Alter cautiously lowered himself into the hot springs while Anna stripped off her dress and ran down to the bank, disappearing underwater with a gentle splash. How deep was it, he wondered? He searched for bubbles to track her. She soon surfaced like a water nymph and swam towards him.
‘Where did you learn to swim like that?’
‘I used to visit the countryside often with my father. There was a beautiful river there where I spent many a lazy summer afternoon as a child.’
They stood together near the edge, the stars reflected in the water. The moon sliced the night sky like a sliver of bone, avulsed from the earth. They searched for Pegasus, Cancer and Corvus, but the stars were strangers here, painting a different narrative suspended above them, a net of ancient stories lighting up the darkness. She had always loved to create her own constellations, tattooed onto an inky canvas – a giant with flowing white hair stomping across the heavens, a young girl playing in a bathtub, sending a splash of watery planets spilling onto the celestial vista.
‘They are like eyes, watching us.’ Alter made a pillow for his head with his palms. ‘An empyrean audience for a man who appeared out of nowhere.’
Anna longed for a love as steady as the stars.
He turned to her. ‘This is not our place.’
‘But neither is Europe anymore,’ she whispered.
‘So where do we belong then? Where should we call home?’
‘Here.’ She placed her palm on his chest. ‘Remember? This is home.’
Frogs floated around, bobbing their heads up before kicking away, leaving ripples behind them. Tall eucalypts stood silhouetted against the last jagged rays of light.
A huge colony of fruit bats slowly awoke, hanging upside down in the trees, busily preening their wings in readiness for flight. They looked like small teddy bears with black beady eyes, hanging upside down on a rack, silken capes hiding their furry breasts. Their cries rose to a frenzied crescendo as they launched themselves into the air, darting from branch to branch. Anna watched mother bats trying to pry themselves away from their babies, who clung steadfastly to their breasts, drunk with sleep. Some left young ones behind in a nursery tree, huddling together in a tangle of commotion, but others took flight, launching their bodies into the gentle night breeze, their tiny offspring refusing to let go.
The calls of the waking colony echoed against the darkening cliff faces. The bats set out to forage for food just as flocks of black cockatoos were making their way home to roost. More bats emerged from the trees in a flurry of beating wings. They rose in widening circles, forming shadowy clouds that seemed to share a single heartbeat.
Their cacophony highlighted the silence that lingered between Anna and Alter. She felt embarrassed by her silly romantic hopes which, in the end, might only amount to no more than a fleeting blink. She rehearsed words to herself before uttering them, fearful they might come out wrong. Thoughts shaped themselves into storm clouds in her mind, evaporating into mist as she tried to mould them into logical sentences. Besides, what was there to say? The ghastly contorted messiness of I love you, or be mine, terrified her.
Alter broke the silence. ‘You know, three of the most prominent biblical figures – Isaac, Jacob and Moses – met their wives for the first time beside a well. Don’t you think that’s a portent?’
She looked at him blankly.
He smiled. ‘I mean, that is, like you and me. We met on top of a water tower. That’s surely the modern-day equivalent of a well?’
She giggled nervously, glad he couldn’t see her blushing. ‘Why won’t you go in deeper?’
‘I’m embarrassed to admit I’m a poor swimmer,’ he whispered. ‘According to an ancient Jewish tradition it is a father’s duty to teach his son to swim, but mine didn’t know how.’
‘What about daughters? Are they taught as well?’
‘Well, you see, that’s the problem. A lake is formed from the teardrops of little girls. So they would drown in their own sadness if they tried to swim.’
‘That’s a terrifying thought.’
‘Jews have a complicated relationship with bodies of water. At New Year we are meant to throw bread into a lake, a symbolic way to cast away sins. It’s called tashlikh – a prayer for repentance.’
‘But then if you went swimming in the same spot soon after, wouldn’t you just swallow your sins all over again?’
‘That’s an interesting thought.’ He scratched his beard. ‘You’re supposed to throw your sins where there are fish in the water, so they can swallow them for you.’ He reached up to his bag and pulled out a half-eaten, stale loaf of bread he had brought all the way from Birdum. ‘Because my father couldn’t swim and was so terrified I might drown when I was a boy, we used to do tashlikh in the courtyard of our apartment building. He used a bucket of water instead of a lake.’
Alter tore pieces off the loaf and threw them into the springs, chanting a prayer in Hebrew.
‘Stop!’
‘What’s wrong, Anna?’
‘I don’t want the fish to swallow our sins. They haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Don’t worry. New year has finished, so we have another year to repent. Besides, they don’t have eyelids.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘A fish’s eyes are always open, so they aren’t vulnerable to the Evil Eye like humans are. Fish are always watching, just as God is supposed to be watching over us.’
She thought for a moment. ‘But fish can be caught in a fisherman’s net.’
‘That’s true. But we too are caught in the net of judgement. Besides, fish have many offspring, so there is always hope in a new generation.’
He took a penknife from his pocket and sliced an apple Jack had given him, stabbing a piece and offering it to Anna. She leaned forward and gripped it between her teeth, sliding it off the sharp metal.
‘I have so many stories. I’m thinking of writing a memoir,’ he said. ‘After all, I’ve lived a life of adventure enough for a hundred men. Perhaps I will call it Der Maysehbuch fun Meyn Leben.’ He snorted. ‘Ha! Alter Mayseh’s maysehbuch.’
Anna looked up at the sky.
‘Don’t you get it?’
‘No.’
‘Mayseh is my name. It means “story” in Yiddish. So, a maysehbuch is the storybook of my life.’
She still didn’t see what was so amusing.
‘Ach! It’s impossible to translate Yiddish humour.’ He laughed.
‘Clearly.’
He looked up at her. She wasn’t smiling.
‘Are you upset?’
Against her better judgement, she launched her accusation like an arrow: ‘Am I just one of your side adventures, to be had while you catch your breath? Your little shikseh on the side before you find a Jewish bride?’
‘Is that really what you think of me?’ As he got out of the water, Alter hit his head against the sharp edge of a branch that was jutting out. In an instant, his legs buckled and he collapsed. He mumbled something, a half-smile crossing his lips, and fell into a sweaty stupor. She swam across and hauled herself onto the bank. His eyes were darting around frantically under closed lids. The cut on his forehead started oozing, spreading to form a bloody stain on his wet undershirt. She pulled a handkerchief from her bag and dabbed at the wound. She would have to go and find help, leave him here alone under the cover of drooping eucalypts.
‘You’re bleeding, Alter. I’m going to look for some help. Please don’t move.’ She quickly put on her clothes. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
He didn’t reply. Propping him up on a bed of leaves, she covered him with his shirt and headed off into the scrub. She stepped into the night, leaving Alter in almost total darkness, the only meagre light coming from the scimitar moon. She was struck with terror at the real possibility that he would die because she would not be able to find her way back to him. The bats shrieked, a cool breeze whispering between the rocks. She tore small strips of material from her hem, hanging them off branches every few hundred metres as she walked. Despite all attempts, it wasn’t long before her fear collided with reality as she wandered around in the dark, completely lost. The paralysing heat of the sun had given way to piercing cold. She was feeling tired and shivery, almost ready to give up, when she stumbled across a lonely grave surrounded by a wooden picket fence. Behind it stood a run-down old shack. At first glance, the house looked abandoned, but a figure soon emerged from the shadows, eerily lit up by a sputtering kerosene lamp. She missed the dead, but now certainly wasn’t a time that she wanted them to come back and haunt her.
The ghost didn’t look too ghoulish, and it had a broad Australian drawl. ‘You all right there?’
‘I’m lost.’
‘Well, that’s pretty damn obvious, love.’
Even though she felt wary coming across a stranger living alone out here in the middle of the bush, she had no choice but to trust him.
‘I must get back to the springs. My friend has hit his head. Would you please help me, sir?’
‘Sir? Ha! Never been called that before. Takes a bloody foreigner to be so polite. Yeah. Gimme a minute, I’ll go get us a decent lamp.’
Leaving Anna waiting in the dark, he went inside the shack again. He was back soon, a strong circle of light swinging beside him. She followed close behind as they made their way through thickets and trees.
‘Why the hell were you both wandering around here at night? Not the cleverest thing to do.’
‘A man called Jack suggested it. Said these springs are so powerful they can even heal a broken heart.’
‘You mean the Russian bloke?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wouldn’t listen to that fellow if ya paid me. Goes off like a frog in a sock.’
‘It’s my fault, really. I didn’t realise it was getting so late.’
‘Not that hard to lose track of time out here.’
‘Do you live in that house?’
‘Yeah. The locals call it the Ghost House. Reckon someone who was murdered nearby years ago haunts the place. But the only spirit you’ll ever see around these parts is this one right here.’ He raised the bottle of rum he was holding. ‘Cheers!’
Suddenly, Anna caught sight of one of the torn pieces of her dress hanging from a branch. ‘He’s somewhere around here!’
Just then she heard Alter groaning. They found him lying in the same place she had left him, by the edge of the springs.
‘Here, hold this.’ The Ghost Man handed both his lantern and the bottle of rum to Anna.
Pulling an old bandage from his pocket, he tied it around Alter’s head, then lifted him up onto his back like a sack of potatoes. Anna gathered up his clothes. ‘Walk in front of me and I’ll tell you which way to head.’
It took some time, beating their way through the bush, but they eventually made it back to the old shack. Ghost Man placed Alter onto a thin mattress that lay on a rusty bed frame and covered him with a blanket. He removed the tattered bandage from Alter’s head, poured some rum from the half-empty bottle onto it and dabbed it onto the wound.
‘Ribono shel oylem!’ Alter sat bolt upright. ‘Lord of the Universe! Where am I?’
‘Well, that worked a treat,’ Ghost Man muttered. ‘Here, give him a swig of this.’ He handed the bottle to Anna.
Gently supporting the back of Alter’s head, she brought the bottle to his lips.
‘Have a drink, darling. You fell and hit your head. This kind man helped me carry you back to his house.’
Alter’s eyes were swollen, and the cut on his forehead was ringed by large welts. He downed the rum eagerly and immediately fell asleep again.
‘How long do you reckon he was out for?’ Ghost Man mumbled.
‘It all happened so quickly, I’m not quite sure.’
‘Well, you should watch him closely overnight. Grab a blanket and make yourself comfortable.’ He stretched his arms out and yawned. ‘I’m gonna try get some kip.’
Anna sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, keeping vigil, while Ghost Man crawled off to sleep in a broken armchair.
Alter had been drifting in and out of a state of torpor for hours when light poured in through the faded curtains. The hut felt stifling, ablaze with scraps of leftover dreams that hung in the smouldering air, evaporating the moment he woke. He got up and staggered across the room, tearing open the window and shutters. A rush of heat from the first rays of sun forced its way inside. Overcome with vertigo, he lay back down again, listening to the melancholy sound of a clock somewhere close by, ticking away each second. The mattress was drenched in sweat and streaked with blood. He felt tired and worn, his head throbbing as he uttered wordless curses. He burrowed his face in the hard pillow.
Signs of Anna were scattered about the room. Like a tiny bird, she had been flitting to and fro all night, watching him, and had finally succumbed to sleep, sprawled out on the dusty floor. He felt weak, the shrieking of crickets outside drilling into his brain. Lying there watching her through half-closed eyes, he curled back into the refuge of sleep.
Ghost Man had disappeared.