Lunch with a Soldier

by Derek Hansen

  Linda?

  He stepped down from the veranda. The rain, the sudden feel and weight of it, dragged him into the here and now, washing away the fog clouding his brain and dispatching memories to their hiding place like fleeing dreams. The woman began to rise to her knees, one arm pushing down on a stick, the other held out imploring. Linda? He started running. Linda.

  By the time he reached her, she’d collapsed back onto her heels, sobbing. She held her arms out to him and, even through the pouring rain, her tears were plain to see. She was light in his arms when he picked her up and carried her back to the house, where he laid her down on his bed on the veranda. It didn’t matter that she was soaking wet and covered in mud. What mattered was her obvious distress, exhaustion and uncontrollable shaking. He noticed her shoes were missing and there was blood mixed in with the mud on her feet. She was crying like a child.

  ‘Shhhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.’ He stroked her forehead. ‘I’ll get you a blanket.’

  Billy raced indoors, went straight to the bathroom and began running a bath, grabbed a blanket from the storage cupboard, paused to put the kettle on the stove and finally returned to Linda. He found her lying on her side with her knees pulled tightly into her chest, threw the blanket over her and tucked her in. The kelpie sat guiltily by the side of the bed level with Linda’s head. It knew its place and it definitely wasn’t on the veranda but under it. It flattened its ears in expectation of a reprimand but Billy ignored it.

  ‘Why didn’t you come … why didn’t you … when you first saw me?’

  ‘Shhhh.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Shhhh.’ He sat on the bed, took her hand and began stroking it. ‘The kettle’s on and the bath’s filling.’

  ‘Why, Billy? Why did you ignore me?’

  He leaned over and kissed her forehead. It worried him that she’d got so close to the house before he’d noticed her and he tried to work out why. He knew he’d had one of his white-outs, when his mind emptied, but there’d been something else, something when he was emerging from his white-out, something elusive and distracting. Something … exhumed. When the kettle whistled he retreated to the kitchen and poured the water into the teapot. Something had happened but for the life of him he couldn’t nail down what it was. While the tea was drawing, he carried Linda into the bathroom, gently lowered her feet to the floor and helped her stand.

  ‘I’ll go fetch your tea.’

  ‘Billy …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll have to help me undress.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘For God’s sake, Billy. I can’t do it myself.’

  Billy undressed her while she leaned against him for support, picked her up again and lowered her into the bath.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Too hot?’

  ‘No. It’s just my feet.’

  ‘I’ve got some Radox.’

  Linda sank back into the bath, rested her head on the enamel rim and closed her eyes. Billy pulled the packet of bath salts from the bathroom cupboard and realised immediately that he should have added the crystals while the tap was still running. He glanced up at Linda for guidance, saw that her eyes were closed and also saw that she’d left him no choice but to stir the crystals in by hand. He did it bit by bit, trying hard not to touch or disturb her. When he’d finished, he gathered up her clothes and tiptoed away to the laundry where he immediately began soaking them in NapiSan. That was the only way he knew to get the red soil out of clothes. As an afterthought, he went out to the veranda and gathered up the sheets from his bed and threw them in with her clothes. When he returned to the kitchen he found the kelpie had taken up station by the door out to the veranda and sat, head cocked, watching him anxiously.

  ‘I dunno, Bella,’ said Billy. He had no lemon and was beginning to think that Linda would prefer not to be disturbed and have a cuppa after her bath. The tea was stewed anyway but not so strong that he couldn’t drink it. He poured himself a mug and took it out onto the veranda, slumped into his chair and put his feet up on the rail. He thought he’d got everything back under control, sorted out his priorities and begun to work through the jobs on his list one at a time. One at a time, just like the doctor ordered. His tea had a bitter aftertaste despite the spoonful of sugar. Something had been going on inside his head when Linda had appeared and it troubled him that he couldn’t remember what. Maybe he needed more time out, or maybe the time out was the problem. He felt the kelpie nuzzle into his hand and rubbed its ears. ‘I dunno, Bella,’ he repeated. ‘I just dunno.’

  The kelpie looked up at him helplessly. It didn’t know either.

  Billy made up the spare bed for Linda but she declined it. Instead she borrowed a set of his winter pyjamas and a pair of football socks and sat with him on the veranda, wrapped in a blanket.

  ‘You did bloody well to keep the Toyota on the road as long as you did,’ said Billy.

  ‘That was the easy part,’ said Linda. ‘God only knows how many times I slipped over.’ She sipped her tea. ‘You saw how many times I fell over just out here.’

  Billy looked away.

  ‘I guess it didn’t help that I lost my shoes.’ She reached across and put her hand on his arm. ‘Once again you’ve had to rescue me. I feel so useless and pathetic.’

  ‘You didn’t know,’ said Billy. ‘It’s my fault for not telling you. No one moves around here until the rain stops and the sun’s had a chance to dry the roads. Everyone’s been caught at some time and learned the hard way. You just have to pull over and wait it out.’

  The previous evening a pair of rainbirds, channel-billed cuckoos, had swooped low across the trail in front of his ute. He’d thought nothing of it until he noticed the black cockatoos settle on the old-man ironbark, an event which only days earlier had seemed as unlikely as snow falling. Their appearance was just what he needed to give his spirits a lift. Now when he concentrated he could hear them negotiating between themselves way over by their favourite roost. He looked for them, but they’d obviously decided to take cover from another shower heading in from the southwest. He made a quick appraisal of the soil around the homestead. The rain had deepened the colour, made it less orange and more a rusty red, but it was too soon to count on any benefit. It all depended on how much more rain they got over what period and how deep it penetrated. He looked at the rain pooling in tyre tracks and figured they’d had enough to bring the weeds on but still needed a bit more to give the Mitchell grass a kick-along. Nevertheless, things were looking up. The cockatoos had not only brought rain, they’d brought Linda.

  ‘I may not be a burden on you much longer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Billy sat upright, alarmed. Her comment had caught him completely off guard.

  ‘I know for sure Grant has my phone number. It was listed on my sister’s phone account. That was what he was after all along.’

  ‘The shire’s a big place. He still has to find you.’

  ‘My number was listed under J Downs in the teledex. If he makes the connection — and he will — that kind of narrows down the field.’

  ‘No one knows you’re here, Linda. If you can hide from the locals, you can hide from anyone.’

  ‘That’s the reason I’m here and not sitting out the rain in the Toyota.’

  ‘Have you made up your mind?’

  ‘No, just thinking out loud.’

  Billy settled back thoughtfully into his chair.

  ‘What are we going to do about the Toyota?’ asked Linda.

  ‘Nothing. Not until the rain stops.’

  ‘What if someone sees it?’

  ‘Who? You won’t get anyone out on that road for another two days at least.’

  ‘How am I going to get home?’

  Billy shrugged and rocked back on his chair.

  ‘I suppose you could try taking the mare.’

  ‘Uh-uh.’ She tried to play as deadpan as Billy but was unable to contain a smile. Nothing was less likely and both of them knew
it. Their conversation had swung to a much more agreeable subject and she had no doubt where it would lead.

  ‘I guess you’ll just have to stay here with me.’

  ‘Is that why you made up the spare bed?’

  ‘It’s yours if you want it.’

  ‘What if I don’t?’

  Billy ran a rollie across his tongue, sealed it, cupped his hands and lit it. He drew hard so that the tip glowed, then exhaled.

  ‘You can always share mine.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Only maybe?’

  ‘I might need persuading.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I don’t need a dozen roses, but you could cut me six. The red ones not the yellow ones.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘And I will definitely require dinner. Nothing less than a baked whole snapper and an entrée of calamari will do.’

  Billy closed his eyes and let his head slump forward so that his chin rested on his chest. He knew what was coming next.

  ‘They’re in an esky in the back of the Toyota. Do you mind?’

  Billy glanced up at the threatening sky, looking for an encouraging sign, but found none. The shower was almost upon them. Maybe it would blow over by the time he’d saddled up the mare and dug out his Drizabone, but if he ducked one shower another was sure to find him. The mare had handled similar conditions before and he figured she would do so again, though they’d both need to keep their wits about them. He stubbed out his rollie and rose slowly to his feet. Fourteen k’s on horseback in the wet, seven of them with an esky plus whatever vegetables needed saving on his lap, but what choice did he have? He bent over Linda’s upturned face and kissed her on the lips. It was meant to be a parting kiss but she made sure it was much more than that.

  ‘You’re lucky I like seafood,’ he said eventually.

  Billy insisted they have dinner out on the veranda, which Linda found strange given the strength of the wind gusts and the almost constant rain. Even in the lee on the southern side eddies still found them and there was an inescapable dampness to the air. Yet Billy would not be deterred. They ate by the flickering light of an old oil lamp, a relic from the pre-war, pre-mains electricity days when the generator was turned off at night, and to the music of rain on the tin roof and wind in the trees. Linda was still wearing Billy’s pyjamas and socks, a turn-off for any man in any other circumstances, but it didn’t seem to matter. In its own odd way, the evening was as romantic as any she’d experienced. But later, when she heard him wheeling his bed around to the eastern side, she decided it was time to put her foot down. She’d noticed that there was a perfectly good double bed in the master bedroom and had assumed that would be where they slept. The idea of squeezing together on Billy’s four-footer out on the veranda, exposed to the elements and the magnitude of the outback, held no appeal. She found sheets in the bottom drawer of the tallboy and made up the bed. She’d just spread the cover over the top when Billy appeared in the doorway.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said. ‘I’ve already made the bed up outside.’

  ‘Love nests have walls, Billy. They’re supposed to be intimate and cosy.’

  ‘I always sleep outside.’

  Linda decided to put an end to any chance of the debate developing. She slipped off her socks, pyjama jacket and pants and climbed naked into bed.

  ‘Your call.’

  Billy hesitated.

  ‘Is it okay if I open the window?’

  ‘Of course.’

  To Linda’s surprise he lifted the sash window as high it would go, causing the lace curtains to billow inwards and dance like hyperactive ghosts. When he pushed the bedroom door back hard against the wall and jammed it there with a doorstop the significance of what he was doing slowly dawned on her. Here was a man who slept on the veranda, ate on the veranda and, when he’d visited her for dinner, insisted they sit outside even though the evening was barely warm enough.

  ‘How long have you been claustrophobic?’ she asked.

  ‘I didn’t know I was.’ Billy seemed genuinely surprised by her question. He turned off the room light and undressed by Linda’s bedside lamp. When he went to switch it off, she stopped him. He stood there awkwardly, acutely aware that his genitals were at the same level as her eyes and exposed in the full glow of the lamp.

  ‘Now that we’ve both seen all there is to see,’ she said, ‘what have we got to hide? Leave the lamp on.’

  It had been a long time since Linda had shared her bed with anyone, but for Billy it had clearly been longer. For both their sakes she decided to take control. She patiently kissed away his awkwardness and hesitancy and slowly brought him to the point where he reacted both instinctively and appropriately. During her days with Grant there’d been times when she’d fantasised about having a lover who adopted her agenda, allowed her to play the dominant role, willingly and patiently following her guidance, surrendering his needs to hers, giving rather than taking. Billy became that lover.

  They made love twice more, still exploring, still discovering, before finally giving in to sleep. Linda closed her eyes knowing that the depth of her contentment went far beyond the pleasure of their lovemaking. She felt safe and secure with him, revelled in his steadfastness and solidity, and wanted to be part of him, to hold fast to him like an oyster to a rock, impervious to wave, storm and everything else thrown at them.

  At some point she awakened and in her half-sleep reached for him to snuggle up to and enjoy the pleasure and comfort of having him alongside her. She reached for his waist, expecting a warm softness, but encountered his knees instead. She forced her eyes open but the darkness yielded nothing. Her hand traced along his thigh to his waist and she realised he was sitting up.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Just thinking.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Linda propped herself up on her elbow. Even though he was only centimetres away she still couldn’t see him.

  ‘I was thinking about your ex-husband. I think it would be safer if you moved in with me.’

  ‘Just safer?’

  ‘No, not just safer.’

  Linda reached up and kissed him.

  ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more. I think I’m falling in love with you, Billy Dwyer.’

  Billy liked the way she sometimes called him by his full name.

  ‘So you’ll move in?’

  Linda’s heart screamed yes but her brain urged caution. There were bridges to cross, hazards to negotiate. She couldn’t help wishing that she’d stayed asleep so they could have this conversation at another time. More than anything she wanted the night to end as it had begun, with lovemaking, tenderness and time out from reality.

  ‘Can we talk about this in the morning?’

  ‘Why not now?’

  ‘Because I’m scared, Billy. Scared of what Grant might do to me. Scared of what he might do to you if you get too close. Scared of what he might do to us.’

  ‘I’ll take care of you, Linda. I won’t let him do anything to either of us.’

  Linda shivered, even though the night was warm despite the rain.

  ‘Just hold me, Billy. Please? Just hold me.’

  Neil relaxed back into his chair. He didn’t need to try and catch Gancio’s eye because he was certain the restaurateur would have been awaiting his cue. A sudden hissing from the espresso machine provided confirmation.

  ‘The situation with Linda is interesting,’ said Milos.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Neil. ‘Now I can sleep tonight.’

  ‘Let me finish. The situation with her is interesting because it raises a question about menace, no?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘There is a parallel with my story in how we tried to get on with our lives back in Hungary at the beginning of the war despite the shadow the Nazis cast over our futures. I understand well how Linda must feel. We did our best to put the menace out of our minds, but it was always there and it didn’t take much to b
ring it to the fore. There was an inexorability about the threat, just as there is for Linda, no? It is interesting to speculate whether the menace to us of the Nazis and Eichmann was more terrifying than the menace of just this one man to Linda.’

  ‘If you are in fear of your life, I personally don’t think it matters whether the threat comes from an army or an individual. The intended victim’s fear is the same.’ Ramon turned to Lucio. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re getting ahead of the story. Neil has been careful not to tell us exactly what Linda did to Grant or what form his revenge might take. I suspect Linda is not quite who she appears to be.’

  ‘Really?’ said Milos. ‘Care to enlighten us?’

  ‘Sure, why not? But first let Gancio serve our coffee. Neil, you can correct me if I’m wrong.’

  ‘Don’t count on it,’ said Neil. ‘I’m not playing your games. You can speculate as much as you like. It changes nothing.’

  The shadow Milos had spoken about seemed to find Neil and settle there, a reminder that soon the story would take a twist and Neil would not emerge from it with honour. Lucio and Milos exchanged glances, as though accepting a collective responsibility to keep him from reverting to the bitterness that had marred their first lunch. There was his awful admission to consider, though they couldn’t begin to guess how it fitted in with the story he’d told so far. The moment Gancio finished serving the coffees and grappa, Lucio continued.

  ‘What do we know about Linda? I tell you what I think. I think she is precisely the kind of woman I would like to go to bed with.’

  ‘Great. That narrows her down to ninety-eight per cent of the adult female population,’ said Neil sarcastically.

  ‘Maybe the top ten per cent, even five per cent. Why not? She is beautiful, confident, intelligent and sexually accomplished. You have told us that. To my mind, that makes her extremely desirable but, maybe, also extremely ambitious. Is she also calculating and ruthless? If she is, consider the weapons at her disposal: her intelligence and her sexuality. She says she was a humble schoolteacher teaching art, but now we learn that she has a successful film production company making television commercials. Quite a jump for an art teacher, wouldn’t you say? How did that happen? Neil has suggested that she stole the company from her husband but didn’t elaborate. Think about that. It was her testimony that sent him to gaol, yet he has consistently protested his innocence. What if he was innocent? If he was innocent, look to see who stood to benefit. Perhaps her ex-husband has good reason to want revenge, which raises the question of what form his revenge will take. We fear violence, but maybe he simply wants back what he considers is rightfully his.’