The Rain Heron Page 12

  The private parked at the back, keeping the building between the truck and the road. The apparatus of a well revealed itself in a nearby field. Daniel, feeling confident at the discovery of the house, told the scout to check if the well was dry, then turned to the lieutenant.

  I thought we’d stay here tonight.

  Harker looked exhausted, as if she’d spent the day marching in high heat. Daniel was thinking of something else to say, something that would put her at ease, but nothing came to him. Then he heard the driver’s door shut.

  The private was moving towards the house in a fast, scurrying crouch, holding his rifle high. Daniel began to shout something, a question, but the private turned to him with a furious look. He raised a finger to his lips and held up a flat palm. He resumed his approach, moving fast and quiet. He eased the door open, peered in, rifle held to his eye, then disappeared inside.

  Daniel felt anger grip him. He turned to the lieutenant, who was leaning back in her seat, her eye closed. He was trying to figure out what to do, if he should do anything at all, when she spoke.

  He’s clearing the building. Anyone could be in there. Guerrillas, dissidents, deserters. Scared farmers with shotguns.

  She said it calmly, her voice unworried. Daniel felt his pulse quicken. It was suddenly so obvious.

  It doesn’t matter, Harker said. If anyone’s in there, they’ve already seen us.

  Panic rushed at Daniel. His eyes flashed to the windows of the house, which were dark and revealed nothing. He felt the need to act, but he didn’t know what to do. More than anything, he wanted Lieutenant Harker to rise from her seat and fix things. The old Harker would never have approached this house, never have got them into a mess like this. But now she just sat there, eye closed, breaths even.

  The old Harker, Daniel thought, would never have shot the woman on the mountain.

  The sound of a clap snapped through the air. Daniel looked up to see the private, who was standing in the doorway to the house, wearing a wide grin. Daniel felt relief course through him and got out of the truck. Behind him the scout was returning from the well with two heavy buckets, also smiling, and all of it made Daniel feel strangely happy. Harker levered herself out of the truck, and the relief inside Daniel renewed his confidence.

  He faced the private.

  Good work. And lieutenant, he said, I really must insist you take those pills. Not the painkillers, if you really don’t want to, but definitely the antibiotics. We can’t have you getting infected.

  She looked at him with the same detached calmness that hadn’t left her face since they’d come down from the mountain. He tried to hold a posture that matched the authority in his words. He was so preoccupied with this that he didn’t see her swinging fist.

  He probably would have missed it even if he’d been paying attention. It came so fast, flying in a hard blur, that he didn’t even have time to flinch. But her knuckles went wide, not even scraping his chin. She had misjudged the distance.

  He stepped back, a yelp jumping from his throat. Harker was swaying on her feet, staring at her hand. They both stood still. The scout and the private hung back. Harker looked up at Daniel, whose face had flushed red.

  I’m sorry, he said. I…

  This time her fist came in a straight jab: a strike that did not contend with depth. A crack rang loud, bone on bone, as her knuckles whipped into his jaw. He stumbled backwards, rocked into a crouch. Blood ran from his lip. Harker turned and walked into the house.

  Nobody mentioned the punch as they unpacked the truck. There was enough space for all of them to sleep in the main downstairs area, but the lieutenant dragged her kit up the stairs to an empty smaller room. The scout drew three more buckets of water from the well as the private lit a fire in the cold hearth.

  When the first logs had burned through, Daniel, who hadn’t spoken since the lieutenant struck him, unpacked some collapsible bowls, filled them with well water and set them by the coals. Once they were boiling he added a few sachets of dehydrated food—peas and legumes and nutrient powders. As they waited, the three of them unrolled their sleeping kits, washed their faces, sipped water. The food was still not ready, so they sat on the hard, dusty floor, not talking until Daniel at last said: I guess I’d better bring it inside.

  The scout shrugged. The private stared at the boiling bowls. Daniel stood up, returned to the truck, reached inside and only looked at the cage long enough to make sure he was grabbing a steady handle. His lip stung, and he could taste the copper of his blood. He pulled the cage swiftly out of the back seat and marched back to the house, holding it at arm’s length, waiting for steam or ice to shoot out. But the bird played none of its tricks, and he made it back into the house without incident. He sat the cage against a far wall.

  The private stood and made a show of stretching, then casually—too casually—positioned himself as far away from the cage as he could. The scout watched the cage carefully, the smallest expression of wonder on his face. Daniel finished his soup and fell asleep.

  41

  SOMETIME IN THE night a storm cracked the sky apart. Daniel was woken by thunder. The rain drummed into his mind, taking him from sleep into a state of confused semi-wakefulness.

  In this half-dream he saw his family farm, and what it was like when too much rain fell on the fields. The ground would soften and squelch, and when it was completely soaked the worms and bugs that lived in the dirt would squirm to the gasping surface. Their appearance would summon hungry frogs. Small eels would join them, gliding from heavy streams over the wet soil and grass. The glisten of the frogs and eels would bring long-legged waterbirds to feast on them—murderous egrets, picking their way through the muddy banquet. Their bills darted, their bellies ballooned, and for some of them flight became an obvious discomfort.

  As the slick frogs and eels feasted on the invertebrates, and as the birds feasted on them, the rodents and small marsupials would flee to higher, drier parts of the farm—the humps and hills that rose from the wet-dark fields like mossy islands. There they scurried for shelter under gorse and eucalypts, and if they could find none they waited for one of two things: for the water to recede, or for death, because while there was plenty of rich grass to eat, there were also plenty of raptor shadows tracing their movements across the ground. Kites, falcons, goshawks and harriers were drawn from far skies. They took turns to dive, to sink their talons into warm flesh, to rise to branches where they lunched on their damp kills.

  Under heavy rain, the farm thickened with life and death. Daniel was so young back then, a small figure clad in plasticky overalls and waddling in orange gumboots. He splashed through the mud and water, unaware of what it meant for grain, rot, the integrity of topsoil and riverbanks. In his half-sleep he saw his father’s face, smiling at his careless splashes. His father’s mouth opened, but the words did not reach Daniel’s dreaming ears. Something was too loud. Everything was too loud. Thunder exploded, and suddenly he was fully awake, fully grown, hot and scared in his sleeping bag, fumbling for his bearings.

  Out of nowhere, said a voice.

  Daniel turned to its source. Lieutenant Harker was sitting close to the fire. Two fresh logs were crackling on a bed of embers. She was holding her knees to her chest, looking into the flames.

  The storm, she said. It came out of nowhere.

  Daniel nodded. He looked over at the scout and the private. They were asleep. Then he looked at the windows, at the rain spattering against the glass. He rubbed his face, slowly waking up.

  I’m sorry, said Harker.

  She pointed at Daniel’s face. He realised he was rubbing the part of his jaw she’d struck earlier in the day.

  It’s fine.

  No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have done it.

  I understand, he said.

  I doubt you do. But thank you. It won’t happen again.

  Daniel had never heard her apologise. All the time he’d been with her, she’d never had cause to. He didn’t know what to say, and a
lthough he’d been hurt by her blow, he felt a heat in his guts as she spoke to him this openly. He felt he had to say something meaningful in response.

  What you’ve done for me—for the other men as well—you could hit us all, a couple of times a day for a few months at least, and we’d…

  This rain, she said. Remarkable. Did you see how dry the land was, on the drive today? Can’t have rained for weeks.

  Daniel could only nod.

  If there were any farmers around, Harker continued, they’d be thrilled.

  She underarmed a stick onto the fire.

  Or not, I suppose. You know how farmers are with rain. Never enough, or far too much.

  I grew up on a farm.

  Is that right? Anyone still there?

  My parents are there. And a few hands.

  Are you sure?

  Daniel felt his skin flush, and indecision crept into his foggy mind.

  Shit, Harker said. I’m sorry. Again. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure your farm is fine. I just meant…You saw how empty those fields were today. If you grew up on a farm, you’d know that this is supposed to be the rainy season.

  She pointed at the window.

  It should be like this all the time.

  Daniel looked at the falling storm.

  I suppose so.

  But it was all so dry, wasn’t it?

  Yes.

  Makes you think.

  Does it?

  I don’t know.

  She leaned back, stretching her arms behind her head. Her fingers arched with slow symmetry, and it reminded Daniel of the poise that used to fill all her movements. She held the stretch for a minute. More lightning flashed at the window. Another crack of thunder came through the walls, and the rain became heavier. Harker let her hands fall back to the floor. She turned her head to look at the cage.

  Must be the bird.

  Daniel followed her gaze. Beneath the black cloth the shape was barely discernible, and it didn’t seem to be moving. But then another fork of lightning flashed, and when it did the cage gave a small shake. Not the lurch of something disturbed, but a settling, something like contentment. The edges of the cloth flared upwards. The cage rocked, then settled as its curtain corrected itself. When the corresponding thunder followed the cloth fluttered again, this time pushed by a waft of happy vapour.

  Daniel thought about what he knew of rain herons—how in the stories they were associated with rainfall, abundance and harvests, but also with floods and destruction, sometimes death. The rain drummed on and the cage trembled.

  He looked back at Harker.

  Why do they want it?

  Who?

  The generals. Or whoever’s in charge.

  She shrugged.

  Men want things. They hear about something and pretty soon they’re convinced it belongs to them.

  A few minutes passed, filled with storm noise and the odd burst of sparks as the heat of the fire found veins of sap in the logs. Harker poked at the coals with the toe of her boot.

  It’s not going to change anything.

  After that she stopped talking, and gave no sign that she would say anything more. Daniel wanted her to continue, but he didn’t know how to ask, or what to say. He stared again at the cage, until he thought of a question she could answer straight.

  How did you know?

  Harker looked up, her face glowing orange.

  Know what?

  That it’d be up there.

  She hunched forward.

  I didn’t. Not when we were given the mission. Not when we arrived on the mountain.

  But you must have. What you did to that woman—

  What we did.

  Yes, what we did—

  I didn’t know until I talked to her.

  How?

  Harker rubbed her chin, and did not speak for a long moment. Then she said: I followed the boy up the slopes, thinking that I’d find a crazy hermit who was out of her mind, who knew nothing, and we’d all be able to leave. But I was wrong. She wasn’t crazy. She was furious, and determined, and so worried that I’d hurt the boy. And she was smart. There was no reason for her to be living up there like that. So I thought: there must be something. A reason why she was there. And when I asked her about the bird, she laughed at me, and her laugh was forced. So I knew. I hadn’t been expecting to find anything, but I did. I suppose I could have pretended I didn’t.

  Why didn’t you? And why did you—

  She cut him off, snapping a hand above the flames.

  I thought I was doing her a favour. It sounds crazy, I know. But if I had pretended I didn’t know she knew about the bird, if we returned to headquarters and reported that, they would have sent someone else. Maybe not immediately, but eventually someone would have gone to the mountain in our place, and whoever they sent would have torn the information out of that woman we found in ways…You know their ways. They would have burned the soles of her feet. Carved her ears off. Killed that man and his boy, slowly, in front of her. I told myself that if I did it my way it would make her life miserable, but she would live. They would all live. I thought it best. And then…

  She gestured at the gauze on her face, at the gun on her hip.

  Maybe you’re right. We should have left straight away.

  Daniel leaned back on his pillow, and tried to match the rhythm of his thoughts to the pounding of the rain. He closed his eyes to the cracks of lightning. When the thunder snarled, he tried to let it chase him into sleep. But it took a long time.

  He kept thinking of what Harker had told him, about the hermit they’d harried, about their time on the mountain. The sweet menthol of the air, the horror they’d brought to that woman. And in his drowsy mind it began to mix with what he’d been dreaming about before he woke: his family farm, bloated with rain. He saw himself on the mountain, hollow in the cheeks, rigid with ropey muscle, a gun in his hand; and then he saw himself before it all, as a child gambolling through muddy puddles; then as a slow-striding youth, dreaming of growing up to wear a coat and a kind expression as men and women came to him, anxious and worried, before being healed by his soft smile and flawless counsel.

  The storm crashed on. Every now and then his eyelids flicked open, reacting to its sound and light. The last time they did, he saw Lieutenant Harker leaning over the fire. It occurred to him that this was how he kept seeing her—sitting down, staring at coals. Once again she was holding the tubes of pills he’d given her. Relief lapped at his drowsy mind, as did a small throb of victory, until he saw what she was doing.

  The tubes were open, and she was upending them towards her free palm. The pills fell one by one, and as each landed in her hand she flicked it with a hard thumb into the fire. They landed on glowing coals, where they fizzed, blackened and crumbled into soot.

  Daniel could smell them burning—an acrid taint to the damp static of the air. The scent followed him into sleep.

  42

  MORNING CAME, BRIGHT and rainless. The water that had pelted down during the night lay in wide puddles across the road and fields, but the sun was already working on drying them. As the soldiers laced their boots outside the house they were hit by moist warmth, rising from the gravel.

  They moved to the truck, throwing in their gear. Daniel placed the cage on the ground by the back of the vehicle as he and the other men stowed their equipment. They were about to leave when they noticed Harker hanging in the driveway, staring at the direction they’d travelled from the previous day. The three of them paused. Daniel turned to the scout.

  Do you think we were followed yesterday?

  The scout frowned.

  By who?

  I don’t know. Just a thought. Did you notice anything?

  The scout shook his head.

  No, although I wasn’t looking.

  He too looked at the road, and at the puddles in the gravel.

  It’ll be hard to see if someone is following us today. The water will stop dust rising from the road. But I’ll ke
ep an eye out.

  Daniel nodded. He was about to thank the scout when he heard a loud shout. He jumped in shock, and turned as another shout reached his ears, then another.

  They were coming from the private. His face wore a terrified expression, and he was staring at his left boot, which was half-submerged in a puddle. A layer of ice covered the surface of the water and clung to the boot, anchoring the private’s leg to the ground.

  Daniel stared at the frozen puddle, noting that the ice was unbroken, that it must have formed in the seconds after the private had trod in the water. The private yanked at his leg, still yelling, as Daniel saw the trail of frost glinting across the driveway gravel, running in a wide smear to the heron’s cage.

  Before Daniel, the scout or Harker could do anything the private shouted again, a noise heavier with fear than his others had been, and fired his rifle at the cage. The shots exploded in Daniel’s ears. A flurry of bullets rattled through the bars, ripping holes into the black cloth.

  Stop!

  Daniel blinked. The word had not come from him or Harker, but from the scout. The private stopped firing, and the scout sprinted towards the cage, hurling his long military coat over it, just as a thick finger of mist began snaking through one of the newly torn apertures. He threw his arms around the cage’s frame, pulling his coat tight, using the woollen belt to tie it firmly in place. He did all this with a peculiar degree of tenderness.

  When it was done the scout stood up, breathing heavily. Adrenaline had washed pinkness into his cheeks. He and the private—rifle now lowered, foot still iced stuck—were staring at each other. Everyone stayed quiet, until the silence was broken by Harker’s laughter.

  She was bent over, her chuckles thick, throaty. Daniel watched her, and then he was laughing, too. So was the scout. A smile covered his flushed face, and although his laughter was quiet and withdrawn, it still spilled out into the damp morning air. Only the private did not laugh—not until he kicked his boot free of the ice. The effort made him stumble, and finally he joined his comrades in laughing at the madness of it all, his voice strangely high for such a large man.