The Precipice

by Virginia Duigan

  ‘But you will come back in two months’ time for more of the same?’ Oscar inquired, all serene. This came as a relief all round. No one wanted the classes to end. He asked me about Kim. Might she enrol for the winter term? I am putting her name down right now, I said.

  Was there a grain of truth in Oscar’s story? Had the rapacious Gilda-lily succeeded in getting her claws into Greg? These questions, worthy of the celebrity (sic) rags, were in the forefront of our collective mind for the duration of the party. I speculated with the worst of them; I am sinking to new depths. Another pertinent question was the amount we had all drunk. Three bottles divided by seven? No, by five, because Mary and Margaret, predictably, were abstainers. Lucky there were no police on the road. Could I have relied on Frank to bail me out if I was thrown in the clink for the night?

  A medicinal dose of champagne is supposed to drown out your worries. Instead I found the opposite: the tempo of mine increased as the evening wore on. I thought I was doing a good job of concealing my agitation but both wowsers, Margaret and Mary, came and asked me separately if I was feeling all right or if I needed a lie-down. The other boozers, Greg, Joy, Gilda and Oscar, noticed nothing amiss.

  By the time things were winding down I’d made a decision. Plainly it is no use trying to talk to Sandy anymore – he thinks I am making mountains out of molehills. And Davy would be worse than useless. I felt it was essential to seek a second objective opinion. I contrived to snatch a moment to ask Oscar if I might consult him on an intimate personal matter.

  He was very jovial, which did not bode well. ‘Consult me, Thea? On an intimate personal matter? I’m not sure this lies within my limited area of expertise.’

  I badly needed a man’s advice, I told him, and he was a man.

  I had to wait for the others to take their interminable time departing. They weren’t amenable to polite pressure; it was tempting to resort to brute force, I said to Oscar. Gilda-lily and Greg, the last to leave, urged us to party on in the pub. They waltzed out singing the Marseillaise. Arm in arm.

  Eventually they clattered down the stairs and we were alone. I moved my chair opposite Oscar so I could make eye contact and command his attention. I began to summarise the situation. It wasn’t an easy matter, the magnitude was too great. To protect Kim I took the utmost care to name no names and disguise anything identifiable.

  But I soon saw it was a lost cause. Like Sandy, but in a different way, he was incapable of discerning the gravity of the problem. He thought I was discussing bad behaviour. He could not see that I was identifying a threat. He could not see the subtext.

  ‘Men,’ he said. ‘They’re a different species, Thea. I hear exactly what you’re saying about their deplorable habits and aggravation. I find I’m on the outer myself, and I am one, as you so perspicaciously point out. Nominally, at least.’ He patted my knee. I was reminded, and it outraged me further, of Frank.

  ‘You are not hearing what I’m saying at all. You’re hearing nothing, Oscar.’ Consumed with impatience I went to stand, then realised I was already out of my chair and was pacing the floor. ‘You have no conception how duplicitous some men can be. How unscrupulous.’

  ‘Oh, but I think I do,’ he said with benign reproof. ‘You should try chastising him about his depravity, not me, Thea. I’m sure that will make him pull his horns in.’

  I left soon afterwards, marching ahead of him. ‘Take it easy down those stairs and drive very carefully now,’ he called.

  Decent men do not understand what other men are capable of. Bewildering for a novelist such as Oscar to be so lacking in imagination. He says he is a satirical novelist; perhaps this explains it.

  I was musing along these lines when I passed their house and pulled up outside the dump. It was quite late. Through the south wall of glass windows I could see Kim and Frank seated in close proximity on the modular sofa. They were watching something on the big TV. From the verandah I was surprised how clearly I could see them through the gaps in the trees. I was using the binoculars. I am no longer concerned about peeping Tomism. Sometimes there are valid reasons.

  I went to write up the journal. They were still sitting there by the time I was ready for bed. Must have been a long film they were watching. I couldn’t make out what kind. I suppose Kim is allowed to stay up later on Fridays and Saturdays, although the words ‘Frank’ and ‘rules of any sort’ would be mutually exclusive. I saw him get up and go into the bathroom, the one that connects with Kim’s bedroom. Why wasn’t he peeing outside on the lemon tree?

  Next time I looked, the lights had gone out on that side and everything was in darkness.

  And then – I am not sure how to say this – I had an urge, my madwoman in the attic moment, Oscar would have said, to walk over there in the dark. I toyed seriously with the idea of circling the perimeter of the house to the far side, where the two bedrooms look out on to the empty bush. The urge was very nearly irresistible.

  How long before reality, as they say, kicked in? Because I have talked myself out of it. Even in this extremity, I cannot quite come at it. The whole sordid business of snooping and spying, the possibility of the puppy barking. There is the contributing factor of the champagne. Oscar thought I was affected, that was clear.

  Not least, there is Sandy’s certain conviction that I am becoming paranoid.

  I would not ask her if she had ever returned, I decided. Some things are best left alone.

  I put a torch into the rucksack, along with water and a thermos of tea. Then I started on the sandwiches. Cheddar with avocado, lettuce and mayonnaise. Teddy knew something was in the offing. He kept getting up and walking from the kitchen to the verandah and back again.

  When he barked I looked through the open door. A car had pulled up opposite and two tall young men were getting out. The guys who were coming for the night, the director and the actor. Marek and Marlon. I watched long enough to see Frank come out to greet them. Kim was not with him. Then I went back to the kitchen, wrapped up the sandwiches and added apples and two wedges of chocolate mud cake from the deli.

  When Kim ran up the steps with Andie not long afterwards, I was startled. I’d been in a cocoon of abstraction.

  ‘I’m ready,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Can we go? I mean, may we go?’

  I felt the malaise lift. ‘Shall we go, in this case. It sounds more natural, I think.’

  I looked closely at her for any signs of reluctance as Andie jumped all over me. I found none, only a bubbling excitement she wasn’t bothering to hide.

  ‘I brought my army knife,’ she said, brandishing it. ‘Might come in handy to repel wild beasts.’

  ‘The guys arrived, did they?’ I enquired lightly.

  ‘Yup, they did.’ Non-committal. The presence of three young men in the house seemed to be neither here nor there.

  She took the rucksack, full of admiration for my organisation. It was amazing I had such a knack of picnics, she’d thought she was going to have to do it all, not that she’d’ve minded. I was relieved to find I hadn’t lost the knack of them, I said. It had been a while.

  It was no surprise to me that she was fully alive to the significance of this expedition. When we plunged into the dense bush behind the hovel I saw she knew immediately where we were going. I felt she had anticipated it.

  Teddy led the way, walking fairly freely today without stiffness. He knows this route backwards because it remains a central part of our lives. We were in single file, the puppy on the lead for safety, although I now think Andie will be like Teddy; she shows no inclination to run off. She is extremely playful but she seems to want to follow Teddy’s example in everything, which is most encouraging.

  Kim and I said almost nothing on the way. Now and then I glanced round. When we reached the rock after a half hour of brisk trekking we stopped. It is still a marvel to come upon it, even after all these years.

  She said, ‘It’s so suddenly there. It kind of makes the hairs on your neck stand up in wonderment, doesn’t it?
And yet it makes you smile at the same time.’

  We contemplated it. It did bring on a smile. I wondered if I had reacted to it that way on other occasions, unknowingly.

  ‘This is Andie’s first real walk. I’m so stoked to bring her here.’ She lifted Andie in the air. ‘It’s a very special thing for both of us, Thea.’

  She put the puppy’s nose up against the surface. ‘Andie, you must sniff this.’ She held Andie there, enthralled by the smooth, golden sandstone. Very focused, living in the moment. Following Oscar’s instruction.

  I stood back. The girl and puppy were immobile in front of me, engraved on the air like a hologram. Then she put Andie down and turned a meditative gaze on me.

  ‘I’ve reached a conclusion. This is my favourite place in the world.’

  ‘I thought it might be,’ I said. ‘It’s one of mine, too.’

  ‘Not that I’ve seen much of the world,’ she went on, ‘but when I have seen more, I can imagine thinking about this from far away. And then coming back again and again, like a homing pigeon, and knowing it’s still my number one.’ It was the longest speech I’ve heard her give without the unnecessary use of like, or you know.

  And I can imagine her in years to come, returning to these magic places from far away, like a homing pigeon. Though in all likelihood I shall not be here. Except perhaps in spirit.

  I said, ‘There is something hidden in this rock. It is just possible that no one else in the world knows it exists.’

  She stared, open-mouthed. I motioned her and Andie forward.

  In an expectant silence we climbed what I think of as the foothills. A moderate climb, not too steep, even for Andie’s short legs. We dodged the scribbly gum, with a nod to each other, and ascended a little further. Then Teddy veered round a hairpin bend and a slope of indented rock into the shallow channel that was once a cascading watercourse. We followed it towards the source as it wound its way up towards a wider, scooped-out area.

  ‘There is a little cave just behind here,’ I said. ‘Give me the lead and put down the rucksack so you can go inside.’ I took out the torch.

  Teddy had already gone in and Andie was tugging at the leash. Kim could hardly contain herself. In the bleaching sunlight, her eyes shone like dark moons.

  ‘You have to crawl in on your stomach,’ I said. ‘Then when you’re inside you can stand up and look round. Shine the torch on the walls and tell me what you see.’ In the blink of my pale eye she had vanished.

  She was much younger and more observant than I had been. She spotted all three marks at once. I had wondered if she might be blasé, if they might seem trivial, but when she emerged she seemed lost for words. They weren’t – were they – not – cave paintings? I told her my theory of the left-handed female artist.

  She accepted this without hesitation. Of course it was a woman. Definitely. She’d never have made such a small print with her left hand otherwise. It was like, her sign. It was her signature, right?

  Just how I had thought of it.

  ‘I laid my hand against it,’ she said. ‘It was pretty much the same size.’ The hand and the wallaby were obvious. But what was the third painting, the one with the squiggly lines inside the kind of picture frame?

  I had to admit I had never managed to get to the bottom of this conundrum. It was like a TV, I’d thought when I first saw it. An old-style television with wavy lines of electrical interference across the screen. ‘A bit like mine,’ I said.

  She found that amusing. Well, she was going to solve the mystery. ‘I’m determined. To get to the bottom of it. If it’s the last thing I do.’

  If anyone could, she would, I said. There was a pause. I saw her retreat abruptly into an interior mood – into what used to be called a brown study.

  After an interval she said, ‘Thea.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you really, really the only person in the entire world who knows? What am I saying? – I mean, are we, now, the only ones? You and –’ a marked hesitation. ‘You and I?’

  ‘You and I is the correct form, yes. And yes, I think the likelihood is that we are the only human beings who know about the existence of these particular paintings.’

  I have passed on the knowledge, I thought. And eventually you will be the custodian.

  She breathed out slowly. ‘You mean, you haven’t actually shown them to anyone else? Before?’

  ‘No. Because before there wasn’t anyone else I wanted to show them to,’ I said.

  She said nothing. We found a flat area of rock and spread out the picnic. I watched her thinking intensely about this. The profound seriousness of it, the responsibility.

  Finally she said, ‘This is beyond awesome, Thea. I shouldn’t have touched the handprint, right? It might infect it.’

  I had done the very same thing when I first saw it, I said. I explained how I had come to think of the cave as a tiny museum and myself as the sole curator.

  ‘The guardian,’ she said.

  ‘And if, as guardian, you come to think that something should be done about it, you will be able to do as you think fit. With no interference from me.’

  She turned sombre eyes on my face. ‘If I come to –’

  ‘In the fullness of time,’ I said.

  We enjoyed the picnic greatly, in a mood of gentle contemplation. I had thought to bring along some dried meaty chews for the dogs. Teddy would be no problem, but where exposed food was concerned a puppy was another matter. I also carried my water dispenser for dogs, a nifty plastic gadget clipped to my belt.

  You make the best sandwiches, I was told. Not a sentence I’d expected I would ever hear. I unwrapped the two slices of cake. They were warm and squashed, but it didn’t affect the taste.

  ‘Thea?’

  ‘Yes?’

  She took a small, pensive bite. I had an intuition about what was coming next.

  ‘This cake is the best.’ A short pause. ‘You don’t believe in God, do you?’

  I had anticipated this question, some time ago, and given it careful consideration. No getting round it, I’d concluded. No honest way of sugaring the pill.

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Not of any, you know, kind? Like Zeus or Athena? Or Jesus, or Mohammed, or Krishna, or Allah or, um, any weirdos like that?’

  ‘Not of any kind. Although, of the various competing candidates, the holy ghost has a spooky appeal.’

  A grin. ‘Not even my fat smiley Buddha? Not that any of the candidates are any weirder than the others, right?’

  ‘All religions are as weird as each other, yes.’

  She looked towards the cave. ‘How about the spirit of the rainbow serpent? That’s a bit different. Like, way more cool for a start. And colourful.’

  ‘Not even the rainbow serpent. It’s part of an appealing xplanation of things, though.’ It was part of a web of storytelling that was more enthralling to me than the mythology of ancient Greece or Rome, I said.

  ‘But did you ever believe in anything?’ she asked. ‘In any supreme sort of being? Something that would, you know, explain things?’

  Until I was a little older than you I did, I said. Probably because I’d been forced to go to church as a child. Then I had an epiphany, of a non-religious variety. There was no supreme being in the room, I concluded. No indication of one, not a smidgin of proof. Not even a handprint in a cave. A somewhat reluctant conclusion, but there it is.

  ‘However, don’t pay any attention to what I think. There are any number of opposing views – even otherwise intelligent people end up on the other side of the fence. You must make up your own mind.’

  She said earnestly, ‘I’m doing that. Still making it up. But I’m not gigantically optimistic about the other side of the fence, not at this stage. Although, it’d be ever so nice – heaven and stuff. To believe in happily ever after.’

  Happily ever after would be very nice, I agreed. Everlasting life might be pushing it, however. She looked unconvinced by that.

 
‘But you still believe in right and wrong. Don’t you, Thea?’

  Civilisation depends on it, I replied. It depends on individual deeds just as much as the decisions of our rulers. If not more.

  My judgement may once have been sadly awry, I thought, but there is another truth life has taught me. That is the value of pre-emptive action.

  A cool breeze was springing up. I thought of my own quasi-spiritual moments, standing on the rim of the precipice.

  ‘I said that this was one of my favourite places in the world. But I have two favourites,’ I said. There was another destination. The other face of the secret.

  I had no fear of the effect being overshadowed by what we had just seen. The two complement each other in a way I cannot begin to define. The artistic and the ineffable, I suppose it is. The tension between the limitations of human endeavour and the sublime achievements of nature. An eternal tension, as I see it.

  We gazed through the gap in the arch to the far ridges and escarpments that roll away to the horizon. It was hazy, accentuating the blue. We hadn’t spoken for a while.

  ‘You can see the curvature of the world,’ I said.

  Kim said that after the cave she’d have thought anything else would be an anti-climax. ‘But this –’ she sought to articulate, ‘this is unearthly. Like being on the far side of the moon. Maybe you won’t like this, Thea, but I think it’s kind of heavenly.’

  ‘Maybe the nearest to heaven we are likely to get,’ I said.

  With that I was slugged by a bolt of primal fear. ‘Keep a tight hold on Andie’s lead,’ I told her. ‘Be careful not to go anywhere near that sheer drop. It is slippery, very treacherous just there, where the waters tumble down.’

  I did not tell her that I stand there almost routinely. That this rush of danger is my fix.