The river is Down

by Walker, Lucy

  `Dear Jim!’ she said aloud. Then decided to go to sleep, there and now.

  It was the small hours of the morning before they arrived back at the hotel in Mulga Gorges.

  Cindie had been brought back in a car by two strangers from the township who had gone out to the gorge to help. Nick, the doctor, and another man had brought Flan in in a small ambulance-van used by the hospital for emergency accidents at the mines out of the town.

  The manager’s wife, Mrs. Mollison, had stayed up to see if she could help. She already knew the details of the accident, and began at once to recount exactly how much damage had been done to Flan’s foot as Cindie—on her own feet now—wavered a very aching way in through the front door.

  `I know,’ Cindie said. ‘That two-way on the ambulance! As they examined Flan they were talking to the hospital—telling them what to get ready. I could hear too. Some men brought me back in their car. Nick stayed with Flan, of course.’

  `Of course. My dear, you’re very tired

  ‘I still don’t understand how Nick came. He went to Bin daroo

  Mrs. Mollison, the manager’s wife, could see Cindie was too dazed even to stop thinking.

  ‘He was in mid-flight back to Mulga when he heard, my dear. They picked up your radio call at the mines, and relayed it as a general call. There’s no such thing as distance, really—when you have your own chartered plane.’

  `Yes … I suppose so…

  Mrs. Mollison put her arm sympathetically round Cindie’s shoulder as she accompanied her up the staircase. She turned on the lights in the passage, and the corridor to the bathroom. She had fresh towels ready. She had put these on the side table at the head of the staircase.

  `Can you manage, dear? I mean, would you like me to help?’

  ‘I can manage a shower, and the way back to my bed.’ Cindie seemed sure of that much. ‘But only just. After that —if I can sleep—’

  `You shall. But I’ll bring you a tray with something to eat. Manage what you can of it. Don’t turn off the lights. I’ll fix all that when I come up.’

  With kindly forethought Mrs. Mollison had already taken out Cindie’s pyjamas and toilet bag, and put them in the shower-room.

  The water was wonderfully refreshing—and cleansing, too. Cindie had no idea she had gathered so much dust and brownstain. Her legs and arms were scratched—almost grooved with grime.

  She didn’t scrub, she just soaped and washed and hoped for the best, then all but crawled back to her room. As she climbed in under the sheet, Mrs. Mollison appeared again with a tray of tea and sandwiches.

  `You must have a little,’ she insisted as Cindie looked at the tray dubiously. ‘Take this, my dear. I can hear a car pulling up so I’d better go and see who comes. Probably the police wanting a report. I shan’t let them bother you till the morning.

  Cindie enjoyed the tea, but only managed a bite or two of the sandwiches. When she had finished she slid the tray out of sight under her bed. She lay back on her pillow, just that much too tired to put out the light.

  Her lids wavered over her eyes—in another minute she would be asleep—except she couldn’t stop trying to find a rhyme for corkscrew. It had become an obsession. Then came a

  knock at the door. She hadn’t the energy to call ‘Come in’, so she didn’t.

  Without any ado Nick walked in with Mrs. Mollison and another man. She, Cindie, might have been a patient in a public hospital!

  ‘Dr. Britton is with Flan, Cindie,’ Nick said, looking down at her, his face aloof, his manner deliberately detached. ‘This is Dr. Barry from the mines. We want to check you over. It’s a precaution.’

  ‘How do you feel, Miss Brown?’ Dr. Barry asked. He was a tall lean man, used to dealing with miners. His manner was brusque, though kindly.

  ‘Like going to sleep, please. I’ve only a few scratches.’ ‘We can dab them with antiseptic. Hmm! They look clean and normal enough. Any pain anywhere?’

  ‘Only a back ache. It’s nothing

  ‘Roll over, will you please?’

  Nick and Mrs. Mollison were standing by, surveying her as if she were some kind of specimen in a laboratory.

  Cindie rolled over and the doctor pushed up her pyjama top.

  ‘Why does he have to stay too?’ Cindie asked indignantly, looking at Nick from where her cheek rested on one arm. Her most belligerent spirit was in charge. I suppose everyone’s crabby when they’re tired, she thought, excusing herself.

  ‘Because I’m responsible for you,’ Nick stated flatly.

  ‘He is that,’ the doctor agreed. ‘You don’t have any relatives here, I understand, Miss Brown.’

  ‘Mrs. Mollison is my next of kin, if I’m going to die.’ Cindie was unsmiling, stubborn. ‘I can’t do that till I find another word like “corkscrew”.’

  The doctor ran his hand diagnostically over her back, her arms, her legs. He pulled down her pyjama -top and gave her shoulder a pat.

  ‘You’ll live for ever,’ he said as if appeasing a difficult child. ‘Nothing wrong there but tired muscles from sitting in one posture for too long. Do you think you will sleep without medication?’

  Cindie eased herself over on to her back again, and pulled the sheet up under her chin.

  ‘If you go out quietly ‘ she began, trying not to sound

  cross this time, ‘I’ll be asleep by the time you close the door—I hope—’

  ‘In that case, we’ll go at once.’ He held the door for the manager’s wife. ‘Mrs. Mollison? After you, please.’

  Nick stood by the bed and looked down at the girl lying there, fringed eyelashes caressing her cheeks, her face as white as the sheet under her chin. Cindie opened her eyes and gazed up at him, troubled. For a split second there was only silence in the small room. Then Nick’s eyes shut off like a light. Or was he shielding them with some mask?

  It made Cindie feel dreadfully sad—as when the sun had died from the gorge, leaving only twilight, then night. She felt very alone, too. She could have cried.

  He turned abruptly and went out, closing the door silently behind him.

  She had wanted him to bend down—to her—

  She put the back of her hand over her eyes and felt the cold sting of her own tears on it.

  ‘I hate my enemy in a very peculiar way,’ she said at length, puzzled and dispirited; still bothered about rhymes and masks, and why Nick was Nick, and not somebody at Bindaroo.

  The next morning she did not get up till late. She slept so deeply she did not hear the rattle of cups, the pyjama parade, nor even the breakfast gong. There had been a conspiracy of silence between the other occupants of this particular passage as they tiptoed past Cindie’s door, to-ing and fro-ing from bedroom to bathroom to breakfast.

  When finally she did appear downstairs the three typists were at work with their chiefs, behind closed doors. The lounge and foyer of the hotel were empty. Cindie was thankful for that. For all she knew Erica had returned from Bindaroo with Nick. She didn’t want to find Erica round any corner. Round anywhere at all—ever.

  Mrs. Mollison, seeing her, called her over and invited her into her own den behind the inquiry desk.

  ‘Funny where all the people go, isn’t it?’ she said brightly, having seen the lost look in Cindie’s face. She was sharing her morning tea and toast with the girl. They were sitting now in comfortable cane chairs behind the barricade of the counter-desk.

  ‘Morning and night, this place is an ant-hill of humanity. Mid-morning there’s only me and the staff. Are you going up to the hospital, Miss Brown?’

  ‘Do you think I’ll be allowed to see Flan?’

  ‘Oh, yes. There was a message for you. Didn’t anyone

  tell you? Of course, I forgot! You were asleep when it came through. Flan has been temporarily splinted and patched up and is fairly comfortable. He-would like to see you.’

  `Oh, I’m so glad,’ Cindie exclaimed with relief. ‘He looked such a lifeless kind of body when I saw him last. I was worried. I
think it was only the needle I gave him. But I wasn’t sure. What other news? How bad is his foot?’

  `Mr. Brent told me about an hour ago that Dr. Britton is very optimistic. Mr. Brent was up at the hospital first thing. They will have to air-freight Flan down south for X-rays, though. That’s to make sure they’ve located all the bone-breaks. There’ll be no amputation, fortunately.’

  Cindie was so relieved she forgot her aches. Her face was almost radiant.

  ‘I don’t think Flan would be amused at being called freight,’ was all she could find to say.

  `Dr. Britton said you could go to the hospital any time before twelve-thirty, according to Mr. Brent’s message. Do you feel like a walk, or does your back still trouble you?’

  ‘Not any more—that news is so good. Nothing would stop me walking even a mile, if necessary. I’ll go at once—’

  She moved back her chair and stood up. Then she hesitated.

  ‘I’m not sure whether Mr. Brent needs me. For work, I mean. Is the conference ?’

  `The men from down south are winding up their own affairs this morning. They’re packing up, staff and all, and flying out this afternoon. They’re using the same chartered plane Mr. Brent had yesterday. He—Mr. Brent—has already cleared out your office room. I think he’s round at the garage having his Land-Rover checked again.’

  Then—Miss Alexander?’

  ‘She didn’t fly back with Mr. Brent. I understand she was dropped off at Marana. That’s her station ‘ Mrs. Mollison broke off. Then added—`Everyone calls it her station, but actually it’s quite as much her father’s station

  ‘I know,’ Cindie said. She felt as if a siege had been lifted from her heart—all because Erica was not here. ‘But she’s the brains, so they say. I expect Mr. Alexander sometimes gets very annoyed about that.’

  `Not enough to put a curb on Her Majesty, I’m afraid. It takes Mr. Brent to use strong-man tactics. He has a way with her

  `I’ve no doubt he’s very good at that,’ Cindie conceded reluctantly. She could hardly explain to Mrs. Mollison that

  if Erica was what Jim called Enemy Number One, then Nick, alas, was Enemy Number Two. Two enemies combined in one sortie could spell Bindaroo. If only she could forget—just for a little while!

  `Well, off you go,’ Mrs. Mollison said kindly, seeing the troubled look flit across Cindie’s face again. ‘If Mr. Brent comes in I’ll tell him where you are. You know he’s checked you both out, as from tomorrow after breakfast? They’ll fly Flan down south to-night. You’re going back to the construction camp with Mr. Brent, of course. Another long drive, I’m afraid—’

  Cindie thought about this as she walked to the hospital. The east wind was blowing hot against her cheeks—drying out Bindaroo, the claypans, and probably the river too.

  If her plans to try to reach Bindaroo from Mulga Gorges were a flop, at least there might soon be a way to get there cross-country from the camp. She hoped the Wet on the upper tableland wouldn’t have obliterated the station tracks up that way. She didn’t want to be rescued from another kind of no-man’s-land. First the river, then the gorge! No, Nick wouldn’t stand for a third, and probably even Jim would be tired of playing knight-errant by that time. It would be good-bye to her permanent job at the camp, too.

  Flan was tucked up in bed in a calico nightgown which tied at the back. and which he spoke of in some highly colourful language.

  Cindie, in the act of sitting down beside him, couldn’t help but laugh. He looked such a shrimp, and the hospital gown was miles too big.

  ‘What do you think of my baby?’ Flan demanded, pointing to his splinted and bandaged foot which hung in a sling from an overhead pulley. ‘Bigger than the rest of me—the raking thing!’

  ‘It’s very impressive, Flan. At least it makes you look interesting to the other patients.’ He had been positively embarrassed when she had leaned over him and kissed him—with all those others looking on.

  ‘Remind me to tell you something about that kissing business,’ he told her gruffly. He had a large transistor radio by his pillow, and had turned the sound down to talk to her.

  ‘I’m receiving from all over the raking north with that thing,’ he said, eyeing the radio balefully. ‘I’m used to a two-way. I can’t talk back.’

  ‘You’re getting all the news about yourself, I suppose?’

  `Yes, and about some girl called Cindie Brown who held me in her arms for about ten hours

  `Not her arms, Flan. Your head was on her lap.’

  `You see to it you tell the world that, when you get the chance, my girl. Otherwise they’ll be thinking—well—they couldn’t be wronger, anyway. Except for ‘ He broke off, then his hand came across the short distance and squeezed Cindie’s. `You know what I mean, lass. Only I can’t find the right words to thank you.’

  `Please don’t, Flan. It would embarrass me. I’m the grateful one. I had an opportunity to discover I could do something really useful. One never knows till one’s put to the test, does one? I was always full of doubts about myself

  They smiled at one another, both understanding. They had shared a unique experience.

  `What was it you were going to tell me about that kissing, Flan? Did you really mind?’ Cindie only wanted to change the subject, but suddenly Flan was no longer alternately swearing or teasing. His face, in its funny wizened way, was quite serious.

  `That business with Jim Vernon. You’d better cut it out. You better get this straight, Cindie–’

  `You mean that those little friendly exchanges between Jim and me are known all round the camp?’

  `Well, yes! You have three wives there—good-hearted and all though they may be at times—peeking and prying just to keep themselves from boredom. They could cause trouble, you know.’

  Cindie stared at Flan, startled.

  `What trouble?’ she asked curiously.

  With Mary, for one. Jim too, maybe!’

  Cindie’s eyes opened world-wide.

  `With Mary?’ She was incredulous. Had she heard right?

  `Yeah. She kinda claimed that voice-on-the-air as her own. That is, till you came along. You snaffled the overseer from Baanya from right under her nose. She’d been waiting months for him to come across. Scuse me being blunt, Cindie. But someone had to say it.’

  Cindie’s hand had flown to her mouth. She stared at Flan in shocked dismay.

  `Oh, no! Mary didn’t think …? Oh no, Flan! I couldn’t bear Mary to think I did that. I didn’t know she had any interest in Jim. I didn’t even— You see, he came across the river to help me about something personal.’

  `Rats to that, Cindie girl! He came across the river, when

  he had you as an excuse, to see someone else. Well, maybe … Well, darned if I really know…

  Cindie was stunned.

  She saw herself as perhaps others saw her. She was someone who had run into Jim’s arms, then monopolised him—when all the time—

  ‘Oh, no!’ she kept saying. Everyone would think she was that kind of a girl.

  She couldn’t bear to think of it. She was appalled at such a mistake.

  `Flan,’ she implored. ‘I didn’t know! I didn’t know anything about anyone at Baanya, or at the construction camp. I was in a spot of trouble. I was terribly anxious about something. I knew Jim could help me. He was such a darling. In a way I loved him, and sort of clung to him as a life-line. But I didn’t mean anything else… .’ She stared at the little man’s face as it lay chin-deep in an oversize calico gown sunk into pillows that were too big and too soft. ‘Flan . . she begged. ‘You believe me, don’t you?’

  His shrewd little eyes had been watching her.

  `Like you sort of hung on to me on that raking path?’

  `Well—the other way round, Flan,’ Cindie said distressed. `You were hurt, in trouble, all those hours. So you were mine. You belonged to me—for that little while. I loved you because you were mine. Perhaps in an unthinking way I was grateful to you because you were mine t
o care for. I think Jim felt that way. You do understand, Flan? He likes being Big Brother. He has that kind of nature. And I needed Big Brother—’

  There was knowledge in the little rouseabout’s eyes as he watched the girl’s face.

  `That’s life, Cindie. The hurt one is always the loved one —while hurt. You reckon that’s how it was with you and Jim?’

  She nodded.

  `Okay, Cindie. I understand.’ Then he grinned. `Jim’s at that construction camp now, and you’re here. Maybe someone else is in need of solace, or understanding, or something—this’ll be her chance.’

  `Mary! You needn’t tell me anymore, Flan. I’ll keep away from Jim. I’ll play with the children— Anything—’

  `That reminds me,’ said Flan with a sudden new interest. `Talking of children. You know what else has gone on down in that darn place, since we came up here?’

  `Go on, tell me. Jinx and Myrtle in trouble? The wives?’

  `Darn the wives! With the dry-out, their husbands will be packing them off to Hedland any day. No, it’s that raking lizard out in the spinifex.’

  `Swell? Don’t tell me he’s had a fire again?’

  `Bet you thought Swell was a him?’

  ‘Jinx said—’

  `Well, Jinx was wrong. Swell is a lady and she’s had pups.’ ‘Pups?’ Cindie was incredulous.

  `Little ones. A whole nest of ‘em, except Jinx and Myrtle can’t get near ‘em to count ‘em. Blow me, if Swell doesn’t open his—her—mouth and swallow the litter every time those kids of Mary’s get anywhere near him—her.’

  `How did you know, Flan?’

  This little old transistor told me on the short wave.’ Cindie sat back in her chair and laughed. She laughed and laughed till she had to wipe her eyes.

  ‘Oh, isn’t it lovely, Flan,’ she said at last. ‘Darling Swell, with babies

  ‘You think a whole host more frilled lizards is lovely!’ Flan declared in exasperation. ‘You women! Anything that breathes has a baby, and you go all wet-eyed!’