Drowning in Her Eyes

by Patrick Ford

  * * * *

  Meanwhile in Sydney, Jack was preparing for his final examinations. He wasn’t too worried about the results, for he was the best scholar in the school. He had already written to the Royal Military College and was awaiting a reply. He had had no liaisons since Amy, reasoning that he was unlikely to be that lucky again. He listened to the boasts of his schoolmates and realised none of them knew what they were talking about. He was content to leave things until he was home again. However, Amy frequently came to him, at night, in his dreams.

  His reply from the Army came soon enough. He examined the enclosed application form and began to fill it out. To his chagrin, he discovered that he had to get his parents to sign the section giving their permission for him to join the army. Legal majority did not occur until the age of twenty-one in Australia. Bugger it, he thought, I won’t be twenty-one for nearly three years; I’m sure Paddy won’t sign this. Nonetheless, he filled out the application and carefully put it away. Maybe his parents would change their minds.

  The train left Sydney in the long twilight of a late November day. It was a smooth ride up the coast and over the spectacular bridge on the Hawkesbury River. At Gosford, the electric lines terminated, and the passengers gnawed at rock-hard meat pies and curling sandwiches while they drank stewed tea in the quaintly named Railway Refreshment Rooms. Outside, with much puffing and wheezing, the steam loco coupled up to the train for the northward journey. Jack was thankful it was summer, for the cold was fearful along the ranges in winter in the unheated passenger carriages. He was jubilant to have finished school at last. He would never visit Sydney, Australia’s most vibrant city, as a schoolboy again. In a few months, he would be eighteen, have a driving license, and be ready to take on the world.

  He climbed into his sleeper bunk. The clickety-clack of the wheels over the rail joints and the gentle swaying of the train soon lulled him to sleep.

  Just before dawn, the train stopped south of Narrabri, running onto a switching track to make space for the southbound train to pass by. Jack woke about this time and climbed from his bunk, dressed, and made his way to the open platform at the end of his carriage. It was a beautiful morning. There was no sound but the gentle clinking of some metal parts as they cooled, and a faint hiss of steam from the locomotive, far away at the head of the train. All around the train, the country stretched, prairie-like, for miles covered with sweet native grasses. He heard some kookaburras bring the world to life with their raucous, laughing calls. Magpies and butcherbirds, in a breathtaking bush symphony, joined them. Far across the plain, a large mob of sheep grazed in peace.

  English poets waxed lyrical about their pastoral scenes, but this is as good as it gets, thought Jack. A sudden rush of love for his country struck him. He knew it could be cruel, but it could be bountiful and kind too. He vowed that nothing would ever break this bond.

  The southbound train shrieked by, the air displaced by its forward movement rattling and buffeting the stationary carriages. Soon they were moving again, heading for the end of the line, the town of Moree. There Jack would take a strange little rail motor to his final destination, Goondiwindi.

  Some boys from his school were on the train, along with boys from other schools in Sydney. They all knew each other, having ridden these rails for four years. They had played rugby and cricket with and against each other. Now bound in the brotherhood of young men about to enter a new world, they had much to talk about and they all wanted to talk about sex. Some of the boys were already smoking cigarettes. One of them started talking about a new cigarette, made not from tobacco, but from the leaves of a plant called maryjuana or something like that. It was supposed to send you into a dreamlike state, very pleasurable. Jack was not interested. He had tried one of Ollie’s cigarettes and wondered why anyone would waste their money on such foul tasting things.

  * * * *

  Paddy and Helen were waiting for him at the station. Paddy had a new Land Rover with a metal roof and seats in the back. It was painted battleship grey. “Have a dekko at that, young fella,” said Paddy, “Look at the room in the back!”

  Jack dutifully admired it, but secretly, he preferred the old green one. A sudden panic struck him. “Dad, you didn’t trade in the old one, did you?”

  Paddy gave him an indulgent smile. “What, and have you shoot me?” he said.

  “Crikey, Dad, it’s great to see you all again.” He hugged his mother. Denni stood off to the side, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Guess what?” she said, “I’ve got my license.” She waved a little rectangle of grey cardboard as she spoke. “I’m going to drive us all home.”

  “Oh, no!” cried Jack. “We’ll all be killed.” He would never admit it, but he was proud of her achievement. They had a late lunch at one of the Greek cafés.

  “Remember, Paddy, a salad and not much meat for you,” said Helen. “Doctor’s orders.”

  Jack looked at his father. Paddy was still the big strong bushman he had left a few months ago, but there were more lines around his mouth and eyes, and his skin had a greyish look to it Jack had not noticed before. “Is there anything wrong, Dad?” he asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Right as rain, mate. Don’t worry about it.” Paddy changed the subject and they began to talk about crops and livestock, horses, and Mick & Ollie. The crop had been a reasonable one, but wool prices were wavering, and Paddy had again changed his mix, selling some sheep and acquiring more cattle. Having eaten, they piled into the Land Rover and headed to the Police Station.

  “I’ve organised your driver’s license, young man,” announced Paddy, “Ernie said he would have it ready to pick up by now. He says you don’t need a test; he knows you have been driving for years anyway.”

  They pulled into the station yard. Ernie came out with another piece of grey cardboard. “G’day,” he said to Denni. “You haven’t bent anything yet, I see.” He turned to Jack. “This one’s for you, mate; see you keep it clean.”

  Ballinrobe was about twenty miles from town. Jack drank in all the old familiar places as they drove along. He had missed this place, missed his horses, his old Land Rover, his dogs and his family. However, most of all, he had missed the elemental mystique of the land and his attachment to it. He resolved to leave the questions about his future until he had re-immersed himself in Ballinrobe. As soon as he arrived home, Jack grabbed his rifle and loaded himself and Sam, his kelpie bitch, into the Land Rover he now thought of as his own. He drove all over the station, noting anything new. There was nothing to shoot, despite the saliva-dripping anticipation of Sam for a fresh kangaroo leg. Jack stopped in some of his favourite places, to sit in the Land Rover and listen to the birds and the whispering sigh of the breeze in the belah trees. His spirit was soon rejuvenated, his connection with the land renewed. Soon he turned for home, ready for the inevitable clash with his parents over his future.

  Meanwhile, not far to the north, in a city called Hanoi in a small country in Indochina, a man called Ho Chi Min was making plans for a war to engulf another small country in Indochina and merge it into a communist dictatorship.

  Pacific Ocean, Near Fiji—1963

  The Baker family was enjoying a life on the ocean waves. Skies remained blue, seas remained calm, and fair winds blew. Jimmy began to feel better, buoyed by his return to the sea. For a young man from Montana, he had taken to the sea as if he had been born with built-in gyroscopes. Not even the fierce Atlantic storms had upset his equilibrium. He spent long hours leaning over the taffrail, watching the ship’s wake behind them, as if he was watching a giant furrow as the ship ploughed an endless field.

  Marci was happy for him. She was happy for herself, as Jimmy had re-discovered his libido, and they engaged in long nights of gentle lovemaking. Please God, she prayed, give him to me for as long as you can. His children need him, I need him, and I am not ready for what you have in store for us.

  Susan still carried that wistful look in her eyes, but she too was enjoying the voyage. She often thought
ahead to what would happen when they reached Australia. She wanted to study history, and hoped there would be a university wherever they settled. She was a beautiful young woman; naturally she thought about young men. She was not a virgin, but the experiences she’d had were meaningless fumbles in the back seats of cars with pimply youths who had nothing on their minds but their own satisfaction. She dreamed of love, real love, with someone she could mould herself to, until they both acted as one.

  They had spent a few days in Honolulu, while the Golden Ray off loaded her cargo, and took on stores, fuel, and water. The whole family enjoyed doing the things a million tourists had done before them. James Junior ate pineapple for the first time and soon it became his favourite fruit. “Dad, do they raise pineapples in Australia?” he asked. No one knew for sure.

  For Jimmy, a visit to Pearl Harbour and the memorial to the Arizona was essential. He had mixed thoughts. He was sad so many good men had perished here in that surprise attack, but was proud of them and his own service in the U.S. Navy. On the other hand, if this had not happened, he would not have been in the Navy, and he would not now be suffering from cancer.

  Golden Ray sailed on. Tomorrow they would be in Fiji. James Junior teased his sisters that they would have to wear grass skirts and go topless in order to fit in with the locals. Sarah, with her trim figure and long legs, thought it would be a great idea; her mother scolded them for even thinking about it.

  Jimmy and Marci lay entwined in their stateroom and tried to chart the future. “Jimmy,” she said, “It seems the kids have settled in well. There have been no demands for a return home yet. Susan has been doing a lot of reading and the crew has been marvelous with James Junior.” Jimmy had liked what the crew had done. They had found an officer’s cap for James Junior, and had dubbed him ‘The Midshipman’, or ‘Middy’, for short. They gave him the run of the ship, and he was frequently on the bridge ‘standing watch’ with the Captain. Ernshaw’s young son had perished at El Alamein in 1942, and for him, James Junior helped ease that pain.

  Sarah flirted outrageously with the crew. She earned her mother’s ire by sunbathing regularly in a skimpy bathing costume. She was particularly interested in the young Second Officer, but the crew had had their orders and never once crossed the bounds of propriety.

  “Darling,” said Jimmy, “I know my time is short, but since we made the decision to travel, I have felt a great sense of freedom. Everything has a startling clarity. I think we should follow my instincts when we get to Brisbane. Let us just go along with whatever happens. I feel that God is guiding us towards our final destination.”

  Marci was not so sure about that, but it was his time, and she was determined to let him use it in whatever way he needed.

  Brisbane, Queensland, Australia—1963

  In 1963, Brisbane was not an attractive place to approach by sea. Recent rains had turned the river into a brown flood. Where it reached the sea, there was a dirty stain spreading like some malignant disease on the clean blue surface. They passed oil tanks, factories, refineries, and dredges before nudging into the planks of the wharf. There they took their leave of the Golden Ray and its friendly crew, James Junior still wearing his officer’s cap.

  Captain Ernshaw bade them farewell. “On your way, Jimmy. I hope you find that road you’re searching for.”

  The family left with thanks, and rather sadly, for they had enjoyed a wonderful voyage.

  Brisbane was on the verge of turning from a big country town into a city. The taxi to the city centre passed through industrial precincts, skirted the airport, and travelled through suburbs filled with timber houses, on high stumps, with large verandas and iron roofs. The cabbie told them the houses were designed for the climate of mild winters and hot, humid summers. To these Americans, it all looked a little strange.

  They passed clanging grey trams with conductors wearing strange caps, more like the kepis worn by French army officers. Traffic was not heavy, and traffic lights were few. They passed busy intersections controlled by policemen in khaki uniforms and brown slouch hats, like the hats worn by the Australian army.

  James Junior was interested in the traffic, dominated by cars that looked like small Chevrolets. The word Holden identified them as cars they had not heard of. Later they would learn that the Holden car was an Australian institution, built by a subsidiary of General Motors. Moreover, they drove on the wrong side of the road! Other strange vehicles resembled the cars, but with only a front seat and a cargo area at the back. The cabbie said they were Utes. Subsequently, they found out the name was an abbreviation of utility vehicle. They soon learned that Australians have a habit of shortening names like that. Hence, they say barby for barbecue, cozzie for swimming costume, and pressie for present.

  The centre of the city looked like a big country town, not very different than Albuquerque in size, and with few tall buildings. Later, after dinner, as they lay together, Marci said, “Jimmy, what will we do now?”

  Jimmy thought for a while, and then said, “I kinda like the idea of a smaller place, like one of our small college towns. We need a college for Susan and a good high school for the others. Why don’t we spend a week or so here and see what Brisbane has to offer in the way of sightseeing then catch a bus from here to Melbourne. Somewhere along the way we’ll find something we’ll like.”

  Brisbane offered quite a lot. They rode the riverboats, visited the zoo, and handled the kangaroos and koalas. Jimmy even went to see a cricket match, although he had no idea of what was going on. The man alongside him had tried to explain, but that had made it even more confusing.

  One day they made an excursion south to the area known as Surfers Paradise. This was a strip of holiday homes along the Pacific coast. In years to come, massive development of the tourist potential of the place gave it the name ‘Gold Coast’, becoming the Mecca for Australians—naturally shortened to Aussies—who wanted a beachside holiday.

  They swam in the lovely cool waters and tried a bit of surfing. Sarah and James Junior liked this, and Sarah was admiring of the bronzed life savers patrolling the beach. Jimmy looked out to sea. The Pacific Ocean rolled away to the horizon. Somewhere out there, more than seven thousand miles away, lay his old home. He had a premonition then; a voice in his head told him there would be no return to America. So be it, he decided, this was as good a place as any to die.

  When the week was up, they boarded a Greyhound bus for the trip south. Each felt a tingle of anticipation. Somewhere down the road lay their futures. The fact that they were unknown only made the prospect more appealing.

  Meanwhile, not far to the north in a small country in Indochina, small men and women, dressed in black, carrying AK47 assault rifles, were beginning to ambush their enemy, cache weapons and food in a maze of tunnels, under the direction of regular officers of another small country in Indochina. Most of the weapons had come from Russia and China.

  Chapter 3

  Collision Course

  Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1963-64

  November was hot as usual, but the summer storms were late this year. Paddy walked around with a scowl on his face. The cattle and sheep were running out of feed and losing weight on the dry grasses left over from the spring flush. “I don’t know what I’ll do with those bloody cows and calves if it doesn’t rain soon. There’s nothing left in the back paddock, and bugger all in Long Tom’s,” he said to Jack. “What do you reckon we can do?”

  Jack thought for a while. “Bob Anderson, you know him, works for the Shire Council?” Paddy nodded. “Well Jim Brown was talking to him the other day and said there was good feed on the stock route down towards Thallon. If that’s the case, maybe we can find a drover and walk them around for a month or so.”

  “Good thinking, mate. That might work. Fancy a few weeks in a swag?”

  Bugger it, thought Jack. What have I talked myself into here? I don’t want to go, not now when that new sheila at the Pharmacy has just arrived in town. “I’ve dug a hole now! I
suppose I’ll have to go, won’t I?”

  Paddy smiled. “Do you good, mate. Anyway, if you join the army you’ll be digging holes all bloody day and all bloody night, you silly bugger.”

  Jack felt a surge of hope. “You mean I can join the army, Dad?”

  “Not a bloody chance, my boy. We need you here. I’m not as quick on my feet as I used to be. However, it’s off to university for you if your mother has her way, and she usually does.”

  Crestfallen, Jack went off to prepare horses and dogs, blanket roll, and supplies. A week later, he was on the road with two hundred cows and their calves, and an old drover named Ned Scully. Ned had been around stations and cattle for near sixty years. He proved to be good company and regaled Jack with many tales of the outback and its characters. Around the campfire at night, they discussed all kinds of topics. One night the World Wars came up. Ned had been too old for World War II. Instead, he had enlisted in the Volunteer Defence Corps, a kind of home guard. “We had no rifles at the beginning, just broomsticks to drill with. Then, when we got rifles, most were from the First World War and they wouldn’t bloody well shoot straight. They gave us all ten rounds of ammo and told us not to waste it. The Japs must have been shitting themselves!”

  Jack was more than interested in this conversation. “Did you go to the First War?” he asked.

  “Nah, I went to join up in 1915, but they said me eyes was no bloody good.”

  “You should have gone back in 1917,” said Jack. “If you could have crawled across the doorstep they’d have taken you.”

  “Fuck ‘em. The bastards had their chance.”

  Once more nature intervened and good rain began to fall. They turned the cattle for home. As they went, the rain went with them, turning the roads into quagmires. They arrived home a week before Christmas, exhausted, wet, and filthy. Paddy drove down to the stockyards to meet them and was pleased to see how well the cattle had done. He paid off Ned, who rode off with the rejoinder: “Thanks, boss, and you owe me a good bottle of rum for putting up with this young fella. Christ, he can talk. I couldn’t get a bloody word in!”