THE FENCE
By Robert G. Barnes ©
It wasn't obvious walking by. The fence with its fibro panels overlapping had been an optimistic addition to the small cottage with its peaked roof and dimpled exterior. Its colour was bland, blending into the streetscape with its dazzling glare. The patch, a few panels from the gate, oddly shaped and hurriedly glued over a hole a few inches across, was barely visible. But it was a lasting memorial to a fateful night in this quiet semi-abandoned landscape sitting on the edge of the endless desert.
Some people move around, drifting from village to town to city or park. Others stay and cling to their home with a loyalty and undeserved devotion waiting for past glories to re-appear. Perhaps they are lazy, or content in their bounded existence, perhaps they have no choice. They stay and their world becomes magnified to become the whole world.
For Mike, this was his home and would always be. He was a stayer. His grandfather had worked the now abandoned copper mine on the next ridge, and had built the house Mike now lived in. His father had worked on the railway until it closed and then he drank, and drank. Strangers would come to town and tell their enlarged stories of travels and loves but would rarely explain why they could not stay still. Running towards, or running from, their fate?
Being a stayer meant that Mike had his own stool in the corner at the front bar, a corner where he could, unnoticed, watch the passing parade. Most of the action was on Friday nights. The cowboys and girls would come to town. A few strangers would drift in, travellers would order a steak and chips and be gone after a couple of schooners while tourists looked uncomfortable and confused when people laughed at their hats with corks. But Mike’s mind was usually elsewhere, some other place, in his dreams, in his books.
Every now and then someone would strike up a conversation with Mike - generally about how hot it was or how cold, flies, and how long had he been in town. Most would be gnarly old men, rough hands and sweat and dirt for makeup, having just come from parking the grader in the yard. Opinions, they would always have opinions, about well, just about everything.
When she breezed in it was as if a gust of cool fresh air had blown into a sauna. Her dress was lively, colours of flowers, flowing. She had a cutesy smile. She was not a cowgirl. She was not from around here. Everyone glanced across the room expecting a companion, lost city type or a rough and tumble, to soon follow, but she stood alone, erect, at ease, slowly looking around the bar and enjoying being the centre of attention - a star for a few brief moments, the attention a single bright flower might get from all the nearby bees.
The country pop filled the background as heads spun around and beer splashed the Friday night shirts. She stood steady at the bar and waited until “what will you be having luvvie?” came from the publican’s wife. “ A lemonade with a splash of vodka please” she said in a voice signalling her as an outsider. An arm’s length away, Mike stared into his beer. He slowly turned his head and almost immediately she said “Talk to me as if you know me” as she quickly grabbed a stool and plonked it near Mike’s. The edginess of the boys in the room settled a little and conversations swung like a Shane Warne off cutter from “ Geez, she’s a looker” back to the Sunday arvo game. The startled look on Mike’s face and raised eyebrows were replaced with a gentle smile and a smirk. Behind his eyes, his mind was spinning. What’s going on here? Why is she talking to me? But Mike was happy for some company. He was a stayer but always felt a little uncomfortable, even in his hometown - there was something out of balance between here and somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t know even existed.
“Good to see you Katie” he said without hesitation. “How’s Uncle Percy?” His new friend giggled and took a sip of lemonade. “Oh! “Percy’s pretty good, but he’s been having a bit of trouble with his hearing - he keeps getting mixed up”. And so the evening began - the gorgeous outsider and quiet Mike, and Percy their long lost uncle. Percy. “Gee it was a long time ago that I saw him last. He had been out prospecting for opal and had found a pineapple the size of a kids fist.” “Wow, did he? Yeah, it was enough for him to buy a small miners cottage at Wallaroo”. “Have you seen him recently?”
“No it was a long time ago and I was in India with my parents when I first heard his name”. So slowly through the night Percy grew and became a pin, a focal point for small revelations. Yes she had travelled, yes he had looked for opals, but had not strayed far. And a headiness swirled and the two strangers spun and spun, opaque to the roughening of the bar and its descent into the regulation evening brawl with its trails of blood on the Saturday footpath.
A stumble and jolt and “Katie” spilled from her stool. “Aww, geez sorry love. Me names Jake. Want a root?” “Sorry Jake, I’m taken” said Katie, quick as a flash as her imaginary life popped. She wiped her sleeve, grabbed Mike’s hand and said “Get me out of here”. Mike was perplexed. He soon realised that retreat was the best option, but he didn’t want to leave a half drunk schooner. He stood slowly and skulled the remaining beer, then with Katie in tow, and without looking back, he strode towards the back door and out of the pub, and into the warm evening air. He felt as if he had saved the princess.
“Hey thanks” she said somewhat belatedly. “I don’t even know your name”. “Kevin” was the reply. So “Katie” and “Kevin” walked hand in hand down the back lane, neither understanding who they were or what the night had brought into their lives, but they knew a lot about Uncle Percy and his meanderings.
The bright lights of the main road sparked a new reality. “Where are you staying Katie? I’ll walk you home”. There was a moment's silence before she replied in a soft voice. “Actually, I was wondering if you had some spare room”. Kevin bit his lip and blankly looked up at the star-filled sky. Again his head was in a spin - who was this woman and why should she want to stay at my place, MY PLACE? “It’s a bit of a mess” he said uncertainly “I don’t often get visitors”. “I don’t mind” said Katie adding, “I’m in a bit of a fix right now and anything would be an improvement. You won’t jump me will you?” “I wouldn’t mind, but no” said Kevin with a quiet chuckle.
To Kevin, unused to these types of conversations, this was good. At least he hadn’t been picked up by one of the ladies who visit from the coast for a few days every now and then and have numerous regular visitors at the local motel. “Do you have a bag?” “Yeah, it’s under a bench down at the railway station, platform one.” More revealed, he thought. Thankfully it wasn’t too far down to the station and he carried the hefty backpack back to his humble home, holding Katie’s hand as they walked along the rough and dusty roadside .
The cottage Kevin lived in was small. The rusted galvanised roof blended with the iron walls. Peeling paint added a crusty texture. The design was simple. A centre doorway, hall down the middle, rooms to either side, leading to a combined kitchen and lounge area. Like most of the old miner’s huts, other “amenities” were outside in the detached shed. Mike’s bedroom was neat but messy at the same time, crowded with accumulated possessions, bits and pieces, books, music, posters on the walls. He had been a bachelor for some time. “It is a bit cosy, but you can stay in here” said Kevin pointing into the next room. It held the stuff of life that wouldn’t fit into his bedroom. In the corner, a single bed, pressed against the wall. He quickly gathered up the scattered bags with boots and towels, and shook out the bedspread. A thin dust cloud filled the air.
“Drink?” “I’ll have a water, please”. “Sure, but I wouldn’t recommend it without some cordial”. “OK”
“Any chance of a shower?” said Katie. “It’s been a long day”. “If you’re brave” said Mike/Kevin. “You’ll have to wait for the warm water to reach over from the house”.
“I’ll get a towel”. Mike, feeling a little flustered, moved over to the corner of his bedroom and started fumbling through a pile of old clothes - “There,” he said with some pride as he handed a bright beach towel over to Katie. He led her across the concrete path to the back shed to the “amenities”. “The light switch is hard to find” he said as he reached up behind the exposed timber stud.
As he walked back to the house he glanced over his shoulder to see Katie’s bare red skin. He felt a pang of desire which he hadn’t felt through many long nights in his quiet corner of the bar. “Who would have thought” he said to himself as he pulled a stubbie from the fridge. Wonder if that vodka is still in the back of the sideboard?
The squeak of the back screen door sounded Katie’s return. Her dress clung to her moist red skin and her hair, still dripping, had taken on an extra curl. Mike smiled. “That’s what I needed” she said. “Any vodka round here?” Mike shook his head - “No, but rum over ice isn’t too bad”’ “Beggars and all that.., Ta”.
So the evening unfolded till both were slumped over the kitchen table. “Time to hit the sack” said Mike “see you in the morning”. “Hope so” was the enigmatic reply.
Hans was weary as the old Toyota ute picked its way along the track towards camp. “Can you see it yet?” he said to Dougie, his offsider whose head was lolling from side to side with every pothole and bump. Usually, if they were out after sunset, they could spot the single solitary light on the van as it blinked on and off through the passing mulgas. “Nope, not yet” was his jaded reply. The confusion of old tracks meant that a wrong turn could send you way off course and you could spent hours trying to retrace your path in the monotonous bush. Three days out camping and fossicking had left them tired and dirty, but above all, thirsty. Although it was after sunset, the heat had not yet retreated. They eventually pulled up just short of the van and were enveloped by a cloud of fine dust. Hans headed straight for the van and pulled open the canvas flap of the faded and cracked annex. “Hey honey, we're home. Get us some beers will ya?” It was unusually quiet. He was expecting to hear the crackle of the radio or see a light, or smell some charcoaled sausages, but there was nothing. No reply. He opened the door to the van and stepped up. The van wobbled as it had done the whole time he had lived there. “Must put an extra brick under the back wheel” the thought to himself, again. In semi- darkness he fumbled for the light switch - nothing. It was then he realised that the generator wasn’t running - no wonder it was so quiet. He opened the small fridge, spotting a couple of beers, luke warm, and then was struck by the smell of meat on the turn.
“Hey Dougie, see if you can spot Sandy, and start up the generator will ya?” Dougie looked around in the afternoon glow and spotted Venus in the glow of the western sky. Amongst the scattered debris, the things which might come in handy one day, was the old bath tub. In it was a scattering of scrawny herbs, Sandy’s attempt to bring a little flavour into her life, but they were wilted and on the verge of dying. “Haven’t been watered for a few days he thought.” He stumbled over to the generator and unscrewed the fuel cap - dry. He stubbed his toe on the way, which did not improve his mood, as he hobbled back to the ute to pick up half a jerry can of diesel. Soon the lights were back on and the fridge was running, but they'd have to put up with warm beer for a while yet.
First thoughts were that Sandy had headed into town, but there was the lingering doubt that something more sinister had happened. Hans went outside and called “Sandy” long and loud, but the only noise was the hum of the generator.
“Geez, I wonder where she is?” he said again to Dougie as they chugged their beers. Hans squeezed past Dougie and went over to the fold down bed and looked in the blanket box. “Shit. Her gear’s all gone, backpack, the lot.” He looked around for a note but could find nothing. “She most likely went into town to stay. Bit lonely out here by yourself” said Dougie. “Too late to look for her now.” But Hans was concerned, and before long the two of them were heading down the dusty and windy track, past the old shafts, dodging roos and rabbits, and heading into White Ridge and the only other place where there was refuge, the imaginatively named White Rock hotel. The publican didn’t seem amused to have a couple of grubby bushies drop in just as he was about to close on a Sunday night, but he wasn’t in a position to turn down any business. “What’ll you blokes be having?”. “A couple of the coldest beers you’ve got mate” was the reply. The boys settled down at the bar and before long they were asking if Sandy was staying over. “She hasn’t been in here for a while” said the publican. So, still puzzled, they sat and drowned many a sorrow, until the call “time to pack it in boys.”
It was very late and it seemed easiest to doss in the back of the ute rather than attempt to drive back to camp. After all they hadn’t even unpacked from their trip yet. The sky was crystal clear and as the air cooled the stars came out to play. Can’t remember who drove the ute to over behind the toilet block at the oval near the pub, but they were out of sight and barely had the energy to unroll their swags.
There wasn’t much going on early on a Monday morning. After all there were only a couple of shops, the pub and the petrol station which also sold a few supplies. The boys dusted themselves off and drove over to the garage. ‘Might as well fill up” said Hans. As they went to pay Rog, the shop owner, came out from the backroom. “Hi Rog, 80 litres of diesel. Hey, you haven’t seen Sandy around have you?” “Not today, but she did come in a few days ago. Bought some biscuits and some water.” “Thanks” and off they went, back to camp to have another look around. In the daylight everything seemed much as before. The only thing which might be a clue was an old copy of the Peninsular Post newspaper with an insert covering Willinga, an old copper mining town a couple of hours west and halfway to the coast. It was open at the classifieds, you know - where the old cars are bought and sold, and love and sex are less that subtly hinted at in the Personals column “Seeking ample female for good times, call Brian” sort of thing.
“You don’t think she’s headed west do you?” said Dougie “Perhaps you haven’t been giving her enough”. Hans spun around and swiped wildly at Dougie but missed. “Steady on mate, just kidding” he said. Hans, clearly more worried than he had first seemed, tripped forward and landed on the double bed. He could vaguely smell her perfume over the lank odour of the sweated sheets. “Where the fuck is she?” he said slamming his fists into the pillow. After all they had travelled across the globe together and been to deep and dark places, seen sights few people see. But, as always, eventually the money runs out and the promise of riches drags you away one more time, sucks you in and hides you. And it's not often that the riches come along. The dream recedes as fast as you chase it and the chains tighten and if you’re not careful, you’ll lose the key. WHERE WAS SHE!
He stomped out the door to have another look around camp. There was always a chance that she had fallen down one of the abandoned shafts that were scattered through the mulga. He walked over to the chest freezer hidden behind the van - he was hoping that it hadn’t unfrozen. He opened the lid to check - at first relief - frozen packs of home butchered lamb and goat. He dug a bit deeper and then it struck him. The cardboard box in the corner, neatly wrapped in plastic, and simply labelled “DOG” was missing. He jerked upwards and let out a deep, guttural scream. Dougie spilled his tea as he shot up and ran outside, thinking the worst. “What? What?” he yelled. “She’s taken it, taken it all. Eight months in this god-forsaken place, and she’s taken it all!.” He was barely able to speak, or think for that matter. “Perhaps she was robbed and kidnapped” said Dougie. Just then Hans noticed the scrawl in the dust on the van window - “See ya - it was good for a while”. That sealed it. Sandy had taken off with the only thing of value at their camp and scarpered. Hans started trembling with rage. “She isn’t in danger, she’s just buggered off. Luckily he didn’t have a dog - it would not have ended well. “Well she can’t be that far away” said Dougie eventually. “She’s got no car.”
In an instant Hans and Dougie were preparing a mental map of the ways out of White Ridge. “She may have an accomplice” they thought but no one ever came out to their remote camp. Then they twigged. “Didn’t she buy some biscuits at the servo?” There are only two ways out of White Ridge - east and west. They headed back to the servo, unhappy about the long and bumpy ride. “Yeah the bus passes through here on Fridays and drops off mail on the way through to Willinga and the coast” said Rog back at the servo. There and then they made a pact to track Sandy down. They jumped into the ute and drove into the afternoon sun. How could she? Why would she? When did she?
It was past dusk when they pulled into Willinga, barely visible through the bug-splattered screen. The streets were empty except for a a couple of roo shooters rigs outside of the Cornwall Arms. They didn’t need to speak as they walked into the near empty bar. “Beers?” said the publican. “As long as they’re wet” was Dougie’s droll reply. “Any tucker on?” asked Hans. “The best I can do will be some bangers and mash. The cook’s already packed it in for the night.” “Yeah whatever you’ve got” and the weary travellers pulled their stools closer to the bar and right under the air-conditioning vent.
“What are you boys doing in town?” said the publican, who was obviously reluctant to spend any time in the kitchen. “Just passing through on our way to the coast to meet a friend” was Hans’ reply. “Oh by the way you haven’t seen a pretty girl with a bit of an accent through here in the last few days have you.” “You’d be lucky to see a pretty girl around these parts” the publican smirked “unless you have pretty low standards! But come to think of it, a young one came in here on Friday, looking a bit lost.” “Did she say where she was going?” “Don’t recall, she wasn’t in here too long.”
One of the roo shooters at the bar swung around. “There was a real looker here a few days ago. She left with quiet Mike, lucky bastard.”
The boys looked at one another each with a small nod. “You blokes got any idea where I can find Mike?” “Yeah , he’s a couple of streets down the hill, to the left. I think it's the place with the fibro fence. All out by itself.”
The boys quickly skulled their beers and headed for the door. “What about the sausages?” “They’ll have to wait” came the reply as the swing door slammed shut. “Bastards” said the publican under his breath. “Would you blokes like some sausages?” he said looking at the roo shooters. “Cheap.”
“Kevin” and “Katie” had been enjoying one another’s company. They seemed to find enough to talk about and really sparked up when they started talking about their mythical Uncle Percy. It became a game. What would Uncle Percy have done? There was a silliness and joy in spending days in some sort of fantasy. No pressure, no expectations, they were at ease with one another, seemingly against the odds. Parked on the old lounge, Katie had moved closer to Mike/Kevin and rested on his shoulder as they thumbed through his atlas and made up stories about the world at large.
It was unusual to hear a vehicle late on a Monday night, or just about any night. And even more unusual when it parked out front. The horn tooted and “Kevin” and “Katie” heard the doors open. “Mike - are you in there?” came a call from the night. Startled, Mike told Katie to go out the back, then moved quickly over to the front window and peered through the torn insect screen. Nobody he recognised but they obviously knew his name. He turned on the front light and cautiously walked out to the front gate. His guard was up: he wasn’t expecting any company. “You Mike?” said Hans as he reached into the back of the ute. The next thing Mike had a double barrelled shot gun pointing at his head, straight at him. “Do I know you?” he said as his heart almost exploded. “You Mike?” came a reply. “Where’s Sandy, where is she?” said Hans with increasing agitation. Mike was trembling but somehow managed an inner calm “I don’t know who you’re looking for, but I’m Kevin and I live here with Katie. “Don’t bullshit me” said Hans as he lunged forward, his finger on the trigger. Dougie feared the worse and leapt forward and pushed the barrel down just as Hans pulled the trigger. There was an ear piercing explosion, a combination of the shotgun at close range and the blasting of the fibro fence. “Shit, you idiot” called Mike. “I’m Kevin. You’ve got the wrong bloke.”
Dougie grappled with the shotgun and screamed at Hans “Mate, she’s not here. Those roo boys have been winding us up. We’ve got to get out of here, quick.” Dougie threw the shotgun into the back of the ute and another shot exploded, this time taking out the back window of the trayback. Hans swore as he walked to the driver's door and Dougie only just managed to clamber in before the engine roared and, with dust and rocks flying, the ute disappeared into the night.
Mike collapsed to his knees then crawled over to the fence and sat there shaking. An hour later he managed to pull himself up. It was time to find out a bit more about his Katie. He walked to the front door, but found it locked. He knocked but there was no reply. “Understandable” he thought as he walked through the weeds to the back door. It didn’t have a lock. “Katie” he called, but there was no reply. She’s probably hiding in the shower block. “Katie. It’s Kevin, they’ve gone.” But again there was no reply and the night turned to the normal silence. “She’ll come back when she’s ready” he thought as he poured himself a large rum with shaking hands. The rum took charge and before too long MIke was slumped across the kitchen table. The roosters from a block away woke him before sunrise, but all he could do was crawl back into bed where he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
The next day was not good. A bright beam of sunshine pierced the room from gap between the curtains. Mike blinked in the intense light but it took him some time to stir from his deep sleep. He felt parched and his head throbbed. He stood up but found that his hands were still shaking.
Slowly he pulled himself together. A strong cup of coffee helped. It took him a while to remember which day it was - it’s alright, it’s a stay home day. Mike had plenty of free time. He only worked two days a week helping the mechanic at the local garage, doing the jobs which you really don’t need a mechanic for - changing tyres, fixing wipers, washing windscreens and such.
He couldn't hear or see any activity around. He tapped on the door of the room where Katie had been sleeping - it was ajar. He gently pushed it open. Katie had gone. Her pack and few belongings were not in the room and the place seemed as if it had never been any different. He reached the kitchen and made another coffee. It was almost as if the past few days had been a dream. He picked up his wallet from the corner of the kitchen table. Casually he looked inside. It was empty, well not entirely, but his two hundred dollars of emergency funds were gone. He took a deep breath, walked over and drank a large glass of water and went back to bed.
It took a couple of days before Mike was ready to face the world. And besides that he didn’t have any real food left in the house, only old and dry stuff or things in tins. It was dusk when he started to wander up the gentle slope to the pub. He found his stool in the corner, ordered a beer and a steak and chips. “Haven’t seen you around for a while” said the publicans wife. “No, haven’t been too flash” was his reply, his hand trembling as he took a tentative sip.
“Haven’t heard about the crash on the coast road then?” “No.” “The other night these two blokes from the Ridge came in here looking for you.” “Me?” “Well I think they were looking for that girl you took off with last Friday.” “What? She’s long gone.” he said as he felt his chest tighten. “Well apparently they were in a bit of a rush and took it too fast down the escarpment and ended up over the edge. They were only found this morning, bent, and well dead. Was on the news tonight. Cops are wondering if a shotgun might have caused the accident.” Mike’s nightmare had returned. “You didn’t see them then?” “No.” he stammered. He didn’t eat all his chips.
The storm which had blown into Mike’s life with its thunder and lightning had passed. Over time it seemed more and more like a fantasy, but flashes would return of this beautiful girl, talking, and confrontation, and gun shots. Life in small steps returned to normal but he wasn’t sure what normal was anymore, but there was always a reminder every time he walked through the gate.
“Enough! Time to fix it” he said to himself. He found a piece of left over fibro and some glue and patched the hole. Now for some paint. He went down the back, to the old tool shed behind the shower. He dusted off various tins of left over paint and to his surprise came across an old vinyl travel bag with KLM on the side. Carefully looking out for spiders he lifted the bag but under the strain, the strap he was holding tore off. He grabbed the bag with both hands and lifted it onto the workbench. “What is this?” he thought. It was full of teatowels wrapping heavy lumps. He unwrapped the top one and then had in his hand a fist sized lump of rock. He blew off the dust and there through the centre was a gorgeous blue, green and red seam - OPAL! He quickly unwrapped several more to find some of the best gemstones he had ever seen. His past experience told him that these were worth thousands if not tens of thousands of dollars. “Oh Katie, what have you done.”
He wondered about Hans and Katie (or Sandy as he now knew from the fateful evening of shotgun fire). His Katie had gone and Hans would never return. He had no way of making contact. As quickly as she had come into his life, she had left - no goodbyes, no parting wave, no forwarding address, no note. He re-wrapped the stones with their precious contents and put them back in the shed, wondering what to make of this new and unexpected impost on his life.
Things turned around as he contemplated what to do with the package in his shed. He started reading, with new enthusiasm, his considerable collection of books and in his mind travelled the world. Every now and then he would sense a longing - a longing for those few sweet days when he had a companion. He placed an ad in the Personals “Quiet man seeks loving companion (girl). Must like beer and nights in” set to run for three weeks in the Post. No replies.
A month later a letter arrived. It had foreign stamps. Mike took it inside and sat in the kitchen with a beer before he opened it. He gently shook his head as he pulled out an airline ticket to Croatia. With it was a small note. “I hope you like Russian vodka. Meet me in Zadar. We can make music at the Sea Organ”, Katie. “PS Bring a rock.” And with that Mike’s world was shaken once more. Perhaps it was time to step outside of the fence.
February 2017
