BooksBarbecue
Back Boxed
Chapters (24)
  1. About the Author
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21

After I stop talking to Marko, I suddenly realise I am dangerously tired. I’m only two hours from home, and the sun hasn’t even set, but I can’t drive any further. I pull off the road into a roadside rest area protected by yellow box trees, kill the motor, put my seat back, and fall asleep. I sleep for hours, waking occasionally, but never able to properly open my eyes.

And then, in the small hours, the sound of someone crawling through the grass jerks me fully awake. Buzzcut and the Vasilievs have tracked me down and are going to liquidate me on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I slide down low in my seat. The noise stops. I inch up and try to look over the window. The sound starts again, but this time there is snuffling and snorting. I sit up and look out into the gloom.

A feral sow and her suckers have found something interesting in the grass next to my ute and are rooting up the soil. So much for bravery. I open the door and shoo them away, but there is no chance of a return to sleep. When the pigs have disappeared, I take a walk, relieve myself, and make sure my head is clear for the drive.

I hit the road again, taking it slow and telling myself there is no rush, aware that I am just about on peak hour for roadside kangaroos.

14

14

By the time I reach home, the sun is starting to make itself known, and I realise how glad I am to be back. The line of the horizon, the particular colours and smells, are more of an unacknowledged part of me than I ever realise. It isn’t just a piece of real estate that my family has owned for a long time. It’s part of me, or maybe me it. I take a shower, and lie down on a fairly clean bed. I just have to breathe and not think too much. There is so much in my head, and so little of it makes sense. And except that my life is threatened, I’m not sure that I really care. But I can’t sit on my verandah and drink beer for the rest of my life. I put on some of my safe music, and drink the rest of the cheap white wine, and then some, but I don’t fall asleep. Not for long, anyway. The morning is too bright — my body clock might be screwed up, but it still thinks sleeping while there’s daylight is wrong.

I think the morning I’ve had deserves a beer. I take one from the fridge, and sip it like a connoisseur. Somewhere in the mush of my brain I am putting two and two together.