Finding Kerra Page 8

  I stared out—it truly was a magnificent view. Probably like being in a low flying crop duster. Kerra laid out her pencils and gave me a sheet of paper. ‘You can draw too,’ she offered. We sat like that in silence for quite some time. It would be fun to learn how to do art journaling. We were so companionable that I wondered if I’d exaggerated Kerra’s strangeness the night before. I looked over at her page. The house was a normal storybook one. She’d drawn the windmill too and a horse lying on the lawn. It had a leg in the air. ‘Is the horse asleep?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  We were quiet again while I drew a sunset over the roof of the house and a windmill black against the sky. My colouring didn’t capture the sun’s spectacular patterns. A breeze started up from the south and the windmill blades whirred. The woolly smell of the old shearing shed wafted into my face.

  ‘Dad was breaking in a brumby this morning,’ Kerra volunteered after a while, before I’d thought to ask about her day. ‘He said it’d be a nice horse. All the others have to die.’ I presumed she meant the ones they didn’t catch and I tried to lift her mood.

  ‘They do a lot of damage to the environment. They have to be killed to save the feed for the cattle and to make dogfood.’

  She sighed. ‘Yeah, things have to die if they don’t do the right thing. Like me, I should’ve too.’

  My hand stilled. Not for the first time I felt out of my depth with Kerra. Shouldn’t she be spending time with a person trained to listen and support her? I’d mention it to Mr Townsend.

  ‘Jaime?’ I was drawing Middle Eastern designs around my page. ‘I like those curvy patterns.’ She pointed to the dome-like curls. ‘Are they Pakistani?’

  ‘Mmm-hmm.’ I drew a minaret rising from the old shearing shed. It made me think of the fort Jasper, Liana and I were imprisoned in early this year. ‘Mosques and old forts in Pakistan have arches and towers like these. In Afghanistan too—’

  ‘What do you miss?’

  ‘Besides people?’

  ‘Besides Jasper, your boyfriend.’ She even raised an eyebrow—I’d never heard her make a joke before.

  ‘I told you he’s not. Just a friend.’ A very close friend. I blew out a breath. ‘I guess I miss the high mountains, the carpet shops that smelt a bit like your shearing shed, tea shops, the aroma of curry spices, dancing in the woods at school with my friends.’ With Liana mostly and I found myself smiling.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘I had a happy memory that didn’t make me sad.’ She nodded, seeming to understand my upside-down logic.

  ‘I’d like a happy memory too,’ she said.

  I was barely listening, staring at the minaret I’d drawn. The mosque! I’d just realised what was different about the mosque in town. The sun had been behind me when I’d looked in and saw the alcove for prayer. It was facing the east. Mecca was west from here. It wasn’t a true mosque at all; what Muslim would pray facing the opposite direction to Mecca? Could it have always been like that? Surely not. Had the descendants of those early camel drivers lost so much of what their ancestors believed?

  I didn’t feel like drawing anymore. ‘I’m going to get the dinner ready. Want to see how to make lamb curry?’

  Kerra packed her pencils in her Smiggles case and followed me down the ladder. I discovered how she got Sasha up there—she had a hessian shoulder bag for cat carrying. Judging by the mewling Sasha didn’t care for it.

  Kerra stubbornly ignored Sasha’s protests and climbed down. Was she like the mosque? Something lost inside that was there once? What did she say: she wanted a happy memory? Was it painful memories that made her say and do such strange things? Or no memories at all?

  11

  In the morning, Blake and I saddled the horses for our picnic.

  ‘Today I’ll take you to my favourite spot,’ he said as he tightened Cador’s girth strap. ‘I reckon you can ride that far now.’

  We rode off laughing, past the dam Kerra nearly drowned in and across country in a race. We rode up a rise and I scanned the landscape sloping away behind us. We had been climbing so gradually I hadn’t noticed. We reined in at the top. I gasped at the picture before me: a gorge set between two small hills.

  Blake smiled and touched my hand on the reins. ‘The land is so flat, so a place like this is special. It would have been a meaningful place for the Nungas too.’

  I didn’t let on that my legs and back still ached from my spill off Rainmaker, but this gorge was worth it. The touch of his hand too.

  A tree-lined creek ran through it—no water, but I was getting used to not expecting water in creeks and rivers.

  ‘There’s a spring here but it doesn’t run in the dry. And the creek fills up with a good rain,’ Blake said as we walked the horses down the rise. ‘It happens every now and then.’ I guessed 150 millilitres of rain each year wouldn’t offer many opportunities for creeks to run. A few rusty sails of a windmill rose above the bushes and as I moved Rainmaker to have a better look, a crowd of corellas soared squawking into the air.

  ‘Since the spring was unreliable, they dug a well here ages ago. The windmill pumped the water up for the horses. It used to be a changeover station for Cobb and Co.’ We looped the horses’ reins over the branch of a tree that had three different trunks growing from the main butt. The mulga trees were everywhere. ‘We also have a lot of desert oaks and those are river red gums by the creek.’ I looked around me. A place like that, with a sense of history, always got to me: what would the people who’d lived here say if they could see us now?

  Blake led me to the ruins of a single-roomed house. The heart of it still stood: a single fireplace, bare against the spindly grass, and a solitary trough—they bore witness to a land Europeans didn’t understand. We sat under a silver eucalyptus tree, its bark velvety, and looking as though it’d been there since the creek first carved itself into the land.

  Blake made himself busy pulling a small frypan and billy from his saddle bag. He had a faint smile on his face as if he was counting his blessings and was pleased with how many he had. Then, after he got the fire going and the damper cooked to his liking, he held out his hands to the food and nodded at me to tuck in. He was so happy. I was just thinking how Kerra would enjoy a picnic when Blake floored me.

  ‘Thanks for what you’re doing with Kerra.’ I never expected him to bring up the subject of his sister by himself.

  ‘With Kerra?’ It sounded as if she was the furthermost thing from my mind, which wasn’t true.

  ‘Yeah. She’s been a lot better lately.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I hoped I’d hear his side of the story at last.

  ‘You’ve kept her occupied. She’s doing her jobs, caught up on her school work. Matt says she’s really taken to you.’

  ‘So she’s keeping out of trouble.’

  Maybe my tone was sharp because Blake gave me a quick glance.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Blake?’

  He made a sound which I took to mean ‘sure’. I should have noticed how defensive he sounded. ‘Why do you discipline Kerra? She’s just your sister.’ I was calm and wasn’t ready for the way he spat out the answer as though it was warm beer.

  ‘She’s a little witch!’ A slap in the face wouldn’t have made me flinch more. ‘Dad doesn’t see it all. He’s busy. It’s better for me to get it over and done with. If Mum was here, she’d—’

  He stopped suddenly and before I could show that I wanted to understand, he leaned over and offered me an empty mug. ‘Let’s just enjoy this here, hey?’

  But I couldn’t let it rest. He sounded frustrated so how could he stop talking? ‘You don’t have to feel like you’ve got to fill your mum’s shoes. I wouldn’t like a brother doing that to me.’

  He stayed silent as if he was thinking about it. When he finally spoke it was like I’d never spoken at all. ‘Whe
n you swing the billy like this it makes the tea taste better.’ And there he was, standing with the billy swinging round his head, showing me as if that had been my question.

  With Kerra I’d learnt to wait, let her answer in her own good time. I was used to people beating round the bush—my Pakistani friends did that a lot. But I knew it was politeness with them. This was as though Blake shut the door because he was in pain, trying to keep control before he lost it.

  It shocked me to see what my questions had stirred up. I tried to apologise. ‘Blake—’

  ‘Look, Jaime! We came out here for a picnic. So let’s just have a picnic. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’

  He turned to face me. ‘You don’t understand.’ He said it slowly, as if he was trying to restrain how he spoke and I wished he didn’t have to do that. Sure, I didn’t understand, but I didn’t want him to be so upset. Now I had no idea how to fix it, how to get him to be the happy Blake who brought me there.

  ‘When Mum died Kerra had to be taken in hand. That’s all there is to it.’ He said ‘died’ with his voice so tight that I fully expected him to lean right over and tell me to get out of his face. But he didn’t, just threw the billy of tea on the fire and shoved things into his saddle bag. ‘If you think Dad should have spent more time with her—’

  ‘I wasn’t—’ Worse and worse. The fire sizzled and died.

  ‘—it doesn’t work like that on a property like this.’

  I chewed the inside of my cheek, watching him by his horse now, the energy in him making his legs shift, his hands restless, on his hips, in the air, making me wish I could turn back the clock.

  ‘When jobs need doing here, you have to do them—fencing, bringing cattle in. When the shearers come, you shear. When it doesn’t rain, you check the bores. Nothing stops for a ten-year-old. Kids have to pull their weight, ride with it. I did.’

  Kerra might be different but I didn’t dare say so. I knew when enough was enough. He was waiting by his horse, the buckles on his saddle bag done up and I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I say let’s go? Say I was sorry again? Guess I’d started it but right then, I thought an apology would be like throwing pearls to the swine.

  His saddle crackled as he mounted and he turned Cador to look at me. ‘Well? Are you coming or should I tell Kerra to come and get you?’ That stung and I found my tongue again as I stood up.

  ‘Sure, and you don’t need to talk to me like this.’

  He didn’t answer that, just brought Cador near to Rainmaker, and then leaned down so I could feel the heat of his breath on my face.

  ‘Kerra has to be kept an eye on or she could do something…weird. You’ll see.’ He said ‘weird’ as though it wasn’t the word he wanted to use, as if the truth would be too shocking.

  What on earth could he mean? And I couldn’t ask, not with his I-only-wanted-a-picnic frown. I followed him home, all the time mulling over how I could cope with him like this. No wonder he never spoke about Kerra in Adelaide. No wonder he was different, happy there; she hadn’t been there. There had to be some way of sorting all the feelings—his and mine—but right then I’d had what he’d call ‘a gutful’. I felt like Pandora opening the box: too much to handle and too late to put it all back.

  Later on I was out feeding the chooks when Matt and Richelle drove up with mail for Mr Townsend. Richelle made a beeline for the stables to find Blake, but Matt called to me.

  I’d had enough of guys for one day and only waved, but he strolled over before they left.

  ‘G’day.’ He said that as if he was The Man from Snowy River and I let a grin slip. Matt certainly had raw charm. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Why should anything be up?’ I forgot how observant he was. Could he tell I’d been crying? He didn’t answer, just stood there and waited. I knew he wouldn’t go until I told him. ‘Just had a spot of trouble with Blake, that’s all.’

  He seemed to tense slightly, but I may have imagined it since his tone was slow and careless as he asked, ‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘Just an argument. I asked something I shouldn’t have.’

  He relaxed then, leaning against the gate as if he was floating on air—but if I kicked the gate, he’d fall for sure.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ was all he said at first, then, ‘What’d ya say?’

  ‘It was about Kerra. He just blew up. One minute he was happy, the next it was like being on a Pacific island with a volcano erupting.’ I thought for a bit longer, thankful that Matt didn’t butt in. ‘Now I’m not sure what to do—whether we’ve lost ground. I mean, I’m not sure now if we had any in the first place.’

  The toe of Matt’s boot made a slow pattern in the dust. ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ he said finally, as if the marks on the ground had given him the answer. ‘Just let him go. It’ll blow over and you’ll be able to talk sense then.’

  With Matt I had to read between the lines. I hoped I didn’t take too much license whenever I did, as I desperately wanted Blake to get over whatever it was that bothered him about Kerra. Matt didn’t stay long after that, just squeezed my shoulder like my brother Andrew might have done and made his way back to his ute and dogs. When he started the engine, Richelle appeared. I didn’t imagine it, she glowered at me as if she wished me dead.

  I was in the kitchen when Blake came in. I knew it was him by his step and the way he was standing there, probably watching me.

  ‘Jaime.’

  I turned round, hoping the blotches on my face had cleared up. ‘About today—’ He hung his hat on the hook by the door and came closer. ‘I didn’t mean to flip out like that. I just wanted us to have a nice time. I’m sorry.’

  Mum had always told me to accept an apology in grace and I fought down the impulse to ask him another question while he was receptive. ‘That’s cool. I’m sorry too. Just trying to help, I guess.’ I had to be careful as to even imply he needed help might start the sparks flying again.

  He put an arm round me and hugged me, making me shrug the thoughts of Kerra aside. Surely it was just a case of a big brother trying to do his best for his little sister? He was still Blake. Couldn’t I like him, warts and all? Who was perfect anyway? Certainly not me.

  By late afternoon I was missing Kerra. I thought she would have been around to meet me after the picnic but she didn’t seem to be near the house. I guessed she’d be with her father but when he came in for his afternoon smoko he hadn’t seen her either. ‘She’s often down at the dam,’ he offered when I asked. ‘I’ve seen her there with Bow when he’s free.’

  Cooking the tea could wait; this was the longest she’d gone without showing up. I had to find her, as urgently as a voice in my mind telling me to hurry up. I rushed out to the dam.

  At first I didn’t see her. Bow was sitting at the dam’s edge but he was subdued, his nose on his paws. Funny how dogs seem to pick up on our moods. He licked my hand though, when I patted him. ‘Where’s Kerra?’ He lifted his head, then I heard the sobs.

  She was on the other side, crouched over. I walked round to her, wondering what to say. She had a cardboard box. The sobs were relentless: not of a child, rather an adult wishing they could die. Suddenly I could see what she was doing.

  ‘No! Kerra.’ I broke into a run. ‘Kerra!’ I had to stop her. And when I reached her I hauled her back, pulled her hands out of the water. ‘Don’t do that.’ I was sobbing too by then, and I prised open her fingers and checked the wet, matted fur. My eyes travelled from the tiny wet body in the mud to the one in her hands. There was nothing else I could say. There was no malice in her eyes—no evil—just pain, and a sadness that a child shouldn’t feel.

  ‘Why?’ All sorts of possibilities ran through my head. Surely Blake wouldn’t have found the kittens already and made her drown them herself? I couldn’t believe he would be that cruel. I held her close to me while I unclenched her finger
s again and put the kitten down with the other one. It was still warm under the wet fur, but its little head hung limply. She saw it as I laid it down, and the sobs started up again; mine too. I’d never found anyone killing an animal with no reason. I didn’t know what to say.

  Then she tried to talk. I heard the first part. It sounded like ‘I had to.’ I sat her back a bit from me as I tried to make sense out of it.

  ‘What do you mean, “you had to”?’ But she wouldn’t say anything else. I sensed if she didn’t talk about this to me, it would be another thing she’d store up to haunt herself with, and who knew how much stuff she already had in there.

  ‘Kerra, tell me. I will understand. What happened today?’

  It seemed she wasn’t going to tell, but then she wiped one arm across her face.

  ‘Sasha was having her kittens...’ She drew in a breath. ‘One came out, then Sasha started yowling. When another one was coming, Sasha was running round the shed. The kitten was stuck and dragging on the ground and Sasha still ran all over the place, howling. I didn’t know what to do. Then Sasha sat down, but the same thing happened for the last one. It doesn’t go like that with the cats in the shed. They just have their kittens quiet, only growl once or twice, not howl and run. Her eyes were scared, Jaime. The kittens killed her.’

  ‘She’s dead?’ Surely she was exaggerating, but she gave a slow nod. Then she turned to me, the brown tear stains on her face making her look macabre, but I pushed that thought aside.

  ‘Jaime, they had to die, don’t you see? They were bad. They killed their mother.’ The sobs started again. ‘I loved Sasha and they killed her. I’m bad too.’ I guessed she meant she was bad for killing the kittens, but I had to get her to see it wasn’t the kittens’ fault.

  ‘Kerra, it was an accident. Things like that happen. It was no one’s fault. Sasha was too little, that’s all.’

  ‘They killed her,’ she whispered. Suddenly a thought struck me. Hadn’t she mentioned three kittens? Carefully I looked over her head into the box and, sure enough, there was a dry ball of fur. So I’d been quick enough to save it, but wouldn’t she feel she had to drown it too? I had to make sure before I reminded her of it.