by John Marsden
‘What do you think of the fair so far?’ Argus asked.
‘It’s good. Some days you’ve got nothing to do, and other days you’ve got to work your butt off. Like last night. But I like it. What do you think of it?’
‘I like it too,’ Argus said. ‘The first few days they were pretty unfriendly, except for Mayon and Jud. But they’ve been good since then. I think they just want to see if you’re going to stay or not before they bother getting to know you. That’s what Mayon said, anyway.’
‘How long are you going to stay?’ Temora asked.
‘I don’t know’ the boy answered. ‘A bit longer yet I guess. It’s good because you get to see a few different places, and you get paid for doing it.’
‘I know I’m not meant to ask,’ Temora said hesitantly, ‘but are you on your . . . you know . . . ?’
‘Yes,’ Argus said quickly.
‘I knew it!’ the girl exulted. ‘So am I.’
‘Are you?’ Argus asked, amazed. ‘I thought you were too old. How old are you?’
‘Fourteen,’ Temora answered.
‘Are you?’ said Argus, ‘I thought you were older than that . . . Where are you from?’
‘Batlin.’
Argus knew that to be a city many times larger than Ifeka, away on the west coast. ‘You’ve come a long way,’ he said. ‘What’s it like?’
‘Big,’ the girl answered. ‘It’s where the River Ludi meets the Serembetter. We live right on the river, at a really nice spot where you can swim and fish.’
‘Are there other children in your family?’ Argus asked. ‘I mean, if we’re allowed to talk about things like that. I think we are.’
‘We’re allowed to talk about anything except the actual journey,’ Temora said. ‘That’s so we don’t use other people’s experiences for our stories.’
‘Were you told a lot about it, then?’ Argus asked curiously.
‘Oh yes,’ the girl answered in surprise. ‘Weren’t you?’
‘No, almost nothing. My parents didn’t want me to go, but I picked up bits of information over the years from listening to the old men. And my father talked about his trip a bit when we were working out in the paddocks. But I didn’t really get much, you know, formal instruction.’
‘Didn’t you?’ Temora said. ‘That’s different from me. My father wasn’t too keen but my mother was determined that I should go. She said it had been the best thing she’d ever done and she wanted me to do it too. But not many of my friends are going. They say it’s too dangerous nowadays, especially for girls. But some of my friends are doing a sort of modified thing, where they go out and camp for a few days, things like that. But it’s all pretty closely supervised. I don’t think it’d be nearly as good.’
‘So tell me about your family,’ Argus said.
‘Well . . . I’m the oldest of five. I’ve got four little sisters. My father’s an artist and my mother’s a gardener. Um, what else can I tell you? My room is in a sort of attic, looking out over the river and there’s an apple tree outside my window that I can reach when I’m hungry and can’t be bothered going downstairs. My best friend’s a girl called Pascall, who lives about a mile away. I’ve got a horse called Red and a dog called Cactus. They’re both pretty slow, but then so am I sometimes . . . I like cooking, and reading . . . and riding Red. I like swimming and I like being on my own. I’ve got a tree that sticks out over the river and I go and sit in it when I want to do some thinking. Anyway . . . that’s enough about me. How about you?’
Argus was shy, cast into the unaccustomed role of talking about himself.
‘Oh well,’ he stammered. ‘There’s only one of me. I mean, I don’t have any sisters or brothers.’ But he felt a deep wrenching pain as he said that, and although he tried to control it, his face became contorted for a moment. ‘We’ve got a farm up near Random. So we’ve got a few horses, and dogs too, though I’ve got my own special dog, called Dusty. I sort of help my parents on the farm. And I like most of the things you do . . . reading, and being on my own, although there isn’t much time for that because there’s always so much work. It must be pretty hard for my father with me being away, but there’s a fellow called Ranald who works for us when we’re short.’
Without any spoken agreement the two got up and began walking along the shoreline. ‘Do you get on with your parents?’ Argus enquired.
‘Yes,’ Temora said a little hesitantly. ‘I get on really well with my father, but my mother’s a bit difficult. She always likes to get the last word. She’s terrible to argue with. How about you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Argus said honestly. ‘My mother’s quiet but we understand each other pretty well I think. My father — well, I guess I love him, but sometimes it’s more like I hate him.’ He thought about it a little further. ‘I suppose I can tell I love him because of two things. One is that any time anyone criticises him — like, other people my age — I get really mad at them. And the other thing is that I know I’m proud of him, and all that he’s achieved and I suppose being proud of someone must mean you love them, mustn’t it?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ Temora agreed.
They stopped to watch a mother and two small children walking along the opposite bank of the inlet. One of the children broke away from his mother and ran towards the water, without the mother seeing.
‘He’s going to run straight into the water,’ Temora said. But the child stopped at the edge and stood there peering at something. The mother, noticing at last that the child was missing, called to her truant son. But the boy, fascinated by whatever it was he was studying, would not acknowledge her until she had called out several times and was growing angry. And when he did answer, it was to say, ‘Come and look Mummy, come and look.’ The mother stayed where she was and kept calling; the child kept ignoring her, until the mother marched down to the water, bringing her other child with her, and dragged the little boy away by the arm.
‘Good,’ grunted Argus. ‘He got what he deserved.’
But Temora laughed at him. ‘You are a stick-in-the-mud,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you what that mother should have done. She should have gone down to the water, joined him in having a look at whatever he was so interested in, and then explained that it was time to continue with the walk. They had a confrontation that should never have happened. Two upset people — three, if you count the other child — and all so unnecessary. Like most confrontations.’
‘Well, there’s some you can’t avoid,’ Argus challenged. ‘What about the other day, the last day at Ifeka, when that man in the tent started yelling stupid comments at Parara and Lavolta, and Jud told him to stop. That man was so unreasonable, no-one could have avoided that confrontation.’
‘Well, I guess it’s cheating to use hindsight,’ Temora said. ‘But I would have moved him out of the tent before I did anything. You know, get him somewhere else. Jud put him in a position where he was going to look weak in front of his friends. As soon as he did that, there had to be trouble.’
They walked on a little further.
‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ said Argus presently. ‘You know what I was saying before about love and hate, and how it’s a bit of a mixture with my father.’
He picked up a stick and drew a long line on the ground, then drew a heart on one side and a dagger on the other.
‘This is what it’s like,’ he said, and added in mockdidactic fashion: ‘Are you concentrating now?’ He went to one end of the line he had drawn and began walking along it, but strayed first on one side of it, then on the other.
‘I get it,’ Temora smiled.
‘Well, it’s exactly like that,’ Argus said. ‘I go from one to the other so quickly, and the line between them is so thin.’
‘Yes,’ said Temora. ‘A very wealthy man from Batlin came to see my father one day. He spent half an hour telling my father how much he liked his work, what an admirer of my father he was, how he sang his praises all around the city. Then he offered my father a h
uge sum of money to paint his portrait, but my father refused, because he only paints faces that interest him. The man told my father he was a disagreeable untalented failure, and walked out. All it took was one word for him to cross that line that you’ve drawn, and that word was “No”. In fact, when you think about it, “No” is probably the word that’s most likely to send people from love to hate.’
‘But “Yes” doesn’t necessarily send them the other way,’ Argus added. ‘It must be hard being a parent, because you’re always saying “No” to your kids, and sometimes they hate you for it. But you might be saying “No” for their own good, like if they want to go swimming in a spot that’s dangerous,’ he concluded, blushing a little as he nominated that as an example.
‘Trouble is, they say “No” automatically,’ Temora complained, ‘without even thinking about it. That’s what annoys me. Come on, we better get back. The fair opens at six and I want some tea first.’
Chapter Eleven
The next couple of days were busy, with some major jobs, including the re-roofing of a caravan and the construction of a new booth for the twins; their old one had been damaged in the altercation back at Ifeka. Argus added an extra touch to the booth: a lever system that would cause a flag to unfurl over the twins if they were in trouble and wanted to summon help. ‘Thanks Argus, you’re a sweet boy,’ Parara said, but Lavolta merely commented, ‘It’s too complicated’.
Argus hardly noticed the crowds of people who filled the fairground these days — the crowds that had once contained him as an anonymous element. But he occasionally took the time to look at different faces, or to note the various vignettes that were being enacted at every moment: the child wheedling favours from a grandparent; the boy talking too loudly, to impress his friends; the tiny children who had not yet learnt to dissemble and whose faces showed every emotion; the farmer whose hands and face shone with the special scrubbing that only a trip ‘to town’ could induce; the warm hugs between people who knew each other well but who could meet only infrequently. Argus knew that these were universal scenes, recognisable anywhere, irrespective of time or place. He came to understand a little better what the book had meant when it spoke of stories that would be simultaneously one person’s and all people’s. There were moments when the boy, looking into the faces in the crowds as they passed him, could see beauty in each one — beauty so sharp and perfect it took his breath away. At such moments he knew he was in love with every person in the crowd, every person in the world, all humanity.
There was one person he was particularly attracted to, however, and that was Temora. He admired her intelligence and lively sense of humour, the friendliness she showed to everyone. And he felt inspired by the smooth lines of her body, and her clear fresh face. He tried writing poems about her when he was in bed at night, but gave up when his first efforts came out as either maudlin or clumsy. He started to find opportunities for them to be together, and indeed, his whole day began to be planned around her. For her part, she frequently sought him out or waited for him or came and sat next to him. The result was that they were together a good deal, even though they got teased for it.
On their last full day in Finauer they both had a free morning, and Temora seized the chance to extend the invitation she had nearly extended once before. She came into Mayon’s caravan at about seven in the morning and woke Argus by pulling him out of bed by the feet.
‘Go away!’ cried Mayon crossly from his bed.
‘What do you want?’ asked Argus just as crossly, struggling to keep himself covered with the sheet he had nearly lost in the mêlée.
‘Come to the coast with me,’ said Temora, unperturbed by the chaos she had caused. ‘We’ve got ages. We could do it easily. It’s perfect weather for a swim.’
Argus was keen enough; he had not forgotten his earlier daydream of Temora naked on a beach. He grabbed some food and joined her outside the caravan. The day was already warming up and Argus quickly caught Temora’s mood of excitement.
The distance was not much greater than it had been on Argus’ previous trip to the surf. This time they simply followed the inlet, watching a late fishing boat ahead of them. When they reached the sea they turned to the south. They rounded a rocky headland and discovered beyond it a beach as perfect and unspoiled as the one Argus had been on less than a week earlier. They ran, giggling and excited, to the middle of it and flung themselves into the sand, rolling in it like otters in water.
‘Have you got a swimming costume?’ Temora asked.
‘No,’ Argus admitted.
‘Good,’ Temora announced, ‘because neither have I.’
She jumped up and, turning away from the boy just a little, stripped off her few pieces of clothing and ran laughing towards the water. Argus, his heart pounding from the glimpses of her body, realised that if he did not hurry he would be left looking foolish. He threw off his shirt and pants and ran after her. He looked down at himself as he ran and was relieved to see that not only had his penis grown in recent weeks to a mature size, but also that it was behaving respectably given the circumstances it was now in. He splashed through the water after Temora, embarrassed enough to send up a big cloud of spray that would screen him for a few moments. But Temora seemed to be thinking only of swimming: she dived under one wave and over the top of the next, like a sleek porpoise at play.
Argus had swum and bathed many times with his sister and mother. But he had not realised the sheer beauty of a girl as perfectly proportioned as this one. As they swam around each other he stole what glances he could, fascinated by her unselfconscious nakedness. The surf was quite different from the earlier occasion that had nearly cost him his life. Now the waves were small and gentle. There was no undertow, and on this beach he was able to go a long way before getting out of his depth. He threw himself in and out of the breakers with no thought of anything but pleasure, revelling in the tingle and zest of the surf.
It was nearly an hour before he decided he was cold and tired enough to stop. He jogged out of the water to where their discarded clothes lay like giant butterfly wings on the sand. He stretched out on his back and watched Temora. After a few minutes more she too left the water and walked up to him, without haste or concealment, and lay down, laughing and dripping.
‘Oh, it’s fantastic,’ she said. ‘I wish we could do this every day.’
Argus became aware that his body was no longer behaving respectably. He rolled over onto his front, Temora was too quick for him. She leant over and pushed him, continuing the roll, so that he ended on his back again. She was giggling as she inspected him and reached out with a tentative finger to touch him. Argus lay still, afraid that if he moved, or breathed, she might stop. But she continued to tease with her light fingers. ‘Oh,’ Argus sighed. To himself he thought, ‘Oh, this is too much.’ While he had the strength still in him he turned sideways to her and ran his hands along her body. She was smooth, like music, smooth like mahogany.
The sand, the sky, the ocean, all became lost, all were absorbed within the two of them on the beach. Argus could not believe what he was feeling. Even the touch of a breeze was a caress, a tantalizing feather drawn down his bare skin. Everything was a source of wonder to him — the wetness, the curling hair, the opening, the slow opening before him, the slow cry of the seagull from the wet sand.
Argus felt as though his fingers had gained a new sensitivity. He could feel the blood stirring in her body, the growing heat, the yearning that suffused her being. As they moved together the weight of his excitement went before him. All that he was feeling was centred in it and had taken him over; it did the exploring for him. He ceased to think; he only floated.
Afterwards the two of them stayed together, Argus enjoying the most complete relaxation he had ever known, as Temora’s hand stroked up and down his back. It was a sweet contentment. He drifted into a kind of sleep for a few minutes, aware of every movement around him but unable to stir.
At last they separated and lay side by side
on the beach. ‘Oh it’s amazing,’ Argus said.
Temora giggled. ‘They sent us on this journey so we could become women,’ she mused. ‘Or men, as the case may be. Do you think this is what they meant?’
Argus sat up and gazed frankly at her as she brushed the sand from her sides and back. The sight was enough to induce new excitement in him.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Temora, glancing across. But she watched with pleasure as he again reached his zenith. ‘Do you want some more?’ she asked curiously. When he nodded she knelt up and began stroking him with gentle hands.
‘This’ll do it, won’t it?’ she asked. ‘I remember when we were little kids, playing with our cousins. We used to do this to them and they’d go through the roof.’
Argus went through the sky and the heavens at her touch, until all too soon he was gasping with the familiar sweet pain. ‘No more, no more,’ he said, pushing her hand away. Temora sat back on her heels.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘girls and boys sure are different. Did that feel good?’
‘Yes thanks,’ Argus said, as though he had been handed a mug of tea.
By common accord, without either needing to say anything, they both suddenly leapt up and ran for the water again, throwing themselves into the surf with wild splashes. But this time five minutes was enough, before they returned to their clothes to dry themselves.
‘It’s time to go,’ said Argus, pulling on his trousers. ‘We’ll have to step it out.’ He waited for Temora and shyly took her hand as they set off around the headland on their walk back to the fair site.
Chapter Twelve
‘Here, I’ll help you,’ Argus said, late one night, watching Tiresias trying to carry two saucepans, a chair and a blanket back from the fire to his caravan. He took the chair and followed the dark, silent figure to his home, which was parked, as always, a little away from the tents and other caravans. When they reached the van Tiresias opened the door and put his things inside. He turned and took the chair from Argus, then went back and closed the door in the boy’s face, all without a word. Argus had been trying to get a surreptitious glance inside but was only able to gain a blurred impression of red curtains and an over-clean neatness. He went back to the fire feeling rather disgruntled.
