belt.’
‘They sure did,’ she responded, ‘minutes, from what I heard.’
‘Better than years.’
We were quiet again, working efficiently, making room for more meat if Rohan carried it over and dropped it down. He finished first and rested a hip against Denny’s bench and picked faults in our system, snapping at us if we mixed cuts or over-filled the plastic bags. Denny told him to pull his head in. But he continued – gruff, critical, fatherly.
The sun was high and bright when we emerged from the shed with bags for the chest freezer. The chooks followed us. A pair of kookaburras sat on the top of a nearby fence, and warbled as we passed.
In the darkened shed by the house, waiting for Rohan to shift things around in the bottom of the freezer, Denny fidgeted and seemed to want to say something. Rohan didn’t need to look at her; with his head deep in the freezer he asked, ‘What’s the problem?’
She had her boots on, and dug at the dry floor with her heel.
‘We’re going to have a roast, right? Cook one of the legs and do vegies and that. Make a bit of a thing of it.’
‘Not till tomorrow.’
‘I just thought … to make it really nice, and if I knew what was in there …’
Rohan straightened and looked at her. ‘You want to see in the bunker.’
‘I’m just saying —’
‘I know what you’re saying – you want to see what’s in the bunker. But if I show you then I’ll only have the two of you on my case.’
‘I won’t nag for one single thing. I promise.’
‘You were about to ask if we could have something with the roast. You were thinking a dessert afterwards might be nice, perhaps some wine.’
‘No. Is there wine?’
He laughed, and stacked in the rest of the meat. ‘You should have just come out and asked, admitted you’re dying to have a look. Now I’m thinking you want every meal to be five-course.’
‘Rohan,’ she took a deep breath, ‘can I please see in the bunker – I’m dying to have a look.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
We washed at a tap by the chook yard. Rohan stood over us, telling us how to wash, pointing out to Denny how she didn’t need to turn the tap on so hard, and the illogical way she wet her face before washing her hands.
‘I was hot!’ she bit back.
‘Do it at the end.’
‘I was going to!’
‘You’d want to now, after doing it with dirty hands.’
She stuck her head under the tap as a way to drown him out, and then flicked her head up so the water hit him. He didn’t flinch and wiped the drops calmly from his face. He unbuttoned the top pocket of his shirt and took out a set of keys, and tossed them at her.
‘Lead the way,’ he said.
The steel door was concealed behind a tangle of blackberry that had been left to swallow the rest of the front of the container. There were three locks, big enough and strong enough to withstand bolt cutters and hacksaws. If anyone wanted in they would have to find the spare set of keys, which were under my feet, buried in a box in the ground. Or take the keys from Rohan.
Denny was excited; as I imagined I’d be if about to see it for the first time. She was lucky; she didn’t have the mixed feelings I had clouding everything about the bunker. My father’s spirit was in this place – judging, censuring, and as I heard the metal clangs and stiff creaking of the door opening I had the feeling he would be especially critical today, of both of his sons, considering what the last few nights had entailed. If I looked at Rohan I might have seen the same guilt in his eyes, a glimpse of an after-dark box as well-padlocked as the bunker. I became sure he was as suddenly racked with doubt as I was, but I couldn’t look at him; just as in the flickering light of the fire and the erotic stage Denny had turned the lounge room into, I couldn’t connect and confirm with him. Our daylight denial was as much a part of the understanding as our avoidance of eye contact at night.
Rohan leant past Denny
‘They sure did,’ she responded, ‘minutes, from what I heard.’
‘Better than years.’
We were quiet again, working efficiently, making room for more meat if Rohan carried it over and dropped it down. He finished first and rested a hip against Denny’s bench and picked faults in our system, snapping at us if we mixed cuts or over-filled the plastic bags. Denny told him to pull his head in. But he continued – gruff, critical, fatherly.
The sun was high and bright when we emerged from the shed with bags for the chest freezer. The chooks followed us. A pair of kookaburras sat on the top of a nearby fence, and warbled as we passed.
In the darkened shed by the house, waiting for Rohan to shift things around in the bottom of the freezer, Denny fidgeted and seemed to want to say something. Rohan didn’t need to look at her; with his head deep in the freezer he asked, ‘What’s the problem?’
She had her boots on, and dug at the dry floor with her heel.
‘We’re going to have a roast, right? Cook one of the legs and do vegies and that. Make a bit of a thing of it.’
‘Not till tomorrow.’
‘I just thought … to make it really nice, and if I knew what was in there …’
Rohan straightened and looked at her. ‘You want to see in the bunker.’
‘I’m just saying —’
‘I know what you’re saying – you want to see what’s in the bunker. But if I show you then I’ll only have the two of you on my case.’
‘I won’t nag for one single thing. I promise.’
‘You were about to ask if we could have something with the roast. You were thinking a dessert afterwards might be nice, perhaps some wine.’
‘No. Is there wine?’
He laughed, and stacked in the rest of the meat. ‘You should have just come out and asked, admitted you’re dying to have a look. Now I’m thinking you want every meal to be five-course.’
‘Rohan,’ she took a deep breath, ‘can I please see in the bunker – I’m dying to have a look.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
We washed at a tap by the chook yard. Rohan stood over us, telling us how to wash, pointing out to Denny how she didn’t need to turn the tap on so hard, and the illogical way she wet her face before washing her hands.
‘I was hot!’ she bit back.
‘Do it at the end.’
‘I was going to!’
‘You’d want to now, after doing it with dirty hands.’
She stuck her head under the tap as a way to drown him out, and then flicked her head up so the water hit him. He didn’t flinch and wiped the drops calmly from his face. He unbuttoned the top pocket of his shirt and took out a set of keys, and tossed them at her.
‘Lead the way,’ he said.
The steel door was concealed behind a tangle of blackberry that had been left to swallow the rest of the front of the container. There were three locks, big enough and strong enough to withstand bolt cutters and hacksaws. If anyone wanted in they would have to find the spare set of keys, which were under my feet, buried in a box in the ground. Or take the keys from Rohan.
Denny was excited; as I imagined I’d be if about to see it for the first time. She was lucky; she didn’t have the mixed feelings I had clouding everything about the bunker. My father’s spirit was in this place – judging, censuring, and as I heard the metal clangs and stiff creaking of the door opening I had the feeling he would be especially critical today, of both of his sons, considering what the last few nights had entailed. If I looked at Rohan I might have seen the same guilt in his eyes, a glimpse of an after-dark box as well-padlocked as the bunker. I became sure he was as suddenly racked with doubt as I was, but I couldn’t look at him; just as in the flickering light of the fire and the erotic stage Denny had turned the lounge room into, I couldn’t connect and confirm with him. Our daylight denial was as much a part of the understanding as our avoidance of eye contact at night.
Rohan leant past Denny
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