Just Visiting

by Graham Wilson

  Chapter 14 – Heartbreak Hotel to VRD – Day 26

  Later that night, Susan and Mark lay side by side in their bed in the little box unit room at the Heartbreak Hotel. It was the middle of the night, or more accurately the early morning. Mark seemed to be sleeping soundly, his breathing regular.

  She felt overcome with warmth and tenderness for the man that slept beside her. Susan saw clearly now that she had fallen in love with him. She was in way over her head, she could not conceive of her life without him. Sure he had his odd quirks: he was secretive, defensive, and he didn’t like questions. But then, he had hardly had the best start: an abusive father, a mother who had given him little before vanishing. She felt sure this was at the root of his emotional wall.

  Susan was in the mood to forgive all. Part of her regretted the text yesterday, digging into the girls’ identities. She was sure there was a reasonable explanation. After all the passports were out of date, or at least the Scottish one was. And the name didn’t seem familiar. She was almost sure that the name she remembered from the paper was Catherine or Katherine—not Fiona—maybe the surname was the same, but then she wasn’t really sure. And it wasn’t like Rodgers was an uncommon name.

  Susan felt she was breaking Mark’s trust by going looking for dirty secrets. Especially when Mark was always so kind and gentle, well most of the time.

  It had only been once or twice that she had seen a look in his face that scared her, but everyone has a dark side. Susan was sure she was just jumping at shadows. She just had respond to his affection with trust.

  Mark had been true to his promise to make it a night to remember. On leaving Borroloola, they had driven up the road for an hour and stopped at a little town called Cape Crawford; ‘town’ was perhaps too large a word, as the town was really just a roadhouse called Heartbreak Hotel.

  There was no mobile reception here.

  The pub was not much to look at; the room Mark had rented for them was really basic, not much more than a box with a double bed and an air conditioner. There was a small TV, running from the satellite dish perched on the roof of the hotel. It gave a range of channels, mostly American, but some local. In the early evening she had feasted her desire to be connected with the outside world with an hour of news watching and channel surfing.

  They had arrived mid-afternoon, and had checked in to the room immediately. Coming into their room, they sated their desire for slow and gentle sex.

  Mark had looked at her with such tenderness, his low voice telling her how much she meant to him. He never quite said love, but from him it felt the same. This was the first time he had talked to her in an emotional way. It moved her far beyond anything she had known with any other man.

  It had been lovely to be here with daylight to spare. After their time in bed they had gone for a drink in the bar and it was still only just after three, they had a long afternoon yet. Susan ordered lemonade, and mixed it with a dash of Mark’s beer.

  After they’d emptied their glasses, Mark said he had something he wanted to show her, just a short drive away. In less than half an hour they turned onto a track with a small sign reading, Bessy Springs - Falls.

  The waterfall wasn’t huge, less than a hundred feet high, but it had a steady flow that fell over ochre cliffs into a crystal clear pool. The pool was fringed by a prickly palm, which Mark called, ‘Pandanus.’

  They first swam in the pool below, then climbed to the top of the waterfall and followed the creek back to a series of deep rock pools. On the way they passed through what, to Susan, appeared to be a city made of stones; Mark called it a lost city.

  Over millennia the weather had eroded the rock in the creek valley into hundreds of stone columns. Seen together they looked like stone skyscrapers poking up through the trees, the layers in the stone were the building floors. Susan could almost see the inhabitants of these strange buildings in her mind; she pictured them all sleeping in the daylight, but coming out at dusk, carrying little lights, like fairies, bustling as they came and went.

  They came to a hollowed out rock pool. It was an almost perfect circle, scoured neat and clean by the thunderous water flow of the wet season. Now just a gentle trickle ran into this clear water pool, buried deep in the stone, with sand and pebbles at the edges. Susan had waded in and had discovered that, in the centre, the water was deep and cold. It went well over her head when she tried to touch the bottom with her toes.

  Mark had taken off her clothes and held her body against his. He did not seek sex, he just caressed and held her, and she held him in return. They gently touched and explored each other’s bodies and faces; she touched the big scar on his back that ran across his shoulder. Susan said she would imagine it was a gunshot wound, sustained in a wild-west gunfight.

  Mark laughed, “More likely barbed wire from when a horse threw me over a fence.”

  They returned to the Heartbreak Hotel just as dusk was falling. The sky was lit by a red sunset in the western sky, the sun turning from yellow, to orange, to red, to almost purple as it descended through the final layers of a distant smoky sky.

  Dinner was “Surf and Turf” in the roadhouse: a juicy slab of Barkly steak, complemented by delicious Carpentaria Prawns and fresh Barramundi—so the menu read. It was incredibly delicious for roadhouse food. They washed their meal down with beer, poured into glasses from huge longneck bottles of NT Draught.

  Someone struck up a fiddle, and next minute there were Irish set dances and jigs. The roadhouse patrons all joined in; instructions were easy and little was expected. There were around thirty or forty people in the bar but, surprisingly, for once there seemed to be no one Mark knew. Mark explained it was a tourist crowd; the locals busy with mustering and other dry season work. They wouldn’t be in until the weekend.

  Susan didn’t mind, it meant that she had Mark all to herself; he seemed to like this too.

  The night drifted by, the pleasant feeling of them being together, sitting side by side, sometimes facing and looking at each other, sometimes little touches of hands and thighs. She knew there would be more loving before they went to sleep, but the now was about enjoying each other’s company.

  The evening drifted on, and Susan started yawning. Mark took her by the hand, pulled her to her feet and led her back to their room. He sat her on the edge of the bed, while he opened the small bag that held his things.

  Susan got the feeling that something significant was about to happen.

  Mark took something out of his bag and zipped it back up. He turned and padded softly to sit beside her on the bed. Almost shyly he took her hand and put an object in it.

  Nestled in the palm of her hand was a blue felt box, the type that held rings and small jewellery.

  Susan felt a flutter of excitement and looked to Mark, curious.

  “Open it,” he said. Susan opened the lid. Inside was a ring, set with a beautiful milky blue stone the size of her thumbnail. Sitting delicately beside the ring was an almost identical stone, set into a pendant on a necklace of gold links.

  “Came from the man I saw today in Borroloola. I got the stones sent off to be made up just after Magnetic Island. When I first met you in Cairns I knew they were perfect for the colour of your eyes. After Cairns I hoped I might see you again. I decided that day, after we met on the dive boat, that if I did see you again they would be for you. So in Townsville after you left I arranged to have these made and sent to Borroloola where I could collect them.

  Susan looked up and met his eyes. She felt herself drawn within his being, a meeting of spirits. There was such intensity in their connection, at first it had been mainly physical but now it was as if there was a bonding of their souls.

  Her gaze flicked back down to the jewellery, then back at Mark. She was full of wonder and surprise. She felt tears prick her eyes, “Oh Mark you shouldn’t have; they’re very beautiful.” She felt amazed that he’d made this decision on the very first day of their meeting, as if he had foreknowledge of wh
at was to follow.

  Mark took the box. He lifted her right hand, which was sitting in his lap, and tried the ring on her third finger.

  The ring was a fraction too large, but she loved its elegant cut and the way it sparkled in the light. The stone seemed huge but yet was balanced and perfect. Then Mark placed the gold chain over her head and let the second stone fall into place. It sat just at the top of the place where her breasts met, partly hidden under her top.

  Mark said, “I think I need to see it in uninterrupted view.”

  Susan nodded and lifted her arms above her head. “Undress me,” she whispered.

  Mark lifted her top over her head, his fingers grazing her skin, then threw it somewhere behind him. Then standing he drew her to her feet and eased off her skirt, discarding this too. He kissed each breast, then the little blue stone, and then each breast again. When he was done he lifted her under the covers and covered her body with his. It was incredibly beautiful, their sense of togetherness, as much as the pleasure.

  After, she asked absentmindedly what made him want to get her such an amazing gift.

  He said, “At first just your eyes, but now, all of you. I want you to have something to remember me by, when you return home.” He paused, then added, “Maybe, we can find a way to meet and do this all again, to be together again.”

  Sleepily she said. “I hope so, Mark, I really hope so.” Half dreamy she murmured “Together Forever.” Now Mark was saying with her, “Together Forever,” or was it a dream.

  It was still dark when Mark shook her awake. “Hate to disturb your sleep, but we’ve a long way to go today.”

  They packed quickly and left the roadhouse. Nothing was stirring in the tourist parts, but a couple of workers were tidying up out the back. In five minutes they were away and driving west. Mark explained they were heading for Timber Creek and the Victoria River tonight, passing through Top Springs and the Victoria River District, his own favourite piece of cattle country. It was a long, long drive, so he wanted to get most of it out of the way before midday. He said they aimed to be in Top Springs for lunch, a mere five hundred kilometres away.

  They shared the driving. He drove for the first hour while she fully woke up. Then he gave her the wheel. Susan drove until they reached the Stuart Highway, two hours later. They stopped at the Daly Waters Hotel, just near the junction, where they took on fuel for the car, and two plates of bacon and eggs for themselves.

  After their late breakfast they headed south, which surprised Susan. She’d had the impression that they were en route north. Mark explained they had to first go south, back towards Alice Springs, in order to pick up their road out to the west.

  It was less than half an hour’s drive before they reached this road. The sign read Buchanan Highway but Mark explained that the locals called it the Murranji Track, on account of it being an old drover’s route to walk cattle to Queensland from the Victorian River District and the Kimberley. It was only two hundred kilometres long, but was known as one of the world’s toughest droving routes. It had long waterless stretches; poor feed; patches of dense dangerous timber called lancewood, due to their spear like trunks which could impale both man and horse; and often the cattle would get spooked in the night and rush, “Yanks call it a Stampede,” Mark added.

  Despite the shorter distance, it felt like a much longer trip to Top Springs than the first leg. They tried to talk but, as there was no roadside scenery, they had little of local interest to discuss. The noise of the vehicle bouncing and shaking made wider conversation difficult.

  Despite this, Susan sat contented; she was happy to be in Mark’s company. She had taken the ring from her finger and slipped it on the gold chain round her neck. She hadn’t wanted to take it off, but was fearful it would slide off her finger, and get lost. She liked the feeling of it hidden beneath her shirt, sitting snug between her breasts. It was both private and possessive.

  At last they left the scrub behind. The country opened out into grassy plains, with low hills on the horizon.

  Mark enthused, “This is the start of the VRD, Victoria River District. It runs from here out to Western Australia, and down to the desert. It’s named from its river, which starts in the desert and runs north to the sea.

  “For me it’s God’s own country. The place, where God said, after he’d made the rest of the world, ‘Now give me a space for man and beast, where the grass is good, the water is sweet, the fish are big, and the hills look over.’”

  Susan looked at him and smiled, “So a man of poetry as well as many other things.’’

  “Not my strongest talent I admit,” he grimaced.

  At Top Springs they were met by a crusty old bartender who clearly knew Mark well. He flicked Mark’s hat as he came inside, grinning at him.

  “What no fuel to buy?” he said to Mark.

  “Here! You must be joking, you will rob me blind,” said Mark.

  “You must think we are still in old Ma Hawke’s days,” the barman said.

  “Anyone who trained under her must be like her,” Mark responded. It was good-natured banter.

  Over lunch stories emerged about the infamous, Ma Hawke. Susan was in fits of laughter, hard to believe most of them, though the old bartender swore to their authenticity.

  Mark backed him up. “Not that I knew her myself, but I have talked to too many old-timers who knew her, for it all to be made up.”

  The stories ran on and on. “What about the one where she tried to sell a Stock Inspector 300 litres of petrol, from the pump, even though his fuel tank only held 240.”

  “What about the time when she died and they called the local cops out from Wave Hill. Everyone knew there must be a money stash. Sure enough the cops said they found ten grand under her bed. Trouble was, next day after they went back to the Wave Hill Police Station, one of the cop’s own dogs dug up money buried in his back yard. A blackfella saw the notes blowing in the wind and thought it was Father Christmas. Turned out that cop pocketed another fifteen grand. When he saw the money in the wind he fessed up. But his mate didn’t, said he knew nothing about any extra money and stuck to his story and a search couldn’t find it. Even though the first cop said the other had taken his own share he wouldn’t cough up the dough. So the honest one got the boot. A year later I saw the honest one on the bones of his arse while his mate lived in a nice new flash house.”

  After reminiscing for another while, Mark flicked his head. “One to carry,” he said, ordering another beer for them both. The old bartender passed two over.

  Mark went to pay. The bartender shook his head. “On the house. It’s good to tell tales with someone who remembers. I know you came from the city one time, but you’re one of us now, stories are in your blood.

  “The old-timers around here say you have a crocodile spirit they can see in the dusk, that last light when only the shadows dance.”

  Susan felt goose bumps run down her arms and spine. She couldn’t imagine this hard-bitten old bushie bartender saw ghosts. But there was something in his tone that told her he could see over the horizon to the other side. She shivered.

  Mark broke the mood. “Well old fella, thanks mighty for the drinks and yarn. Tell me who is working on the VRD?

  “Well,” said the man, “everyone is pretty flat strap as you know. But this morning a big lot of trucks came through from Katherine, gone to collect a big shipment of steers to load on the cattle boat from Darwin tomorrow. Hear tell they’re putting them together on VRD Station. They say the numbers have come up short and they’ve cut an expensive deal with Humbert River Station to make up the load. I heard tell they’re walking a mob down the Wickham Gorge today.”

  The bartender paused, “Don’t know if you know it, but tis tiger country up there. Lots of scrubbers in them hills. I reckon they’re likely to have trouble. You looking for a job?”

  Mark winked, “Not today, hands a bit full as you can see.”

  The bartender gave Susan a piercing
look, “You be real careful, he’s full of charm, but there’s a wild place there too, danger goes with him.”

  Then he said seriously. “But you’ll be right, a guardian angel watches over you. I know I’ll see you again sometime, maybe when his spirit returns to the crocodiles.”

  Susan felt an edge to his words that made her squirm.

  But Mark waved him away. “Ah, go way with you old man, don’t be frightening the lass. I’ll take good care of her.”

  “Sure, and isn’t that the nub of the problem,” he replied.

  It was such a strange conversation that Susan burst out laughing. “I could swear you are all mad Irish here, such superstition as I have never before heard.”

  The barman winked at her. “Well isn’t me name O’Reilly, as was my Dad’s before.” Then he doffed his hat. “Will be seein’ ye agin.”

  Susan couldn’t help laughing back, “Well I hope so.”

  Walking out the door the man’s reply followed her. “To be sure, to be sure, tis written.”