Thick purple clouds roll overhead, though the sun is still visible on the horizon. It’s strange, and strangely beautiful, how the entire landscape seems bathed with warmth and colour in defiance of the strengthening storm. A slick twilight sheen is caught in the water sloughing from leaves and needles and bark.
I sit next to Meg on the bus. I have to move her bag from the spare seat to do so, a sure sign she wants to be alone, but I’m not comfortable with how we left things.
“Good timing,” I say, as the bus shudders from a powerful gust of wind. The shower is thickening by the second into a proper downpour.
“Yeah. It’d suck to be out in that.”
“Nice to watch, though. I like a good storm. I like to listen to rain on the tin roof when I’m in bed.”
“Me too,” says Meg, smiling at me with affection for the first time that day.
I spent the afternoon thinking about what I wanted to say to Meg. I’ve settled on an analogy that sums up my take on the situation.
“Hey, so I was reading this book before I came up here. A science and history book about … food, I guess. Anyway, there’s this story in it — not a story story, a real story — it’s about an experiment during World War Two.”
“Ok.”
“So, these Americans, conscientious objectors, they’re people who refused to fight in the war — ”
“I know what a conscientious objector is.”
“Right. Well, they were put on a semi-starvation diet for a bit less than six months, about twenty weeks, I think. The idea was that researchers could simulate what their troops might have to go through if the war dragged on. So there’s about thirty of these guys and they’re being fed normal stuff in their diets, just less than they’re used to. About fourteen hundred calories I think, which isn’t that bad, it’s not really starvation, not when you consider that most people normally consume about two thousand calories a day. Though up here it’s probably four thousand.”
Meg cuts in, a puzzled look on her face. “Are you trying to tell me I should go on a diet or something?”
“What? No, no. Just wait, it’s a story. I’ll get to the point, I promise. Anyway, these guys are constantly hungry, really screamingly hungry, because their food intake is restricted and there are no cheat days. But they’re not in prison or anything, they’re not off in the war being shot or killed, they’re just hanging around a research institute and getting fed less than what they’re used to. Which is sort of shit, but it’s just food, just hunger. So, any guesses what happened?”
“Ah, they lost weight?”
“Yeah, no, of course, but otherwise?”
“Like, what, some of them couldn’t hack it and were caught scoffing Mars bars?”
“Well, some of them did cheat. But on the diet, which wasn’t even as severe as a lot of the diets people follow now — well, follow for a week maybe — but some of these men, hard men, specifically chosen for their character, willing to go to prison for their beliefs …”
Meg is looking at me, waiting.
“Some of them literally lost their minds. Less than halfway through the experiment one guy was committed to a psychiatric hospital because he was threatening violence and suicide. Because he was so hungry. And two other guys actually self-harmed. They cut themselves up. Because they were so hungry.”
I let the point sink in, the silence sitting heavy between us.
“So …” says Meg, and I realise I haven’t communicated my point at all.
“What I’m getting at is how easily people can crack up. Those guys had strong personalities, and they weren’t cut off from families and they were still in their homeland, and yet some of them still lost their shit, and just from hunger. And that wasn’t even as long as most of the detainees are in the centre.”
“Are you kidding? Is that what this is about?”
“Yeah, it is. I mean, some of the detainees are dickheads, for sure, but how do you know that big guy isn’t going through some real shit? We don’t know what it’s like. I’m not on their side or anything, I’m just saying that we don’t know, so why not stay neutral? It’s stupid looking down on them if we don’t even know what we’re looking down on.”
“Oh my God, Nick, I can’t believe you just called me stupid.”
“What? No, I didn’t — ”
“I can’t believe you’re some bleeding heart. My God. You’re so naïve,” she says.
“I’m naïve? Are you nuts? I’m the one with open eyes. What, do you think you wouldn’t lose your shit if it was you?”
“I wouldn’t get on a stupid boat and jump the queue! So, no.”
“What queue? There is no queue. There’s not some queue in the middle of Afghanistan or Iran. Do you even know anything about those places? Iran is a theocracy. Theo-cracy. A religious dictatorship. They don’t give a fuck about Western bullshit like refugee conventions and queues. There is no queue.”
“They can send off to our government. It’s the same for everyone. There is a queue. Or do you just want a million people to come in all at once and bring their laws and culture?”
“There is no fucking queue. It’s not lining up for the dole, just popping down to the Centrelink branch and standing in line. Jesus, come on, a country like Afghanistan is basically a Highlander movie with turbaned psychos riding horses and tanks around and chopping random motherfuckers’ heads off. Who’s lining up in that queue?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“You don’t know what Afghanistan is? Seriously?”
Meg looks at me, furious. “I don’t know what Highlander is. I know Afghanistan. You’re such a dick. You think you’re so smart, so much better than everyone else. And you’re the one responsible for that Response Two. You screwed up worse than anyone has since we got here.”
“What? That’s bullshit. Did Gabriel tell you that? Because he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. It’s bullshit.”
“Darren told me. You ran.”
“I didn’t run. I … nah, I’m not even talking about it. It’s bullshit. And you still haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?”
“Do you or do you not think you would crack up if you were in detention?”
“No, Nick. I wouldn’t. Because I wouldn’t be in detention.”
“Because you’re a happy little white Australian.”
“No, because I wouldn’t jump the queue!”
There’s no point. No fucking point.
And you know what? Meg’s right. I do think I’m smarter than these fucks. I’m certainly smarter than Meg if she believes that shit about a queue.
But I’m not a bleeding heart, not for merely keeping my eyes wide open and thinking critically, as opposed to blindly believing whatever we’re told like most of my dear colleagues. Honestly, I’m so sick of the shit I hear all day, every day. Any time a detainee is in distress he is “trying it on”, “looking for attention”, “just wants an audience”. I lost count tallying up how many officers have said to me that the detainees “are like misbehaving kids”.
When it comes down to it, Meg’s a doer. Just doing what she’s told to do. Just thinking what she’s told to think.
A long silence passes between us.
“Can you move?” Meg says, without looking at me.
I get my bag and find a free seat. I watch the rain punch into the ruddy mud, Mother Nature releasing the pent-up tension built over the long, dreary dry.