Christopher Kenworthy - The Clear

      Through the coach window, I could feel the heat building; the air was 
      conditioned, but low sunlight warmed my skin. I'd sworn the previous 
      season would be my last in the north, because the weather in that part of 
      Australia wears you out. If it wasn't for Caroline being delayed up there 
      until after Christmas, I'd have stayed in Perth. But we'd already been 
      apart for a month, and that was too much, even for her. 
      I counted again, finger-tapping the hours until I would see Caroline. It 
      was absurd to clock-watch, because I was almost used to being without her. 
      Getting beyond the absence was becoming more important than the time we 
      would spend together. 
      There was no cloud for the sun to set in, so it went to the horizon white, 
      like a huge star. The sky cooled, leaving perse light above the vanished 
      sun, fading to night as I watched. When the coach pulled in at the 
      Capricorn Roadhouse, finally crossing into the tropics after a 
      sixteen-hour drive, I left its chill for yeasty heat and dust. The 
      roadhouse was circled by spotlights, making everything beyond even darker; 
      the last civilization until morning, the driver warned us. The occupants 
      of the coach gathered quietly at the benches outside, bewildered by the 
      journey. There was only the sound of grasshoppers, lulling in and out of 
      time. 
       There were two German girls, who appeared to have been traveling together 
      for a long time, staying close, barely speaking, never looking at each 
      other. The shorter one was staring at the ground. Behind her, the tall one 
      bent over her diary, writing carefully, rereading what she had written. 
      She untied her brown hair, ran her fingers through its short length, tied 
      it again. Her skin was so tanned, she must have been abroad for months. 
      She looked up to the left, revealing her profile, deep in thought. 
      When we set off again, the driver told us it was another twenty hours to 
      Kununurra, if the road was open that far. The rivers could flood eighty 
      kilometres wide, and rumour had it that CALM were already closing off the 
      gorges. In some places, the Wet season had begun. 
      Willing myself to sleep, I was awakened frequently by the thud of impact, 
      like stone on metal, as the coach hit kangaroos. I glanced out to see the 
      desert flecked with the grey haze of smoke-bushes, picked out by 
      moonlight. Then, in the reflection, I saw the tall German walking down the 
      length of the coach, to the drink dispenser. Pretending to stretch my 
      back, I turned to watch her, then slumped back down, feeling ridiculous. 
      Even if I wasn't going to meet Caroline, I couldn't possibly be with 
      somebody like that. She looked ten years younger, and must have attracted 
      so much male attention that getting to know her without looking pushy 
      would be difficult. And I knew that newness was a lure; people seem 
      perfect because they are unknown. You can't spend your whole life giving 
      up what you've achieved, for the sake of another attraction. One day you 
      have to build on something and make it work. That's how it was with 
      Caroline, because it had taken months for us to find any sort of peace. It 
      would be a crime to have gone through all those arguments for nothing. 
      When she sat again, a few seats ahead of me, I watched her rummage in her 
      bag, and withdraw a Duracel torch. She held out her hand, and pressed the 
      lens of the torch into it, illuminating her closed fingers. Her hand 
      glowed as though boneless, except for dim purple shadows in the knuckles. 
      I couldn't guess why she was doing this, but it pleased me, because I used 
      to do the same thing when I was young. We're brought up to imagine flesh 
      as firm, and bone as hard white, so it's fascinating when you see your 
      hand lit up like foggy red glass. 
      She put the torch away and leaned back. I closed my eyes and tried to 
      picture Caroline, but found it difficult to bring up her image, and nodded 
      back into sleep. 
      The next time I awoke, the sun has risen over a landscape of red oxide, 
      mounds of iron ore and refined salt piled as high as foothills. For the 
      next five hours the view was the same scrub and bush, flat to the horizon. 
      I spent a lot of the journey watching her, only seeing her face in odd 
      moments. 
      When we reached the Roebuck roadhouse in the late afternoon, the driver 
      asked everyone to remain on board, talked into his radio, then said, 
      "Sorry folks, but we won't be getting any further than Broome today. 
      Floods on the road. It's that time of year." He said it as though he was 
      annoyed at us for attempting the journey. 
      Questions were asked rapidly about where we could stay, when the road 
      would be clear. 
      "It could be a night or two. It could be weeks. If you're desperate, you 
      can fly." 
      I calculated, touching finger to finger, working out the times. If I 
      caught the morning flight out, I'd only be a few hours late. I could be 
      with Caroline in less than a day. 

      The roads in Broome were made from dry red earth, like powdered 
      terra-cotta. Wooden buildings were dusted with it, and the ribbed fronds 
      of palm trees were sheathed in its rust. Clouds had risen on the inland 
      horizon, and filled with lighting, silent from the distance. Most of the 
      travelers stayed in the town, but the driver took the rest of us closer to 
      the coast. I wanted to be near the ocean, no matter how remote it was from 
      so-called facilities. 
      I was almost asleep when we reached the Cable Beach Backpackers, and was 
      joined at reception by the German girls. They looked so tired, I avoided 
      the usual travel greeting. It's normal to ask people where they're from, 
      how long they've been traveling, where they're heading, but they seemed to 
      need the quiet. 
       The wooden dorms were built around an area of palm trees and eucalyptus, 
      circling the blue-glowing pool. A few people were gathered at tables 
      outside the kitchen; it was effectively outdoors, but covered with a 
      ceiling of yellow strip lights and spinning fans. The sky had darkened, 
      stars appearing behind the trees, even though it was as hot as midday. 
      I phoned Caroline, but reached an answering machine, which made me cross. 
      It was unreasonable to expect her to stay in waiting for me, but it made 
      the urgency seem like mine alone. I found myself saying, "I might just 
      hang on here for a day or two, until the road clears. But I miss you." 
      With no shops for miles, I bought a packet of two-minute noodles from the 
      reception office. It was even hotter in the kitchen, from the straining 
      fridges, and the only others present were the Germans. They had changed, 
      and were talking with smiles as they cooked, brightening up now that the 
      journey was over. 
      I chatted to them briefly about the coach trip, the heat. It was Melanie, 
      the shorter one, who talked. Alex continued slicing the capsicum, never 
      making eye contact, but listening. 
      Sitting at a free table outside, beneath the fans, I tried to create an 
      appetite, despite the heat. There weren't many people around, being so 
      close to Christmas, but in the corner, by a green drinks fridge, were 
      three men. They leaned in over their table, elbows between cans of Emu 
      bitter. One of them was completely bald, with tiny eyes, his mouth hidden 
      by a wide moustache. The one in the middle was dark skinned, pouting to 
      conceal large teeth. The third one had a jaw matted with ragged hair, more 
      like fur than beard. It was his movement that kept me watching. Although 
      he opened his mouth wide, no words came out. He appeared to be using sign 
      language; not a recognized form, just a determined gesturing. The bald one 
      made signs back, as though interpreting the conversation. 
      I thought I'd attracted their attention, because all three looked over at 
      once. It took a moment to realize they were looking behind me, at Melanie 
      and Alex. I almost expected the men to wolf-whistle, but they watched 
      silently. The girls bickered in response to the attention, standing still 
      with their plates, looking anxious. I smiled briefly, trying to look 
      sympathetic. 
      Melanie raised her eyebrows. "May we join you?" 
      "Of course." 
      They pulled up chairs with their backs to the three men. I could just make 
      out the bearded one, shaking his head. 
      "Thank you. If we had sat on our own," Melanie said, "I think they would 
      have not left us alone." 
      "Have you had any trouble?" I asked, directing the question at both. 
      Again, Melanie spoke. 
      "Only generally," she said, pronouncing each syllable carefully. "I felt 
      like they were looking straight through me." 
      Alex looked shocked. 
      "Please don't say that," she said, her eyes wide. 
      Melanie answered in German, and they appeared to argue for a while. 
      "Sorry," Alex said, looking at me for an instant, "but my English is not 
      good." 
      Throughout the meal there were pauses when they spoke to each other in 
      German, never translating what was said. I couldn't tell whether tension 
      was brewing between them, but even when our food was gone, we continued 
      talking. I was unbearably tired, and felt my eyes narrowing, but didn't 
      want it to end. Although Melanie talked about herself a lot, and Alex only 
      interjected occasionally, they were good company. It was the laughter, as 
      we shared stories about traveling, that kept me awake. 
      The tiredness must have been getting to me, though, because when Alex ran 
      a hand through her hair, the light from a ceiling lamp seemed to come 
      through her fingers. She saw my expression and pulled her arm down, as 
      though embarrassed. 
      She put her hand loose against her chest, as though feeling for a 
      heartbeat with fingertips. Melanie asked something in German, but Alex 
      looked straight at me. It made me realize how little eye contact she'd 
      made all night. The whites of her eyes were utterly pale, free of the 
      veins and yellowing that's common in Australia; it made her brown irises 
      look lighter, the same tan as her skin. I looked away first, not knowing 
      how to react. 
      Without preamble, Melanie announced that she was going to bed, and left. 
      When she was gone Alex said, "We are always arguing. I'm sorry." I hoped 
      she'd stay and talk, but she said goodnight and followed Melanie to their 
      room. 
      The group of three men were still in the corner, having passed beyond the 
      loud drunken stage an hour earlier. They were now sleepy, muttering; the 
      bald one was so still he could have been asleep, and his friend was lying 
      back against the wall. Only the mute continued to fidget. I made a show of 
      yawning as I cleared my plate, and went to my room. 
      None of the beds in my dormitory were taken, so I took a top bunk, close 
      to the fan. Air-conditioning is rare in the tropics, because the contrast 
      would wear you down; you have to get used to sitting it out. Even turning 
      over was an exertion, so I lay still on top of the sheet, naked, and tried 
      to sleep. 
      An hour later, still awake, I could hear movement in the pool, water being 
      churned by slow swimming, and voices. I got up to look through the window; 
      the pool appeared to be empty, even though its underwater light was 
      spreading ripples over the trees. I opened the door for a better look, and 
      heard people talking again. It sounded like my own voice. I recognized the 
      way I trailed off at the end of a sentence, followed by a short laugh. 
      Outside the kitchen, the fans and lights were off, but I could make out 
      the empty table where we'd been. From that direction a female voice 
      replied, whispering. Her words were so quiet, I couldn't tell if she had 
      an accent. 
      Barefoot, I walked toward the sound. Against the wall of the toilet block, 
      there was a fish tank; a long slab of water, lit up and bubbling. There 
      was only one type of transparent fish. Their bodies looked like firm 
      jelly, with a blob of green revealing the food in their stomachs. Even 
      their heads were clear, apart from the dots of their eyes. I couldn't work 
      out how something so transparent could possibly function. I realized that 
      the sound of the tank's pump could have explained the water noise I'd 
      heard, exaggerated by my exhaustion. And the voices were probably a 
      memory, surfacing as a half-dream. I hadn't slept well in two days, or 
      eaten much, and my salt levels were probably dropping. The best thing 
      would be to sleep it off, and start looking after myself in the morning. 
      I managed to sleep for a short while after that, waking at five because it 
      was already above forty degrees Celsius. People were rising, giving up 
      their attempts at sleep, taking chilled water from the fridge to begin the 
      cycle of drinking. 
      The clouds had gone, spread again to blue sky, and the only water they'd 
      provided was deeper humidity. It's the expectation of rain that drives 
      people mad in the north, because the tension swells for months without 
      being relieved. There are more break-ups, fights and suicides during the 
      buildup to the Wet than at any other time. Mostly, however, people are 
      stilled by the weather, dazzled into calm, so the days pass like a 
      meditation. The most common gesture is a slow shake of the head. 
      After a brief fruit breakfast, I called Caroline, and told her answering 
      machine that the road was still closed. I was surprised to feel glad she 
      hadn't been there to pick up the phone, because I wanted more time in 
      Broome. I took it as a healthy sign that I needed to be apart from her. 
      When you miss somebody, you aren't present in the moment; all you do is 
      wish your time away. This place, its heat, its intensity, was forcing me 
      to be present, making the absent person unnecessary. It wasn't that I 
      needed to be on my own, however, because I wanted to see Alex again, 
      preferably alone. 

      Either they were asleep, or had gone out ahead of me, because after an 
      hour in the pool there was no sign of them. The water in there was hot 
      from yesterday's sun, offering little relief. I tried showering after 
      that, but the water was no cooler, and I came out sweating, instantly wet 
      again and breathless. 
      The straight road to the beach was bright with orange dust, the palm trees 
      on either side barely providing shade. There were only two other 
      buildings; a pearl shop, and a café. Nobody else was around. I tried to 
      get a look inside each building, to see if Alex and Melanie were there, 
      but couldn't see through the reflections. It took less than five minutes 
      to get to the beach, but in that heat it was enervating. From the top of 
      the dunes I could see the ten mile width of Cable Beach, a massive 
      crescent of white sand and milky sea. The sun was already high, and the 
      beach shadowless. A handful of people were in the ocean, even fewer lying 
      in the sun. I left my towel and drink bottle and went straight to the 
      water, but it was almost hot. The shallows were fogged with fine 
      glittering sand, so I swam out until I reached clear deep water. 
      The people lying on the beach were indistinct. I floated on my back and 
      tried to make them out, looking for Alex. There were two people further up 
      to the right, both female. One of them stood up, and her skin glared, 
      glossy with sunscreen. She walked towards the ocean in long strides. You 
      can't move fast in heat like that, which gave her an air of elegance. I 
      couldn't make out her face, but knew it must be Alex, so tried to keep my 
      eye on her, without staring. After a while, I could only see Melanie, 
      picking up her towel and heading back. Alex had left unseen, which made me 
      feel more disappointed than I'd expected. I'd been in the sun too long, 
      and felt my skin tightening, so I waited until Melanie was out of sight, 
      and went back. 

      There were things to see in Broome, such as old pearling ships, the 
      Japanese cemetery, a few aboriginal relics, but I didn't want to the leave 
      the Backpackers. I spent the afternoon under a tree, reading, dipping in 
      and out of the pool. 
      A breeze picked up, but its moisture hugged my skin, like breath. There 
      was sand in my hairline, and my skin was liquid with sunscreen and sweat. 
      By five o'clock, I was craving fruit and salt. As I went to the office to 
      buy a mango and a packet of potato chips, I realized that the body knows 
      what is absent. It makes you crave, when your requirements are lacking. 
      That thought made me picture Caroline, at her flat in Kununurra, waiting 
      for me. I hadn't thought of her all day, and was beginning to resent the 
      fact that I'd have to see her again. The slow, inactive life, despite the 
      glare and the pressure of heat, was appealing to me. 
       I forced myself to cook dinner, and when I came out, the scene looked 
      remarkably similar to the night before. The three men were gathered in the 
      corner, each holding a beer. Alex and Melanie were sitting at the table 
      we'd shared, a chess game going on between them. Both were wearing bikinis 
      and sarongs, and although they were motionless, their skin was wet, as 
      though they had come straight from the pool. Alex had her hair down for 
      once, and it was darkened by sweat. 
      Melanie saw me, stood up and said, "Perhaps you can solve this. I have to 
      cook," and left with a smile. 
      "It's a problem," Alex said, looking at the chess board. "From her puzzle 
      book." I smiled at the German accent, at the way her tone seemed to be 
      confiding frustration with her travel companion. 
      "You don't like chess?" 
      "I love it, but Melanie only ever reads her puzzle book. We have nothing 
      to talk about." 
      While I ate, we worked on the chess problem. She kept lapsing into German 
      as she tried different combinations. 
      I knew it wouldn't be long before Melanie returned, so when there was a 
      pause, I said, "On the coach, I saw you shining a torch through your 
      fingers." 
      "You were watching me?" she asked, looking down until she'd said it, then 
      disarming me by looking straight into my eyes. 
      "I saw you do that, yes." 
      "I have something to show you," she said, and left. When she was just a 
      few feet away, one of the three men stood up. He was the darker skinned 
      one, with large teeth. He wasn't aboriginal, but there was something about 
      his features that made me think he might be Indonesian. "Look at that," he 
      said loudly, the three of them watching Alex. 
      I looked at the chess pieces, but could see he was coming over to me. He 
      pulled up a spare chair, wanting a handshake, and a big show of 
      friendliness. 
      "I'm Panny," he said. "That's Baldy and Jake." His speech was slow, almost 
      slurred. 
      "You really call him Baldy?" I asked. 
      He nodded. 
      "To his face?" 
      "Baldy's his name," he said, without humour. "Is she your girlfriend?" 
      Alex was coming back, the torch in one hand, something white concealed in 
      the other. 
      "No, she's not." 
      "Come on," he said. "She's lovely. Lovely. Look at her legs." 
      He was saying this even as she sat down. I didn't introduce them, for fear 
      that she'd think I'd engineered this. 
      "So, who's winning?" Panny asked. 
      "It's not a game, just a problem," I said. 
      Alex kept her hands under the table. 
      "Is she your girlfriend?" he asked again, a grin making his voice sound 
      wet. 
      "No." 
      "Tell her she's sexy," he said, lowering his head to smile up at her. 
      "She already knows." 
      Alex looked at the table, as though she couldn't tell what we were saying. 
      I tried a move with the chess pieces, which had already failed once, just 
      as a distraction. 
      "Who goes first?" Panny asked. 
      "White moves first." 
      "Typical. A racist game. Always white first." 
      Nothing was said for a while, but he pretended that to know the rules, 
      reaching his hand toward the pieces, then withdrawing to think again. 
      Baldy and Jake stood up, the latter signaling with his hands. 
      "See you later," Panny said to Alex, going over to his friends, without 
      saying anything to me as he left. 
      As soon as they were gone, Alex smiled at me, perhaps from relief. In the 
      kitchen, Melanie was getting their plates ready, so I asked what it was 
      she'd wanted to show me. 
      She pressed the torch against the lump of white stone in her other hand. 
      When she switched the torch on, the stone lit up, filled with yellow glow. 
      It looked like a Christmas tree light, only larger. When she switched it 
      off again, it was an ordinary stone. 
      "It's calcite," she said carefully. "I took it from a cave in the 
      southwest. The place was full of this. In the dark, if you pressed a light 
      against them, the walls light up. It wasn't a dark rocky place, but a cave 
      of glass." It was the first time I'd seen anything other than insouciance 
      in her expression. It made me want to spend time with her; it was obvious 
      now that she wasn't aloof, but reserved. Having seen her lower her guard, 
      I wanted more of her warmth. 
      "The same type of calcium makes up our teeth, our bones. And pearls. All 
      these things let no light through." 
      "Opaque," I suggested. 
      "That's it. Opaque. And yet," she put the torch against her hand, and lit 
      up her fingers, "perhaps not." 
      Melanie walked out with the food, put it in front of them, and I excused 
      myself. They passed some words in German, and then Alex said, "Maybe you 
      could join us later, in the pool. We have vodka." 

      The water had cooled slightly, and we gathered in one corner of the pool 
      by the underwater light. Between the overhanging trees, we watched the 
      stars, drinking vodka from metal cups. 
      Alex moved away, swimming underwater while I talked with Melanie. She 
      surfaced, watching us, and then went back under. I got the feeling she 
      wanted to talk to me, but not while Melanie was present. Every few minutes 
      she'd catch part of our conversation and swim over to contribute. Then 
      she'd lower herself under and vanish. When she emerged on the other side, 
      I'd try to keep talking, aware of her exhaling, water running off her. We 
      must have spent two hours like that, and I was unwilling for it to end. 
      Partway through a conversation, Alex swore in German, noticing that Panny, 
      Baldy and Jake were walking through the main entrance. They came straight 
      towards the pool, and stood on the side watching us. 
      "Hey you, put that penis away," Panny shouted at me. 
      I checked to see if he was being literal, but he was only trying to 
      unsettle me. I couldn't think of anything to say, but he lowered himself 
      in and came closer. 
      "Are you two sisters?" he asked Melanie, as Baldy and Jake climbed in 
      behind him. I wasn't at all keen on Jake being in the water. He opened and 
      closed his jaw with a wispy groan of pleasure, as his beard went soggy in 
      the water. 
       Alex moved away to the far corner, while Melanie explained that they 
      weren't sisters. Then she carried on talking to me, something about German 
      education. I tried to show interest, to continue as normal, ignoring the 
      men as much as possible without being rude. I could already guess what 
      would happen. They wouldn't get the response they wanted from the girls, 
      and they'd take it out on me. 
      Baldy came over, putting his face close to mine. He looked old, but hefty, 
      like somebody who never quite gave up boxing. 
      "Watch this." He signaled to Jake, who made a face that passed for a 
      smile, revealing nubs of teeth. He gasped for air and went underwater, 
      lying on the bottom. Baldy and Panny were both grinning at this, but I 
      couldn't see why at first. It was only when Jake had been under for more 
      than a minute that I began to worry. He was wafting his arms to keep 
      himself down. 
      The three of us started asking questions, wanting assurance he was all 
      right, but Baldy and Panny only laughed. Even though this was obviously 
      their party trick, and gave them the attention they sought, I was worried 
      about Jake. 
      "He's our diver for pearls," Baldy said, "so you can stop worrying. He's 
      used to it." 
      "You scared me," Melanie said. 
      "If we'd wanted to scare you, we'd have held him under and made him 
      struggle." Then, looking at me and pointing at the water he said, "Do you 
      want a go?" 
      "No, not me," I smiled, trying to laugh along with them. I wanted to get 
      out. The evening was over for me now, and I just wanted to lie on my bed. 
      It was only fear of abandoning the others that kept me there. 
      Alex was low in the water, her eyes and nose above the surface. When Baldy 
      swam towards her, she immediately went under and came back to us. As she 
      surfaced, so did Jake, his mouth wider than ever, whooping air back into 
      himself. He was watching us for applause, but all we could manage were 
      fake smiles. 
      We excused ourselves and left, even though Panny put on a little-boy 
      voice, saying, "Don't go. Why don't you like us? Don't leave us." 
      We had to ignore them, but I worried they'd hold it against us the next 
      time we met. In order to skulk away as imperceptibly as possible, we 
      didn't even say goodnight to each other. 
      I'd been drinking water frequently and taking salt, but I was feeling ill 
      with exhaustion. Sleep would have been welcome, but it didn't come. It 
      wasn't because of what had happened, or the heat, or even the sand in my 
      bed. It was thinking about Alex that kept me awake. 
      When you get that tired, you feel close to crying. I tried to tell myself 
      that was the only reason I was feeling poignant about Alex. I couldn't 
      deny that she was beautiful, that her movement, her face, everything about 
      her made me long to be alone with her. But that was just desire. The 
      emotion must have been false, brought on by fatigue, and because I was 
      missing Caroline. 
      I checked my watch, and it was only just past midnight. It sounded as 
      though everybody had gone to bed. Unwilling to spend the night awake in my 
      room, I put on my shorts and went out. 
      Silhouetted in front of the aquarium, Alex was peering in at the fish. She 
      heard me approaching, turned around, then looked back into the tank. Her 
      hair was down, and smelt as though she'd washed it. 
      I was about to ask if she was having trouble sleeping, but she said, "I 
      thought you'd come back." 
      Crouching next to her, I saw the glassy fish shine like lenses when they 
      passed in front of the tank's backlight, their stomachs momentarily black. 

      "It seemed a shame to waste the night," I whispered, suggesting we go to 
      the beach. "I'm not going to sleep anyway." 
      "All right." 
       There were no lights on the road, but the moon was up, passing in and out 
      of cloud. We stopped whispering as soon as we were on the road, and talked 
      about our respective ages, birth dates and star signs. It was strange 
      having that conversation, because I'd sensed a need between us to meet and 
      talk about something serious. Perhaps we discussed surface details because 
      we were nervous, but also because it was obvious we were going to be up 
      all night talking, We needed some buildup before we began revealing 
      ourselves. 
      When we reached the beach, we sat a few feet from the wet sand. The sea 
      was black, apart from a broken patch of moonlight. 
      I felt so elated, so happy we were together, that I couldn't just sit with 
      her. It reminded me of those times when you get a book you really want to 
      read, and instead of opening it, you keep it in sight while making coffee, 
      toast, cleaning up, phoning friends, putting off the pleasure of finally 
      settling down with it. I told her I wanted to go to the ocean, to feel if 
      it was any cooler at night. 
      "I'll wait for you," she said. 
      The sea had gone out further than I expected, so that it was a long walk; 
      the sand was hard, filmed with water. As the waves broke around my feet, 
      it was surprising to feel the water was still hot. 
      It felt like I'd been gone for too long; I'd only wanted a one minute 
      walk, so I headed straight back. I couldn't see my footprints, but could 
      make out the ridge of the dunes, a line of palm trees, and worked out 
      roughly where we'd come through. Walking at ninety degrees to the coast, I 
      couldn't miss her. 
      By the time I reached the base of the dunes, I was looking around 
      frantically. I shouted, my voice sounding like I had a cold. That was 
      probably the humidity, so I cleared my throat and called again. I couldn't 
      have been gone long enough for her to have left. Her absence made me feel 
      tearful. It didn't seem fair, and I put my hand on my mouth, retracing my 
      steps, whispering "shit" over and over. If Caroline could see me, I 
      thought, she'd say I deserved it. I was effectively being unfaithful by 
      spending so much time with Alex. And it was proving to be ridiculous, 
      because she wasn't even interested in me. I felt stupid for having been so 
      excited by the prospect of spending time with her. 
      When I reached the wet sand again, heading out, I looked up and down the 
      coast. The moonlight illuminated everything slightly, but with no detail. 
      I could make out the edge of the sea, the dune horizon, and the palm 
      trees, but I could only see the sand within a few feet of me; other than 
      that, it was black. I called again, louder. Although the sea was noisy, 
      she should have been able to hear me. 
      If she'd gone I could try to catch up with her before she made it back to 
      her room, and find out what had happened. I jogged back, and when my feet 
      hit the dry sand, I saw her in front of me. She was sitting with her legs 
      out, leaning back onto straight arms. There was enough breeze to move her 
      hair, and the reflection of moon in her eyes made the irises look white. 
      "Did you hear me shout?" She didn't answer, but it looked like she was 
      shaking her head. "Did you see me?" 
      "I lost sight of you for a while," she said. 
      "I thought I'd lost you." 
      I must have sounded more relieved than I wanted to, because she laughed 
      warmly. 
      "Sit down, so you don't get lost." 
      We talked about her trip to Australia, and the problems she was having 
      with Melanie. Mostly, it was that they never talked, except about their 
      journey. For four months, she'd been unable to discuss what mattered. For 
      the rest of the night, she poured that out to me; how she was feeling 
      misunderstood, the problems with her estranged father, her uncertainty 
      about the future. It's the sort of conversation Caroline would take the 
      piss out of fiercely, saying it was typical twenty-something angst. I was 
      aware of this, but I listened because Alex was willing to tell it to me. 
      I sat up, the sand blowing from my arms, so that she had to close her 
      eyes. When she opened them again, she pinched sand between her fingertips, 
      and held out one grain to me. 
      "In the moonlight, this looks like a tiny pearl," she said. 
      At some points during the night, I felt like I was dreaming, the tiredness 
      being so deep. The breeze was close to cool, and it would have been the 
      ideal place to sleep, but we talked until the sky lightened. A huge storm 
      cloud grew in the south, its tip absorbing yellow sunlight, the glow 
      spreading through it as the first lightning broke through. 
      When it was light we walked down the length of the beach, into the water. 
      Her skin was inflamed by sunrise, the top of her arm and shoulder salted 
      with sand. I was about to reach out to brush it off her, an excuse to make 
      contact with her skin, but she turned away. Melanie was at the base of the 
      dunes, walking down towards us. 
      "Do you think she's angry?" I asked. 
      "Worried, probably. If she's unhappy, it's because I've spoken to you 
      instead of her. I have shown you more of myself tonight than Melanie has 
      ever seen." 
      "Isn't she interested?" 
      She looked sad at the thought. "Maybe she is, but I haven't shown myself. 
      I don't know why. It felt easy with you . Let's sit down again," she said, 
      and we waited for her to reach us. 
      Melanie looked less annoyed than I'd feared, but resigned. She said good 
      morning to me first with a sharp glance, then spoke to Alex in German. She 
      sat between us, with her back to me. They talked for about ten minutes, 
      during which time I tried to keep awake, feeling the day warming up fast. 
      I glanced at Alex throughout the conversation, but she only looked at me 
      towards the end. Her right hand had been sifting through the sand, and 
      she'd taken a small white shell, which she placed on my leg. She looked 
      away, and I watched Melanie, glad that she hadn't seen the gesture. 
      I held the shell up to the sun. It looked like a fingernail, but its white 
      went pink when light came through it. 
      The two of them stood up, and we set off walking. It rained for two 
      minutes from the edge of the storm cloud, the water sparkling in the low 
      sunlight. The relief was brief because it steamed off the road, making it 
      more humid. By the time we made it back, the sky was cloudless and hot. 
      Alex said she was going to bed for a while, and I did the same, climbing 
      onto my bunk, ignoring the sand. It felt like I would sleep until noon. 

      Two hours later I got up, floated in the pool, then sat over the chess 
      set, trying to decipher Melanie's puzzle book for the solution. It was the 
      hottest day yet, and although I was wearing only shorts, my chest and back 
      were releasing sweat. My first water bottle was almost empty, when I saw 
      Alex coming out of her dorm. She was wearing translucent pants, like sheer 
      silk, and a bikini top. I noticed how much darker she was, and looked at 
      my own skin; we were like chameleons, turning the same reddish brown as 
      the landscape. She didn't come over, but went to the fish tank by the 
      wall, then to the office, and back to her room. I couldn't help but think 
      she'd avoided coming near, but when she came out again, she walked over, 
      smiling. 
      "I'm trying to work this out," I said, holding up the puzzle book. 
      She touched me on the shoulder, and said, "In a minute. I have something 
      to talk to you about," and went to the kitchen. She came back with her 
      water bottle and sat in the next chair, turning it to face me. 
      "Did you know that the road has cleared?" she asked. 
      "No, I hadn't heard." 
      "Will you be leaving?" 
      "I don't think so. Will you?" 
      "Melanie wants to leave. She's tired of the heat, wants to get on to 
      Darwin." She paused for a long time, then said, "I don't want to go." 
      "You like it here?" 
      "This is the first place I've been where I don't want to move on." 
      Feeling that something had to be done I said, "Do you want to go to the 
      café, for breakfast?" 
      "Melanie won't be happy, but yes." 
       We had to pass the pearl shop to get to the café, and we paused to look 
      in the window. There were many unmounted pearls for sale, different 
      colours and shapes, with only a few completely round ones. As jewelry they 
      bored me, but on their own I liked them, because they looked slightly out 
      of focus. I suspected they were popular here because they were natural, 
      rather than seeded. People like the idea of an irritation being coated 
      with a membrane of marble. It isn't a rejection of something new, but an 
      acceptance, rendering it harmless by making it beautiful. 
      Heading for the café, we passed the backyard of the pearl shop, where 
      Baldy, Panny and Jake were gathered around a crate, and a grey pool of 
      water. Jake saw us, and tapped his friends on the back. 
      "Hey, German girl," Panny shouted, "come and look at this." I was 
      irritated by the way he continued to ignore me whenever he addressed us, 
      but looked at Alex for her reaction. Baldy was holding something out, 
      calling for us to join them. 
      She said, "Just for a minute, it might calm them down." 
      Empty oyster shells were all around them, the mother-of-pearl like petrol 
      on water, bright in the direct sunshine. A bucket held the discarded 
      flesh, and in a smaller cup was a handful of pearls. I suspected they 
      weren't part of the legal fishing team up here, or they wouldn't be 
      staying at the lodge, but knew it was better not to ask. 
      "All right then," Badly said, "watch what we do." 
      He held out a large oyster, which looked so much like a stone I'd have had 
      difficulty recognizing it. He used a knife to prize the lips apart, a 
      dribble of water coming out. It wasn't the most pleasant activity to 
      watch, but the three did seem calmer without beer in them, happy to be 
      sharing their profession with us. My annoyance was renewed, however, when 
      Panny stroked the length of the oyster flesh, flicking his tongue near it. 
      "What does this remind you of," he grinned up at me, fingering it. 
      "Salty," he said. Still grinning, he took the shell, and slid his knife 
      under the edge of the oyster, scooping its body into the bucket. The pearl 
      it contained was imperfect, but large, coloured like a bad tooth. 
      "Not quite worthless," Baldy said, as Panny pressed a smaller, sharper 
      knife underneath the pearl. It made a sound like ice being stressed, then 
      came free. 
      "Thank you," Alex said, looking less than pleased. "We have to go now." 
      They didn't even protest, but Panny said, "See you tonight, then." 
      The café was surprisingly well kept, and we sat out on the iron terrace, 
      where palm trees grew between the floorboards. The combination of shade, 
      breeze, and iced water made me feel better than I had since I'd arrived. I 
      relished being with Alex, able to watch her face as she thought and spoke, 
      especially when she struggled to find the right words. I still couldn't 
      work out exactly why, but being with her was a joy. 
      She'd been talking about her return to Germany in a couple of months' 
      time, when she change the subject and said, "What do you like about your 
      girlfriend?" 
      I didn't want to answer. It wasn't that I'd completely abandoned all 
      thoughts of Caroline, but that I didn't want to praise anybody else in 
      front of her. 
      "She makes me laugh," I said limply. "But that's been true of all my 
      girlfriends." 
      "Is she special at all?" 
      "I don't know." 
      "Are you missing her?" 
      The realization that I wasn't made me feel like I had betrayed Caroline, 
      but it felt more important to please Alex. I didn't want her to think she 
      was an interlude. 
      "At first, when we were apart, I believed that absence made me like her 
      more. It made me aware of what I liked in her. Now that I'm used to being 
      alone, I don't see the point." 
      "Absence makes you forget," she said. "I think a relationship is about 
      turning up, as much as anything. Being there." 
      I considered this, and although there was truth in it, it didn't seem 
      right. 
      "If you love somebody enough, the absence shouldn't matter." 
      "But what makes you love somebody that much?" Answering her own question, 
      she spoke sadly. "I don't know yet." 
      "The strange thing is that when you first feel something, you believe you 
      know the person. You don't, but you might have glimpsed who they are." 
      "Glimpsed?" 
      "Caught sight of? With you, I believe I like you because I've glimpsed who 
      you are. Not just a version of yourself that you create to please me, but 
      the real you." 
      She smiled. "How do you know I've not created it?" 
      "When you smile, I can't believe that's false." 
      She ignored this and went on. "If you like me, I don't want it to be like 
      them," she waved her fingers at the pearling shop. "I don't want you to 
      like me just because of my body." She looked shy, but said, "It will get 
      older and look worse." 
      I smiled at this conversation, because it was similar to one we'd had on 
      the beach; several of the words she was using had been unknown to her the 
      night before. 
      "What makes you think I'm only interested in how you look?" 
      "The stuff we are is," she paused to find the word, "horrific. If I were 
      to show you who I really am, to cut myself open like that oyster, I would 
      be as disgusting as it was. Just meat." 
      I understood her doubts, but chose not to concentrate on them. I could 
      look at her and realize that she was a human, with a bowel full of shit, 
      and a belly of vomit; I could picture her red bones and lungs, see her 
      teeth in terms of her skull. I knew that unwashed she would stink in a 
      day, and her smile lines would be wrinkles a few years from now. But it 
      seemed pointless. 
      "What does it matter?" I said. "Even if you are flawed, I trust there's 
      something within you that I want to know." 
      We'd been there so long it was lunchtime, so we ate, and then went back to 
      the lodge. We were both anxious about Melanie, but Alex spotted a note 
      from her on the message board. 
      "She's gone without me. She knew I wasn't coming." 
      "I'm sorry." 
      She nodded. "I am sorry for upsetting her. But now I'm here." 

      We finished the vodka with our dinner, by the pool, and Alex suggested we 
      go back to the beach. Not for the whole night this time, she said, but 
      until it was cool. I went to the toilet, and when I came back she was by 
      the aquarium. Jake and Baldy were standing behind her, silent and 
      motionless. Panny was kneeling next to her, leaning round in an attempt to 
      make eye contact. 
      "Do you like fish?" he asked. 
      "Not these ones," she said. "They have no colour." 
      "You like a bit of colour do you?" His friends smiled as he rubbed his 
      dark chest. 
      "I just think they're strange," Alex said, the green light from the tank 
      making her look curiously pale. 
      "Come on," I said, "we'd better go." 
      "Why are you always running away?" Panny moaned as she stood. His voice 
      sounded like a child's again. "Why don't you like us?" 
      "Why can't you just leave us alone?" Alex snapped, and I stiffened, my 
      stomach going hot, expecting a reaction from them. "Let's go," she said, 
      apparently unconcerned. 
      I didn't look back, but listened, wondering why they made no more comments 
      or sounds. I couldn't even hear their feet, so they must have been keeping 
      still. 
      On the walk to the beach, we talked quietly, which gave us an excuse to be 
      closer to each other. Our shoulders brushed together. It worried me that 
      she looked so unhappy, so I asked her what was wrong. 
      "They bothered me," she said, looking back up the road. 
      "Those three?" 
      "People are always staring." 
      "You feel invaded?" 
      "No, not that. They don't want to see inside, they are only interested in 
      my surface. There's more to me than that. But they're wearing my surface 
      away." 
      I wanted to tell her that I was different, that it was more than 
      attraction, but knew I would sound defensive, so let her continue. 
      "They think that loud men can make me happy. They don't see who I am. If I 
      showed them. . . ." she looked up, confused, grasping for words. "I could 
      show them." 
      As we climbed the dunes, the sound of the ocean was close and calm. 
      "Maybe," I suggested, "people are attracted to you because you're so 
      opaque. Your reservation makes you seem mysterious, a puzzle to be solved. 
      People feel empty unless they work you out." 
      "Is that why you stared at me on the coach?" 
      "That was because of your torch," I said, holding out my hands, mimicking 
      her actions. 
      She smiled, knowing she'd embarrassed me. Before I could think of a way to 
      explain, she said, "I know. It's different with you. I think you want to 
      know me. If I answer a question, you ask it again until I tell the truth. 
      If I don't concentrate, you can see right through me." 
       It was this generosity of hers, to assume the best about me, that made me 
      wince at the thought of Caroline. I realized that we'd spent the last year 
      obsessing over the technicalities of our relationship, trying to make it 
      function, rather than nurturing the emotion. We'd stopped hoping for the 
      best, because it had passed. That's why I'd been missing her. Not because 
      she was necessary, but because she was already gone. 
      The sand was the coolest it had been since we'd arrived, and as we walked, 
      I put my arm around Alex. When she returned the contact, we stopped at the 
      water's edge and kissed. I hardly dared close my eyes, because the 
      tiredness was so intense. But it felt such a relief to be there, seeing 
      moonlight on her face, feeling the water around my feet, finally holding 
      her. When she looked up, I could see the clear of her cornea, a crescent 
      of white reflecting on it. 
      If I had done this without the buildup, just been unfaithful to Caroline, 
      it would have made me sick with regret. As it was, she only entered my 
      thoughts for a second. It didn't feel indulgent to be doing this, because 
      it would have been wasteful to avoid it. 
      I heard voices, and looked up at the dunes. The three men were yauping 
      loudly, jogging towards us. As they came nearer, I saw all were carrying 
      beer, and two had torches. They turned them on and shone them in my face. 
      "Jesus Christ," Baldy said, "look at lover boy." His face screwed up as 
      though furious with us. Panny looked like somebody at a party who's been 
      turned down; miserable, and over-acting happiness. Jake followed on 
      behind, his face lost behind his dark beard. 
      "I'm not happy about this," I said to Alex, then turned to meet them, 
      trying to sound pleased. "All right lads." 
      Baldy pushed me back, hard enough to make me fall, but I managed to right 
      myself, just before I hit the water. He came at me again, and this time I 
      tripped against the waves. My face went under, and I think I was held 
      there, because although I struggled, I couldn't get my head out. My need 
      to breathe was so strong, it felt as though I was about to suck in water. 
      Somebody dragged me up, pulling my arms back. 
      "Let him go," Alex demanded. 
      "Please, just let us leave," I gasped. 
      "No, I don't think you're going anywhere," Baldy said, grabbing my hair. 
      He pulled me towards him, then embraced me, with his arms around mine, and 
      dragged me onto the shore. There was still just a chance it was a joke, so 
      sounding as bright as I could I said, "All right, you win." I felt his 
      forehead thump into the back of my skull. 
      Alex stepped back, and went out of sight. 
      I looked at the line of white breakers, to see if her shadow passed in 
      front of them, but there was nothing. I felt like collapsing, because 
      Baldy's arms were so tight around me. My lungs were weak, hardly able to 
      move my ribs. 
      "Jake, bring her back," he said, nodding in her direction, freeing his arm 
      momentarily to make the sign language. In response, Jake padded off into 
      the darkness. 
      "If you hurt her," I said, unable to think of a decent threat, given the 
      way he was holding me. 
      "We're not going to hurt her. Nobody ever got hurt by being touched." 
      Panny had a look which I mistook for boredom; when he spoke, I realized it 
      was contempt. "It's you we're going to hurt," he said, unfurling his 
      roll-up knife holder. The pearling implements were all there, and he 
      pulled free the smallest one, which looked like a long scalpel. 
      "Come on Jake," Baldy said to himself, then into my ear he said, "That 
      little fucker can see in the dark." 
      "Please, I need to breathe." 
      There was a flash in the distance, which could have been lightning, except 
      it seemed to come from the sand. We heard Jake before he was in sight, a 
      sort of gasping and moaning. His mouth was wide, turned down and white 
      with spit. It was as though he was screaming silently, his inability to 
      create a sound making him more desperate. 
      Baldy let go, attempting to throw me down, and ran towards Jake, who was 
      now on his knees. As Panny moved forward I used my momentum to trip him. 
      I had him on his back, my knees on his shoulders; he was winded, and so 
      shocked, the knife was limp in his hands. I was able to pull it free, and 
      held it in front of his face. 
      Jake was curled up on the sand, but Baldy had abandoned him and was 
      striding at me. 
      "If you come near me, I'll cut him." 
      Panny seemed to believe me, because he lay still, almost patient. Baldy, 
      however, ran up and kicked me in the side, and I felt instantly 
      suffocated. His foot hit my jaw, and as I went over, it felt like I was 
      falling from a high place. 

      I can't have been unconscious long, but when I came round I could feel 
      pressure on my chest, arms and legs, holding me down on the beach. 
      Something like thread was passing over my gums, wet and sharp. As my 
      vision cleared I could see two faces above me. Between them, they had me 
      pinned down, and their fingers pulled my lips back, as they passed the 
      blade over my gums, opening them. The scalpel snagged against the top of 
      my front teeth, and pressed into them. 
      I could hear crying to the side of me. It sounded like Jake, trying to 
      form words, but on the in-breath, so they were hoarse and wet. Then I 
      heard Alex speak in German, calm, but distant. Baldy slumped further onto 
      me, pinning me down, and I saw Panny stand, pointing his torch down the 
      beach. I turned my head to see him illuminate Jake, who was now still, but 
      panting. Then he raised the beam into a space over the sand. 
       There was no apparent outline to Alex, but as the light passed through 
      her body, it illuminated her insides. Her bones were visible only as 
      glass, and between them, in a yellow swill like bloody water, were her 
      organs. As she stepped forward, they heaved in unison. The beam of the 
      torch passed her beating heart, and when it shone on her face I could see 
      the thick swell of tongue pressing behind her teeth. 
      I couldn't move my head. Seeing her like that had taken all my strength. 
      Panny didn't move either, because when she reached him I heard something 
      impact on his throat. He coughed as he went down, and landed with his head 
      facing mine, eyes closed. The torch was shining over Baldy, who looked 
      greasy with sweat. His arms were by his side, and he looked upset, tired, 
      but completely unable to move. Alex took the scalpel and ran it down his 
      thigh, the skin peeling open to reveal flesh like the inside of a plum. He 
      began to struggle, the wound dusting with sand. 
      When he was off me, I felt my strength return, stood and backed away. Alex 
      moved out of the torch beam, and in the moonlight I could see her face. 
      The noise behind herof the three of them, pained and franticdidn't concern 
      her. She was watching me, for a reaction. 
      I held my hand out towards her, and said, "We'd better go." 

      On the coach the next day, we didn't talk much. It wasn't that we'd run 
      out of things to say, but the magnitude of what we were doing had begun to 
      sink in. I still hadn't spoken to Caroline, but left a message telling her 
      I was going back to Perth, with somebody I'd met. I didn't have the heart 
      to wish her Merry Christmas. 
      Alex had the window seat, even though her eyes were closed. It was the 
      first time I'd seen her asleep. The sun was setting, and most people 
      pulled down blinds to shade it out. I left ours open, to watch the orange 
      glow on her skin. The ends of her hair had bleached over the past few 
      days, so they let through light. 
      I remembered what had happened, and my heart sped in response. It was the 
      men's reaction that frightened me, rather than what I'd seen in Alex. I 
      wasn't even sure whether she'd had a choice, or had just been worn down by 
      them. It didn't seem to matter, because I was more disturbed by the anger 
      in them, than the stuff she contained. As I watched her eyelids tremble in 
      sleep, it wasn't her contents I was thinking about, but the content of her 
      dreams.