In the Air Force, the dress code imposed by her mother had stood her in good stead. She remembered her mother’s words: “Clothes must be appropriate for the occasion, Patricia. People judge you by what you wear – always remember that.”
Now she was standing, barefoot in the red dirt, dressed in a pair of Rachael’s frayed denim shorts that had started their life as jeans and a very old tee-shirt with ‘Trust me I’m a doctor’ just discernible on the front. Bareheaded and without a bra and feeling a freedom that she had never felt before. And there was no one to judge her.
Angus was motionless and still looking at the horizon, the vast red landscape that stretched out before them. Then, without looking at her, he started to speak. “You know, I’ve never been far away from this place. Perth…Sydney and Melbourne a couple of times…Went to South Africa once to look at some merinos but I was on my own in a big group of married couples so it wasn’t much fun. I was glad to get home. Went to Bali once with a girlfriend –lady friend really – hated it. We had a row and I came home and left her there…never saw her again.
“I’ve been trying, standing here in this vast placid landscape, to imagine what it’s like to be a combat soldier these days, flying in a war zone as desolate and barren, exposed to the enemy as it is in Afghanistan. I’ve been trying to imagine what it’s like to be my son – trying to get in touch with him somehow…I can’t…he’s out there somewhere…in a coma…in a bed in an ICU, in a plane with tubes sticking out all over him…maybe he’s dying…maybe he’s already…I feel helpless. He and I have never been as close as say, Rach and I.
“He’s always been so driven. I hardly got a chance to know him with him being at school in Perth, and then he was in the army. I was thinking, they were only with me until they were about twelve; then all I saw of them was for about three…four months a year. Hardly enough time to get to know him as a boy…I don’t know him as a man – he’s almost a stranger – yet he’s my son…”
Angus’ voice trailed away and he stood still, looking into the distance and ignoring the flies that clung to every drop of moisture round his eyes and mouth. Pat looked at him and saw tears trickling down his face; he was making no effort to brush them away. Before Pat could speak Angus continued. “If there isn’t time to make up for the years…I don’t know what I will do…I just feel so helpless…”
Pat moved her hand the few centimetres between them and took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. His big calloused hand remained limp so she raised it to her lips and gently kissed it. He still didn’t move. “C’mon Angus, let’s go and get a cup of tea.” Still hand in hand she led him to the waiting Mercedes. She opened the passenger door for him and without a murmur he got in and she shut the door.
When she started the car the cool air from the air conditioner wafted over them. Angus took a big red handkerchief from his pocket wiped his eyes and blew his nose. When Pat looked at him the agony from a few moments ago had gone from his face and he was looking at her with a half-smile. He reached over and brushed her face with his hand, “Thanks Pat.” When he took his hand away she wanted to follow it. Instead she put the car in gear and set off down the track to the homestead. As she drove she felt calm and for some reason that she didn’t understand, in spite of all the turmoil that was starting to engulf them, she felt free, a freedom of what – her soul? Her spirit? She didn’t know.
All she knew was that since arriving at Bangalore she had started some kind of metamorphosis and it wasn’t finished. She thought of a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. Was that it? Instead of flying in a machine, was she going to learn to fly – free? Had her life so far been that of a caterpillar? A butterfly in a caterpillar’s skin, just waiting for time to pass and the right conditions to wrap herself in a cocoon and then emerge as a different creature, unrecognisable from the previous life. Was that it? Whatever it is, she thought, I’m powerless against it out here in this vast place, close to something very gentle, yet raw and powerful.
Three hundred metres away, sitting on their horses under a couple of big gum trees Rachael and Ali had been watching Pat and Angus. Because of the dark windows on the Mercedes the only bit they had missed was the moment of brief intimacy when Angus had touched Pat’s cheek.
Ali and Rachael were both wearing jeans, riding boots, old shirts and big stockman’s hats. Their eyes were shaded from each other. Rachael broke the silence. “Well – what did you make of that?”
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, Ali…They were holding hands!”
“He’s a big sensitive man that dad of yours.”
“C’mon, Ali, you saw them. They stood there for what, five minutes? I’m sure she kissed his hand. They were definitely holding hands and she put Dad into the passenger seat and she drove the car!”
“You’re making too much of it, Princess.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Well, I do.”
“Why? How?”
Ali turned and faced Rachael; he was close to being angry. “Just listen, will you? I’ve spent more time with him than either you or Ewen. I think I know the man as well or better than anyone. We spend our lives together. He doesn’t handle family emotions very well. I remember him when you went missing for a few days in Africa when you were chasing gorillas or something…I found him down by the pool one night…I’m sure he’d been having a bit of a cry. He was the same when he and your mother were finally divorced…it had been going on for years but when it was final…he had a few bad days then. He’s lonely, Rach – in spite of all his good humour, he’s lonely, I reckon. You need to remember he spends a lot of time on his own. Now poor old Ewen is injured and I reckon he must be taking it pretty bad.”
Rachael looked at him; the anger and suspicion had gone out of her voice. “We, no I, forget, don’t I? I’m all wrapped up in my own little world. I just think of him as ‘good old Dad’ doing what he wants to do out here in this beautiful wilderness. I never think of him as being lonely. Are you lonely too, Ali?”
He didn’t answer her. He looked away to where Angus and Pat had been standing.
“Oh Ali…what can I do?”
“Stay close to him, Rach…he can be fragile that giant of a man.”
“What about you, Ali?”
“What about me?”
“You didn’t answer me – are you lonely?”
“You don’t need to ask.”
Rachael took her hat off and shook her hair loose. Now Ali could see her eyes and there were tears running down her cheeks as she looked at him. He took an old handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wiped away her tears. “Put your hat on, Rach. Let’s take these nags back and give them a wash and a feed. It’s getting bloody hot.”
Rachael didn’t move and the tears flowed. “Ali…what can I do?”
“Later, Princess. We will talk later. You know the answer to your question anyway if you really ask yourself – it’s not for me to tell you. But this is not the time or the place to go into it – for the first time in years we have a bit of time. Let’s have a swim this afternoon. I have a couple of watering points to check in the holding paddocks, so if you spend some time with Angus and Pat, I’ll be back about four. See if you can get away on your own.” He urged his horse forward into a walk and Rachael scrunched her hair under her hat and jammed it onto her head and allowed her horse to follow. She nudged it with her heels, caught up with Ali and they rode together.
Chapter 9.
Catharsis.
Pat parked the Mercedes in the bough shed and remembered not to take the keys out of the ignition. Without looking at Angus she got out and followed him