Hope Deferred, page 16
But at the car rental kiosk, he realized he had completely overlooked a vital bit of information. He was unable to rent a vehicle without an International Driver’s Permit, an IDP, which was only valid in conjunction with his own driver’s license, which had been revoked on his second speeding ticket at home The first time he’d been caught he was only going 80, but the second time, at 110, the cops meant business.
This man behind the desk wasn’t joking, either. He carried a chip on his shoulder the size of a two-by-six, breathing down his nose at Dave, spouting an accent like rusty rainwater without an inch of patience. He told Dave to get a taxi and stop wasting his time.
“But I need to get to the outback,” Dave shouted, watching his whole dream melt away with this arrogant man holding the blowtorch.
“Yeah, yeah. They all do.” He leaned his head to the right, raised his eyebrows and said, “Next!” Waved his left hand with a snort.
Dave clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to calm down.
“How do I get there if I can’t drive?”
“Find someone to take you.”
There was nothing to do but move away, looking behind him at a disgruntled peanut of a man. I could lift him off the ground with one hand, Dave thought, which gave him the confidence boost he needed to lug his bags outside and figure out his next move.
There were taxis everywhere, so he threw up a hand, without results. He tried stepping off the curb, throwing out an arm. Nothing happened. The drivers looked right at him through their windshields, but not a single one stopped. He was thirsty, the air so dry it was like breathing dust. He kept stepping off the curb, waving, even yelling “Hey!” He felt sheepish when a passerby gave him a dirty look, but he called out even louder for the next one to stop. He was rewarded by one almost standing on its front end, the brakes applied so hard, a screech of tires and an expert swerve into a small parking space.
Dave wasted no time getting into the back seat, gave the driver the written address, and was whisked away into a stream of fast-moving traffic, deposited in front of what appeared to be a small pub.
He paid the driver, tipped generously, and stood with his two large pieces of luggage, looking up to the second story of the brick building, hoping there was a decent room behind those cracked windows and peeling windowpanes.
He hadn’t counted on feeling quite so alone. He’d been here for four hours and couldn’t remember one friendly face.
What was wrong with people?
He picked up his luggage and shouldered his way through the door, turned to meet a middle-aged woman with a girth the size of an inner tube, her white apron buried in rolls of pink uniform.
“You need help, hon?”
He almost cried at the “hon.”
“I rented this room for a week?”
He gave her the slip of paper with the address.
She took it, read it, and waved a hand.
“Right. This way, love.”
He wanted to hug her, tell her he loved her too.
He followed the wide backside up narrow wooden stairs, marveled at the agility with which the large woman navigated the steps. She stopped two doors down a poorly lit hallway, all dark paneling and brown carpeting, but it smelled of mothballs and strong soap of some kind.
“Right here you be, love. AC controls on the wall, towels in the bath. You got yourself a bargain. Where you from?”
“Pennsylvania. United States.”
“Aha. Don’t know much about Pennsylvania, but you have a clean look about you. Well, it’s good to have you. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you.”
“You need anything, ask for Wendy. Wendy Iggins. I own the place with my husband, Perth.”
“Thanks.”
She smiled, reached up and patted his cheek, and Dave felt mothered, immediately pleased to know there was one person in this vast city who would look after him. For a fleeting moment, he missed his mother with an intensity that startled him. But just as quickly, he pushed the feeling aside, embarassed by his own sentimentality.
He opened the door, which was as dark and heavy as the paneled hallway, and was met by the soft glow of a shaded lamp on a stand beside a bed covered with a red quilt, a brown blanket folded neatly along the bottom, and pillows appearing substantial. There was a dresser, also brown, with a sizable mirror hung on the dark wall behind it.
The shades were drawn, the curtains hanging heavily beside them. Dark, everything dark, Dave thought, but it was clean and comfortable, so he had nothing to complain about.
The bathroom was so small he couldn’t imagine turning around in it, but there was a shower, a commode, and a washbasin with a shelf to set his necessities on. It was tiled in dark brown marble and he smiled to himself, thinking if he ever built a house, it would certainly be painted white.
He was too tired to unpack, so he grabbed what he needed, showered in lukewarm water, and fell into bed. He slept for fourteen hours straight, woke up confused, ravenous, and eager to begin his tour of Darwin, the northernmost city in Australia.
The food was good, although a bit bland. Every dish contained meat or potatoes, with plenty of grilled choices. He met Wendy’s husband, Perth, a towering middle-aged man with small narrow-set eyes, a bad haircut, and dentures that clacked around in his mouth.
He obtained more information from Perth than if he’d bought his own handbook. He gave his seasoned opinions freely, his manner direct, his voice like rusted wheels.
“Now, you get my old four-wheel drive, you don’t need no license. You get out there in the Outback, nobody’s gonna stop you.”
Dave was hesitant. He didn’t want to end up in some Australian prison.
“I’m not sure I want to try it alone.”
“Well, if you don’t, you’re smart. Things can go wrong. Your vehicle stops on you, you ain’t got enough water, your phone got no service, you’re in bad shape. Ain’t nothing to mess with out there. Plus, the air conditioner is broke. You’d have to get that fixed. It gets hot like you can’t imagine out there. And we’re comin’ off the dry season, which means it’ll be going into the wet, so it can dump on you. Flash floods, walls of water in ravines. October to April. Storms can be pretty bad. So whyn’t you fly out?”
Dave shrugged, bit off a piece of steak, chewed, swallowed.
“I have no idea where I’m going.”
CHAPTER 15
WITH THE PERSUASION OF PERTH AND WENDY, DAVE DID BUY THE OLD Toyota SUV, a rusted vehicle not quite silver and not quite gray. He decided to put off fixing the air conditioner, promising Perth he’d stop at a shop before heading out of town (which he had no intention of actually doing). He leaned in under the hood, helped to reinforce every working part, change the oil, clean the spark plugs, listen to every bit of information he could gather about going into the Outback. Vast. Huge. He couldn’t begin to fathom the miles and miles, thousands of them, with nothing but scrub brush, dry grass, and desert-like conditions. There were rivers, cliffs, and what they called ocher ranges, named for an earthy clay colored by iron oxide. He wanted to see all of it.
He planned on visiting Alice Springs first, then he’d go from there.
Perth raised an eyebrow, reared back, and stared, openmouthed.
“What?” Dave asked.
“Alice Springs? Are you kidding me?”
“What?”
“You better realize, this ain’t no small distance from one place to the other. You got a long ways to go.”
“How far?”
“Oh, lemme see.”
He lifted his face to the sky, squinted, drummed his fingers, then spoke slowly.
“I’d say fifteen, sixteen hours. On the highway. You can take 87 or Route 1.”
“On the highway? Me without a license?”
“You can’t get there on foot.”
Dave thought about the whole idea of going sightseeing in the borrowed vehicle without a driver’s license in a foreign country. There were risks, but absolutely nothing life-threatening, so why not? He began to relish the thrill of living dangerously, something he had always longed to do. Precaution and safety were for, well, safe and cautious people, and he was not one of them.
So he paid Perth for the battered Toyota, the amount setting him back fifteen hundred dollars, but that was all right. He was still in good shape.
Petrol, water, food, clothing, blankets, a pillow. He checked off his supplies, then listened as Perth told him about the “buildup,” the oppressive weather pattern before the wet season, when the storms dumped between fifty and sixty inches of water. Dry riverbeds, gorges, any cleft in the land filled up with a torrent of rushing water, and it was dangerous, so it was best to stay close to the highway, which had its own set of perils, especially at night.
“Any old creature comes out at night and walks across the road, so I wouldn’t travel too much then.”
“What kind of animals?” He pictured cuddly koala bears and small marsupials.
“There’s always the cattle. Buffalo. Horses. Kangaroos, donkeys.”
Dave felt the rush of adrenaline. Those big animals were no threat. If the land was as flat and treeless as he imagined, he could see those animals miles away.
“Then there’s them road trains.”
Perth shifted the toothpick in his mouth, spat, squinted, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, before telling Dave the road trains were truck convoys. Eighteen-wheelers with several connected trailers totaling 170 feet long.
“They barrel right along. Takes them a long time to stop, and they take up most of the road. They’ll run you right off, so give ‘em space. You need to respect those guys.”
A quick flash of irritation in Dave. Who did they think they were? He had as much right to the road as anyone else, so he wasn’t afraid of anything.
He’d drive straight through to Alice Springs, find out all he could about these Aboriginal people, the ones he’d read about, and why they were pushed out and now lived in and around this place called Alice Springs. From there it was into the Outback, until he could be hired on for a cattle drive. Or to care for sheep, it didn’t matter.
He felt ready to meet whatever the country had to offer. He’d lose his identity, his heritage, everything he’d ever been taught, and forge a trail fueled by this necessity. He’d get rid of Anna and her parents, the ordnung of his childhood and teenaged years. His physical condition was primed by his roofing job, the unbearable heat and humidity in summer, the cold wind that sliced through his coat like a knife in winter, his fingers numb with it. His back and shoulders were toned, sinewy with hardened muscle, his legs like stone.
So he’d drive this old vehicle, fly down the road with the windows down, the radio on as loud as possible, freed from all restrictions, out of his parents’ sight, out of the sight of anyone who cared what he did or didn’t do, how he was dressed, whether he shaved or brushed his teeth or changed into clean clothes. He could face the whole Outback with his own strength and fearless mind.
Bring it on, he thought. Just bring it on. Let’s see what I’m made of.
Wendy hugged him, wished him well; Perth clapped his shoulder with his enormous hand, told him to be careful.
Dave was so eager to be on the road, he barely acknowledged their goodbyes, his eyes flicking from their faces to his vehicle, mentally going over his stash of supplies, his phone charger, cash, plenty of water, enough food for a week at least.
Perth eyed the horizon, took in the air heavy with portent, the flat air sucked of the usual amount of oxygen, as if a giant hand had reached down and taken most of it. He told Dave to head for high ground if a storm approached, even if it was miles away.
“Sure, of course.” Impatient, Dave opened the door of the vehicle and slid behind the wheel, slammed it shut behind him, and grinned up at them both.
“Hey, thanks for everything. See ya.”
And he was off.
The air rushed past, the sun an orange orb of pulsing heat, the sky so blue he’d never seen anything like it. All was clear and good, a good omen, like God was smiling down at him.
By the time he reached Katherine Gorge, he was hot, thirsty, and running out of gas. The air around him was so oppressive, so intensely hot and heavy, he felt as if he was underwater. He struggled to breathe as he pulled off by the side of the road, trying to keep the panic from creeping across his chest. Even on a roof in the middle of July, he had never felt anything close to this.
All around him, there was nothing but dust, weird trees he knew were called ghost gums from a guidebook he’d read, and all manner of odd grasses, bushes, and spiky growths he couldn’t name. Everything was covered in dust, as if there was a giant blower with a never-ending supply spewing out of it, settling on every available surface before moving on, then replaced by more. He had not seen a kangaroo or an emu, not even a strange lizard or marsupial of some kind.
But there were the gorges, a rift in the otherwise empty land that seemed as if the earth was split open by some great shift, and never put back together the way it was before.
He drank thirstily, water running down the sides of his chin, into the neck of his T-shirt, before thinking of conserving any of it.
He took a deep breath, replaced the cap, set the container back in the vehicle, before turning to lift the can of gas.
On his way again, he wondered how long a person could drive on this level road that stretched out like an endless ribbon. When he got to the horizon, there was only more horizon, always the same, no matter how hard he pushed the Toyota. His eyelids drooped, and he remembered being unable to fall asleep, waking much earlier than normal with no idea what he would encounter for the rest of his life, which kept him awake until it was time to get out of bed.
One of his favorite songs was on the radio, the one that always reminded him of Anna. Angrily, he reached over to turn it off. Even on another continent she was with him.
That thought pushed him to a new decision. He was not going to Alice Springs before heading inland to the cattle stations. This driving was more than he’d bargained for, this bleary-eyed inertia that had him hanging open mouthed over the steering wheel, completely at the mercy of his thoughts, which were always punctured by images of Anna, sooner or later.
No, he couldn’t keep this up. Too much time to think. The sun was sliding farther into the west, the air around him only intensified by its heat, the dust filtered by the rays of its descent. He pulled off by the side of the road again to study the map, finding his exact location, the best way to the nearest cattle station, which was, by all accounts, another day of driving.
He’d check his phone, use his GPS. He leaned back in the seat, tapped on the screen, then snorted with impatience. No service again. He jumped up on the hood of the Toyota, then on the roof, and tried again. Same thing.
Well, nothing to do but resume his journey and hope to find the proper route before nightfall. They’d told him it wasn’t safe to drive at night, but if he slept a few hours and was up to it, he’d keep going. He hadn’t seen a single animal so far, so he wasn’t worried.
Headlights approached. He would have been glad to speak to someone, anyone, about his whereabouts and the best way to the first cattle station. It was still partially daylight, so perhaps he could flag this person down. He stepped out.
For a long time, he watched the distant headlights and realized it was a large truck, then realized the full extent of the approaching convoy.
A road train.
It approached at breakneck speed. He stepped back and got into his vehicle. The deafening roar of the diesel engine grew as the huge apparatus approached. Black smoke poured from the exhaust pipe of the monstrous cab. A hiss of hot air, dust and sand, the scent of rubber and oil and hot metal. The driver waved, and he was gone, trailed by five more trucks trundling along at a speed Dave could only estimate to be close to a hundred miles an hour.
He drove on, peering anxiously into his rearview mirror. The sun slid behind the scrub brush, sinking the world into a light that was not daylight but close to nightfall, an odd phenomenon that wasn’t twilight at all, the way it was back home.
A chill raced up his spine. He dreaded nightfall and wished for a hotel. A house, another human being. He realized his need for anyone to be nearby, someone to talk to. He hadn’t bargained for this isolation, this setting apart from all human contact. For the hundredth time he wished for Wayne. All of this would be so much better with him.
Darkness brought relief from the heat, but he had never been anywhere that it was so completely black, the night like a suffocating sock. He could barely see his hand in front of his face. Rummaging around in the back of the Toyota he realized his first serious oversight.
A flashlight.
Oh, his phone. His phone was his flashlight. He almost giggled with relief. He found his cache of food. He had to be content with the peppery beef jerky and hard, brown bread and cheese, washed down with tepid water that tasted like copper. All around him the night stretched on, only the sound of a few tired insects screeching to cut the absolute silence.
He shivered and couldn’t believe how chilly it had become. He settled his pillow into a corner of the vehicle, spread the thin cotton blanket over himself, realized he’d forgotten to take off his shoes, and sat up, annoyed.
Then again, perhaps he should keep them on, he thought, remembering scorpions and snakes. Poisonous ones. He sat, undecided, when he heard footsteps.
He froze.
Definitely, someone or something was walking on the hard road.
He held completely still, his ears strained to hear the footsteps.
