I grew so used to staring at the blank door that when it eventually opened I was taken by surprise. Liam’s clothes were streaked with blood and he was wiping his hands on a towel. I was too afraid to ask and he simply nodded at me. Harry followed, still wearing his pyjamas with a green plastic apron and a matching cap. They brought the stink of disinfectant with them.
‘Well, I think he’ll do.’ That was Harry. ‘He’s still recovering from the anaesthetic but he’s stable. Fortunately, he hadn’t lost too much blood and the bone was shattered but only in the one area. It was a glancing blow. The bullet hadn’t actually penetrated. It could have been a lot worse. Even so, the limb will have to be pinned for a few weeks and I doubt he’ll be able to run far again. Shame for a working dog.’
‘Working dog?’ Liam laughed. ‘That pair of clowns never did a day’s work in their lives. No, he’ll do fine.’
‘Well, he’s not out of the woods yet. We’ll see how things are in the morning. I’ll let you know if anything changes, so if you don’t hear, give me a ring about lunchtime.’
‘I will do. And thank you once again.’ Liam reached out his open hand and they shook and held wrists, the way men do when they’ve shared some heroic episode. ‘Thank God you were here, Harry, I don’t know what we’d have done.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’
‘Right.’
All through this I had stood by, made speechless by fear. Bramble and I followed meekly as Liam led the way back to my
vehicle and I clambered up, fired the engine and worked the gears. For the past few hours I’d been cowered by the horror of events. Now I was back in charge. Fear had given way under the tide of relief, and anger started to boil up inside. I gripped the wheel as if it were Sullivan’s neck.
Liam looked shattered and neither of us spoke. I moved the truck off the road, onto the station track, then through fields and up to the pine plantation, plummeting down through the trees.
‘Just drop me off by the path,’ he said. ‘It’s only a few paces through to the shed.’
‘I’m not dropping anyone anywhere until we’ve paid that bastard a visit.’
‘Hey, no. Jesus, you can’t go barging in there now. Leave it till the morning.’
‘Well I’d hate to spoil his beauty sleep, but his dog nearly died out there and I think he deserves to know about it.’
‘Look, it was obviously an accident. We don’t even know if it was him that fired the gun.’
‘Well, who else was taking pot shots at rabbits then? How long had the dog been out there? Why wasn’t he out looking for him?’
‘You know those dogs, they go their own way.’
‘Not when their master’s out bunny hunting they don’t.’ I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt in front of the house. I can’t remember what I had in mind. Perhaps I was going to knock his teeth out. But I can remember hammering on the door and yelling.
‘Sullivan, Sullivan, wake up! Where’s your bloody dog, Sullivan? Shouldn’t you be out looking for him?’
‘Come away, will you now? There’s nothing to be gained by making a scene.’ Liam had grabbed me by the sleeve and was trying to drag me back to the truck.
‘He’s not getting away with this. Do you hear me, Sullivan? You’re not going to turn your back on this one.’
That’s when the door opened. Sullivan was still dressed and a light came from the back of the house. He stared at me vacantly.
‘Your dog, Sullivan? Where’s your damned dog?’
‘What about the dog? What’s happened?’ He swayed against the doorframe, trying to focus, and then turned and wavered down the hallway towards the kitchen. I struggled free of Liam’s grip and stormed after him.
‘You shot him, that’s what you did. You shot your own bloody dog and for all you care he could be dead.’
Sullivan had slumped onto a chair, his hand round a whisky bottle that was already partly empty.
‘That’s right, you have another drink, Sullivan. Forget all about it. Why the hell should you care what happens to a dog? It’s not as if it’s your responsibility.’
‘You have to understand, Mr Sullivan, she’s very upset. It’s been a long night.’ Liam was still trying to pull me out of the house. ‘Will you come away now, woman? You’re only making things worse.’
‘How could anything be worse than that pathetic sod? Look at him. So drunk he doesn’t even know what I’m talking about.’
Sullivan did look bewildered, turning helplessly from one to the other of us. Liam stepped forward, trying to get between us. I don’t know what he thought I was going to do.
‘It’s Badger, Mr Sullivan. He’s been injured. It seems there was a shooting accident.’
‘Badger? Oh, no. Where is he?’ Sullivan looked around as if he expected to see the dog in the room.
‘He’s with Harry Warner. He’s fixed him up for now, but we’ll know better in the morning how things stand.’
‘Shot, you say?’ He looked confused and…what else was it? Yes, that look had crossed his face again. It was fear, raw fear. But I was too fired up to care what was happening to him.
‘Yes, apparently some joker mistook him for a rabbit.’
‘Regan found him, and it was a bit rough on her—’ Liam continued.
‘Yes, well some people actually care what happens to injured animals.’
‘—and there’s nothing more anyone can do for tonight. So, we’re sorry to have disturbed you.’
‘Disturbed him? Yes, I must say he looks bloody disturbed—’
‘So will you come away now?’ This time he took a firm hold and dragged me down the hall.
‘—people like you shouldn’t be allowed near animals. Or humans for that matter.’ I was still shouting when Liam pushed me out onto the deck and slammed the front door.
‘Will you shut the fuck up!’ he yelled. ‘There’s enough harm done for one night without you adding to it. Now get in the car. I’ll drive.’
Bramble was waiting in the passenger seat, having chosen to remain politically neutral. I climbed into the back, obedient but still spitting fire, while Liam started the engine, reversed the truck and drove around the lake towards the cottage.
‘Surely you’re not going to let him get away with it?’
‘It was an accident. Look, I know he’s an alcoholic and I know he’s irresponsible. And I’ll grant you he shouldn’t be left in charge of a lettuce patch, let alone a working station. But he wouldn’t deliberately hurt an animal. Besides, I’m not at all sure it was him.’
‘Oh, don’t talk rubbish. Of course it was him.’
‘The one thing he’s trained those dogs to do is to keep behind him when he’s firing. And he would never take a shot unless he knew where they were. Besides, when I heard the shooting it was late. Too late for him to be out. He’d be downing the bottle by then.’
‘Well, who could it’ve been if it wasn’t him?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. Poachers maybe.’
‘What do you mean, poachers? There’s nothing here worth
poaching. If you thought it wasn’t Sullivan, why didn’t you go after them? Surely you realised someone was shooting at something?’
His shoulders tightened as he gripped the wheel. He drew breath as if to speak, but there was only a long silence while I counted, five, six heartbeats. Then he breathed again and when he did speak his voice was soft and precise. ‘Yes, I’m well acquainted with the sound of a gunshot.’
Something had gone wrong with this conversation. I’d gone too far, or perhaps I was trampling on sensitive ground. Whatever it was, Liam was somewhere else. Then the truck bumped over a rock and swerved and his attention was forced back to the steering wheel.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I just thought…But it’s part of your job, isn’t it? Looking after things?’
‘Well, after that little drama back there I wouldn’t count on still having a job.’
‘That’s ridiculous. It was me who was mouthing off at him. I can understand him turning me out. But not you. You don’t think he’d really sack you, do you?’
‘I don’t know what he’s likely to do.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll talk to him, explain everything.’
‘I think you’ve said enough. Just leave the talking to me.’
We pulled up outside the cottage and Liam jumped down, Bramble scrambling past him, leaping onto the deck. I stepped down slowly, feeling the blood rushing to my face.
‘I seem to have made a bit of a mess of things, don’t I?’ I said. Then for some reason I burst into tears. Not dainty little sniffs, but great, big, howling sobs. Liam stood in front of me, hands clutching at the empty air. He tried to say something but when he opened his mouth nothing came out. Then, full of trepidation, he reached out and took hold of my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length as though I were a piece of wet laundry and he didn’t know which line to peg me out on.
‘Look, the dog’s going to be fine,’ he whispered.
‘It’s not the bloody dog,’ I howled. ‘I don’t even like dogs.’
‘Oh, is that so?’ Gently and awkwardly he stepped nearer and pulled my head into his shoulder and I buried my nose in his shirt. I thought it would be all dirty and sweaty. Instead it smelled of freshly laundered linen, like the sheets my grandmother smoothed on my bed when I used to stay with her in the summer. He just went on holding me awkwardly. That made me cry even more, and at that moment I hated him completely and his hairy face and his shirt that smelled of my childhood.
‘I’ll fix everything in the morning,’ he said. ‘Sullivan probably won’t even remember us being there. A good night’s sleep is what you need. Look there, I think you’ve got a house guest.’ He nodded towards Bramble, who was waiting patiently by the door.
‘She shouldn’t be staying here. She’s not my dog. I don’t even like dogs.’
‘Yes, well, you try telling her that.’
T
HERE
were no dreams.
I slept deeply through what remained of that night and the following morning, eventually drifting to the surface in a room awash with the golden light of midday. I lay in bed feeling warm and at peace, watching the ceiling reflect the dance of sunbeams on the lake. I could have lazed there indefinitely but indolence is inevitably overcome by the need for coffee, and a shower.
Bramble was still asleep on the sofa. She opened one eye as I passed, flipped her tail and went straight back to sleep. The sofa seemed to be her favourite spot. Last night she had insisted on staying with me but again refused to go into the bedroom, although I would have welcomed her company.
I spent ages under the shower before returning to the kitchen. According to my watch, which I had stopped wearing and now hung on one of the cup hooks, it was gone twelve. I wondered if Liam had rung to see how Badger was. Perhaps I should go over to the woolshed and find him, though I couldn’t imagine he would welcome a visit from me after the way I had behaved the night before. Then there was Sullivan. Ouch! Maybe it would be better if I just kept out of everyone’s way.
I was putting the kettle on, still swathed in a huge towel and dripping footprints over the floor, when there was a gentle knock at the door.
‘Yes, who is it?’
‘Connors here, um, Liam.’
Bramble was instantly awake, and as soon as the door was open an inch she forced her nose through to pounce all over him, tail working like a propeller.
‘I’m sorry, I seem to have come at a bad time.’
‘No, that’s OK. I’ve just got out of the shower. Yes, I suppose that’s obvious. I was about to make coffee. Would you like some?’
‘Shall I make the coffee while you make yourself decent?’
What a wonderful expression, I thought. ‘Make yourself decent.’ As if I could.
‘Great idea. I use coffee beans. You have to put them in a grinder…oh sorry. Yes, I expect you know how to make coffee. Yes, well, I’ll only be a few minutes. Mine’s milk and two sugars.’
Slipping into the bedroom, I listened for sounds of progress from the kitchen while towelling off and pulling on shorts and a T-shirt and fluffing up my hair. By the time I emerged the cottage was filled with that special morning fragrance.
‘Thanks for doing that.’ I took the mug from him. ‘Um, wonderful. Yes, you do know how to make coffee.’ It was good, strong and sweet; the first gulp kicked me into life. ‘Any news of Badger?’
‘Yes, that’s what I came about. I rang Harry just now. Says the dog’s doing fine. We could go and see him if you like. No. Well, to be honest, I’d like to go see him but I’ve not got my own transport. It’s not far from the pub. I thought perhaps I could buy you a beer in return.’
‘Can Bramble come?’
‘Sure, why not?’ He was silent for a moment, sipping the coffee
and studying the toes of his shoes. ‘How’s the work going?’
‘Oh, fine. The first piece is finished, just needs oiling. I was going to do that today.’
‘Don’t suppose I could have a preview?’
‘Yes, of course.’ It slipped out before I thought what I was saying and immediately wished I’d bitten my tongue. First viewings should be for tried and trusted friends who know your work and know how deeply they’re allowed to dent your ego. Too late now, but…Well, what the hell. I led the way out to the deck and removed the cover sheet from the bench. He stared in silence for a long time.
‘Of course, it might not be your thing,’ I muttered.
Silence. He started to walk around it slowly, twisting his body to view from every angle. Then he turned to move in the other direction.
God, he hates it, I thought, probably thinks I’m mad. I bet he’ll say it’s nice just to be polite.
‘It’s not representational, of course. I mean, it’s not supposed to look like something in real life.’
No response. He kept looking and circling while I cringed in the corner. People who don’t understand art should never be allowed near a studio. I bet his only experience of sculpture was a set of flying ducks his mother had over the mantelpiece. He stood still, sniffed and pulled at his earlobe. If he’s Irish he must be Catholic. Bet he has those statues of the Virgin Mary at his bedside. Bet they’re made of plastic. And glow in the dark.
Then he nodded, slowly. He looked directly at me, about to speak. If he’d said it was nice I think I would have hit him.
‘It’s breathtaking. And completely different from your work in the
Manscape
exhibition. The way the figure emerges from the raw wood as you move around it, then it’s like it’s being reabsorbed again, as if it’s surfacing from its own element. It’s taunting us, saying I’m not of your world. You can sense a part
of me but you’ll never really know what I am. Look at that face. There’s intelligence there. But it’s not like anything we know.’
His hand reached out, tracing the line of grain with his fingers. It felt electric, as if he were touching a part of my mind.
‘The way it’s turned in upon itself—aware of us, but it doesn’t need our approval, so primitive it makes us irrelevant. There’s a kinship here with some of the ancient Celtic forms, you know, the pagan concept of intelligence within nature. Yet this is totally of
now.
And
here,
this place. No wonder you spend so much time wandering about in the bush.’
For the first time in my life I truly understood the meaning of the expression ‘gob-smacked’. The muscles of my face had ceased to co-ordinate, leaving my eyes bulging and my lower jaw unhinged. I was powerless to control anything. I tried to speak but only a few strange sounds came out.
‘Did you say this is the first piece? There’s going to be a series?’
I nodded.
‘Then I feel really privileged that you’ve allowed me to see it.’ He moved around the figure again and shook his head. ‘You know, I’m just blown away by this. I can see where your influences come from. There’s certainly something of Noguchi in the rawness of the wood but the style is unmistakably your own. It’s amazing.’
‘You know my work?’ I’d found my voice.
‘Mainly from magazines, I’m afraid. But yes, I went to
Manscape
when it was showing in London. And I saw some of your pieces in Melbourne, in the University Library. You know you’ve come such a long way from
Skyliners.
How did this all happen?’
‘I, er…It was the trees,’ was all I could manage.
‘Yes?’ he prompted, waiting eagerly for some profound statement of artistic motivation.
‘I came here. And…and I saw trees.’ I sounded like a
gibbering idiot. ‘I mean, I saw them. Not just trees. They are alive. I can feel them thinking. Well, not thinking, exactly. But there’s a sort of consciousness, an awareness.’
‘Sentience, do you mean?’
‘Yes, that’s it. Sentience and, well, they’re like a related group. Sort of like a colony of bees. Or ants. But not like that. With trees each one is different. But they know each other. They can think all together, like in a chorus.’
‘Yes, well trees are living things. They emanate an aura, a sort of energy, like all things. It’s like everything in nature has a spirit or a soul and it can be sensed by those who are in harmony with the Earth.’ He gulped down the remains of his coffee. ‘Which you are, of course, even if you don’t know it. Still,’ he did an abrupt turn about, leaping down from the deck and heading for the truck, ‘we’d better be off to see that dog before Harry goes out on his sheep rounds.’
But there was more I wanted to tell him.
‘There’s something else out there,’ I whispered. ‘It knows I’m here. It watches me.’ But Liam Connors was already standing by the truck and I don’t think he could have heard me.
It was still early in the afternoon and lunchtime drinkers, draining their glasses before returning to work, watched us as we walked up to the bar. It was good to see Maggie again. I had called in a few times since my first visit and she always stopped to talk. I think she enjoyed a break from male company. So I could see she was surprised, and a bit put out, when I arrived with Liam. She gave nothing away as she took his order, but when turning to pour our drinks she caught my eye. I forget who once said that the spoken word had ruined the art of conversation but a lot can be said with a frown or a raised eyebrow. On the surface it translated as, ‘What the hell are you doing with him?’ and ‘Just having a drink, that’s all’, but there
was a strong undertow of meaning in that silent communion. She stood two cold glasses in front of us and wiped the counter over with a cloth.
‘How’s the dog then?’
‘You heard about it?’
‘Of course I heard about it. This is a small place, you know. If someone sneezes at one end of the street you feel the draught at the other. So what happened? I heard he’d been shot.’
I was drawing breath to answer when Liam flashed me a look of cold steel.
‘We don’t know what exactly happened,’ he said. ‘But whatever it was, it was an accident.’
‘Well, I should hope it was, poor thing.’ Maggie bridled. ‘Is he going to be all right?’
‘Yes, he seems to be fine.’ I managed to get in first this time. ‘We’ve just come from Harry’s place. He’s keeping Badger there for a few days. At the moment he’s all bandaged up and can’t even stand. I expect he’ll need a lot of looking after when he’s allowed out. Can’t see Sullivan making a good nurse, though, can you?’
‘I think we’ll go sit over there by the window.’ Liam snatched up both our drinks and, before I could protest, walked away from the bar.
I gave Maggie a shrug and followed him to a corner table. A few of the drinkers watched us cross the room. There were some exchanged looks and raised eyebrows, more face dialogue, before they concluded we were of no further interest and turned their backs. Meanwhile Maggie came around the bar with a bowl of water for Bramble, who obviously drank here regularly. She slurped it eagerly, splattering the dusty floorboards, then ambled over and flopped down under the table.
‘I suppose I ought to apologise for last night.’
‘You were upset,’ he said. Then he looked straight at me and his eyes softened. ‘You did well for the dog. If I’m ever in trouble
I’d hope to have you on my side.’
‘What about Sullivan? Have you seen him?’
‘Yes, I had to go up to the house this morning. It’s as I thought—he didn’t remember much about anything, only that we’d been there and there’d been some problem with Badger.’
Liam fell silent for a few moments. His fingers traced the condensation as it ran down the outside of his glass. Then, as if reaching a major decision, he said, ‘You know, he’s a strange one, that Sullivan.’
Now, how was I supposed to respond to that? There I was, sitting across the table from the weirdest man I had ever encountered.
‘What do you mean by “strange”?’
‘Well, he was really upset when I explained what had happened to Badger. I’d anticipated that he would be, naturally. But it seemed to go much deeper than that. It was like he was badly shaken. And scared. Yes, that was it, he was scared. Yet he said it was probably poachers and nothing to worry about. He was anxious to know how the dog was faring, of course, so I thought he’d want to go straight to the surgery. But no, he’d have nothing to do with it. That’s when I came to you for a lift.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, it sounds to me as if he doesn’t give a shit about the poor, damned dog.’
‘No. No, that’s the strange thing. I’m sure he was genuinely concerned. Said Badger must have the best care. No expense to be spared. Harry’s to send him all the bills. Then, when I said Badger would be home in a few days he said he couldn’t have the dog in the house. He’s to go to the woolshed with me and I’m to be his nurse.’
‘Huh! At least he hasn’t given you the push.’
‘Far from it. Practically begged me to stay and tend the animal. And he’s offered me a lot more money if I do.’ Liam drained his glass, then gazed into it as if hoping to find an explanation.
‘Doesn’t he even want to see his dog?’
‘No, apparently not.’
‘OK, I grant you that is weird.’ I stood up, taking both glasses. ‘Thirsty weather. I’ll get this round.’ I moved away before he had a chance to object.
‘Same again please, Maggie.’ I was aware of her eyeing Liam over my shoulder. ‘Seen anything of Sullivan lately?’
‘What? Oh, yeah. Part of the furniture. He’s in here every night.’
‘What about last night?’
‘As always. Came in about sundown for his usual couple of beers. Though I dare say that was just for starters. The serious drinking doesn’t begin till he gets home, or so they say.’
‘So he would have been here about eight, nine o’clock?’
‘Yeah. Why? What’s so important about Sullivan’s drinking hours?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just wondered.’ I slipped the money onto the bar and scuttled back to our table with fresh glasses.
‘Here’s to you!’ Liam took a long drink of beer, leaving a fringe of froth along his moustache. As he stared out the window I looked at his hands wrapped around the wet glass. They were large, the fingers long and bony, knuckles jutting out like small pebbles. There was no seemingly permanent line of blackness beneath the nails, like you see on the hands of workmen. Liam’s nails were white and neatly trimmed. I looked down at my own hands. They, too, are working hands, covered with tiny white scars. All the scars are old, of course, from my student days. When you work with sharp tools you soon learn not to cut yourself. Apart from the pain, blood stains the wood: hours of work can be ruined by a dripping wound. Then there were Liam’s hands. A bit rough, cuts and scratches, a raised callus where he’d swung a hammer. But that was all recent, the cuts barely scabbed over. He might be a casual labourer now, but Liam Connors and hard physical work were not what you’d call old friends.
‘You know a lot about art,’ I ventured.
‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?’ Was it possible to say anything to this man without offending him?
‘No, of course not. It’s just that not many people do. It helps to have someone around who understands what you’re trying to say. Thank you.’
He nodded. And then I think he smiled. At least his eyes did.