The War of Immensities by Barry Klemm Page B

although nothing had
changed, and it was time to pack up and go home. Mostly he felt a
strange sense of freedom, liberated by senses that had forced him
to come here, apparently by mistake.
    He remained for
a while, making coffee and squatting by the fire, to be sure, but
there was nothing left for him here. The sun was preparing to rise.
He pissed on the ashes to make sure no fire remained, shouldered
his pack—his humpy—and started back toward the truck.
    It had been a
clear night, almost full moon, the Milky Way prominent, Mars and
Jupiter high. He had enjoyed the night time best, when he lay,
looking at the stars. Next time, if there was a next time—and
somehow he sensed there would be—he resolved to know them all. It
was the first time in his life that he had ever had the time or
been relaxed enough to lie in the dark and study the stars. He was
awed.
    Now they were
dimming out in the lightening sky and he gave them a final glance
and a smile as he marched toward the truck. He felt good. He would
drive through the morning and be home at lunchtime, and then would
come the tricky bit when he tried to explain all this to Judy.

*

    After
breakfast, they stood in the glorious morning sun outside the
Shamrock Hotel in Bendigo and wondered where to go.
    “It’s gone,”
Lorna said.
    “What’s gone?”
Chrissie gasped, checking their suitcases.
    “We don’t have
anywhere to go,” Lorna said, frowning, looking up and down High
Street. The morning traffic was on the move in Bendigo, people and
cars and trams hurrying between the drab grey buildings.
    “You mean this
is where we were going?” Chrissie said in disappointment and
disbelief.
    “Apparently.”
    “Can’t be.”
    “No. It isn’t
either. It’s just the feeling has gone.”
    “Yes. You’re
right.”
    In Bendigo,
they found the hotel, planning to continue their journey in the
morning only now there was nowhere to go. They stood in the busy
main street, the tall redheaded girl and the slight Asian one,
frowning at the morning traffic.
    “Well, what
now?” Chrissie wondered.
    “I suppose we
go home again,” Lorna said with a shrug.
    “That’s silly.
We can’t have come all this way just to spend a night in a flea
bitten hotel in Bendigo, wherever that is.”
    “You have to
admit it was different.”
    “Different from
what?”
    “Imagine how
our friends will admire our spontaneity and adventurous
spirit.”
    “I’m not
telling anyone about this. They’ll have us locked up.”
    “Maybe we can
justify it by doing some shopping in Melbourne.”
    “Can we?”
    “Sure. Best
retail therapy in the Southern Hemisphere, they reckon.”
    “Well, why
didn’t you say so sooner. Direct me to the train.”

*

    After breakfast
while the kids readied themselves for school, Felicity flicked on
the television to check the time and the weather and the news while
she got the dishes out of the way. Balance of payments, political
anarchy in Eastern Europe, more strikes threatened, more government
cut-backs; she yawned as she stripped off the plastic gloves and
apron.
    Wendell came in
from pulling the car out of the garage and began to shuffle through
his briefcase, making sure he had everything he needed. She barely
noticed where they said the eruption had happened, under the sea
anyway and some fishermen somewhere. It was odd the way the word
volcano snapped into her attention these days... “...one by one,
the rescuers found the fishermen unconscious in their boats. Over
sixty islanders remain in a coma at the mission hospital tonight,
most of them otherwise uninjured...”
    She was looking
toward Wendell desperately. “Wennie, did you hear that?”
    “Hear
what?”
    “It’s the same
damned thing. I’m sure of it.”
    “Same
what?”
    “Same thing
that happened last time.”
    “Would you care
to make some sense, my love?”
    She paused to
think. The news report had moved on to other matters. She tried
desperately to gather in her head the little