Spirits of the Ghan

by Judy Nunn

  Jess had known they were, that’s why she’d brought them – dumb choice, she now thought. ‘You shouldn’t have any more, Aunty May,’ she said, ‘they’re full of sugar, no good for you.’

  May gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Bugger off, Jess,’ she said, biting into her biscuit. ‘Trouble is,’ she continued as she munched away, ‘I’m getting too old for this world. I’ll be ready to leave soon.’

  ‘Too old? That’s rubbish,’ Jess fired back. ‘You’re not even sixty!’

  ‘Ken and Archie never made it to sixty,’ May combated, referring to her husband and brother, ‘crikey, Ken and Archie didn’t get any further than fifty.’

  ‘So? That doesn’t mean to say you have to go prematurely.’ Jess felt a touch of desperation, noting for the first time how drained May looked. Appearances could certainly be deceptive. Still a large woman, glossy-black face framed by a fine head of hair that was now silver-white, May remained an impressive figure, but closer inspection revealed shadows under her eyes and signs of fatigue. She looks tired, Jess thought, she looks tired and older than her years.

  ‘You’ve got a long life ahead of you, Aunty May,’ she insisted vehemently. ‘Sixty’s young these days.’

  ‘Well now, that all depends, doesn’t it?’ May’s eyes held a glint of rebellion. She always enjoyed a good argument. ‘All those people who don’t want to be old say “you’re as young as you feel”, don’t they? Well I reckon it works both ways. You’re as old as you feel too. And I feel old, bloody old. So what’s wrong with wanting to go, eh? I reckon the tea’s drawn now, don’t you?’

  Jess could do nothing but nod.

  May poured them a fresh mug each, dunked the other half of her biscuit in her tea, rescuing it with perfect timing, and washing it down with a swig. Then as she leant back, the picture of contentment, she became suddenly aware of Jess’s concern, which was patent.

  ‘Crikey, don’t worry about me, love,’ she said, ‘you mustn’t worry about me whatever you do.’ She was keen now to put her niece at ease – she’d only been talking for talking’s sake. The last thing she’d intended was to worry the girl. ‘I’m not going anywhere just yet,’ she assured her, ‘got enough to keep me around for a while. There’s the grandkids, isn’t there? All grown up now, some of them off the rails, I admit,’ she added with a comic roll of her eyeballs, ‘but some of them doin’ real well. Like Millie, and there’s young Jack too. He’s down in Adelaide playin’ with the Crows – you knew that, didn’t you? Yeh, course you did. Everything he ever dreamt of, that boy. Footie’ll keep him on the straight and narrow. That’s a good thing to see that is, that makes me real happy.’

  ‘Then why do you want to go?’ Jess demanded. She wasn’t buying May’s sudden heartiness. ‘If following your grandkid’s careers makes you so happy then why do you want to go?’

  May studied her niece shrewdly. This was what she loved most about Jess. The two of them always ended up having a real intelligent chat, sometimes even an argument. Jess called it a debate. May had missed that lately.

  ‘I didn’t say I wanted to go,’ she replied with an air of smugness, ‘I said what’s wrong with wanting to go: that’s got a different meaning altogether, that has.’

  Jess remained combative. ‘You said you’ll be ready to leave soon. Those were your very words.’

  ‘And I will be too, when my time’s up.’

  ‘And when will that be?’

  ‘Not quite sure, can’t tell right now, but I’ll know when it comes.’ May was happy to put the argument to rest at this stage. ‘Life’s got to be good, Jess, or what’s the point livin’ it?’ Leaning forwards, she patted her niece’s hand reassuringly. ‘I just want to be prepared, that’s all, love. Want to say hello to the family that’s gone and to the ancestors, you know? Get ’em ready to put out the welcome mat, that’s all, nothin’ to worry about.’

  The subject now exhausted, they talked about other things, Millie for the most part and the fact that she was seeing a nice young man who met with May’s approval. ‘Works for the council,’ she said, ‘I reckon a girl like Millie could do with someone a bit brainier myself, but he doesn’t get rotten on the grog and that’s all that matters in the long run.’ Then they talked about the school and education in general, and an hour later, Jess took her leave, May walking with her to the front door of the cottage.

  ‘You promise me you’ll do everything the doctor says now,’ Jess demanded.

  ‘Course I will. Stickin’ a few needles in here and there won’t be the end of the world.’ May shrugged. ‘We’ll see what happens. It’ll work or it won’t work, who knows?’

  They hugged, holding each other close as they always did.

  ‘That was good fun, Jess,’ May said upon parting. ‘You should visit me more often,’ her wink was brazen, ‘I won’t want to go if you’re around.’

  Jess smiled. ‘Are you blackmailing me?’

  ‘Too right I am.’

  ‘I’ll visit once a fortnight from now on,’ she promised then she set off towards the car, turning back to wave.

  ‘Don’t forget the biscuits,’ May called after her.

  As she drove the hundred and thirty kilometres back to Alice Springs, Jess wondered vaguely whether perhaps she’d been conned. She doubted it, but Aunty May was a wily old bird. She wouldn’t put it past her.

  The Ghan was taking shape, the four sections of its mighty rail corridor forging inexorably north and south from Katherine and Tennant Creek. These formerly sleepy outback towns, now industrial hubs, were thriving as workers flocked to the factories and labourers reported for work on the line. The law of supply and demand prevailing, local tradespeople and businesses had never had it so good. Everyone loved the Ghan.

  Track was now being laid south of Katherine and in the sector running north from Tennant Creek, and this too was a thrilling sight to behold. The task was performed by colossal track-laying machines, behemoths the like of which had never been seen before even by the most sophisticated of locals. It was hoped the two lines would be linked by the end of the year, both central sectors being scheduled for completion well before the north and south lines that would eventually culminate in Darwin and Alice Springs respectively.

  The creation of the rail corridor south from Tennant Creek was progressing as planned, the final leg from Ti Tree now well over halfway to Alice Springs. There were barely eighty kilometres to go, but the massive teams of workers and the flotilla of heavy machinery had reached the flood plains and progress was slower due to the necessary construction of bridges and culverts. The weather remained in their favour, however, and the corridor continued steadily to plough its way south.

  Matt and his four-man team still worked roughly twenty kilometres ahead of the labour force, following the rough track left by the surveyors who had originally mapped the course, but there was less pressure now as behind them construction work slowed the overall process.

  ‘Like being on holiday really, isn’t it?’ Pottsy remarked one afternoon as they lolled around taking an extra-long smoko. The weather was perfect, a clear day in late June, the temperature a pleasant twenty-seven degrees. They didn’t even need to seek shelter from the sun during smoko the way they did in the baking, raw heat of summer. The nights were freezing admittedly, but this was a good time of year to be in the desert.

  Gav and Baz and Mitch all grinned agreement, Gav and Baz lighting up a second cigarette apiece, but Pottsy’s remark hadn’t actually been made in jest. He’d directed the comment towards Withers, hoping for some reaction. He didn’t get one. Sitting on a rock a few yards away, Withers continued to stare at nothing, his mug of tea untouched on the ground beside him. He’d poured it from his Thermos a good twenty minutes earlier and hadn’t taken one sip. He was doing this sort of thing a lot lately and Pottsy was starting to get a bit worried: it wasn’t like Withers to be so distracted. It wasn’t like Withers to be so slack with the boys either. Not that the bloke was ever a slave-driver, but when there was
less urgency required, as was now the case, it was Withers’s form to keep his team working at the normal pace and then give the men a half day off, rewarding them for their efficiency. That was the sort of boss Withers was.

  Pottsy waited until the boys had finished their smokes and then stood. He walked the several paces over to Withers and said casually, ‘Want to get back to work, mate?’ He didn’t mean to be critical, but hell they weren’t there to sit around all day.

  Matt was jolted back to the present from wherever it was he’d been, and jumped to his feet, knocking over the mug of tea. ‘Sorry, Pottsy,’ he said, ‘sorry, mate, I was off somewhere daydreaming, sorry about that.’

  ‘No worries. You spilt your tea.’

  ‘Didn’t want it anyway.’ Matt packed away his Thermos and mug. ‘Righto, boys, back to work.’

  The afternoon progressed smoothly enough until a couple of hours later when, towards the end of the work day, another episode occurred, which to Pottsy’s mind was particularly worrying. He was overseeing the setting of the boundary pegs at the time, the distance from the centre line having been measured, Baz and Mitch setting the posts in place. Withers had instructed Gav to clear a thick clump of mulga and scrub up ahead that was directly in the path of the theodolite’s next position where visibility would be required for the laser to make connection with the prism. Having left instructions for all, Withers had then disappeared with his map, presumably to scout the territory well in advance of their current position.

  Pottsy, concentrating on the task at hand, had no idea there was anything amiss until he heard an almighty scream.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Two hundred metres away, Gav’s voice rang out above the sound of the bulldozer and Pottsy and the boys turned just in time to see him hit the brakes, bringing the machine to an instant halt.

  ‘Oh Jesus!’ he yelled again, and slamming the gears into neutral he leapt out and belted around to the front, obviously to inspect whatever it was he’d run over.

  Pottsy and the others raced to join him, presuming it was a kangaroo and wondering why he was so upset: these things did happen and Gav was hardly a wimp.

  They arrived to discover it wasn’t a kangaroo. It was Withers.

  Gav had had no idea his boss was standing there in the clump of trees he’d been ordered to bulldoze. Why on earth would such a thought occur to him? When one of the trees in falling had caught Matt a glancing blow to the head, throwing him directly in the path of the machine, poor Gav had been horrified. His instincts had kicked in immediately, but he was nonetheless sure he’d run over the bloke.

  By the time Pottsy and the boys reached them Gav was on his knees, an arm around Withers helping him to sit up. And Gav was freaking out.

  ‘Jesus, mate, what were you doing?’ he yelled. ‘I nearly killed you! You were right in my path, I was on top of you for Christ’s sake – I nearly ran over you! What the fuck were you doing there?’

  Matt shook his head uncomprehendingly. ‘I’m sorry, Gav,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry, really sorry.’ What the hell had he been doing there? He had no idea.

  Quickly assessing the situation, Pottsy realised that Gav was the one in need of attention. Gav was a twitchy mess bordering on hysteria.

  ‘It’s okay, mate,’ he said, ‘no harm done,’ and bending down he helped heave Matt to his feet. ‘You boys get Gav a cuppa,’ he said to Baz and Mitch. ‘You right, Withers?’ he muttered. Matt nodded. ‘There, see,’ Pottsy gave Gav a reassuring thump on the shoulder, ‘everything’s jake. Go and have a smoke, mate.’ Then he took Matt aside, not offering assistance, still playing it casual, but checking he was steady enough on his feet, which he was.

  They sat in the sand beside the clump of felled mulga and Pottsy waited until the others were well out of earshot. ‘Gav’s got a point,’ he said quietly. ‘What the hell were you doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Matt said, bewildered, ‘I honestly don’t know.’ He tried his hardest to recall. ‘I was walking further up the line to check out the map and do a bit of a recce – I remember that much. I must have cut through the thicket of trees I suppose, but instead of going on something stopped me.’ He wondered how to describe the trance-like state he’d experienced, but it seemed impossible. ‘I had some sort of mental blackout, Pottsy,’ he said, ‘I really can’t explain it. I had no idea I was in Gav’s path and I’ve no idea how long I was standing there. All I remember is being whacked over the head and finding myself on the ground with a bulldozer about to run over me.’ He gave a tremulous smile, attempting to lighten the moment. ‘Lucky it was Gav at the helm or I’d be so much squashed meat. You’ve got to give it to the bloke, his reflexes are bloody good.’

  But Pottsy wasn’t prepared to have the moment lightened. ‘I reckon you should visit the doc, mate,’ he said. ‘I’ve noticed it for a while now. You’ve been a bit off the air lately, you know that?’

  Matt nodded. Of course he knew he’d been ‘a bit off the air’ lately, and of course Pottsy would be the first to notice.

  ‘You look tired too,’ Pottsy added, ‘bloody tired. Is every thing all right?’

  Matt was touched by the concern he could see in the sun-ravaged face of his friend. ‘Yeah sure, Pottsy, everything’s fine,’ he assured him, ‘really it is. I haven’t been sleeping well lately,’ he added in all honesty, ‘that’s the problem, just a case of fatigue, nothing more.’

  Recognising conversation over, Pottsy smiled. ‘Well go to the doc and get some sleeping pills, mate: we can’t have you being run over by bulldozers.’

  ‘You’re looking tired,’ she said.

  It was several days later, a Saturday around lunchtime, and he’d met Jess at the Todd Tavern in Alice. They hadn’t ordered lunch, neither was hungry, so they’d sat in the front bar at a table by the windows looking out over the street. They hadn’t seen each other since their visit to Adelaide three weeks previously.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, studying him closely, ‘you’re not looking very well. Is everything all right?’ She’d thought he sounded a little edgy over the phone. ‘Want to meet up on Saturday?’ he’d asked abruptly, and she’d sensed it wasn’t just for a social chat, but she’d made no enquiry. ‘Love to,’ she’d said.

  ‘Sure, everything’s fine,’ he replied sarcastically, ‘just a few minor mishaps, falling asleep on the job, letting my team down, getting run over by a bulldozer, that sort of thing, nothing major.’

  His response seemed somehow like a personal attack and she wondered why, but she let it go. ‘What’s happening, Matt? What’s going on?’

  ‘You tell me,’ there was no disguising the hostility in his voice now, ‘you’re the one with all the answers.’

  ‘I can’t give you the answers if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,’ she said coolly.

  ‘All right,’ he shrugged, ‘I’m sorry.’ It was an admission of guilt, but not an apology. His tone was still terse, his anger not actually directed at her at all, but rather himself. He was cross that he felt driven to tell her of his dilemma, even to seek her assistance, as if he believed all that mumbo jumbo of hers. He curbed his irritation as best he could. ‘I’ve been having recurring dreams,’ he said. ‘Different dreams from the ones about the railway and the war. I was having them before we went to Adelaide, actually.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was important. They seemed perfectly natural at the time.’ He gave another shrug, trying to appear unconcerned, but not quite carrying it off. ‘I’m working in the desert, so I dream about the desert, what could be more normal?’

  ‘Tell me about them.’

  ‘They were just images to start with, flood plains, granite outcrops, typical central desert landscape, but always seen from high above, an aerial view, harmless enough. At least that’s the way they used to be,’ he said, his manner once again becoming tense. ‘They’ve changed lately.’

  In describing the images, Matt had brought them alive and they
were now stabbing into his brain with all their customary force, knife-like and alarming. ‘I don’t know how to explain it, they’re still images of the desert, but they zoom in and out like a speeded-up movie,’ he said, ‘or they go around and around like I’m on a carousel. They’ve become distorted, crazy, they’re driving me insane.’

  Already he was beginning to feel dizzy. He always felt dizzy when the dreams awoke him at night. He quickly suppressed the images, the description was inadequate anyway, and it was surely better to stop before the headache set in.

  ‘They’re not dreams any more, Jess, they’re more like nightmares, and they’re having repercussions. They wake me every night, they revisit me during the day, and fatigue’s taking over to the point where I have blackouts.’

  ‘What do you do when the dreams wake you, Matt?’

  ‘What the hell do you think?’ Again the edge of irritation: the answer was surely obvious. ‘Make myself a cup of tea, read a book, anything to fill in the time, I can’t go back to sleep, that’s for sure.’

  She refused to let his manner affect her; he was clearly a troubled man. ‘Tell me about the blackouts,’ she said patiently.

  Again Matt forced himself to calm down, aware he was behaving irrationally. ‘I seem to go into some sort of trance,’ he said, ‘without any warning – it’s inexplicable.’ He went on to tell her about the bulldozer incident and Jess, although horrified to hear of such a narrow escape, made little further comment, waiting instead for him to continue.

  ‘That sort of blackout’s happened several times,’ he explained. ‘I don’t know where I am or how long I’m out of it, but when I come back to the present from wherever it is I’ve been, I always have a headache. The dreams bring on headaches too.’ He looked bewildered. ‘I’m not used to headaches. I don’t get them, never have, at least not until now.’

  His tale concluded, he steeled himself for her analysis. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, Jess,’ he said, aware that whatever bizarre explanation she came up with was bound to irritate, and aware also that he had no option but to listen to whatever she had to say. ‘I need your help,’ he admitted. The same impulse that had urged him to tell her about his dream of the Burma railway those several months earlier, which now seemed a lifetime ago, was urging him to seek the answer from her.