March 8th
You’re snoring softly beside me as I wake. The heat is bearable, so I slip out of bed and pull on a pair of cargo pants and a tank top, the few clean clothes left in the drawers, then head outside to the storage shed. As I walk down the aisles, I light a candle and hold it up in all the darkest corners. Today I need to search the entire shed, even the glass enclosures.
I remember doing this before, when I was sixteen and you were out hunting for food, or whatever else you did when you left me. Back then, I was looking for booze, for anything to fuck me up and get me away from this place. I hadn’t got around to loving it yet, or you.
Although I’d take booze if I found it, what I’m really searching for is a gun. The lack of variety in our food is becoming a pressing concern; with a gun we could shoot a roo, get meat. Last time you were proud of your guns and showed them to me often.
I open the boxes easily; the tape you used to stick the sides down has long since dried out. I know you have guns here somewhere. Finally, I find them in a trunk that also contains a rat’s nest, but thankfully no rats. Three guns. Two long ones, some sort of hunting rifles, and a smaller one. A handgun, is that what they’re called? I leave the rifles and pull the smaller one out, brushing cobwebs from it. The gun fits neatly into my palm and looks like the guns you see in films. It’s a nice weight. I can see why carrying a gun like this might make a person feel powerful. But could it shoot? Does it have bullets inside?
It takes me ages to work out how to open it, but when I finally manage to pull the top section back, I see the glint of a bullet in the chamber. What kind of rookie leaves a gun loaded for ten years?
I thread it through the waistband of my cargo pants and, back in the house, I hide it in the pantry. I smile to myself as I make tea and bring it to you in bed.
You’re out working on the car again when I see them.
‘Camels!’ I shout from the veranda, peering through the binoculars.
I was looking for the mine site again, for any vehicles on the access road. But when I surveyed the land, the long, flat stretch of red leading out beyond the Separates, I saw shadows in the distance, moving closer. I thought it was just a trick of the light at first, or a dust devil. But as they approach, I see long legs, long necks, their easy loping stride. Two of them. Could one of them be ours, the one we tamed last time, come back to see us?
‘Come on!’ I shout. ‘Camels!’
But your head is still under the hood. I go over and grab you, wrap my arms around your waist and pull you away, leading you by the hand towards the house like a small child. I let go of you once we’re on the veranda, as I point to the animals.
‘Let’s go closer! Have you got the car going yet?’
‘Oh, so you’ll drive to see camels, but not to take us back to Perth?’
There’s the hint of a smile on your face.
‘Do you think one of them is our camel?’ I ask.
‘Doubt it.’
We sit on the steps and I hand you the binoculars. ‘Two bulls,’ you say, squinting into the lenses. ‘Bachelor pack.’
And here you are again, the Ty I want, the one who can show me this land.
‘Are you lying about that?’
Again, the hint of a smile. ‘Could be.’
I slap your arm gently.
The camels jog across the sand, their necks impossibly floppy. I can’t help laughing as their legs seem to skid out in all directions. They look make-believe, the world’s strangest animal. But here they are, surviving better than us in this desert.
‘They were imported, you know, to help build the railways. Then they escaped, bred like motherfuckers, and now they’re like foxes and rabbits…’
‘And us,’ I finish.
‘Probably told you all this last time. I’m getting boring.’
‘I don’t remember,’ I say, though the tale sounds familiar. ‘They’re amazing, though, the way they adapt.’
‘Ah, they’re absurd.’ You smile. ‘Better hope there’re no females about. Those bulls are on the rampage.’
I take the binoculars back but can’t see any other animals anywhere.
‘Where’s our fox?’ I say, scanning the mulga scrub where I know she likes to hide.