Walk It Off, Princess

by David Thorne

  I drove back to the cattle gate to get the cooler. It had been taken out to gain access to the spare tire and set aside. Two folding chairs were leaning against it. I’d specifically asked Geoffrey if he had put everything back and he told me he had. When I commented such, after discovering the cooler was missing, he said, “I thought you meant the flat bit of wood for the jack.”

  I’d instructed Geoffrey to collect firewood while I was gone. When I returned to camp, he was wearing his chainmail and hacking at a piece of wood with a sword.

  “Dost thou have refreshments my good fellow? My throat is parched and my bones weary from many miles of travel.”

  “Fuck off, Geoffrey. I’m not putting up with two days of dosts and thous.”

  “Fine. I am pretty thirsty though. Cutting firewood is a lot harder than I thought.”

  I unfolded the chairs and placed them on the edge of the river, with the cooler between to act as a table. We’d forgotten to bring a bottle opener but Geoffrey popped the lids off two cold bottles of Sparkling Ale with his sword. He was fairly pleased about it and smiled and did a little head wobble as if to say, ‘See? My sword did come in useful’ as he drove the point into the ground dramatically near his chair. It didn’t go in very deep and fell over so he found a rock and hammered it in a bit, then we sat by the edge of the river and drank beer. The two pelicans glided out from the hanging willow branches, passing close by. Geoffrey threw them hotdog buns and told me that if this was the middle ages, he’d catch one of them and construct a turning spit-roast over the fire out of branches and reeds. We had a second beer. It was quiet on the river, a kookaburra laughed in the distance and a flock of cockatoos flew overhead squawking. The distant sound of an outboard motor grew louder and a houseboat cruised past, heading down the river.

  “We’re meant to give them the finger and yell at them to fuck off.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “I’ve no idea. It’s just something my father used to do.”

  “Seems a bit rude. They’ve got as much right to be on the river as we have.”

  “I know.”

  “We should do it anyway though.”

  An old lady wearing a pink hat waved enthusiastically, we gave her the finger and yelled at her to fuck off. She went inside and the houseboat sped up a bit and disappeared around the bend. We had a third beer then decided to set up camp. The tent bag was heavy so we both carried it over to the primary flat spot, kicked a few small branches away to clear the area, and opened the bag. It was full of books.

  ‘Why didn’t you check it before we left?”

  “It’s the tent bag. It’s always been the tent bag. Why would I need to check if the tent bag had a tent in it?”

  “In case someone put books in it instead. Where’s the tent?”

  “How the fuck would I know?”

  “Wow. You’ve ruined the holiday, David.”

  “It’s not a holiday, Geoffrey. It’s a camping trip.”

  “Not anymore. We don’t have a tent. It’s just a trip. I was really excited about the tent.”

  “I know you were. I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Go home I guess.”

  “That’s not happening. I haven’t even used my inflatable raft yet... Hey... do we have any rope?”

  “What for?”

  “We could run rope across two trees and use the raft as a tarpaulin to make a tent. It would be rudimentary but it would be shelter. And, if we built the fire near the opening, it would keep bugs away. It would be just like camping in the middle ages.”

  “People in the middle ages didn’t camp under inflatable plastic rafts with the characters from Friends on it.”

  “It was either that or Barbie. Do we have any rope or not?”

  “No, but I know where we can get some.”

  It took Geoffrey an hour to blow up the inflatable raft. I refused to help because he made so much spit you could hear it bubbling inside the mouthpiece. He changed into board-shorts and paddled across the river. I watched from my chair as he reached the other side. It was steep but the roots of the gum tree that my father had tied a rope swing to many years before weaved their way down into the water, creating natural steps. Geoffrey pulled the raft up onto a root, balanced it, and made his way up. He stood looking up at the tree for a few minutes then started climbing. He made it all the way up to the branch the rope was tied to, edged his way out and began to untie it. A light breeze caught the raft far below him; it swayed back and forth for a few seconds before sliding gently into the water. The river’s current wasn’t strong but there was definitely a flow, the raft rotated a few times as it headed off. Geoffrey hadn’t noticed so I yelled to him. He was a fair distance away but looked around, waved, and went back to the knot. The rope fell and Geoffrey made his way back down the tree. Gathering the rope up in a loop, he approached the roots to climb down. The raft was well over a hundred feet away, moving quickly now that it had neared the middle of the river. Geoffrey raised his hands and yelled something.

  “What?”

  “The raft is floating away!”

  “I know. Swim out and get it!”

  “What?”

  “Swim after it!”

  “I’m not swimming. I don’t know what’s in the water.”

  “You’re going to have to swim all the way back if you don’t get to it.”

  “Oh yeah. ”

  Geoffrey lowered himself delicately off the roots into the water, his foot touched something and he jumped back out quickly.

  “Is there anything in the river that will bite me?”

  “No. Just turtles.”

  “Do turtles bite?”

  “...No. You’d better hurry, the raft’s moving pretty quickly.”

  “I should have worn my shoes.”

  “Yes, probably.”

  “Okay. I’m going in. I’m really not happy about this though.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  Geoffrey secured the loop of rope around his neck and lowered himself into the water with a few yells of terror. Pushing off, he swam breaststroke towards the raft, keeping his head high above water and looking around nervously. The rope bobbed around his face, obscuring his view and tangling, so he took it off and held one end in his teeth, letting it trail. A fish jumped out of the water a few feet from him, creating a decent splash. Geoffrey screamed and swam faster, the rope discarded. He hadn’t gained any distance on the raft and after a few minutes of fear-driven furious dedication, gave up. When I saw that he was abandoning the raft, I yelled, “Swim!” in encouragement but apparently he thought I yelled, “Fin!” which is why he screamed again and hurtled towards the shore as if he was bodysurfing a wave. He was sobbing as he climbed up the bank. The raft floated around the bend and was gone from sight.

  “Well that was a fucking waste of time.”

  “At least you got a turn on the raft. ”

  “What are we going to do now?”

  “Go home.”

  “No, we’re not giving up after one small setback. We’ll just have to sleep under the stars like they did in the middle ages.”

  “I thought you said they slept under tarpaulins.”

  “Some of them. Some of them didn’t have tarpaulins. It was hard times. Besides, it’s warm and the sky is clear. It’ll be nice. We can sleep around the fire. Like knights.”

  “I’ll probably just sleep in the car.”

  “No you won’t. How is that camping together?”

  “Laying down in the dirt on the edge of the river isn’t really camping.”

  “Fine, you can sleep in a chair. I’m going to do it properly though.”

  “There are scorpions around here.”

  “Are there? I might sleep in a chair as well then. It means I can jump up quicker if dingoes attack us anyway. You should probably make yourself a spear. ”

  We had hotdogs without buns for dinner. Geoffrey had forgotten to r
e-tie the bag when he grabbed the snack for the pelicans and it was full of ants. We cooked the hotdogs on a stick over the fire, like they did in the middle ages, and they were pretty good. We’d collected enough firewood from the surrounding brush to last the night and even dragged over a big old mallee stump to throw on top after the fire had some decent coals. We sat by the roaring fire drinking beer and watching the cliffs turn from red to orange and pink, then grey as dusk set in. Geoffrey was in full mediaeval armour, his sword across his lap. I’d finally agreed to wear the chapeau à bec, which turned out to be a Robin Hood cap, after Geoffrey complained about group participation. It had cooled as the sun reached the horizon, both of us had our legs in the sleeping bags Geoffrey had borrowed from his nephews; they were children’s sleeping bags and only came to our waists. Mine had Buzz Lightyear on it, Geoffrey’s was just red with the Ferrari logo. Fish splashed as they fed by the willow and a large egret waded slowly out from the hanging branches. It froze for a moment, then stabbed the water with its long beak, it’s prize flashing silver in the last light.

  Have you ever done a poo and it was so wet that when you wiped, it was like sticking the paper in a bucket of water?”

  “Jesus Christ, Geoffrey. I was enjoying the moment.”

  “Well excuse me. Just making conversation.”

  “And you picked your swampy arse as the topic?”

  “Well what would you like to talk about?”

  “What?”

  “Pick a topic.”

  “We don’t need a topic. You’re at the river, Geoffrey, relax and enjoy it. Have another beer and talk about river things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, when I was kid, I used to jump off those cliffs. We should swim across and do that tomorrow.”

  “That’s not happening. I’m never going back in that water again. It’s terrifying.”

  “You’re not going to go swimming at all?”

  “No. Something touched my leg out in the deep bit.”

  “Fine, suit yourself.”

  “I will.”

  “Alright.”

  “Well that wasn’t a very good conversation. I’m going to whittle a spoon out of wood.”

  Geoffrey whittled his spoon and I watched the flames. We both drank a lot of beer. The topics of conversation ranged from ideal spoon depth to whether we’d have sex with a shemale if she looked like Sandra Bullock and we were marooned together on a tropical island. Beyond the light and crackling of the fire, it was pitch black and silent. I put my head back and looked up at the stars. They were the same stars that my father had pointed out and named to me; the Southern Cross, George and Mildred, the Sheep and the Shoe.

  I jerked awake in my chair, confused where I was for a moment. It was still dark but there was a hint of dawn approaching. The fire had gone out some time during the night and I was shivering with cold. A wisp of smoke from the ashes indicated that there might still be coals so I achingly leant forward and poked at them with a stick. Geoffrey was nowhere to be seen. He was asleep in the car. With the ignition on auxiliary and the heater running.

  “Can we push start it?”

  “No, you can’t push-start an automatic. I can’t believe this, Geoffrey. What the fuck where you thinking?”

  “I was cold. And uncomfortable.”

  “You left me to the cold and uncomfort. Couldn’t you have at least put more wood on the fire before you fucked off to your climate-controlled luxury suite?”

  “It was still going when I got in the car.”

  “How were you cold if the fire was still going?”

  “I wasn’t cold until I got in the car.”

  “What?”

  “I heard a noise.”

  ‘What kind of noise?”

  “A rustle.”

  “Is that what knight’s in the middle ages did? Heard a rustle and jumped into the nearest automobile?”

  “Knights took it in turns to keep watch. They didn’t all sleep at the same time. That’s how you get stabbed.”

  “It was probably just a bird.”

  “No, it was a big rustle. A dingo-sized rustle.”

  “Right, well it’s probably best you sought safety then. I mean, if it had been a dingo, there’s no point in both of us being torn apart or dragged off into the darkness.”

  I could see you perfectly out of the window, I had the headlights on. If a dingo attacked you, I would have honked the horn.”

  “You had the headlights on? Were you listening to the radio as well?”

  “No. There’s no reception out here so I listened to CDs.”

  The battery was almost dead; there was barely a click when I turned the ignition. Words were said and then apologised for, a chair was kicked into the water and then retrieved with a sword. We had a lengthy discussion about electrons moving quicker when heated and decided it couldn’t hurt to remove the battery and place it near the fire for an hour or so to warm it up but we both knew it was a stretch. The tire wrench didn’t fit the bolts holding the battery in place but we managed to pry the clamps off with Geoffrey’s sword and set the battery a few feet from the fire pit. I stoked the coals and added a few sticks and the Burger King bag to get it going. Geoffrey cooked the last of the hotdogs over the fire as the sun rose and I boiled a mug of water on the coals to make coffee. I’d bought milk, sugar and a jar of instant coffee in Morgan but forgot to buy water so I used melted ice from the cooler. We tried the battery after a few hours, it was quite warm to the touch but apparently the electrons weren’t excited enough to care.

  “We’re stranded in the Outback. Like those people you hear about on the news that drive out into the Outback unprepared and die and you think, what an idiot, but this time it’s us.”

  “We’re not stranded, Geoffrey. Worse case scenario, one of us has to walk out to the main road and hitchhike into Morgan to get a replacement battery.”

  “It’s miles back to main road, you’ll never make it.”

  “What makes you think I’d be the one going? You’re the one who drained the battery.”

  “I don’t know the way. I was blindfolded. What’s the best case scenario?”

  “Well, a boat might cruise past. If we waved them down, they might give us a lift to Morgan... or, if the boat’s bigger than just a fishing dinghy with a two-stroke on the back, they might let us use their battery to jump start the car.”

  “That’s definitely the better option. So we just wait?”

  “We were planning to stay another night anyway and there’s nothing else we can do. I’ll probably go for a swim when it warms up a bit.”

  “No, don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s like one of those horror movies where one of them goes swimming and gets pulled under and the other one stands on the bank calling out to them and then goes close to the water and looks down and something grabs him as well.”

  “Then stay away from the edge if I get pulled under.”

  “I’d still be out here all alone. How long do you think it will be before a boat goes by?”

  “Who knows.”

  “Should I make an SOS out of rocks on the bank?”

  “Sure.”

  Geoffrey ran out of rocks halfway through the first S so he made it into an arrow instead. He also made a flag to wave by tying the Ferrari sleeping bag to a long branch. We sat by the edge of the river and waited.

  If this was a movie, there’d be a montage here to show the passing of time; it would include Geoffrey performing a flag dance and throwing it into the air and almost catching it, spear-fishing with his sword in ankle deep water, a game of who can throw a stick closest to the cooler, and three and a half games of charades.

  “I give up, Geoffrey”

  “Oh, come on. You gave up on the other two. Play this one out.”

  “Fine. So it’s a movie, two words, first word sounds like violin. I have no idea. Do the second word... second word sounds like... finger? No? Ring?”

&nbs
p; “Mmhm.”

  “Okay, second word sounds like ring. Violin ring... I give up, what is it?”

  “The Lion King. I get to go again.”

  “The Lion King is three words. And violin doesn’t sound anything like lion.”

  “It does if you mumble it.”

  “Right, I’m not playing anymore.”

  “Come on, one more go.”

  “No, it’s just painful. I’m going to have another beer and then go for a swim.”

  “One more while you’re having your beer.”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay... um... oh, okay, I’ve got one...”

  “Movie.”

  “Mmhm.”

  “Two words.”

  “Mmhm.”

  “Is it Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines?”

  We froze. Geoffrey’s eyes opened wide and he raised a finger to his lips. The distant but unmistakable noise of an outboard motor grew louder. It was coming from down river and we both ran to the bank and craned our necks to look around the bend. Geoffrey grabbed his flag and began waving it madly as a houseboat came into view. “Help!” he screamed. I waved my arms and yelled, “Hey!” as “Help!” seemed more something you’d yell if you were drowning or being attacked by a dingo - a flat battery lends itself more to, “Excuse me, sorry to trouble you.” It looked like there were several people at the front of the houseboat and they were all looking our way. I waved frantically and decided “Help!” was a viable option. The houseboat was directly across from us when I realised it wasn’t people; it was the cast from Friends. Geoffrey’s raft was propped up against a railing and the old lady wearing a pink hat was standing beside it. She gave us the finger as the houseboat passed by.

  “What a bitch!”

  “I saw that coming as soon as I noticed the pink hat.”

  “She stole my raft and left us to die. ”

  “We’re not going to die. Another boat will come past eventually. I’m going for a swim.”