Peace Valley 1966
Odette rolled the clothes piled on the bed and stowed them in the canvas dilly bag, pushing walking shoes, sand shoes and sandals down the side. A fat blank notebook and a couple of pens, a bag of toiletries, and a squashy hat went in on top, and she zipped it up triumphantly.
‘All packed.’
‘Packed? You just started a couple of minutes ago.’ Elaine came to the door holding a mug of tea and a cigarette. ‘So, the star reporter is taking a holiday. Where does she go? Paris? Rome? Denver? No, northeastern New South Wales. If you want to hide out, why not Tuscany?’
Odette laughed. ‘There isn’t anywhere in the world like Peace Valley, really, Elaine. It could be a wonderful tourist retreat but that’s the last thing we want. Tourists tripping through the rainforest.’
‘You’re not going for the scenery. You’re going after a man.’
‘True. I cannot tell a lie. But don’t tell him.’
‘So how long have you known this Zac person?’
‘Oh, on and off for years. He’s a bit of an elusive butterfly.’
‘The worst kind, Odette. Take the sure things. The predictable steady types. The Zacs of this world break your heart and fly away.’
‘He’s already done that,’ said Odette softly. ‘No, Zac is different. He’s special.’
Elaine rolled her eyes and dragged on her cigarette. ‘You going to try and pin him down?’
‘For my butterfly collection?’ grinned Odette. ‘No, that’s not possible. With Zac you savour and treasure what you can when you can.’ How could she explain that all the moments she had ever spent with Zac were hoarded and stored away like a bagful of glittery little crystals.
‘Well, make the most of your three weeks.’
Odette hitched her bag onto her shoulder. ‘I intend to.’
Since discovering Zac and Peace Valley Odette had thought of little else. Her feature story on the ‘new age tribe’ as people kept referring to them, and the photos of the breathtakingly beautiful Peace Valley had created a stir and the Gazette was flooded with inquiries as to where it was. No one knew, and Odette wasn’t telling.
But like so many of the people who read her article, Odette began to question her own life. Just where was she going? What did she want? She had no answers, but she was drawn to Peace Valley even without the presence of Zac. Somehow they were inextricably mingled. It was fitting that Zac had, for the moment anyway, come to rest in this magical place.
She’d asked for holiday leave and, when she discovered she had time up her sleeve, she realised she hadn’t taken a proper holiday since coming to Sydney. She’d gone back to Amberville to placate Aunt Harriet for a few days and when she’d been overseas she’d tacked a few extra free days onto the end of her assignment. But a real holiday with no plans and no pressure to see or do things . . . what a novel idea. Odette realised, too, she was somewhat burned out. Mentally and physically. Yes, she could find a million good reasons for spending time in Peace Valley. But there was only one that counted — Zac.
Odette left Sydney by train in a raging rainstorm that howled and streamed around the windlashed platforms of Central Station. Outside her window the suburban backyards and industrial backstreets of Redfern and Newtown looked cold and ugly and sad through the curtain of water. But inside the carriage it was cosy and Odette snuggled down in her seat and opened up the paperback copy of The Telltale Heart.
Later she slept and went to the dining car, deciding to indulge in what would probably be her last junk food for several weeks. The reheated meat pie, mashed potato, green pea mush and gravy splashed with tomato sauce tasted wonderful. She washed it down with hot tea and felt not the slightest pang of guilt. She knew the food at Peace Valley was healthy, nutritious, wholesome and occasionally different, but for now, on a rainy day travelling north, cocooned in the capsule of the Daylight Express, a meat pie was essential. To complete the experience, Odette bought a Violet Crumble Bar and went back to her seat to crunch her way through honeycomb and chocolate as she turned the pages of her novel.
The rain was left behind with the city and central coast townships, and they burst into sunshine, grey-green paddocks sprinkled with bleached fallen gum trees, rivers and rolling hills. Odette closed her book, her mind shut down in contemplative enjoyment of the countryside as they rolled steadily north.
It was twilight when she stepped down from the train and saw, striding towards her, the tall lean figure of Zac. His curling hair blew around his shoulders and she could see the whiteness of his teeth as his great smile split his handsome face. He carried a posy of small white flowers which he waved at her.
Her heart hiccuped in a burst of joy as she ran to him and he swung her around in a glad hug.
He thrust the flowers at her, picked up her bag, took her hand and they left the small and quaint country station where the white weatherboard building was hung with bird’s-nest ferns and pots of cheerful yellow marigolds and tumbling nasturtiums.
‘Peace,’ sighed Odette as Zac’s vehicle began to wend its way down the mountain. ‘They sure got the name right for this valley.’
The day was going to sleep, the sun sinking behind the jagged peaks of the ranges, the warm lights from the houses in the valley shining through trees like glow-worms. There was a drifting smell of woodsmoke mingling with the night-blooming flowers, trees rustling faintly as they settled their leafy branches glistening with the first dew. Odette felt she was entering some safe and friendly embrace.
Zac pointed skywards to where the last of the daylight lingered. ‘Find the evening star and make a wish.’
‘I won’t tell you or it won’t come true,’ she answered, closing her eyes and clasping her hands together.
The World War II American army jeep, left-hand drive and no top, swung off the road, bumped across a patch of grassy paddock to the wooden pole house where Zac lived. He parked the jeep under the house.
‘Safe from rain, but not the possums. I’ve often driven off in the morning and found a sleepy possum curled up under the seat,’ he laughed.
Lamps were burning along the verandah and inside the cottage a small fire crackled in the open fireplace, casting a soft glow around the main room that was kitchen, dining and sitting room. A small bedroom and bathroom led off one end and a wide iron-roofed verandah ran around the outside of the house.
‘Zac, this is lovely.’
He smiled. ‘Simple, homey, functional.’
‘Rustically beautiful,’ she added as Zac lit candles. Odette carried her bag into the bedroom where a Japanese futon was rolled out on a small wooden platform, a mosquito net looped above it. Zac appeared softly behind her and wrapped his arms about her.
‘It’s very comfortable.’ He nuzzled her hair. ‘Do you want to eat now, or later?’
Odette clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder, then pulled away and walked towards the fire. ‘I don’t mind.’ She dropped onto the small sofa, suddenly feeling shy.
Zac sat beside her. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I just can’t believe I’m here. Like this.’ She gave a cautious smile. ‘I’ve never stayed with a man before.’
Zac rubbed her hands between his. ‘You’ve brought too much luggage with you.’
‘I have not! One small bag!’
‘I meant that other stuff you carry around; guilt, saying and doing the appropriate thing, making an impression, trying to please people. Just be yourself, Odette. Be selfish. Do what makes you feel good.’
‘I don’t think I know what makes me feel . . . good. I do feel sort of shy and a bit nervous. I know I’m not being natural. Give me a little while to adjust. Maybe the train trip isn’t enough. Maybe you should bring people through some special door or tunnel before they get here — like Alice in Wonderland! Maybe a glass of wine would be a nice idea. I brought you up a bottle of very good claret.’
‘Not yet. Not necessary. I have a better idea.’
Odette wasn’t ready to make love. All the longing and remembering had diminished now that Zac was with her. His strength and powerful masculinity overwhelmed her and, although she hated to admit it, she felt strange.
However, Zac did not start to make love to her. Instead he smoothed her hair. ‘Watch the fire for a little while. Put another log on.’
Odette stretched and stared into the flickering flames, drifting, feeling her mind and body begin to slow and settle. She was aware of Zac making noises in another room and of running water and a sweet smell, but it seemed far away.
‘Come with me.’ Zac was before her and led her into the small bathroom that was warm and steamy, the walls lined with spicy smelling camphor laurel. A bathtub set in the centre of a wooden platform was filled with perfumed water. A floor to ceiling glass window looked out into tropical growth. Zac sat her on the edge of the platform and, kneeling before her, took off her shoes. Wordlessly Odette let him gently take off all her clothes, placing them gently over a wooden rack.
‘Get in, my lovely. It’s not too hot.’
Odette slid into the water which felt soft and smelled of flowers. Zac slipped out of his clothes and stepped in and sat behind her wrapping his arms about her again. She leaned back against his chest and inhaled the flowery oils in the silky water. Zac unpinned her hair and rubbed her head.
‘Such wild, wild curls. I’m glad you didn’t do anything silly like cut your hair.’
‘The fashion editor tried to talk me into it.’
‘Tell me what you’ve been doing.’
As the water cooled, Odette felt her skin soften and body relax and she gave Zac an abbreviated history of her time at the Gazette.
‘So you’ve made it, little bird. Old Fitz must be proud of you.’
Odette smiled. ‘He is rather chuffed. I saw him on my last trip back to Aunt Harriet’s.’
Zac reached to one side of the bath and picked up a small wooden pail. ‘Let me shampoo your hair.’ Gently he trickled the warm water through her thick hair, poured some shampoo into the palm of his hand and began massaging it onto her head.
A woodsy, herbal scent came from the foaming shampoo and Odette closed her eyes in a state of bliss as Zac hummed softly, his long fingers rubbing, caressing and working against her scalp so that it tingled with pleasure.
‘That’s wonderful. I feel sooo relaxed,’ she murmured. ‘Sing to me.’
Zac continued to run his fingers through her soapy curls, moving down her neck and up to the front of her head, singing all the while. His clear voice echoed in the small steamy room as he sang of the secret heart of the forests. Odette listened, lulled by the sound of water, and began to drift and dream.
Eventually Zac roused her, dousing her head with a pail of clear water. He stepped out of the bath, quickly rubbed himself dry and wrapped a towel around his waist. Taking another towel he vigorously rubbed Odette’s head. He then helped her from the bath and made her stand still while he dried her body.
‘Come on back to the fire.’
Obediently Odette followed, holding Zac’s hand like a small child, wondering why she didn’t feel at all embarrassed at walking about stark naked.
Zac pulled a big sheepskin rug before the fire. ‘Lie down on your tummy, arms by your side.’
Odette did so and Zac stoked the fire and put on a record. Soon the strains of a flute could be heard softly in the background. He leant over her and, starting at the base of her head, slowly began to massage her body. Her skin was soft and supple, filmed with the bathoil; Zac’s hands slipped firmly and easily across her skin, kneading and massaging her shoulders and the length of her back.
Odette had never experienced such pleasure, such sheer physical relaxation that was on one hand sensual and on the other made her body feel light and firm all at once. She drifted into a trance-like state of utter happiness.
Then she was aware that Zac’s lips were lightly kissing the back of her thighs, her buttocks, her shoulders and behind her ears. Slowly he rolled her over, kissed her belly, her nipples and, as she reached out for him, his mouth found her lips and their two bodies came together as easily and smoothly as oil flowed over water. She wrapped her legs and arms about him as he strongly but gently moved inside her. Odette never wanted to let him go.
Later, dressed in cotton Japanese kimonos, they sat cross-legged on the floor beside the fire, feasting on big bowls of noodle soup.
While the fire burned down, Zac played his guitar and sang some of the songs he’d been writing since arriving in Peace Valley. Songs of love and hope and peace, of children and nature and joy. They made her laugh and they made her cry.
‘Oh Zac, I wish I could write like you sing.’
Then they slipped into the downy comfort of the futon, tucking the ends of the mosquito net about them and Zac made love to her again. Sleep settled on them like a cloud drifting down to blanket out troubles, dreams and fears.
The days blurred effortlessly into one another. Each was a golden day that began with Zac sleepily reaching out for her to make love, sometimes lazily, sometimes playfully. And while Odette stretched like a cat looking out of the window at the waving trees and swish of colourful birds, Zac squeezed fresh fruit juice and brought her wholemeal toast which they ate in bed.
Some days Odette worked with the women in the studio learning to pot, enjoying the physical sensation of creating with her hands rather than her head. Curving her hands lightly on the lump of clay she gently drew it up from the wheel, trying to fashion a shape that stayed symmetrical. Other days she worked beside Zac, picking the heavy hands of green ladyfinger bananas, or whatever other task he’d set himself.
Over morning tea one day she hesitantly asked the question that had been bothering her for days. ‘Zac, do you get paid for this work? I mean, how do you live? What do you do for money?’
‘No, I don’t get paid for this. I work in exchange for living here. I’m writing songs most of the time. Don’t worry, little bird. Money is a state of mind. It will come along when I need it.’
Some evenings were spent eating with a convivial group at the Rawlings’ house. Odette was fascinated by the lives these people had all led, and how they saw their future and that of their children. Conversation was lively, stimulating and good natured. Always Zac sang at the close of an evening, and Odette realised he was chronicling in song the saga of Peace Valley. Peter Rawlings called him their troubleshooting troubadour.
‘He was a great hit with the film crew we had up here. They say one day he’ll take the world by storm with his music.’
Odette turned to Zac. ‘What film crew?’
Zac looked embarrassed. ‘After your story appeared, some film guy found us. They were a genuine mob, agreed to do what we wanted, so we let them do a documentary about the Valley and what we’re all about.’
‘Really! If it’s done the way you want, that’s great. Who did it? Where’s it being shown?’
Peter Rawlings spoke up. ‘Like letting you do a story, we figured we’d rather have it done properly than lots of half-baked attempts so we let them film us for a couple of weeks. Some English television company. Don’t know what they’re doing with it. They said it might be shown on the ABC here in Australia.’
One morning Zac announced they were going to the beach. ‘It’s only half an hour’s drive. Grab some fruit and a bottle of water and we’ll make a day of it.’
The jeep easily slithered across the sand dunes and came to rest in the shade of a pandanus tree and Zac leapt out. Odette followed him to the top of the dune and caught her breath at the view. The beach stretched for miles in either direction as far as she could see until it disappeared into the hazy sunlight of distant headlands. Long blue-green waves iced in a scatter of whipped cream curled and flattened onto the yellow sand like the breathing of some lazy, living, blue creature. Save for a cluster of wheeling squealing gulls, the beach was empty.
They swam naked, feeling the freedom of the water sliding around their skin, bringing them in contact with their bodies, the sea and the sun. They splashed and chased each other and dived to the sandy bottom holding hands in clear safe water as the breakers surged above them. They played Robinson Crusoe games, following in each other’s footprints on virgin sand. They made love in the hollows of a sand dune, and ate their picnic under the speckled shade of the pandanus palm.
Contentedly Zac stretched out and, arms folded beneath his head, dozed in the dappled light. Odette looked at his smooth skin, tanned a deep olive from the sun, and studied him from the thick dark lashes curling on his cheek, down the tapering length of his slim fine body, to his flawless feet and even, pink toenails.
‘It’s not fair a man should have such a beautiful body even down to perfect feet,’ she thought. And smiled to herself.
As Zac slept Odette rummaged in the cloth bag that held their belongings and pulled out her notebook and pencil. She had been storing away impressions and feelings but hadn’t wanted to write them down in front of Zac as so much of what she felt concerned him. Now she scribbled furiously, just letting emotions and thoughts flow onto the paper. She had no idea what she’d do with these words, if anything at all, but for Odette, writing it down or out was for her the surest form of expression.
She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there when a shiver ran through her body. Not from the air temperature but more some inner tremble. What Aunt Harriet used to refer to as ‘someone walking on my grave’. Odette put her pen and book to one side and stared intently at the ocean. She was warm and comfortable, her thick hair was now dry and tied back with a ribbon. Through her sunglasses the water had a yellow tinge and seemed like a remote and eerie painting.
A few minutes later Odette was suddenly overcome with a desire, no a need, to go back into the ocean. She dropped her glasses and without taking her eyes from the sea walked across the sand. Her mind was asking why was she doing this — she didn’t want to go back in the water.
Without hesitating she walked into the water until she was waist deep. Then, taking a deep breath, she dived down and swam forward, pushing through the water, feeling the rush of a wave pass above her. She swam until she was nearly out of breath, then pushed upwards to burst through the surface of the sea in a spray of droplets, her face towards the sun. She opened her eyes and gasped in surprise, almost panic — she was face to face with a dolphin whose large friendly eyes were studying her. It was so close she could have reached out and touched its broad head and beaky nose, but before she could make a move it flipped beneath her and disappeared.
Odette, treading water, spun and looked over her shoulder to find three more dolphins arching and cruising between her and the shore. One glided in close, regarding her with a knowing expression, another swam beneath her, surfacing and rolling in front of her.
‘You want to play,’ cried Odette and dived down and turned on her side to see her companions, curving and plunging around her. She shot to the surface again, bursting from the water with a shout of laughter. She reached out her arms and they swept past her, tantalisingly out of fingertip reach. They were so graceful, so joyous, so beautiful, Odette thought her heart would burst. She looked to the distant shore trying to see if Zac was awake. She shouted at the top of her voice. ‘Zac!’ And in a second the sea was empty.
‘Oh, don’t go away!’ She looked around and swam a little further out to sea, calling to the dolphins. Then some instinct made her stay still and wait. Calmly she floated on her back, bobbing gently as the swells passed by on their way to break on the beach.
They came back, appearing beside her with no warning. They were just there. Tears came to Odette’s eyes as they circled and curved about her. She simply watched them, then in unison they leapt together in a perfect arch clear out of the water, splashing back down with a strange clicking noise, flicked their tails and were gone.
Odette swam slowly back to shore and stood for a moment on the beach looking out to sea — her companions were gone.
Zac was sitting up hugging his knees. Odette ran to him and threw herself into his arms, falling back on the sand. ‘Zac, you’ll never guess what happened. Did you see? It was magic. Oh Zac!’
She was crying and laughing and he hugged her. ‘Yes, I saw. The dolphins came to you.’
‘Why didn’t you come in too? They were playing with me, I swear it, Zac. They played with me.’
‘It was your time to be with them. I’ve swum with them before. They come when you are ready. If I had gone in they might have left. They are more feminine creatures and respond better to women than to men.’
‘What do you mean, when you are ready?’
‘When your mind and heart are opening to other channels, to hear and consider other thoughts and possibilities.’
‘Now you’re not going to tell me they’re from outer space or are some higher beings and lay some weird mumbo jumbo on me.’
‘Oh, Odette, what am I going to do with you, ever the cynical journalist!’ laughed Zac. ‘No, of course not. Though there are plenty of people who believe that dolphins have a bigger brain than us so operate on a higher plane of intelligence and consciousness. No, they are just beautiful and special creatures of the sea and you have had a special and beautiful experience. How that affects your life is up to you.’
As the jeep bounced back towards the valley, with its top down and noisy engine making conversation difficult, Odette was thoughtful. It had been a moving and joyous experience and strangely, one she wanted to keep to herself and for once not write about. Maybe her time here was changing her. She felt the direction and aims of her life shifting subtly and although it was partly to do with Zac, somehow she felt she was coming to a crossroads in her life.
A few days later, while working on the potter’s wheel with an uncooperative lump of clay, Odette stopped the wheel, broke off a piece of clay and began to work it with her hands, swiftly, deftly, surely fashioning a simple shape. Ruth Rawlings stopped beside her. ‘Why, Odette, that’s lovely.’
Odette looked down at the perfect arching dolphin, the wet shining clay making it look as if it had just leapt from the sea. ‘It just sort of happened.’
‘Ah, I see. You went to the beach the other day — did you see the dolphins?’
‘Yes. I did. Are they always there?’
‘Always there but not always seen. They come to you when you’re ready.’
‘That’s what Zac said. It was so strange, I just felt I was being drawn, or called, into the water. I haven’t always been that fond of the water to tell you the truth. My parents drowned.’
Ruth placed her hand on Odette’s shoulder and her fingers squeezed sympathetically. ‘How sad. The sea can be a beautiful place but sometimes treacherous. Here we like to consider it a place where we can find some special friends. You must come back when the whales head north to their breeding grounds. Though it’s better when they’re heading back south again, then they take time out to play.’
‘How lovely. We only seem to have sharks in Sydney.’
Ruth laughed. ‘And they’re not all in the sea either! Now, Odette, seeing as you are proving to be so adept with your hands I think it’s time you learned to bake bread. I’m just off to do some, I’ll show you.’
Odette carefully laid her dolphin on a shelf to dry. ‘Bread! They’re not going to believe this back at the Gazette.’
‘It’s a full moon tomorrow night,’ announced Zac consulting the moon chart that hung behind the toilet door.
‘Oh, do we go out and bay, chant or go mad?’ Odette replied, laughing.
‘You can do all of that if you want, but it’s where we’re going that’s important. You’re getting too indolent. Tomorrow night we’ll climb Mt Warning and watch the sunrise.’
‘But that’s high. And steep!’
‘And worth it. We’ll have to leave in the middle of the night to get to the base by three in the morning. It’s over three thousand feet so a good two-hour climb or longer, depending on how you go,’ he said with a quizzical grin.
‘I’ll be right on your heels, Zac, even if it kills me.’
Odette began to think the climb just might. They’d arrived at the base in darkness, left the Jeep and started along the winding track that began wending slowly upwards. Approaching the sharp peak with its strange bulbous knob on top, the mountain looked formidable and unassailable etched against the bright moonlit sky.
They started walking, Zac in front with a small backpack and both with a torch, for the rainforest canopy around the mountain had closed off the moon’s light. He explained to her the mystical significance of the peak which the Aborigines called Wollumbin — the cloud catcher — for the peak was shrouded in mist most of the year. Many people believed Mt Warning, Cape Byron and Murwillumbah formed a basin which held within it a source of powerful creative and positive energies. Captain Cook had named the peak to alert sailors to the reefs off Point Danger when his Endeavour was almost wrecked there in 1770.
‘The first white people who did this climb was a party in 1868. A couple of years later, a botanist, Guilfoyle, went up but it took him three and half days,’ said Zac.
‘I can see why,’ panted Odette, peeling off her sweater and knotting it around her hips.
‘Let’s take a break. You’ll need that jumper later, it’s freezing up at the top.’ Zac handed her the bottle from his pack. She sipped gratefully. ‘Turn your torch out,’ whispered Zac.
They sat in the darkness and as her eyes adjusted Odette saw in the hillside next to her a cluster of luminous glow-worms. Then came a busy rustling and Zac turned his torch on, swinging it to the side to reveal in the yellow light a small marsupial blinking its large eyes in surprise.
‘What is it . . . a mouse or a possum?’
‘It’s a potoroo . . . some people say that kangaroos descended from this little fellow. The other scratchings were probably from marsupial mice, bush rats or bandicoots. We’ll see more in the daylight on the way back down.’
They talked little as the track got steeper, winding around and around the mountain. Occasionally, through a break in the rainforest, Odette saw the full moon, large and low, and felt she’d pass it on her climb to the peak.
Just when she’d got to the point of thinking she could go no further, they came to the final stage of the ascent. A sheer rock face confronted her.
‘Now what?’ asked Odette trying to catch her breath.
‘Shine your torch to the side. There are metal spikes in the rock crevices and a chain between them, pull yourself up using the chain and keep your feet flat against the rock face.’
These last couple of hundred yards were the hardest and then, they were there, sitting on top of a volcano that had erupted twenty million years ago and was frozen in time. The first streaks of piccaninny light bleached the night sky. Odette shivered as a cold breeze came up and she was glad to pull on her jumper.
Zac pointed to the coast where a distant ribbon of lights glittered. Directly beneath them white mist floated, blanketing the valleys of the Tweed Basin. Then suddenly, far on the horizon, burned the first red and gold rays of the sun.
Soon the blazing rim of the sun thrust a curve in the straight line of the horizon. Zac nudged Odette to look behind them. The full moon was sinking behind the mountains in a sky of gentle lavender and pinks. Before them the new day seemed to emerge from the sea, burning bright, with an intensity that was awesome.
‘We’re lucky it’s a clear morning; so often you get up here and the view is ruined by the mist, especially in the wet season.’
Like an artist laying in a painting, the sun splashed colours on the drifty silver mist, steadily banishing it to deeper and darker hollows. Now revealed were the lush green valleys stretching to the coast. As the sun rose swiftly higher, the distinctive shadow of Mt Warning was thrown across onto the ranges behind them. Impulsively Odette jumped up and down to wave, hoping she’d see her shadow too on the grey-green carpet of mountain forest. Then she collapsed in laughter at her morning madness.
Zac laughed and hugged her. They sat down on a rock and opened a packet of biscuits.
‘What else have you got in that bag of yours?’ Odette munched gratefully.
‘No hot tea I’m afraid. That can wait. So can the champagne, we’ll just celebrate with a kiss.’
On top of that peak, seen for hundreds of miles, the two kissed and Odette felt they were alone in the world.
‘Thank you, Zac. For everything.’
On the climb back down, morning light filtered through the trees of flooded gum, brush box and blackbutt, and they caught a glimpse of a sugar glider swooping home to hang upside down in a branch after a night of fruit hunting. The dawn chorus of the mountain birds had filled the air with an unbelievable volume of music and now they saw them, darting among the branches. A fat and unconcerned brush turkey marched ahead of them. Hearing an unusual call and scratching noises off the path, Zac and Odette parted some foliage to see in a small clearing a brown bird busily scratching leaves into a pile.
‘It’s an Albert lyrebird. They don’t have the big harp tail, but are rare. It’s considered a lucky omen to see one,’ whispered Zac.
They took much longer than two hours to reach the base of the mountain and if it hadn’t been for the siren call of tea and toast from the Murwillumbah Cafe, Odette could have stayed in the bush all day. But the cafe had to wait.
As they walked through the rainforest encircling the mountain, Zac took her hand and plunged from the track into the thickness of the undergrowth. In seconds they were in a lost land. Time ceased, centuries seemed but seconds when surrounded by the towering ancient trees. Moss-draped vines formed curtains between trees that were themselves covered with lichen, moss and sucker plants. On skeletons of fallen logs grew ferns and strangely coloured, weirdly shaped fungi. The light was soft green and misty and the pungent smell of rotting vegetation, dank earth and slow and eternal growth, was rich and sweet.
‘It’s like a fairy-tale movie set. But better,’ said Odette, her voice rasping with sudden emotion. She felt she was going to cry.
‘Could you do one last climb? I have a secret place.’
‘Climb? My legs are wobbly. Where?’
Zac pointed to the top of the tree canopy. ‘Up there.’
Taking her hand he led her to the base of an amazing tree. To Odette it looked like a filigree pillar stretching to heaven. A crisscrossed weaving of old fat vines stood like some abstract latticework ladder.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a strangler fig. A bird dropped a seed in the branches of a tree, it germinated, sent a shoot to the ground then more shoots grew around the host tree. The strangled tree finally rotted away leaving the fig with a hollow centre. See, it’s like a lacy ladder. Follow me. I’ve climbed this one before.’
He reached out and helped her swing up into the tree. Odette was surprised at the strength of the twisted strangler vines. Slowly she followed Zac up the strange climbing frame.
‘Don’t look down,’ called Zac over his shoulder, watching Odette carefully following him, placing hand and foot where he did.
They climbed past the tree ferns to about twenty feet above the ground, where several loops of the vine grew together making a safe platform — a natural treehouse. Zac sat down and helped Odette squeeze in beside him.
‘There. Isn’t this amazing?’
Odette looked around her. Although the trees surrounding them still soared far up to make the canopy of the rainforest, she felt she was floating in green space. The air was moist and warm, and overhead was a thatched roof where smaller trees and vines interlaced, a green world protected from the sun’s harsh light by the umbrella of tree giants.
‘I feel like a bird in a nest. This is heavenly. Some treehouse, Zac.’
‘It’s a magical place all right. We must keep it this way.’
‘Well, it’s been here for centuries.’
‘This place has. But man has bitten into so many rainforests. They look strong but it’s a fragile balance in here. Once you chop into it, or make any change, it starts to die. It never comes back the way it was. These forests are the lungs of the earth. All the secrets of life are here. We just haven’t found them all yet.’
‘I know what you mean. Remember the Brush, the little patch of rainforest you first took me to in Amberville? When I last went back it had started to change. They’d cleared a picnic area, chopped down some trees trying to get rid of the flying foxes, and made it more accessible to the public. They’re ruining it. Why do we have to change everything? Why can’t we accept some things and leave them just as they are?’
‘That’s not human nature, Odette. Even you can’t always accept things just as they are, you want to change things sometimes.’
‘Like what?’
Zac took her hand. ‘Like me. What we have is special. But it will never be enough for you, because I won’t change to fit into your life or your world.’
‘But I can fit into yours,’ protested Odette.
‘It wouldn’t last, little bird.’ Zac took her hand and studied her palm. ‘And it says here, you will follow a very different path to me.’
‘What does it say?’ Odette asked in a small voice. She knew Zac was telling her something important.
‘My gypsy family told you that you had a definite path that will lead you to success and you must follow that or you will be frustrated. You have a gift and you must use it. Your heart line leads to happiness after a small detour and links back to its beginning.’
‘You’re telling me you are a small detour?’
He curled her hand closed and looked into her eyes. ‘I’m telling you that you are special to me, there will only ever be you in my life, but not so in yours. Don’t try to understand or question this, Odette. There is someone who will make you happy. But it is not to be me.’
‘Zac, why not?’ Odette started to cry like a little girl. ‘I don’t understand. I won’t ever love anyone but you,’ she added fiercely.
Zac smiled and smoothed her hair like a father settling down a small child after a tempestuous outburst.
‘Yes you will, Odette. I have been your first love and that is always special. Just remember that.’
‘You make it sound like it’s over.’ She stopped crying but felt immeasurably sad.
‘What we have doesn’t just go away. I’ll always be with you. Now come on, down we go to tea and toast. Let me go first.’
Odette concentrated on the climb back down, peering into what had been the body of an ancient and massive tree, killed by the arms that had hugged it to extinction in a deathly embrace. Vaguely she wondered if it was possible to love so much that you smothered the one you loved.
By the time she was tucking into raisin toast dripping with butter, and a pot of strong tea, Zac had restored her cheerful spirits with his chatter and a silly song sung softly across the table.
While nothing seemed to change over the next few days, Odette realised thoughts of her other life were creeping in and she found herself wondering what was happening in the outside world. The more she thought of that other world, the more her thoughts turned to her future. Just where was she going? What was she going back to?
Her experience on the mountain had opened up something within her and with great clarity she saw her future did not include Zac. Not as a life partner, although they had a special and spiritual connection, but somewhere there was another love waiting. Painful as it was, she realised she had to let go of Zac and put him in another context in her life. However, thoughts of returning to the familiarity of her previous routine disturbed and bored her. More and more she was feeling the lure of travel. New places, new people, new scenery, new challenges. A change would help the healing process, she decided. Was it running away? No, it was spreading her wings. The idea excited her.
She had her bags packed when Zac returned to the cottage later that day.
His gaze fell on the canvas bag by the door. ‘So. It’s time, little bird.’
‘Yes, Zac. I’m leaving. I’m going to travel a bit. Go abroad, I’ve decided.’
He nodded. ‘A good idea.’
He waited with her for the train and gave her a swift hug, whispering in her ear, ‘Fly high and safe. You know I’m always part of your life.’
‘Yes, Zac. But not in the way I want. I need a little time to . . . readjust.’
As the train trundled south Odette scribbled the names of cities and countries on a piece of paper, realising there was a whole world to see. Too hard, she decided, so closed her eyes and stabbed her finger at the list. When she looked down she was pointing to Italy.
Florence. That was as good a place as any to start. She started making plans. She’d be gone before she had the chance to change her mind.
Two months later Odette travelled from Italy to Greece and then, needing money and wanting the stimulation of work, she went to London. Fleet Street, the mecca of journalists, beckoned. She rang the Gazette and its sister newspaper the Daily Telegraph and told them she was in London and they put her in touch with their bureau, anxious she start filing stories as soon as she could.
Her reports for the magazine and newspaper from London were assiduously followed in Australia and she soon made a name for herself in Fleet Street as a feature writer for Lord Northcliffe’s string of newspapers.
The era of the swinging sixties in London was fun and stimulating and as the decade of the seventies approached, she felt a new age was indeed around the corner.
After nearly five years Odette didn’t make a conscious decision to return to Australia, but she was longing for blue skies, sunshine, warm surf and cold beer. Her bones had begun to feel constantly damp, it had been a miserable winter. She began to think she’d done every type of story Britain had to offer.
She rang Aunt Harriet on a periodic check-in, for unlike her methodical aunt who wrote every three weeks, Odette found the phone was more convenient, if expensive.
They exchanged pleasantries, news of the weather and suddenly Aunt Harriet asked when she might be heading back home.
‘I haven’t any plans, though I have been thinking about coming home.’
‘I wish you would. I think there’s a story you should do.’
Odette groaned inwardly. ‘Give me the gist of it, this is long distance, remember.’ She didn’t have a lot of faith in her aunt’s news sense.
In the lounge room of the little house in Amberville, Aunt Harriet drew a deep breath and spoke as fast as she could.
‘Mrs Bramble from next door to your parents’ home in Kincaid wants your help. Some group of developers want to pull down Zanana and chop up the land. She wants you to do a story and save it.’
At that instant Odette came to a conclusion.
‘Do you want to know the details, dear?’
‘Not at the moment, Aunt Harriet.’
There was no point. Odette knew she had to leave. To save Zanana.