All so hideous that it was sordid. And Paul had felt the puzzling judgement in himself; knew the hypocrisy of feeling the way he did. How strangely hurt he was that his father might trawl through things so awful, when Paul knew he had done just the same.
And still he’d wondered what his father was looking for, what the destruction meant to him. He sometimes wondered if his father felt he had missed out. A Combat Systems officer who never saw combat. Paul had looked it all up. Read of the Australian clearance divers who searched for sea mines in the northern Persian Gulf. Frigates on patrols, accompanying supply vessels. But he knew that the Australian navy had never fired a shot. Did the Professor wish that he had?
The President says to me one day I’ll be as tall as him but the President is the tallest fella I’ve ever seen. I’m not an old fella yet but I’m sure that I’m not getting much taller. It is in the blood and I know this cos my gran said my father was a small fella even when he was fully grown. He never had no shame about it or anything. He was a demon with a footy in his hands. A lot of fellas out Tennant Creek way were good with a football in their hands and could be quick over the grass but she said he was something that no one had seen before. So tricky he could run under a fella’s legs. I was a baby when she told me that. It is strange the things that stick in your head. So much I don’t remember. Whole years just cleaned out up there in my head. But I remember my gran.
We got so much tech equipment out here we could be in a war. Scanning for radar. Satellite-phoning bikes ahead for roadblocks. And the President talks to those boats far out at sea. The big ones. I tell the President that he is like that Osama fella. Hiding in the desert. Running the whole show from a laptop. He says he knows he ain’t running nothing. Says you have to remember that you are never running the show and if you think you are then you will soon be running the whole shebang from a grave that you dug yourself.
Parachute
PAUL WOKE BEFORE SUNRISE EVEN without the alarm. The room was hot. He slid the window open. Put on board shorts, an old yellow pair of Elliot’s he’d brought from home that went below his knee. He stepped out of the house without a t-shirt.
Outside it was overcast but already warm, the air thick. He walked through the caravan park. Heard the creak of the annexes in the easterly. Smelt the sour whiff of incinerator ash.
The back beach was empty. He scanned the long lonely curve of it, bending three kilometres south of the town around to the bluff which jutted out, red and barren, like a quarter-moon. Several hundred metres down from where he sat he felt him, like he had been there only minutes before. Elliot out on the shelf, knee deep with his rod in hand, casting into the surf.
There had been a time once when they were all down there.It was years ago. His parents, Aunty Ruth and her new husband Bob. A picnic laid out on beach towels. White rolls and peppered ham. Tomato and plastic-wrapped slices of cheese. Choc milk. Jake was about ten or twelve, teaching Elliot to fish. They would run down to where the sandbanks gave way to reef, dark as blood under the surface. Paul looked down to the bunkers of rock on the shore where he had sat and watched his brother and their older cousin. Paul never liked the fishing but got some thrill out of watching. It was weird, how he liked to spectate. Be near goings-on but not involved. He had always been that way.
Paul turned and looked north and saw a woman in a dark blue bathing suit, one-piece, standing up away from the shoreline. She threw a white towel to the sand. It was the police officer. Paul got up and shook the sand from his hands.
She eyed him as he neared her, then she looked south towards the bluff. She stretched her left arm out in front of her, straightened it out, then wedged her upper arm against her chest with her right forearm. He saw the
And still he’d wondered what his father was looking for, what the destruction meant to him. He sometimes wondered if his father felt he had missed out. A Combat Systems officer who never saw combat. Paul had looked it all up. Read of the Australian clearance divers who searched for sea mines in the northern Persian Gulf. Frigates on patrols, accompanying supply vessels. But he knew that the Australian navy had never fired a shot. Did the Professor wish that he had?
The President says to me one day I’ll be as tall as him but the President is the tallest fella I’ve ever seen. I’m not an old fella yet but I’m sure that I’m not getting much taller. It is in the blood and I know this cos my gran said my father was a small fella even when he was fully grown. He never had no shame about it or anything. He was a demon with a footy in his hands. A lot of fellas out Tennant Creek way were good with a football in their hands and could be quick over the grass but she said he was something that no one had seen before. So tricky he could run under a fella’s legs. I was a baby when she told me that. It is strange the things that stick in your head. So much I don’t remember. Whole years just cleaned out up there in my head. But I remember my gran.
We got so much tech equipment out here we could be in a war. Scanning for radar. Satellite-phoning bikes ahead for roadblocks. And the President talks to those boats far out at sea. The big ones. I tell the President that he is like that Osama fella. Hiding in the desert. Running the whole show from a laptop. He says he knows he ain’t running nothing. Says you have to remember that you are never running the show and if you think you are then you will soon be running the whole shebang from a grave that you dug yourself.
Parachute
PAUL WOKE BEFORE SUNRISE EVEN without the alarm. The room was hot. He slid the window open. Put on board shorts, an old yellow pair of Elliot’s he’d brought from home that went below his knee. He stepped out of the house without a t-shirt.
Outside it was overcast but already warm, the air thick. He walked through the caravan park. Heard the creak of the annexes in the easterly. Smelt the sour whiff of incinerator ash.
The back beach was empty. He scanned the long lonely curve of it, bending three kilometres south of the town around to the bluff which jutted out, red and barren, like a quarter-moon. Several hundred metres down from where he sat he felt him, like he had been there only minutes before. Elliot out on the shelf, knee deep with his rod in hand, casting into the surf.
There had been a time once when they were all down there.It was years ago. His parents, Aunty Ruth and her new husband Bob. A picnic laid out on beach towels. White rolls and peppered ham. Tomato and plastic-wrapped slices of cheese. Choc milk. Jake was about ten or twelve, teaching Elliot to fish. They would run down to where the sandbanks gave way to reef, dark as blood under the surface. Paul looked down to the bunkers of rock on the shore where he had sat and watched his brother and their older cousin. Paul never liked the fishing but got some thrill out of watching. It was weird, how he liked to spectate. Be near goings-on but not involved. He had always been that way.
Paul turned and looked north and saw a woman in a dark blue bathing suit, one-piece, standing up away from the shoreline. She threw a white towel to the sand. It was the police officer. Paul got up and shook the sand from his hands.
She eyed him as he neared her, then she looked south towards the bluff. She stretched her left arm out in front of her, straightened it out, then wedged her upper arm against her chest with her right forearm. He saw the
Similar Books
