Skins (22 page)

When he had been paid his share of the ship's lay, he would wander between the dockside inns. He would drift between crews he had worked with and other boys who lived the better part of their lives on the sea. That was when he had learnt about women.

The sun was low in the sky and it was a sickly glow behind grey clouds that threatened rain. Thankfully the rain had held off. They reached the end of the beach and the mouth of a wide river that was salty. The soles of his feet felt flattened and burnt at the edges. They ate the remaining flag-reed root and drank their water. Green-eyed flies settled on their ankles and pierced their flesh with long thin spikes.

After days of being battered by bush and climbing rocks, they were exhausted and low in spirits. And on top of that it was beginning to rain again. In the distance they could see steep rocky hills which reared up in awkward shapes and angles from the grey-green matted scrub that covered the contour of the land. As they neared them, the colours of the rock changed from a nondescript purple to stripes of black and brown and orange and slithers of silver marked where water had run from the recent rain. Caves near the summit were like yawning mouths which provided a lofty retreat for the birds.

Manning had a sore in the arch of his foot which was making him irritable. Jem said he thought they had reached the place where the
Mountaineer
had run aground. Manning said they would have passed it days ago. But Jem insisted and then when he predicted a freshwater lake just behind the next sandhill Manning had to accept he was right. They also argued whether they should go inland to cut across the headland. Manning wanted to know how he knew it would be a shortcut. Jem claimed to remember the deep indented bay from before. Manning grudgingly gave in but with the condition that they took from the rocks as many limpets as they could carry in case they got lost.

The bush cleared and they climbed over gently undulating granite that had collected the latest shower in little pools of sweet water. But the constant exposure to moisture in the air and the puddles on the ground made their skin wrinkled like old men. Manning thought that if he were squeezed he would ooze liquid like a cloth wrung dry. The rock dipped and water rushed over it and down through reeds and bush on the other side. They collected more of the root of the rust-coloured reed and wrapped it in cloth. To their left rose a ridge of granite that was perhaps forty to fifty feet high. There were crevices and caves but they would be difficult to get to. But then through the bush they glimpsed the dark hole of a ground-level cave. Manning pushed aside the red flowered shrub and crawled underneath a spiky tree and into the dry dark interior.

Once inside they were still for a moment. Their minds and bodies numb with exhaustion, listening to the drops of rain splatter on the leaves outside. The rock where they had just come from was covered in mist, and water drops from the mouth of the cave increased to streams. Manning started to shake with cold. Jem clenched his jaw tight to stop his teeth from chattering. They moved to the back of the cave, finding dry leaves and branches blown in by a storm. They heaped them into a pile with a small amount of their precious powder. After several attempts Manning produced a spark from friction between two rocks and ignited the powder that lay amongst the leaves. They started to crackle and smoulder. Jem crawled out and collected more wood. Eventually their fire brightened and began to produce heat. They had almost forgotten what it felt like. It lit the walls of the cave, which were smooth and striped. It wasn't high enough to stand but it went quite a way back so they could escape from the smoke but still enjoy the warmth. They cooked the limpets in their shells and roasted the roots. They had never tasted so good.

They built up the fire so that it wouldn't go out and lay down in the soft dry sand. Manning had a vague sense that his body ached but his mind was in another place. Jem's coughing woke him. It was dark outside and the fire had burnt down to a few glowing coals. He put more wood on and gently blew the flame into life. When he touched Jem to give him some water he discovered his skin was burning.

He wasn't any better the next day. His face was flushed and his eyes were glassy. He moaned a lot and wheezed a deep harsh cough and then slept. Manning supported his neck while he sipped water from the flask. He soaked a piece of cloth and wiped his forehead. But most of the time he sat listening to the sound of his rasping breath. Outside the sky was clear of cloud and the air, fresh and crisp. He didn't want to leave him but he couldn't sit there any longer either. So he went down to the sea for limpets. It would be the route they would take when Jem was well. He dared not think that he might be doing it on his own.

The bush was about head height and thick in places. He cut some of it with his knife so that it would be easier next time. He reached the beach when the sun was at its highest and noticed a thin column of smoke a little way inland. It would be natives. Even though they might be hostile, the sign of human life was a comfort. Then he looked along the beach and it seemed to go on forever. It was more of the same. They weren't any closer to anywhere. Perhaps it would all be like that. He wouldn't even know the Sound when he reached it. And then he thought bleakly that the Swan River could be the same. He shook his head. What was wrong with him? How could it be anything but paradise? There he would have the chance to be someone else. But he needed money.

Through the salt spray were islands. He sat quite still on the sloping rock and stared into it, his eyes shifting focus. The haze became like a curtain and it cleared and he saw light through the flickering leaves of trees. A cool peppermint-scented place and moist grass that glistened on the banks of a slow-moving river. A woman spread her arms out wide and she was beautiful with long black hair and red lips. And she settled on the water and folded her arms beside her and her long neck moved with a body that glided with the tide.

On a nearby rock a big black and white gull lowered its head and its neck began to wobble as it collected the air to sound its laughter. He looked up into its cold hard stare. The gull's call brought its mate and they stood a little way off with their heads to the side as though they were as disinterested as he was. But he knew their mean little eyes were on his limpets. He picked up a rock and threw it at one of them. Its wings lifted it a little way off the ground and it settled again, as unconcerned as before. He didn't even matter to a seagull.

When he returned to the cave Jem had improved. He sat at the fire that had been stoked into a healthy blaze. Together they ate the succulent yellow flesh of the limpets. When it was cooked in the shell, the meat was tender. Raw it was tough like boot leather and it left a strange taste in the mouth. But it was better than nothing. His friend's cheeks had lost their fullness and the hair on his face was thin and patchy. There were sores in the corners of his mouth. But his eyes were clear and they looked directly back into Manning's.

‘What's it like?' he asked. ‘Where we're headed.'

Manning shrugged and lifted the shell of the limpet up to his mouth, draining the watery contents.

‘Half a mile to the beach. Then the beach curves around. Can't see for how long.'

Jem coughed and it rattled in his chest.

Manning looked up.

‘You alright?'

Jem nodded.

‘Leave tomorrow?'

He nodded again.

Cicadas clicked outside. Flies whined by the entrance. A fresh breeze from the south blew the smoke into their faces. Manning moved and leant against the wall on the side; from there he could see out across the bush to the sea and the purple islands that wavered in the distance. Jem's voice roused him from his doze.

‘You know, I ain't ever been with a woman.'

Manning opened one eye.

‘I don't want to die not knowing what it's like.'

‘Who says you're going to die?'

Jem traced lines in the sand with a stick. Manning watched the lines like snake trails move around the floor of the cave and thought that perhaps they would be the only sign that they had ever been here. And then he wondered who would find them.

It became harder to rid his mind of black thoughts. After they left the heart-shaped bay, the beaches were shorter and interrupted with steep rocks to climb and stunted and deformed scrub to push through. They had to go inland often but never too far that they lost sight of the sea, and they were torn and scratched by inhospitable sticks and branches and roots. What they needed were small axes but they had only their knives. Often they passed a mob of kangaroos and they would be tormented with the memory of succulent roo flesh. But they couldn't think of a way to kill them. A couple of times they tried catching seagulls with snares made from the cloth of their trousers, but it was hopeless. They had used all their powder so they had no means to make a fire.

He began to dream of the black-haired woman. She would turn slowly and beckon with one hand, the feathery ends of her hair reaching her knees and covering her breasts. Her body was white, and blue veins cast a map beneath her skin. But when he looked to her face her lips blurred and became like blood, like raw meat. The pain in the centre of his belly made him feel as though his guts would spill out. When he woke there was only flag-reed root or limpets to eat.

As they trod gingerly through the scrub Jem would describe the feast he had dreamt about until Manning would have to tell him to stop. And then he would chew on the wallaby skin he wore around his shoulders. But he lacked the strength in his jaws to penetrate the stiff salty hide.

They became weaker, resting at greater intervals, but the cold seemed to find its way in so that they were never warm. They shivered when they stopped and became exhausted by their shivering. It was then that Jem became like a child, constantly whining about their journey and pleading with Manning to tell him when it would end.

When they rested beneath a bush, Manning decided that he wanted to stay. That there would be nothing easier than to lie down beneath its gnarled branches that smelt sharply of citrus and to never get up again. The pain left his body and he was at peace. But Jem's voice, like the blunt edge of a knife on a piece of hide, gradually worked its way through his consciousness and forced him to rally his spirits. Then it struck him that he would not die sooner by having hope. And he had to be hopeful for Jem.

January 1886

When it is night I touch the skin under his arms. It is soft and smooth, like silk. Not like the skin on his shoulders which was hardened by the sun. I can see his face when he is refusing to smile. He is good at revealing nothing. Like a stone. He walks sometimes that slow measured walk around my house. He never saw our daughter. He was murdered the year she was born. A sealer told me that they had found Jack's body on Mondrain Island. He had been shot through the head and they killed Dinah too. I know that island for it is a day's sailing from Middle Island. We would shelter there on our way to the Sound.

Jack believed in the other world, that there were restless souls who wandered. Sometimes I wonder if he were not dead before I knew him. When the natives first saw white people, they believed we were their ghosts. I wonder what they thought of Jack.