Текст книги "Tomorrow, When the War Began"

Автор книги: John Marsden

Соавторы: John Marsden
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

‘You look like you do,’ said Kevin, who never missed an opportunity.

‘And I did hear something – the tiniest creak of what I thought was his boot, and it seemed to be coming round the base of the bed. I couldn’t hear my heart any more – it had stopped. So I thought “Well, I can’t lie here and wait to be shot. I’ve got to take the risk.” And so I rolled back under the bed. And sure enough, about a second later I saw his boots in the gap that I’d just left. The fronds on the edge of the bedspread were just moving slightly from where I’d hit them, and I had this terrible time, lying there wondering if he’d notice them, thinking that he must notice them. They seemed so obvious to me, so conspicuous. He seemed to stand there forever. I don’t know what he was looking at – there wasn’t much to see, just a picture of a long bridge across a ravine, in Switzerland or somewhere I think. Then the boots turned and I could hear him more distinctly, going over to the cupboards and opening them and searching through them. Then he said to the lady “Come on, next house”, and out they went. I lay there for so long – I thought it might have been a trap – but at last Kevin came and got me and told me they’d gone. I’d had a pretty bad time though – well, I don’t need to tell you guys what it was like.

‘Corrie talked to someone too, in the kitchen, didn’t you?’ she said, looking at Corrie, who gave a little nod. ‘That’s when you were told about the casualties from our two fights with them?’

‘Yes,’ Corrie said. ‘I think they caused a bit of a sensation. I talked to a funny little man who looked about fifty. I don’t know his name either. He didn’t want to talk to me much. He was just so scared that we’d be caught. But he told me there was a bit of guerilla activity going on. He was the one who had this theory of the “clean” invasion, too.’

‘So,’ said Robyn, ‘that was the end of our secret chats with the work parties. We made our way back to our hideout and stayed there till dark.’ She looked at Homer while she said the next bit. It was like they felt a bit guilty, but they were defiant too about the way they’d done things. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘I know we had all these carefully worked out plans about Kev and Corrie spying on the Showground and so on, but it’s different when you get there. The whole time we were in Wirrawee we didn’t want to lose sight of each other.’

‘Young love,’ I said. ‘It’s beautiful.’

Robyn continued without missing a beat. ‘So that night we stayed together again. For a start we walked out to the highway, to see what was going on. And it is being heavily used. We stayed an hour and there were two convoys just in that time. One had forty vehicles and the other had twenty-nine. So it’s doing big business, for a little old rural road. It hasn’t seen that much excitement since the surf carnival. After that we came back into town and went over to the Showground. That was bloody scary too, I suppose because of what happened to you guys on your visit there. In fact I thought it was pretty gutsy of Corrie and Kev to go there again. And believe me, it is a dangerous place. See, they’ve got their headquarters and their barracks there, as well as our folks, so I guess that’s why they guard it so heavily. They’ve cut down most of the trees in the carpark, so we couldn’t find any approach to it that would provide any cover – I suppose that’s why they cut them down. And they’ve put rolls of wire all the way around it, about fifty metres from the main fence. I didn’t know there was that much wire in Wirrawee. And they’ve rigged up new lights, floodlights, which have got the entire surrounding area lit up like it’s daytime. There’s a lot of very confused birds flying round there. All we could do was peek from Racecourse Road, which we did for an hour or so. I guess we were too scared to go any closer, but honestly, I don’t think there’s much to see, just a lot of sentries and patrols wandering round. If anyone has any ideas of rolling up there in combat uniform and shooting their way in and rescuing everybody, I think they can go back to sleep. Fantasyland is for TV. This is real life.’

To be honest, which I swore I’d be, we’d all had those delusions at times. They were only daydreams, but they were powerful daydreams, to liberate our families, to fix everything, to be heroes. But in a secret, guilty way, of which I was ashamed, I felt relieved to have the daydream so firmly squashed. In reality the prospect of doing something like that was so horrifying and frightening that it made me ill to think of it. We would surely die if we tried it, die with our guts blown out and spread across the dirt of the Showground carpark, to have flies feed on us as we turned rotten in the sunlight. It was an image I couldn’t get out of my head, probably born from all the dead sheep I’d seen over the years.

‘We were quite glad to get out of there,’ Robyn went on. ‘We moved back into town and just flitted around like little bats, trying to make contact with dentists or anyone else. Which reminds me,’ she said, smiling sweetly at Lee, ‘it’s time I took your stitches out.’ Lee looked nervous. I was trying to imagine Kevin flitting. It was hard to picture. ‘We didn’t find anyone though,’ Robyn said. ‘Not a soul. There’s probably still a few people around, but they’re lying very low.’ She grinned, and relaxed. ‘And that concludes our report to the nation. Thank you and good night.’

‘Hey, we could end up being the nation,’ Kevin said. ‘We could be the only ones left free, so we’d be the government and everything, wouldn’t we? Bags being Prime Minister.’

‘I’ll be the Police Commissioner,’ Chris said. We all chose jobs, or got given them. Homer was Minister for Defence, and Chief of the General Staff. Lee was Pensioner of the Year, because of his leg. Robyn wanted to be Minister for Health but got Archbishop instead. Corrie said, ‘I’ll be Minister for Kevin’. She really could be sickening at times. Fi was Attorney General, because of her parents. I got named as Poet Laureate, which I was quite pleased about.

Maybe it was that which first planted in Robyn’s head the idea of my writing all this down.

‘So anyway,’ Chris said eventually, ‘your turn. What have you guys been doing back here, apart from working on your tans?’

They’d already admired the chook yard, and they’d sampled the eggs. But we told them the rest, especially about the Hermit’s hut, which we figured would make a great back-up base for us.

‘I want to find a way out of the back of Hell, to the Holloway River,’ I said. ‘I’m sure that’s where this creek must go. And if we had a back way out of here we’d be in an even safer position. Once we’re in the Holloway we can get to that whole Risdon area.’

Lee and I didn’t tell them about the metal box with the Hermit’s papers. There was no particular reason. We hadn’t even discussed not telling them. It just seemed too private.

‘Listen, you know these chooks,’ Kevin said, ‘I’ve been thinking about other livestock we could have. I’m no vegetarian, and I want my meat. And I mink I’ve got the answer.’

We all waited expectantly. He leaned forward and said one word, in a solemn, almost reverent tone.

‘Ferrets.’

‘Oh no,’ Corrie squealed. ‘Yuk! They’re disgusting! I hate them.’

Kevin looked wounded at this disloyalty from the one person he could normally count on. ‘They’re not disgusting,’ he said, sounding hurt. ‘They’re clean and they’re intelligent and they’re very friendly.’

‘Yeah, so friendly they’ll run up your trouser leg,’ Homer said.

‘What are they?’ Fi asked. ‘Do you eat them?’

‘Yeah, between two slices of bread. And you don’t kill them first. You eat them alive, as they squirm and squeal in the sandwich. They’re the world’s freshest food.’ That was Kevin, being funny. He proceeded to give Fi a lesson on ferrets, during which it became obvious that he didn’t know much about them either.

Homer said, ‘It’s true that some of those old blokes around Wirrawee, the retired miners, keep a few ferrets and live on the rabbits. They haven’t got a quid to rub between them, so that’s how they keep themselves in meat.’

There, you see?’ said Kevin, sitting back on his heels.

It was quite a smart idea. I didn’t know much about them either, except that you needed nets which you put over all the holes and the rabbits ran into them and were caught. And although there wouldn’t be many rabbits up here in the mountains, there was never any shortage of them around the district.

Then Chris threw a fly into the ointment. ‘Wouldn’t they all be dead?’ he asked. ‘The ferrets? If their owners are prisoners, or dead, there’d be no one to look after the ferrets and keep them alive.’

Kevin looked smug. ‘Ordinarily, yes,’ he said. ‘But my uncle, the one out past the Stratton turn-off, lets them run free. He’s got heaps of them and he’s trained them to come in when he whistles. They’re like dogs. They know they’ll get food when they hear that signal. He loses a few of them that go feral, but he’s got so many he doesn’t care.’

We added ferrets to our list of things to get, do, or investigate.

‘Let’s grab some sleep,’ Homer said then, standing and stretching and yawning. ‘Maybe Ellie could run another guided tour to the Hermit’s hut after lunch, for those wishing to partake of this unique and interesting historical experience. Then I vote we have a Council of War later this afternoon, to work out our next move.’

‘Well, you’re the Minister for Defence,’ I said.

Chapter Eighteen

The Minister for Defence was sitting on a rock with his feet in the creek. Kevin actually lay in the cold water, letting it run over his big hairy body. Fi was perched above Homer’s head on another rock, looking like a little goddess. She was so light I wouldn’t have been surprised to see her suddenly grow rainbow-coloured wings and flutter away. Robyn was lying on her back on the bank, reading My Brilliant Career. Chris was a few metres from me, under a tree, his smokes beside him.

I don’t know whether I should really call them his smokes though.

He was gazing at the big rocky cliffs that we could see through the trees, in the distance.

Corrie was sitting next to Robyn. She had her radio out again. They’d brought fresh batteries that they’d found in Wirrawee and she was trying them. One of the women they’d talked to had said that some pirate radio stations were on the air at times, giving news and advice. Corrie was checking the short wave bands too, but it would be hard to get them in daytime, and we weren’t in an easy place for radio reception.

I was curled up into Lee, my head in his chest, burrowing into him like I was a baby. We’d spent most of the afternoon passionately holding and kissing and touching till I felt I would fall apart; as though the fibres that held my body together were disappearing. It had been Homer whom I’d felt more physically attracted to. Originally what drew me to Lee was his mind, his intelligent, sensitive face, and the security that I felt with him. Homer didn’t exactly radiate security. But beneath Lee’s calm exterior I’d found someone deeply passionate. I was a virgin and I know Lee was; matter of fact I think we all were, except maybe Kevin. I’m pretty sure he and Sally Noack had done the dirty deed regularly when they’d had a long relationship last year. But if we’d had the privacy that hot afternoon in the clearing in Hell I think Lee and I might have lost our virginity simultaneously. I was clinging to him and pressing against him as though I wanted to get my whole body inside him, and I liked the way I could make him groan and gasp and sweat. I liked giving him pleasure, although it was hard to tell what was pleasure and what was pain. I was teasing him, touching him and saying ‘Does that hurt? Does that? Does that?’ and he was panting, saying ‘Oh God ... no, yes, no’. It made me feel powerful. But he got his revenge. I’m not sure who had the last laugh – or the last cry. Normally when I’m out of control, when I get swept off by the white water, whether it’s the giggles or the blues or one of my famous tantrums, I can still stand outside myself and smile and think ‘What a maniac’. Part of my mind stays detached, can watch what I’m doing, can think about it and be aware of it all. But that afternoon with Lee, no. I was lost somewhere in the rapids of my feelings. If life is a struggle against emotion, then I was losing. It was almost scary. I was actually relieved when Homer yelled that it was time to start our conference.

I said to Robyn, ‘Good book?’

She said, ‘Yeah, it’s OK. We’ve got to read it for English.’

We still hadn’t adjusted to the fact that the world had changed, that school wasn’t going to start on the normal day. I suppose we should have been delighted at the thought of not going to school, but we weren’t. I was starting to want to use my brain again; to wrestle with new ideas and difficult theories. I decided then that I’d follow Robyn’s example and read some of the harder books we’d brought with us. There was one called The Scarlet Letter that looked like a good tough one.

‘Well,’ Homer began, ‘we’ve got to make more decisions guys. I’ve been looking up at the sky every five minutes, waiting for the American troops to drop down in their big green choppers, but there’s no sign of them yet. And Corrie hasn’t heard any news flashes yet, to tell us that help is on its way. So we might just have to do it on our own for a bit longer.

‘The way I see it, these are our choices, now that we know a bit more about the deal. One, we can sit tight and do nothing. And there’s nothing chicken about that. It’s got a lot to recommend it. We’re not trained for this stuff, and it’s important for ourselves, and for our families, and for that matter even our country, that we stay alive. Two, we can have a go at getting our families and maybe other people out of the Showground. That’s a tough one, probably way beyond our reach. I mean, we’ve got rifles and shotguns but they’d be popguns compared to what these turkeys are using. Three, we can do something else to help the good guys. That’s us, I might add, in case anyone’s confused.’ He grinned at Robyn. ‘We could involve ourselves in some way that would help us win this war and get our country back. There’s other things we could do too of course, other options, like moving somewhere else, or surrendering, but they’re so remote I don’t think they’re worth discussing, although we will if anyone wants to of course.

‘So, that’s the deal, that’s for real, that’s what I feel. Three choices, and I think it’s time we made one and stuck to it.’ He leaned back and crossed his arms and put his feet in the water again.

There was quite a silence, then Robyn took up the invitation.

‘I’m still not sure what’s right or wrong in this whole setup,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think I could sit around here for months, not doing anything. It’s just an emotional thing – I couldn’t do it. I agree with Homer that the Showground’s beyond our reach, but I feel we’ve got to get out and have a go at something. On the other hand I don’t want us to go around killing a lot of people. I’ve read those Vietnam books like Fallen Angels, where the woman hid a mine in her own kid’s clothes and gave it to a soldier to hold, then blew them both up. I still have nightmares about that. I’m already having nightmares about those people we ran down in the truck. But I guess my nightmares are small suffering compared to what some people have had. My nightmares are just the price I have to pay, I know that. Despite what these people say about a “clean” invasion, I think all wars are filthy and foul and rotten. There was nothing clean about them blowing up Corrie’s house, or killing the Francis family. I know this might sound a bit different from what I said before, but I don’t think it is. I can understand why these people have invaded but I don’t like what they’re doing and I don’t think there’s anything very moral about them. This war’s been forced on us, and I haven’t got the guts to be a conscientious objector. I just hope we can avoid doing too much that’s filthy and foul and rotten.’

No one else had much to add for a while. Then Fi, who was looking white and miserable, said, ‘I know logically we should do this and we should do that. But all I know is that the thought of doing anything makes my nose bleed. All I really want to do is to go down to the Hermit’s hut and hide under his mouldy old bed till this is over. I’m really fighting myself to stop from doing that. I suppose when the time comes I’ll probably do whatever I have to do, but the main reason I’ll do it is because I feel the pressure of keeping up with you guys. I don’t want to let you down. I’d feel so ashamed if I couldn’t match you in whatever it is we decide to do. I don’t think there’s any way we can help our families right now, so not losing face with you all has become my biggest thing. And what worries me is that I can’t guarantee I won’t pack up under pressure. The trouble is, I’m so full of fear now, that anything could happen. I’m scared that I might just stand there and scream.’

‘Peer group pressure,’ said Lee, but with a sympathetic smile at Fi. He was using one of Mrs Gilchrist, our Principal’s, favourite phrases.

‘Well, of course you’re the only one who feels that way,’ Homer said. ‘The rest of us don’t know the word “fear”. Kevin can’t even spell it. We know no feelings. We’re androids, terminators, robocops. We’re on a mission from God. We’re Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman.’ He went on more seriously. ‘No, it’s a big problem. None of us knows how we’ll react when the fan gets hit. I know what it’s been like for me so far, just doing little things, like waiting in that car in Three Pigs Lane. My teeth were chattering so bad I had to hold my mouth shut to keep them in. I don’t know how I didn’t vomit. I was absolutely convinced I was going to die.’

We kept talking on, over, under and around the topic. Apart from Fi, the ones who were least keen were Chris and, strangely enough, Kevin. I could understand it a bit with Chris. He just lived in his own world most of the time, his parents were overseas, he didn’t have many friends. In fact I don’t think he liked people all that much. He probably could have lived in the Hermit’s hut quite happily, unlike Fi, who would have gone crazy in half a day. But I got the impression that, like Fi, Chris’d go along with whatever we decided; in his case because he didn’t have the energy or initiative to stand out against the group. Kevin was more of a puzzle, changing his attitude from one day to the next. There were times when he seemed bloodthirsty and times when he seemed chicken. I wondered if it depended on how long it had been since he’d been close to danger. Maybe when he’d had some action recently he went a bit quiet, dived for cover. But when things had been safe for a while he started getting his aggression back.

As for me, I was a mess of different feelings. I wanted to be able to make calm, logical decisions, to put points for and against on opposite sides of a piece of paper, but I couldn’t get my feelings out of the road enough to do it. When I thought about those bullets, and the ride-on mower, and the truck ride, I shook and felt sick and wanted to scream. Just like Fi and Homer and everyone else. I didn’t know how I’d handle it if and when it all happened again. Maybe it’d be easier. Maybe it’d be harder.

Nevertheless, I think we all felt that we should do something, if only because the idea of doing nothing seemed so appalling that we couldn’t even contemplate it. So we started tossing a few ideas around. Gradually we found ourselves talking more and more about the road from Cobbler’s Bay. It seemed like that was where the most important action was. We decided that when Homer and Fi and Lee and I went out, the following night, we’d concentrate our attentions there.

I walked away from our meeting, leaving everyone, even Lee, and went back up the track quite a way. I ended up sitting on one of Satan’s Steps, in the last of the hot afternoon. I could hear the creek churning away over a pile of rocks below me. I’d been there about ten minutes when a dragonfly landed near my feet. By then I must have become part of the landscape, because he seemed to ignore me. When I looked at him I realised he had something in his mouth. Whatever it was, it was still wriggling and flitting its little wings. I bent forward slowly and looked more closely. The dragonfly kept ignoring me. I could see now that it was a mosquito that he had, and he was eating it alive. Bit by bit the mosquito, still struggling wildly, was munched up. I watched, fascinated, until it was completely gone. The dragonfly perched there for another minute or so, then suddenly flew away.

I sat back again, against the hot rock. So, that was Nature’s way. The mosquito felt pain and panic but the dragonfly knew nothing of cruelty. He didn’t have the imagination to put himself in the mosquito’s place. He just enjoyed his meal. Humans would call it evil, the big dragonfly destroying the mosquito and ignoring the little insect’s suffering. Yet humans hated mosquitos too, calling them vicious and bloodthirsty. All these words, words like ‘evil’ and ‘vicious’, they meant nothing to Nature. Yes, evil was a human invention.