts and divert our attention away from such fear.

            We were men, doing manly things, so we had to act like men- we couldn’t just abandon our plans because we were scared. And after all that I’d been through- the lying, the fainting, the vomiting, the diarrhoea - there was no way I would conceding defeat. I’d already invested too much in this plan. Besides, if we retreated we would get into trouble for disappearing. We both thought it better to get in trouble for something we actually did rather than something we set out to do and failed.

            So on when trudged, picking our way through the undergrowth, led ever onwards by the woodsmen’s song. Albert visibly shivered as a cool and calm breeze washed our skin. We held the sour breath of the bush in our lungs.

            We reached the bluntened razor of the ridge above where our house would be amongst the knotted gums below. Sap of the deepest red seeped from a wound in the side of a broad Marri formed a sluggish river coursing through the crevices of the brittle brown bark. A small bug lay embedded within the red amber, suspended in the very moment of death. I prodded at it for a while with a twig, pulling fine threads of tree-blood from the wound into a web. Curious, I pressed a finger into the goo, coating it with the tacky red gum. I tried wiping it off on my pants, but only succeeded in spreading a thick smear. And still my finger was coated. Before long my hands and face were coated also. Once it touched a surface, it stayed there. Albert swore at me and delved into the sack to grab a handful of biscuits.

            “Here you go. Lunch.”

            “Tah.” I gave up on cleaning my hands and took the offered biscuits, being careful not to taint my food.

            “We’re ‘bout half way, I reckon.”

            “Mmmhmm.”

            “Be there in half and hour.”

            I allowed Albert his commentary, but I was more concerned with keeping the sap out of my food. I sucked crumbs from my palms and watched two lines of ants marching in and out of their home next to my foot.

The throb and whine from the workers intensified as we picked our way along the ridge. Each thwack bounced between the trees, raising the alarm of the advance of man. They shook and whispered, agitated. Every component of the bush could sense the danger and realised the threat to its survival- that eventually it would be their turn to meet the sharpened splice.

            Normally our focus would have been pulled by any number of things and we would have forgotten all about our plans, but on this particular occasion we were relentless. It was our mission, our destiny, to meet up with the men, and we weren’t going to let any old stray roo or balled-up echidna distract us from our objective.

            We drew closer and the rhythm grew louder. It was as though a symphony was being composed. The clamour of the axes and saws provided the counterpoint to the trills and chatter of the bird and the swishes of the wind dancing through the leaves. It sang to us and sent waves of chills crashing up and down our spines.

            We knew we must have been close when we came across evidence of the men’s activity. Bands of bark had been stripped from the trunks to expose their flesh. The leaves at the tips of the branches were withering brown; the wounds wept with the blood of giants. We poked at the glistening beads of eucalyptus and revelled in its heavenly scent.

            Finally we caught sight of the men. They swung their axes with power and precision and their singlets were stained a deeper blue around their collars, chests and armpits where the sweat ran in torrents. Two axemen worked each tree, their swings staggered to maximise efficiency and each impact of forged steel sent shards of red flying through the air. Other pairs stood on opposite sides of a tree, each bracing against the push of the other as they grunted into their sweet, whirring cadence. Flecks of pulpy red mud were spat from the wound with each pass of the saw. Our nostrils burned with the rich, sticky scent of freshly cut wood hanging in the heavy air beneath the canopy.

            We watched from afar, each daring the other to be first to emerge from the shadows. We had come to join the men, but were scared of those final steps into their realm. We crouched behind a rotting and mossy log and waited, watching, but we couldn’t just crouch there all day amongst the rot and bugs. I was the one who finally succumbed. A combination of Albert’s goading, my desire to be a man, and sheer bloody-mindedness lifted me. My Legs drifted of their own volition as if on clouds. I would like to say I strode purposefully into the clearing, but I was more like a mouse assessing the safety of a room. I placed each foot carefully, trying not to break any spring-loaded sticks lest they give away my position. Albert hissed something at me, his head peering over the log, urging me on with a stiff wave of his hand. I looked ahead apprehensively, caught between my desire to stay out of trouble and my desire to prove myself. I hesitated mid-stride. Caught in the glare of a million eyes.

            “TIM-BURRRRRRRR!” The war-cry. I looked up. Most of the men had already adjourned to the far side of the clearing, while Matt Elliot and Bob Enfield scampered away in running crouches from their tools at the base of the tilting tree. The Jarrah twitched on its stump and its arrow point wavered ever-so-slightly from its aim towards the sun. It lost its precarious balance and gained its terrible momentum.

            It all happened so slowly, yet even now I am unsure of the exact order of events. I was paused between steps, the tree was barely moving, merely reclining, slowly easing towards the floor. Time slowed to less than a crawl. The air gasped. The canopy traced a prefect arc through the sky, scything through the limbs of its neighbours. It swept towards the ground in its rolling arc, Matt Elliot and Bob Enfield scurried away, my eyes aligned with my father’s. His face instantly turned ashen, his mouth open, his eyes dying. I don’t know how long we were locked like that, but in that terrible instance we were rooted in terror. Our eyes remained locked. I didn’t bother looking up. I knew what was coming. And then it came.