You don’t want her to interrupt Mr Ford while he’s working, so you wait until he’s on his lunch break. When Lidia shows him her drawing, she makes sure to point out all the people in her power station. ‘That’s Daddy. He has his work helmet on,’ she explains. ‘And that’s me – I’m the boss.’ Mr Ford barely glances at the page. ‘Mmm,’ he says.
‘I said, I’m the boss,’ Lidia says, pulling at his sleeve. Then, to you: ‘Why doesn’t he listen?’
‘Good question, Lidia,’ you say, barely keeping a lid on your frustration. Does he think he’s so important he can’t take two minutes to notice someone smaller than himself? ‘Why don’t you listen, Mr Ford?’
‘Because it’s utter nonsense, that’s why,’ he snaps, and you see Lidia’s face fall. ‘She’ll no more be the boss of a power station than I’ll be the first man on the moon! Go back to drawing ponies and princesses,’ he harrumphs.
Tears well up in Lidia’s eyes. You want to throttle him. What is his problem?
‘Why are you so cruel?’ you ask, unable to catch the words before they fly out of your mouth. ‘Does it make you feel big to put other people down?’
Mr Ford rises from his chair and towers over you. ‘Milk, no sugar,’ he growls. ‘This system works because everyone stays in their place. If you cross me again, I’ll see to it that you can’t find work anywhere in New South Wales. Now take the child home.’
‘Her mother’s sick—’
‘I’m sick of your attitude,’ he growls. ‘This is no place for a little girl, and it never will be. Get out of my sight.’
Lidia sobs so much that you have to carry her all the way home. ‘He had no reason to be mean to you like that,’ you tell her. ‘He’s just a grumpy old stinky fart.’ She giggles in between her tears.
The next morning you get to the office half an hour earlier than everyone else and glue Lidia’s picture firmly to a wall. Every time you see it, it inspires you to prove Mr Ford wrong.
You still eavesdrop on the engineers’ conversations, and you have started emptying their wastepaper baskets so that you can pore over their calculations before you throw them away. You’re learning a lot about how engineers think, how they solve problems, and how they triple-check their solutions using different methods. This will be the biggest hydroelectric power scheme in the Southern Hemisphere, and the project has already broken the tunnelling speed world record. You imagine the joy of flicking an electric switch to heat your room, turn on a light, or listen to music, and the satisfaction of knowing that you helped make that power. You’re just waiting for your moment to prove to everyone in this office that you understand what they are doing, and that you are ready to learn more.
Seven months into your time at Cooma, when winter has well and truly set in, Mr Ford tells you that the whole office will be empty the next day and that you can take the day off. ‘The boys and I will be out on a grand tour, inspecting all the tunnels to check they’re on course,’ he explains.
This is my chance! you think. I can spend a whole day in the office while no one’s here. I can read all their charts, and go over all their calculations, to see if I can learn from them! Then, on second thoughts, you wonder if Mr Ford might actually let you come on the tunnel inspection. I’ve never been underground and seen the scheme in operation, you reason. I’d actually be able to see the project in real life, not just in theory. Maybe I’d learn more from that.
To ask Mr Ford to take you on the tunnel inspection, go to scene 25.
To stay in the office and check the calculations, go to scene 26.
You take the pill out of your pocket and throw it away, where it lands in an icy puddle.
Go to hell, Mr Ford, you think. You wanted me to dope my friend without her consent and leave her husband out there to die in this storm. I’m made of tougher stuff than that.
You think about the map you saw in Mr Ford’s house. There was a road that would take you close to the right area by car, although you’d still then have to walk more than five kilometres off the road. The most direct route would be to forget driving and cut straight across country. No car could manage the road in this state anyway, you decide – it would be too icy. Cross-country it is.
You get home and pack food and blankets. Luckily Olenka has a map that’s nearly as good as Mr Ford’s, so you take that too. You stash a heavy metal torch in the pocket of your oilskin jacket, put on an extra-bulky pair of woollen socks under your boots, and you’re ready. I already have a compass, you think, rubbing the gold disc in your pocket for good luck. Help me out there, Charlie.
You tell Olenka that Mr Ford has agreed to send out a search party (which he has, but not until tomorrow). You don’t want her to know you’re heading off alone. She kisses you on both cheeks and you tell her to get some sleep, if she can.
You walk past the men’s sleeping quarters, where a curious face at the window watches you go by, and towards the outskirts of town. The wind is still howling and the trees are tossing wildly in the wind, making a sound like crashing waves. You take one last look at the streets and lights of Cooma. You take out your map, work out your direction, and head into the bush.
The snow is still patchy here, but you guess it will get thicker. What are you doing? Mamma says in your head. You’re asking for trouble – you’ll never escape the curse! You press on, the yellow orb of torchlight bobbing in front of you. You stop to consult the compass every so often.
Look at me, Mamma. I’m doing this. No curse can tell me what I can and can’t do!
You hear a crashing in the bushes behind you. ‘Who’s there?’ you shout. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.
Is it an animal? You pick up a rock to arm yourself.
When a shadowy figure lurches from the bushes, you nearly smash it with the rock, before you realise it’s—
‘Mario!’ you cry, your heart pounding with relief.
‘My mate saw you through the window and guessed you were going after Edik,’ he explains. ‘But you can’t go on a midnight rescue mission without me. That’s the rule.’
Despite the horrible storm, you feel a warm glow inside that has been missing ever since you quarrelled. You throw your arms around him. ‘I’m sorry,’ you mumble into his coat. ‘I missed you.’
‘Hey,’ he says, drawing back and squeezing your shoulders, ‘I was the idiot … I always have been. The only mistake you made was thinking that Charlie would write a letter to me and forget about you. You were his favourite by a mile!’
You laugh. ‘Poor Charlie. I wonder what happened to him.’ Then a fresh lash of sleet brings your attention back to Edik. ‘Come on,’ you say.
For the next four or five hours, you and Mario push on steadily through the night, cursing the weather and checking your compass and map repeatedly to make sure you’re on track. It didn’t look as far on the map, and your progress through the dense bush is tortuous, every step a fight against the branches that whip and snag you viciously.
You stop for a breather. Despite the freezing cold, your heart is pounding and you’ve built up a sweat under your heavy clothes.
Then you hear it. ‘Helllooo?’ It’s a call so faint you might have imagined it, over the hill to your right.
‘Edik?’ Mario shouts.
You push on in the direction of the sound. The rain has stopped, but the wind is still icy. You have to hurry – you’re close now, you’re sure of it!
‘Help!’ comes the voice, distinct now and much closer.
‘Edik!’ you shout.
Mario grabs your hand and you smash through those last few metres of bush together.
‘There he is!’ you cry. Then, as you close the gap between you and Edik in a sprint, you realise with horror that Olenka was right to be so afraid – Edik has been crushed by a fallen tree. He’s lying in the mud, wet and shaking. The trunk across both his legs is wide as a table.
You shudder. Will there be anything left of his legs under there?
‘Oh, than
k God, thank God!’ Edik mumbles. You drop to your knees and scoop up his shoulders and head. He’s a strong man, but right now he can barely lift his arms to embrace you. You wipe the sodden hair from his face.
‘It’s okay,’ you promise, ‘we’ll get you out of here.’
He looks around and sees Mario. ‘Are there others to help?’ he asks weakly.
‘No, just us,’ you say.
Fear ghosts across Edik’s face. ‘But … it’s a bloody big tree,’ he says, using the Australian swearword perfectly.
You half-grimace, half-smile. ‘Well, I’m a bloody strong woman,’ you counter, ‘so it’s met its match.’
You wish you felt as brave as you’re trying to sound.
You force yourself to take a closer look at the place where Edik’s thighs disappear under the enormous trunk. The bark is grey and smooth as stone. Edik’s work pants are blackened and mottled, but you can’t tell if it’s by dirt or blood. Why didn’t I bring an axe, or a saw? you curse yourself. Or even a shovel!
You run around the tree and find Edik’s feet poking out the other side, wedged against the ground at a horrible angle.
‘Edik, tell me if you can feel anything,’ you say, kneeling to remove his boots with shaking hands. His feet are grey as mashed newspaper, with swirls of vivid purple. ‘Can you feel that?’ you say, wiggling his toes, sickeningly sure that he can’t. His flesh is lifeless and cold to the touch.
‘He’s shaking his head,’ replies Mario heavily. He comes to join you on your side of the tree. ‘Edik’s gear is just over there,’ he mutters. ‘His radio’s broken, but he has a shovel, so we can try to dig him out, but … even if we can get him out, I don’t know if …’
‘Don’t say it,’ you hiss. You know Edik’s injuries are terrible, but you can’t bear to think about it. In your mind’s eye, you see Olenka, Lidia and little Teodor. Edik’s family. Whether or not he can ever walk again, they love him and they want him home. We just have to get him out alive.
You make Edik as comfortable as you can with the blankets. Edik’s eyes close and he lets out a shaky sigh.
The digging is hard going, the ground lumpy with rocks and tree roots, but you don’t let yourself slow down, even though you’re exhausted.. After what seems like hours, the sky lightens and birds begin their cackling chorus. You and Mario are halfway under the tree by now. Steam rises off your sodden backs as the sun strikes them. The storm has blown itself out.
After another two hours of digging, you have finally completed your trench under the tree. Edik’s legs now lie beside a pit of loose dirt and stones, with just enough room to drag him out from under the trunk. He couldn’t feel it when you dug around his lower legs, and mercifully stayed asleep until just before dawn. For the last two hours, you’ve been digging around his thighs, which is where he still has some feeling, and as the pressure comes off them, he starts to groan and then screams in agony.
You’re aware that the weight of the tree may have stopped the worst of the bleeding. Mario has ripped up his shirt to make tourniquets. While you tie them tightly around each thigh, Mario makes a stretcher with two strong branches and your raincoats.
You pause and glance at your hands. They’re burning, raw with scrapes and blisters. Your body feels brittle and shaky from lack of sleep. Mario looks awful too. Now you’ll have to carry Edik out of here.
‘Saving Charlie was easy by comparison,’ Mario chuckles. It’s a weak joke, but at least he can still make one.
‘This is the worst bit, now,’ you say to Edik. ‘I’m sorry.’ You and Mario will have to drag him out from under the tree and onto the stretcher.
You each take Edik under an armpit.
‘On three,’ says Mario. ‘One, two …’
Three. There’s a scrape, a muffled howl – Edik’s face pale and clenched, his legs dragging under the tree – then he’s out. You lay him on the stretcher.
‘I’m so sorry,’ you say. ‘It’s over now – you’re out.’ Tears well up and spill down your cheeks as you check his legs. You loosen the tourniquets and no fresh blood wells. You pray Mr Ford does send out a team to find Edik as promised, with pain medicine or at least some fresh pairs of strong arms.
‘They’ll fly you to Sydney and operate on your legs,’ Mario promises. ‘It’s amazing what doctors can do these days.’
Edik opens his eyes – they’re a deep blue-grey, like stormy skies. Teodor’s eyes are just the same shade. Edik reaches up and brushes your cheek with a rough finger. ‘You … are an angel,’ he whispers. ‘I see angels all around. So beautiful.’
His words are lovely, but they frighten you, because you’re not sure if he’s starting to slip away into the afterlife. You grab the ends of the sapling stretcher and your palms sear with pain. You grit your teeth and lift. Mario does too.
You stumble onwards into the next phase of hell. Edik is out cold – only his noisy breathing gives you any reassurance – and damn it, he’s heavy. At least with the daylight, navigating the bush has become a little easier, but that means you don’t check the map and compass as often as you perhaps should. Also, you don’t dare to stop and put Edik down.
You just keep on, despite your burning muscles, ragged dry throat and swirling vision.
Eventually, Mario stops behind you. You’re in a gully thick with bush. ‘How long has it been?’ he begs, in a cracked voice.
You have no idea. ‘Endless,’ you mumble. You feel like you left Olenka’s home a hundred years ago.
‘Well, where are we on the map?’ he asks.
‘We’d better check,’ you admit. Gently, you lower Edik to the ground. He stirs but doesn’t wake. Your hands shake as you drag the map from your bag – you can barely control your fingers.
Your mind spins as you try to interpret the whorled circles of contour lines and the little blue and red threads of stream and road. Admit it, says a voice in your head, you’re lost. You acknowledge that the voice is right: you’ve been blundering on with such single-minded determination that you’ve completely lost track of where you are. Your eyes cast about. If this gully is that one, then we’re behind that ridge… so if we cross it and then go over that saddle…
You realise that on the left flank of the gully you’re in now, there’s an almost vertical climb over some boulders to the crest of the hill. If you’re where you guess you are, then climbing up to the top should give you a view back to Cooma.
‘I’m going to climb up there,’ you say to Mario. But he has leant back against a tree and closed his eyes, oblivious. You’re as exhausted as he is, and you know that it wouldn’t be easy climbing the boulders even if you were feeling fresh and strong. Maybe it’s not such a good idea after all. Edik moans something in Polish without opening his eyes. His face looks grey and his lips are pale and papery. You don’t have much time left to save him.
Will you keep ploughing on in what you think is the right direction, or will you climb the boulders and check to be certain?
To continue in your current direction, go to scene 27.
To climb the boulders and check where you are, go to scene 28.
Twenty minutes later, you stand in Olenka’s kitchen again, still wearing your wet clothes, preparing her a cup of tea. She won’t taste it in the tea if you add some milk and sugar, you remember Mr Ford instructing you.
You hesitate, your fingers holding the little white pill above the surface of the brown, steaming liquid.
This is for the best, you tell yourself. It can’t hurt her. It will just make her sleep really well, so that she feels better in the morning.
Plip – the pill goes in. You poke it with a teaspoon and stir until it’s all dissolved.
As you hand Olenka the tea, you feel a pang of guilt, but you dismiss it. She swallows it gratefully and sighs.
‘Everything will be better in the morning,’ you say. ‘Pan Spycharka said they’d have him back by lunchtime. And you know, Olenka, Mr Ford really didn’t seem like a spycharka tonight. He was real
ly concerned.’
Olenka nods slowly. Already, she’s starting to sag.
‘Come on,’ you say, ‘let’s get you to bed.’
It’s slightly warmer in the bedroom. You tuck Olenka in next to her children. She shudders as all the tension she’s been holding on to eases out of her body. ‘If Edik die…’ she murmurs.
‘Edik won’t die,’ you reassure her.
You go back out into the lounge room and close the door to their bedroom to keep the heat in. You set up your bed on the couch, as you do every night. It’s freezing out here. The room faces south, and the wind forces its way through every crack.
You take off your wet clothes. Your skin is covered in goosebumps and your fingertips are puckered and wrinkled with moisture. The dry clothes you put on cling to your damp skin, and you towel your hair vigorously, but even after you’ve climbed into bed, you still can’t get warm. You wrap your blanket around yourself as tightly as an Egyptian mummy’s bindings. Still you shiver.
You are too tired to get up and go outside to the woodheap, but too cold to fall asleep. Then you remember the kerosene heater in the kitchen cupboard. You drag it out and light it. Normally you wouldn’t waste the fuel by leaving a heater running overnight, but tonight you really need it.
I’m going to wake up early in the morning and take the children so that Olenka can rest, you remind yourself. I need a good sleep too.
The bluish flames from the kerosene heater give the room an eerie underwater light. You stuff your towel across the crack under the door to stop the draught, wanting the room to be toasty as an oven.
You climb back into bed and wait for the heater to work its magic. The room becomes steadily warmer, and your mind grows fuzzy. You fall asleep.
When you roll over a couple of hours later, you’re aware of a pounding headache but you can’t even sit up. You feel groggy and dizzy. The kerosene heater has made the room beautifully warm, but something’s wrong. You want to sink back into sleep, but you feel nauseous and you’re finding it harder to breathe.
Move the Mountains Page 10
