DONKEYS RUN
THE MINES
by
Peter Maitland-Smith
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PUBLISHED BY CHARGAN AT SMASHWORDS
This book available in print from
www.chargan.com
Donkeys Run - The Mines
Copyright © 2011 Peter Maitland-Smith
ISBN: 978-1-4581-6818-4
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Peter Maitland-Smith has asserted his right under the Copyright Act 1968 to be identified as the author of this work.
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Contents
Demeaning herself unnecessarily
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Soapy
Glassy
Soapy
Glassy
His heart jumped! Another one!
Bigger. Not as pink but bigger.
He almost began to whimper in excitement. He didn’t need any more proof, but he couldn’t help himself. Just a couple more and he could stop. Maybe. He knew stream bed sampling in this sector would he his vindication. He made a personal log entry. Time, date, year. 1978.
“Who’s the expert now you wheezing old bastard?” he asked softly to himself. Standing stiffly he looked around him, scarcely noticing the panorama of his surrounds. He had been here too long to consider it scenic. It was the isolation that appealed to him the most. This wilderness was his home. The wilderness and these. Turning the slightly grubby pebbles over in his hand he smiled inwardly. Looking up again, he cast his eyes down the snaking riverbed. It tumbled over rocks, and meandered out of sight down a gradual decline; this section alone must at least half a kilometre long.
‘God knows how many more are here. Trapped, waiting for me.’
He chuckled, but stopped abruptly when he realised he had. Enough for now. He would keep these for proof, when he got back to camp. Well, he would show some as proof, not all, not the deepest, prettiest ones. They would be hidden for later. He chuckled again, and stopped just as abruptly. This time he heard something and froze. What was that? Inclining his head to the wind he waited. There it was again! It sounded like someone singing. Singing!! Not possible. How could this be? No other human ever came anywhere near here.
In near panic he bundled the pebbles into his pocket and cast his eyes over the sprawling landscape, narrowing his eyes to make out any movement. Nothing. He ran to his four wheel drive utility and grabbed a pair of binoculars off the front seat. That sound wasn't a vehicle. No animal he knew of could make that noise. It had to be human. Climbing onto a moderately high rock, he cast his eyes around slowly again. His stomach lurching, he saw it. Way off, it looked like a solitary figure. ‘Walking. Out here?’ He raised his binoculars and brought the figure into sharper focus.
A bearded man. Alone.
‘What the hell!?’
Whoever it was, he was not lost, that much was obvious. This guy was too relaxed. He looked like he lived here. ‘Lived here? This is not bloody good.’ Lived where? There were no settlements anywhere near here, no camps, nothing. This bloke looked white! There could be no one else that knew about this. Peering at the indistinct figure about a kilometre away, he noticed he kept looking down into the long grass. Scanning the grass it was possible to see the tiny shape of a dog. So he wasn’t totally alone. He looked like he had a rifle over his shoulder. But he was walking away from the river though, so was no immediate threat. What he was doing here and where he was going was a puzzle, but not a problem at the moment. He could still get out of here and get back to the main camp by tomorrow afternoon.
If he came across the lone hiker in that time he'd kill him.
Time to pack up.
Unzipping his fly, and fiddling into position, David urinated onto a broad, dry and bustling ant hole. Amused at the reaction of the frantic oversized black ants, he moved his hips and splash bombed them in a wet loopy pattern. He quickly became less amused as they started swarming in panic over his feet and open sandals, which they had largely ignored, pre-deluge. Retreating backwards flicking and stamping his feet, still maintaining finger grip on his hose, he uncomfortably stepped into a spiny stunted bush and sprayed his sandals and part of his left leg in painful surprise.
“Bugger!” he cursed, reeling in and zipping up, careful not to catch anything.
Rubbing the back of his bare legs, he checked his feet once more for ants, gave them both another flick to be sure, and checked the front of his shorts for any tell-tales spots. ‘No-one would pick up a hitch-hiker who looked as if he had pissed himself,’ he thought.
Dry. He was relieved all round.
Some composure intact he turned and walked through the coarse undergrowth, back to the roadside, and the back of his travelling companion standing sentry, watching for any benevolent transport. Sitting on the gravel beside his bag of belongings, David looked around in a broad semi-circle at the ominously still landscape that dwarfed them. It was obvious there had been some late rain here. There was a little green pasture scattered about in sparse abundance, which was such a contrast to where they were returning. Western Australia’s mid-west rarely rained anything but dust.
Up there in the desert, as his mother continually clucked sadly for her only son. Thinking of his mother made him smile fondly. Such a gentle, simple, lonely lady. He did miss her. It took these infrequent trips back to the city to make him realise how much. He missed his whole family, even his father.
Recalling now, the past week that he had spent with them he smiled a little more broadly at his family’s individual reactions to his mate and travelling companion. His eldest sister was the most outspoken in her disapproval.
“What’s wrong with him David?” Jane had demanded to know in the kitchen of the family home, one morning early in their stay.
“He’s so ... so bloody sullen! He doesn’t talk. Or when he does, it’s a grunt. Is he perpetually upset or what?”
“Who dear?” enquired their mother, a little concerned as she entered the room on the tail end of the query. She thought, apprehensively, that her children had been talking about their father again.
“Boof,” David said before Jane could answer.
Both his sister and his mother had stared at him in mild surprise.
“BOOF! What a bloody good name for him!” snorted Jane derisively.
“Perfect!”
“Don’t swear Jane dear,” her mother had admonished gently as she filled the kettle. “I do prefer Simon, I think David. Where is he by the way?”
“Helping Dad do something to the boat” David replied, opening the refrigerator. “Funny, he didn’t ask me to help too”. He smiled good-naturedly knowing his family would not miss his point.
“They should get on real well” Jane said a little strongly. “Made for each other I’d say”.
“Janie, please. Daddy has been working very hard lately. You know that.” Mother had admonished her gently again, shooing her away from the cupboard where the cups were kept.
“You’ve been telling us that for 23 years Mum.” Jane said defensively, but without force.
“26 years!” corrected David with a smile. He was older. Almost 27.
“I’ll ask them if they want some tea.” Mother had stated, ignoring her offspring and exited via the patio door.
Jane and David had watched her walk down the lawn to the small jetty of their riverside home.
“She never changes does she?” David had commented softly. “Still defending the obnoxious old sod.”
“No. Still a door mat to the grouchy, uncouth old fart.” Jane spat venomously. “All the money and comfort in the world and so lonely and used up.”
“You had another run-in with the old man?” David asked, as he had helped himself to some leftover trifle.
“Yeah. He still can’t understand why I didn’t do typing, or hairdressing, instead of Zoology at Uni. He thinks the only places zoologists get work is in zoos or in Africa!” she had replied in frustration.
Laughing, David had remembered his own experiences when he had announced he was going to study Chemistry, rather than enter the family hardware and plumbing business. Both his parents thought chemists wore white coats, dispensed pills and potions, and sold jelly beans.
“No. They’re pharmacists.” he had told them and went on to explain. They weren’t convinced.
His mother was absolutely appalled, when years later; he achieved his degree and was offered a job in the mining industry almost straight away. She never really came to grips with the fact he preferred to go and live up there in the desert when she was convinced he could have his own little shop giving advice on the pill and what brand of toothpaste to use.
“Here they come.” Jane had announced, watching the two male figures walking up the small jetty, with mother dutifully two steps behind. “The cheer squad!” She sneered the word, “cheer”. David’s’ friend was dark. Very dark. Thick, dark, wavy to curly hair, with a neat two day growth. About 6ft tall Jane estimated, as he was only slightly taller than the bulkier, older frame of her father. He was lean too, she had thought, and muscular. He moved with an easy physical confidence. Jane liked his style, and grudgingly admitted to herself that she found him attractive. He certainly was not a Boofhead as his nickname might suggest. In fact he was almost fine featured. With his colouring he could pass for an Italian actor rather than a truck driving labourer. Jane had stopped herself from watching him any further; she was determined not to like him. Though she couldn’t help wondering what he would look like with his shirt off.
Perhaps she had been peeved that he had not so much as acknowledged her existence, let alone show any natural interest in her. If the gawking and constant attention she received from her male uni colleagues was anything to go by, she certainly was not unattractive herself. Perhaps it was that she expected a reaction and was unsettled to not have gotten one. She had shrugged it all off though. ‘Who cares? He’s an oaf like Dad anyway.’ she had thought.
While Simon and her father had washed up in the laundry, and mother had set the table for morning tea, Jane turned to watch her brother make the brew. She loved David. He was the ideal big brother. Funny, smart, protective, patient and seemingly never unhappy. She could always rely on him to lift her spirits. It saddened her to think he would soon return to the mining camp in the desert, and she wouldn’t see him again for another protracted period of time.
“Gerry is going to hate you being away again.” She’d said wistfully. Their youngest sister Geraldine was away boarding at a country riding school for her school holidays.
“Yeah, me too.” David had replied. “I’ll make it up to her when I’m down again. Hopefully for good this time.”
“I’ve heard this before.” Jane said. “If you hate it so much, why do it?”
“Money’s better up there than down here ...”
“I’ve heard all that before too!”
Knowingly, David had smiled back at her as he had tinkered with the teapot.
“I s’pose your mate loves it.” Jane said as if David should think the comment went without saying.
“How on earth did you two form the buddy thing? You and Biff, you’re total opposites!” she continued, on some new line of thought.
“Boof,” David had corrected.
“Simon. Yeah, him!” she waved his correction aside. “You don’t seem to have a single thing in common. Besides the mine”
A raised finger silenced her. Simon and her father had walked into the dining room.
“He’s a bit hard to get to know. I’ll tell you about him sometime.” David whispered to her conspiratorially, as he passed with the tray of teapot and strainer.
“Can’t wait!” Jane had said sarcastically, but also a little embarrassed that her brother had seen through her interest in Simon. She still could not see how someone as outgoing and sociable as David could tolerate the company of an off-hand truck driver like Biff, Boof, Simon, or whatever his bloody name was.
Many of Jane’s friends still asked after David in longing tones of adoration. No one could believe he would waste himself by taking off for the discomfort of the desert for such lengthy periods. Few of them called at the house now they knew David wasn’t there any longer. Besides, it may not always be pleasant company that they would encounter. After all, Jane’s father did own the house and had a perfect right to be there occasionally. But even he could be endured if David happened to be around. He was far too good looking to be a boy, Jane thought. A boy. That was it, wasn’t it? His blonde sandy hair, ageless face, and cheeky cherubic grin, with those lovely lively blue eyes. It was no wonder he could charm the ladies, of all ages.
It wasn’t just his looks though, Jane knew that. He had their mother’s gentle nature too. He didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. ‘Not like you!’ Jane thought as she approached the table to sit down and looked across at Simon. ‘There is something sinister and dangerous about you.’
As if sensing her scrutiny, Boof had looked up and transfixed her with fiery, depthless dark eyes. Jane had caught her breath and barely heard her name being called.
“Uh! What?” she stammered, looking across at David, thankful for the distraction.
“Can you run us out to Midland later in the week? We can get a ride from there.” David had asked already knowing what the answer would be.
“Yeah, sure.” Jane had said, not looking up at Boof again. “Do it before I go to work.” She had a job in her mother’s best friend’s boutique for the semester holidays.
’Maybe I should have been a mechanic instead of a chemist.’ David thought now, as he sat on the roadside. ‘Maybe Dad and I would get on better.’ Though he doubted it really. He and his father didn’t exactly dislike each other, they were just different. Besides, David couldn’t stand motors and stuff like that. Not that he couldn’t fix things if he had to, it just bored him to do it. He liked things his father couldn’t understand, and couldn’t understand the things his father liked. Or was it the other way around? Maybe his father and Boof would have been a better combination. Though David doubted that too. He had known Boof off and on for years and still had no real inkling as to what made the older man tick. Boof was as much a mystery to him now as he was when they had met all those years ago in England where they had both been on holidays.
David had taken a year off after his graduation, and met this fellow Aussie working in a holiday camp on the English seaside. Boof then, as indeed he was now, even when surrounded by people; seemed totally alone, and enjoyed it that way. However, different circumstances throw different personalities together. David, as usual, had done most of the talking, and never would have understood that his presence was not welcomed. Initially anyway. Later they had bought a van between them, formed an unlikely travelling union, though David had never taken time to rationalise it away anymore. He just knew that he was the closest thing to a friend that Boof would tolerate.
Looking at the motionless figure standing on the bitumen's edge, David wondered about Boof again. He’d been wondering about Boof on and off for years. Rationalising or analysing the quiet one wasn’t a worthwhile exercise. ‘Why hadn’t Boof joined the army,’ David wondered? It struck him those men like Boof probably made ideal warriors. Though he answered that question himself. He knew Boof would never tolerate the regimen or the subservience required of military service. He was the classic loner with his own agenda, and he rarely tolerated compromise. Smiling inwardly, David remembered seeing his first Clint Eastwood spaghetti western on video at the mine-site, and how similar the cowboy with no name seemed to Boof.
Only Boof didn’t ride a horse, he had a four wheel drive that he probably was just as close to. Boof had a knack with machines, in fact all things mechanical it seemed. He drove the huge haul-packs that carried ore from the open cut to the crushers. He loved it, and it suited him. Solitary, in command of an immense source of raw power, alone for most of the day with little or no supervision. At the wheel of one of those automotive monsters Boof would be in his element, with little interference and the time to think about... What? God knows what he thought about! Maybe he thought about his plans for the big mysterious trip he had planned early in the New Year.
David had felt a little miffed he hadn’t been invited to go along, though he wasn’t surprised. He knew one thing. It wasn’t simply some four wheel drive into the scrub for the weekend. Planning and preparing for this mystery tour took up a lot of Boofs time, and was one of the reasons they were now hitch-hiking back to Pinimberra. The precious Land Cruiser had been left in Perth to undergo some modifications that could not be done elsewhere in Western Australia. ‘Boof the warrior and his four wheel drive charger off to do God knows what, God knows where!’ Smiling at this thought, David could imagine how Boof would react to such a comment. Typically with no reaction at all. Just impale you with that fierce squint and those riveting eyes. Humourless bugger really, David thought.
In all the years he had known him, David had never seen or heard him laugh once. Smile, sometimes perhaps. But nothing that could pass for a good old knee slapping belly laugh, not even a big face creasing chuckle. Just squinted, rain hail or shine and blasted people with the intensity of his stare. People for the most part, avoided him after meeting him. His disdain for most people’s company was obvious.
There were also the rumours. His past was supposed to be littered with horrible episodes of vicious violence and almost gothic mystery. Nearly everybody had a story about him; which was amazing, because so few knew him at all! Certainly he was not beyond the odd altercation with some of the tough nuts he came in contact with, and he was well known to be as hard as nails when he played in the local football club matches. David had seen firsthand a lot of situations where Boof stood his ground in seemingly unwinnable circumstances, and either bluff his way out, or put the opposition in hospital. He had spent at least four nights in overnight police detention for fighting and had been charged with assault once that David knew of. Those charges had been dropped at the last minute.
David didn’t know a lot about Boof’s early background apart from what he reluctantly offered when he was asked, pushed and prodded into divulging. His parents were apparently into mixed farming of some sort, mainly wheat, David remembered. Some sheep and beef also.
Why Boof hadn’t chosen to stay on the land himself, David didn’t know. ‘He’s a smart bugger, so he probably did well at school.’ David thought. He had seen his mate’s library, and a lot of it was over David’s head, and he was incredibly well educated! From where he stood, with his usual uncanny knack for knowing he was being scrutinised, Boof turned slowly and squinted at David. Feeling slightly silly and not knowing why, he strolled over, asking “What are the chances of getting a ride all the way back d’ya think?”
“Good,” was the simple reply.
Their first ride had deposited them about two hundred kilometres out of Perth on the highway that led to all points north. They had risen early. Too early for David’s sister, who needed to be threatened in order to get her out of bed. David had suggested that perhaps she would prefer being tipped onto the floor by Boof, which resulted in almost immediate acquiescence.
Suspecting that ‘Biff’ would have no qualms whatever at doing David’s bidding. Jane blearily shuffled about dressing, protesting softly.
Already up and preparing sandwiches and drinks for the trip back to the Pinimberra mine, David’s mother fussed and hovered, to make sure the boys were not leaving anything behind. His father was still asleep long after they had left, and long after his mother had finished gently weeping on the front porch.
As they drove out of the city, David made up his mind to really spoil his mother with attention the next time he came back. Jane left them on the outskirts of the city and they picked up a ride almost straight away. It was that ride that had rather hurriedly deposited them where they now languished in the increasing heat of the day.
David had been caught being a little too friendly with the driver’s girlfriend in the back of the Kombi while she was attempting to make some lunch for them all. That in itself wasn’t so bad, David thought, but the driver; big bad Trev’, had dragged him bodily out of the camper and just about slapped his head off his shoulders before Boof intervened.
Browning wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Jesus, it never lets up does it?”
“Eh?”
“Nothing. Just talking to myself”
“Weather whinging”
“Yeah”
“How long has it been this time, Alan? Couple of months?”
Alan Browning sat thoughtfully for a few seconds. The metal survey tape shone flatly, stretching away in the centre of his line of sight. It seemed they had been surveying this grid for a week, though it had only been four hours.
“Twelve weeks on the dot, tomorrow lunch time,” he answered slowly, turning to consider his companion.
“Christ! No wonder you’re ready for a break. It doesn’t pay to work over your rec. leave.”
“When was the last time you went to Perth? Or Darwin? You’ve been here since I came up!”
There was a pause.
“Yeah, well I don’t work outside all day every day like you guys do. The physical exertion isn’t there in the same way.”
“You can say that again,” Browning snorted. Chortling he added, “You sit around in your air conditioned kennel all day getting calluses on your bum!”
There was no rejoinder, apart from some good-natured chuckling.
“Why are you here, Darren?” asked Browning. “Don’t you trust the contract help to do their stuff proper? You checkin’ on me Master?”
Darren Hillhouse was crouching; one knee raised supporting a pad that he pencilled figures onto.
“No, mate,” pushing himself upright. “I’ve known you long enough to know you’re only totally dishonest. Just thought I’d come out and lap up some of the soggy sunshine. Give my calluses a rest.” He read the tape.
Browning gathered up the theodolite and tripod, looking at Hillhouse. It had been a long time. Nearly seven years. Hillhouse had been a lecturer then, aching for a change. Well he certainly got it. It came in the form of a unique opportunity with the Banford Joint Venture. They wanted a numbers man with organisational skill to run a field crew and exploration team. Their leases in the Kimberleys were extensive and had yielded some more than promising results. Through his predecessor and his own efforts, the Joint Venture was poised to make history and put Australia to the forefront of diamond producing nations in the world.
‘How old is he?’ Browning thought. Must be mid fifties easily.
He looked middle aged when he was a part of the Geology unit at the Institute. Though he looked at home here. Suntanned, hatless, deep smile lines in his rugged bland sort of face. A bit podgy around the middle maybe, but he looked as fit as a bull. It was a shame he sucked those horrible French cigarettes into himself. Hillhouse dropped the tape reel into the back of the Land Cruiser parked under a tree nearby. He could feel Brownings scrutiny, and wondered what questions were forming in that inquisitive mind that he wouldn’t want to answer.
“I never thought you’d leave the Institute you know.” Hillhouse felt slightly relieved as Browning went on, “I couldn’t believe my ears when they told me you were boss cocky up here.”
“Why is it so surprising?” Hillhouse asked, “I’d been a working geologist for eighteen years before the Institute.”
“Yeah, I know. We all knew that. But you just seemed so settled in as a lecturer. You know, I thought maybe you’d climbed all your hills and dug all your holes. Besides, you were beginning to get that smug look people get in the public service.”
“Ohh! I see!” mock outrage from Hillhouse. “You mean you thought I was too old!”
“Yeah. That’s it,” Browning answered with a good natured leer.
“You always were a cheeky young sod. Bloody know-all too. No teacher hates anyone more than a bloody know-all.”
Hillhouse dropped to a one knee crouch again and went for the cigarettes in his top pocket. Lighting one quickly without needing to shield it from the wind, the ease of which came with lifelong commitment.
“You still smoke that French shit?” spat Browning disgustedly.
“Let’s have some lunch,” Hillhouse said, ignoring him. “Call the others in.”
He went over to the back of the second vehicle. Somewhere in its dusty recesses was a hamper with enough food for four men for one day. Finding it he opened and reached inside.
Taking out a large container of cold water he poured some into a mug, also in the hamper. Squatting again he sipped his water and hauled on the cigarette, as he watched the other three men approach. They all moved with the lethargy that tropical weather induced, as if the heat and humidity were only just bearable. Today was unusual; it was particularly hot and muggy for this time of year. Some stormy weather on the way perhaps.
The weather and monotony of work in a remote place meant the recreation leave was necessary. He made up his mind to see the rosters were adhered to more closely. Too long without field breaks led to a down turn in personal productivity, led to complacency and even erratic behaviour.
An ugly thought raced across the fringe of his awareness. He pushed it away. That confrontation would be waiting for him back at camp.
Browning walked towards him, sandwiches in one hand, and offered Hillhouse part of them. The other men settled on the ground a few metres away, in the shade of a huge river gum, and began to eat slowly. Kimberleys landscape engulfed them all as they ate wordlessly, the constant clatter of insect noises seemed to increase, small birds pottered about the trees, while larger ones winged overhead, occasionally making far off sounds. Shin high grass and scrub moved gently in the ineffective breeze, and leaves rustled in the high branches of the old gums that stood guard over the rock faces that surrounded them.
“This has to be one of the most spectacular places on earth!” said Browning, breaking the human silence.
Hillhouse smiled, agreeing in a glance, “Makes the Institute look stodgy in comparison, I s’pose.”
“Did you ask for me on this one, Darren?”
“When I heard you’d started your own business I did, yeah.”
“Thought so,” Browning nodding knowingly. “Thought it was too much of a coincidence when I saw you up here too. I wondered why Banford would pick someone my age with no track record for a job this size.”
Hillhouse didn’t feel any explanations were necessary, in case they sounded too much of a pat on the back for the younger man.
“Anyway, I’m grateful for the chance,” Browning went on, “This could make our company.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Hillhouse said gruffly, “You make a mess of any part of this, and I’ll personally see to it you don’t get a job cleaning public toilets!” He turned and looked hard into the earnest young face. “There is a great deal at stake here, it’s important you understand that.”
Browning caught the gravity in Hillhouses tone, and was amazed the older man could still overawe him with his favourite phrase ‘it’s important you understand that.’
“Don’t you have your own people for this?” he asked. “There’s a lot of ground that’s been gone over before out there.”
“All of it has been gone over before,” Hillhouse corrected him. “We needed an independent verification of our own figure. I needed someone I knew, someone I trusted, someone with expertise and discretion, and preferably cheap too. You also had a hunger to be linked with what could be the biggest diamond deposit in the world to date.”
Pausing and smiling sardonically, he waited for a reaction, but Brownings face was disappointingly blank.
“You get the picture?” he asked.
“But you weren’t gonna tell me that were you?”
“No.”
“You calculating old bastard!” blurted Browning. They both laughed and returned to the remnants of their lunch.
“Do I work with you on the rest of this then Darren?” Browning asked after a few minutes.
“Probably no. Not sure yet.”
‘Why is the boss cocky with me today then?’ Browning thought quickly, there had to be a reason. Suddenly it dawned on him.
“Of course!! Shit!!” he choked on his last crust. “That’s why you’re here! The wanker that normally does this has gone walkabout again hasn’t he?” he was laughing unkindly. “He hasn’t shot somebody has he?”
Stilling him with a stony stare, Hillhouse, commanded from behind clenched teeth.
“Keep it down!”
Glancing to where the other two men had caught the change in tone of conversation, Browning lowered his voice.
“Jesus Darren, everybody talks about him. Your own people more than anyone,” he said defensively, “Can’t we have someone else?!”
Staring at the burning tip of his cigarette, Hillhouse offered nothing.
“Christ Almighty, he’s impossible to work with Darren. He’s troppo, send him to Darwin or something!”
“I know he can be difficult, but he’s company, Alan. A senior geo’ on this part of the project, he has to be involved.” Hillhouse stated flatly, “There are also some politics here you don’t understand.”
Becoming annoyed, Browning rose to his feet, and turned to Hillhouse.
“O.K. so we work with the idiot, but you tell him, no-fucking-gun!! Alright? You tell him to leave his security toy at home.”
Also rising to his feet, Hillhouse stepped on the butt of his cigarette and lit another.
“Why does he think he has to arm himself out here, for fuck’s sake? This isn’t the wild west.”
Gathering up his litter, Hillhouse made for the rear of the Land Cruiser without answering. Browning followed close behind.
“I mean I wouldn’t mind but he’s short - changed, not stable!” he stated tapping his temple.
Turning to finally say something, Hillhouse exhaled smoke accidentally in Brownings face.
“Christ! How can you smoke that shit!”
Shuffling about in discomfort, David tried to make the most of the meagre shade on the roadside. No matter what he did, it never seemed to cover enough of him. He hated the heat; it always made him sticky, irritable and uncomfortable. Trying to nestle under a tiny, almost leafless tree that offered little or no protection, wasn't improving his mood. The ground was stony and hard too, not made for reclining on exactly. Also he was constantly on the alert for crawling insects that might scurry up the leg of his shorts and sting him on the balls. Feeling his arms, he felt sure no-ones skin was ever intended to be that red. It was hot and sunburnt.
Why had he been flirting with Trevor’s girlfriend? Why? What could have possibly come of it? Still. She was touching him on the leg, so it wasn’t like he started it. So he felt her back and she never batted an eyelid! Imagine what lengths she might go to if he ever met her again. Smiling to himself he relaxed slightly thinking of the possibilities. A sharp pebble on the point of his elbow brought him back to reality. Brushing sand from his arm in annoyance, he glanced across at Boof's crouching form, squatting with both feet flat, weight pitched slightly forward so not to topple backwards, he had been in that position, motionless for half an hour. Boof had been squinting down the shimmering bitumen, shading his eyes with his hands, without uttering a word for half an hour! He had even less shade than David, and looked just as sunburnt, though if being hot and uncomfortable made him as irritable as David, he didn't show it. David often marvelled at Boof's tolerance of physical discomfort, and now at his acceptance of their current predicament. It was his ability to accept everything without complaint that made David feel even worse. He wondered if Boof thought he was a whinger. If he did, he didn't show that either, if he was ever judged at all it was not too harshly. Though Boof, he realised a long time ago, did not behave, react or act as most other apparently normal people did.
Jane was right of course, he and Boof were very different people. David hated violence, guns and the warm insides of recently dead things, while Boof had an underlying cold-bloodedness that sometimes frightened him. But, if David sometimes wondered what basis they had for a friendship, he was sure Boof never took any pains to rationalise it away. Boof just accepted that it was as it was, and he expected nothing from David, He made no demands, and wouldn't tolerate any demands made of him. Sensing that David was staring at him, Boof turned slowly to look back at the sorry figure under the scrubby tree. Feeling a little uneasy, that Boof may have realised he was mentally appraising him again, he smiled asininely: Boof would expect that.
“Bit warm 'eh?” he understated quietly.
Boof obviously didn't think the statement rated a comment, so he didn't comment. He returned to his vigil by the roadside. They had been perched on the roadside now for nearly an hour. The relentless heat seemed to single them out for roasting. Stunted trees and the hardy scrub that surrounded them gave the impression they were past caring, and were submissively accepting the scorching conditions as if it were penance for some age-old misdemeanour. Even the endless road was resigned to the savage dry environment. The only objects in the baking landscape not designed to withstand the chronic heat were already sunburnt.
“Jesus! I'm really getting burnt!” David complained, examining his red skin again.
“Doesn't anybody use this fucking highway?” David continued belligerently, “I mean, doesn't anyone use this fucking highway?! We've been here for hours!”
“Save your water,” said Boof barely audibly.
“Eh?”
“Save your water.”
“What water?” asked David exasperatedly, “I haven't got any water. And I bloody need it! If I die out here, you’re gonna’ have to explain to my family, remember that. How do reckon they’re gonna’ react? My sister already hates you. She'll think you killed me to survive yourself. Well, forget it pal, because you'll fuckin' choke on dry, dehydrated, meat, because I haven’t got any fucking water!”
“That's right. Don't get irritable; it makes you sweat more heavily. Relax and sit still. We'll get a ride. Just don't sweat too much.” After a pause, he added “We've been here an hour.”
Slightly subdued after Boofs light rebuking, David offered an explanation.
“I'm sunburnt. I always get irritable when I'm very sunburnt.”
“Here comes a truck!” Boof said quickly. Motioning to David. “Stand up, let him see you.”
Casting his eyes past Boofs still crouching figure, David looked to the horizon in anticipation, momentarily forgetting his pains. It was a truck!
“Do truckies pick up hitch-hikers?” he asked hopefully. “Sunburnt hitch-hikers in need of salvation from certain dehydration.”
“Some do.”
Leaning forward and stepping onto the road, David could make out the shimmering mirage of a heavy vehicle dipping into a small valley in the highway. Watching as it emerged; belching fumes over the crest of the next hill he saw it take a more solid form, trumpeting its exhaust in its wake.
“Looks like a mechanical whale,” he mused. “Christ, I hope he stops.”
Stretching, he was now fully aware of just how uncomfortable he was, his outraged and lobster red skin could not stand being a deeper colour than it already was. He could understand how people perished from exposure out here. No shade, no water, what a way to go. Looking down at Boof, who was still crouching, shading his face and idly brushing flies away, he asked.
“Think he'll stop?”
“Doubt it,” Boof answered. “We'd be more likely to get a ride in a car.”
Remaining crouched, Boof had his eyes on the truck. He was some distance back from the roadside, because the road itself, not being wide enough for two large vehicles, meant they had to leave the bitumen for the gravel verges to pass each other in opposite directions. This always meant a shower of stones. The truck was closing quickly, moving onto a long straight stretch of road that gave the impression it was heading directly at them. The driver must have seen them by now, but showed no sign of slowing.
Feeling vaguely uneasy about the path of the big vehicle, David thought perhaps he was too close to the edge of the road. But he dismissed his feeling in awe of being this close to a vehicle of such size moving so fast.
Pushing himself to his feet, Boof shook his legs to relieve some of the stiffness and stretched his back. Looking towards David, who stood about ten feet away, Boof also wondered if he was standing too close to the road. Just then the semi driver hit his air horns with a loud BLAAAHHHHT!!, left the road for the gravel verge and charged for the gap between the two hitch-hikers. Both men jumped in fright, their heat induced torpor fled. Making a desperate grab for his luggage, Boof only barely managed to avoid being squashed like a bug by rolling bodily into some scrubby bushes. David had leapt away in the opposite direction, onto the road, when he saw what was about to happen, and caught a glimpse of the driver grinning maniacally as he slewed off the road in Boof’s direction. Standing in the centre of the road, his mouth agape, the horror of what had almost just happened settling upon him, David stared after the departing truck in disbelief. Beginning to feel slightly faint, he struggled to be certain he just witnessed it all, it happened so fast. Loud cursing startled him and made him acutely aware he was standing in the middle of the road.
“Boof!” he exclaimed, he had momentarily forgotten him.
“Dirty-rotten-idiot-bastard!!!” Boof cursed loudly, “Look at this!”
Approaching the objects of Boof’s attention, David could see a jumble of crushed luggage. Jesus that could have been them. Boof was angry, and David didn't like it when Boof was angry. In fact, all he wanted to do was sit down for a few minutes to gather himself. He sat down. In the settling dust David could see the track the truck had taken. Straight over their luggage, and half over Boof’s cassette case. On his knees sorting through the wreckage, Boof was holding up streamers of magnetic tape and brittle shards of cassette plastic.
“Eight bloody years of collecting!” Boof was staring at the remnants of his prized collection in wounded disbelief, “I'll kill that bastard if I ever find him!”
Fighting for control was like trying to fit a button into a hole too small for it, for Boof, as he stood looking down the now empty road. Watching, unable to think of anything placating to say, David thought Boof probably meant what he said when he would kill that bastard if he ever found him. Having seen Boof in these moods on a couple of occasions in the past, David found them more unsettling than standing in the path of an oncoming truck. Trying to scare two harmless hitch-hikers shitless by threatening to run them over was one thing, but destroying part of Boof's tape collection was something else. Placing almost spiritual reverence upon his collection had always made David wonder why it was so important to him, though he'd never asked about it. Making no effort to placate his distraught companion after the shock of the last few minutes, along with their roadside predicament, found David not in a particularly conciliatory mood.
“Why?” he asked, incredulous and weary, “Why would he do this?”
“Did you get his number?” Boof snapped.
“No. Couldn't see it. His rear lights and number plate was covered in crap.”
‘Didn't look as if it had ever been washed,‘ David thought.
“I don't get it. Why would he do it? People aren't that fucking stupid are they?” he turned and asked Boof again.
“Bored probably,” said Boof tightly, sorting through remains of some mysterious looking, numbered and dated old tape.
“These long haulers drive long hours helped along by the odd bean or two.”
It sounded as if he was now apologizing for the truckie.
“Beans? What, you mean pills?” David asked.
Boof nodded yes.
“Wonderful! Almost killed by a stoned psychopathic truck driver in the middle of ...LISTEN!”
They both turned and strained their ears.
“Hey mate! Here comes a car!” announced David excitedly, “We'll stop this one if I have to lie down in the middle of the road to do it!”
Picking through and dusting off tapes and luggage, Boof agreed.
As the car drew closer, the noise it was making became clearer also.
“Christ! It sounds like it's stuck in second gear.” said David grimacing, “I wonder how long he's been driving like that..”
Stepping back off the road, as the car began to slow down, David thought if he lowered his hitching finger, maybe the driver would keep going. No, they needed a ride, any ride, this one would do.
“Looks like he's stopping anyway.” he said with relief.
“Jesus! What a heapa’ shit!” Boof commented with distaste.
An early model Datsun; the car was dented, dirty, with unwashed and smeared windows. Both front indicator lights were broken, a perfect example of a machine taken for granted. If this was what it was like on the outside, Boof and David looked at each other wondering what the inside must be like.
“Don't knock it mate,” said David brightly. “At least we might get to some shade before it shits itself altogether.”
Boof didn't comment. The car drew up and stalled to halt just off the road. Boof and David shot each other another look of uncertainty. They both approached the car to address the driver through the open passenger window. As they bent forward to speak to the driver, the pungent stink from the interior hit them with a fetid slap. Recoiling immediately, David sputtered exhaling and coughing. He tasted it!! Blaahh! He wet his mouth and spat.
Maintaining his composure, as if totally accustomed to such stench, Boof traded, “G'day mates”, while the driver and he summed each other up. Their Samaritan looked like the typical wino. Only with a car!
“Funny place to be waiting for a lift,” dribbled the non fragrant figure good naturedly, “Where you blokes headed? I can take yez as far as Mt Magnet.”
‘If this abortion ever makes it that far,’ thought David giving the vehicle a closer look. Still he was determined not to stay and become a sunburnt fatality, even if the old bastard had shit himself in there.
“That'd be really good, thanks,” said Boof in a flat but grateful tone, “we're on our way up to Pinimberra. We should get a ride easily from Magnet. Ta' mate.”
Casting his arm in the direction of David, reluctantly collecting luggage and belongings, he added,
“We've got a little bit of gear too. Can we fit that in?”
“Yeah, yeah. Stack it in, stack it in!” the driver grinned in a manner that betrayed his inebriation.
Boof went over to help David and mumbled out of earshot,
“This is really our bloody day. He's pissed as well as a bit untidy.”
“Uhhhhh!?” David grunted, stopping short, “What!? Do you think it's worth it? It's bad enough that he smells like he died in there. But drunk too?”
“Like you said mate. It's a ride,” Boof started back to the car. “Besides, after a couple of kilometres, we won't notice the pong anymore.”
“Yeah, s'pose so,” David was agreeing with the part about the ride, but not the pong.
“God knows what we'll smell like by the time we get to Magnet ... if, we get to Magnet!”
Making for the rear door without hesitation, Boof crammed their belongings onto the opposite side of the seat, and clambered in himself.
David hesitated. He didn't like being relegated to the front, but with a grimace and a lung full of fresh air, he got in. As he settled into the seat, avoiding a hessian bag on the floor, and various other small articles of debris, he cast his eyes over the back seat to a wryly smiling Boof. He took a tentative breath. The stench was unbelievable, strong, acrid and suffocating, it made him gag. Poking his head out the open window, coughing and trying to draw in clean air.“Chris Almighty!!” he spluttered, turning around quickly to Boof, and then back to the window.
‘This bugger has to be dead! Surely nobody can smell this bad and not be dead? How can Boof stand it?’
“Got a bit of a cold mate?” inquired the source of assaulting odours.
Turning to take his first close look at the driver, David thought he resembled the bums he'd so often seen in the parks and dingy side-streets of Perth. Those same helpless, alcoholic winos, in their dirty shabby attire, constantly looking drunk or hung over. But, this fellow had something more. Something more beaten. David couldn't define it, but he knew the look. The yellow eye whites, brown grizzled skin, and a frame battered by toil in a merciless environment. This fellow looked like an old miner who had spent his entire life chasing the elusive 'big one', but instead of being rewarded for his labours, and suffered one too many disappointments and just given up. The face also looked kindly. David felt sudden shame, that perhaps he had judged the man too harshly. After all, man is not stink alone.
“Hay fever.” he answered, smiling thinly.
“Lotta’ that around,” grinned the driver, offering David his greasy hand. “Me name's Alf.”
Introductions were exchanged, with the glassy eyed Alf grinning happily, his uncombed hair and grubby clothes giving an almost comic look.
“Well, off we go then 'eh?” chuckled Alf, cranking the reluctant motor into life.
Sitting in the rear seat, Boof noticed the oil light came on and stayed on.
Looking down to the floor he saw three empty oil containers, he jiggled a fourth and it felt about a third full. It seemed old Alf did put oil in his car, but Boof wondered when the last time was. Leap frogging onto the bitumen, Alf crunched gears with nerve-rending ease, and David wished he wouldn't rev the engine out to its ear popping extremities in every gear, and then casually change as if it was something he'd just remembered to do.
Old Alf gave the impression that he thought changing gears was a bit of a nuisance, and if he ignored the motor screeching for long enough, it would magically turn into an automatic. Once he was reminded there was one extra gear after third, they motored along uneventfully and reasonably smoothly until the first slight corner. Here Alf slowed almost to a standstill, eased through the bend with great concentration, and then crunched through the gears again. David was not all that sure he could stand two hundred and fifty kilometres of this, plus the putrid smell of the man and his car.
Casting his disbelieving eyes back at Boof, he sought agreement that they would be better off taking their chances of the road. Boof simply shrugged his shoulders and resigned himself to the situation for the time being. ‘Damn it, if he can stand this, then so can I.’ David thought sitting as close to his open window as possible. In the rear, Boof inspected the jumble of belongings on the seat and rear parcel tray. It looked like old Alf lived out his beaten, and poorly cared for conveyance. Clothes, all dirty, shoes, old and split boots, underwear, tools of various types, empty beer cans, port and sherry flagons, oil containers and a tiny blue heeler puppy cowering between two stiff and threadbare towels.
It was well camouflaged, and very still. Boof was surprised to find another living thing on the back seat. The pup eyed him timidly, small and inert with a piece of binding twine for a collar.
“Hello mate,” said Boof softly, extending his hand to ruffle its furry head.
The little dog sank it's teeth into the heel of his hand.
“Ooww shit!” exclaimed Boof recoiling quickly, the shock rather than the severity of the attack, causing the reaction. He looked at the bite and 'biter' in turn.
Alf chuckled his watery chuckle, acting as if unsurprised, while David strained to see what the commotion was about.
“Alf, you must have something pretty valuable under all this shit to have a watchdog!” said Boof.
“Nahh. I just breed 'em savage,” chortled Alf.
“It's just a puppy!” admonished David, wanting to pat the little canine himself. He liked dogs. In fact, he liked all furry animals. He didn't like reptiles though, especially the big lizards. The big lizards around Pinimberra made him feel as though he was going to piss his pants, if they got too close to him.
“A puppy with a taste for human meat,” Boof countered, wondering how a dog so young got to be so mean. Maybe old Alf was bringing him up to be a fighter.
For the rest of the trip it was a standoff, Boof and the pup eyeing each other with suspicious disdain. He and David settled down to relax as best they could with Alf's driving technique and putrescent odour, neither of which seemed to improve. As the distance crept by and time dragged into the afternoon, Alf began relating snatches of his life story, while dipping into the beer, under David’s feet, which he opened and drank sloppily as he drove. He made no attempt to offer his passengers a drink. Not that they would have accepted anyway. Warm beer in the afternoon heat gave them both headaches, Alf drank to overcome his.
Although Alf was not at all selfish, just a committed drinker. Beer he gave away, was beer he couldn’t drink. He drove on, having to be reminded to change gears, smoking incessantly, guzzling his beer and prattling away quite happily.
In between his stories of his life, in and around Mt. Magnet, he coughed a lot. A wretched hacking, consumptive cough that rattled his whole body and sounded very fluid. David’s stomach turned every time this happened. He half expected Alf to dislodge a huge lump of snotty mucous from the depths of his respiratory tract, and jettison it onto the dashboard. All yellow and viscous, he shuddered at the thought, and hoped he wasn't making his distaste of the man too evident. Consciously he relaxed his facial muscles to convince himself he wasn't.
“Where'd you blokes say you was from?” asked Alf lighting another cigarette.
“Pinimberra,” David answered.
“What, the mining show up there you mean?” Alf was suddenly more interested, “You don't look much like miners, more like pen-pushers!”
“I'm a chemist,” David explained, “most of my work is in the lab, Boof works in the mine.”
“Eh! Him?” Alf snorted, “He don't look like a miner. Not a real miner.”
“Well, I guess more of a machinery operator aren't you mate?” countered David, to Boof, who was not saying anything.
“You're telling the story,” he said non-committedly.
“What's wrong with him?” Alf asked, hoping to provoke some reaction from his rear seat passenger, “Did I hurt his feelin's or somethin'?”
David looked to Boof to add something to the conversation. He didn't. He sat watching the landscape pass by, thinking of ways to deal with the truckie, if and when he ever found him.
“No. You don't hurt his feelings that easily,” said David turning back to the road ahead, “He always looks like that. Happy or sad.”
“Looks like he swallowed a turd!” chuckled Alf.
It was David's turn to laugh. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
“I feel as though I’m sitting in one,” said Boof just loud enough for David to hear. It made him laugh even more and had Alf feeling that it had been him that had said something funny.
The kilometres continued to slide by, while Alf, in between smokes, beer and spitting out the window, told David how he and an old mate made their living. With an old truck and tractor, they wandered about the inhospitable expanses, tearing up truck loads of dirt in the hope of finding enough gold to get by on. They transported the ore to a government crushing mill in Mt. Magnet for processing, after often hauling hundreds of kilometres in one day.
“Gotta’ have a minimum of two tonne. We get about five in the truck. Usually get a few pennyweights, sometimes lots more. But not always enough to cover yourself,” he paused for a drink, dribbling it onto his already stained shirt.
“Lately we're going through old tailings. Ya’ can pick up a lotta’ gold that way. Trouble is, costs are fuckin' us, gettin' harder to make a quid.” His voice trailed off and he looked a little dejected for a moment or two. “Still! Could be a millionaire one day 'eh?” suddenly he was much brighter.
David studied Alf who was now quiet and seemed far off somewhere with his thoughts of 'cracking' the big one! ‘ How would that change Alfs life?’ David wondered. What were his personal ambitions? Would it drastically alter anything for him now? David thought that it most likely would change nothing.
Alf was still as much a committed survivor of the outback as anyone ever became. Having pots of money would make it easier for him, but he wouldn't leave to live out his life in luxury elsewhere. He would maybe just stop breaking his back, and indulge his habits in a more carefree and body destroying fashion.