And the priest nobly came to my rescue.
‘Oh, don’t worry about keeping
me
awake,’ he said. ‘I can sleep through anything. I’ve slept in puddles. I’ve slept through earth tremors. I’ve slept beside the world’s noisiest two-stroke engine—’
‘In South America?’ I inquired, and he nodded.
‘When I was doing mission work,’ he acknowledged. Occasionally he’ll provide you with titbits about his eventful youth, talking about gunfire during a funeral, or floods in a slum, or how he once had to perform an exorcism. But he clearly wasn’t about to recount anything of interest that night. On the contrary, having decided that he’d done his level best to improve Dave’s spirits, he yawned and arranged himself for a nap, placing Bridget’s folded scarf under his head.
‘Wake me at four,’ he said. ‘We need to make sure that you’re all wrapped up before daybreak.’
Then he sniffed, wriggled, cleared his throat and closed his eyes.
For a few minutes after that, Dave and I didn’t speak. There didn’t seem to be much point, since he was in one of his morose moods, and I had run out of distracting ideas. We gazed out at the unfolding vista of glowing shopfronts, deserted side streets, fast-food outlets, bus shelters, traffic islands, nature strips and tail-lights. Car yards began to proliferate; the road became wider. I could no longer see into people’s living rooms, which were shielded by screens of foliage. Illuminated signs warned us about approaching exits, as the lanes in front of us multiplied.
Then suddenly great walls of concrete reared up on either side of our route. And I realised something that prompted me to break the extended pause.
‘You know what?’ I said softly. ‘This is all new. I’ve never seen this before, have you?’ When Dave shook his head, I looked out again a landscape that was undeniably and inescapably foreign, filled with wonder at the scale of what I’d missed. ‘I haven’t been this way in thirty-five years,’ I breathed, as Dave nervously checked the rear-view mirror.
But there was no one behind us.
8
I’ll never forget that trip to Cobar. It was a revelation. Once we’d left the city behind, the space outside our truck became endless. A cloudless, starry, immeasurable expanse arched above us. Densely wooded hilltops stretched on forever. The road ahead seemed infinite as it unfurled like a black-and-white ribbon in the glow of our headlights.
Barrelling along, I was filled with a strange and unfamiliar sense of freedom. I suppose it’s common enough to feel this way when you’re on the move, but you have to remember that I normally don’t get out much. Even the air that wafted through our open windows had a wildly invigorating freshness to it.
After crossing the mountains, we reached the edge of the Great Western Plains. And I couldn’t suppress a cry of wonder as I gazed down at a view that most people wouldn’t have been able to see, in the middle of the night.
‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. ‘Just look at that!’
‘Uh – yeah.’ Dave’s tone was distracted, because he’d reached a very steep slope that was hard for him to navigate.
‘Do you think there’s a lookout somewhere?’ I asked. ‘Do you think we could stop?’
‘Maybe. I dunno.’
‘We ought to stop soon. It’s important to take a break every two hours when you’re driving.’ I glanced at him doubtfully. ‘Besides, you’re not used to long hauls like this. You must be getting pretty tired.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘When did you learn to drive one of these things, anyway? Did your band have its own bus, or what?’
‘We had a van,’ Dave revealed.
‘With graffiti all over it?’ I always liked to hear about Dave’s short-lived musical career.
But for some reason, he preferred not to discuss that stage in his life. I always used to wonder if it reminded him too much of his former girlfriend.
‘We had stickers on our
‘Oh, don’t worry about keeping
me
awake,’ he said. ‘I can sleep through anything. I’ve slept in puddles. I’ve slept through earth tremors. I’ve slept beside the world’s noisiest two-stroke engine—’
‘In South America?’ I inquired, and he nodded.
‘When I was doing mission work,’ he acknowledged. Occasionally he’ll provide you with titbits about his eventful youth, talking about gunfire during a funeral, or floods in a slum, or how he once had to perform an exorcism. But he clearly wasn’t about to recount anything of interest that night. On the contrary, having decided that he’d done his level best to improve Dave’s spirits, he yawned and arranged himself for a nap, placing Bridget’s folded scarf under his head.
‘Wake me at four,’ he said. ‘We need to make sure that you’re all wrapped up before daybreak.’
Then he sniffed, wriggled, cleared his throat and closed his eyes.
For a few minutes after that, Dave and I didn’t speak. There didn’t seem to be much point, since he was in one of his morose moods, and I had run out of distracting ideas. We gazed out at the unfolding vista of glowing shopfronts, deserted side streets, fast-food outlets, bus shelters, traffic islands, nature strips and tail-lights. Car yards began to proliferate; the road became wider. I could no longer see into people’s living rooms, which were shielded by screens of foliage. Illuminated signs warned us about approaching exits, as the lanes in front of us multiplied.
Then suddenly great walls of concrete reared up on either side of our route. And I realised something that prompted me to break the extended pause.
‘You know what?’ I said softly. ‘This is all new. I’ve never seen this before, have you?’ When Dave shook his head, I looked out again a landscape that was undeniably and inescapably foreign, filled with wonder at the scale of what I’d missed. ‘I haven’t been this way in thirty-five years,’ I breathed, as Dave nervously checked the rear-view mirror.
But there was no one behind us.
8
I’ll never forget that trip to Cobar. It was a revelation. Once we’d left the city behind, the space outside our truck became endless. A cloudless, starry, immeasurable expanse arched above us. Densely wooded hilltops stretched on forever. The road ahead seemed infinite as it unfurled like a black-and-white ribbon in the glow of our headlights.
Barrelling along, I was filled with a strange and unfamiliar sense of freedom. I suppose it’s common enough to feel this way when you’re on the move, but you have to remember that I normally don’t get out much. Even the air that wafted through our open windows had a wildly invigorating freshness to it.
After crossing the mountains, we reached the edge of the Great Western Plains. And I couldn’t suppress a cry of wonder as I gazed down at a view that most people wouldn’t have been able to see, in the middle of the night.
‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. ‘Just look at that!’
‘Uh – yeah.’ Dave’s tone was distracted, because he’d reached a very steep slope that was hard for him to navigate.
‘Do you think there’s a lookout somewhere?’ I asked. ‘Do you think we could stop?’
‘Maybe. I dunno.’
‘We ought to stop soon. It’s important to take a break every two hours when you’re driving.’ I glanced at him doubtfully. ‘Besides, you’re not used to long hauls like this. You must be getting pretty tired.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘When did you learn to drive one of these things, anyway? Did your band have its own bus, or what?’
‘We had a van,’ Dave revealed.
‘With graffiti all over it?’ I always liked to hear about Dave’s short-lived musical career.
But for some reason, he preferred not to discuss that stage in his life. I always used to wonder if it reminded him too much of his former girlfriend.
‘We had stickers on our
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