The Seventh Day (28 page)

There is little I can carry to the hills on the wheel-sled, for each time I go there, I must carry baby, and the climb with my load is hard. I take blankets and cornbeans, fruitjell and bread, crispbites and chem-tea.

Then the rain stops and the sun comes back, warming the land. So I will drive Jonjan's vehicle, which I have found too greedy with batteries to use on dull days. My wheel-sled already loaded, I tie it by a cord to the box at the rear of my vehicle and drive away.

I am travelling slowly along the path approaching the woods when my dogs begin to bark like crazed things. And I see what they see. A sowman stands on the path before me. He has white hair. Perhaps he is the one I gave water to. Perhaps many of them have white hair.

I still the vehicle but do not step from it, for I will try its wings if need be, and fly. The dogs want to attack. I call to them, once, twice. In time they obey me.

And he steps forward, his poor hands raised to his shoulders, and I know it is he for I recognise his hands. Perhaps he is hungry and only wishes to beg food of me. I take a pumpkin from my load, offer it, then reach down and roll it towards him.

He glances at it, but walks nearer, and I see he has covered his private places with the fur from a rabbit. He looks at baby in the sling at my breast, then extends a hand and in it there is something pink.

‘Vahaaa,' he grunts, offering me a flower, and a large one.

Without thought I step towards him. ‘Flower,' I say. ‘You have found a flower?'

‘Vahaaa,' he says, and he bows his great head and his arm reaches out to give me his prize. I step nearer, near enough to take the flower from his hand, and I lift this thing of perfect beauty to my nose. Its scent is of another world but this one.

‘Oh, Lord,' I say. ‘It is so beautiful.'

He has taken a step back. Now he watches me with head to the side.

‘Where?' I say. ‘The beautiful flower. Where did it grow?'

And one poor hand beckons to me.

I point to the pumpkin. He shakes his head and again the hand beckons. So I follow him, the dogs at my heels. I believe he wishes to show me where he found the flower.

We are deep in the trees when he slows, points to a tree then backs away. I see no flower, but the dogs run towards what is there.

‘Heel. Heel,' I call, and for the first time they ignore my command. One hand covering my nose against the stench, I walk forward to see what it is that has caused this excitement.

And I see.

And I step back.

Back.

And keep stepping back, my eyes closed, for what is beneath that tree, playing host to the insects, wears Lenny's boots and Lenny's overall, Lenny's cape, but not his face. Half of it has been melted away by a city man's gun. And beside him, amongst the fallen leaves and bark, is such a gun.

‘Adaah.' The sowman says, one hand raised, his thumb pointing to the sky. ‘Adaah.'

Perhaps he wishes to convince me that he is not responsible. I had not thought it, for I have seen the light-guns work on old Pa's thigh, and on that harmless stranger's head.

‘It was the other,' I cry. ‘It was the bastards who fly.' I am weeping hard. Baby mimics me and the dogs growl low in their throats as their feet move, scenting master, scenting game.

‘Heel,' I cry. ‘Heel.'

So lonely my cry sounds, my words lingering there like the solitary call of the lonely bird on the hill, then holding baby fast against me, I turn away and run. The dogs choose to follow me. Ugly inane beasts, they bark joyfully at our new game, circling me as I run. I barely see them, or the path I run, so blinded am I by my tears.

But he follows me to the vehicle, and when I mount it, he is standing, watching, but at a distance.

‘Adaaah,' he says, pointing east. ‘Adaaah.' He walks, beckons. It is long before I follow him, but he is persistent.

Deep amongst the tall trees the copter leans, or what is left of it, which is little more than a pile of black and twisted metal.

‘Vaaah,' he says.

My mind dull with tears, I look for the flower or for the flier.

‘Vaaa ha.' He points to the craft, to the blackened tree, then towards the place where Lenny waits. ‘Vaa haa.'

There is something he wants of me, but I do not understand. I wipe my eyes, push my hair from them. ‘Flier? Where is the flier?'

He holds one hand to his face and with the other points to the sky, once, twice. I shake my head, and his own great head shakes. He walks away to a fallen tree where he so easily breaks a great length from the branch. And for the first time I fear this sowman. Had not the other one taken up a length of wood to wield against the fence? But he turns, shows me the wood, then walks back to the place where Lenny waits. I walk behind him and my dogs behind me. We watch him place the wood over Lenny then pick up more from close by. I do not want to watch his game. Sadness overwhelming me, I walk to a tree, turn my face to it and weep.

‘Vaaa haa.' He is behind me, making that sound again, and when I turn, his hand is extended.

I do not know what he wants of me! I do not know! I cry hard tears, and can not talk to him, nor can I see him well through my tears.

‘Vaaa haa, aez,' he says, and his poor thumb mimes the action of the sparking of the flick-flame. And I know. He has built a pyre. He asks for fire.

‘Fire?' I say.

‘Vaaa ha.' He sighs, nods, nods, nods and his hands fall to his sides.

I weep more tears, but see the good sense of what he plans to do. Better that fire make a feast of Lenny than feral things. The flick-flame is still in my pocket, and amongst my supplies are many wax-lights. I go for one, light it and hand it to the sowman. He takes up the light-gun before placing fire to the timber, which catches, and soon the flames creep. There is much smoke, but who will see it? Who will come to help me other than this one?

‘Come,' I say. ‘Come.' My hand beckons as had his own. He follows me to my vehicle and the pumpkin. This time he takes it. I dig into my supply sling and find cornbeans and crispbites.

He shakes his head and points to the rabbit skin that drapes him. ‘Vaaa haa.' He makes the sound again, and the thumb action.

I offer the flick-flame. ‘Fire. Fire, to cook your rabbit.'

‘Aaaah, wa baaa vaa haa.' He takes the small tool in his hand and, head to one side, nods, shows his teeth and nods, flicks it and nods as he watches the flame, then with one hand he touches head and stomach, and each breast before he turns and walks back towards Lenny's pyre, gathering wood along the way.

Lord God Almighty! This is a man, not a beast! I feel weak, unwell, as I mount my vehicle where I sit a while before turning my heavy load for home. I have no stomach to work more. The vision of Lenny will not leave me, nor the vision of my friend, my sowman. Within the body of that poor crude beast there lives the heart and mind of a man, a gentle man, who can see beauty in a flower, who can communicate, who had watched my search for Lenny and led me to him.

‘Bastards. Bastards,' I scream to the skies. ‘See what have you done with your meddling? May God curse you for all of eternity. City bastards!' I think now that I understand why my sowman had held his face so and pointed to the sky. I think he showed me how Lenny had held his poor face while pointing the light-gun at the copter. He had almost beaten those bastard city men. Sidley and Salter did not carry the light-guns. They had not injured Lenny so sorely. The thick-limbed male or the flier had done that. But Lenny had felled them and their fleeing copter.

And he had died alone.

He had died alone.

‘Curse you and your city to hell!' I scream to the sky, but I am disturbing baby with my screaming, also the dogs. They watch me with such shame and lack of understanding. I do not still my cursing, but do it more softly all the way home.

My load left in the generator shed, I walk the old house, cursing, weeping, until I stumble on the rocking chair which waits on the rear verandah for Pa and Granny's ghosts. It takes me, rocks me, rocks me until I gain sanity enough to still the baby's own strident curses with my breast.

Perhaps it slows my heartbeat, this suckling, those tiny hands that grasp, that take and hold my finger, hold it tight, those slate grey eyes that watch me.

Lenny is dead. He will not see the child he thought was his own. He is dead, and has been dead near as long as Pa. He died for me and for this child. He had not deserted me, left me alone on the hill to scream this child from my belly.

I think tonight I love him for his care and his protection. I think tonight I mourn him as I did not mourn Granny. I am pleased that in the last week before the birth of the infant I had welcomed him to my bed.

‘But he did not see you, baby. And my heart is breaking tonight because he did not see you.'

Lord, how my tears flow for him. The light dies while I weep and rock here. My stove I have forgotten. No doubt its coals are dead. It must be seen to; it is the only warmth left in this old house. I rise then and find a new flick-flame and set it to a wax-light. If there is one thought in my mind that gives me ease, it is that the gentle sowman tonight has fire to sit beside and to cook his rabbit.

So much gratitude I feel for him. I would not have found Lenny, and if I had, I would not have thought to burn the body. And the flower. How had he understood the beauty of such a thing, and understood that I would also see beauty in it. How had he thought to buy my trust with it, for certainly I would not have followed him deep into the wood if not to look for another flower.

He is a man. That is how he knew. He has the mind of a man. And he speaks, and if I heard more of him, I would understand more. I feel safer tonight, knowing that he is out there, sitting beside his fire. There is some peace to be found in that thought.

Baby and I sleep as the dead, and find new strength in a place of no dreams. When daylight comes it brings with it hope, and thankfully, the sun. I escape the house early, and with the child safe in its sling at my breast, I drive my loaded vehicle to the hills and transfer my supplies to the cave.

And there it is, the pumpkin I had given to my sowman. He has carried it here for me and placed it with my hides and blankets. Obviously, like Lenny, he does not much like pumpkin. Obviously, he has been watching me. How is it that I have not seen him about the hill?

It is on my third trip to the cave that I dig a hole deep in the sand of one of the smaller caves so I may bury the frozen meat – and I find Jonjan's shoes there. I will wear them again one day, but my city boots are better in the mire. I bathe in the pool, and bathe baby before returning to the house where my stove is burning, my kitchen warm, and the water in the kettle hot.

I will miss these comforts and I will miss the grey men's supplies when they are gone, but perhaps I will learn to catch rabbits. And the pumpkins and honeydew will grow on the hill, and we may rob the hens' nests by night. We will live, and we will live free.

‘And if we die, baby, we will die free, for surely it is better to die free than to live in a city cage. Remember that,' I say. ‘You were freeborn, baby.' It shows no interest. I believe its only interest lies in filling its round belly and in sleeping.

I spend much time in covering Pa, first with old newsprint, then with wood, and I set his pyre to burn. It is the best I can do for him. I watch the flames creep high, and lift my hand to him. ‘You have earned your rest, old man,' I say. ‘Sleep well with your family.'

There is no thought nor desire to remove Salter and Sidley from their freezer and make for them a pyre. Instead I fill the space above them with mud and earth scooped from the yard, fill it to the brim, then close the lid and seal it tight with Lenny's adhesive gun. They will not soon be found come Wednesday. On my final climb to the surface, it is as if the cellar steps know they have no more work to do. The handrail breaks away and the lower steps collapse. I fall to my knees. This house will fall one day soon, the brick walls will crumble, but the cellar, dug deep in the earth will remain.

I must not remain. Pleased only that I am not carrying baby, I tie my last load into a blanket and toss it high, so it catches on the broken handrail. My weight is not much. Holding the blanket end, I walk the brick wall until I can reach the remaining steps, then I am up and out and pleased to be out. The trapdoor heaved down, it slams with a finality, closing that place away.

So much sadness I am feeling today as I go about the house, saying my goodbyes to each room. My knee bleeds a little from the fall, my shoulder aches, but the sun is out and warm. I sit on the rocking chair and, like the pagans, worship before the sun while feeding baby, my fingers playing with her tiny hands. Her fingers are long, as are mine, and her hair, that is not yet much, glows gold, as had her father's hair.

It is well after midday when I set the great grandfather clock in the hall to its tock-tick-tocking; I set the hands to twelve, and Lord, how noisy it is when it sings out that hour, but I want the last of this day to be counted, second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour.

I say goodbye to Aaron's room, but take with me his journal and his family's likenesses. All is ready. All is done and we must go. Jonjan's vehicle will carry baby and me to the spring cave. I know that Granny would be pleased with my plan. A rabbit can outrun a hound – but only for a time, then it must go to ground.

Because of baby, I understand a little of how my coming here must have changed Granny's life. The responsibility of caring for a small one is no small task. They are demanding things who eat and sleep and soil their wrappings. She was no gentle mother to me, nor a kind teacher. I feared her vitriolic tongue by day, but at night when we sat on the dark verandah, we had known some companionship. I understand, too, why she was so altered on those moonless nights, for then she could pretend to be whole. Come daylight, perhaps she was afraid of a child's rejection.