Eucalyptus

by Murray Bail

  Now Ellen stared at him, then at the door, and back again. As she sat up one of her shoulders became exposed, a part of herself known to be smooth.

  So much for all his worldly travels: never then had he seen anyone as beautiful.

  He was touching her cheek. ‘Do you know what I just said? What it means?’

  Very matter-of-fact, not bothering to whisper, he took her by the waist. ‘There was not a single mistake.’

  Still Ellen didn’t know what to say. Above all, she was conscious again of their ease together. She felt the strength behind his hand; he was determined.

  He had to say it again, ‘All the trees named, every single one of them. A difficult job, but not impossible. And now here I am. I could throw you over one shoulder and march off into the trees, or something like that.’

  He said other things. It was a matter of deciding and leaving together, E. confluens.

  Ellen paused. That was her father moving about on the other side of the door. Before, she had heard him talking to Mr Cave.

  On the verandah he considered the outline of shapes before him, semi-circular in a feathery sense, darker against the sky. These of course were some of the many different species of trees, described by their different names. Did things continue to grow, even at night? A forest is language; accumulated years.

  Towards town very faintly a dog barked.

  Behind him he could hear Ellen humming, as she dressed. He was a man interested at a point where he felt his story beginning all over again.