FORMAL ATTIRE, OR BENIGHTED

Formal attire in late afternoon, on a roadside between paddocks, walking somewhere far away because nothing is nearby. Two men in black tuxes, and a woman in a long black dress and gloves, holding high heels. All look a little tattered, a little worse for wear. Driving past, you guess something is going on, something’s amiss. You want to know, want to know them, but not become part of an imbroglio. You could just pull over and say, What’s up, is everything alright? Yet since they haven’t shown any sign of wanting help, but are focused on each step as they walk steadily ahead, proud and determined, making such a move will implicate you, you will bite off more than you can chew. Better to drive on and just slow a little, watching them in your mirror, muse over what’s up, then gradually accelerate, concentrating on what’s ahead. Forget about it, at least for the time being. Then, maybe at home over dinner, mention it to the wife and work through it, I saw something really weird today … took me by surprise. You think you know a place, and then it grabs you round the throat. And you think you know people, then they come right out and shock you with something totally unexpected!

*

She felt her face flush as the first car slowed down, then accelerated away. Her feet were killing her. She felt absurd. She regretted tossing the keys into the scrub; she was just so pissed off. She regretted breaking off the search for those keys after such a short time. Quicker to bloody walk, she’d said. Her husband and his best friend – her lover – had bonded in their contempt for her. But she took a little joy in her lover’s wound: he’d torn his ankle, and blood was leaking through his sock, over his shoe, leaving small, dark patches every few metres.

Won’t stop bleeding, he said.

It’s not blood, she said.

Don’t be daft. Is she like this with you, Serge? She’s always rambling on when she’s with me. When she’s with me and you think she’s at work or shopping or something.

Yes, she’s always like this. Fucking annoying.

It’s not blood, it’s ichor.

What?

Ichor: blood of the gods. Your godliness is flowing out of you. Soon you’ll have lost your god powers and your god status.

God almighty!

Yes, that’s what I mean. No more god, no more power, just nothing.

How far do you reckon it is from here?

A couple more k’s.

*

But I felt guilty and did a U-turn and drove back. Can’t leave people in fancy duds on the side of the road. Out here. And one of them looked injured. Not badly injured, just not quite right.

*

She can think you into self-destruction. Into illness. She never lets up.

Will you stop carping, Serge?

What do you expect? I mean, it’s not been a great day, has it? I mean, my wife and my best friend.

Why are you taking it out on me and not him?

Let’s face it, we’re all wankers. Why on earth are we going to this? You know how it is with effete middle-class wankers like us.

They’ll be wearing the same sort of clobber, tippling from champagne flutes, and talking about …

… their new headers, four-by-fours, kids’ private schools and the social skills of their local conservative sitting member …

We should fit right in. Labor-voting academics, same sort of private schools, four-by-fours, boozing, and winery holidays …

You do go on. I think you might be right about her, mate.

Pricks.

*

I had to pick them up. You can’t leave people dressed to the nines on the side of the road. Every farm boy round here would want to take a pop at them. Seriously, red rag to a bull. Who would have thought they’d behave like that? They looked so respectable! So I almost got home, then turned the car around and drove back to see if I could help.

*

Two k’s? I’ll be fucked if it’s two k’s. We’ve walked that at least, and no sign of the place. Next car that comes along I’m flagging down.

That car passed ten minutes ago. It’s slowing down.

Bit odd to come back like that.

*

Broken down? I asked from the opposite side of the road, facing the opposite direction from where they were heading, window half-up. I didn’t see any car when I went past earlier. Oh, down a side road? You mean Hikers’ Road? Gravel road that crosses the railway line? Well, where are you heading? Need a lift? Sure, I’ll take you. Your phones not working out here? Not surprising – lousy coverage and a lot of dead zones. Some of us are pushing for more towers but there are a few of those, shall we say, less practical people, you know, greenies and dreamers, who oppose it. Worried about killer waves, apparently. Anyway, jump in.

*

Which place?

Anderson’s.

Anderson’s? Never heard of any Andersons around here. I’ve been here all my life and know pretty well every property for twenty k’s, but I don’t know no Andersons.

Strange, they’ve been up here for five years now. Breed stud bulls. Large house with a pool and tennis courts.

Not a lot of water here. Guess they’ve got good bores. Or maybe they’re so well-off they just cart it in. But Anderson’s sure doesn’t ring a bell. A few k’s down this road and off to the left? Follow the signs? Gee, you’ve got me stumped, but we’ll just drive down and find it, I guess.

They’re not there all the time. Only weekends.

Not every weekend, Serge.

Some weekends.

They live mostly in the city?

Yes, they’re academics.

Ah, right. Maybe that’s it. Do they have someone looking after the property during the week? I might know the caretakers.

No idea, to tell the truth – but maybe. They said there’d be rich cockies there but didn’t mention caretakers.

That’s enough, Serge.

*

I think this is it.

Yes, I’m sure it is.

Turn left onto the gravel?

Yes, that’s it.

Okay.

And now left into this place. See, it’s marked with a red ribbon. They said to watch out for a red ribbon.

Gee, I’ll be damned. Never been down here before.

And they said just over the hill, through a clump of trees.

Wow! Look at that place. How on earth did it get there without my hearing about it? How the hell. It’s massive. Gee, a lot of expensive machinery lined up. Mercs and Lexuses and … is that a Bentley? No wonder you folks are dressed like that!

*

Wonder why he’s hanging around. Maybe we should have given him a few bucks for getting us here.

That’d be insulting. He was just doing a good turn.

He’s creeping me out watching us like that. I’m sicking of waving and mouthing thankyous. Can we go in now?

*

I had a hunch. Something just said to me, Hang around, you might be needed. After all, they didn’t have a vehicle. They reckoned they’d ring the RAC in a few hours and one of them – that big bloke had said he’d do it when the woman hissed at him under her breath – would get a lift back to the car, in time for the RAC. Now, that’s never going to work out. And I didn’t like the way the big bloke was looking at the woman. The small bloke was oily and suave, but I didn’t see him as much of a problem – just a fool, a selfish fool. He’d hurt his leg. He apologised for bleeding on my car floor. What could I say? Get down and clean it up? Not very Good Samaritan. Though I thought it. She was, well, highly strung and hot and bothered, and kept trying to flatten imaginary creases in her dress. Then the little bloke insisted they return to Perth with some guy they knew, he’d surely drive them home, sleep on it, pick up the spare set of keys and they could drive back tomorrow and pick up the car. I piped in then with, Gee, that seems like a lot of fuss. I didn’t say any more. Wasn’t a lot of time, though I drove dead slow. It all seemed wrong and out of kilter. I had a hunch.

*

It had been dark for hours when she appeared. And it was a terrible darkness. Not even a sliver of a moon, and though a clear night and the stars out, their brightness was locked into the sky and wouldn’t touch the earth. The coal sack seemed to be swallowing light. Above the noise of the party – can you believe it, there was a live band there playing wedding-like rock and roll? – I could still hear owls gossiping about what was to come.

I suppose I should confess. I have no wife to talk it over with. No family. Even if I could get a signal, there’d be no one at home to ring. I had a wife and family, but she being an evil bitch upped sticks one night when I was playing competition pool in town – she took the kids and went to her sister’s. It came as a shock and the accusations stuck to me for a year or two, but people soon forgot about them, and my wife and kids were soon forgotten too. They are fairly nondescript people. I have been here my entire life. My wife came from Melbourne. She was always an ‘other-sider’; she was always from thousands of kilometres away.

I’d sussed there was something weird about the big bloke. And I didn’t much like the slimy little fella. The woman, well, she was a looker. You could tell she was fiery, and probably not much good, but she was a looker. Anyway, I had a hunch she’d come out for a walk in the dark, to shake off the unpleasantness of the party and those fellas. I could tell immediately from her silhouette, her black dress and dark skin blending with night. I drew hard on the cigarette so the glow of the tip might catch her eye. It did.

*

You shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, Serge!

She was being a pain in the arse. You have her on weekends, I have her most nights, year in year out.

She can be a bit difficult, but you shouldn’t be so rough with her.

You should hear what she says behind your back when you disagree with her in department meetings. She’s got your measure.

Geez, you never let up.

What are we going to do about the car?

Well, it’s her damned car …

True.

Dull party. Pretentious crowd. How did you like their ‘Welcome to our country residence …’?

Are we going to stay over?

Yeah, we should see their prize bulls tomorrow. And we can get a lift back in that hideous Bentley.

You know the Bentley man is rumoured to be thinking – or thinking of thinking – of donating towards a chair in our school …?

Really? Interesting.

So where did she go? I can’t see her lurking or sulking or whatever she does on her own.

It’s bloody dark, I can tell you. Let’s head back in. She’ll show up.

Maybe she got a lift out to meet the RAC?

Maybe. What can they do about lost keys? If they start the car, how do you turn it off?

How do you restart it if it, say, cuts out?

No idea, Serge, no idea. You got a ciggie?

Sure, mate, sure. Better go inside, though. It’s like tinder out here. You’ve got to think country when you’re in the country. It’s a different set of rules.

Makes sense. Yeah, let’s go back in. It’s an unholy darkness.

Yeah, and you’ve gotta be careful … your ichor levels must be pretty low after your brush with death. How’s the wound?

Not bad. The lovely lady of the house used her tender touch and staunched it beautifully.

You’re a dog, mate, a real dog. Come on, let’s go in and make the best of a bad day.