Facing the sun, p.7
Facing the Sun, page 7
“Yep.”
“The worst thing you could do would be to get on the wrong side of Sohrab. Then you’ll not be allowed near either of them. You’ll be no use to us.” This makes sense. When something’s clear, he takes it on board. Well, from those he trusts. It seems the crisis has been diverted. The plan made is for Josh to sleep the remainder of the night on the floor, while Sandro takes his bed. But the night is quiet, and over in the Ute, Jack snores like a koala with a head cold. There’s no further sign of Molly.
Sandro has many words to say to his sister the next day when he catches her alone returning from her shower, wrapped only in a towel. It’s clear none of this makes its way to her brain, and he retires, frustrated. They scarcely know anything about each other. Sohrab, having woken before the others, sticks his head into their room on his way to the kitchen to put on the kettle. “What you in here for Allesandro? You been kicked out?”
“Yeah. Too many beers. Snoring?”
* * *
Jack’s dream haunts him as he scrambles from the Ute making his way into the shower which, despite the crowd in the house, is free. His entire life has been a venture in sharing the space around him. He flows from one place to another without the slightest trace of being put out. This morning though, he feels anxious, and his heart begins racing when he remembers the strange visitors of the previous evening. At least that makes some sense of the dream where he was being haunted by figures in uniform behind every tree and bush. He remembers a new bit where he’d been overtaken outside the Pub by several shadowy figures moving towards and away from him, increasing in number until he woke himself up screaming silently in fear. Ashamed of himself, he lets the water run over his rigid body thankful no-one has appeared in the hallway. Over breakfast with Sohrab and Sandro, he is distant, scarcely taking in the conversation, until he remembers unwillingly his extremely unpleasant task of the morning. “Sohrab. There’s something you should know, mate.” At the instant alert in the other’s face, he adds, “Now don’t go going off. It won’t help.” But, he well knows that this is useless talk. Sohrab has little or no voluntary control over his reactions. The impatient glare and lift of the shoulders warns him to get on with the business and not make it worse by prevaricating. “Adam was in a bit of trouble while you were away. I didn’t tell you last night because Allesandro had just arrived. No point in spoiling things. You guys have waited a long time for this.” Curious, but not surprised, Sandro watches his father’s face.
“Get on with it!” Sohrab growls. “What’s he been up to now?” His breathing is shallow and his whole body rigid. “I told you he is not to leave here. Even to go out to Mob. He has no respect for my wishes. You! You took him out there against my orders. This is your fault!”
Jack, inured to his outbursts, remains calm. “What is my fault Sohrab? What exactly is it you are accusing me of?” His grim face holds more than a touch of anger.
Sohrab glares back. “Get on with it, I say. How do I know what? You tell me what!” Neither speaker seems aware of Sandro’s presence. They are locked in a familiar duel of wits. At this point, Adam, keen to make a solid and positive start to what promises to be a very bad day, appears at the kitchen door. Sandro sees him first and wishes he could do something for the hapless teenager about to bring down an avalanche on his head before breakfast, but there is no possibility of that.
Their father springs to his feet, hands on the table as he leans across to get nearer to his younger son. “What you done now? Why can you not do as I say?”
Adam flinches, searching Jack’s face for clues. One thing is certain: it is the best thing that Jack and Sandro are here to help him with this. “I broke a window of an old house. That’s all. No big deal.” The response to this is not good. His father’s face appears to blow up. “Settle down Pop! You’ll bust something. It’s not that bad.” His concern is genuine. It really does look as though he is about to have a stroke or something. Perhaps he should call Mum, just in case. Obviously this wasn’t a good move because his father’s anger releases in a steam train’s screech and everyone present ducks from the attack on their ears.
“What house?”
“You know those houses no-one’s lived in for ages down along George Street. One of them.”
“What you doing down there?”
Silence stretches across the room and out through the open door onto the veranda taking in the extreme quiet of the desert. Visions of the Mob around the camp make Adam wish with all his might that he was out there again, where things are quiet and stillness dominates the atmosphere as a warm blanket, so unlike this tense, hard space his father keeps around him much of the time.
“Answer!”
There is no way through it, but forward. If he doesn’t tell the story, Jack will, and it isn’t his problem. Well, only because he’d called his uncle when the blood everywhere frightened him into taking action he would have done anything to avoid. It makes him feel like one of those welfare cases Jack does so much work with, and he wants to be different; more like Jack. Now, there’s no chance of that. Dad will see to it that he disappears somewhere forever, and he will never be the same again. The only thing Dad cares about is looking alright in front of everyone.
“We had some grog in the house. The door wouldn’t open, so I broke a window with the torch and Spak and Jello stood in the glass.” He takes a deep breath, plunging forward. “Mum had to sew them up.” His father’s face goes white. “Leave her out of it. She knew nothing about where I was. It’s not her fault. Someone had to sew them up.”
“Are police involved?” Of all possible consequences, this to his Dad, is the worst one imaginable. Trouble with the law. Nothing threw him more than the idea he might have to answer to authorities. His father eyes Jack, who shakes his head.
“I spoke to the owner, and he was happy to have the window fixed. It’s done.”
“They’ll know. They know everything.”
“Out of town the night it happened, Sohrab. Only me and the owner know it was ever broken. I bought the glass and told old Wallo one of the kids’d been throwing a ball.”
“So,” he glares at his son in disgust. “You been drinking? You be an alco. Fit in with everyone here?” They all jump as the speaker slams his mug down on the table; but he only turns on his heel and storms out the door.
Adam stands frozen in the doorway. When his mother appears behind him putting her hand on his shoulder, he shakes it off. “Leave it!” He turns to push past her, but Jack’s quiet voice stops him.
“I don’t get why you broke the window Adam, when you had a key.”
“It was too dark. Couldn’t find the lock.” Don’t ask any more questions Jack. Please just leave it. Leave me to work this out. He turns and clips the door frame as he pushes past his mother to escape.
Marra addresses her brother. “There’s something bothering him, Jack. I just know there is.”
He nods.
Molly has a plan.
Alessandro appeared okay at first, but he has no right to tell her off. He certainly isn’t the boss of things here and any more shit from him will show that; giving her lectures and telling her what to do! After sulking on the bed in her parents’ room for fifteen minutes, she gets up. Finding Josh on his own has been difficult. While everyone out there is fighting about Adam, staying away from the kitchen is not only a good idea but helpful. She eases up the window frame of her parents’ room and, climbing out, runs around to Adam’s side of the house peering into gloom which is making it difficult to see much, but the lump in the bed must be him because everyone else is in the kitchen. Quietly, she slides the window up its tracks thinking as she does that it’s going to be difficult getting high enough without standing on something. Her arms aren’t that strong. Determination, always her strong point, now works to heave herself up until she can change positions to get a better hold. Just as she’s achieved this much, feeling extremely pleased with herself and pushing down on her outstretched arms to swing her body up, a heavy pair of hands lock onto her waist and drag her backwards abruptly letting go so she staggers and falls on her bum scraping her bare legs against one of those horrible spiky bushes which grow everywhere. She stares up into her father’s face in horror. Now, she’s in deep shit!
The morning has been not the best for Sohrab. Being with his first son, the greatest excitement he has felt for a long time, has been ruined by Adam. Storming from the kitchen and slamming the back door left him without options. A brisk walk seemed like the only thing to do; calm himself down. He’d rounded the house when he spied Molly trying to climb into her brother’s room where he knew the young man was still sleeping. He attacks her now like a madman. She has chosen the very worst moment for her escapade. He reaches down grabbing her by the arm and pulling her up, struggling to escape his iron hold. By the time he finishes shouting at her and threatening dire consequences, alternating it with slaps to her already bleeding legs, she is hysterical. Josh, springing up from a deep sleep at the sound of screaming and fighting outside the bedroom window, has no time to react before he found himself held rigid against Sandro’s body with a hand clamped across his mouth. Outside, Jack and Marra and Adam’s combined efforts have succeeded in getting Sohrab to let go his daughter’s arm, and once again she falls to the ground.
“If you get involved with this Josh we’ll have to leave, and we need to stay here to help Adam and Molly.” The whisper settles the fierce fight against the restrictions, allowing Sandro to lessen the tightness of the hold, but he doesn’t let go.
“He’s a monster. You can’t just let him get away with that.”
“No. And I can’t let you fight him because that would wreck any chance we have to influence things.” Outside, the sobbing continues, Marra’s quiet voice, joined by Bridey’s, murmuring softly to the hysterical girl. “Come on, Josh. We’re going down to book rooms at the Pub.”
“I can’t just walk out on her!”
“Yes, you can. If that’s in her best interests. We won’t be long.”
Sohrab, standing watching on at Marra’s attempts to soothe her daughter, sees Sandro and Josh getting into the car. His mind is in turmoil. Things will be different now. His older son is leaving in disgust. The younger has no respect. His daughter will never speak to him again, and will grow up a slut. His wife will probably move out. Temper had seemed under control, but, he thinks now, it has been extreme provocation. He has only been trying to protect his children from making terrible mistakes with their lives. The thought that Marra might call the police paralyses him for only an instant. No! He instructs himself. It isn’t happening. He is never going to submit to being locked up again. Running into the house, he grabs the car keys and drives off down the road to his friend’s house. The only solution he can muster is to head back out into the desert. Still packed from their trip, only the water tanks needed refilling, and he should grab some food in town before the story gets out; before he is trapped.
Marra and Jack, seeing him drive away, both decide he is going after Sandro and allow him leave. Together, they lift Molly to her feet and take her inside, Bridey and Adam following in silence each wrapped in their own thoughts.
Molly, seated on her mother’s knee, repeats, “I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I’ll never speak to him again!” Her mother, holding her daughter’s head against her shoulder, is grim, determination setting her face in unaccustomed hard lines, eyes narrowing and thoughts far off into the distance out the kitchen window.
Adam sits opposite his sister, guilt-ridden because it’s all his fault. This isn’t about Molly. Yeah, sure she can be annoying. But it’s not about her. When they get back to Adelaide, where he can find transport for himself, he’s leaving home. It’s enough. None of them should have to put up with this shit. Jack, seated beside him, watches his sister’s face. Maybe now she will make a move. Finally, this might be enough to make her to draw the line. Yeah, sure she loves him, but the constant tension must be taking its toll. He’d been bearable and often very loving until the kids hit the teenage years, but now he’s gone over the top. Is the marriage really worth it?
Tension heightens at the noise of a vehicle approaching the house, relaxing when Jack assures them it’s Alessandro’s car. Both kids sit thinking how much safer they feel with all these extra people around. Josh comes in first going straight to Molly who gets up so she can sit on his knee and cry into his shoulder. Bridey moves to stand near Sandro, wilting into him as he apologises for abandoning her to face it alone. Turning to Marra, he asks, “Does he do this stuff much?” The answer is slow coming, “Yes and no. To Adam, yes. This is the first time to Molly.” They all watch her face. “And it will be the last for both,” adding after a brief pause, “and the last for me too.”
“Have you ever left him before this, Marra?” Hopefully, the question isn’t too intrusive but he’s hungry to know details, any details about his father’s life. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Yes, I have.” Her jaw clenches, and she grips the table, her fingers whitening. The faraway gaze is back. “I got sick of his tantrums about where I was going and what I was doing. One day he pushed me around a bit; wouldn’t let me out. When he left the house with the kids, I climbed out the window; that’s where Molly gets her ideas from,” she adds with a wan attempt to lighten up. “The kids were only little, but they wanted to know how I’d escaped. It was terrible trying to explain it all to them. Adam was about to start school.” She drops her head and begins to cry as her fingers loosen from the table, and her hands release into her lap.
“Are you okay Marra?” Jack asks. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Yes. I do. For the sake of his children. So they understand.” Her silence draws out until they begin to wonder whether she has changed her mind. But she takes a deep breath and continues. “The police were involved of course. They gave him a really hard time, and I felt terrible that I was getting lots of support: counselling, legal help, help with the kids. Being indigenous and educated meant I could make use of loads of stuff. They kept insisting I take out an intervention order, and in the end I did because he was so determined to harass me, wanting to see the kids of course, but also wanting to know what I was doing and everything.” Tears continue to trickle down her cheeks. “They discovered his working visa had expired and put him in Baxter Detention Centre. It was a nightmare. A complete and utter horror!” Her gaze sweeps from one face to another pausing on Jack’s who nods encouragement, but stopping on Molly who’s crying with her. “I’m so sorry Molly. He was winding up, but I just couldn’t put him through legal stuff again. Even though now he’s an Australian citizen, he’s mentally unable to feel safe with anything.”
“Well, you don’t have to Mum,” Molly states firmly. “I don’t want him locked up. I just want him to…”
“It’s my job to keep you two and myself safe. That’s my first priority.”
“Don’t do this Mum,” Adam thrusts in. “Don’t let him get hurt again. I don’t want that.”
Marra’s slow tears stop. She draws in a long breath. Turning to Jack she says, “Can you get us on a flight out of here? I’m really sorry, Alessandro, but we can’t wait around. Heaven knows what will happen if he comes back and we’re still here.”
“Where’s your computer?” Jack goes off to search for options while Sandro rings the Pub and cancels their booking. Josh sits silent.
Adam and Molly, sent to pack their things, make several attempts to get Marra to change her mind, but she is adamant that this is what they must do. The quiet which settles over the house is filled with black misery. By mid-afternoon, the three are on the only flight back to Adelaide, Molly wondering why Josh doesn’t kiss her goodbye, or even look like he is going to miss her when she’s had a really terrible day.
Jack, Sandro and Bridey are startled, as they turn from waving off the small plane, by a red-headed figure behind them with his arm around Josh’s shoulder. Jack recognises him from the descriptions when Josh and Flagran had turned up at his family’s home out on county, but draws back puzzled at the sight of his companion. “You!” he says softly. “What are you doing here?” Dale, anxious at having unwittingly made another physical appearance immediately disappears. Whipping around at one eighty degrees, he sees nothing to explain the disappearance of one entire person, while glancing back to see if the mirage has reappeared and taking in the unusual lack of reaction to these strange events from his companions who continue their conversation without comment. A cold sweat breaks out on Jack’s forehead, and dizziness makes his eyesight furry. Feeling like a complete fool, he stumbles across to a seat where he drops his head into his hands contemplating what on earth he is going to say to these folks about his visions. Of course, he decides instantly, say nothing you fool. When he is able to lift his head without it spinning, he discovers himself confronted by the small group, some eyes concerned for him, but others, the brilliant golden ones of the red head, offering him a warm smile. I’m definitely taking a break from the beer.
* * *
Over the next few days, Marra battles with two disgruntled teenagers, who seem only to care about their own needs, as she obsesses over possibilities for their future whilst her longing to hear from Sohrab competes with her dread of the contact. Not knowing where he is, is the worst of it. Having determined that the police, or indeed any authorities, would not be involved, she is certain of one aspect, and this is that some time apart is essential. Terror floods her when she imagines Sohrab’s reaction to this. It is very likely he will, consumed with pride and an inability to face his own demons or their impact on others, cut them all loose. It had only been her grim determination to keep contact with him before, during and after his incarceration, which had restored the relationship. Well aware that battered women think too little of themselves to keep the appropriate distance, she struggled with herself to hold her ground, both with Sohrab’s demands and verbal attacks and with the various friends and relations who insisted she needed to cut loose. The children had been little then and wanted their father home. Over and above all else what kept her on her chosen path was the knowledge that she was happier with Sohrab than without. That she loved him despite his overbearing ways. He was a generous and affectionate lover and worked hard to provide for his family. When she worked, he stepped into the breach without complaint, cooking, washing, shopping, and meeting all the requirements of two quite demanding little ones in creative and constant ways. Returning home after a stint in the outback, she could always be certain of a warm welcome and no complaints about her absence. Then, just as she had settled into security and love, out of the blue he would fly into a massive rage, shrinking the household into corners to avoid attracting attention.
