Fresh Fields by Peter Kocan

There’d be a bookshop there, and somewhere to buy a bed-lamp. But Balinga was a long drive away.
    And besides, he had no money. He hadn’t received any pay and was owed a few weeks by now. That wouldn’t add up to very much, but it might be enough for what he needed to buy. He began to yearn for a trip to town and for some pay. He waited for a chance to raise it with Mr. Coles, waited for Mr. Coles to be in a better mood than his usual one. But time passed and the chance didn’t present itself. So the youth went on day by day, chopping and hacking at the tussock, doing his feeding chores, then being in his room at night, either gazing blankly in the Diestl mood or sighing in the embraces of his blue-eyed darling until he felt spent enough to sleep. On Sundays he would saddle up the old mare and go for a long ride to the river and to the cliffs where the wedge-tailed eagles lived.
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    MRS. COLES began to be more visible round the place. The youth would see her hanging clothes on the line, or tending the plants at the front and side of the homestead. She had a sad, resigned look on her face, and would not meet the youth’s eyes on the few occasions they came close enough for their glances to cross. The old lady would snap at her that she should be kicking on. But the old lady stayed friendly with the youth and would rattle away to him for five minutes at a time about the news and what a conundrum it all was. The youth only had to nod every so often, or shake his head, or mutter “Ah.” The old lady told him he was a good conversationalist.
    â€œWhich is more than I can say about Misery Guts,” she added, gesturing to somewhere in the house. “Won’t kick on at all, that woman. I can’t fathom a person like that. Can you? No, of course you can’t!”
    â€œIt’s a conundrum,” the youth agreed.
    One evening at the usual time he went to the bathroom inside the house to have his shower. He didn’t do it every evening, just every second or third one. He always felt very uncomfortable about going into the private part of the house and kept it to the minimum. This time the bathroom door was ajar as he approached. He assumed the bathroom must be empty. He went straight in and found the old lady standing there with nothing on. She looked up at him in surprise. The youth was completely flustered for a few moments, then turned and went quickly out and pulled the door shut behind him. He went back to the shed and sat on his bed with his heart pounding. He half-expected Mr. Coles to come raging across at any moment to confront him. The old lady was probably telling him about it right now. How he’d pushed his way into the bathroom and stood there perving at her. And in a way he
had
perved. He’d been so surprised at seeing someone there that he’d looked straight at her body, at her breasts and the triangle of hair lower down. He thought it had only been for a couple of moments, but maybe he’d given the impression that he was really gawping. And the idea that he’d do that to such an old lady made it worse.
    When it was time for him to go across and have his meal, he approached the back door hesitantly and went inside as quietly as he could. The meal was laid out as usual and he began to pick at it, feeling too anxious to want it properly. The house was quiet. Suddenly the old lady entered the kitchen and began to prattle on about the news as usual. It was about the Balkans this time. The youth didn’t quite know what the Balkans were. He just kept his eyes on his plate and felt a growing relief that nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Maybe the old lady had forgotten what happened. Old people forget things easily. And yet her mind always seemed sharp as a tack. As she continued in full flow about the Balkans, Mr. Coles called from inside to ask where the envelopes were. She called back that they were on the desk where they were supposed to be. He