Finding Kerra

by Rosanne Hawke

  ‘And all that stupid storytelling.’ How’d she know about that? ‘You’re just dumping all your shit onto Blake and Kerra.’

  I was determined not to get sidetracked. ‘Kerra doesn’t even know who she is; she’s depressed, believed a lie for so long. Blake too. They need to talk about it, let it go, not hide it.’

  ‘What utter crap! Everybody knows who they are, they just need to get on with life. You’ve stirred Kerra up for nothing, that’s all you’ve done.’

  I knew she was sticking up for Blake the way a mate would, like I should’ve too. No wonder she didn’t think I cared for him. I did, but that didn’t mean I had to pretend he was perfect, did it? Couldn’t I still like him, yet not accept every single thing he did? And aren’t friends meant to sharpen each other up?

  ‘You’ve caused so much trouble. And I bet there’s more coming. You can’t stir up a nest of bush bees without being stung.’

  Richelle flounced off soon after that. Her depth of feeling shocked me, the message clear: lay off Blake. The tears came, and I was glad I hadn’t cried in front of her. The encounter made me think for a long time, not because I thought she was right, but because I realised I felt more for Blake than I’d thought. It wasn’t just wanting the best for him, I wanted something for me too. And Kerra. I couldn’t explain it but I felt the fear for Kerra woven in with what I felt for Blake, wondering if his love would ever be shown in the way I wanted. His ability to let me close seemed frustrated by his response to Kerra, as though there was a gate he had to break down before he was free to care for me.

  Was Richelle right? Did my grief for Liana really cause me to get onto Blake too much? Was I the one who was so insecure that I pushed him away, always bringing up Kerra so we’d fight? Maybe I was afraid of losing someone again. Yet Liana was always with me; when I was upset, she still figured in my thoughts. Though as time went on, the thought of her was less shadowy, less depressing. It wasn’t her death that wrung me out anymore, just the knowledge of what I’d lost. Now the good times I had with Liana came to mind more readily.

  I didn’t see Blake at all that day. For all I knew he’d ridden off with Richelle, but at tea time Mr Townsend told me Blake had gone shooting dingoes by the Fence; he’d be back late. I heard what he was saying: no use waiting up for him. I wouldn’t anyway. I needed space to think, and I couldn’t with Blake there. Whatever his mood, he could influence me.

  After tea I went to my room to check emails and messages. I was tired of being with my thoughts all day of what I should (or shouldn’t) have said to Blake; wondering if he hated me now. There was a message from Elly she’d written on Mum’s iPhone.

  I have so many mice now, Jammie. The white mum just had another batch of babies. Dad calls them batches. I’ll need a new glass box for them soon, but Dad says I should sell some to the pet shop in Parabanks and start a business.

  I could hear the squeals and giggles between her words. Dear uncomplicated Elly who everyone loved.

  Soon after, Kerra climbed onto my bed. She brought her drawing book.

  ‘I miss Sasha,’ she said.

  I put an arm around her. ‘It’s hard when we lose a friend.’ I thought of Elly; she’d be devastated if she lost her mice. ‘What about a mouse for a pet?’

  She looked at me as if to say, ‘Duh’. ‘Dad says they’re pests.’

  ‘Of course.’ I blew out a breath.

  ‘Do you want to see my drawings?’

  ‘Sure.’ I noticed the one she had been drawing on the windmill platform. She’d finished the colour. ‘These are good, Kerra.’ She turned the page. This one looked like a horse again; it was hard to tell as the whole page was black. I drew in a quiet breath, trying to calm myself. It’s just a picture, Jaime, but still I asked, ‘Why is it all black?’

  Kerra pursed her lips. ‘Because it’s night time, silly.’ I didn’t feel as relieved as I should have.

  I leaned back against the pillows. ‘I have another story.’ She brightened. ‘You might have heard it before.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter,’ she said more kindly.

  I told her the story of Joseph, how his brothers hated him because he was favoured and had a multi-coloured robe. They tried to kill him but instead, sold him to camel traders who took him to Egypt. He was falsely accused of a crime, put in prison, had dreams. He could interpret other people’s dreams too and this talent finally got him released since he told the pharaoh what his disturbing dream was about.’

  ‘A drought was coming,’ Kerra supplied. ‘One so bad that all the countries in the area would have no crops, no food, no cattle. Even the dead finish bushes would die in that.’

  ‘Yes. But Joseph was clever and he had a plan. He advised the pharaoh to collect grain for seven years in readiness for the drought.’ Kerra nodded. ‘The pharaoh made him governor of all Egypt, so his plan could be carried out. Then the drought hit.’

  ‘And his brothers came for grain.’

  ‘You know it?’

  ‘Mum told me.’

  I held my breath. Was Kerra truly beginning to remember?

  ‘She told me a story from the Bible every night. Sometimes she read it but she could tell it the way you do. Mum was like you.’

  I frowned. Is that why Kerra was drawn to me; why Blake was attracted to me? I was like their mum?

  ‘Do you remember what happened between Joseph and his brothers?’ I asked.

  She fiddled with her book. ‘They were frightened of him because they thought he’d hate them.’

  ‘Did he punish them?’

  She shook her head. ‘He let them off the hook, forgave them.’ She looked up at me with such yearning in her eyes.

  ‘It can be hard to forgive someone,’ I said, slowly, ‘but after time we feel better if we do. It’s like untangling ourselves from a knot.’

  It was a while before Kerra spoke again and I let her be; I was finally used to people round there speaking only when they felt like it. It had seemed bad manners at first, but now I accepted it as a habit from another culture.

  ‘I’ll do something one day, so Blake loves me, you’ll see.’ Her words left me cold and not for the first time I regretted the way I’d changed some of the stories for Kerra. I’d only done it so she could see a brother could be special, a brother could love and be loved. I hadn’t counted on her wanting Blake’s response rather than working on her own feelings.

  The generator had long stopped its beating and Blake wasn’t home yet. I tucked Kerra under the quilt and read by the light of the oil lamp.

  17

  In the morning I realised Blake must have come back in the night. Even though I swore to myself I wasn’t doing it, I lay awake, listening for the ute, praying he’d be okay in more ways than one. When I entered the kitchen he was there, making coffee. He even said, ‘Hi’. How could he do that? Didn’t he feel the rift between us? I could sense a chasm yawning at my feet.

  ‘How was the shooting?’ was all I said when really I wanted to know how he was. Did he still like me? What did he think about Kerra now?

  ‘Fine. Got three.’

  ‘Hang them on the Fence?’

  ‘Yeah. Jaime—’ He looked up then, stepped closer. I wasn’t sure I could stand it: what if he didn’t mean that expression on his face. ‘I’ve been thinking.’ He put his arms around me while I steeled myself not to ask anything, not to spoil the moment. His kiss when it came was soft, gentle, no hint of the anger and passion of the other night at the Cup Dance. It made me feel peculiar, as if he wanted comfort, was saying sorry, and cared for me too.

  He never got to tell me what he’d been thinking, as his father came in for a coffee.

  Mr Townsend didn’t seem to notice how close we’d been standing, just said, ‘It’s chilly outside.’ He was a master at understatement; actually, the wind was freezing.

  Blake seemed rel
axed like he had on our day out, said he’d take me to Zack’s place for the BBQ I’d been invited to at the races. In the ute I was careful not to say anything I shouldn’t, not because of what Richelle had said but, because I didn’t want to lose the renewed communication we seemed to have. Whether talking is truly communing when you’re ignoring what’s on your mind, I chose not to examine.

  It seemed all of Zack’s family were at his grandmother’s house and I was shy of intruding at first. But the one thing they did have in common with Afghans in Afghanistan was their easy hospitality. Soon Blake was laughing with one of Zack’s friends, green can in hand and I was eating sausages and sauce next to Nazzi, the oldest lady there.

  This time I asked her the question that had burned in me last time I saw her. I was watching Zack telling some joke to the guys. We could hear the swearing and laughing even from where I was sitting by Nazzi.

  ‘Zack is Afghan, so how come he—?’ I couldn’t put it into words. I wanted to know how they kept who they were. They were Afghan descendants but Zack was nothing like the Afghans I knew. Did that mean he wasn’t one because he didn’t act like one? Nazzi was pretty astute, maybe she’d seen the confusion in my face, because she seemed to follow the tangle of my thoughts.

  ‘Zack doesn’t have a sense of being Afghan, love. He only knows it in his head. He’s Nunga, one of the Marree mob now. Even that’s hard, most of the local people have lost who they were too.’

  ‘How do you keep who you are?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, love. It can take eighty years sometimes. For me, it’s what I believe inside that keeps me who I am. We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to learn, to grow, to love…and then we return home.’

  ‘Doesn’t it matter who we are?’

  She smiled. ‘You have to tell yourself the truth because if you don’t, you become a shadow, changing shape every time the sun shifts.’

  I wanted to ask more about Zack, but she kept going as if she thought I was asking for myself. ‘Be patient. I’m sure the caterpillar wonders what it will be before it flies and once it does, I bet it’s never bothered by the problem again.’

  One of the relatives came up to sit with Nazzi. I moved over, feeling in the way. Maybe they all only got to see her once a year and here I was, a stranger, taking up her time. Blake was into his second piece of steak before he noticed I’d gone quiet. He took me home soon after that. I appreciated his concern; it was always there for me, I knew that. It was just so confusing how he could change when Kerra was around. Was he like Zack too? Zack gave me the impression he didn’t know where he fitted. Kerra also gave me that impression, although I was sure she’d be more settled if she and Blake could sort out their feelings.

  Kerra was nowhere in the house when we returned in the afternoon and I was just wondering which cubby hole she’d be in—the chook shed, the stables, hayloft, the windmill, the tree in the garden—when I smelled smoke. I wasn’t the only one for I could hear shouting and Mr Townsend driving the ute down to the home paddock. Blake raced into the kitchen.

  ‘Ring Matt. Quick!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  But Blake was out the door already. ‘Tell him the haystack’s burning,’ he shouted as he sped off.

  Mulga Spring was on a party line with Bulcanna; two short rings and one long one. What if Matt wasn’t there? Wouldn’t he be working?

  Mrs Hall answered. ‘Goodness, how awful, love. I’ll send Richelle for Matt right away.’

  I managed to staunch Mrs Hall’s discussion on how a haystack could possibly burn in winter; she seemed to make up for all the talking the men didn’t do round there. I hung up as politely as I could and raced out to see what I could do to help.

  Mr Townsend already had the ute with forty-four-gallon drums on the tray, siphoning water out of a hose onto the burning hay. Blake was banging at the ground around the stack with a wet hessian bag.

  ‘Get a bag!’ He motioned to the ute. I followed his example and wet the bag in one of the drums and tried beating at the flames like he was. This wasn’t a bushfire but the heat coming off the stack and the smoke hanging round us still made it difficult to breathe. There wasn’t time to think. Blake beat a path all the way round the stack, to stop the fire spreading. I went the other way, beating, pushing hair out of my face, and when we met, we didn’t even speak, just went back the other way, dipping the bags in a drum when we could. Blake looked like a chimney sweep with soot and grime dribbling down his face in the sweat. I wouldn’t have looked much better.

  When Matt and Richelle arrived with their fire-fighting trailer, complete with tank and wide hoses, we had already made a fire break. With both vehicles it wasn’t long before the fire was out. It seemed small consolation to me as I surveyed the damage with Blake and Matt. Their faces were grim and even though I understood little about life up there, I knew how important a haystack was in that climate. No hay, no feed for the horses or the stock.

  ‘How’d you think it started?’ Matt was standing with Blake. There was discussion about the sun, glass, matches, someone throwing a cigarette from a car window—but we were so far off the beaten track—how hay goes up like tinder in a match box. I wondered why they bothered until I heard the word ‘insurance’. Of course, they’d need to recoup the damage and be able to prove it was an accident. It wasn’t until later that Mr Townsend explained how hay will suddenly combust if it wasn’t dry enough when it was brought in. But by then it was too late.

  Blake bent down. ‘What’s this?’ No one spoke as he held up one of Kerra’s hair clasps, blackened, but I recognised it. So did he; I heard him mutter her name. I hoped he didn’t think she had anything to do with the fire just because he’d found a clip. She could have dropped it anytime. But just then, before I could say so, Kerra had the misfortune of showing up.

  She seemed different, defensive but confident, as if she was ready to take on the world.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Was Blake’s creative opening.

  I took a step forward but Matt held me back and I heard his low murmur, ‘It’s between them.’

  ‘You’ve been playing down here, haven’t you?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you’re telling stories now.’

  Kerra’s face had that blank stubborn set to it. Think what you want, if that’s all you care.

  ‘You’ve been playing with matches.’ It wasn’t even a question, and suddenly Kerra lashed out.

  ‘You’re wrong! You’re always wrong. I didn’t do it. I never do half the stuff you think I do. Even the stuff you tell me off for is wrong.’ Blake walked towards her then. Matt still had hold of my arm and I watched the look on Blake’s face with mounting apprehension. It wasn’t much different from the look I’d seen on a stockman’s face riding a bucking colt at the muster. He’d ridden it out until he’d won.

  ‘You can’t bully me anymore, either! And I didn’t kill Mum.’

  Blake stopped close to her. She didn’t move.

  ‘What the hell—? Where did that come from?’ He frowned across at me and I knew he thought I’d put her up to saying it. I shook off Matt’s hand. But just as I was about to stride over to them, Mr Townsend strolled up. We didn’t know how much he’d heard but he basically told Blake to shove off. Then he ordered Kerra to get up to the house where he’d sort it all out. I followed her.

  They didn’t get to sort it out then. Kerra seemed calm enough. I didn’t for a minute think she’d lit the fire but that feeling of being misunderstood is very painful and could make someone—even if they weren’t like Kerra—act out of character. I should’ve watched her better.

  She was in my room and looked up as I came in from the bathroom. She must have been doing some serious thinking for she plunged straight in with a de
ep and meaningful question. ‘Why doesn’t Blake love me?’

  ‘I’m sure he does.’ But how kids see through platitudes.

  ‘No, he doesn’t. Or he’d know I didn’t set the fire.’

  ‘He was upset from losing all the feed.’

  ‘He didn’t need to take it out on me. He always does. I wish he could forget how bad he thinks I am.’ And then I understood that in loving him she only wanted his love in return.

  ‘Why don’t you tell him that? That’s what you need to say’—and I added, hoping I wasn’t wrong—‘tell him you love him. Maybe he doesn’t know. You’ll be surprised what a difference it’ll make, like setting something free.’ I trusted I wasn’t getting her hopes up for nothing, but Blake was a good guy. Surely, he wouldn’t be able to resist a child’s faith.

  ‘Like the kitten, Jaime?’

  ‘Yes. You gave him a second chance. Do the same for Blake.’

  ‘Like Joseph too.’

  My eyes were blurry by then. Kerra wiped my cheek with her finger. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘Because you’re a special girl.’ I don’t think she’d been told that very often because her smile was condescending, like, how would you know?

  She just said, ‘I’d rather write a note. When I try to talk to Blake it comes out wrong.’

  I gave her some paper from my backpack.

  Kerra didn’t say anymore, just turned to the paper and began printing, her tongue protruding slightly. I patted her on the shoulder and went down to the kitchen; whatever was happening, everyone still had to be fed.

  The vegetables were steaming on top of the stove by the time Blake came through the kitchen. He’d washed most of the soot and grime off in the laundry, but he was still a sight. I gave him a tentative smile and watched him. He didn’t walk straight through and I guessed he wanted to talk, but I’d learnt not to push him. Even though he didn’t look angry, I could see his chest straining like floodwater against a weakened dam. I waited.