On the veranda, Athena fumbles towards the stairs and grabs hold of the railing to steady herself. ‘She hugged me.’
‘I know, I saw.’ Cassie pushes past her and heads down the stairs. ‘We haven’t had a chance to do any of our experiment work.’
‘The chess was good though, not as boring when you get to teach it new.’ Athena starts down the stairs.
‘It was only a hug,’ Cassie says when they both reach the bottom.
‘I know, it’s just … different for me, that’s all,’ Athena says.
They cross the garden. The rhythmic thunk of wood being chopped splits the pre-dusk quiet. They reach the back gate hanging loose on its hinges, and the thunking stops.
Cassie pushes open the gate. They find Alex in the middle of the woodpile. He gapes at them stupidly, his mouth hanging open.
‘Does Dad know you’re doing that?’.
‘He told me to do it,’ Alex replies, trying to look casual as he leans on the wood splitter.
‘Frightening.’ Cassie slams the gate behind her and the fence wobbles. She sets off down the path before noticing Athena isn’t following.
‘I’m Athena.’ She steps forward to shake Alex’s hand.
‘I know,’ mutters Alex, his hand limp in Athena’s firm shake.
‘I hear you’re good with the weather,’ Athena says, rocking back on her heels, her hands clasped behind her back.
‘They reckon so.’ Alex raises the wood splitter to his shoulder, ready to swing again.
‘Well, see you again.’ Athena walks to where Cassie waits.
‘He’s a man of many words,’ Athena comments.
‘What’s with all the hand shaking?’ Cassie kicks a stone from the path into the dry grass.
‘It’s polite, unlike omitting to introduce a friend to your family.’
‘It’s just Alex. Besides, I haven’t met your dad yet.’ Cassie’s skin prickles with heat remembering his hunched body, dark and intent, the fire burning from his fingers.
‘I know, I said to your mother she should meet him too.’
‘Why would you say that?’ Cassie says, her voice hoarse.
‘On account of her art history degree,’ Athena says.
‘Her what?’ Cassie stops and turns to Athena, a questioning tilt to her head.
‘You don’t know?’ Athena stops and shakes her head.
‘Know what?’
Athena trudges along the path again, her hiking boots crunching on the gravel. ‘She hasn’t told you? She was doing a literature art history degree when she met your dad. She didn’t finish it … on account of …’ She nods towards Cassie.
‘Of what?’
‘You, she got pregnant with you. I can’t believe you don’t know.’
‘I can’t believe you do! She just told you that?’
‘We were talking, about the future, what I wanted to do. I said I was thinking of doing physics and maths at uni, and she said she was always crap at maths, that’s why she did lit and art history. That’s when I said she should meet Father. It would give her someone to talk to … about art I mean.’
They turn off the path into the bush where a faint track through the long grass has come to exist since their friendship. They walk single file between the clumps of long grass, swishing, crunching, scratching their legs.
‘You know, I think coming to visit you will cure me of my mild ophidiophobia. Do you never think there might be a snake in the grass? Doesn’t it ever frighten you?’
‘I figure I’m only likely to get bitten once in my life,’ Cassie replies flatly.
‘Doesn’t save me though, does it?’
Cassie shrugs.
‘Well, it is desensitising me to the idea of snakes. Slimy.’ Athena shudders. ‘Did you want to tell me something, about the experiment?’ Athena asks.
‘They’re not slimy. They’re … sort of silky,’ Cassie replies. ‘Just the tarot. I’ve been practising with the tarot.’
‘Who on?’ Athena turns, excited.
‘The kids at school.’ The ploughed furrows have been left to grow grass for the cattle. Cassie snatches a handful and rips it off. It cuts the skin on her hand. She sucks on the cut, the taste sharp on her tongue.
‘Excellent.’ They reach the back fence where Athena stops and slaps her hands together. ‘It’s been good this afternoon.’
Athena pushes the middle wire one down and slides through the gap. On the other side of the fence the grass waves in the breeze, the seed heads glittering like fairy lights in the twilight.
‘Are you upset?’ Athena asks from the other side.
‘No, I just wish we had more time together. Just the two of us.’
‘I’m sorry. Next time, okay?’
‘Okay.’
Athena disappears up the hill, her hair turning grey under the shadow of the trees.
She is at the mailbox, but the mailbox has a lock on it and she can’t open it. She looks around in the grass for the key but instead she finds a stash of notebooks. She wonders why they are hidden there. She opens the book and finds the pages are blank. White pages without lines. Then she realises each page is dated, but the dates are all in the future. This is her chance to write down the future. To really know what is going to happen. She looks everywhere for a pen, but she doesn’t have one. She takes the books to Athena’s house to get a pen, but Athena is helping her father with the sculpture and won’t take the time to show her where the pens are. She goes into Athena’s room and finds a drawer full of pens. But before she can begin to write she is struck with fear. She doesn’t know what to write.
~ 20 ~
The Dance
An old man, all knees and baggy pants, shuffles around the dance floor laying sawdust. Little girls in chiffon pastels and white jiffies bolt the length of the floor and slide through the sawdust. The music starts in metronome time and a sing-song voice calls for gentlemen to choose their ladies for a quickstep. The children scamper off the dance floor. The biggest girl leads the others to seats and with their bums in the air, they search underneath them for empty drink bottles. Cassie used to do this when she was younger, exchanging the bottles for a refund to spend on a Golden Rough or a Mint Pattie. A circle of grownups dance the quickstep through the disturbed sawdust, their feet not quite in time with the music.
Cassie squashes herself into the corner and crosses her arms over her chest, squeezing her bag, the rectangular shape of her tarot firm beneath the sequined fabric. She probably wouldn’t use them tonight but she is the girl with the tarot cards now, and it is expected that she be prepared.
If they don’t come, she thinks, it might be a relief. Cassie’s family has attended every rodeo ball since she can remember. Aunty Ida helps out in the supper room, her mother dances with Poppy, her father leaves the bar to dance the progressive dances and the jives. Cassie dances with her dad or Poppy, sliding through the sawdust, moving around in something that might be called a waltz, hanging out for the Mexican hat dance and usually, when she was younger, falling asleep under a line of chairs. That she recommended her new friends come tonight for a ‘rage’ now seemed ludicrous. The tinny music, more cymbals than drums, and the slow four-four time would send Natalie and the others into peals of laughter. She leans forward and peers at the door. What had she been thinking?
She scrapes at the nail polish on her fingernails. She never has the patience to wait for it to dry, touching it when it is only halfway there, making it rippled and lumpy. The paint peels away like mushy red confetti. It flashes across the blue satin of her dress, and last night’s dream replays, like a film imprinted on her mind. Flashing red and blue lights. Scalding heat. Piercing screams like the vocals to heavy metal music. A recurring dream, a film watched over and over, but she has never been able to pin it down. Its appearances in her experiment notebooks are vague. Athena brushes ove
r them dismissively. And yet, it is a dream that haunts her for all the daylight hours that follow its night. She always wakes from it wet with sweat, the smell of rotting petals glued to her nostrils. The stench churns through her and clings to her mind like a haunting. That morning she rushed to the toilet thinking she would throw up. She only retched, but would have preferred the relief of being sick.
She brushes the red from her dress and smooths the blue, ignoring her now ruined nails.
Natalie, Lisa and the boys arrive just as the quickstep finishes. They push against the tide of dancers returning to their seats. Natalie, hands on her hips, surveys the hall. Cassie stands and waves but they miss her and sit in a group of seats by the bar. Cassie weaves along the edge of the dance floor.
‘Hey,’ she greets them.
‘Hey Cassie.’ Natalie, her luscious curves in figure-hugging electric red, yanks her dress further down her thighs. Lisa smiles a sweet delicate lace smile. Paulo and Mitch loll back in their seats, long legs splayed into the aisle.
‘Where’s Budgie?’
‘His dad wouldn’t give him any money to come.’ Natalie squirms on the edge of the seat and arches her back so her breasts meet the eye of every man passing.
‘A buck fifty to get in here,’ Mitch bitches. ‘We coulda just gone to the river.’
‘Quit complaining.’ Natalie thumps his arm.
‘How’d you get here?’ Cassie asks.
‘Paulo’s big brother. He’s coming back at midnight.’ Natalie leans forward and whispers in Cassie’s ear. ‘He got us Green Ginger Wine. Its thirteen per cent alcohol, but it only cost four fifty. It’s stashed outside, by the fence.’
‘You owe us a buck,’ Mitch says.
‘I’ll ask my dad for it.’ Cassie looks towards the bar and sees her father, arms wide in a big story.
‘Go on then,’ Natalie urges. ‘We’ll wait here.’
Cassie isn’t allowed past the roped off section of the bar. The sign says ‘No Children Past this Point’. She waves and calls, ‘Dad,’ but he doesn’t see her until his mate nudges him and points to her.
When he comes over, she thinks he is going to reach out and touch her hair, but he pulls back and smiles a wobbly grin.
‘Can I have two dollars?’ she asks.
He fishes in his pocket and draws out a two-dollar note. ‘No beer with that.’ He laughs and walks away before she can say, ‘No Dad.’
The others aren’t in the seats when she returns. She peers out the front doors and finds them at the bottom of the stairs, Lisa and Paulo in quiet conversation and Mitch’s hands creeping across Natalie’s bottom.
Paulo watches her as she comes down the stairs. Even in this dim light she can see the blue of his eyes. Her stomach flutters like autumn leaves.
‘Got it?’ Mitch asks, pulling his face away from Natalie’s.
Cassie hands him the note. He stuffs it in his pocket without mentioning the change. ‘What happens at these things?’
‘People dance,’ Cassie says.
‘You call that dancing?’ Natalie takes Mitch’s hand and pulls him towards the car park.
‘And there’s supper,’ Cassie continues.
‘Supper, like food?’
‘Sandwiches and cake and stuff. In the supper room, a little later. After they crown the rodeo princess.’
‘Food, tops.’ Mitch pulls on Natalie’s hand and runs ahead.
‘You should go for rodeo princess,’ Lisa says.
‘I’m not old enough yet. Besides, you have to raise money and stuff. That sucks. I couldn’t be bothered,’ Cassie replies.
Paulo jogs up to Mitch to bum a smoke.
‘Do you like Paulo?’ Cassie asks Lisa.
‘You mean like, like?’ Lisa replies.
‘Yeah.’
‘You know he’s my cousin, right?’
‘No!’ Cassie’s voice is high with surprise.
‘Well, second cousin. His mum and my mum are cousins. We’ve known each other since we were babies. He’s tried to come onto me. Paulo tries to come onto everyone, but yuck, that is like incest. Our children would have two heads and six fingers. He’s a user anyway.’
‘He’s a spunk but,’ Cassie says.
They pass through the lines of parked cars. Some older boys loiter at an open car boot, bottles of beer hanging from their relaxed hands. Cassie turns her face away, though she doesn’t think any of them know her.
‘You like him?’ Lisa asks.
‘Maybe,’ Cassie says quietly.
They catch up with the other three. Paulo blows a mouthful of smoke into Cassie’s face and grins with half his mouth. ‘Welcome to the den of sin.’
They crawl under the wire fence, hidden by the line of parked cars. From the grass in the vacant block, Mitch produces a tall wine-shaped bottle and opens it with a crack that splits through the chill air. They sit on the ground in a circle. Paulo leans back on his elbows, his shoulder almost touching Cassie’s.
‘It’s cold,’ she shivers.
Natalie laughs, ‘This’ll warm you up,’ and passes her the bottle.
She clutches the cold glass round the neck. ‘What does it taste like?’
‘It doesn’t matter what it tastes like,’ Natalie replies.
Cassie lifts the bottle and takes a generous mouthful. ‘Oh, it’s gingery.’
‘Der, green ginger wine,’ Natalie giggles.
‘I think I like it,’ Cassie says and passes the drink to Paulo. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows like a thirsty man in the desert. He passes it to Lisa, who takes such a small sip that Cassie wonders if she has drunk any of it at all.
The wine goes back to Mitch who places it on the ground between his legs and sucks on his cigarette. ‘This shit’ll put hairs on your chest,’ he says and pulls on the mouth of the bottle.
Natalie moves closer to him and puts her hand on his thigh, watching, waiting for her turn.
Paulo flicks his cigarette into the darkness, the red flame arching through the night.
‘You shouldn’t do that, you’ll start a fire,’ Lisa says.
Paulo ignores her, shifting his weight towards Cassie. She feels him like a shadow hovering, skimming over her skin. Natalie takes the bottle from Mitch, holds it loosely between two fingers, and rocks it on the ground while she and Mitch kiss hungrily.
‘Come on, you hogs,’ Paulo says.
Natalie giggles and thrusts the bottle to her mouth, and back to Cassie. The wine is half gone now. Cassie doesn’t hold back, letting the sweet drink fill her throat over and over again, falling into her stomach like a pool of syrup. She feels Paulo’s laugh like warm water across her throat.
‘Steady.’ He pulls the bottle from her lips. ‘You’ll make yourself sick.’
She smiles at him, her head full of light air, wanting to float to the stars. ‘I’m not cold anymore.’ She giggles.
‘Pity,’ he says, pressing against her, ‘I was going to offer to warm you up.’ Her quick breaths leave her empty. Paulo drinks deeply and passes the drink to Lisa, turns back to Cassie and stares up at her. ‘Nice dress,’ he says, running his hand over the smooth satin on her thigh. He lifts himself from his elbows and kisses the bare skin of her shoulder and brushes his fingers down her spine.
Scalding water sears down her back and the red and blue lights flicker in the corner of her eye. She pushes at his chest and pulls away.
‘What’s the matter?’ he whispers.
‘You’re making me dizzy,’ she whispers back.
‘That’s good,’ he says, and flicks his warm lips across her neck. The wet heat pulses through her. ‘I think I’m melting,’ she says and then feels the cold glass against her arm.
‘Here,’ Natalie says. ‘It’s almost gone.’
She swallows three mouthfuls and passes the wine to Pa
ulo. He tips the bottle high, emptying it. He stands, uses his whole body to throw it into the emptiness where it thuds on the ground.
The muffled sound of music from the hall turns into the drone of a man speaking.
‘What’s happening?’ Lisa asks.
‘They’re going to name the rodeo princess,’ Cassie replies.
‘I want to see.’ Lisa leaps up and waves at them to join her. She ducks under the wire fence.
‘Wait up.’ Natalie stands and pulls her short dress down her thighs. They follow Lisa through the rows of cars, Paulo’s hand clutching Cassie’s, pulling her along. The breeze slices over her shoulders like a silk sheet, her heart skips and her feet skip and she realises she is tipsy. Not drunk, she decides, but for the first time in her life, just a little, happily tipsy.
They run up the stairs and enter just as the drum roll reverberates through the hall, each thud a flicker of light behind Cassie’s eyes. On the stage, a middle-aged man, his stomach bloated and round like a massive teapot, sweats into a microphone. Behind him a line of girls stands in tottering heels.
‘… Karen Kajewski,’ the man finishes and steps back from the microphone, applauding. Polite clapping surrounds them, but for one corner where wolf whistles and cheers erupt.
‘She’s the princess?’ Lisa asks.
Cassie nods.
‘Looks like a dog,’ Paulo says as Karen steps up to the microphone and is draped in a purple sash and crowned with a plastic-looking tiara.
Mitch yawns dramatically and the crowned girl beams at the people below her.
The man steps up to the microphone. ‘I would now like to invite you all to join us in the supper room.’
‘Food!’ Mitch shouts above the crowd.
‘Doesn’t she get to say a speech?’ Lisa asks. ‘If I was a princess I would expect a speech.’
‘A meat market,’ Cassie says, remembering a conversation with Athena. Cassie’s mother had agreed. ‘I was rodeo princess, the year before the war,’ Aunty Ida had said. And they had all felt her hurt. Cassie felt it now, like a spear in her stomach. ‘Ida,’ she whispers.
Cassandra Page 12
