by Tim Winton
So I sucked it up, slipped the latch and lifted the lid.
There was no darkness. It was brighter than day down there. Everything white and jungle green. And the stink, it was like nothing you ever copped in your life. Lights, hoses, white buckets, wires and tinfoil everywhere. A fan turning like it was looking for me. An ally ladder shining right up the chimney hole.
I stuck me head down and called out hullo? But there was no kids or naked women. Just plants the size of men. A whole fucking sea container of hydroponic weed. You never seen so much skunk in your life.
I pulled me head up out of that hole so quick I caught me ear on something, nearly ripped the fucker off by the feel of it, and when I pressed me hand against it there was blood down me arm. I knelt there for a bit too stunned to think or move, me head full of stars again. Then I slapped the lid shut, snapped the latch and kicked dirt back over everything.
I grabbed me rifle and fucked off. Ran like a mad bastard.
Dear God, boy, he said when I come in. Look at the state of you.
I leant the Browning against the wall and saw the barrel was all bunged up with red dirt. The empty waterjug hit the cement floor with a hollow sound. I pulled off the pack and me jacket and he poured me a pannikin. I was blowing so hard I had trouble getting the water down me neck. The hut smelt of meat and ash. There was a pot of something on the stove and the window shutter was propped on the last wedge of afternoon sun.
I’m sorry to say it, lad, but you reek like the last heathen alive.
Well I been going all day, haven’t I? Fucking ran most of it.
Of course, he said. Perhaps I’ll take myself outside for a breath of fresh air.
And for real Fintan took himself out. Actually stepped round me like I was roadkill. And I nearly bloody cracked it.
Jesus, I yelled through the open window. Are you serious?
No offence intended, he said, stirring up the coals in the fire pit.
You’re a fucking tosser, you know that?
I drank another mug of water. Then I chugged down one more. And once I got me wind back I saw me shirt was soaked through and me dacks were so wet you’d think I’d swum a creek in them. And now I was starting to cool off, that slimy feeling got a hold. Sweat and red dust turned to pink paste all over me.
I went out under the verandah and sat on a crate to kick me boots off. Me socks were clammy as frangers. And me legs felt crampy. All I wanted was a feed and a lay down. But the old prick was right, I did need a scrub. Anything to feel better than this.
So what do we know? Fintan asked.
We got a problem, I said, getting up. We need to talk.
Where are you going, then?
I’m off to Maccas, I said. You want me to bring you anything? Happy Meal?
Whatsay?
I’m getting a bloody wash.
And you’re taking the rifle?
Like I said, we gotta talk.
Well, take a clean towel at least, he said, all pouty like I was the one being unreasonable.
I snatched it off the wire going past.
You’ll feel all the better for it, lad.
Well, I said. You better bloody hope so.
And I did feel like a bit of a knob taking the .243 to the water trough with me but me head was spinning. It was suddenly like I wasn’t sure I could trust him. That hydroponic setup. Could he be that deaf? Was it possible he wasn’t in on it? A crazy old hermit was like the perfect cover for this sort of shit. And the thing with me phone. Maybe he wasn’t lusting on Lee. I didn’t even check if he’d been making calls. Except there was no signal. Damn it to buggery, I was all over the place.
So I was glad to see the mill yard empty. Didn’t want to be sharing the facilities with any slug-eyed goat. And I stood the Browning up the high end of the trough where it was in reach. Then I climbed in duds and all and fuck me, was it fresh. The trough was slimy and the bore water so hard the soap could barely work up a bubble but it was good to feel the heat and grime come off, and after a minute or two the cold burn smoothed out to something pretty decent.
Then I got this sad feeling. Looking out at the lake. And the clearing. The salmon gums up against the sunset. Because none of it was the same now. Whatever the deal was. Even if old Fintan was as clueless as he was making out I couldn’t stay there anymore. True enough I was planning to shoot through only last night, but now the idea of leaving this behind give me a bit of an ache. And I took that out on me duds. I yanked everything off and scrubbed them best I could. Maybe I didn’t need to flog them against the trough quite so hard but at least when I come back up to the hut I was calmer.
I hung me bits and shits from the wire out front. The old man had the cookfire burning high. And with all them arms and legs strung up there and the flame light on everything dripping and leaking, the washing line looked like a killing yard, like everything I owned was butchered and gone.
I stood by the fire a minute, just in the towel and nothing else, and Fintan went in the hut and come back with another lame-arse shirt and a pair of shorts so big I had to tie them up with baling twine. There was a stew keeping warm at the edge of the fire. The smell of it was nice. But like something in the past already. And when I was dressed and sitting down the old man filled a plate and passed it over. I went at that gear like a savage.
Your ear’s bleeding, he said. Jaxie, what’ve you done to yourself?
It’s nothing.
So what is it we need to talk about? What have you seen that’s put half the north wind up you? I’ve never known you like this, boy. Look at you there with your Orangeman stare. Is it a ghost you’ve seen? Tell me, now. Get it off your chest.
And now I’d slowed down and got food and water in me I wasn’t sure I wanted to say anything at all. I thought of how much fuss and noise it would have took to bring a ship container in on a truck and crane it off and dig a hole the size of a swimming pool in the dirt. That took big machines. It just didn’t seem like the old priest could be that deaf. How does a bloke not hear a dozer or a digger so close? And for a fella shitscared of being sprung he was pretty relaxed about suddenly finding there’s neighbours only half a day’s walk away. In a vehicle, if there was a direct track between this place and that, if you knew where you were going and what you were doing, you could do that trip in half an hour. Why else would he be so bloody cool unless he knew about it all along? And who better to bring him his supplies than whoever it was running that show up there? So I come right out and asked him.
You know anything about mull? I said.
About where?
Pot, I said. Marijuana.
Oh, I see. No, I’m not your man for that.
Someone’s growing it. Next door. Up there.
What?
Underground. They’re growing skunk.
He looked at me like a total mong.
Weed, I said.
Drugs, you mean?
No, I said. They’re running a fucking zoo. Of course it’s drugs, you dozy prick.
But Jaxie, how do you know this?
Because I stuck me head in, I said. Like a bloody stupid idiot. I dug it up and looked in, that’s how. They’re running a genny day and night to keep the lights on and the pumps going. It’s hydro. And not like a coupla kids growing up a few buds, it’s a professional outfit, someone heavy. A whole sea container, maybe more than one, I didn’t climb down to see how far it went. Jesus, there might be two or three rooms of it down there.
I see.
Yeah? Thing is, you don’t look real surprised.
Surprised? Well, I am. Of course I’m surprised. But I just need a moment, now. Marijuana, you say?
They would of had machines in. Excavator, crane. You didn’t hear nothing at all? Like a coupla semitrailers? Shit, Fintan, they’ve had a bulldozer going.
Well, I have the tinnitus, you see.
The what?
Tinnitus, he said. Of the ears. It’s like a wretched wireless in your head.
You mea
n you hear voices?
Don’t be soft, boy. Noises, it is, day and night.
Noises.
Good God, a torment of noise, boy. Like a radio signal that’s never quite on the channel. Tinnitus!
Never heard of it, I said. Sounds like bullshit to me.
Well, lad, I’m half deaf, it’s true, but it’s not silence I have to contend with. Everything has to fight its way in through this infernal cacophony. Some days I have an hour or two of blessed relief. The rest of the time I wonder if anything at all I’m hearing is real. You understand me?
But you hear stuff. I know you do.
Yes, he said, some. But I lip-read, too. You must have noticed.
But when I first come here you twigged pretty quick. Don’t lie, you heard me then.
No, he said. Not really. But I did feel you there. And I told you so. Even if I didn’t quite believe in you, I felt you out there. Though in the end, of course, I saw you – remember? What is it, lad? What’s put the fear in you?
This is fucking gangsters, I told him. Bad people. Right next door. And you want me to think you didn’t know about it?
But lad, I hadn’t the slightest notion.
How do I know you’re not bullshitting me? You’ve got a shotgun. You could be working for them.
Drug dealers? Are you touched, boy? You think I’d stoop so low?
Drug dealing worse than kiddy fiddling, is it?
Stop that, now! There’s no need and you’ve no right.
You think the Catholics care how they make their money? They bloody love gangsters, it’s their bread and butter.
Good God, child, you wouldn’t know the half of it. You wouldn’t have the faintest notion.
I’m not a fucking child.
Well, you’re talking like a fog-witted gombeen and it’s no credit to you. And I see you didn’t clean that rifle at all, he said. You’ll be having misfires if you don’t see to it.
Fuck you, I said. You’re not the boss of me.
And then he laughed and threw his tin plate down and I really might of blown a hole in him big enough to walk through if the Browning hada been clean enough.
Oh, Jaxie, he said. I am in awe of you.
Stop saying that.
Rightso.
Fucksake.
Then it was quiet between us. Just the fire at our feet. And birds twitching in the trees as dark come down slowly. Fintan scratched his whiskery neck. I didn’t know how to read him anymore. But it didn’t seem smart to leave a caretaker like Fintan MacGillis out here. An old dude with no wheels. And so far away from what he was supposed to be watching.
So, he said. We have neighbours, you say.
Like I been telling you.
But you didn’t see anyone?
There’s no one there, I said. The setup runs itself. But it needs fuel and water so they’ll have to be coming and going. They’ll have to cut the stuff, plant more. Whatever the fuck they do.
Language, boy.
Oh piss off and get serious! It’s not safe here.
But if it’s all as you say, those lads have been going about their business up for there some time. Months, perhaps years, for all I know. And me none the wiser.
They’re too close.
But they’ve not given us any bother. I’ll wager they don’t even know we’re here. After all, we have no motors, rarely even fire a gun. If their little operation is as far up the lake as you say, perhaps there’s not so much to worry about, even then. They’re miles away.
I knew by then what Fintan was doing. He was trying to talk himself into feeling safe. It was him who was like a kid that way.
Anyroad, he said, have they not heard of the solar power, these lads?
What in the living fuck are you talking about?
Then they’d have no need to be running a generator and carting petrol.
Jesus, I said. You’re an expert now? You haven’t even got a panel yourself. You could be running a fridge out here.
Don’t think I haven’t mentioned that every Christmas and Easter, Jaxie boy. Any mission station south of the Sahara will have a bit of solar now. But it’s not for the likes of Fintan MacGillis, you see. Wouldn’t want to take the punitive edge off things, would they?
You’re not right in the head, I said. Anyway these pricks wouldn’t use solar panels.
And why not? Is it you the expert now?
Too easy to spot from the air. The cops are always looking for shit like that.
Really so? And how many aircraft have you seen since you’ve been out this way, lad?
I thought about it and shook me head.
There’s no one looking, Jaxie. Not for them. Nor for you, I suspect. And I’d like to think not even for me.
I thought about that for a sec. And could be he was right. Could be I was panicking over nothing. They probably had no idea we was here.
But then I thought about them blokes growing mull. They were dead careful about keeping their deal secret. And this past few weeks I’d been out north shooting off and on. What’s the odds they were never gunna hear the sound of a rifle in all that time? Or one of them would never get curious or bored enough to drive down the lake a little way? I sure wasn’t gunna be there for that. It wouldn’t really be any safer now back at the diggings. Too close to the highway if they were coming and going every week or two. No, it was clearer in me mind than ever, I was outta there. I’d creep on past that setup, keep heading north until I run out of lake altogether.
So I figured even while we were talking this would be my last night here at the shepherd’s hut.
I was wrong of course. Though I was only out by a day or so. But I wish I’d pissed off right then. I shoulda shut Fintan’s yap for him, yanked him off his arse and got us moving. That night. That very moment. Because now I know we coulda walked straight up the lake in the moonlight all night and been safe as money.
But that night by the fire with me guts full and me legs aching, all the hurry was leaked out of me. Now I’d said everything I had to say and got through to him there was no charge left. I was shagged and sore and I still hadn’t cleaned the shit out of me rifle. And me duds were all strung out wet on the line, socks and all. Tomorrow would have to do. Give the old man time to pack some stuff. By noon we should both be set to go. A few hours wouldn’t make much diff. That’s what I told meself. Seems you’re smarter looking back.
And here’s the thing. Fintan musta known this spot wasn’t safe anymore. He stopped arguing, just give up trying to convince himself. And though he never come out and said he was ready to go next morning I think he knew this was it. But he’d been out there a long time by then, the shepherd’s hut was as close to a home as he was gunna get. So it wasn’t easy for him to up stumps.
Would you take a turn with me, lad? he asked.
What?
Is it you hard of hearing now?
What is it? I said, pretty cranky. Can’t you see I’m rooted?
Just a stroll on the lake, boy. To watch the moonrise.
With all this cloud? You’re tapped.
Suit yourself, then.
He got up and dusted down his shorts like he was keeping himself nice and civilized but really he was buying time, guilting me. And I told meself no way. Fuck that. But in the end I got up bitching like a schoolkid and went along with him.
We carried our milk crates out through the samphire and it was hardly even dark when the first bump of moon peeped up across the lake. The whole of it come up quick, round and toasted like a Jatz cracker.
Behold, said Fintan.
Just the moon, I said. Same as last night.
No, no, tonight it’s truly full.
Fine, I said. Not the same as last night. But it’s still just the moon, isn’t it.
Ah, he said. Look at that, will ye.
I am looking.
But don’t you cower a little inside to see it? See how it drags itself up, bigger, stranger, more powerful by the minute. Like something hatching and growi
ng before your eyes. Doesn’t some small part of you shrivel in awe?
No, I said, which wasn’t exactly the truth.
Not even a moment of creaturely wonder?
Then I told him Auntie Marg wouldn’t let us sleep outside on a full moon. She said we’d get moon lunacy.
Moon lunacy, indeed!
The bullshit they tell you, eh.
But you believed her, I think.
Fuck, I was six years old. She was me auntie.
You probably didn’t need any convincing from her. But there it is, Jaxie lad, bigger than television. It’s awesome – even a little intimidating, don’t you think?
I dunno, I said. Maybe.
Son, I used to scoff at all the notions people got about the sun and moon. Primitive people, I mean. With all their worshipping and fearing. But the longer I’m out here. Well, it knocks the scoffing out of a fella.
While he nattered on I watched the moon crank itself up higher. With all them clouds stewing and streaking round it that thing did look kind of badarse.
When I was a lad, said Fintan, five years old, mebbe six, I thought the moon was watching me. I’d come out into the yard of a summer’s evening, off to the shed with the barrow for my mother, out to the turf pile for the fire. Some nights I could see my shadow trailing and the great white eye of it peering down. I tell you, I felt . . . transparent.
Like clean?
No, no. See-through. As if God, or the universe if you will, could read me like an open book.
I thought you weren’t sure about God.
And I’ve no doubt he’s had his second thoughts over the likes of me.
You think he knows you’re bonkers?
I wonder.
And then I felt like a bit of a turd because Fintan went on and started talking about this for serious.
I know I’m not always in my right mind out here, Jaxie, I’ll admit that much. Not my best mind, any rate. And not my old mind, either, but I don’t regret that so much. Maybe you think it’s the loneliness does it. Rightso, perhaps it is. But I suspect it’s the place, now. Look at that, he said, waving at the milky shine of the lake, what a marvel! Night and day it’s a wonder. You know, there are afternoons when I look down there to the south and see those stones walking in the sunlight.
