by Alison Booth
When he eventually paused for breath, she whispered that she had become fond of him too. The moment she’d first realised this was when she’d heard about the trouble he’d taken to check with the Welfare Board about poor Lorna. That’s when she’d recognised that he was a good man, a kind man, one whom she could trust. That’s when she’d decided that he wasn’t just a handsome face with nice hair that was in desperate need of a good haircut in a style that she herself could easily administer.
He laughed at this. ‘Samson and Delilah. I’m not sure I should let you cut my hair.’
‘Your strength is not in your hair. It’s in your heart and your head.’
‘My arms are quite strong too.’
‘All the better to hold me with, and now it is time for your embrocation.’
‘My embrocation?’
‘Yes. When you tell me when you began to care for me.’
‘Ah, the embrocation.’ Not for an instant was he tempted to suggest that reciprocation might be more appropriate, nor to laugh. ‘Let me see. I began to fall for you ages ago. I can even tell you exactly where.’ Down the beach he pointed, although the spot where she’d been about to venture into the rip all those weeks ago was not visible through the dense smoke haze.
‘But I was impossible then.’
‘You were but it was your lovely face that hooked me.’
Never would he tell her that it was that metamorphosis of vulnerability into antagonism that had awakened his interest, nor would he reveal how delightful was her use and misuse of long words. Let her think it was her beauty and charm that had won his heart. At this moment he noticed on her left cheek a dark smudge that he tried to brush away, but his fingers were also covered with dust, and the smudge became larger. This gave her a clownish appearance that once he might have found amusing but now found added greatly to her loveliness.
She put a finger on his mouth and traced its outline and he had just placed his lips on hers when he heard someone calling his name. It was George Cadwallader, staggering towards them and shouting.
It was hard to distinguish his words, what with the surf thundering onto the sand and the fire crackling in the bush beyond the dunes. When George reached them, he took hold of Peter’s arm. Normally unflappable, he was in a terrible state. His eyes were staring and he was so breathless he could hardly fashion the words. ‘It’s Jim. He wasn’t in school when the kids were evacuated. He’s gone AWOL.’
‘What’s AWOL?’ asked Zidra, who had abandoned watching the fire and was now plucking anxiously at Peter’s sleeve.
‘Absent without official leave,’ said Peter. ‘Where have you looked, George?’
‘All over the place. Can’t see him anywhere.’
‘I’ll help you find him. You do the beach and I’ll see if I can get back into Jingera.’
‘I’ll help,’ said Zidra.
‘No you won’t,’ said Ilona, grabbing hold of her hand.
‘Yes, stay with your mother,’ Peter said. ‘She needs looking after too. I’ll find Jim and you make sure your mother doesn’t go missing again. I’ve been searching for her since lunchtime.’
Zidra didn’t smile.
‘Promise me you’ll keep an eye on her,’ Peter added.
‘I promise.’ Zidra didn’t look at him though. She gazed behind him, at the burning bush that illuminated her worried face.
To love Peter and be loved in return was such a wonderful thing that Ilona might have danced with joy, right there by the waves, had not her delight been tempered by the new worry of Jim going missing. Instead she sat on the sand next to Zidra and put an arm around her shoulders.
‘You’re too hot, Mama,’ Zidra said, shaking her off. ‘Why couldn’t you let me help?’
‘It’s too dangerous. They will find him soon, rest assured.’
Zidra grunted but said no more. After a time one of Ilona’s pupils, a tall inarticulate boy of thirteen or fourteen, appeared with a baby kangaroo swaddled in a towel. He’d taken the joey from the pouch of its mother who had died further down the beach after escaping from the bush, he said, and wondered if Ilona would like to look after it. Ilona unwrapped it. The creature was a tiny hairless thing, just a few inches long. The miracle of a new life. The miracle of a new love. ‘We’ll look after it,’ she said, grateful for the distraction, although she had no idea how they would care for it. Gently she gave it to Zidra to hold, but she didn’t seem much interested in the bundle, and soon sank back into lethargy.
Ilona felt as if the moisture in her body was being sucked out by the heat. Thankfully the smoke was beginning to lift a little and it would be easier for Peter and George to see where they were going. She traced her lips with her forefinger, as if still feeling the gentle touch of Peter’s lips. Ever since that night at the Christmas dance, she’d suspected that she was beginning to feel more than ordinary affection for him. But it was only this afternoon, only half an hour ago, that she’d been willing to countenance the possibility that she could fall in love with him. Immediately before the fire had leapt across the lagoon, when she’d been standing with her back to the ocean, she’d seen him running over the sand dunes. A moment later, the fireball had roared from the treetops on one side of the river to the treetops on the other. At once he’d dropped onto the sand and, for one terrible instant, she’d thought his body was burning. Then he’d stood up and carried on walking across the sand and her heart had filled with love for him, for at last she made the connection. He was used to hurling himself away from danger, that’s what he’d done in the war. He was used to being bombed. He was used to conflagrations. He was even used to internment. Released little more than a dozen years ago, he’d lived through an experience that, perhaps in some respects, was not so dissimilar to hers, and that was an extra bond between them. At the Christmas dance she’d told him a little of her past but had neglected to ask about his. She would when she was ready. She would when he was ready.
At this point she was distracted by Zidra pulling at her arm. ‘How much longer are we going to have to stay here?’
‘Till the fire dies back and the firemen say it is safe.’
‘Where do you think Jim’s gone?’
‘I expect he’s just exploring.’
‘You should have let me help look.’
‘I’m sure they’ll find him soon.’ But she wasn’t sure at all and began to feel more worried. It seemed as if anything could happen on this blazing afternoon. She stood up to look at the bush behind the sand dunes. Certainly the smoke was continuing to lift. The boles of the trees were gently flickering like candles. The understorey had been burnt out, so that now she could see between the tree trunks the glimmering lagoon behind. Jingera was still shrouded in smoke.
‘Will the house be okay, Mama?’
‘I don’t know, darling. We shall find out.’ She thought of Oleksii’s compositions and their few clothes. Yet possessions did not matter, she’d learnt that years ago. Food mattered, love mattered.
She was startled by a hubbub. People were jumping up from their positions on the sand. A woman shouted and pointed to a man stumbling across the footbridge carrying a large object. Everyone began to run towards the bridge. Once on the beach the man lost hold of the bundle, and awkwardly it fell to the ground. He bent and gently rolled it over. Immediately it became obvious that it wasn’t a bundle at all. It was a human body lying face up in the sand.
Ilona experienced a fluttering sensation in her chest and began to feel faint. She might have fallen had she not been clutching at Zidra’s arm. Please God not Peter or Jim, she thought. It surely can’t be Peter, and it was too big to be Jim. Her heart was beating rapidly and the palms of her hands were sweating. The body was the same size as Peter’s, and the blue shirt he’d been wearing was exactly the same shade as the shirt shrouding this body. Despair threatened to sweep over her but she wouldn’t succumb to it. Not here, not yet, not with Zidra needing her. Tears trickling down her face, she glanced at her daughter whose face wa
s now a ghastly shade of white. Perhaps Peter had only fainted though. Brushing away her tears, she said, ‘Come, Zidra,’ and tried to take her hand. Instead Zidra gave her the little bundle containing the baby kangaroo.
Just then she saw Eileen running along the beach, dragging Andy behind her. ‘It’s my boy!’ she shouted, ‘I know it’s him!’ Weeping, she pushed her way through the crowd. ‘It’s Jim. Oh, please let me through!’
Zidra, with one quick movement, wriggled free of Ilona and followed close behind Eileen. People began to jostle forward and Ilona could no longer see the body, or where Zidra had gone. Panic clenching her stomach, she tried to follow.
Then she saw Zidra squatting on all fours, peering between the legs of the people surrounding the kneeling man and the body slumped in front of him. Ilona pushed between two elderly women, forgetting to apologise in English rather than Latvian.
‘One man’s dead, apparently,’ one woman was saying. ‘Asphyxiated, but Davies is okay.’
Ilona’s stomach began to churn so much that she thought she might throw up. She took a deep breath before wriggling further forward. The figure kneeling on the sand was certainly Davies. Next to him was the body. Tears now blinded her. Although her heart was hammering, she felt that peculiar numbness and detachment that was shock. After taking several more slow deep breaths, she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and glanced quickly at the faces of the people around her. In detail she saw them, as if they were her real concern rather than that blurred shape in her peripheral vision. Not far from her was Cherry Bates, standing with Miss Neville. Next to them stood Eileen and Andy, and there was George beside them.
And all these other people too, with their curious faces, enthralled faces. People averse to death but fascinated by it too. Suddenly she found she could scarcely breathe, her throat felt so constricted, and despair began to sluice over her. Yet she had to look at the body once more and when she did she was just in time to see Mr Davies and George lifting the shoulders. Now they were wedging coats under the head, and she held her breath until they had finished the task and she could see the face.
But this wasn’t Peter at all, and not Jim either. It was old Mr Giles who lived up by the cemetery and she couldn’t imagine how she could have been so mistaken. This frail body bore no resemblance to Peter; and thank goodness, Mr Giles wasn’t dead after all; he was struggling to sit up and even now starting to sip at the flask of water that George was holding to his lips. There was hope yet and she almost laughed out loud with relief.
‘Is there anyone else left in town?’ George asked Davies. So close were they to her that Ilona could hear every word although he was speaking very softly.
‘No. We searched everywhere.’
‘You didn’t see Jim or Peter Vincent?’
‘No. Everyone’s evacuated except for the firemen who are still there.’
‘How much damage?’ said a loud voice from the crowd.
‘Just the pub, and all the bush between here and the south side of the town.’
‘When can we go back?’
‘Probably in a couple of hours. The firemen will let us know when. Now settle down all of you and tell me where I can find Cherry Bates.’
‘Here she is.’
Davies motioned her over. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid. I’m really sorry about this, Cherry.’ There was a short pause before he added, ‘We couldn’t get Bill out in time. The roof caved in and blocked the way out, and he’s dead, I’m afraid. Asphyxiated.’
Shocked, Ilona heard the collective ‘Aaah’ from all around. Jovial Bill Bates dead, killed defending his property, and poor Cherry a widow too. Although Cherry had her back to the crowd so her expression was hidden, Ilona saw her sway slightly, as if she might faint. Quick to react, she leapt forward, but not before Miss Neville who was even now wrapping her arms around Cherry’s shoulders and holding her close.
At this point Ilona glanced at Zidra’s face and was struck by its queer expression. Perhaps it was a trick of the poor light but it seemed almost a smile. The poor dear child; Ilona bent down to give her a kiss and a hug. It must be the shock of hearing of Bates’ death and the worry about Peter and Jim.
Now everyone started talking so loudly that Eileen’s sudden shriek went almost unnoticed. Ilona heard it though and saw Eileen start to run towards the rocks at the northern end of the beach. Close behind her was George, almost crab-like in his effort to get along with his lame leg. And there, not more than a hundred yards away, were Peter and Jim trudging along the sand. Joy suffused Ilona’s body. She took Zidra’s hand and together they ran along the beach towards them.
‘I’m so glad to see you!’ Eileen said, giving her older son the biggest embrace George had ever seen her bestow.
Now it was George’s turn to hug Jim. ‘My boy’s back again,’ he said, and then held him at arm’s length for an inspection: grey face, grey clothes, and a fine layer of ash powdering his hair. But he was alive and seemed unharmed.
‘I can’t believe you’d do such a stupid thing, son,’ George said. ‘You must have been mad to stay on the headland, and what were you doing out of school anyway?’ At this point he became so overwhelmed with relief that he had to look away. He barely registered what he was looking at: the water meandering between the lagoon and the ocean, and next to it groups of people sitting on the beach. He barely registered either the sounds of voices as people shouted to be heard over the drumming of the relentless surf. All he could focus on was his joy that Jim had been found. Passing a sleeve across his tired eyes, he turned to Peter. ‘I can’t thank you enough for finding him,’ he said, voice cracking with emotion that even a brief fit of coughing couldn’t disguise.
Peter shrugged, as if his efforts had been minimal, or perhaps he was simply giving George time to recover. ‘He was hiding in a cave till the fire passed over.’ After a pause, he said very quietly, ‘There’s something else we need to talk about, although you mightn’t want Eileen to hear this just yet.’
George followed Peter and Jim and sat on the sand a few yards away, while Eileen was engrossed in telling Ilona and Zidra about how worried she’d been.
‘What’s up?’ George said.
‘Tell your father what you told me, Jim.’
Jim began to talk. He talked so fast that George occasionally had to ask him to repeat details.
‘I see,’ said George slowly
‘The fire wasn’t my fault, Dad.’
‘Of course it wasn’t, son. You were lucky to get out though.’ He knew it would take him time to absorb this information. Days probably. Bill Bates that way inclined, whoever would have believed it.
Later George sat down a little awkwardly next to Eileen, with his bad leg extended in front of him. To his surprise, she took his hand.
‘You’re right about Jim,’ Eileen continued. ‘He’s a very special boy. I realised that when I thought we’d lost him. Andy and Jim are both special in their different ways.’ She squeezed his hand and wriggled her bare toes a bit.
He looked at her feet. They were pretty feet, in spite of the bunion that was developing on one big toe. He hoped she wasn’t going to tell him that Jim was so special she’d decided she couldn’t allow him to take up his scholarship. She hadn’t even ordered the uniforms he’d need, although it was nearly the end of the term and he’d be starting at Stambroke College in early February.
He held her hand a little awkwardly in his own. He wasn’t used to this hand-holding business. This was the second time in one afternoon she’d done this, and in public too. Although he liked Eileen’s new demonstrativeness, he was even more determined than before that Jim was going to take up his scholarship, come what may.
‘Yes, Jim’s a very special boy,’ Eileen repeated, and then stopped. He braced himself for what was coming. ‘So, George,’ she continued, ‘I really do think we should give him the best start in life that we can.’ His heart sank. So this was it. The best start in life that we can would be a good family env
ironment while Jim attended Burford High.
‘The best we can,’ George repeated, parrot-like, and waited.
‘Yes, we should give him the very best start in adult life that we can. So, George, you’re right about the scholarship. Jim must be allowed to take it up.’
He noted the way she said Jim must be allowed. It was as if someone else, and not she, had been blocking Jim from the Sydney school, but he also knew that what she had just said would not have come easily to her. George, you are right. It must be years since she had said such a thing without at once qualifying it with a criticism. Although perhaps that was yet to come. George, you are right but you are wrong. He waited, not saying anything.
‘So I wanted to say that I’m sorry. You’ve been right all along about the scholarship.’
Only now did he dare to hope. Glancing at her, he saw she was smiling. He grinned back but couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t seem overly triumphant. He had won though.
‘And who knows,’ Eileen said, ‘what might happen with Andy? Maybe he’ll turn out to be a great artist.’ She looked oceanwards, as if gazing into the future.
And still she was smiling.
George began to feel a little peace descend upon him. Now that Jim was safe, now that Eileen had been willing to make a compromise, he would be able to keep going. His family was lucky but others weren’t quite so fortunate.
‘Andy could become a great artist,’ he repeated slowly, for his wife’s benefit. ‘Anything is possible, Eileen.’
But nothing would ever be quite the same again, he knew. Too much had happened. The pub was gone. Bill Bates was dead. You just never knew what people were really like. Jim had taken the initiative by raiding Bates’ office and only now did George begin to feel proud of his son’s behaviour. Although he’d been foolhardy and his life had been endangered, he’d done the right thing.
