CHAPTER THREE

Friday 6 December 1974

Charlie

I’m on the plane at 2 am Bali time. Denpasar to Darwin, Darwin to Brisbane. Every part of me is crumpled, from my shorts to my face. I thought I’d sleep on the plane but that’s going to be challenging. The girl in the window seat next to me is a chain-smoking chatterbox, a toothy whippet-like thing who fills the first hour with rambling tales of tripping in Koh Samui and meditating by the Tjampuhan River – she might’ve said in the Tjampuhan River – and rants about people who don’t get it. Evidently I do get it. She’s flirting with me, and going about it in the most awkward way, twirling her hair into rope, watching my mouth as I suck on her cigarette. I’ll need a few more fags for the trip, but not from her.

‘Long flight ahead.’ She winks at me. It’s kind of endearing, but I couldn’t be less interested.

‘I need some shut-eye,’ I say. ‘Last few days have been intense.’

That’s swear-on-the-Bible true. Wednesday was the busiest day and night we’ve had – a taste of the future, Ryan said, now that travellers are spreading their wings past Denpasar, ‘finding their balls’.

‘Manning up,’ I said. ‘Sal, what’s the chick version of manning up?’

‘Manning up.’ She gave me the finger. I smiled but it’d been a serious question, as serious as they ever get with us anyway.

We’d cleaned the restaurant by eleven o’clock, and joined Ketut, Made and our mob of local mates at the beach for a farewell bonfire in my honour. I would only be gone a month, but these people love to celebrate. I drank my body weight in Bintang and fell asleep on the cool sand to the sounds of party murmurs, a settling fire and Ketut strumming a Dylan song on his guitar.

Ryan prodded me awake at sunrise. ‘I’ve got your board.’

I sat up and ran one hand across my matted hair while I surveyed the beach: bodies arranged around a pit of charred logs, and stray dogs wandering between them, sniffing at tossed beer bottles and strewn clothing.

‘We had fun, right?’

Ryan smiled. ‘Yes we did.’

‘Cool. I look forward to remembering it at some point.’

I stripped off my t-shirt, getting a whiff of smoke and sweat as I pulled it over my head. I walked with Ryan towards the sea, squinting into the rising sun, achy and parched, my surfboard under one arm. The salty breeze was strong at the ocean’s edge, pushing the board against my body. I spread my legs to keep my balance and felt cold, frothy water pour over my toes. Looking at the blue sea, rising and falling, filling its lungs and exhaling a roll of clean water, a gust of fresh air, made me feel better. By the time I stood on the board, my top layer of grime and the sludge in my head had been sloughed away, gone.