FLINDERS ISLAND,
1972
Remains of hotel labels hung in clusters around the handle of the case. A few were whole, with room numbers, names and crests embossed in gold, but most were just scraps of coloured card, clinging to battered eyelets. Ellen flicked them aside as she grasped the handle with both hands and swung the case up onto the bed. She leaned over to fit a small gold key into the lock, then paused, turning her head as if to catch a half-heard sound. A native goose called from the forest, the kettle hissed on the range; but that was all.
Crossing to a window, she peered out between the wind-worn branches of a she-oak. Her gaze swept across a white, curving beach, then followed the dark lines of an old jetty out to a mooring buoy. The small white shape bobbed in a quiet sea—an empty sea, with no sign of a boat.
Returning to the case, Ellen unlocked the catches and slowly lifted the lid. Strains of old perfume escaped, wafting up. She breathed them quickly away, letting wood-smoke, oilskin and the raw taint of fresh fish blood take over. Long strands of dark hair hung across her face. She pushed them back over her shoulders and began to search the case, feeling with blind fingers down through layers of neatly folded clothes. Her lips parted as she pulled out a long suede boot. She squeezed its leg and toe then tossed it aside. Moments later she found its pair. This time she reached down into the foot, burying her arm to the elbow, and eased out a narrow package wrapped in white tissue.
Over at the table she wiped a space clear of breadcrumbs and laid the package down: a small corpse, wrapped in a pale shroud. Cries of seabirds drifted in from outside, riding clear in the windless sky. Taking an end of the tissue paper, she shook the package open. A plastic doll rolled out and lay facedown on the table. A pale, slender body, naked, but crowned with a fan of long dark-red hair. A word was printed down the middle of the back—colourless script embossed in the plastic, like an old, healed scar. Liberty. Then in tiny letters, pat pend. Patent pending. Registered trademark to come.
Ellen picked up the doll, her suntanned hand contrasting with the matte peaches and cream. Slowly, she turned it over. Eye meeting painted eye. Bare dry lips against sleek red smile.
‘There you are.’ Ellen’s voice sounded loud and hollow in the quiet room. She took the small neat head between her fingers and thumb and squeezed slowly, watching the face distort like an image in a fairground mirror. When it was thin and ugly she let it go. A startled silverfish ran out from under the tissue paper wrapping and dashed away over the table. Ellen grabbed a book and slapped it down hard, waited for a moment, then raised it slowly. The insect was squashed onto the cover, a small mess in the middle of the title: The Antarctic Navigator. Quickly Ellen scrubbed the book clean with her sleeve. Then she paused. There was the faint drone of an engine in the distance. She snatched up the doll, returned it to the case, tossed everything back in, then slammed it shut and pushed it under the bed.
Outside, she leaned back against the closed door and watched an old grey Land-Rover edge down the track towards her, engine whining over the steep mounds and ditches. It looked like several she had seen down at the wharf—rusted, dented, wired together, with a solid roo bar guarding the front. As it pulled up near the shack, Ellen recognised the driver by his straw hair and tanned face. She waved briefly. He lifted a single finger from the steering wheel in reply, before leaning back to yank on the handbrake.
‘G’day,’ he called, ducking his head sideways as he climbed out. He wiped his hands on his khaki overalls, then ran one over his hair pressing down yellow spikes. ‘Ellen? I’m Tas. From down at the wharf?’
‘Sure,’ Ellen nodded. ‘You’re Lizzie’s—’
‘Cousin,’ he broke in. He paused to pick at his teeth with his thumbnail.
Ellen looked away, her eyes following the flight of a small brown bird. It swooped low over the garden, then wheeled away, heading for the hills. The thin cry of a sandpiper drifted up from the beach.
‘How’s it going then?’ Tas asked, nodding vaguely at the shack, the garden, the sea. ‘You look pretty well settled.’
‘Yes. We’re fine,’ answered Ellen. She looked down at the jetty again. ‘Ah … James isn’t here yet.’
‘No worries.’ Tas jerked his head towards the back of the Land-Rover. ‘I’ve just got some bait. I’ll leave it for him.’
Ellen followed him round. The open tray was strewn with wallaby carcasses, piled on top of one another. Random legs sticking up in the air and long velvet tails criss-crossing. Small clouds of flies hovered over glazed eyes.
‘We had a cull last night,’ Tas commented as he climbed onto the tray and began picking up the stiff bodies and tossing them onto the ground. He glanced at Ellen’s face. ‘Don’t mind, do you?’
‘No,’ Ellen answered quickly. ‘Course not.’
Tas grinned. His face pulled into fine creases like soft tanned hide. ‘You can never tell. Some of the folks that blow in here— bloody hopeless.’ He looked across to a square of bare earth at the other side of the shack. ‘Vegie patch?’ he asked.
‘That’s the plan,’ Ellen nodded. ‘But there’s some kind of grass that runs along under the soil. I’ve spent weeks pulling it out.’
‘Nah.’ Tas shook his head. ‘Waste of time. You gotta poison it once and for all. It’s the only way to go.’ He swung the last wallaby down. It landed with a dull thump and rolled slowly over, showing the pale fur of its belly. ‘Anyway, get Jimmy onto it. You don’t want to be overdoing it.’ He glanced at Ellen, his eyes on her body which was draped in loose men’s clothes. ‘Not with the youngster on the way.’
Ellen smiled briefly.
‘You wanna make sure it’s a boy you know!’ Tas grinned as he spoke. ‘Jimmy’ll be needing a deckhand before long.’ He wiped his hands again and tipped back his head to scan the sky. His eyes were the same blue, like small reflecting ponds. ‘There’s rain coming.’
‘Is there?’ asked Ellen. She looked doubtful. The sun was shining strong and warm, touching the back of her neck.
‘See that line of cloud?’ Tas came and stood behind her, pointing over her shoulder. He smelled of gun oil and engine grease. ‘No—over there.’ He shook his finger towards a line of bare rock mountains that rose up steeply like battlements on the horizon. ‘See how it looks soft underneath? That’s rain. It’ll give the tanks a good top-up. Do us all good. Anyway,’ he turned back towards the Land-Rover, ‘I’ll be off Tell Jimmy I’ll see him down at the wharf tomorrow.’
‘Sure. Thanks.’ Ellen watched him back away up the track, his head craning out of the side window as he dodged the worst bumps. She waited outside, listening to the sound of the engine dwindling into the distance. Finally there was just the soft rustle of the trees, the distant slap of waves on the beach and the buzzing of busy flies.
The rain came, pounding the roof of the shack and streaming off the corrugated iron in a line of thin waterfalls. Ellen rolled up a towel and laid it along the bottom of the door to hold back a creeping puddle. Then she added more wood to the fire and sat down at the table with a mug of black tea. She bent her head to breathe in the steam, hunting for the delicate fragrance of Darjeeling beneath the taint of kerosene. Her gaze travelled the room slowly. An old journey, with no surprises. Just the same dark timbers, hessian curtains, bunches of dried herbs nailed to the walls. A stack of old newspapers for starting the fire. A pile of books—mostly leather-bound and solid, but here and there a bright-spined paperback. The bare pine floor, soft with ground-in earth.
Her eyes focussed on a small mirror near the door. It was narrow and splotched with mould. She crossed to stand in front of it. She could only see one eye at a time and half a nose and mouth. Rain had sapped the daylight. The reflection was colourless and shadowy. It needs extra colour, thought Ellen, to bring it to life. A bit of eyeliner, some shadow … But the face was bare. Bare face. Barefaced liar. The words used to go together. But James said the opposite. Bare is good. Just be yourself. That’s all I want.
Ellen leaned closer. Watching the eye grow and grow until it swallowed up everything. That’s all I want…
‘Huh!’ She gasped, and spun round as the door burst open, crashing against the side of the shack. A tall figure lurched in, shiny with rain.
‘Son of a bitch! It’s damn wet out there.’ Water spattered the floor as feet stamped heavy boots.
‘James.’ Ellen breathed his name. ‘You gave me a shock.’
He turned round towards her voice. He held a large cardboard box against his chest. ‘I left the boat in town and hitched,’ he said, looking at Ellen through thick strands of dripping hair. ‘Didn’t know this was coming.’ He crossed the room and put the box down on the table.
‘Ah,’ said Ellen wisely. ‘You should keep an eye on the sky.’
James snorted. ‘What would you know about sky?’
‘More than you,’ Ellen answered. She laughed, suddenly, tipping back her head, showing the pink roof of her mouth. ‘Look at you!’
‘Yeah, well anyway,’ James beckoned to her, waving an arm behind him without turning round. ‘C’mon over here. I got a present for you.’
Ellen went to stand beside him. A small cold feeling hatched inside her.
‘Go on,’ James nodded at her. ‘Open it. Although it’s not really for you.’
A sudden scrabbling sound came from inside.
‘Oh, God,’ Ellen drew back. ‘If it’s something to eat, kill it first.’
James laughed. He bent over, pretending to speak into the box. ‘Don’t listen to her. She’s crazy. Who’d eat a cute little …’ He opened the flaps of the box and lifted out a small brown puppy. ‘Doggy.’ He held it towards Ellen, its legs outstretched and head hanging down, eyes bulging. Ellen stepped back.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to take it.’ She folded her arms, hiding her hands. ‘I’m afraid of dogs.’
‘No you’re not!’ James looked at her in astonishment. ‘Carter had that Dalmatian. You didn’t mind her.’
Ellen looked at him, frowning. ‘Well … I don’t know. I just … perhaps it’s puppies. I know, it’s silly.’ She gave a short laugh.
James pushed the dog at her again. ‘Go on. Have a hold.’
Ellen took the puppy, closing her hands over its warm, damp body. She could feel the rib cage, a flimsy frame beneath its loose skin. The heart beating. You could crush it, she thought, without even wanting to. She held it away from herself ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Him. I bought him from old Joe at the milk bar. He’s a Queensland Heeler, called Bluey, after his dad. I’m going to train him up, ready for the baby.’ Ellen put the puppy down on the floor and stepped back. He stood stiffly, afraid to move in the wide space. ‘Joe was all for giving me an old water tank for a kennel. I said he’d sleep inside with us.’ James grabbed a tea towel from the table as he spoke and used it to rub dry his hair. ‘Do you know what he said? “Bloody hippies.You don’t know what’s what.” For a minute there I thought he was going to ask for him back!’ James scooped up the puppy. ‘Come here, Bluey. Hey, little fella.’ He stroked the smooth brown head, running his hands out to the tips of the ears. He looked across to Ellen. His eyes were warm and bright, his face still streaked with rain. ‘We’ll be a real family, Ell. Ma, Pa, dog—and then, the baby.’
Ellen went to stand by the window, looking out into the bush through a blur of rain. ‘Tas came before, with some dead wallabies. They’re out by the tank.’
‘Good. I could do with some more bait. What else?’
‘What?’
‘What else happened today?’
‘Nothing much.’ She paused, then turned to face him. ‘I went to see Ben. Doctor Ben.’
‘Is everything okay?’ James put the puppy down quickly and moved towards her.
‘Yes, yes. Fine. But I was in the waiting room, and you know how Ben’s wife gets her magazines from Melbourne—’
‘Marian,’ interrupted James. ‘Why can’t you learn people’s names?’
‘Well anyway, there was an old copy of Teen—must be from about two years ago. Just after Liberty started. She was on the cover. There were two girls from the high school looking at it.’
‘And what happened?’ James asked urgently.
‘It’s all right,’ said Ellen flatly. ‘They didn’t recognise me. Not at all. I mean, it was so weird. They were talking about Liberty. You know, just saying she’d look good with short hair or something. And then one of them looked up, straight at me.’ Ellen let out a high, thin laugh. ‘She asked me the time.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked James.
‘Yes.’
‘Shit… What about the magazine?’
‘I took it,’ said Ellen. ‘I burnt it.’
‘Good.’
The fire crackled and spat in the quiet. ‘Do I look—I mean, don’t I look at all …?’ Ellen faltered.
‘I guess not!’ answered James happily. ‘But then who would ever think of you being here? The end of the world, next stop Antarctica. And a mother-to-be as well.’ He came over and put his arm round her shoulder. ‘You’re free! Today proves it.’ He strode across to a cupboard, stepping over the puppy. ‘I think that’s worth celebrating!’ He pulled out a bottle of champagne and blew off the dust. ‘No ice-bucket I’m afraid, ma’am.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘Oh—while I remember—I saw Dave at the milk bar. He said some of the girls are getting together to have a function for you. Someone’ll be over tomorrow to tell you.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Ellen.
James shrugged. ‘Dunno. Something called a shower—baby shower. Some kind of party, I guess.’ He began tearing the foil cover off the cork.
‘You’re kidding! Well, I’m not going.’
‘Sure you will. How can you say no?’
‘Watch me.’
James put down the bottle and turned towards her, his face hardening. ‘No. You will go. I’m not having you upset the whole place. We live here. Our child’s going to grow up here.’ He spread his hands helplessly. ‘You have to get used to the idea that you’re not special any more. You’re just going to be an ordinary young mother, the same as they are.’ His voice softened. ‘It’s what we wanted, Ellen. What we both wanted. Remember?’ He waited for a response. ‘Do you remember?’ he persisted.
Ellen nodded.
‘What?’ asked James. ‘Tell me what you remember.’
‘We both wanted to get away, to make a new life together. Where we could just be ourselves.’ Her voice was flat, like a child reciting a grown-up poem, only half understood.
‘That’s right,’ said James. ‘That’s why we’re here.’
Ellen bent over from the waist, stretching out her lower back. Her face was hidden by her hair. ‘It’s not that I think I’m special,’ she said slowly, ‘or better than them. It’s just …’ Silence grew after her words, stretching on and on.
‘Well, it’s not a big deal anyway,’ James said finally. ‘You just go along to the party and be nice.You’re good at that kind of thing. Who knows, you might even enjoy it.’ He got two glasses out of the cupboard and dusted them with the untucked end of his shirt. He whistled through his teeth, as he held them up to the light to look for smears. ‘By the way,’ he said suddenly, ‘did Tas stay?’
‘What?’
‘Did Tas stay? Did you ask him in for a drink?’
‘No,’ Ellen answered quickly. ‘I didn’t ask him. You weren’t here, and I thought you wouldn’t want me to.’
James nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. But with Tas—I don’t want him to think we’re not friendly.’ He went on preparing to open the champagne.
Ellen looked at him without answering. The puppy came and sniffed at her feet. Her toes curled under, away from the wet whiskery probing. The puppy was warm and damp. She shut her eyes. A close, animal smell rose up to her and snagged like a scream in her throat.
The cork popped and shot against the roof. The puppy yelped in fear and ran towards the door.
James held up a glass. ‘Here’s cheers,’ he said with a grin. ‘To liberty …’