In every respect, Red’s day had begun as any other except for one thing—he couldn’t keep the woman out of his mind. She’d interrupted his sleep and intruded into his consciousness. She’d kept him company over breakfast. Accompanied him on his rounds of garden and chookhouse. The only time he’d escaped from her was during the discipline of his exercises, when he’d emptied his mind and looked inward as he had been taught, calming himself, strengthening his body and keeping the many parts of his fractured mind together. But when he’d finished, she was there waiting patiently for him. He’d resented that. She disturbed and unsettled him, made him feel guilty for having to do things that went against his instincts. The woman did not belong. She had no right to come where she was clearly not wanted. He set off for the beach the instant he’d brought his calendar up to date.
The stench of her vomit as he cleaned out his boat didn’t upset him. He’d grown accustomed to the smell of vomit and human feces while helping out in the camp hospital, helping the men dying of cholera and dysentery, washing fouled sheets and Jap-happies, the loincloths the men wore after their trousers had rotted away. He’d looked after men dying from injuries inflicted by swinging boots and rifle butts. He’d scraped tropical ulcers and putrefying sores. He’d lanced boils. Vomit didn’t upset him, but it was unhygienic, and hygiene was important to survival. He couldn’t help wondering if Angus’s embargo on help extended to the woman’s toilet. Perhaps he should help Rosie sink a new hole. Whenever newcomers arrived at the camps, those already there always helped dig new latrines.
“You! You out there!”
Red looked up from his work. Angus was waving to him from the beach, lean and angular in khaki shirt and baggy, knee-length khaki shorts.
“What do you want?”
“Come ashore. We need to have words.”
“I’m nearly finished.” Red continued cleaning the boat in his usual methodical way. He thought about topping up his fuel tank but hadn’t used enough on the run back from Fitzroy to justify it. He rinsed his brush over the side and put it away. He picked up a bucket filled with fresh water and a clean cloth and began to wipe all the interior surfaces so salt wouldn’t build up.
“C’mon, man, I haven’t got all day!”
Red wiped down the console and his seat. He wiped down all the metal around his controls. Things rotted in saltwater and salt air as quickly as they rotted in the jungle, unless they were properly cared for. He tossed the dregs over the side, stowed the bucket and went forward to the bow locker where he kept his storm cover.
“For heaven’s sake, man! Can you not do that later?”
Red could see that Angus was getting agitated. He couldn’t understand his impatience. Neither of them was going anywhere. There was work to be done and an order for doing it in. He fastened the cover off at the stern cleats, checked to make sure that all of the clips were secure and dived into the water.
Angus watched the madman swim toward him, Archie dog-paddling by his side, and looked around to see where Red had left his clothes. Unless the madman had buried them, he hadn’t brought any.
“Have you got nothing to make yourself decent?”
Red shook the water out of his hair and cocked his head to each side to release the drops trapped in his ears. “You said we needed to talk.”
“Aye. How did it go, then? Picking up the woman.”
“She was seasick all the way from Fitzroy.”
“Good, good. Was she frightened at all?”
“Angus, you would have been frightened.”
“Good, good!” There was genuine glee in the Scot’s voice, and he’d come as close to a smile as Red had ever seen.
“So? What next? I trust you just left her standing on the beach.” There was something indecent in the delight Angus was taking in Rosie’s suffering, and it disgusted Red.
“I took her up to Bernie’s.”
“You didn’t carry her bags?”
“Some of the way, yes.”
“Then you’re a bloody fool, man!”
“She’d collapsed on the track, Angus. She could hardly put one foot in front of the other. She’d spent the best part of the previous two hours puking.”
“Collapsed, had she? Very good. You probably did the best thing. You didn’t stay there?”
“Not for long. Started her generator, showed her how to switch it off and where the lavatory was.”
“I assume Bernie had left the place in a mess?”
“No. When I looked after Bernie, I looked after his place as well.”
“Pity. How did she seem? Disappointed?”
“No, just tired and sick. She seems to have lots of spirit.”
“Lots of spirit, eh? Well, we’ll see about that. If anywhere can knock that out of her it’s here. Provided you don’t go soft on me. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Yeah.”
“Now tell me, you didn’t make any arrangements to see her today?”
“I said I’d show her how to work the stove.”
“Heaven’s sake, man! We have an agreement! Are you already hell-bent on becoming her slave? Has she sunk her claws into your soft, daft hide already?”
“No!” The anger that had been building all morning began to seethe and foment.
“Now don’t you take that tone with me. I’ll not put up with it. I thought we had an agreement. You’ve gone soft already, haven’t you, you gormless fool?”
“No, I told you!”
“You have, man. Already she’s got you running after her. ‘Start my generator. Light my stove.’ Next she’ll have you digging her garden and sinking a new toilet. Help her now and you’ll help her forever. I’m telling you, man. Do this! Do that! Fetch this! Mend that! There’ll be no letup. There’ll be no peace for either of us.”
“All I said was I’d show her how to work the stove!”
“You’ll not do any such thing!”
“I gave my word!”
“Then un-give it. Don’t you see?” Angus sensed he’d pushed Red far enough and softened his voice. He didn’t want to be the cause of one of Red’s turns. “Any minute it’s going to rain cats and dogs. Let her sit up there all alone, no television, no telephone, no heat and nowhere to go. She won’t last long. Every time she wants a pee she’ll have to go outside and get a soaking. She’ll have no hot shower and no hot bath. No city woman is going to put up with that for long.”
Red could see that Angus was right. He forced himself to breathe deeply, felt the ebb of his anger and frustrations.
“Okay. I’ll do it your way.”
“There’ll be no taking her fish, either. Not fresh, not smoked. You’ll give her nothing.”
“Okay.”
“Good. Then it’s agreed.” The Scot turned abruptly and strode back up the beach toward the track.
Red turned around to look for Archie. He could hear the first rain squall battering the leaves on the trees high up on the ridges. It wouldn’t be long before it reached them. At least it would wash the salt out of his hair and off his body. He spotted Archie farther down the beach, about thirty yards out from shore. His tail was wagging furiously as he dog-paddled after small mullet. Red smiled.