Loreless: A Novel

by P J Whittlesea

  The short meeting with Pidgin had truly unsettled him. He wasn't completely sure what he had seen. After all, he hadn't been entirely sober and the effects of an enormous hangover had dulled his senses. At any rate, it was clear that Pidgin had meant him no harm. He had even gone a step further and prevented him from becoming roadkill. However, Billy surmised, he probably wouldn't have found himself on the highway in the first place if Pidgin hadn't been there to attract his attention.

  Even though his senses had been diminished he was relatively sure that Pidgin was real, or real enough. He had physical evidence to attest to this. What concerned him now was the feeling that he had been followed. He had found another feather. He picked them up and inspected them once more. They were exactly the same. He was no bird expert, though, and the second feather could have been there all along. He had gone straight to bed the night before and not really taken a good look at the room. The best thing would be just to wait and see if Pidgin appeared again. Billy wasn't certain that this would happen, but he was convinced that the sudden strange apparition had a purpose. If Pidgin presented himself again he could try to confront him or detain him long enough to get more information.

  Billy pushed the thoughts from his mind and attempted to focus on the here and now.

  He was in a small, outback community. There was a bastion of civilisation, Alice Springs, somewhere in the vicinity. There were people he could call on for assistance. At least, he hoped this was the case. He still had to step outside. There was the minor chance that he would find himself in another place altogether. He decided to keep positive and trust that no more radical changes had occurred while he was asleep. He was starving hungry. He desperately needed to have a piss.

  'Shit, where's the loo?'

  He frantically looked around the room. His bladder was ready to burst. There were only two doors, the one he had come in through and one to the side of the small kitchen. He made a beeline for the door in the kitchen. He wrenched it open and was gratified to see a small bathroom with a toilet in one corner. After momentarily struggling with his underwear, he relieved himself, letting out a long sigh in the process. He pulled up his pants and turned to a small basin next to the toilet. He turned the tap, half expecting there to be no water. After some spluttering, water gushed into the basin. It looked clean and pure, unlike the water from the roadhouse. He splashed some on his face and ran his fingers through his hair. He then cupped his hands under the flow and drank deeply. He turned off the tap, straightened up and decided to go in search of sustenance.

  Back in the kitchen he opened cupboards. They were particularly barren except for the very basics: salt, pepper and sugar cubes. He popped a sugar cube in his mouth and sucked thoughtfully on it. It made his teeth ache but he was rewarded with a small surge of energy. He turned to examine the refrigerator. Disappointingly it was completely empty, and looking behind it he noted it wasn't even plugged in. He wasn't going to get far on basic condiments. He would just have to take the plunge and confront the great unknown beyond the cabin door. He walked across the room, pulled on his jeans, socks and shoes. Sticking his nose under an armpit he inhaled deeply. He was on the positive side of what was permissible in personal hygiene, but only barely. With a heightened sense of purpose he walked to the door and flung it open. Harsh sunlight temporarily blinded him, coupled with a fierce blast of superheated desert air. He reached desperately for the door and pulled it shut.

  'Gonna need more sugar!'

  Billy grabbed a handful of cubes and stuffed them in his pocket before flicking one deftly into his mouth. Then, without hesitation, he opened the front door and jumped outside.

  The Guitarist

  Billy could hear music. Shading his eyes with one hand, he took a quick look around. His eyes slowly adjusted to the glare and he took in his surroundings. In the broad light of day things didn't look substantially different from the night before. Several single-storey buildings were scattered around him. Most were constructed of white, corrugated iron and were particularly modest. There were none of the usual things associated with the suburban houses he was used to. There were no gardens, no swathes of verdant lawn, no flower beds; nothing even to tell them apart. They were all the same, simple, little white boxes, with a small verandah tacked on the front. They could have been uninhabited. In fact, if it hadn't been for the music, he would have assumed the whole town was deserted. There were no street signs, or even streets, for that matter. Just a hotchpotch of dwellings spread sparsely among a few particularly sad and dried out trees.

  Billy focussed on the sound. It wasn't difficult to work out where it was coming from as it was the only discernible noise in his immediate vicinity. Through the trees he could make out a relatively large building, also constructed of corrugated iron. It differed from the other dwellings in that it was unpainted and had the appearance of a garden shed, only a good deal bigger. He honed his hearing and was reasonably sure the sound was emanating from within. He decided to investigate. After all, it didn't seem that Rob would miraculously appear out of nowhere and meet him as arranged. He couldn't easily get lost here, and if all else failed he could return to the cabin. He made a mental note of its number. A hand-carved representation of the number three hung next to the cabin door. It was coated in faded brown paint, which seemed to be peeling off before his eyes. The heat was oppressive and he was melting on the spot. He felt some affinity with the paint. Sweat formed on his brow, even though he was standing perfectly still and had barely exerted himself. He hoped the giant garden shed would provide some form of refuge.

  Billy set out with some haste, leaving a cloud of fine, red dust in his wake. He crossed an open area before ducking between some trees and heading towards the shed, which he now saw had two large doors. One of them had been carelessly flung open. It swayed a little on its rusted hinges in the warm breeze, emitting a small peep, not unlike a native bird. He stepped inside and immediately felt a marked drop in temperature.

  The shed, which could better be described as a hall, was quite large. The only illumination was provided by sunlight streaming in behind him through the open door. The relatively cavernous space was set up as a mini theatre, with about a hundred well-worn folding chairs forming an audience area. A narrow, crooked aisle snaked its way between the chairs, dividing them down the middle. His eyes followed his own long shadow, cast down it by the light streaming in behind him. At the far end of the shed was a stage. The stage was raised about a metre and a half above the audience area and, apart from one feature, was empty. On the stage, on a wobbly chair, which appeared as if it would collapse at any moment, sat a figure, rocking backwards and forwards and hunched over an electric guitar. His face was obscured by a wide-brimmed Akubra stockman’s hat and he was completely immersed in playing his guitar, oblivious to his surroundings. Next to him was a small amplifier which emitted an incredible amount of noise. The noise filled the hall, almost to the point of bursting. It seemed as if the walls themselves were arching outwards and threatening to buckle under the strain. Billy considered himself a bit of a music aficionado and it sounded to him for all the world like Stevie Ray Vaughan going hell for leather. The music had its roots in the country genre but with a definite blues/rock influence. He was impressed. He stood in the aisle for a moment and, half closing his eyes, let the music flow over him. He rocked gently, pivoting on his ankles.

  The music stopped. Billy opened his eyes. The guitarist was staring right at him, his eyes just visible beneath the brim of his hat. A voice called out from within the shadows in a corner to his right and a few rows from the front of the stage.

  'Did you have a good kip?'

  Billy took a few tentative steps towards the stage and recognised Rob on one of the chairs, sitting with two other young Aboriginal men.

  'Yeah, good thanks.'

  'Come in and enjoy the concert.'

  Billy looked up at the guitarist and realised this must be Rob's passenger, Tex, from the night before. The amplifier was
buzzing loudly. Tex reached over and adjusted some of the knobs, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and launched into another distorted blues riff.

  Billy walked over to Rob who yelled out, trying to make himself heard over the cacophony. 'Take a seat, mate!'

  Billy accepted his invitation and sat beside him. He slid up close to him to hear what he was saying.

  'So, how you feeling?'

  'Oh, I'm ok. Well, I'm pretty hungry actually.'

  'Well I guess we'd better do someth'n about that. This is Daniel and Matthew.' He indicated the two young men sitting next to him. Billy nodded to them and they reciprocated.

  'Daniel's gonna open up the shop soon; then you can get some tucker.'

  'Great!'

  It occurred to him that he wasn't even sure if he had any money. He sensed the bulge of his wallet in his back pocket. It prodded uncomfortably into his right buttock and he was somewhat reassured. He hoped there was still something of value in it apart from the wad of worthless receipts he invariably accumulated.

  They all turned to face the stage.

  'Is that Tex up there?'

  'Yep. He's not bad, eh?'

  'Yeah, he's pretty damn good. I play a bit of guitar myself.'

  'Really? Maybe you two should have a jam.'

  Before Billy had time to consider the offer, Rob had stood up and, edging past him, marched purposely towards the stage.

  'C'mon.' He waved for Billy to follow and pointed beneath the stage. 'We've got heaps of equipment under here.'

  Rob got down on his knees and stuck his head under the stage. Billy joined him in inspecting the underside of the stage. Rob was correct. There was a lot of musical equipment there, a few amplifiers and a couple of guitar cases. There was also what seemed like a complete drum kit. Everything was dusty and didn't look as though it had been used for some time. However, everything, including the chairs, was coated in the same fine dust. Billy concluded it was a result of the environmental conditions rather than a lack of interest in the equipment. Rob moved one of the amplifiers to one side to give better access to a guitar case before moving back. Affixed to the back of the amplifier was a number of what seemed like small, white cotton balls.

  'Better watch out for them.' Rob pointed at the balls. 'They're red-back spider eggs. The mum is probably hanging round here somewhere. They're pretty defensive, you know.'

  Billy had been stung numerous times as a child by bees and had developed an aversion to anything from the arthropod community. He shrank back from the amplifier and out from under the stage.

  'I'm not that good a guitarist. Just a beginner really.'

  Sensing that he might be insulting Rob's generous offer he added, 'To be perfectly honest, I've really got to get something in my stomach first.'

  As if on cue, his stomach let out a long, low growl. Self consciously, Billy clasped his hands to it in a vain effort to silence it.

  'Sorry, mate, had forgotten you needed some tucker. We can do this later. Let's see if we can get you someth'n.'

  They stood and dusted off the knees of their jeans. Rob walked over to Daniel and said something to him, all the while motioning towards Billy. He beckoned Billy over. 'Daniel will get you sorted. I'll catch up with you later. I should really be doing some odd jobs at the moment.'

  Billy thanked him and, following Daniel's lead, walked across to the doorway of the shed. He stopped for a moment. Looking back he took the scene in one last time. Up on stage Tex was totally immersed in a world of his own. He was now arching his back with his eyes half closed. His fingers glided effortlessly over the fretboard. He was also shaking his head with such ferocity that Billy was amazed that the Akubra remained fixed to his skull. Watching Tex in full flight brought a smile to Billy's face. He also felt a sharp pang of jealousy. What a life this was, so relaxed and carefree, unlike anything he was used to.

  With regret Billy wrenched himself away from the scene. He followed Daniel outside, steeling himself once more against the renewed onslaught of heat and bright light.

  The General Store

  The store was dank and cool. The floor a simple plateau of polished concrete. It was like being in a freezer compared to the environment outside.

  Daniel had taken his time opening up the store. He walked around flipping on switches before going behind the counter and turning on the till. Fluorescent lights flickered to life and made their presence known. Their starkness shone down from above but, with no white walls to reflect them, they barely penetrated into the far recesses of the store. Billy was used to brightly lit supermarkets with placards everywhere, enticing the clientele to spend more than they wanted. This was much simpler: three wide aisles, long and dimly lit. Well-worn price tags were stuck at irregular intervals on the shelves. The lettering on many of them had severely faded and was barely legible.

  Billy was famished but didn't know what to eat. He checked along the aisles. The shelves were filled, but only sparsely. Any shopping done here was for incidental items, things that had been forgotten on a trip to a better stocked supermarket. There were all the basics but nothing whet his appetite. Breakfast cereals weren't at all tempting: they involved milk and his stomach was still recovering from the effects of his late night out. The abundance of canned food also wasn't appealing. That would mean having to use a pot to warm one of them up. He also didn't recall seeing a can opener during his search for food at the cabin and decided it wouldn't be worth the struggle. At home he had been confronted with the same situation a number of times. He also didn't possess a can opener and had often resorted to using other kitchen utensils. Invariably a large percentage of the contents of the dreaded can never reached their intended destination. He could picture a kitchen floor doused in baked beans and decided he didn't want to go there.

  The prudent thing was to first take stock of his financial situation. This would dictate what he could or could not purchase. Towards the middle of the store he found a slightly rusted, waist-high ice-cream freezer with a sliding glass lid. It was stocked with a limited variety of products. He rummaged through his pockets, turning them out one by one and laying the contents on the lid. In his front pocket he found some loose change—he estimated about three dollars—and his house keys. In one back pocket he found the two feathers. His other back pocket was bulging. He took a deep breath and mentally crossed his fingers before pulling everything out. He spread it all out on the freezer lid.

  There was his misshapen wallet, a battered affair which had seen better days, and an envelope. As he had suspected, his wallet contained mostly worthless paper receipts, most of which he had no idea what purchase they were connected to. He screwed them up in a tight ball and made a mental note to discard them. He didn't quite understand why receipts had been invented. You really didn't need to keep track of every soft drink and stick of chewing gum you bought.

  The envelope was the one paper container which may be of some use. It was crinkled and half folded, having taken on the shape and curvature of his posterior. It was sealed and he carefully peeled it open. Inside was a crisp—or, at least, it had been before living in his pocket—hundred-dollar note. He whooped and punched the air before looking around self-consciously. From the front of the store Daniel gave Billy a wide grin. Billy's face flushed. He pulled the money out of the envelope, together with a piece of paper. On it was scrawled, in sloping handwriting: 'Merry Wedding Day! Have a nice life and don't forget about us, Your Mates!!'

  His wedding day. By his own calculations that should have been today. He felt a pang of guilt mixed with fear. His fiancée was going to skin him alive if he ever made it back to her. He pushed the thought quickly aside. Facing her wrath would certainly come, but right now he had other concerns. Billy surmised that his friends had planned this ahead of time. At least, that was the impression the money and note gave him. Thankfully they had presented him with a way to get home. Although they probably wouldn't have expected him to have travelled so far. He started to feel a bit better about his
predicament. He was fairly certain he could make the money stretch until he found his way home. Nevertheless, he was cautious about how much he should outlay for the present.

  He slid the money and note carefully into the recesses of his wallet for safekeeping. He picked up the feathers and studied them once more. They seemed to have changed colour, taking on a bright, bronze hue. Disconcerted, Billy shook his head. He was certain they had been light grey and quite plain; definitely not as spectacular as they were now. He put it down to the different light in the store. Or it might have something to do with the fact that he had just woken up when he had previously examined them. At that stage he had yet to gain complete control of his faculties. This reminded him to concentrate seriously on the task he had set himself. He returned them to his pocket for later analysis and scooped up the loose change before recommencing his search for breakfast.

  He walked to the back of the store. The rear wall was completely filled with a long line of glass doors. Behind the frosted glass he could make out sections with juices, soft drinks, water, dairy products and frozen food. This was the best-stocked area of the entire store. Strangely, there was no beer. Of all the places where you could kill for one, this would be it. He walked along the wall and came upon the meat section. Bending down a little he could make out some long shapes on the bottom shelf. He opened the door to get a better look but was still unable to work out what they were. They looked like huge, furry sausages and were at least a metre long. Billy began to have doubts about the store's standard of hygiene. If they were sausages then their present state went far beyond any laboratory experiment with bacteria. He could personally attest to this based on his own experimentation with neglected food in his cupboards at home.