THE UNAUSTRALIANS

a novel

copyright oskr wyldkat

2009

ebook5 2017

the BeNcH PrEsS

Melbourne

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thebenchpress@y7mail.com

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contents

title

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

eleven

twelve

thirteen

fourteen

fifteen

sixteen

seventeen

eighteen

nineteen

twenty

twentyone

one

Rebecca Blakeney – better known as “Box” – was dead. She’d walked into the reserve at the edge of Tidbinbilla, apparently a favourite spot of hers, and chosen a nice location beneath a big pale angophora. There was a good view of the ranges from up there. Next she'd taken a large overdose of valium (people were saying around three strips) and washed the pills down with vodka. It may have been an entire bottle, nobody could be sure. She then finished the job by tying a plastic bag tightly over her head. Two bushwalkers found the pale body five days later. It looked about as relaxed as a dead body with a bag over its head could be. Well at least that’s what it said in the City News.

Box had died and become famous. She was now about as famous as an eighteen year old could be in Canberra. There were a lot of articles in the newspapers and she even received a small slot on the Prime network. A lot of people were asking why. Why!? She’d come from a good family, in fact her dad was one of the most senior figures out at the Military College. And the Canberra Times had interviewed her mother, a very sensible woman who owned a hairdressers. The woman blamed drugs. What had gone wrong? Box had been to the best school in Canberra, she’d been a very popular student, and the school Netball coach reported that she played a great Goal Defense. What more was there to this life?

The uncommon brutality and determination of her suicide had earned her instant respect amongst the young people of Canberra. Tentative comparisons were being made to Kurt Cobain. Of course there was going to be a wake. It was organized by her closest friends, and the word passed around that it was an open invitation to anyone that had known her. The wake was going to be held in a carpark outside the Tidbinbilla reserve. Who knew? – maybe this was even the spot where Box had wandered from the road on the morning of her death.

Box had not perhaps accomplished much during her lifetime. But in her death she succeeded (at least temporarily) in bringing some disaffected people closer together. By ten o’clock there were already two dozen cars at the wake. Crowds of people milled about and sat in the bright glare of the headlights. Others were silhouetted around a fire that was burning in an old washing machine drum. It was a nice spot. There were a couple of picnic tables, a fireplace and one of those national park type signs informing you of what you were not allowed to do. Photographs of Box were tacked to a big white gum with curly branches. Bouquets of flowers were arranged beneath. The sky was clear and full of stars.

People recounted stories and passed around bottles. Strangers were welcomed into intimate conversations. People drifted from one discussion to the next and discovered that it didn’t matter. Everyone was saying the same things and everyone was getting closer together.

“I heard that at the funeral the minister said that Rebecca had been taken by Satan. Is that true?”

“I was there. He said that Satan had taken one of our flock. It was terrible. Everyone was crying.”

“And her family is really horrible too. Do you know them? I’ve been to her house. They’re really rich. But they’re terrible. Box was really unhappy there.”

“I heard they have like five televisions.”

“They do. Do you think it’s true that she was on drugs?”

“I know she was on anti-depressants. But then she stopped taking them.”

“I took speed with her once at the Casino. It was hilarious. She lost two hundred dollars.”

“There’s no meaning in this world.”

“I know. That’s why she didn’t leave a note.”

“I wish I could have spoken to her one last time. Just to say goodbye. I was really rude to her the last time I saw her. I’m never going to get over it.”

“I think it was Canberra. I know they tried to make a good city here but it has nothing to hold on to. I’m moving away. You should too, it’s not good for the brain.”

Two of Box’s closest friends were sitting at the very edge of the carpark. Their names were Henry and Max. Max was a girl, and her name was short for Maxine. Henry was her boyfriend. The pair were sitting on a wooden log in the shadows.

“Now I’m never going to get my Frente cd back,” said Max. “God. I only leant it to her last week. Shit. Guess it’s gone for good.”

Henry said nothing. He lit up his third joint of the evening.

“You know,” said Max, “I was never going to tell you this, but I slept with Box one night. It just felt so right. Imagine that – another girl! I know you won’t mind now, since she’s gone. In fact I think she would have wanted me to tell you.”

A minute passed. Finally Henry spoke. “You know what the funny thing is?” (he sounded serious) “I slept with her too.”

“You fucking what!? You slept with Box! You fucking asshole! I can’t believe you slept with her. And behind my back too! You asshole. And just think how Box must have felt. Sleeping with us both. No wonder she was messed up.”

“Don’t ever say that,” said Henry. “Box loved us. And she knew exactly what she was doing.”

“Yes, sleeping with my so-called boyfriend. Shit. What a mess.”

“It wasn’t us,” insisted Henry, “One thing I’m sure of, this had nothing to do with us.”

“Oh don’t flatter yourself! Of course it had nothing to do with us! Box wouldn’t kill herself over you or me. She couldn’t care that much. No Box just didn’t want to live in this world. She practically told me half a dozen times. The world wasn’t good enough for her. And she was right. It’s a shitty world. It’s not good enough.”

“Oh don’t start on this again.”

“No it’s not good enough. All those landmines. All that napalm. We’ve got weapons that kill people in horrible horrible ways. It’s a shitty world. Bigots on the television and racists all over the place. Well the world has claimed it’s last victim. I swear to god. Things are going to change around here.”

Above them people were exchanging phone numbers. Some of the gentler people left in their parents’ cars and others arrived who were already drunk. They lit up candles and cigarettes and two girls brought out a cd player. They started playing what they said was Box’s favourite music. Another group gathered around a bench playing guitar. It was probably going to degenerate into ACDC and Cold Chisel before midnight.

“Look maybe we should go,” said Henry. “I think we did what we were supposed to do here.”

“Ok,” said Max. “I’m just going to check my flowers are straight.”

As they stood up a nearby drunk staggered into Henry. He was the biggest guy at the wake, a half Maori type who obviously played football. There were tears drying on his cheeks. He grabbed Henry by the arm.

“Hey man,” he said, “I’ve been asking everyone here. What do you think happens? You know when you die?”

“I think you float around for a bit,” said Henry. “And then you travel the universe.”

“Nice man. Nice.”

Max looked up at the sky.

“Au revoir Box.”

Afterwards they drove down Tidbinbilla road with the headlights playing off the low trees and scrub. A rabbit ran across the road before them. Max sat in the passenger seat and leant back. Life was going to be pretty different from here on in. There would be no turning back. She finished her wine bottle and dropped it at her feet. Henry was at the wheel, driving in that hunched over way of his. His face looked greener than usual in the dashboard lights.

“Is that what you really think happens when you die?” she asked. “You travel the universe?”

“No. I just wanted to make him feel good.”

“What do you think then?”

“I think it’s nothing. Pff.” He snapped his fingers.

*****

It was late spring. Tiny white blossoms were falling from the trees on University avenue and lying in piles in the gutters. Students coasted by on bicycles. Cockatoos flew past like the street punks of the avian world. The Student’s Association was located in a hideous white building with the architectural nuances of a concrete slab. Max went up a couple of stairs to reach the office.

Not much was going on today. A sad looking boy with glasses was fossicking around aimlessly in the bowl of free condoms. The office secretary was also there, a boy called Nico. He was one of the more flamboyant characters at the university, renowned for wearing purple tights underneath his shorts and telling everyone constantly about his sexuality. He was sitting on a swivel chair and gently rolling back and forth behind the service counter. His attention was devoted to his fingernails. He was painting them pink, and doing an immaculate job of it.

“Excuse me,” said Max. “I came here to join up and help to change society somehow. You know, like you guys are always talking about.”

“Oh yes,” said Nico. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well, what I really want is to turn literally everything upside down. I want to systematically transgress everything that this society holds sacred. I want to find out for the first time what really works and what’s just tradition. And I want to look everyone old and backwards in the eye. And then force them to question what they really believe in this world.”

Nico looked up for the first time and blinked. He looked back to his nails. “I think everyone wants to do that these days.”

Max jumped onto the counter. She was deceptively strong thanks to all the netball. She grabbed Nico by the neck.

“I don’t think you understand,” she said. “I’m talking about the barricades here. I’m talking about throwing paving stones at the police and setting cars on fire. I know you guys have contact with half the political collectives in the country. That’s your job. I know you’ve got lists behind there as long as your arm. Now find me something to be a part of and do it now!!!”

two

Two days later Max and Henry were heading north on the Federal Highway. They were sitting in the back of an L300 van. They didn’t know exactly where they were going, but it seemed like a good idea. Apparently it was somewhere near Newcastle. Some kind of forest action.

The van smelt like it had been at more than one forest action already. The odours were pungent and distinct – mostly engine oil, patchouli and backpack sweat. There was also that dog hair smell which Max found oddly comforting sometimes. Metal poles bounced and clacked from a mountain of material held loosely together in the back. Every now and then a frying pan or something would vibrate out of the pile and clatter to the bottom.

A fellow by the name of Ferny drove. Probably he was pushing sixty, but he had one of those tough bush faces that made his age hard to guess. His clothes were so covered in patches that they resembled tree bark. Parts of his boots had even been repaired using little strips of leather. His figure was quite thin and his hair was grey and bushy. It could have provided quite comfortably for a family of small birds.

Next to Ferny sat Hazel. They weren’t married but they were clearly in some sort of relationship because their fingers kept touching over by the gearstick. Hazel was also well into middle age although her hair was still brown and very long. She kept it braided. She wore a red flannel jacket and a T-shirt underneath with stains on it. Hazel talked a lot, mostly to Ferny and mostly about people and politics that maybe only they knew about. Occasionally though she’d direct a comment to the back. She’d talk about something to break the generation gap. Something that they could all relate to.

“Hey isn’t Pauline Hanson a real bitch?”

“Yeah,” said Vivienne. “She’s got bad vibrations.”

Vivienne was the other young person in the car. She was short and dressed somewhere between hippy and hip hop. She’d just hitch-hiked north from Melbourne, where she’d lived for most of her life. Melbourne was a lot cooler than Canberra. Nobody was going to start pretending that Canberra was cooler than anywhere really.

Vivienne also claimed to have been to techno parties. And to a huge festival called Confest on the Victorian border. You could walk around there naked if you wanted to. She’d met a guy called Skye and now she thought she was in love with him. She hadn’t even seen him in several months. Skye was her connection to the forest action. He was part of the North East Forest Alliance, a sprawling collective of sometimes-activists covering parts of Sydney and the North Coast. Of course they also had some members in Canberra – Ferny and Hazel.

Ferny and Hazel were probably at the core of the Alliance. Occasionally they had saved actual old growth forests from clear-felling. At the very least they were slowing the loggers down a little. Eighty percent of the old growth was already gone according to Vivienne. People splashed statistics about so much you could never really tell whether it was significant. But eighty percent did rather seem like a lot. Vivienne said that it would take about a thousand years to recover. She also seemed to think a spiritual revolution was just around the corner. She could also be really annoying.

“So what star sign are you? Wait, let me guess – capricorn.”

“No, sorry.”

“Oh well then you must be a virgo.”

“No, not a virgo.”

“Of course, you must be a fire sign, sorry I was getting mixed up. Sagittarius.”

“No, do you give up?”

“Leo?”

“No.”

“Not Scorpio?”

“You’ll never get it. I’m an Aquarius.”

“Oh. That’s a horrible sign. Sorry.”

Max was finding this person very difficult to get along with. She tried looking away out the window. Unfortunately Vivienne kept trying to make friends.

“And what’s Max short for?”

“It’s actually short for Maxine.”

“And what country is that from?”

“Er... it’s Australian.”

“Oh. I thought it might be Polish or something.”

“No, just Australian.”

Being a second generation Aussie was a bit boring. And when your parents were civil servants in Canberra, well that was a bit unoriginal too. There really was no culture to grab hold of. Henry said once that he wished he was born in the Bronx. And he was right. A dirty American ghetto was preferable to the suburbs of Canberra. Further conversations might be disastrous for Max. She buried herself in her notebook and started on a letter. Letter writing was something she intended to do more of. Every little bit counted.

Dear Primeminister,

I’m writing to you because I’ve noticed several things about your cabinet, which are frankly, below par. Firstly there are not enough women in the cabinet. There is only Bronwyn Bishop I can think of and she does not inspire me. This brings me to the second point. There are no real attractive politicians and certainly none of them are young enough. Why are they all dressed in identical suits? Personally I find alternative types – even homeboys – have a surprising lot to contribute. I have not for example seen a single member of the liberal party dressed in a baseball cap or keppers. Please remedy this.

Yours sincerely, Max

They were somewhere past Lake George when Ferny pulled the van off the highway.

“The engine’s been rattling,” he said soberly. “I better have a quick look.”

They crackled over black gravel into one of those U-shaped enclaves that served mostly as parking sites for sleepy truckers. It was sheltered from the highway by a patch of trees and to the west was a steep hill that was covered in Patterson’s Curse. It looked like a blanket of magnificent purple snow, and you could easily forget it was a noxious weed responsible for all sorts of horrible calamities. Further away shorn sheep like weird polyhedrons drifted along at the base of lone colossal gum trees. It was all quite a beautiful statement about something or other.

“Come on,” said Vivienne. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Henry had wandered off to the toilet block. “Ok,” said Max, “but aren’t you going to wear any shoes?”

“Nah.”

They jumped over a barbed wire fence and started scrambling up the hill. The dry grass and earth crumbled underfoot. Sheep a hundred metres away eyed them suspiciously.

“So you’re a student at ANU?”

“Yes,” said Max, “how did you guess?”

“Oh, you’ve got this librarian kind of fashion sense. You know with the cardigan. And the flares.”

“Hmpf.” (Some people had said this before which made it doubly annoying). “Well I couldn’t say much about your own fashion sense. Where’d you get that pendant? A two dollar shop?”

Vivienne chose to ignore this. She pushed on up the hill, deflecting snake fangs and broken glass with her bare feet. Soon they were at the crest and they could see for kilometres in either direction. From this perspective the cars on the highway seemed to be actually travelling very slowly. Not too far away was a big billboard advertising for everyone’s favourite family restaurant.

“God, I could almost hit that with a rock from here,” said Vivienne, tumbling one over in her hands.

“We should blow that thing up,” said Max. “We’ll wait until we’re ready to go and then throw a molotov cocktail at it.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“No-one will be able to prove we did it. By the time the police arrive we’ll be long away.”

“That’s true.”

“So – let’s go back to the car and get some petrol and make a bomb.”

“Wait – you’re serious about this? Don’t you think those guys will freak out?”

“No, they’re old anarchists. They’ll love it.”

“Anarchists? They were listening to the Seekers.”

“Old old anarchists. You’re not afraid to do it are you? Let me see you hit it with the rock.”

Vivienne gave it her best shot, and the rock bounced from one of the corners.

“That was great! Did you ever play cricket or something?”

“Softball actually.”

“Ok. Lets go down and get some petrol. You can ask Ferny about it.”

“Why do I have to?”

Max didn’t answer. She was already leaping downhill through long grass and piles of sheep droppings. Her blundstones were more than a match for Vivienne’s bare feet.

The engine was running when they reached the van.

Ferny leant out the window. “Just the fan belt,” he said. “Does that sometimes.”

They got in. Hazel was rolling a cigarette from a faded old pouch. Her hands were also faded and old. They drove away. The billboard was not mentioned.

*****

Homo sapiens sapiens was on trial for its war crimes. It wasn’t pretty. The human race was sobbing and blustering and generally just begging for mercy. The other species were all watching from the courtroom. It was a big courtroom with a lot of translators and little microphones so that everyone could understand each other.

“So you think you’re better than us,” said the judge. “Is that what you think?”

The judge was a shark. An Eastern Grey Nurse to be exact. The shark looked doubly frightening out of the water.

“So you think you’re more highly evolved. You think you’re superior. You think this gives you the right to destroy other species. Is this right?”

The jury and the spectators were not sympathetic. Some species were booing. The human race had nothing to say.

“Then lets start from the beginning shall we? The Kangaroo Island Emu. You cleared away the habitat and then you hunted it for food and sport. Until there were none left!”

“That was a long time ago,” the human race cried out desperately. “Anyone could have made that mistake!”

“Silence! What about the Toolache Wallaby? You took its pretty fur and turned its homeland into farms. And then you erased the Eastern Bettong. Could you not have found a more innocent victim?”

“But that was the foxes! And the rabbits!”

“Merely your accomplices! And what about the Thylacine. The Tasmanian Tiger. You can’t have forgotten that one? The last surviving animal died of neglect in the Hobart Zoo!”

The human race fell to the floor of the holding cell. The verdict was guilty.

Max awoke from a dream. She had fallen asleep sitting up and her head had lolled and eventually slumped all the way to her knees. Outside it was dark except for the stars. The giant silhouettes by the skyline indicated deep forest. The bumps in the road meant a dirt track. The radio played static on and off as the FM signal petered out. In between it was some strange kind of techno. She’d heard it before.

“What is this stuff?”

“Itch-E & Scratch-E,” said Henry who knew everything about music. “They were on the Arias.” The track disappeared into fuzz and Ferny switched it off altogether.

Now it was raining. Not torrential, but it was good heavy rain. It ran in teary streaks all over the car like it was an alien goo creature trying to make love to them. Max watched it all.

“So what are you studying again?” asked Vivienne.

“Teaching actually,” said Max.

“So that’s what you’re going to do when you graduate? Be a teacher?”

“No. I’d rather do something else. I actually want to do something that hasn’t been done before.”

“Well everything’s been done before.”

“Not everything.”

“You can’t just make up something completely new.”

“Why not?”

This was a good question. Vivienne needed to think about it for a while and she stopped talking completely. They drove now in silence. Even Hazel stopped talking. The only sound came from her crumpled fingers as they rolled cigarettes. Then the car turned a corner and suddenly there were things in the middle of the road. A tarpaulin was slung from trees and underneath winked the light of a kerosene lantern. A figure in a poncho stepped out into the road waving a torch at them. It was all a bit abrupt and dramatic. Hazel wound down the window in a hurry as the man began speaking to them.

“Hey Ferny! Good to see ya mate! Just pull over there and find a spot to pitch tent!”

Ferny was instantly terribly happy. He pulled them over in one swift manoeuvre that jolted the passengers to one side. Then Max stepped out of the van straight into an unpleasant orange mud puddle. The night sounded like a thousand frogs. The rain fell straight down and her umbrella was at the bottom of her bag. Henry watched her curiously from the safety of the van. He shrugged his shoulders. Further down the road was the eerie shape of a logging excavator. Max ran after Hazel and grabbed her by the hand.

“Excuse me, but can you explain this action again? One more time?”

“What don’t you know?” asked Hazel pushing her glasses around. “Anything at all? This coop here, they shouldn’t be logging it. They’re out of their boundaries. We’re making a snap action to get attention. Probably won’t go for more than a week. Fingers crossed. Got it?” She winked.

Henry dragged their camping gear from the back of the van. They had two sleeping mats made of coloured foam. The mats had edges which looked like they’d been gnawed by giant rats. They also had an old A frame tent belonging to Henry’s father. Rolled up it was twice the size of those trendy new dome tents, but it was the right style for a bedraggled forest camp like this one.

“Did you fix the leak yet?” Max asked.

Henry looked at his shoes.

three

Inside the tent the first rays of morning were nylon orange. Max’s feet were complaining. Reaching around she could feel that there was a puddle at the lowest end of the tent. It had soaked through the bottom of her sleeping bag and now her feet were wet. Cursing quietly she drew herself out of the bedding and peeled off her socks. She felt strangely violated. This was a crude form of alarm clock all right. Next to her Henry was still asleep. He had cleverly scrunched his whole body into one side of the tent thereby avoiding most of the puddle. She stepped by him to get to the zipper. At least it didn’t seem to be raining.

They were surrounded by trees. Tall ones. Not exactly the giant wall of dripping green she’d been imagining, but certainly nice healthy trees. Beneath the big gums were a lot of bushy ferns and scraggly saplings struggling out of the undergrowth. Across the muddy road was the old tarpaulin of the camp kitchen, and further away was the excavator she’d seen the night before. She tied her laces hurriedly and flopped in that direction. A tripod had been made out of wooden staves and erected in the middle of the road. A boy was sitting at the apex about fifteen feet above the ground.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” said the boy. She had approached from just the wrong angle and could see straight up his shorts. She quickly looked back to his face.

“What if they just drive around you with a bulldozer?” she asked.

“Well,” he replied. “Then we’ll build more tripods.”

“You can’t build tripods around something that’s moving.”

“You can try.”

Max looked around. The excavator was nearby and on the wrong side of the tripod. It was one of those huge orange things with caterpillar tracks. It had a long pneumatic arm with an iron claw at the end, and this was stuck in the roadside like a club. It might have been used to load logs onto a truck. Behind the machine was the open sky where the forest was gone. There was a space several football fields long where only stumps and crushed leaves remained. You could still smell sawdust.

“And what’s stopping them from using the excavator?”

“They can’t use the excavator because Jake’s in the dragon.”

Looking down Max saw there was another piratical type underneath the machine. Both his hands were sealed inside an especially constructed piece of piping. Looking closer she could see his face in the shadows.

“Hi,” he said and made a coy expression. “I’m actually pretty comfy down here.”

“But you’ll be killed if they start driving that thing around.”

“I know. Cool isn’t it.”

Max went back to the main camp. By the light of day the kitchen area looked somewhat crustier than she was prepared for. There was a gas stove but it was completely black with ancient grease. Maps were draped across a card table and there was what might have been a satellite phone. A guy with a big nose and wobbly eyes told her the coffee had just boiled and asked if she wanted a cup.

“Ok,” she said, but almost changed her mind after looking at the perculator. Hmm.

She had just cleared a space to sit down when Vivienne arrived with her boyfriend. They were somewhat entwined. Skye was a tall and annoyingly handsome fellow. He had long black dreadlocks and a face like a puppy. Some Eastern blood perhaps.

“We’ve just been out looking for quoll scat,” beamed Vivienne. “Ferny says if we can find a quoll here then the whole forest will have to be protected.”

“Great. How will I recognize it?”

Skye thought about it. “You’ll just have to collect some poo,” he said. “And then bring it all back to camp so we can check it.”

The camp leader was a guy called Robert – the general secretary of the Alliance. He was truly a great activist. Everywhere he went trees would bow very subtly to him in gratitude. He introduced himself to Max and smiled a lot. He seemed to have enough brains to compensate for the others. He sent Max away to act as lookout.

A lookout was an option because of a slight hump and curve on the road into camp. Beyond this the track was straight enough to see for several kilometres. It was quite a boring job. Sundew plants grew beside a small puddle in which tadpoles did lazy breaststroke. Looking up Max saw a car on its way. She ran back to camp.

The car was a white Holden ute belonging to the Department of Forestry. The sole occupant wore an orange vest and a hard hat, although what purpose this served was not clear. He seemed to know some of the people here already. He grinned and shook the activists by the hand.

“All right Robert?”

“All right. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Ok. Well why not?” The man took off his helmet and went and sat down at the card table with the others. He obviously wasn’t here to cause trouble. He was more like an amused bystander.

“Well you know,” he said, sipping earl grey from an enamel mug, “I don’t think these boys are going to like what you’re doing here.”

“They shouldn’t be in this coop.”

“Well that might be a matter of speculation.”

Henry was sitting in the tent packing his first bong of the day.

“Henry! Put that down. We’re at a forest blockade. We need to stay focussed.”

Henry thought about it for a minute. Then he put the bong to his mouth and smoked the cone.

“Could you at least not blow it in the tent!”

They walked over to the tripod. The two piratical types were still in position, but they were now being serenaded by Vivienne and Skye. Skye strummed a battered guitar while Vivienne sang. She actually had a nice voice. Another guy with the name of Mike was double checking the tripod. He worked as an arborist in Newcastle and was an expert at setting up tree-sits. There was something Alby Mangels about him, and he walked around wearing leather pouches full of tools attached to his waist.

“Yeah,” he told Max, “I’ve made some good tree-sits in my time. I’ve only seen one person fall so far and thankfully there were no serious breakages.”

Jake began to complain about being stuck in the dragon for so long. “I’ve got to go pee. Unless someone wants to hold my willy I think it’s time for a change of shifts.”

Vivienne immediately volunteered as did Skye. Max also stood up to be counted.

“Now, now,” said Mike. “Everyone’s going to have a chance to lock on.”

Jake took his hands out of the iron piping. There were handcuffs inside ready to secure his hands together, but they had never been locked. Vivienne quickly crawled into his place and stretched her arms a few times. The loggers could suddenly appear at any moment, so she had to be prepared.

Mike turned to Max. “You can do a shift on the tripod if you want,” he said. “I think Edwin’s getting a little bit tired up there.”

The other piratical type was called Edwin. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been here since five-thirty in the morning. Let me down so I can do some yoga or something.”

Max agreed and Edwin swung clumsily out of the nest of the tripod. He dropped onto the road, tripped and fell onto his side. Max stepped up to take his place.

“How do I get up there?”

“We’ll throw you up,” said Mike. “Here – stand on our hands and we’ll hoist you. Balance yourself with our heads.” So saying he linked arms with Edwin and was able to boost Max high off the ground. Using a rope for support she was able to grab the apex of the tripod. Made it! She scrambled between the staves and turned around several times until she was comfortable. There were a few old cushions wedged into the apex, which smelt of dust and eucalyptus. The old blanket tacked to the staves smelt worse.

Henry stood beneath her looking very concerned. “Are you really sure about this?” he hissed. “Do you think these people are going to care if you get arrested? Do you think they’re going to visit you in gaol? I might not even do that.” After a couple of minutes he gave up and walked off trailing his shoes.

From the tripod Max could see deeper into the forest. She stared into the forest and the forest stared back. It was alien, superior, unknowing. The forest defied human principles of communication. Nobody could guess what it was thinking. A green lorikeet flew past.

“Hey. Have you ever seen one of these?”

Mike had returned. He was standing below her and holding a shiny silver camcorder in his upraised hand. “It belongs to the collective.”

“It looks like a really good one.”

“It’s digital video,” he said. “Latest stuff. I never thought this shit would get so small. It was donated to us. We need one these days to document the action if something goes wrong. Here, lower the rope down.”

Max lowered the rope and Mike looped it through the strap of the camera case.

“Be very careful with it. Keep it tied on to you. Take a few minutes and figure out how it works. I never used it. If the loggers show up then try and film whatever happens.” Mike smiled in that older man kind of way before disappearing back to the camp.

The camcorder was the smallest she had ever seen. It had a lot of little buttons on it, and even a little screen on the side so you could watch what you had recorded. Quite amazing stuff really. She quickly figured out the basics. Recording, playback, fast-forward, rewind. It gave her something to do while she was sitting around.

*****

Henry lay on his back in the shade. What if it was no longer ethical to be alive? What if the 20th century had come and gone and so had the peak moments for mankind? What if the responsible thing to do now was to die out for a couple of centuries and let the planet detox? This was a frightening prospect. But unfortunately completely logical.

If it was no longer ethical to be alive, and he was still alive, what did that mean? Did it mean that he was a bad person? If he devoted his life to doing good things, would that make up for all the destruction he was going to cause? Did the world need someone like him? What if it was only the smart people who died? Did that mean that the stupid people would take over the earth? Why were there so many stupid people in Australia anyway? Was it because they were all descended from convicts and redcoats?

What if the right thing to do was to get arrested? And go to court? And spend all your time and money defending yourself in court? Would anyone else pay attention to what was happening? What if nobody supported you? What if it meant that you had to go to jail? And share a cell with someone really annoying? Like someone who listened to really bad music. Was it still the right thing to do?

And why were there always so many bad songs on Rage? Did people actually like that stuff? Was it because they were immigrants who didn’t know much about pop music yet? And why did no-one ask Henry to program Rage? What was going on with that?

four

Three old landcruisers came down the road along with a flatbed truck and pulled up in the campground. The people who got out seemed to know about the blockade already, but somehow they just hadn’t come to terms with it. They were angry men dressed mostly in orange vests and flannelette. There were about twenty of them, and each looked fifty kilograms heavier than the heaviest activist in the camp. Some of them carried chainsaws. Some hissed insults under their breath. A man who might have been the foreman was also in attendance. He was definitely the least impressed by the situation.

“What the bloody fuck is going on here!?” he shouted, looking under the excavator. Vivienne was down there, still locked on to the caterpillar tracks. She opened her mouth to speak except nothing came out.

“Get the fuck away from my machine!”

The other activists were standing uneasily about the road in support. But they all lilted a little to one side as if they were about to run for it. The Department of Forestry man was also present. He held his hands out and tried to talk reason into the angry boss.

“Now John,” he said, “you can’t do anything until the police get here.”

“I don’t fucking care about the fucking police!”

The activists were also trying to talk sensibly to the man. “We can sort this problem out right here and now, but you have to listen to us.”

“Look. I’m sick of you people! We’re bloody well allowed to log this forest. We’ve been through this a fucking umpteen million times! It’s done with! You people need to clear off quick smart!”

There were no police on the way. One of the activists approached the man timidly: “Would you like us to cook for you? We’ve got a lot of sausages for just this reason. We could cook you and your men some lunch. Yum.”

This elicited no response. The Department man approached again. “Listen John, they’re right. Why don’t you just sit down here and have a cup of tea. It’ll all work out and we can get the Police to break up the camp tomorrow.”

The foreman reacted cautiously. Reluctantly he let himself be persuaded over towards Robert and the mess tent. “It’ll all be cleared up tomorrow,” said the Department man. “Let’s just come and have something to drink.” Behind them activists scurried to get some sausages cooking.

Meanwhile the other loggers milled around the tripod and the machine. Some watched from the background with a mixture of curiosity and spite. Others came closer. One looked up at Max and whistled.

“What you doing up there sweetie-pie? Not afraid of a real man are you?” They all laughed at her.

A round logger with a dark beard approached next. “Why don’t you get a job?” he said.

“But I do have a job,” she replied indignantly. “I work in the Chicken Shack in Belconnen Mall.”

“So why’re you stopping us doing our job? Why do you think you’re better than us?”

“I don’t. But I’m a student. I should know things.”

“Fucking students,” he said. “What would they know?” Everyone had another laugh. They didn’t know that Max was planning her revenge. One swift leap and she would swing down from the tripod kicking the man’s teeth out with the toe of her blundstone.

Before this could happen however the foreman reappeared. The negotiations had broken down completely. The man stormed away from the tent into the middle of the road and threw his cup of tea into the forest. “I want all of youse out of here by tomorrow,” he shouted. “Now I’m a fair man. And you’ve been warned. If you’re not gone by tomorrow morning I swear to god there is going to be bloodshed!”

Some of the loggers clapped in appreciation. Others were silent or bemused, unfussed about a day off work. They filed back into their vehicles and began backing awkwardly out of the site along the narrow road.

The whole encounter had taken less than fifteen minutes. Some of the activists had gone quite pale however. Slowly the colour returned to their cheeks. Mike sauntered back over to the tripod.

“Were you filming?” he asked Max.

The camera had been concealed by folds of the blanket. “I think so,” she said. She pressed stop and passed down the camera to Mike.

“Awesome mate. You are truly a legend. Now come down from there, you’ve done above and beyond your call of duty for today.”

She clambered down the rope. It was a bit disappointing that no-one offered to catch her. Robert also strolled over to investigate the video. It had turned out remarkably good. They all stood there watching once again the logging boss making his vow of bloodshed. They watched it over and over. Everyone loved it. There was no TV in the camp, but this was infinitely better entertainment.

*****

For the most part the loggers were not thinking about the conflict. They were generally quite happy to take a whole day off work. One of them however, was thinking a great deal about what had happened. His name was Phillip Hutch and he sat in the back of one of the landcruisers with his chainsaw on his lap. He looked out the window as the forest went past.

Why were the protestors so concerned about a few trees? Didn’t they know where their furniture came from? What idiots. And if for some reason the world ran out of trees they could always make furniture out of plastic, or metal. So there was no problem really. There were much bigger dangers that the world was facing. Such as zombies.

Yes, that’s right. Zombies. Humans who looked quite normal on the outside but on the inside were actually the walking undead, waiting for the opportunity to eat the brains of other humans. Who knew where the zombies came from originally. Maybe it was a science experiment gone wrong, or maybe they came from space. Either way they had infected a large portion of the population, and the day would come when war broke out with mankind.

Of course it wasn’t that easy to kill zombies. The most effective way was usually to chainsaw their heads clean off. This was the reason why Phillip Hutch had joined the company in the first place. So that he could always have a chainsaw handy. Phillip was beginning to think that his boss was a zombie.

Robert pressed eject and pocketed the video.

“But what should I do now?” asked Max.

“Take the afternoon off,” said Robert. “There’s a swimming hole down there. Or if you’re short of entertainment you could go talk to Ferny, he’s always well prepared.”

Ferny and Hazel were making a pot of peppermint tea in the mess area. “Are you really the person to talk to about entertainment around here?” Max asked.

“Hmm. I got some things in the van,” replied Ferny, pulling twigs from his beard. “We can go have a look if you like.”

In the back of the L300 were two wooden crates stacked with books and board games. Every edge was worn down and well loved by previous owners. That didn’t mean it wasn’t all clean and neatly arranged.

“Wow. I can’t believe you travel around with all this stuff.”

“Well,” said Ferny a little bashfully. “Blockades can be long affairs you know. Take anything you want.”

Max pulled out a copy of something called Obsolete Communism. “Is there anything in here that’s not weird?”

There was the sound of vehicles coming down the road and they hurried out of the van. This time it was the Gloucester police and a TV crew belonging to the ABC.

“They took their time in getting here,” said Ferny. “Should have been here hours ago really.”

The police were not here to create a scene. They were here to drink tea and chat like almost everyone else. The TV crew were not heavily equipped – about the only equipment they had brought with them was a camera. After a while however they started shooting some footage of the activists in action. Edwin and Jake were happy to pose gratuitously in the dragon.

“How does this look?” Edwin asked, “do you need me to look more thoughtful?”

“No that’s fine,” said the TV crew already packing up their camera.

Max walked through the forest. She went downhill and her sneakers slipped on decaying leaf matter. There were a lot of tree ferns and blue gums and mossy chunks lying everywhere. Some of these trees though weren’t all that old looking. Were they really worth saving? Wouldn’t there always be a little bit of forest like this somewhere? She sat down on a crumbling log beside a big red tree fungi. Then she made herself comfortable native-style by leaning into a nearby sapling. The afternoon light filtered down through the gum trees. She took out the paperback that she’d taken from Ferny and read for a while.

Now she started approaching an almost meditative state. She could hear the bush very clearly. A bird was out there and making strange sounds. It sounded like a whole menagerie taking turns. The bird song kept changing, but of course it was just one bird. Some minutes passed before the creature came into sight. It was a lyre bird. Actually there were two of them. The lyre bird was the electronic musician of the animal kingdom. If any of the animals would one day evolve to using headphones and turntables it would be the lyre bird. It was copying whip birds and other times might have been doing chainsaws.

The two birds were conducting a mating dance. The male hopped after the female, with his huge tail feathers held over his head like a quiff. They moved along a small wombat trail amongst the undergrowth. When they started to get out of sight Max cautiously pulled herself to her feet. Treading like a ninja she followed the birds. It was a beautiful experience. The birds were travelling across the hill. This bird could really sing but still the female wouldn’t give in. Then Max trod on a deceptively brittle twig which snapped loudly. After that the birds knew someone was following them. They took more and more difficult routes through the undergrowth and Max couldn’t keep up. For a while she listened to the strange song move into the distance. Then she realised she was lost.

She started heading back across the hill in the direction she’d came. Roughly speaking that is. The sun was now getting terribly low to the horizon and sleeping out here all night would be the embarrassment of the century. She’d be shivering until morning this high up in the forest. How did you start a fire again? She couldn’t remember. Anyway she didn’t have matches or anything. She stumbled along looking for something familiar. A footprint, a chunk of wood, a piece of fungus. Anything.

Splash. It sounded far away, but it was definitely a promising sound. She went in this direction, and down a shallow decline. Through the narrow trees she could see a murky waterhole. The water was a lovely swamp green and there were small ripples running across it. Two people were copulating in the water at one end of the pool. It was Vivienne and Skye. They were like a weird pale swamp monster. If it was anyone but Vivienne it might have been halfway erotic.

Max stayed in the trees and carefully circumnavigated the pond. They had not seen her and she decided she could find her way back to the camp from here. She passed a small pile of hippy clothes and discovered a small trail that led uphill. In five minutes she had hit the road and from there it was just a brief meander to the campsite.

Henry was lying inside the tent with a tea-light burning on one of the sleeping mats. His ears were plugged into his walkman and he played at an imaginary drumkit in the air. He often did this. She switched off the cassette.

“Henry, how come we never have sex anymore? You know, like we used to. Wild sex.”

Henry took on that expression like he was looking for the fire escape.

“I don’t know, I didn’t think you liked it like that really.”

“You never asked.”

*****

A boy and a girl met on a street corner in Civic. The boy was looking down.

“Hey what are you doing always walking around town looking at your shoes? You’ve always got your head in your hood. I’ve seen you.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I can’t help it.”

“You can’t see anything walking around town like that.”

“There’s nothing really to see.”

“The sun’s going down behind the mountain over there.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“You almost bumped into me just then. Don’t you think I’m worth noticing?”

“Not really.”

“Are you waiting for a bus now?”

“Yeah.”

“Forget that. Have you got ID? Do you want to buy me a drink?”

“Maybe.”

“And I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Ok.”

“What’s your name?”

“My name’s Henry.”

“Hi Henry. I’m Max.”

five

At dawn the frogs stopped croaking and Max woke up feeling very pleased with herself. Promptly she went back to sleep and undisturbed she and Henry both slept through half the morning. Finally they flipped a coin to see who would go for coffee. Max lost. She padded across the road in her bare feet.

All the activists were sitting in the tent and they all looked quite happy this morning. Robert was talking on the satellite phone.

“Have you heard the news?” asked Ferny. He was holding a gingersnap biscuit.

“What news?”

“It’s over,” he said. “The forest has been saved. We just got a call from the department. This is national park. The loggers have pulled out.”

“Oh yeah. Nice joke.”

“But your tape was on the ABC last night,” insisted Hazel. “On the telly. That stupid man promising bloodshed. It must have tipped the balance because it’s all going to be sorted out now.”

“So we’re not going to be murdered by loggers?”

“Nope. Give us a hug.” Hazel squeezed Max tight. She smelt of tobacco and eucalyptus.

“I can’t believe it’s really this easy!”

“It’s not. Never happened like this before. You’re our lucky charm.”

The other activists around the kitchen smiled and winked at her. Vaguely Max remembered the coffee and turned to the black and grimy percolator. “So,” she said awkwardly. “What’s next on the agenda? Are we sticking around, or going, or something?”

“We stick around till they move their machine,” said Ferny. “At the least. I mean it’s a nice place and we’re here now, why waste it? But then it’s back to Canberra. Are you coming back with us still? Will that be ok for you?”

“Not really. I hate that town. But I guess it have to. I have exams and stuff.”

She went back to her own tent with two enamel mugs full of coffee. Henry was awake now. They kissed with dirty teeth and drank coffee and walked barefoot over the gumnuts and damp earth. The younger activists (Henry called them “ferals”) were sitting around the yellow cortina that belonged to Edwin and Jake. The bonnet was up and Jake stood looking into the murky depths with some grease on his hands. He had only a single spanner to work with but he looked serious about it. Skye and Vivienne were sitting on a log and Edwin leaned against a tree, but on seeing Max and Henry arrive they all jumped up and started congratulating each other. They were all rather happy about preserving the forest. If there was ever a time to dance a jig it was now.

“Yo wild girl we did it,” said Viviennne.

“Yo,” said Max. “We did something worthwhile. I think. But this coop was just a drop in the ocean. The revolution is still a way off.”

“Oh come on. That was pretty awesome. You with the camera, me in the dragon. You’re not at all as stuck up as I first thought you were. At first I thought you were a little snooty. But you’re ok.”

“Oh thanks. I guess. So are you back to Melbourne now or what?”

“No. The direction is north. We’re going up the coast to an eco retreat. Stay out of the way for a few weeks.”

“Sounds nice. I guess we’re going back to Canberra with Ferny.”

“You know,” said Vivienne cautiously, “you could at least come up to Newcastle with us if you want to. We’re going with Mike, he’s got two seats in the car.”

Henry was talking to Edwin and Jake. They were pushing him reluctantly towards the open bonnet of the cortina.

“So do you know anything about cars or not?” asked Edwin. “I have to be in court in Sydney tomorrow morning.”

*****

Staring out the window you could imagine yourself a tiny figure on motorbike, able to jump fences and dodge oncoming traffic. You could make trips out to distant hills then speed furiously back to the car. Fence posts whipped past. Max kept the window half down so that the wind got in her hair.

She was sitting in the back of Mike’s Subaru station wagon and they were travelling fast towards Newcastle. Henry sat in the front and chatted to Mike about rock music. The pair were mostly talking about the lords of Aussie Rock. They were talking about the greatest of the great. It was a contest between the Triffids and the Go-Betweens. For a long time the Go-Betweens were in front but the Triffids were close behind and slowly gaining. They got closer and closer. They were overtaking at the left flank. Then pow! Died Pretty came from nowhere to win by a photo finish. Mike was disgusted.

“Anyway, the problem with rock and roll is that it doesn’t fit in with forests.”

“What about the Oils?”

“Ok – outside of the Oils I never heard a good song about forests.”

The conversation in the back seat was completely different, almost from a different universe. Skye and Vivienne were talking about the esoteric arts.

“The sacral chakra isn’t just the key to sexual energy. To get the full tantric sex experience you need to open up all the chakras. Feel the Kundalini energy rising through each one.”

“Yeah some people mistakenly open up the root chakra and just wind up addicted to sex.”

“Every time I get onto this subject I think about those cave paintings in Europe that show people in the lotus position. They knew about chakras way back when they were hunting mammoths.”

“And every time I try astral travelling I think about going back in time. Most people think that astral travelling is only three dimensional, but I say why limit yourself?”

“Wow. Whenever you start talking like this I can see your auras so much more brightly.”

“That’s so nice. What colours am I now?”

“Mostly orange with some blue at the level of the solar plexus. Awww, it’s so pretty.”

Mike didn’t seem to like the conversation happening in the back. Every time Skye or Vivienne said something particularly esoteric he would grit his teeth and push his foot a little deeper onto the accelerator. He didn’t seem to realize that he was in the same car and could never escape the couple behind him.

“You know,” said Vivienne, “I’m sure we used to know each other in a past life.”

“I don’t get it,” said Max. “If you guys were so destined to be together how come you managed to stay apart for so long?”

“Well,” said Skye, “we’ve been waiting. For the right time. The moon is in gemini and venus is very bright at the moment. It’s a good omen.”

*****

The other reason that Skye and Vivienne had been apart so long was that Skye was married. He was married to a disagreeable older woman named Judy. She paced around the flat complaining about everything imaginable, clenching and unclenching her fists as though it were a sophisticated form of exercise. Judy was not a happy woman. Max and Vivienne cowered in the kitchen, bravely trying to cook pancakes. They were terribly hungry, and the pancakes would make everything all right. Unfortunately they didn’t know their way around the kitchen and they were both truly abominable cooks.

Skye and Judy lived at number two on the ground floor. There were two bedrooms separated by a narrow corridor which ran on to a kitchen and then a bathroom. It was a beautifully ugly flat, a bit like a fibro fishtank. There were a lot of nature posters and desiccated flowers sticking from cheap vases. On the walls were hung animal skulls. The biggest was a kangaroo. There were a lot of overflowing ashtrays and the TV blared from the rear bedroom.

“Are you sure it’s going to be ok if we stay here?” whispered Max.

“I don’t think so,” whispered Vivienne.

Outside the sun was setting. Henry delicately washed a pair of socks in the kitchen sink and Max tiptoed to the shower. Afterwards they ate the pancakes on the floor in the front room. This was Skye’s room. It was spartan. There was a double bed, a chest of drawers and a stack of books. Max and Henry leaned on their backpacks and leafed through a pile of old zines. Then Vivienne took a shower and came back smelling like rose water. Meanwhile from the back room came the sounds of shouting. Skye and Judy were having a vicious argument. Finally Skye came in to talk to them.

“Ok guys,” he said, “you can sleep here tonight. But we’ll all have to be in the same room, so it might be a little crowded. I’ll sleep on the floor and you three can sleep on the bed. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’ll be fun. We can play five hundred.”

“I don’t think I’ve got any cards.”

“That’s ok,” said Henry, “we always have a deck of cards.”

Outside there was the sound of a car, and Judy ran down the corridor to the front door. Two rough-looking men came in. They said hello to everyone. One of them had bad skin and was continually scratching his nose. Both of them had pupils the size of pin pricks. They laughed a lot and Judy took them into her bedroom. Skye looked very unhappy about it all.

“It wasn’t always like this,” he said forlornly. “Anyway, it’s over now. Just another day and we can go north.”

There was a brief pause. The atmosphere was unstable. Max decided to give some consoling words. “I’m sure it’s for the best,” she told Skye. “Whatever Judy decides to do, and whatever you decide to do.”

“Can’t you see?” whispered Vivienne, “they’re all shooting up heroin in there.”

“Oh,” said Max. Things were getting weirder.

They dealt the cards and played several rounds of five hundred. It wasn’t as much fun as it should have been. Then there was the sound of the two men leaving. Max couldn’t help but watch them and their strange eyes as they passed down the corridor. Not long after this Judy herself came into the room. She was in a completely different mood. Now she was polite to everyone and sat down behind Skye and put her arms around him. Of course this made everyone feel awkward.

“Come on,” whispered Judy to Skye. “It’s our last night together. Darling – let’s not fight.”

Skye fumed. Judy didn’t seem to notice.

“Baby, come on. I’m leaving you the car. It’s our last night, lets spend it together.”

Time passed very slowly. Judy was now the only happy person in the room. Then Skye threw down his hand. “All right, all right, I guess it’s for the best.” He got up and left the room with Judy. She closed the door behind them.

Vivienne started very subtly to tremble. Then she threw down her cards. “God damn it I had a hand full of trumps.”

“So what do we do know?” asked Max.

“Well,” said Vivienne quickly, “if you’re coming north with us, then I guess you two are going to have to get a little more in tune with your spiritual sides.”

“Oh no, I can’t do that stuff,” said Max. “I’m not in the same league as you. In fact I don’t even have chakras.”

“Nonsense,” said Vivienne. “Everyone has chakras. You just have to admit there’s a higher purpose in this world, and then the chakras slowly open.”

“Ok,” said Max. “I’m in your hands. I’ll try anything once.”

“Good,” said Vivienne. “That’s the right attitude!” She started walking around, touching everything in the room. Then she picked up a ceramic oil burner and filled it with sandalwood essence. She put a tealight candle inside and switched off the ceiling light.

“So what we’re going to do now is astral travel,” she said soberly.

“Isn’t that a little bit advanced for us?” asked Henry.

“No, not really. I think you guys are better off with something challenging.”

“I’ll try it,” said Max. “What do we do?”

“Well, we lie down and concentrate on our breathing. Eventually we’ll awaken our ethereal form.”

“But where are we going to go to?”

“It doesn’t really matter. First you could try going somewhere close, like the corner shop and back. If that works out then you can set off for another country.”

“Ok. And do we hold hands?”

“No,” said Vivienne. “But if you want to we could try touching fingers, just at the tips. Anyway, just follow my lead.”

She spread out a blanket on the bed and smoothed it down. It was not a high quality blanket – it was made of acrylic and featured a big picture of Uluru. But it was soft. They each lay down side by side on the bed.

“Now close your eyes and empty your mind. Concentrate on your breathing. Like this. Count each breath. Like you’re meditating.”

Max began counting each breath and pushing aside each thought that appeared. This was one of those things that looked a lot easier than it really was.

“Once you have totally emptied your mind picture your ethereal body gradually freeing itself from your material body. A good place to start is with one of your hands. You might be able to feel your hand falling through the mattress.”

Some minutes passed. Their breathing became slow and synchronized.

“What if we can’t get back into our bodies?” asked Henry. “Sorry but I’m starting to wonder how far we’re going to go.”

“Shh,” said Vivienne. “That’s the least of your worries.”

Max wasn’t going anywhere. She’d never been good at meditation. Renegade thoughts appeared out of nowhere. She was supposed to be slowing down her mind but visions of the future kept appearing. This wasn’t what was supposed to be happening, but it was still a good feeling. She was alive and in control. And if she had to she could lie here forever. Outside she could hear the coastal wind shaking the gum trees up and down the street.

Suddenly Vivienne sat straight up in bed. “It’s no good,” she said. “I’m stuck here. I can’t stop thinking about Skye in the other room.”

There wasn’t much anyone could say about this.

“Do you think he’s really, you know – doing it with her?

“Of course he’s doing it,” said Vivienne. “He’s a boy that’s all they think about.”

“Well they are married,” said Henry.

By the dim light Vivienne looked stern and brave and oddly beautiful. Tears may have been forming in the corners of her eyes but it was hard to be sure.

“And I just feel so uncomfortaable,” said Vivienne. “I need to be naked to astral travel. This bra is terrible.” So saying she unclasped her bra and pulled her t-shirt over her head in one swift manoeuvre. Her two breasts bounced out like smooth melons. Her unshaven armpits were lush and dark like subtropical rainforest.

“Anyway I think it’s a night where I’m going to stay in my physical body.”

six

Max was standing in the changing pavilion at Nobby’s beach. Was she beautiful? Maybe. She had a generous bosom, a great nose and long thick hair that was losing its purple. Her profile wasn’t bad either. Yes. She was definitely better looking than those hideous cretins that stared back from billboards and magazine covers. And she had the brains of a rocket scientist.

She knew how good her brains were because of an IQ test she’d once taken. The university psyche department was always looking for volunteers and participants were always compensated for their time. Basically this meant the easiest twenty dollars anyone had ever heard of. Max signed up for everything that happened. On one occasion she and Henry both lined up to take a new IQ test someone had thought up. It lasted about half an hour, matching shapes, rearranging numbers and that sort of thing. At the end of the test the supervising student told her that she had a truly massive IQ.

“Well,” said Max, “thanks very much. My boyfriend is coming in after me, can you please tell him that he’s exceptional too? It’ll really cheer him up.”

Of course there weren’t many advantages to having brains in this country. It didn’t stop guys in cars from leaning out of their windows and sneering “show us your tits”. This exact scenario had happened earlier that day on Hunter Street.

Max went outside and found Henry lying face down on a wooden bench. He had his shoes off and was staring into a carton of strawberry milk.

“Are you ok with what happened last night?” she asked.

"No… I mean, yes. It was great, of course. It was just so unexpected. Next time will be better."

"I don't know. I kind of feel like it was a one-off."

"But don't you think if she wants to, then maybe we should, you know…"

"Get up you bum. Let's go for a walk."

It was a beautiful day. Seagulls screeched and attacked left-over chips. Children walked along rock pools hunting octopuses. In the sky high up there were a bunch of pelicans flopping about like they were having an air bath. Young surfers in springsuits ran up and down speaking in beautiful ocker. The hills were green and disintegrating into sand beside picnic tables. The tables were also eroding and starting to look like mouldy cheese.

“Isn’t this great,” said Max. “This is what we’ve been missing out on way too long. We should definitely go north with these guys.”

“I don’t know,” said Henry. “There’s a feeling of imminent doom coming from somewhere.”

“Maybe, but Vivienne and Skye are good people. By the way, how much money do you have? I know you always travel with some hidden in your shoe.”

“That’s not true,” said Henry uncomfortably. “Anyway. Not very much. That’s why we can’t go away with them. I’ll lose my job. I mean, if I haven’t lost it already.”

“They can get another dishpig.”

“But what about you? You’re going to miss all your exams.”

“I know. But it’s too late for that. I’ll apply for special dispensation.”

Henry looked doubtful. “Didn’t you already do that once? Anyway, you’ve got to get your degree. That’s the reason your parents are supporting you. So that one day you can get a decent career and we can get out of Canberra.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that anymore. I don’t think there’s a job worth having in this society. Lets reinvent this whole fucking country.”

Henry looked elsewhere. They each tramped along in their city clothes carrying their shoes in one hand. They followed the coastline down and there were less and less locals on the beach.

“Listen to this,” said Max. “By the time we get anywhere in this world we’re going to be old. If we do it the proper way we’re going to be too old to enjoy it. We’re going to be old and boring. And you know what? Every day we lose around 100 000 brain cells. I saw that on TV.”

“Oh yeah I remember that documentary.”

“So we have to do something now! While we still know everything!”

Henry was abashed. He looked at his shoes with his hands dug deep in his jean pockets. “I know, I know. But we don’t have enough money and besides I’m all out of weed.”

“Oh you don’t need to worry about that stuff,” said Max. “The only thing that’s important is right now!” She grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards the water. Henry was a little taller than her but by no means was he an athletic boy – when Max got her spirits up she was quite able to drag him along. Henry was also caught off guard.

“Woah, woah! I’m still wearing my clothes.” They began splashing into the surf. “It’s fucking cold. Lay off!” They were both laughing by now. The water soaked up their jeans and waves broke across their thighs.

Later in the afternoon Henry decided that he needed to go back to Skye’s place and score some weed. Or at least try to. So Max continued down the beach alone. She kept walking until the sun had set and the coastline was deserted. It was a nice evening. She kept walking until she’d run out of things to think about.

Now she was at the very edge of town. Lights shone brightly from what might have been the last houses. In the distance she could see a couple of stray figures drifting up the beach with their dogs. Nearby was a big and crumbling ocean pool. It was deteriorating beautifully and in the flat surfaces you could see all the different materials that composed the concrete – gravelly bits and pebbles with rusted iron spines holding it all together. Seaweed grew in the puddles where the water never receded. Waves crashed against the ocean wall at the opposite side. The tide was in and a sign read the depth. One and a half metres. The water was black green and covered with ripples that reflected the moon. Crude diving blocks had once been painted white and ran the length of one side.

Max stripped down to her panties and stuffed her clothes into a crack between two rocks. She stood up on one of the blocks with her toes curling around the edge. Suddenly it was cold. The breeze ran up the length of her body. Every pale skin cell was alive and shivering. Hairs stood on end. She brushed her fringe from her eyes and looked at the sky and the water. She was about to jump but she hadn’t yet jumped. She was frozen in time. Life was full of these moments. She took a huge breath.

This time it was a blue Ford Falcon sedan. It was a 1983 model with an unquenchable thirst for leaded petrol but an acceleration that was more than a little bit sexy. As part of the break up deal Skye had collected the car, while Judy retained the flat. They each took turns driving as they sped up the coast. Everyone except Vivienne that is, who had never qualified for even her L plates. Max drove too, even though she was technically still on her Ps and restricted to ninety kilometres per hour. But as nobody had any P plates they all agreed it was safer for her to drive at the full speed and thereby not look suspicious.

On the way Skye told them about his life. His mother was an Egyptian muslim who had married an English christian. They had combined the worst aspects of both religions when raising their son and had been very good at keeping Skye under their control. His breakthrough had not come until a relatively late age – whilst attending a spiritual healing workshop in the local community centre. Unfortunately by then he was already married to Judy. Judy who was only interested in the heroin that came into the port from Asia.

“But don’t think the heroin turned her bad,” he said. “She was always bad. And having wild mood swings. She’s actually become more socially acceptable now that she’s got heroin.”

Skye seemed a bit sad so they all tried to cheer him up. “You’re still young,” said Vivienne proudly. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you and I think you’re excellent.” She reached forwards to touch him on the shoulder.

Max liked it best in the passenger seat. Here she stared through the windscreen playing road games. Where the road was straight she stared at the dotted lines disappearing into the distance. Posts and road markers whipped past on the passenger side. Of course the windows were always open – there was no air conditioning and the weather was warm. The tape player worked but both speakers had blown. They turned the music up anyway.

“What the hell is this stuff?”

“You never listened to trance?” asked Skye.

They passed the big banana at Coffs Harbour and got out to walk around it. Skye and Vivienne took out lunch they’d made in advance. They talked a lot about diet, what it meant to be vegan, which nuts you had to eat, and why you had to have lots of wholegrain foods. They talked about their diet until Henry and Max felt like brutal murderers. They were both lazy vegetarians and even on a good day their eggs probably came from battery hens which were being tortured to death.

Later on they passed the big oyster and even the big prawn. Vivienne wanted to go all the way to Byron but Skye told her that it was full of tourists and anyway the police wouldn’t let you sleep there these days. Instead he took them west, through small cute towns where the earth was impossibly lush. The towns were full of leaf mulch and had pretty wall murals that dated from the 1960s.

It was almost nightfall. The street lights were flickering on. They stopped in a small town to visit the local Safeway and came out with bread and homus and a cask of Stanley red lambrusco. Locals with hairstyles from the wrong decade went past wearing fluorescent shorts. The people here seemed happy.

Back in the car Vivienne fumbled with the road map. But there were no interior lights and she gave up. It was good to be lost. They stopped in a town with an aboriginal name. A good omen. Nearby was a creek and field with a huge camphor laurel and they decided to bivouac under the stars. The night air was incredibly warm and the atmosphere was comfortable like a blanket. Mosquitos buzzed around their candles and crickets drowned out the conversation. At three am locals drove donuts in the nearby carpark. Max was awake anyway, lying on her back and counting shooting stars.

The next morning they swam in a water hole and drove around aimlessly for a few hours. Max and Vivienne took off their shirts and wore only bikini tops. They bought fresh watermelon from a tiny stall beside the road and passing cars honked at them. The landscape was green and the hills were steep and rolling like camel humps. Then they headed west, where the grass was dryer and the countryside was wilder. The valleys were cleared for cattle but the rest was thick forest. The road deteriorated. Maybe there would be no more petrol stations. Eagles drifted in the sky and kangaroos hopped off the roadside. They’d been lost for about three hours when they suddenly arrived at a small sign – Burrawinyi Eco Retreat. Underneath someone had added “Pranic Development Centre”.

Skye pulled the car onto an impossibly bumpy road that led steeply down. The underbelly of the car scraped the surface. Every couple of metres there was a bump and everyone flinched. The sharp corners were teeth-grindingly tense. When the road became sensible again they discovered a long ramp exposed to hillsides all around. The valley below was filled with long grass. It was all golden yellow green like the colour of ripe pears.

Several four wheel drive tracks wound through the valley, but the main one led towards a homestead. Gum trees towered over a gigantic vegetable patch and further away was a metal frame raising huge solar panels to the sun. Skye parked a short distance from the homestead and a cattle dog ran towards them. The dog was followed by an old but spritely man. He was wearing a battered fedora and carried a big axe in one hand.

“What do you want here?” he demanded. The man looked them each in the eyes as if to check there was no Martin Bryant lurking in there. Martin Bryant had recently received thirty-five consecutive life sentences and his madman eyes had become deeply ingrained in the Australian psyche.

“We’re looking for someone called Marion,” said Skye putting on his best puppy dog expression. “She knows we’re coming. We’re looking for the prana centre.”

The man laughed cynically. “You want them up at the tents. And don’t think we’ve got anywhere inside for you to sleep.” He whistled for the dog and turned away.

Along the treeline at the edge of the valley were a handful of small tents. Skye led them uphill to investigate but before they got there a boy emerged from the campsite and started hurrying towards them. He wore a pair of big orange fisherman’s pants and had one of those goatees that boys sometimes get by accident. He looked like he probably listened to the Rockmelons.

“Welcome to Paradise!” he said. “Don’t worry, Marion told me to expect you. Do you want to set up camp or should I show you around first?”

His name was Morgan and he was in a very good mood. Of course they would follow him around. First he showed them the composting toilet and the hut where all the batteries were stored. Nobody here was connected to the grid and the nearest power lines were kilometres away. All the power came from the sun and all the water was pumped up from the creek. Beside the homestead was a huge purple tipi and near the vegetable patch was a long shade tunnel like a giant caterpillar. There was also a huge shed made of leftover scrap. As they walked around Morgan told them the story of Burrawinyi.

A group of ten retirees had bought the land five years previously. It was mostly undisturbed bushland and well over 500 acres. The retirees each took a share in the land and the right to develop it. Burrawinyi was the opportunity of the century and the hope for all mankind. It was a project so idealistic that most people dismissed it as foolish and conservatives denied it even existed. Burrawinyi was a community of responsible people living entirely on alternative energy and the food they grew themselves. Except something had gone wrong. The original shareholders had fallen out with each other. One of them was farming cattle on the land in order to make some money. But the cattle were destroying the ecosystems. The other shareholders were suing her and there was a strange story about attempted murder which was best not talked about.

“So you are welcome to stay here as long as you like,” said Morgan. “As long as you respect the land and the animals who live here. And as long as you work at least four hours a day in the garden.”

The travellers glanced at each other. “Sounds ok to us,” said Skye. “But where does Marion fit in to all this?”

“She’s the happy ending to Burrawinyi. She’s been living here a few years and now she manages the school of prana. She’s an amazing person and I’m sure you’ll meet her very soon.”

There seemed to be a lot more to say but at this moment a bell rang. The bell was calling them to dinner at the homestead. When they arrived they discovered that most of the other residents were already waiting around a long table. There was the old man again, with his wife and son. So too were two brunettes who were friends with Morgan (also wearing fisherman’s pants). Next to them were two German backpackers, Yoha and Teo. Yoha and Teo were still learning English. And seated at the head of the table was Marion.

Marion was tall and blonde and wore a red ochre sari. She greeted them each personally and clasped them by the hands. She smiled a lot and had a predilection for the word “joyously”. She made them all close their eyes before eating while she whispered a few words that sounded subcontinental. And then Marion didn’t even eat anything. She only drank water. Max and Henry however gave themselves generous helpings. They had missed lunch out of their own poverty and incoordination, and the meal was a fabulous pumpkin dish with a lot of spinach, rocket and exotic seeds. They ate almost twice what everyone else ate. Max tried not to feel bad about it.

After dinner Max wandered down to the big shed with Lee. Lee was the eccentric son of the old man. He didn’t actually live at Burrawinyi, he just visited occasionally to work on his inventions. The shed was surrounded by the rusting heaps of ancient cars, old seats from passenger aeroplanes and an immobile icecream truck (which he slept in). In the shed were motorbike parts and stacks of timber. There were also several things best described as ingenius contraptions. Lee pointed out his current project. It was centred around a bicycle wheel attached to a small motor. Fixed to the wheel were huge magnets counterbalanced by magnets on extendable arms. The wheel also held cups that collected water as they passed through a trough below.

“I had to add the water cups because the magnets weren’t powerful enough on their own,” explained Lee. “But something still isn’t right. Anyway, when it’s finished there’ll be free energy for everyone at Burrawinyi.” He picked up a spanner and set to work.

This was generally the problem with rural areas. There were too many weird things going on that defied interpretation. It called to mind a well publicized case that had occurred on the outskirts of Canberra. A drunk person had been sewn inside the dead carcass of a cow. Was this illegal? Where there any offences which the perpetrators could be charged with? Unfortunately not. The strange incident had confused everyone in Canberra. Everyone who heard about it was left a shattered ruin of their former selves. But Max was sure her experience of Burrawinyi would be easy to understand. Of course. It was the ideal community.

seven

Vivienne was awakened sometime before six am. Morgan was effeminately slapping the fly of her tent with the palm of his hand.

“Wake up guys. It’s meditation time. Wake up! And don’t forget the others!”

Groggily Vivienne crawled out of the tent. Outside the world was still blue and so crisp that it stung the senses. She felt like a baby from a nylon womb. Vivienne stumbled off shivering towards Max and Henry’s tent. It was already halfway falling over.

“Hey guys! You’re supposed to wake up now.”

Obviously that wasn’t going to work. She stuck herself through the fly and poked Henry in the side.“Uhh. Leave us out of this!”

Vivienne gave up and stumbled downhill towards the big purple tipi. Inside was a bucket of water, a trestle table and a couple of prayer mats. Marion was waiting for them. She was already sitting in the lotus position at the far end of the tent. The students had barely time to splash their faces before the session began. They sat down with Marion in a circle. Altogether they numbered eight. They commenced with half an hour of strenuous meditation, in several different positions. Marion talked them through it.

“I want you to feel only your breath. And breathe. And breathe. In. Out. If you feel you’re ready you can try chanting. Om.”

After this the yoga began. They went through all the classic poses, including the corpse, the downwards facing dog, and of course the cobra. There were also optional advanced poses for the initiates. Then came another period of even more determined meditation. Finally the morning climaxed with a fifteen minute ceremony that was entirely in an Indian language. It was all well beyond Vivienne’s expertise. It had been two hours but now it was over. The students were standing up and Marion was striding purposefully from the tent.

Vivienne hurried outside to ask questions.

“The mornings are filled with worship and practice here,” said Marion. “Walk around the valley now, and feel the beauty of every living thing.”

“But what were we actually saying at the end there?”

“Well,” said Marion. “These words are helping to unlock the gates of the mind. I’m helping you to receive energy from the universe. From light and other vibrations.”

Skye was beside Marion now. He was nodding in awe.

“But how will we know when we’re getting this energy?”

“Well, you’ll feel it of course. Just in the same way you feel energy from the food you eat. And after a while you may not need to eat food at all, because all your energy will be coming direct from the universe.”

“And you think we can really get to that level?”

“Why not? I myself rarely eat, and usually then it’s just for the sensation. It’s nice to try certain flavours every now and then. But my close colleague Humbaba doesn’t eat anything at all.”

“And who is Humbaba?”

“Humbaba is the true master of this school. He lives in the hills with the animals. Or he lives with me in my cottage. I’d love to tell you more Vivienne, but unfortunately I have some work to do. You must excuse me.”

Skye seemed radiant after all that yoga and Vivienne decided she felt rather spritely. They went down to the homestead to have some breakfast. It was muesli with fresh yoghurt and strawberries. Afterwards they sat in the shade near the gardens and talked it over between themselves.

“I don’t know,” said Vivienne. “This may be too extreme even for me.”

“Shame on you,” said Skye. “This is what we’ve been building up to. Inedia. Total merging with the higher vibrations. Which means total freedom from the society that we used to live in.”

“Veganism makes sense to me but I just don’t see the point in not eating at all.”

“But there’s amazing reasons not to eat! You need to think of it as just the natural progression from one diet to another. From vegetarianism to veganism, to fruitarianism and finally to breatharianism – energy from light. It’s possible to do, it’s been proven and I think we’re ready for it.”

“Well I guess it would be nice not having to pay for food.”

“That’s right, now you’re thinking.”

If Vivienne was a little uncertain about the school of Prana she had no doubts whatsoever about Burrawinyi. It was like living in a zoo. There were actually platypuses swimming in the creek. Imagine that. Like most people Vivienne had never seen a platypus in the wild. There were at least two of them. They lived in a section of the creek that was particularly overgrown with rugged bushes. It wasn’t easy to get to the water’s edge, but it was worth it to see the platypuses. They swam about at a medium speed doing something that was obviously important. Perhaps they were after fish or materials with which to line their nest. Every now and then they would dive under the water and resurface somewhere further away. They were like tiny motorized logs. Vivienne sat there watching them for hours. They were amazing. They weren’t on the twenty cent coin for nothing.

In the mornings they often saw dingoes. The dingoes stalked across the distant hillsides trying to catch small wallabies. Sometimes she heard them calling at night. The dingoes were welcome to the wallabies – there were so many wallabies that they could only be classed as a mediocre attraction. A brief walk into the trees would usually send half a dozen of them hopping away. Unfortunately the snakes weren’t so easily scared off. Once a brown snake two metres long came into the campsite. The two Germans were so afraid they sat in a tree for five hours.

The lords of the valley were however two wedge-tailed eagles that lived high up near the road. The first time Vivienne saw one of them she almost died in awe. She was walking through the bush and heard a sound – looking up she saw the wedge-tail spread its colossal wings and launch into space like a gigantic flying blanket. It took her several seconds to understand what it was and in the meantime she breathed all the air out of her lungs. She fell to her knees gasping.

But it wasn’t all wildlife and naked swimming in the streams. There was also four hours of work every day. This meant hoeing long furrows for planting seeds, turning the hard soil in old beds, pushing around wheelbarrows full of compost or pruning endless tomato plants. The best job was usually working in the shade tunnel. It was mostly for growing lettuces and nasturtiums. One day the girls all got themselves relegated to this job and set out to pick as many of the flowers as possible. For hours they lay on their back eating the flowers and gossipping about their relationships.

“You know what I heard? I heard Marion was making it with Humbaba.”

“Ooh, how gross.”

“Wait,” said Vivienne. “How do you know who Humbaba is?”

“Oh you haven’t met him? He’s a wonderful person. Just being in the room with him makes my auras shimmer.”

“I heard he was coming to take over the morning classes.”

*****

People said that the nineties were the sixties upside down. Maybe they were right. There was optimism in the air. People wanted to live communally, share food and go to protests together. But something was always going wrong in the nineties. Every acid trip left someone in the hospital. Every bit of free loving spread chlamydia. Every bit of group sex spread genital herpes. The nineties were doomed!

It was 1996 and everyone was reading the Celestine Prophecy and moving to the North Coast. There was a long queue outside the Lismore DSS. In Byron Bay fire-twirling sticks were being sold in record numbers. At the Mullumbimby markets people lined up to try out the piercing stall. Everyone wanted to know if it hurt or not. Afterwards you were sacked from your hospitality job. But it didn’t matter. At least you had a piercing.

Pregnant teenagers strolled through Nimbin and the sky was filled with the sound of cicadas. Aboriginal kids collected as many as possible – green grocers, brown bakers and yellow mondays. Then they mashed them into paste with rocks and laughed. The sun shone everyday and the police raided the Nimbin Museum. Stoned backpackers painted rainbows on their kombis. People tied feathers into their dreadlocks. Parents cried and filed missing person reports for their children.

A week went by. Maybe it was two. Vivienne and Skye dutifully attended the sessions every morning and they found themselves improving. Marion began teaching them certain words – ancient Sanskrit words which they were to think of as they went about their day. Most importantly she trained them to feel the energy entering their bodies through the crown chakra to the root chakra and then into their bodies. Naturally they began to feel a little less hungry and they were able to reduce certain things from their diet. The fruitarian level was within their grasp by now, in principle this meant they were not even killing the plants they were eating. They were very proud of themselves.

Things took on a new dimension however when Humbaba arrived. He was tall and thin with milk-chocolate skin and luscious black hair tied on top of his head. He was extremely confident. He was graceful. When he first appeared in the tipi one morning there was a round of spontaneous applause from the students. Humbaba knew all the rituals and scared words – so he should considering he had been taught by yogis in far off Gujarat. Furthermore he never ate. Food never passed his lips, and he consumed nothing more than a glass of water in a single year. He was thin, but he looked healthy and you could tell he never suffered from colds or flu.

After the first session with Humbaba Skye was convinced. “If he can do it,” he said, “then we can do it. Just think, all this time we’ve been fussing over money to get food and we didn’t need to. All those people living in the city trying to get ahead. When meanwhile the secret was right here. You know what? I’m not really surprised.”

Skye gave Vivienne a hug. It was decided. They would cut the fruit and seeds out of their diet all together. From now on it would be just a leaf or two of lettuce every day. And gradually they would reduce that too. If they became hungry then they would simply meditate more.

eight

Max had not lasted long with the school of prana. There were plenty of other things to do at Burrawinyi and lots of other people to meet. Maybe some of the people here were a bit rough around the edges, but Max wanted to meet everyone. Anyone different to the last person was good enough for Max.

Henry’s pot habit had led her to Dennis. Dennis lived in a different corner of Burrawinyi, on a high plateau covered in thin trees and kangaroos. Dennis described himself as an eclipse chaser. Eclipse chasing was a new and glamourous pastime – it meant travelling the world constantly and living only for that moment when the moon passed exactly between the sun and the earth. In this moment everything became supernaturally dark. Birds stopped their song. The sun was only a fiery disk surrounding a deep black pupil. Of course just getting there was the real adventure. Only a dedicated band of elites had what it really took to pursue the eclipse through war zones, through jungles and deserts, even to the middle of the ocean!

“Although I haven’t actually seen one yet myself” confessed Dennis. “But I’m going to catch one next year for sure. In Mongolia!”

Dennis didn’t even have his own house yet at Burrawinyi. He had an optimistic stack of straw bales, a lot of corrugated iron and a couple of lounge chairs. It was all he really needed. More often than not he simply rolled out his swag and slept in the back of his battered Toyota hilux. Dennis liked to wear a rainbow bandana and used words like “dinkum”. Dennis was excellent. He came and went from Burrawinyi and did construction work at towns all over the North Coast. Other times he was simply “running errands”. He had gigantic marijuana plants growing in secret locations in the nearby bushland. They were so secret that he had to track them down with GPS (another sign that the times were changing).

Dennis took Max and Henry out to visit one of these plants, an experience that Henry later described as “profound”. They bumped down beautiful dirt tracks, searching for coordinates that never seemed to match up, stopping every now and again to look for clues. Eventually Dennis led them into a little gully where they found a marijuana tree eight foot high. It was beautiful.

That night they sat around a campfire and a cask of cheap wine. The conversation turned to drugs. Max mentioned that they had been searching around the lower paddock. She’d heard that you could sometimes find magic mushrooms where you had a lot of cows doing their business.

“Ha, you won’t find anything this time of year,” said Dennis. “You’re totally out of season. You’re right about the spot though. It’s a good one. You should have been there six months ago. That place was stacked! I cleaned it up one morning, I had a whole shopping bag full of gold tops. Actually that reminds me. I think I have some left. I totally forgot about it.”

In the bottom of the esky that did as his box freezer Dennis rediscovered a bag of dried mushrooms the size of his fist. He opened it up to inspect them.

“Well well, still there. Getting a little bit mouldy. Probably better get rid of them straight away. Here, they’re yours.”

Henry took the package cautiously and pulled forth a piece of shrivelled brown fungus.

“Thanks for this Dennis,” he said, “that’s really generous of you.”

“Don’t mention it mate.”

Max had never taken drugs before. She just had to accept this. Not real drugs like magic mushrooms. Shrooms messed you up for hours and left people in mental wards. Throughout her school days she’d been shown educational videos where nasty boys pushed hard drugs behind the school toilets. It was important to just say no. Unfortunately life wasn’t like that. No you actually had to seek drugs out and when you finally got them you then had to pay money for them. It was all a bit of a hassle and Max had never got round to trying real drugs. Of course maybe she was a little bit afraid as well. Just a little bit.

They decided to trip on the mushrooms that weekend. Nobody had to work on Sunday and most of the older people were going to a music festival in Tenterfield. The young people of Burrawinyi were going to have their own festival. It was going to be Max and Henry, Morgan, the two Germans and of course, Skye and Vivienne. Skye and Vivienne weren’t feeling too well, but they hadn’t tripped in a few months and they didn’t want to be left out. Skye even discovered that Jupiter had aligned with Venus – that’s what it looked like to him anyway. To make it even better there was a full moon.

They made a campfire on the hillside and sat around it on their blankets. Morgan began chopping up the mushrooms and putting them into an old billy with a spout like a tea pot. There was a lot of discussion about the dose. Morgan said that two grams was a standard dose for mushrooms and a mushroom was about a gram each. Henry advised that they should multiply by two because the mushrooms were dried and not fresh. Skye noted that some of the mushrooms were especially big and so should be counted as three mushrooms. Then everything was boiled at the edge of the fire for about half an hour. The sun was setting as they passed around the mugs.

“Here we go,” said Morgan grinning.

“God it tastes awful,” said Max. “Do I really have to drink a whole cup?”

“Of course you can have less than us,” said Henry, “since you’re a girl and you’re on your first time.”

Max hissed and drank the cup in one go. “So what now?”

Skye and Vivienne looked tired and weary already. There’d be no help from them tonight. The German boy picked up Skye’s (crappy) guitar and started playing one of the three songs he knew. Henry began working on one of his own projects. It was a list of his favourite video clips – the clips he would play on Rage when he was famous. Max shrugged and went off to gather firewood.

She had not been gone for very long when she noticed a very unpleasant feeling in her stomach. It was seeping quickly into her limbs. Her jaw tightened. Her eyeballs were pushing out of her skull. Her quadriceps clenched and her toes curled. The sensations were getting stronger and stronger and it was terrifying to think that she couldn’t make them stop or slow down. She abandoned her bundle of sticks and hurried back to the camp fire.

Everyone was sitting around looking uneasy. Henry and Morgan were poking around with the mushroom pieces in the bottom of the teapot.

“Are you sure you didn’t multiply by mistake?”

“You messed up the dose didn’t you!” Max screeched. “You’ve killed us all!” She started running away across the hillside. Her legs became tingling towers of jelly. Ants were having a disco in her intestines. Her thoughts raced but she had no idea what she was thinking about.

Henry caught up with her and grabbed her around the waist. “Whatever you do, don’t panic!” he said.

“Don’t panic? Woah. Your face is starting to move. Oh god how weird!” It was shimmering like a heap of silver blubber.

She pushed away from him and stared out across the valley. Underneath the moonlight the whole valley floor was covered in ripples. Everything was flowing upstream, including the trees. Suddenly everything was glowing and pulsing, lit up like it was covered in mercury. Light refracted off leaves and rocks as if they were glass prisms. Her terror was forgotten.

“Wow,” said Max, stunned. “It’s so beautiful!” She took a few steps and jumped onto a log. “Look Henry, the doors of perception are cleansed! I am a god!”

“Oh shut up, you are not a god.”

Max looked back at Henry. He was so funny looking. She started to laugh and couldn’t stop.

“What are you laughing at?” Henry replied, but he started to laugh too. Tears began forming in their eyes.

“Quick Henry, have a look at this!”

“Wait, we better check on the others.”

They were only fifty feet away but it was a different world by the fire. There was no guitar playing. Everyone was fussing over Skye and Vivienne. They were lying face down and vomiting into the grass. Their faces had gone green and their cheeks were sunken. Nothing much was coming out of their mouths, although a little dark bile trickled out of Vivienne’s nose.

“Oh my god, you look hideous!”

“It was too much for them,” said Morgan. He stroked Skye’s long hair and held it back from his face. “They’re really weak at the moment.”

“Yes I know they’re weak,” said Max, “I’ve hardly seen them in days. They’ve lost a lot of weight.”

Vivienne held back her spasms for long enough to speak. “We haven’t been eating,” she gasped.

“What do you mean you haven’t been eating?” asked Henry.

“It’s the program,” Vivienne continued. “We’re supposed to be getting energy from the universe but I don’t know if it’s working.”

Max turned to Skye and started poking his face to make it move.

“I think this is the end for us,” Skye said. “Goodbye.”

“Wait,” said Max, “this is why you’ve been acting so weird? It’s part of the fucking prana stuff? They told you not to eat?”

Skye managed to murmur a reply. “We’re developing our ethereal selves,” he said.

“Those fucking assholes!” Max said. “I’m going to kick their teeth in for this! In fact I’m going to do it now!” She jumped to her feet.

Morgan blocked her path. “No Max,” he said. “You’re in no state to think straight. You shouldn’t make rash decisions while you’re tripping.”

“And they live on the other side of the property,” said Henry.

“So what? We can get there in an hour or so. In fact I even feel like running I’ve got so much energy.”

“No Max!”

“What else are we going to do? If we’re going to die we should do something righteous before it’s all over.” She grabbed Henry and stared into his melting face.

“Ok, let’s go.” Henry gave in. He turned to Morgan. “Give them some food or something. And do you know CPR?”

Morgan promised to look after things. Henry and Max set off up the valley.

“Wait, we’re going the wrong way.”

“Of course,” said Max, turning around. “It’s upstream. With the waves.”

The full moon hung in the sky and sent ripples through the clouds. It made the journey a little easier. They stumbled off and onto paths and kept the creek to their left. Every now and then there was a dull thumping sound as a wallaby hopped away through the scrub.

“I’m sure the animals here know what I’m thinking about. Wait. I think I just went telepathic.”

“I think Marian’s place is up to the left somehow,” said Henry. “I think it was that square hut we could see from Dennis’s place.”

“Then we’re going to have to cross the stream. Let’s go downhill.”

They waded through a sea of thick spiky monocots. Thin white saplings shot up and yearned for the sky. Then the hillside steepened. Rocks slid away from under their feet.

“We better find the Southern Cross,” said Henry. “I have no idea which way is what.”

“I feel like we’ve been walking a hundred years already,” said Max. “What were we doing this for again? I’ve completely forgotten.”

They stumbled through the water, trying not to get their feet wet and failing miserably. On the opposite bank Max was startled when a log moved out of her way. It was a wombat.

“Look Henry! Look how tame he is!”

“It must be blind. And deaf.”

“Shut up! It’s my spirit guide.”

“You don’t have spirit guides on shrooms. That’s something else.”

“Shh. You’ll scare him. Come on fatty, show us the way.”

The wombat waddled away through a maze of bushes and grass trees. Max and Henry followed, trying to keep quiet. Some minutes passed before they lost it. They listened intently but could hear nothing further. Looking up however they discovered they were at the edge of a paddock. The paddock ran uphill towards the light of a house.

“That must be it!”

“Great. We’ll tell them that we’re lost and we need a ride back to the homestead. Ok?”

“Shh. Come on.”

The grass murmured beneath their feet as they went up the hill. Trees shook their leaves and took in the atmosphere. Nearby a row of dead gums were like the bones of ancient giants. Soon the house came into focus. It was indeed the hut that belonged to Marian. It had a lot of wooden supports and what might have been dream catchers hanging from the eaves. It looked like several shacks had been put together and were copulating.

They crept towards the window where the light was emanating. They could hear people inside but they couldn’t quite see them. The window was too high up and there was a flowerbed in the way. Max had to stand on her toes to get a good look in.

Inside were Humbaba and Marion. They were sitting around a table. And they were eating pizza.

Max turned back to Henry in the darkness.

“Maybe that’s an ethereal pizza,” said Henry.

“It’s not a fucking ethereal pizza,” hissed Max. “It looks like one of those frozen pizzas you buy at Coles.”

“Ok well I guess we can just go back to the tents now. We know they’re hopeless frauds.”

Max stared at him. “Come on,” she said. There was a door only a few metres away. She went up to it and gave it a solid kick.

nine

Why should anything be the way it is? Why should we drive cars? Why should we get married? Why take out mortgages? Why build suburbs? Why mow lawns? Why drink alcohol? Why smoke cigarettes? Why go to church? Why watch TV? Why keep dogs as pets? Why farm cows? Why keep silent? Why not experiment?

Things were not the same after the mushroom trip. There were no morning sessions and it seemed like the school of prana was completely finished. Perhaps this was a good thing. Skye and Vivienne began eating meals again and within a few days were back to full health. But they were both embarrassed by what had happened. The dream was over and the group dynamic had fractured. People stopped working in the gardens for the necessary hours. Nobody could be bothered with the group meals. Tensions that nobody had previously noticed bubbled horribly to the surface.

Max lay in the big shed while Lee worked on his invention. She lay on an old piece of foam and brushed away flies and mosquitos with her hand. The shed wasn’t beautiful but it was nicer than being in the sun outside. And Lee had some interesting reading material. In fact Max was halfway through a book about the Red Army Faction. She put the book down for a minute.

“Hey Lee. Have you ever wondered why there aren’t any proper radicals in this country?”

“I think there are some actually,” said Lee. “They’re just hard to find. The woman that gave me that book was a real radical though.”

Max flicked through the pages. The name Jenny Mental was scrawled in the front cover.

“An ex-girlfriend?”

“Someone I knew in cadets. Very interesting person. She used to call herself Jenny Mental.” He laughed. “She was very unaustralian.”

“Unaustralian?”

“Yeah. She really was the complete opposite of Australian. Always felt like I was talking to an alien.”

“Oh my god. I want to meet her.”

“Well you never will. I haven’t seen her in years and she’s always changing her name. Last I heard she was living in Sydney.”

“And do you mind if I borrow some of these books?”

“Sure. Whatever you want. Anyway, I’m going to be loaded as soon as this machine gets finished.” He turned back to the machine and gave the bicycle wheel a spin. “Hey check this out!”

The wheel was turning. It turned and turned and didn’t stop. A tiny lightbulb that was attached to the motor began to flicker. Max got up to take a closer look. Then Vivienne came in.

“Hi Vivienne,” said Max. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You ok?”

“Yeah. I’m getting better. Anyway I wanted to say you didn’t do anything wrong. In fact you helped us in a way.”

“Thanks Vivienne. I’m glad this all worked out.”

“We’re sisters, you and I. Friends forever.”

They hugged.

“By the way,” said Max. “You don’t have any tampons do you?”

“Sorry. Not unless you have money.”

Max and Henry hitch-hiked into Lismore to try and sell the rest of the mushrooms. They walked around the shopping district but the streets were very quiet. Was this all there really was to Lismore? Where were all the student types? It was a hot day. Everyone must have gone out swimming. The cafes were forsaken and the head shop was closed. Old people drifted past fanning themselves with their hats. Men with potbellies and thongs got out of utes. It was all terribly discouraging.

“Ok, you ask someone,” said Max.

“I asked the last person,” said Henry.

They were sitting on a concrete wall outside a newsagent. So far they had asked two people.

“Let’s just go get some lunch.”

“With what? We’re on our last five dollars.”

“We’ll go into the supermarket,” said Max. “Try not to act suspicious.”

One of the unforseen advantages of globalization was that shoplifting had become much easier. Nobody who worked in the supermarkets any longer had any real concern if you stole from them. Theft was also becoming a lot more conscionable. Max always legitimately paid for a few items, so as not to look suspicious. Meanwhile her pockets were stuffed with luxuries like avocados and stuffed olives.

When they reached the street again however they discovered they had been short-changed by two dollars. They now only had 35 cents between them.

“Go back and tell her she short-changed us.”

“Are you joking? After we stole all that stuff?”

It seemed like the cashier had outsmarted them. They went to the park and ate in silence.

“I’m sick of this,” said Henry suddenly. “I’m sick of being poor. I’m sick of living in the middle of nowhere with all these weirdos. Everything is boring. I think I’m going to go home.”

Max was appalled. “But you can’t just leave! They’re our friends. And what about me? I’m supposed to be your girlfriend.”

Henry wasn’t concerned and continued to look unhappy.

“Come on Henry.” Max put her arms around him. “Things will get better as soon as we sell these shrooms. Let’s go see if we can sell them outside the train station. Maybe there’ll be some tourists.”

They crossed the bridge and walked down to the train station. A handful of people were waiting on the platform. Some of them had backpacks. They were waiting for the train to Sydney. It was fifteen minutes away. The long grass beside the train line blew gently in the wind. White clouds moved across the sky.

“You know what?” said Max. “Let’s just jump the train out of here. Maybe we can get the bus back to Canberra tomorrow morning. We’ll be home before tomorrow night.”

“But what about our stuff?” asked Henry. “Our tent and clothes and stuff.”

“I’m cool about losing it,” said Max.

“Yeah, so am I. The tent leaks and that sleeping bag had mould growing on it.” And he always wore the same clothes so that wasn’t a problem.

“Ok, let’s do it. We’ll pretend we’re paying passengers. Keep a low profile.”

“But we didn’t say goodbye!”

“We’ll send them a postcard.”

The train appeared in the distance, gracefully coasting towards them between palm trees and lumber yards. It was a blue and yellow XPT. It was beautifully streamlined. Sunlight glinted off every surface. It arrived with a hissing of brakes like thousands of people simultaneously drawing their fingernails across a gigantic chalkboard. Passengers got off clumsily pulling suitcases through the narrow doors. Relatives and friends hugged goodbye and hello.

Henry and Max got on at the last carriage. The airconditioning felt like a thousand orgasms. They sighed with anticipation and took empty seats right at the back of the train. This would give them a good view of any ticket inspectors coming down the isle. Hopefully they could sneak off to the toilets if they needed. Meanwhile they got comfortable. The seats were reclining and covered in a marvellous blue fabric. And of course there were fabulous Countrylink brochures to flick through.

The train pulled away towards Casino and Grafton. The ticket collector turned out to be a less-than-fastidious man towards the end of his career. He was easy to dodge. The train sped past the countryside. It was green and ravaged in equal proportions. Crows flapped from willow trees and blackbutts. Caravans and shacks lined the hillsides of disintegrating townships. The sun went down. When the inspector came past again they pretended to be asleep. Pretending to be asleep was a good strategy.

Max was awakened sometime after midnight. The only light came from the dull footlights that lined the isle. The ticket inspector was gently shaking her shoulder.

“Excuse me, but you’re in the wrong seats.”

Outside in the night a sign read Taree. Two people had just got on with Max and Henry’s seat numbers. It was a bit of a problem. The inspector asked to see everyone’s tickets and Max could only confess that they had none. The inspector took them both away into the entryway at the end of the carriage.

“You’re lucky I don’t call the police. This is a crime you know. Wait here and see that you get off at the next station.”

Max opened her eyes wide. She pushed her knees together and clasped her hands. “Oh please, please, don’t make us get off in the middle of nowhere! We have to get to Sydney by morning so we can catch the bus to Canberra. We lost our tickets and we can’t afford to buy more. We’re so so sorry! We have to go back to Canberra straight away. It’s my grandmother’s funeral tomorrow! My mother is so upset and she’s expecting us. Please, please, please let us stay on the train! If there was any other way for us we wouldn’t have done this. We promise we’ll be good. Just let us stay here in the hallway. No-one will notice. Please.”

They were lucky the old man was such a soft touch. “Oh, come on. Getting upset won’t change anything. Wait here till I come back.”

After a few minutes the man reappeared and led them into a different carriage. He had found them some seats that would stay free until Sydney. “You can go back to sleep now,” he said quietly, “And make sure you don’t tell anybody what I’ve done.” He walked away.

“Ha,” said Max, taking the isle seat. “Aren’t you glad that you’re travelling with a pretty girl like me?”

“No.”

They tried to sleep again but these seats turned out to be less comfortable. Louder than the otherwise pleasant rattling of the wheels was the sound of something scraping beneath the carriage. It sounded like a banshee being dismembered at regular intervals. Furthermore the people in the seats before them were still awake and talking. And Max thought their conversation was idiotic.

“You know I was the only person this season who was an Aussie. Don’t know what’s happening to this country.”

“It’s much the same where I work too. All Asians.” This was the woman beside him. She sounded a little drunk.

There were no batteries for Henry’s walkman. He stuffed wet toilet paper into his ears and tried to sleep by wrapping his head in the curtain. Max switched on the reading light and opened the book she was reading (Weatherman by Harold Jacobs). But nothing could block out the conversation from the people in front.

“I never sleep on the train. Never have and never will.”

“I’ve been working the night shift for weeks. Couldn’t sleep even if I tried.”

It was a couple who had just met. They sounded a little drunk.

Max huffed. “Just think Henry – in thirty thousand years from now people are going to be looking back on this period in the same way we look back on Australopithecus and the Neanderthals. We’re somebody’s primitive man. Just think.”

Henry said nothing. Perhaps the curtain rustled slightly. Max would be on her own till morning. Ok so be it. She could handle anything. She would write a letter to pass the time.

Dear Primeminister,

One of the more useful perceptions I remember making recently concerns the word “phallic”. It seems that all sorts of things are described as phallic. For example, TV towers, tail pipes, microphones and zucchinis. It is clearly symptomatic of the sexist society we live in. Nobody ever describes a female object in an equivalent way, and they don’t even know what the right word is to use. A friend of mine recently informed me of the correct term: yonic. Please use it in one of your speeches, for example, the next time you open a football stadium.

Yours sincerely, Max

“I mean, they should pay her less. And walking down the street in her scarf. No one will be able to tell who she is. I mean she could be anyone. A criminal even.”

“Yes I know. And there’s one of those women on the train too.”

“Frankly, I admit to being racist.”

Max snapped and leaned over the seats in front. “Shut up! You hideous fucks! Nobody wants to hear your crap!”

There was a second or two of surprised silence. Then the man turned around.

“Hey. You can’t talk to us like that.”

“Well. What gives you the right to blabber on all night about such stupid stuff?”

“You have no right to be so rude,” said the woman. “We can talk about whatever we want.”

Max only became ruder. It felt good to let go. But her rivals had been drinking scotch all night and they were in the mood for a fight. People around them stirred uncomfortably and looked back at the noise. Suddenly the ticket inspector was coming down the isle.

“Excuse me. This girl has been abusing us.”

The ticket inspector looked at Max, and then the passengers in front of her. Then he looked back at Max.

“Ok, you two. Time to get off.”

“I object,” said Max. “This is clearly not our fault!”

“Off!”

The train was only a few minutes outside of Gosford, and when they arrived the ticket inspector almost shoved them onto the platform. The Gosford station attendant came over to observe the situation. It was terribly embarrassing. Then they were escorted right out of the station onto the footpath outside. Suddenly they were separated from the platforms by a series of turnstiles. The journey had come to a startling end.

“Racist fucks,” said Max.

They were in Gosford. The night was awaiting the dawn like an empty packing box. A streetlight buzzed gently and far away a dog was barking. The air was just a little bit salty like flavoured chips.

Max turned to Henry. “But I guess we’re not going to make the bus now. Maybe we should just hitch into Sydney and take it easy. What? What is it?”

Henry wasn’t happy at all. He was standing on the concrete and his face was going a bit red. Words gargled in his mouth and then erupted with such force that they sent flecks of phlegm with them.

“You idiot! Why did you do that?”

“Well. Sorry. But I think it was necessary.”

“Sorry’s not good enough. I’m tired and I’m leaving you. You never learn. I’m leaving you right here.”

“What do you mean you’re leaving me? You can’t!”

“Watch me. I’m getting back on the train.”

“You’re going back in the station? That guy will never let you in without a ticket.”

The attendant was still watching them from the safety of the ticket office.

“I’ll get a ticket then,” said Henry. He lifted his right boot up to his hands and pulled it off whilst hopping around. From underneath the sole he pulled forth a crisp yellow note.

“You fucking asshole,” said Max. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”

Henry sneered at her. “Don’t call me when you get to Canberra.” He went up to the ticket office and after a few words paid for a ticket and was let back onto the platform. Max watched in misery until she could no longer see him. Then she went to sit on the gutter and cried.

ten

The sun was trickling over the horizon. It got into Max’s eyes. Did she still have enough energy to face the stupid world she was part of? Maybe. She got up and followed the street south to where she could hear cars going past. The highway was very close. It ran along the bay and it was a nice place to hitch from. She put two fingers downwards and waited.

After twenty minutes a Mitsubishi sigma pulled up. (Max always noted the make of the car. It was something she’d learned from her father.) The car was cream coloured and there were roof racks on top. The back seat was entirely filled with junk. The driver leaned over to open the door. He was white, probably in his fifties and just a little bit ugly. He was wearing King Gee shorts and a cardigan. Also a fisherman’s hat.

“Hi. Where you going to?”

“Sydney. Or anywhere along the way.”

“Ok. Get in.”

She stuffed her bag by her feet and they accelerated onto the highway. It was comfortable in the car and there were even tatty lambswool covers on the seats. Max could almost fall asleep like this. Then the driver turned down the breakfast radio.

“Lots of people on the roads this time of year. Everyone’s on their way somewhere.”

Max wouldn’t know. She watched as the driver adjusted the rear view mirror.

“Rough night?”

“It wasn’t great no.”

The driver’s hand wavered at the gear stick. It brushed over her exposed thigh and found a packet of cigarettes in the compartment between the seats.

“Want one?”

“No thanks.”

He wound down the window and lit a cigarette.

“Where you going by the way?”

“Just as close as you get to Sydney.”

The driver laughed. “Playing babes in the woods are we? Well just so you know, you’re safe with me.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the centre of the car and his hand drifted down onto her thigh. It stayed there.

She pushed it off quickly. “One rule. You don’t fucking touch me ok? I really really do not need this right now.”

It made her feel almost like crying again and she looked resolutely away and out of the window. The driver however went quiet. It seemed she had laid down the law. Maybe this was enough for him. After a while he turned the radio back up.

Meanwhile the haze and skyscrapers of Sydney were growing on the horizon. The city was impossible and enormous, like something out of the old testament. One couldn’t help but gape in awe. You could live here all your life and still wet your pants at that skyline. Why bother going back to Canberra? What was she trying to achieve anymore? She’d forgotten. And maybe Sydney was a better place to push the boundaries. And it was an easy place to be alone. Or to die. And she felt like that.

“I need money,” she said. “If you give me a hundred dollars I’ll do whatever you want.”

The driver was quiet. And why not prostitution? Wasn’t that the ultimate taboo? How would she see the world after that?

“And how old are you?” asked the driver.

“It doesn’t matter.”

They drove on. The city got bigger. “Ok then,” he said. “We’ll go to my place. I live in Ryde. Afterwards I’ll take you to the train station.” He took a long look at her and then put his hand back on her thigh.

“But nothing till we get there,” said Max pushing his hand away. “Understand?”

The driver smiled at the corner of his mouth and left her alone.

The man lived in a mediocre neighbourhood with a lot of paperbark trees and dry empty lawns. People were getting into their cars on the way to work. Max tried to take note of everything. They pulled into a wide street lined with old brick houses and then into the drive of a crumbling bungalow. The driver switched off the engine.

“Haven’t changed your mind I hope,” he said.

“No.”

They locked the doors and went into the house.

It was dark and cavernous. All the curtains were closed. There were fishing rods and surfboards leaning against the walls. To the left was a lounge with a couple of time-worn couches. The man disappeared briefly into the darkness. Then he reappeared and led her through the house.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s nobody home. Come into my room.”

He didn’t switch the light on. The air seemed blue and the wallpaper was peeling. An old clock radio was ticking loudly. Shelves were covered with sporting trophies and empty stubbies. Max realized they were standing near a big double bed. She was trembling.

“I’m sorry but it’s just that I’ve never done this before. Can’t you give me the money first?”

The man took out his wallet and handed her a note. “I’ll give you fifty now and fifty later.” Max could see now that he was a full foot taller than her. He reached out and put his big hands around her waist. “What you’re doing isn’t wrong,” he said. “It’s just something that you have to do right now to get by.”

“Ok,” said Max. “But I was thinking I should have a shower first. It will be nicer for you.”

“Yeah, you do smell a bit. There’s one just on your right. Use the towels if you want. I’ll be waiting.”

She went into the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the light. Then she lent over the toilet to throw up but nothing came out. She tried to think about Henry but the old man kept coming into her mind. He was too real. His broad face and big curved nose. The red skin of his cheeks. The big pores and the flabby skin around his eyes. The big ears and the hair that was thinning and going white. His big pot belly and the bowed arms. She thought about him lying on top of her, gasping and putting his thing inside her. (Boys had dicks or cocks. Old men just had things).

Getting to her feet she went to the shower and looked inside. It was not so clean but she must be strong. She turned the taps on and went back to the door. The lock was old and it wouldn’t work. She paced around the small space and noticed the window. It was small and high up. It wouldn’t open all the way. Standing on the washbasin she could look out through the gap. There was a narrow alley, hardly the breadth of a person. Beyond that was a wooden fence and the neighbouring yard. There wasn’t much time. She dropped back into the room for a minute and turned the shower on full.

Mercifully she still had her bag. She pushed it through the window with one arm and let it dangle in the space. Her shoulders would only fit through if they were at an angle. Her head was outside in the air. She kicked and squirmed and got most of her body through. Her hands reached out for the top of the fence. Her boots banged against the glass. One last kick, and she was out.

She fell face first into the neighbouring yard. There was a clothesline and a rabbit hutch and a small dog that started yapping. She hardly saw any of it because she was already running past the house and jumping a gate to the road beyond. Her bag swung behind her. She’d never run so fast in her life. People by their cars stopped and watched her run down the bitumen. There was nowhere to hide in suburbia. And she had no idea where she was going.

She ran from one street into the next, knowing nothing but that she was going away from the house. Then she turned a corner and saw a city bus pulled up beside a stop. Her legs pumped and she pelted down the roadside. It was just pulling away when she arrived in front of the glass doors and began rapping on them. The driver looked at her in annoyance and opened the doors for her. She was too out of breath to speak and could only hold the fifty dollar note out to him.

“For god’s sake I can’t change this, sit down and talk to me later.”

The bus took her into the city and she got off at Town Hall having never paid or thanked the driver. Then the city arose like a Tsunami and crashed down upon her senses. This was a bit different to a day on the reserve. Cars and trucks crawled past like portable air-defresheners. The monorail cruised by looking for some passengers. Cranes added pieces to yet another sky scraper as if it were a colossal game of Jenga. One-legged pigeons gasped and died on the pavement. Most of all it was the people. Crowds of unique individuals with different faces and hat sizes pushed across George Street in all directions. Lovers waited in their coolest sunglasses on the Town Hall steps. It wasn’t important whether their dates ever showed up.

Max bought a sandwich and went underground into the train station. She didn’t know what particularly to do so she caught the train into Newtown. She’d been there a year previously and liked it at the time. A lot of cool kids from Canberra made sporadic pilgrimages there. Max walked up the steps from the train station and waited on King Street for a while.

It was a sunny day like any other. People ran in small rivulets down the street and merged and diverged around the mighty junction of Enmore Road. They were all lost in their own lives. Some were happy, and some were sad. Some were dressed a little peculiar. A damaged-looking man stopped and asked Max if she could lend him three dollars since he had lost the keys to his house and couldn’t get hold of enough money to buy his medication.

Then Max decided to attempt making friends. Two girls with shaved patches in their hair went past holding hands. Max said hello and they stopped briefly.

“Sorry,” one of them said, “but we don’t know you.”

They walked on. Max would die of malnutrition on the sidewalk before anyone young and interesting would speak to her. Anyway, she was tired. She went across the road towards the Oxford Hotel and up a small hill. She was looking for an old cemetery she remembered from her last visit. It wasn’t hard to find. Inside the old sandstone walls was a space in the shade of a peppercorn tree. She lay down in the long grass and fell asleep beside the grave of a drowned sailor.

*****

Mrs Blakeney opened the door. She was wearing a big hat like she was going to the Melbourne Cup.

“Hello?”

“Hi. I’m a friend of Box’s. Is she in?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I just came home to vacuum. Go up and give her door a knock.”

The woman strode away in a set of high heels that made gentle plomping sounds across the plush carpet. A vacuum cleaner started vooming loudly. Max wandered in and up a grand staircase underneath a glass chandelier. The interior design was terribly tokenistic but it did make visiting Box a bit of an adventure. Her room was a couple of doors down a corridor. Max knocked and when there was no reply she put her mouth to the keyhole and called her friend’s name

“Max? What are you doing here?”

“Nothing. I just came to say hello.”

There was no further comment so she pushed the brass handle down and went inside. Box’s room was like some kind of Western nirvana. It was big and empty feeling and smelt of perfume as if the carpet had been soaked in it. Everything was white except the bedspread which was multicoloured and halfway fluffy. There were a few succulents on the window sill. Box herself was lying on the floor in the centre of the room, staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Max said. “What you doing down there?”

“Nothing really,” said Box.

Max sat down on the bed. “Don’t you think you should get up and talk to me like a normal person?”

“Not especially.”

A few moments passed. “I heard you were feeling low so I brought you some happy music.” She pulled the Frente cd out of her jacket. “You can give it back to me whenever you want.”

Box said nothing.

“Aren’t you going to get up? How long have you been lying there like that anyway?”

Box spoke slowly, as if she was in a lot of pain. “About a week now.”

“A week? That’s really impressive. Are you trying to grow backwards into a child or something?”

Box didn’t answer. She didn’t even move her eyes.

“Come on, get up,” said Max. “Come out somewhere with me.”

“No, I only go out at night.”

“Ok, so come out tonight with me.”

“But I don’t go out with people. I just walk around in the parks.” A stubborn, cruel smile flickered briefly across her face. “I don’t like people. People suck.”

“What about me? You don’t hate me too do you?”

Box didn’t say anything.

“Oh come on Box. Show some guts.”

Box sat up for the first time and turned around to face Max with dark-ringed eyes. “Look why don’t you just leave ok? I didn’t invite you in in the first place.” She stared at Max unblinkingly with an expression of incredible despair. “And I have guts. A lot more than you.” She seemed possessed.

Max stood up. “Ok. Fuck you. I’m going then.” She went to the door and opened it. Mrs Blakeney was in the hall with the vacuum. Max turned back into the room. “And thanks for the comedy,” she added. She walked downstairs and into a brisk afternoon.

A few days later Box went into the forest and asphyxiated herself.

eleven

The sun was going down behind the wheat silos and the sky went briefly lavender. It was Friday night and King Street was bubbling like a bottle of beer that had been shaken up in someone’s bag and was just about to be opened by an unsuspecting victim. Outside the Hub theatre a boy was handing out flyers.

“Why are you wearing ski-goggles?” Max asked.

“What do you mean why am I wearing ski-goggles? Why aren’t you?”

Max was looking at the flyer already. It was black and white and nothing in between, with patterns made out of spirals and ellipses. At the top it read: “2012 Dance Posse presents: Vibe- Collide.” At the bottom were the words: “We call for unity in the community, disarmament of armaments and reversalism of colonialism. Free party. Make a stance – dance!” There was a phone number to call on the night and a date. It seemed like it was tonight.

“Can’t you just tell me where it is?”

“Ok,” said the boy leaning closer. “It’s at the brick pits. The Sydney Park brick pits. You know the chimneys? Don’t you know anything? Anyway you can just wait here for me. I’ll walk down with you.”

“And what’s the 2012 Dance Posse?”

The boy frowned. “Well if you must know that used to be our postcode once upon a time. Anyway excuse me.” He launched away to the next likely looking youth. “Hey you! Free party tonight!”

It was easy to kill an hour outside the Hub. When the boy had no more flyers they went south together past a seemingly endless string of Thai restaurants and antique shops. Posters several months thick were pasted over empty shopfronts and peeling off in great sheets. One day they would crash like a dirty wave onto the head of a surprised pedestrian. Opposite the St Peters train station were three colossal chimneys. They stuck up into the sky like cannons designed to shoot down the sun. Underneath them were several squat brick buildings that were actually old ovens. They looked like sad houses that had been constructed before the invention of windows. Between the buildings was a space were a group of people were setting up a party.

Everyone was a little older than Max. They took big speaker boxes from the back of a rental truck and hung up a big banner in black and white. The words “Vibe Collide” were wrapped around a grinning smiley face. Further away two men with dolphin torches yanked at the pull cord of a petrol generator. Max was roped into setting up a doomed Chai tent that kept collapsing. A guy gave her a free beer for her efforts. Then he wandered around with a case selling beers to everyone for cost price.

By now participants were arriving (they were known more affectionately as “punters”). It seemed like there had been a break out at the local mental ward and a big group of patients had escaped en masse. There were fluorescent tutus, flares made of old curtains, stack hats with plumes glued on and giant glasses without lenses. People had bear’s ears and cat’s whiskers and some had home-made fairy wings that were falling apart. Anything cheap that flashed or glowed was tied on as jewellery. It all made Max feel very inadequate. She didn’t even have a fluorescent safety vest. A lot of people were wearing these. Maybe they’d come straight from a building site to the party. It seemed possible.

Then the speaker stacks started thumping out music. At least that’s what some people called it. Nothing changed from track to track and the only interesting bits were when it all went quiet for a few bars. Then it would commence again exactly as before. People cheered in these moments. What for though? The DJ wasn’t doing anything. He held his head perpetually sideways and whirled the records with one hand as if he were dialling an old-fashioned telephone. Max tried to dance but her body just didn’t want to. Her arms kept flopping out of the rhythm and her feet kept trying to shuffle right off the dance floor. She gave up.

A small group of people were sitting on their haunches against one of the ancient brick walls. Max crouched down to talk to them.

“Do you guys know anyone who wants to buy some mushrooms?”

They looked around awkwardly. “You could try Morry,” one said. “You know – Morry from the sound system?”

It took the assistance of two other people before she could locate Morry. He was slightly older than most people here – in his thirties perhaps and starting to go bald. Max discovered him behind the amplifier with a pen light between his teeth. He was twisting a speaker cable into a socket.

“I don’t know.” He shouted above the music. “How much are they?”

Max opened up the front of her bag and took out the mushrooms. She really had no idea what they might be worth. She looked around cautiously and then unwrapped the plastic bag.

Morry peered inside. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and came up close to Max’s ear. “They look a little bit old,” he said. They looked at each other blankly for a few seconds. “But I’ll do you a swap,” he said. “For a pill.”

This seemed ok, but then Morry produced a tiny green pill only five millimetres wide. It was stamped with the logo of a car corporation. She put her mouth to his ear. “But what is this?”

“It’s ecstasy,” he replied. “Take it. It’s a great pill.” He winked at her and went back to the amplifier.

Max walked away feeling like she’d maybe traded a cow for a handful of beans. But it was worth a shot. She put the pill in her mouth and washed it down with beer.

Behind the brickworks was a huge sweeping park where some people had started firetwirling. An old punk grabbed the kerosene and took a huge grinning swig from the bottle. He held a lighter to his mouth and shot a huge fireball into the air. Then he screamed and rushed around asking for a drink to wash his mouth out. Meanwhile a girl leaned against a wall and sobbed. Not surprising considering how bad the music was.

“I just don’t see how any of this will really help disarm countries,” said Max, “or in fact benefit the community in any way.” She was sitting down and talking to the old punk who’d burned himself. He also had a pet rat which he’d brought with him. It was terribly fat and could drink beer from a bottle cap.

“Do you realize you’ve been talking non-stop for the last half hour?”

“Have I? That’s strange.”

She got up and walked into the park to find a tree to squat behind. It was the most beautiful pee she’d ever taken. When she stood up again she felt something rebound through her legs and thighs. She buckled up and held onto the tree. There was no doubt about it. She was getting extremely high. It was a bit like your dream lover showing up on your doorstep and showering you with gigantic chunks of pavlova. Looking back at the brickworks she realised that more and more people had come to the party. Greeks and Asians had come from the surrounding neighbourhoods to see what the fuss was all about. She ran back onto the dance floor.

Now Morry was on the turntables. Max pushed towards him and gave him two thumbs up. The music was suddenly making perfect sense. The bass caressed her backside and the kick drums pulled her feet up. And every modulated filtered piece of noise was actually alive. Tiny pieces of music floated off and surfed the waves of alien planets. A dinosaur screamed. Max looked around and saw the boy with the goggles. He was dancing wildly with his head down and swinging like a pendulum. He was wearing a tail now as well – a long piece of fur stuck down his shorts. The whole scene was totally logical.

The music was so consuming she didn’t notice that her eyes were closed. When she opened them again she was several feet taller than she’d ever been before. Dust and smoke eddied in the coloured lights. A policeman watched her from the side of the stage. Of course. There was obviously a law against being this obscenely high. She should watch out.

Then the music got faster and harder. It had changed and she had to listen to every little component once again. She pushed her feet down to the earth and her hands out. How long had this been going on anyway? Hours? Or just minutes? But then there was a rude scratching sound and everything went suddenly quiet.

The dancefloor was treated to a truly absurd vision – a policeman standing behind the mixer contemplating a row of knobs and switches. After a while he picked up the stylus and put it back in the cradle. Meanwhile other policemen were pushing people around behind the equipment.

“Listen mate. We’ve told you. Turn it down, or turn it off!”

Two of them had pinned Morry’s arm behind his back and were manhandling him out of the crowd. Through the gap between the brick kilns Max could see flashing lights and she realized that there were paddy wagons lined up along the road. Policemen were taking off their badges and drawing out their nightsticks. The crowd chanted and booed.

“Music, music, we want some music!”

One enterprising member of the collective stepped back up to the decks and put the record back on. The speakers boomed for a second and then he flipped the volume back down. “Come on!” he shouted, pulling his hands through the air. The crowd cheered and again the air filled with soundwaves. The police weren’t impressed. People pushed past Max to help protect the sound system. And without thinking she also squeezed between the speakers to join in.

It all lasted about thirty seconds. A nightstick came down on her shoulder and she was pulled simultaneously to the ground. People trod on her and her scream was lost in the deafening ruckus. Then she was hauled up by two policeman. They pinned her arm behind her and marched her at pace towards the paddy wagons. Before she could even bother to think of an escape plan she’d been shoved inside one of the vehicles. The caged door slammed behind her. Someone was sitting in there already.

“Hi,” said Morry. “Having a good time?”

Then the door was opened again and another girl was shoved in, along with the amplifier from the sound system. It was still hot. Through the caged windows Max could see crowds of people jeering in the flashing lights of the sirens. A bottle smashed on the roof of the car. Then they drove away.

The holding cell at the Newtown Police Station was like the inside of giant grey icecube that wasn’t cold. There were three walls, a row of bars and a bench for sitting on. Everyone was complaining about their bruises.

“Ooh, look this one’s changing colour.”

The police had brought in a total of seven ratbags. Along with Morry there were two other members of the so-called dance posse. The girl who had been shoved in the wagon with Max was also involved somehow. The final pair were a boy and girl who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Two police constables watched them from the corridor. They were of slightly different rank and wore different stripes on their shoulders. The youngest one was the most aggressive and could quite possibly be described as a rookie.

“Why are we being kept here?”

“You’re being disorderly.”

“We were just trying to protect our equipment!”

“You’ll be let go in due course.”

“Can’t we go to the toilet?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m just following orders.”

“Listen you fascist slave, let us go right now.”

“Shut up you pack of bludgers.”

“Faceless clone.”

“Junkie filth.”

“Don’t you ever just want to dance?”

“Not like you. You call that dancing?”

The police walked off, leaving them alone. It felt like they were at the front line in a battle for global sanity.

“They’re just trying to scare us,” said Morry. “They can’t think of anything to charge us with. They’ll let us go in a minute.”

Some time passed however. The seven sat down and got to know one another. The two guys from the posse were both DJs. Their names were Darren and Pran. They worried about what would happen to their records. The two innocent passerby were actually a couple from the North Shore who had come down here to see what the techno scene was all about. It was actually their first date. The other girl was very thin and wearing purple arm bands. She was called Lauren. Max found her the most receptive.

“Wow,” said Max, “the fluorescent lights are all fuzzy at the edges. And look, someone scratched their initials here in the wall. Imagine that.”

“Don’t you find this degrading?”

“No, I find it all kind of beautiful.”

And then Max saw it. Carved into one wall of the cell – Jenny Mental was here 96.

“Hey look at this! Jenny Mental was here! That’s such a coincidence!”

“Oh yeah,” said Lauren. “Jenny Mental. Apparently not the sort of girl you want to meet.”

“Wait. You’ve heard about this person?”

“I have actually. My flatmate Timba was telling me about her. Only bad things though.”

“Well I don’t care. I still want to meet her.”

“I guess you can talk to Timba about it.”

Darren and Pran started banging rhythmically on the bars of the cell. The police were ignoring them so they were making a bit of noise. Everyone joined in. Then a police woman came to visit.

“Show them some respect,” she said, “or they’ll throw the book at you.” Then she let the girls use the toilet one by one.

Most of another hour passed. They were calling themselves the “Vibe Seven” by now. Then the constables opened the cell and pushed in a drunk who smelt appalling. He looked at his cellmates and asked them where the party was. Then he collapsed in the corner. After a while a pool started to form around his trousers.

“Hey come on,” Morry shouted. “This is really too much.”

The two constables returned. They asked Morry if he owned the sound system and he took full responsibility. They took him away. Ten minutes later they returned without him.

“Ok, you lot,” the older one said. “It’s time to get out. We need this space for real criminals.”

He opened the cage door fully and they hurried out. Morry was standing in the entryway of the police station. He had been charged with obstruction and they’d even taken his finger prints. He was leaning over the counter reading a form intently before signing it. Meanwhile Max took the opportunity to say goodbye to the younger constable.

“Hey,” she said. “I just wanted to say thanks for all this. It was really nice of you.”

The constable was too highly strung. He looked back at Max angrily and was surprised by what he saw in her eyes. He leant closer and closer. His features became mixture of curiosity and revenge. Then the other constable pulled the rookie aside.

“No,” said Max, “I meant er, genuine thanks.” Then she saw that Morry had finished and the others were all watching her.

They drifted down the steps into a Friday night that was petering out. In fact the sun was already starting to appear. It was almost the longest day of the year. A grey crack was lifting up the sky in the west. They walked back down King Street towards the brick pits again.

“I’ll see those motherfuckers in court,” said Morry. Everyone promised they would be there too. But Morry walked fast and drifted ahead of the group mumbling to himself.

As she walked Max realised that something was draining away. Her fingers tapped and curled and she sunk lower into the footpath with each step. No matter how bad the come down was it was magnified a thousand times by the dawning realization that she’d been acting like a complete twat for several hours. She groaned.

The audio gear had been cleared away from the former brick works but there was still a dozen people around tapping djembes and drinking longnecks of beer. On seeing Morry approach many of them stopped playing out of respect. An older guy with short hair stood up and strode towards them smiling.

“The PA’s gone back to the warehouse,” he said. “I don’t think anything was damaged. And everything was there I think.”

“Good stuff,” said Morry. “I think I’ll head there myself. I don’t feel much like hanging around.”

The Vibe Seven were now faced with their imminent separation. After all they’d been through together splitting up seemed as unfair as bludgeoning a new-born puppy to death. But there was no other option. Everyone made excuses and decided to have just one more cigarette. Then they drifted away to different corners of the city.

Morry and Lauren were headed through the park and Max trailed behind them optimistically.

“Don’t you have somewhere to go?”

“No. I don’t live in Sydney.”

“But where do you live then?”

“Well nowhere.”

“Oh come on then,” said Morry. “You can sleep at our place.”

At the other side of the park was an ugly neighbourhood with a lot of warehouses. It was called Alexandria. The streets were deserted and everything was shockingly tranquil. The pedestrian crossing buttons beside the traffic lights made blips which sounded deafening. Since there were no cars on the streets they walked in the middle of the road and Morry said that one day he was going to organize a parade for insomniacs at this hour of the morning. One day.

They came to a huge brick warehouse that was painted yellow. It was on a corner lot. There were the logos of different clothing brands and clothing shops stuck to the walls at various places. They went into an alley beside the building and Morry unlocked a heavy metal door. Then they went up a set of stairs to the second story.

Part of the building at least had been made suitable for living in. A long space running the breadth of the warehouse sufficed as a kind of communal area. To the left it looked like it had only recently been subdivided into rooms. There was also a lot of stuff lying around – building materials of course, but also huge piles of fabric that stretched almost up to the ceiling. And the sound system from the party was here too. The speakers and other components were in disarray as if someone had been throwing them like dice. At the far end of the space was a small kitchen where two people were sitting around a table. They cheered as they saw who was approaching.

“Hooray Morry! We thought we were going to have to come and bail you out!”

Chairs were hurriedly arranged so that the three late arrivals could sit down. The table was a little too small and covered in empty bottles. A joint was rapidly constructed and the story of the last few hours was told from every conceivable angle. Favourite details were already taking legendary dimensions.

“And then the young cop stared Max right in the eyes. I thought he was going to put her in a headlock or something!”

“Hey Morry do you want a beer? There’s one left.”

“No. I’m tired. I’m going to crash. Seriously.”

Turning around Max realized that Lauren had already snuck away somewhere. Not surprising that she hadn’t noticed really. Max was feeling pretty vague. She looked back to Morry.

“You can sleep on my couch if you want to.”

“Ok, yeah. I think I need to do something like that.”

Morry’s room was right next to the kitchen but on the interior side of the warehouse, away from the other rooms. There was only one window and the light coming in was like a shower of daggers. Morry scrambled to pull across a curtain. A double bed was raised two feet above the ground on a wooden platform. Next to that was a long desk with a lot of audio gear on it. It all added up to very little floor space. Max had to step over things to reach a sagging couch which was draped with a dirty black sheet.

Morry grabbed another sheet out of a basket.

“You won’t need anything else,” he said. “In a few hours it will be getting really hot in here. Just don’t wake me up, ok?”

Max lay down on the couch.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep,” she said. “I feel really weird.”

Morry was sitting on his bed. “You took the pill huh? Was that your first time?”

“Yeah,” she confessed. “I just don’t think life will ever be that beautiful again.”

“Don’t worry,” said Morry. “There’s always next weekend.”

twelve

Max woke up in the afternoon and brushed imaginary insects from her chest. It was just sweat. Behind the far wall she could hear a distant ocean of sewing machines. She sat up. Morry was asleep with his mouth open and his head hanging over the bed. Very quietly she got up and straightened her clothes. Then she made her way to the door and slipped out.

The big common room was devoid of inhabitants. The fridge was humming noisily and the low frequencies of a techno track escaped from one of the rooms. Did these people never give up? Max needed the toilet and after some investigation discovered them to her left. They were a little bit industrial style. There were separate male and female sections and in the female part there were two toilets and a shower arranged in a row of cubicles. There was only a dirty hand towel but she needed a shower badly. She went in and pulled the plastic curtain behind her.

Afterwards she wrapped her wet hair in a piece of fabric and went and sat in the kitchen. She had time now to make a better appraisal of her surroundings. The place was a mess. Totally. The tiny kitchen area could obviously not cope with the number of inhabitants and their slack attitudes. There was only one sink and it was full of brown water with a pile of dishes extending out of it. Every horizontal surface was covered in dirty glasses and containers. Then she looked in some of the cupboards and discovered they were mostly empty. There was a cereal packet that was full of weevils and a cockroach that scurried for the shadows. The fridge was worse. Just opening the door was a shock – a foul odour hit her nostrils and it took all her resolve not to slam the door immediately. A capsicum on the top shelf had collapsed on itself like a deflating balloon and was covered in three different types of mould. She hoped someone was keeping it for a science class but it seemed unlikely. All thoughts of grabbing a sneaky breakfast were dashed. Particularly amusing was a cleaning roster that was pinned to the door. Obviously something wasn’t working here.

She sat down and considered her options. They were a bit limited. She got up again and started fossicking around for a sponge. First she would clean the table so she wouldn’t have to look at all those empty bottles. When this was done she moved onto the sink. She discovered some detergent and a pair of rubber gloves. The gloves were both left hands.

She’d been lost in cleaning for perhaps an hour before she heard a door open behind her. The boy from the party came out of one of the rooms – the boy who had previously been wearing the ski goggles and the tail. He was dressed slightly more normally now, but only slightly.

“Hey,” he said jovially. “Last night was killer wasn’t it? Absolutely wicked. How did you end up here anyway?”

Max took off the gloves and told him a little about what had happened. The boy was impressed.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I helped bring some of the PA back here. Hey do you want some coffee? I have some in my room.”

He went away and came back with a carry bag full of food. He put it on the table and took out a packet of coffee. Then he started looking about the newly arranged kitchen. Max showed him where she’d put the percolator.

“Yeah,” said the boy sounding embarrassed. “We’ve got a bit of a problem with this kitchen. I have to keep my food in my room otherwise it gets eaten. Anyway do you want some eggs? Lets make breakfast. Or possibly dinner. Whichever way you look at it.”

They cooked together. The boy introduced himself as Tim. Although some people called him Timba.

“Oh so you’re Timba? I wanted to ask about Jenny Mental.”

Tim paused a moment, an egg about to break into the fry pan. “I don’t know much about that.”

“Come on. There’s someone who calls herself Jenny Mental. She sounds interesting.”

“Well I don’t know if she’s interesting. I do know she’s very clever. And more than a little bit psychotic.”

“I’d like to meet her.”

“It’s really not a topic suitable for breakfast.”

They were just sitting down to eat the eggs when Morry emerged from his room. He ran his hands over his short hair and looked around at all the clean surfaces.

“Did you do that?” he asked looking at Max and judging her quickly. “That’s very nice you know but you can’t stay here.”

Max put on what she thought was her cutest face. “But you guys are so cool.”

“Yeah but there’s too many people here already. We pay rent you know.”

“Oh come on, just for a few days. I don’t take up much room. I’ll sleep on your couch and make you things.”

“I don’t usually allow girls in my room.”

“Why not? Don’t you like girls?”

“No I like boys actually.”

Max was doomed. “Come on Morry,” said Tim. “Sit down and eat something. Have some coffee.”

Morry took a cup of coffee and sat down. “You don’t understand,” he said to Max. “Things are really bad right now. Last night was a nightmare. And my car got stolen last week.”

“Yeah that is bad luck.”

“Yeah. These rich kids with nothing better to do took it for a joyride and wrecked it.”

“Here we go,” said Tim. “He thinks that all the car thieves around here come from Mosman. He blames everything on people from Mosman.”

Morry frowned. “Anyway you can’t stay here. I’m sorry.” He got up awkwardly and walked over to investigate the sound system. He looked around briefly and then picked up a metal case and started walking towards his room.

“Hey what are you putting that in your room for?” called Tim. “Just take it up to the roof. We’re having a recovery party remember?”

“Is it that late already?” said Morry. “I don’t know about the recovery party anyway. It seems like too much effort.”

“Oh come on,” said Tim. “People are still going to come.”

“And I can help you set up,” added Max.

“No you can’t. You have to know what you’re doing. I can’t just let you use my stuff like that.”

Suddenly Max saw the way to Morry’s heart. “Maybe you could give us a lesson then?”

“You like techno?”

“Sure, I think it’s amazing.”

“Ok,” said Morry, looking a little bashful. “We’ll take some of this stuff upstairs and I’ll show you some records.”

The staircase they had taken that morning continued upwards to the roof. It was flat and concrete and enormous. From here they could see the skyscrapers of the Sydney cbd and the centrepoint tower sticking up from the middle. There were also less inspiring views of the surrounding warehouse district. It was all aluminium roofing. A few deck chairs set about on the concrete testified to regular rooftop visits. At one corner was a huge aerial fifteen feet high. It looked like it was made out of giant meccano. Pieces of fabric were tied to the top and fluttered about as flags.

Morry set up two turntables and two active speakers (of course he explained what active speakers were). He plugged a mixer into a powerboard and connected everything to an orange extension cable. Finally he turned to a crate of records. Very tenderly he selected something and set it under the needle. Synthetic music ebbed from the speakers.

“Voodoo Ray,” he said turning the sleeve over in his hands. “A twelve inch record is a beautiful thing. It’s a product and a tool. Each side has to balance the other in tone and style. Each side should be a single track. And the sleeve design? Maybe that’s important too.”

Tim rolled his eyes. He was sitting in the sun constructing a joint. Max turned to look at the box of records but Morry stopped her.

“Hey, hey, hey. You have to treat these things with the proper respect!” He flipped through sleeves that were worn at the edges or patched with masking tape. He pulled them out and turned them over in the sunlight.

“This is Rez. LFO. Spiral Tribe.”

She looked at the smiley faces while he put something different on.

“And what do you call that?”

“You never listened to drum and bass?”

Guests arrived carrying six packs of beer. The joint was passed around. It seemed the lesson was over. Max wandered over to the aerial to enjoy the view. Tim followed her over.

“I’ll help you find the person you’re looking for. But you have to do something for me first.” He put his arm around her.

“Please don’t,” she said. “I’m a bit wary of men at the moment. And anyway. I have a boyfriend.

“Well, what makes you think I don’t have a girlfriend?” He stepped away from her. “Anyway, forget that. I need you to clean the warehouse. We’ve got a cleaning roster and I’m so overdue for my shift that it’s just not funny. It’s a big job and I have a lot of things to do. You can sleep on my floor and I’ll help you find Miss Mental.”

“Can I trust you?”

“Scouts honour.”

“But what about Morry?”

“You’ll have to keep out of his sight. But he’s slow moving. Easy to dodge.”

thirteen

Every morning Max woke up early and walked into Newtown. Her destination was the Hari Krishna kitchen where they gave out free breakfasts. There was even Halva for dessert. The other customers were always hungover. Meanwhile the walls were hung with pictures of Krishna and other saints wandering around in arcadia having revelations. After her third consecutive morning in the kitchen the young devotees started to insist she come along to a meditation session. She gave them evil glances. Well. Maybe not.

Then she went back to the warehouse and cleaned for a few hours. The kitchen was immaculate by the first afternoon and then she moved on to the common area. She took apart the huge piles of fabric and sorted them into different bundles. Then she swept the floor and mopped the staircase. Finally she got to the bathrooms.

There were ten people living in the warehouse and there was an endless stream of guests and visitors. Everyone was trapped in a matrix of horrific sexual disasters. Over tea and cigarettes they would tell Max all the details.

“So get this. On Saturday night we had sex for six hours. Six! And she passed me on the street this afternoon and she didn’t even say hello.”

One of the housemates had more tattoos and piercings than she’d ever seen before. His name was Rob (or possibly Robbo, or even Robster). He admitted that he’d taken it way too far. He had a long barcode tattooed underneath his forearm.

“It’s supposed to be my name in binary code,” he said. “But I scanned it in a supermarket recently and it came up as cream cheese.”

There was also a guy called Phil who had the fastest computer she’d ever seen. It was called a Pentium. She asked him why he needed something so powerful.

“I’m making a program that will kill yuppies,” he said. “More like a virus really. It’s going to cause their mobile phones to blow up when they answer them.”

For a few days she managed to avoid Morry. But on Wednesday he came in carrying the confiscated amplifier and caught her sweeping the floor. He was in a terrible mood.

“I thought I told you to get out.”

“Oh come on, Tim said I could stay.”

“But there’s not enough space. You have to leave.”

“How come you make the rules?”

“I started this warehouse. Now leave.”

“What about all your talk of community and sharing? You won’t even have a discussion with me.”

“I don’t care about you.”

“Alright I’m going. See you later, asshole.”

She took her bag and pretended to leave. Of course Tim had given her a key and she could come and go when she wanted. After an hour she snuck back in and hid in Tim’s room for the whole evening. It was chock full of ridiculous clothing and other paraphernalia he would wear to raves. There were a lot of fluffy monsters on key rings, gigantic necklaces and plastic toys from Japan. He also had a lot of obscure books and zines. One she liked in particular was called “the Temporary Autonomous Zone” .

Tim was one of those annoying people who had somehow figured the system out at an early age. He had moved far away from his parents and enrolled in some kind of second-rate university degree. He qualified for Austudy and then set about supplementing the payments with cash in hand work. Currently he was doing the annual stocktaking for a string of adult toy shops. On Wednesday evening he came home and found Max sitting alone in his room.

“Good news lady. I have an address for Jenny Mental.”

Max looked up immediately.

“She’s calling herself Kylie Sadler,” said Tim. “But whatever you do, do not tell her about me. I used to buy drugs from her sometimes. But she threatened to kill me and I don’t want her to know where I live. Ok? She’s in Stanmore at number fourteen Browns Road. You’re supposed to go there at a ten o’clock sharp. Just tell her you need sorting out”

“Will you draw me a map?”

“No. Go have a look at a Gregory’s or something. And you better hurry. She won’t like it if you’re late.”

“What if I borrow your bike?”

What sort of woman would epitomise the values of “unaustralian”? Well she wouldn’t be sporting or athletic for a start. But there would be something physical about her. She’d be muscular. Hulking. Possibly a body builder. And above average in every way. She’d be an intellectual. Probably interested in chess and French philosophy. She’d go to poetry readings and recite her own work with muscles rippling up both arms. Max thought about it as she rode into Stanmore.

Fourteen Browns road was ordinary. It was nice actually – a two story terrace with white paint that was peeling off. Several overgrown trees out the front shrouded the front in shadows. There was the obligatory battered iron fence and a set of narrow steps leading to the door. Max arrived at ten on the dot. She chained up the bicycle and knocked loudly.

Straight away the door opened revealing a dirty corridor hung with a red lamp. A well-built man was silhouetted before her.

“What do you want?”

“I came to see Kylie Sadler.”

The man studied her closely for a few moments.

“All right,” he said. “Last door on the left.”

Max followed the corridor to the back of the house. A door was ajar. She nudged it open and entered a room lit by a single lamp. Furniture had been stacked clumsily against the walls. Two people sat around a circular table. They were both slightly damaged specimens with lines on their faces. They could have been in their thirties. The man was unremarkable except for his large eyes like wet marbles. The woman was slightly more spectacular with a limp green mohawk and a series of tattoos down her sleeveless arms. She was intoxicated and a little drowsy. None-the-less she scrutinized Max as she came into the room.

“How much do you want?”

There were two syringes and a spoon on the table.

“Are you Kylie Sadler?”

“That depends on who’s asking.”

“My name’s Max. I met a friend of yours from cadet school. You’re Jenny Mental aren’t you?”

The woman smiled like a crooked nail. “I used to be Jenny Mental but now I just call myself Kylie.” In a strange way the name suited her. “Did you come here especially to meet me?”

“Well, yeah actually.”

“Some people,” said Kylie, “find me very interesting. I’ve done it all you know.”

Max hesitated. Then she pulled up a chair. “Were you really in the cadets?”

“Of course,” said Kylie. Her eyes wandered across the surface of the table. “And the army. I even went to Somalia. Then I got thrown out. I’ve done everything. I’ve fronted a punk band. I’ve been to gaol. And I’ve been in pornos. Well, when I was younger. I’ve even eaten human faeces. A few times.”

“And now you sell heroin.”

“Yeah, but I just do it for the social life.”

“Well I can’t say that I’m impressed. It’s very generation X. Heroin’s only really fodder for b-grade films and second rate novels these days.”

Kylie was suddenly alert. “Well, what the fuck are you doing that’s so great?”

“Nothing I guess. But I know what I want to do. I want to scare people. I want to transgress every social taboo. I want to subvert every boring middle class twat in the country. I want to wake everyone the fuck up.”

Strangely enough this seemed to impress Kylie. “Yeah,” she sighed. “Maybe it’s time to quit.”

Up until this point her companion with the large eyes had been entirely focussed on scratching a row of track marks on his forearm. Kylie suddenly turned on him. “Hey Pete. Get the fuck out of here. Go on. I’ve got better things to do.”

He looked up, irritated.

“Get your fucking piece of shit arse out of my house.”

Pete got up and left.

Kylie took Max out for a drink. They went to the Courthouse hotel on Australia Street. Inside the hotel the atmosphere was soft and blue. Everything was very grunge. The carpet was yellow and green in checks. There was an ample smattering of cigarette burns. Max sat down on a stool in the corner and Kylie drifted over with two schooners. They sat opposite each other.

“Yeah,” said Kylie wistfully. “Baader and Meinhof. I’ve always wanted to be like that.”

“You still can.”

“I don’t know. I think I’m a bit fucked up.”

“Doesn’t the world still make you mad?”

“I don’t have time for politics. It’s a bit embarrassing the things that make me mad these days. You know what really annoys me? These women who go around getting all excited just because they’re pregnant. What’s so great about that? Any idiot can get pregnant. I got pregnant at fifteen.”

They talked until one o’clock. Kylie’s eyes became sharper. They began to glint like ball bearings.

“So when do we get started?”

Max confessed she was about to go back to Canberra.

“Good idea. Good place to kidnap someone.”

“It’s because of a boy really,” said Max. To her surprise she was talking about Henry. He’d left her in Gosford. He’d said it was over. But had he really meant it?

“Probably best not to ask me about boys,” said Kylie. “Can’t live with them. Can’t kill them. Anyway, it was nice meeting you. I guess.”

There was a pause. “Wait,” said Max. She lifted up her bag and scribbled a number into her notebook. She ripped out the page. “This is the best I can do,” she said. “It’s my parents’ phone number. In case you want to visit Canberra.”

“Doesn’t seem very likely. It’s not exactly one of the top ten places on my list of vacation hotspots.”

Max laughed and got up from her stool. The table was now covered in empty glasses. “And thanks for the beers,” she added. “Sorry I was so broke.”

“Don’t worry about it. You gave me something more.”

Max went out into the warm night and unchained the bicycle. She stepped on happily and rode back to the warehouse. People could change she thought. No one was bad to the core. Throw the most rotten person at her and Max would rehabilitate them with her inspiring rhetoric.

fourteen

The warehouse was incredibly clean and Max was ready to leave. But something kept her hanging around. She wanted very badly to go to another rave. She couldn’t help it. It was Friday and she knew one was happening because everyone kept talking about it. Morry was playing there under the moniker of DJ Modulok. Timba was going to try and sneak Max onto the guest list. First off however he was going to introduce her to the fine art of crashing gallery openings. Crashing gallery openings was one of his many talents.

“Sometimes,” he explained, “there can be three or four gallery launches on the same evening at the same time. Therefore the order is important. The ones with the least wine first. And so on. Wait are you listening?”

They went to a gallery in Enmore and drank quickly while perusing a series of abstract mosaics.

“And always act precocious and aggressive,” Tim advised. “These old art types love that. And next time dress up a little more. And show some more skin.”

Up the street there was another opening where the art was dull but champagne was being served. There were even real glasses at this one. Max and Tim made themselves the centre of attention, and they drank irresponsibly until they were served no more.

Afterwards they set off walking into Central. King Street was loaded with shimmering drunks, but Max hardly noticed her surroundings. She was thinking about what was to come. The thought of going to another party like last weekend made her incredibly nervous. Timba was no help. He loved raves obsessively and couldn’t stop talking about them.

“And the best bit,” he said, “is that everything happens in some different dimension with all these different subdimensions. And then you get home and your friends are just waking up. Like you’ve been travelling at the speed of light or something.”

He pulled his goggles down over his eyes.

The rave was happening at a venue known only by its address – 61 Regent St. It was on the fourth floor of a spectacularly ugly building that could easily have existed in Canberra. Entrance was via a wide concrete stairwell. Youths were scattered up and down the steps waiting to go in and everyone was watching each other. Who were these lost kids? Quite a lot of them knew Timba. It took him half an hour to make it up the full four flights of stairs because he kept stopping to make inane chatter. This was the scene – a horrible game of eyes where people were ranked according to style and sexual potential. The future lives of a generation of wayward souls were being determined by a series of sidelong glances. A single look could turn you into a porn star or a monk.

On the fourth floor there was a small booth draped with velvet where the organisers were asking for money. The party was called Terrafractal. All profits would be donated to activists with hideous legal bills. Timba had done well however and Max was indeed on the guest list. They walked straight into a room with a low ceiling that smelt of carpet. Fluorescent banners hung from the walls and there were a lot of purple lights. Generally though it was dark. People walked with their hands outstretched until their eyes adjusted. Some people fell over. It had to be dark to conceal just how shoddy the place really was.

Trance boomed out of a big PA. However this was only the first level. At the other end of the room a staircase led up to a second floor identical to the first. They were still assembling the PA here but a sign advised that this was the “Happy Hardcore Floor”. There were a lot of black curtains and Max felt a bit like she was wandering around backstage in a second-rate theatre.

They went back downstairs to wait beside the staircase. A lot of people were gathering here because it was quieter and there were windows which ventilated the dank air. Looking down four stories Max could see an alley strewn with garbage bins. A girl next to Max was talking about something known as the “hundredth monkey syndrome”.

“So when the dancefloor reaches a critical mass – pow, everyone just goes telepathic.”

Timba was talking to a guy with a huge blonde afro and he came back with a present for Max. He asked her to hold out her hand and he put a pill inside.

“I got these really cheap,” he said into her ear. “You can pay me later.”

“Ok,” said Max. “Let’s do it when the party is really happening.”

Strobe lights cut out the forms of dancers on the trance floor. Max was already contented. She turned to the window and opened her palm to take a quick look. This one was different to the last. It was blue and crumbly and there wasn’t a stamp on it at all.

Some time later Morry discovered her dancing near the back of the hardcore level. She was happy to see him but he pulled her aside quickly.

“Hey did you take the same pill as Timba?” he asked. “Because he really isn’t looking so good.”

They hurried back to the staircase and pushed through the crowds to get to the windows. Timba was hanging his head out into space and taking deep breaths of air. His body dangled on itself.

“My legs are starting to go,” he said. “Feels like I’m being dissolved in bleach.”

“Was it the pill?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I really fucked up.” Then he laughed hysterically for few moments.

Max ran to the toilet but there was a queue and nobody would let her cut in.

“Get the fuck out of the way you bitches!”

She shoved and clawed until she made it into the cubicle. Then she locked the door and put her fingers down her throat. Some fluid came up painfully and splashed across the bowl. When she could bring nothing more up she went to the sink to wash her hands (although there were no sinks just a long trough with several taps above it). She splashed her face and looked in the mirror. It was too late. She was already starting to hallucinate. Jagged strange shapes ran about when she closed her eyes – snakes made up of diamonds slithered back and forth. She wanted to scream. There was a growing pain in the back of her skull as if a knife was being shoved about in there.

Bravely she squeezed through the crowds towards where Tim had been. The faces around her were lit up and smiling. Everyone was having a great time and meanwhile she was doomed to an agonizing death. She was losing sensation in her limbs and her leg joints were becoming so stiff she couldn’t move them. She walked like a clumsy scarecrow. She was seeing double or maybe triple. Creatures laughed while they devoured her flesh. There was no sign of Tim. But maybe this wasn’t the same place? She had no idea how long she’d been like this. It might have been hours. She asked someone for the time and all her words were slurred. Wasn’t that Box standing over there? She grabbed at her but they turned around and their face changed into someone else’s. Everything was coming in staccato like a disintegrating film reel.

“Can you walk?”

“No. I’m dying.”

She was crawling across the carpet and then something pulled her upright. Figures like astronauts were all around her. She reached out but her arms disappeared down the end of a long tunnel. Lights blurred and shattered into cut-out triangles.

*****

She was in a white room. Her mother and father were there too.

“Oh Max. We’re so disappointed in you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Max said. “I promise never to take drugs again.”

“Well it’s a bit bloody late for that,” said her father. “What the hell were you thinking? And how dare you just disappear and not call us? It’s been weeks and weeks Max. We didn’t know where you were.”

“I know I know... hold on a second. Where am I?”

She was lying on a metal bed with wheels. There were curtains and gentle light and her mouth tasted suspiciously of charcoal.

“You’re in the Prince Alfred hospital. You came here in an ambulance.”

Max struggled to rewind her memory but it wasn’t all there. The events of the night before were all mixed up. She’d taken the bad blue pill, and then? Very strange. How did her parents come to be involved at all?

“Max, it’s their job to find the next of kin. Your poor father’s been driving all morning.”

“And do you know how much the ambulance is going to cost us? 350 dollars.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Max. “I’ll pay you back.”

“You certainly will. Anyway we’re taking you back to Canberra.”

“As soon as the doctor says it’s ok. Now get dressed.”

Max tried to sit up. Everything was crinkly like she was wrapped in cellophane. Clumsily she swung her legs out of the bed. Her clothes and boots were on the bedside table. How embarrassing. Someone must have taken them off for her. Now she was wearing one of those hospital nighties. She still had her bra and undies on though. But what were these? She had cardio tabs stuck to her chest. She pulled them off.

“I’ve lost my bag.”

“Well you’re stupid aren’t you?”

“Can’t I have a cup of tea or something?”

Her mother drew the curtains but at that moment a nurse arrived and pulled them open again.

“So Maxine. Feeling alright?”

“I feel like I just had a lobotomy.”

The nurse shook her head in disgust. “Get some rest for a few days and you’ll probably be fine.”

Her parents shuffled her downstairs past the maternity wards and outside into the daylight. It was overcast. Her father had parked in a narrow unpaved lot opposite an old college building. Patients and visitors were getting in and out of their cars.

“This is truly absurd!” wailed Max. “I don’t have all my stuff. I didn’t get to say goodbye to anyone. I don’t even know what happened to my friend!”

“Bloody carpark’s going to cost us a fortune too.”

She sat down in the back seat of her father’s Ford Escort. He drove up to a little booth and sombrely paid the attendant. They started driving down Parramatta Road. On the dashboard the digital clock read eleven thirty am.

“It may not make any difference, but I was on my way home anyway.”

Sometimes Max wondered whether or not her parents were actually alive. They usually behaved more like some sort of walking undead. Mobile, intelligent, completely functional in every way – maybe they were just androids. Had they once been alive, like she was? Maybe something had happened to them and their lights had been snuffed out. Did they know that they were only walking corpses? Max wondered if it would ever happen to her. She fell back asleep.

fifteen

Max lived (more or less) with her parents and her sister. Several years ago they had moved to a big house on a new estate in Belconnen. All the houses there were big and brick and they all looked somewhat the same. They all had the same colour brick and they all had the same gun-coloured rooves. The same spartan pine fences ran around every yard and all the trees were saplings two metres tall. Small children often forgot which house was their home and maybe it didn’t even matter. The estate had about as much atmosphere as the moon. Walking around it was a bit like taking a spacewalk. The gravity was so weak you could easily drift off into the sky if you weren’t careful.

They arrived home late in the afternoon. Nobody was talking. Her father parked in the garage and they silently got out and went inside. In the loungeroom was a big plastic tree that Max hadn’t seen before. There were a few presents underneath and one of them was addressed to her. When her father’s back was turned she snuck away into her bedroom.

Her room was a little bit sad. In her attempts to give it a bit of character she’d turned it into something of a bower-bird nest. Odd mementos hung from the clothes rack and bedhead. There was a mobile made from gum leaves. Dangling here and there were wristbands from university parties she’d been to. Bus tickets were stuck to the walls. At times she’d even purposely tipped rubbish into the corners. Seeing her room again made her terribly embarrassed. She’d come such a long way. She resolved to pulp her former life and move out as soon as possible. She lay down on the bed to think.

An hour went past.

“Max! Come to dinner please.”

Well she couldn’t hide for ever. She got up and went into the dining area. Dinner was meat pies, chips and green peas. Her sister was also there.

“And what’s happened to your hair?” asked her father. “It looks terrible.”

Max’s long dark hair had matted during her travels and was almost in dreadlocks. There were still small pieces of seaweed in it from Newcastle.

“I don’t know,” said her sister. “I kind of like it.” Her sister was fifteen and her name was Sarah.

They ate quietly, although her mother occasionally made remarks about nothing in particular to break the silence. A work colleague was pregnant. There were some good Christmas lights up in the neighbourhood this year. Someone’s cat was getting old. One by one everyone finished their meal. They placed their cutlery neatly on their empty plates and waited. Everybody knew there were some questions that needed answering. Finally her father spoke.

“Well Max, if you’re going to stay here again, you’ll have to tell us what’s really going on. Where’ve you been? Come on. Out with it!”

Max sighed. Like most people she knew, she generally kept a lot of secrets from her parents. It seemed to be the normal thing to do. If you grew up in suburbia you had to follow a certain time-honoured protocol. You never spoke to your parents about drugs for example. There were lines that people just did not cross. If you did then the fabric of the universe would unravel. But to hell with all that.

She told them everything. About the relationship she’d had with Box and about Henry being hopelessly addicted to weed. She talked about the blockade and how they'd bonded in Newcastle with Vivienne and Skye. Then she went into some detail about the School of Prana. The mushroom trip was included in considerable detail and she didn’t censor very much about her time in Sydney. Finally she discussed her philosophy of life. Basically she wanted to destroy society as they knew it.

“And so that’s pretty much what’s been happening,” said Max.

Silence fell. Her mother had closed her eyes tight and was grimacing as if she was expecting some kind of explosion. Her father was shaking his head seriously. Only Sarah seemed to have enjoyed the story. Her eyes were wide with admiration.

“No daughter of mine’s going to go around telling the truth,” her father muttered. “I don’t know what’s worse. Whether you actually do all these things or whether you actually talk about it. I think I need another drink.”

He got up and made himself a whiskey and ice. When he returned he was angry.

“If it wasn’t Christmas eve I’d throw you out on the street. What gives you the right to live like this anyway?

“Well what gives you the right to live the way you do?”

*****

Henry smoked three cones in quick succession. Then he put down the bong and leaned back on his swivel chair. When he got really stoned he liked to draw things that he could see in the faux-wood veneer of his cupboards. Hmm, looks like a face eating a guitar. He picked up a pen and set it to paper.

Then there was a knock at the door. It was Max.

“When did you get back?”

“Just then.”

“You want to come in?”

“Ok.”

She came into the caravan and sat down. Henry quickly tipped the bong water down the sink and threw a pair of stained underpants off the bed.

“Are you still mad at me?” asked Max.

“Not so much.”

“Well then,” said Max. “If I’m going to live in Canberra then we may as well be together. Because there isn’t anyone in this town as interesting as us.”

This was quite a serious statement. Henry tried to think of an appropriate response. A few moments passed.

“Well aren’t you going to kiss me?”

They kissed for a few minutes. Then Henry got to his feet and took a bottle of warm cider from the cupboard. He poured them both a drink. “Where were you anyway?”

“I was in Sydney. Getting into trouble mostly. I really missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Do you want to make love now?”

Afterwards they sprawled about naked playing five-hundred.

“But where are you going to live?” asked Henry.

“I’m working on that bit.”

“You can stay here a while if you want.”

“No, I need something independent.”

“This is independent.”

“Henry. You just live in a caravan behind your parents’ house. We need to get our own place.”

“Right.”

They slapped cards lazily across the fold-out table.

“Mum heard there’s a job going at the Telstra tower,” Henry said. “In the new year. They’re looking for a new tour guide. I was thinking I might apply for it.”

“At the Telstra tower? You?” Max laughed long and hard. She seemed very contented tonight.

“So I guess this means you’ve got it all out of your system,” said Henry. “Whatever it was you had to get out.”

*****

Dear Primeminister,

I’m writing to express a few pertinent observations concerning the physical appearance of our nation’s capital. I’m talking about Canberra. I have lived my entire life in Canberra so I think I know what I’m talking about. Recently I returned home after substantial voyages throughout New South Wales. The voyages have broadened my mind. I now believe that the city of Canberra is lacking in a certain je ne sais quoi. It’s not really pretty enough and it doesn’t feel lived in. There’s a lot of bland concrete bits. Please resolve these issues. I personally think that rather a lot could be accomplished with a few dozen extension ladders and a thousand cans of spray paint.

Yours sincerely, Max

sixteen

It would take some serious networking to find a suitable place to live. Max got on the phone and started calling everyone she knew.

“Yeah we have a room. It’s sixty a week plus bond. Have you got a job?”

“I heard that Blake and Joanna have a room going. But they only want someone with a car.”

“You’ve reached Student Housing at the Australian National University. The office is currently closed...”

“I’m just about to move out. There’s someone else interested but if you can get me three hundred dollars today then it’s yours.”

“I heard there’s a hotel in Yass which is only ten bucks a night. Can’t remember the name though.”

“If you’re desperate you could try this caravan park on the highway.”

“I heard that the spew crew have a room going. You could try them.”

Since Max had a budget of zero dollars per week there were very few options available to her. Eventually she heard about a squatted house in a forgotten suburb known as the Causeway. She asked Henry for a ride. It was the day after boxing day.

They drove past a rubbish dump and along streets that didn’t have gutters yet. There were a couple of brick houses under construction and fences that had fallen over onto empty lots. They pulled up outside a fibro house that had been burnt out by fire.

“I think someone is having a joke at our expense,” lamented Max. But she double checked the address and it was correct. They got out to explore.

The front yard was overgrown with long dry grass, bushes and ironbark saplings. Moving past them Max could see straight inside through the broken windows. The front rooms were completely unsalvageable. The furniture had melted and everything was covered in ash. Most of the ceiling was gone and pieces of corrugated iron dangled in the space. The floorboards had turned to charcoal.

A narrow path however lead her behind the building into a big yard with a few fruit trees and a shed that was collapsing. The house looked a lot better from the back. Most of the walls were intact and so were the windows. There was a narrow verandah and the back door was open. As she got closer she could hear the sounds of a TV. Henry was close behind her, trying to be quiet.

They stepped into a low room with fibro panels on most of the walls. They were white but some crude spray paint had recently been added for decoration. There was linoleum on the floor and a lot of empty bottles lying about. A girl was sitting in an armchair watching the ABC.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Well what are you doing here?” countered Max. “Anyway I know you. What’s your name again?”

“It’s Sharly.”

Sharly was a skinny teenager who occasionally begged for money in the Civic mall. Max had spoken to her once or twice. She had a long mousey face and was missing a tooth. People said she was a junkie.

“I’m Max and this is Henry. We’re looking for a place to live.”

Despite their differences they did have some friends in common. Canberra wasn’t so big as all that. Max explained how she’d been given the address and they talked amiably for a few minutes. Sharly completely relaxed. She’d discovered the house a fortnight ago and had been hoping someone would move in to keep her company.

“Well I guess I can’t stop you from living here,” she said, “since it’s only me here and the place doesn’t lock up proper. I’ll show you around.”

They walked through into the kitchen. “Electricity works fine,” said Sharly. “I switched it on at the meter. Even got water right here in the taps.”

Aside from what they’d already seen there were still three rooms that were habitable. There was only a bit of graffiti and a few fist-sized holes in the fibro. The bathroom was also intact.

“I think it was an insurance job,” said Sharly, “but seems like the fire brigade got here too early. My mate says it’s an asbestos risk but I’m not one to be worried about that. As you can see there isn’t much furniture. I brought the telly here myself.”

Max was hardly listening. She walked around touching every surface and stretching her arms in the space.

“This room will be our bedroom,” she said, “and that one will be the office. This over here will be the guest bedroom – we’ll put in rows of bunk beds. And we’re going to need a lot of paint and maybe some new glass for the windows. Also some locks. And a lot of tools.”

“That all costs money,” said Henry. He stepped over a broken cupboard.

“Well, we’ll throw a party. On New Year’s Eve. We’ll ask people to bring things.”

“I don’t know. This place is a bit of a dump. I don’t think people are going to come to a party out here.”

“Sure they are. This is Canberra. People will do anything for entertainment. I’ve seen people drink olive oil and tomato sauce out of boredom.”

Henry was still unconvinced.

“Just invite people. I don’t care what you have to tell them.”

For several days Max and Henry worked hard on making the squat into a home. They swept the floors, put the rubbish into a huge bag and brought over a divan to sleep on. They also made a lot of social visits to generate community interest. Blake and Joanna donated them an old stereo and a set of blown-out speakers. Max insisted on listening to techno. She made a tape of hard trance from the graveyard shift on 2XX and played it over and over until Henry got annoyed and refused to work.

The days were hot. Cleaning was done in swimming costumes and they threw buckets of water at themselves in the yard. Errands dragged out over hours while they visited friends with wading pools. It wasn’t a productive time of year. New Years Eve approached them in slow motion. It got closer and closer like a catastrophe that was impossible to avoid. Henry still wasn’t convinced that any part of the plan was going to work. But at least they had invited a lot of people to the party.

They sat on the back verandah drinking champagne during the last afternoon of 1996. Max proposed a toast. “We’ll call this place the Causeway Palace”.

Henry was unusually alert and starting to fidget. He hadn’t been stoned in several days and was starting to feel like a normal person. “Hey Sharly, have you got any weed?”

“Sorry mate. All out. Probably someone’ll come over later.”

Sharly was also drinking champagne. There were a few of her friends with her. They were all young and spent a lot of time climbing in and out of clothing bins. Henry found it terribly annoying that they all seemed to have more money than him. He went inside and turned up the stereo.

The sun went down and guests started to arrive. They came in encouraging numbers. By nine o’clock there were close to a hundred people in attendance. Some of them were students and activists that Max knew from university. The majority however were rougher characters. The spew crew arrived, each one with a case of Tooheys. There were also some people with shaved heads who might have been bikies. Max welcomed them all. She was glad to see how many had brought tools with them. There were a lot of crowbars and sledgehammers for example. Anything could be useful.

Max laughed and slapped hands with Henry. They were standing in the main room listening to Ratcat and all around them people were dancing.

“Nice party,” said Nico (who Max knew from University). “Sharly says that some crazy girl came and cleaned this whole place up by herself.”

“Oh yeah, that was me.”

“Wow. You set this up? Amazing.”

A drunk guy in a singlet grabbed Max by the arm.

“Hey,” he said, “are you Max? When’s the party going to start?”

“It has started,” said Max, a little surprised. “But I was just going to make a speech if that’s what you mean. Go and turn off the music for me.”

The boy did so and Max jumped on top of one of the wooden speaker boxes. She’d been rehearsing this for several days. She shouted a few words until everyone had her attention.

“Alright!” she said loudly. “We’re all here because it’s the end of the year. And you want to have fun.” There were a few cheers. “But I’ve got a New Year’s resolution that I want to share with you. We all know that the human race is causing some problems on this planet. Big ones. Especially environmental problems. Basically the baby boomers are to blame. But let’s not get into that now. The point is that we can’t just keep going on the way we are.”

Dozens of confused eyes looked back at her from around the room. People were crowded at the doorway looking in. She continued.

“To face the epic problems that we’ve inherited we need to make some big changes. We need to organize ourselves in a whole new way. Every aspect of society needs to change. And it has to be soon. We can’t just run around trying to get laid anymore. There’s no time for that. There needs to be a massive shift in consciousness, and it has to come from us – the deep-thinkers...”

Her speech was interrupted mid sentence by a loud crash that came from the bathroom. It sounded like porcelain shattering. The crowd cheered and most of them jumped into action. They grabbed the tools that were lying around and started slamming them through the fibro walls.

“So is this a demolition party or what?”

Someone was trying to ask Max for approval but Max was too busy trying to interrupt the destruction. A boy was holding a brick and Max grabbed him by the arm. “No!” she shouted. “You can’t!”

The offender looked guilty and dropped the brick, but another boy grabbed it and threw it through a window. Everywhere Max looked someone was busy destroying something. It was hopeless. She hurried into the yard where it was safer. Just to get there she had to scramble past the smashed ruins of the back door. She leant against a tree and took deep choking breaths. Nico and Sharly were nearby watching the party from a safe distance.

“Oh well, what a shame,” Nico said. And then he laughed in her face.

Sharly, was in her own world, but tried to commiserate as best she could. “Sorry Max, I guess it was never going to work.” She scratched her nose and drank wine from a glass jar.

Henry arrived and put his arm around Max. “I was really impressed by your speech,” he said. “I really liked it. I don’t know exactly what you were talking about. But I liked it.”

Max wanted to scream. She was doomed to think a lot of strange things that nobody else could understand.

seventeen

The caravan wasn’t really so bad. It was aluminium and shaped like a cloud or a speech bubble. It had once been beautiful. Allegedly it dated from the late sixties. Inside there was a gas stove and an electric fridge. At one end there was a double bed of irregular dimensions, and at the other end was a fold out table and seats. There were little hatches at head level where Henry stored his books and clothes. Everything had been repaired and modified about a hundred times. Henry lived here like a male witch, always burning too much incense and letting candles melt and drip down the cupboards.

His parents lived at the very edge of Tuggeranong and over the back fence there were only rugged fields and bushland. This meant there was a very nice view from the caravan windows. You could see for twenty kilometres. There was a broad gully and hillsides that stretched all the way to the nature reserve. Henry claimed that he’d seen wild emus roaming about. He said they came right up to the fence sometimes. During the sunset everything went a lovely rose colour. Cars crawled down a long highway and became a string of headlights as night fell.

Unfortunately it was a little bit cramped living in the caravan. Henry and Max had to use the shower and toilet in the house where his parents lived. His father (actually it was his step father) was a security guard at the national library. He watched a lot of football. Henry’s mother worked for a catering company. She was well trained. She often brought cucumber sandwiches and other snacks out to the caravan. She told Max that she was delighted to have her stay. She said she “hoped they were being safe” and winked a few times.

They also needed to borrow her car fairly often. They were living in a remote corner of Canberra. It was a long walk to the nearest bus stop and the busses didn’t run particularly late. The neighbourhood could also be a little bit creepy. There always seemed to be two or three obese girls wandering around drinking wine straight from the cask. Across the road lived a Croatian guy with a bull terrier. He looked at Max in a way that made her feel uncomfortable.

Henry was happy enough living in the caravan. In the evenings they smoked weed and played endless games of cards. But Max wasn’t content. After two days sitting around she decided to do something drastic. Something she had promised herself she would not do. She would go back to the Chicken Shack.

Bruno pumped rissoles into the griller, pulled chips from the deep fryer and dumped a packet of nuggets into the breadcrumb tray. Looking up he noticed Max, who had come in through the back door.

“Hi Max,” he said. “I heard you were back in town.”

“Yeah. I was waiting for the right time to come and see you.”

Bruno wiped his hands over his apron and let one of his employees take over. “You want to come into the staffroom?”

The staffroom was small, with a lot of memos stuck to the walls and a table jammed in one corner. They sat down.

“Yeah,” said Max. “So I guess I need my job back.

“Well it was a little bit unfair of you to just disappear without telling me you were leaving. But I heard about Box. I know you were upset.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. That was unfair on you.”

“But good news. I have a surprise. Simon just quit this morning. So there’s a vacancy.”

“Great.” (It wasn’t really surprising, somebody quit almost every week).

“So you can take his shift this afternoon. I guess you don’t have your uniform here, but I think there’s a spare one that will fit you.”

The afternoon shift was due to start so she located the uniform and went into the bathroom to change. The uniform was a little tight. The buttons on the blue and grey striped shirt threatened to fly off as she did it up. She put on someone else’s name badge and went through to the front counter to stand at the registers. Customers were starting to arrive who wanted their lunch. Baris was also working. Baris was a boy who lived on the same estate as Max’s family.

“Yo bitch!” he said. “I knew you could never leave me.”

Max took a deep breath and served the first customer. She moved on to the second. Then she checked the clock to see how much time had passed.

A customer ordered a family box of drumsticks. “Enjoy your meal,” she said, “and try not to think about the living standards of the chickens.”

Baris overheard her. “Listen ho,” he whispered. “You better cut that shit or you going to be gone already.”

“I’m not your ho,” she hissed, “and you’re not a homeboy. You’re Turkish..”

“Shut it bitch. Word.”

That evening when Max came home she found Kylie sitting on the front lawn. A battered army kit bag lay at her side.

“Hello Max!”

“Oh my god what an amazing surprise!”

Kylie jumped up and ran towards her. For a brief moment it seemed like they were going to hug. But they ended up just standing slightly close to each other. It was awkward.

“But how did you get here?”

“Your parents told me you were here,” said Kylie. She trailed off for a moment. “And this just made sense to me. I needed to make a fresh start. Detox. Come clean. So I thought – why not Canberra? And then there was also what we talked about. You know we had a real connection back there in Sydney.”

“We did? But where are you going to stay?”

“Well I don’t know. Your boyfriend’s parents haven’t been that understanding so far.”

Max looked Kylie up and down. The sides of her head were freshly shaved and the thick unruly mohawk was frighteningly green. Her small eyes were fast and dark, as if there were no iris and only the pupils. She was wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off and tight shorts covered in paint and oil stains. On her feet were canvas jungle boots.

“I’ll have a word with them. Here come and see where we live.”

They walked up the drive. Henry was sitting in the open door of the caravan.

“So you two do know each other?”

“Yep,” said Kylie as she stepped over him. “Sure do.”

“Well,” said Henry slowly. “I guess you want to stay here tonight. Should be ok. But I’ll have to sweet-talk my folks if you want to stay longer. How long do you think you’re staying?

Kylie looked to Max.

“I don’t know,” said Max. “I guess as long as you need.”

“How about I go talk to his parents?” said Kylie. “And bat my eyelids a whole lot.” She walked towards the house where Henry’s mother was watching everything from the window.

“She’s come here to detox,” said Max. “We owe her a chance. Plus I think she’s an amazing person.”

“It seems ok,” said Henry cautiously. “Better keep her away from Sharly though.”

Kylie came back to report.

“They said I could stay,” she said. “As long as I did some odd jobs around the place in return. They say the carport needs painting. I’m great with all those things! I’m real good at fixing stuff.”

“The caravan could do with some paint as well,” said Henry.

Kylie picked up her kit bag and reached inside. “Look I’ve got lots of food. Veggie patties. Buns. We can do burgers for dinner.”

“I didn’t know you were vegetarian.”

“I’m a vegan actually. I used to be a rastafarian but it bored the hell out of me.”

“It’s going to be very crowded here in the caravan,” said Henry. “It’s going to be real hard work with three of us.”

“I’ll get a tent straight away. Tomorrow or whenever I’ll go down the mall.”

Kylie peeled off her boots and tossed them under the table. Her feet stunk. Badly.

“And I guess we should get to know each other,” she said. “Here. This is on me.” She pulled out a bottle of Bundaberg rum.

“I don’t know about this,” said Henry.

“What are you – a pussy? Get some glasses.”

They ate veggie burgers and sat in front of a rotating fan. They drank rum and lemonade until slowly but surely they began to talk. Henry started talking about the Lime Spiders and the Saints. Then Kylie launched onto her punk band days – her days as Jenny Mental. After this she began talking about her time in Somalia. She knew how to fire a machine gun. But she didn’t like being a female amongst a majority of idiot males.

“I’ve seen a lot of things that most people wouldn’t be able to handle,” she said casually. “But I don’t make a big deal about it. I’m only interested in the future.”

“I agree,” said Max.

When they ran out of lemonade they did the rum straight from shot glasses. Henry rolled a joint and they passed it around. Then he knocked over a bottle of sweet chilli sauce and fell off his seat. He got up and collapsed on the bed.

Kylie turned back to Max. “We were just getting somewhere last time we talked,” she said. “I don’t have the brains – but I have the attitude. You and I would make a great team. That’s why I came here really. Did I do wrong?”

“No not at all,” said Max. “I think you’re right.”

“You know what? I’d really like to destroy the whole political system and go with communism for a couple of years. Just for the hell of it.”

“Hey Henry. Are you still awake?”

He groaned and mumbled.

“I think he’s asleep,” said Kylie.

“You know I don’t mind saying,” (Max was terribly drunk by now) “that you’re the most amazing person I think I’ve ever met. I can’t even believe that you’re real. You wouldn’t believe how hopeless most people are. This guy at work. Baris. What a wanker. I put up with him for five hours today.”

“Baris? Forget about him. You’re pretty amazing yourself. Most people aren’t as clever as you. It doesn’t pay to be clever in this country.”

“Right. The tall poppy syndrome.”

“Yeah. And you know what? It’s up to us tall poppies to stand up and be chopped down.” Kylie reached into her bag and pulled out two cans of scotch and cola. She passed one to Max. “We’re not even living close to full potential. In the army they teach you to live without sleep. To go full throttle for days on end. Hey is that Henry’s weed on the table? Do you think he’ll mind if I skin up another one?”

“Probably not.”

“We need real drugs though. Have you got any?”

“No Kylie.”

She put together a joint with slippery fingers and lit it up. “But there’s something else I want to show you. And once I do there’s no turning back. You’re in for life.”

Max took a long puff. “I’m in.”

“Are you sure you’re in? You swear you won’t tell?”

Kylie reached into her bag and pulled out a rolled up towel. She placed it on the table and slowly unwrapped it. Inside was a big knife in a leather sheath. And a roll of gaffa tape.

“Go on take it. It feels good in your hands.”

Max drew the knife from the sheath. The blade was long, curved and shiny. Was she supposed to put it in her teeth like a pirate? Along one side was a serrated edge like the teeth of a baby shark.

“It’s a bowie knife,” said Kylie. “Designed for hand to hand combat. It’s like a sword.”

“And what’s the gaffer tape for?”

“Well just in case we need to kidnap someone. Plus I find it does a good job on my bikini line.”

eighteen

Kylie lurked in the sparse bushes outside Belconnen mall. She was dressed entirely in black – a black t-shirt, black shorts and a black scarf around her head. She lay down on the dirt and woodchips and waited. Across the road she could see the bright lights of the Chicken Shack. And it was almost closing time.

One of the boys had taken off his work clothes and changed into a pair of keppers. He waved goodbye and sauntered through the door with an exaggerated bounce. The boy was almost certainly Baris. He appeared to be heading for the carpark. Kylie moved quickly. She darted down a row of bushes and cut across the road to a string of trees outside the carpark. She slipped between the parked cars. Her head was low but her ears and eyes were wide open. A couple were just getting into their car at the opposite side of the carpark. To her far right a car was just coming in. But she had time. She zeroed in on Baris.

She was just behind him. He was about to get into a cheap yellow hatchback. She grabbed his arm, twisted it sharply and pushed him face first onto the bitumen. The wind was knocked out of him. Her knee was in his back and the combat knife was in her hand. She ran the serrated edge along the back of his neck. She hissed into his ear.

“One scream and you’re dead.”

He wheezed and twisted meekly.

“You think you can push women around you little turd?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m revenge for all your sexist crap. Now stay still while I kick the shit out of you.”

*****

Canberra was boring. B-O-R-I-N-G. But not with Kylie around. Kylie made everything interesting. She was particularly good at intimidating people. The right people. The people who needed intimidating. The bigots. The conformists. And the people who might one day become bigots or conformists. Every night Kylie and Max got drunk and set out to convert Canberra. They crashed parties, walked the streets and talked for hours. But soon they didn’t need to crash parties. They became popular. People actually invited them to parties. Even Nico who had previously mocked Max to her face invited them to a fancy dress party.

Nico lived in Ainslie, in a sharehouse with three other students. First off Kylie insulted a group of irritating country boys and threatened to rape them. The boys were so confronted that they left the party. Then Kylie scintillated the remaining guests with some of her personal stories. Henry was starting to question how accurate these stories were, but Max was willing to forgive Kylie her minor flaws.

Max also had ample opportunity to talk hard politics at the party. For the first time people seemed to be interested in her ideas.

“You’re right, the greenhouse effect is a problem. But it’s nothing compared to the ozone hole.”

Around midnight Max went looking for Henry and Kylie. They were sitting in one of the bedrooms, playing cards and passing a joint around. Sharly was with them. So Sharly had finally met up with Kylie. It was inevitable really – Canberra just wasn’t that big. As usual they were playing five hundred. They needed an extra player so Max joined them. They sat on the carpet playing in pairs. It was Max and Henry versus Sharly and Kylie.

It wasn’t long however before Sharly produced a very strange glass pipe. It had a spherical end to it like a tiny goldfish bowl. She tipped in a few tiny crystals from a sachet and began heating it up with a jet lighter. Methamphetamine had a bad reputation, but Henry and Max wanted to try it. Max wanted to try everything once, and Henry wouldn’t stand being outdone by Max.

The pipe was passed around. It was Max’s turn. She followed instructions and pulled hard as the crystals turned to liquid. Caustic smoke curled like a slow worm in the cylinder and slipped down into her lungs.

“Quick. Blow it out now.”

She coughed and closed her eyes and saw golden hammers smashing themselves to pieces behind her eyelids.

Wow. Suddenly everyone was talking fast about anything. The cards were flicked about at an incredible speed. The stereo was at full volume and everyone was losing their minds. Sharly was opening a beer and Henry was rolling a joint.

“Can’t we at least finish the game?”

Then Max was dealt a very bad hand. It was all fours and fives. When it was her turn to bid she threw all the cards down in front of her.

“Open misere,” she said. This meant she had to lose every trick instead of winning them. Furthermore everyone could see her cards to try and stop her. Misere was one of the reasons Max liked 500 so much. It was a loophole in the rules. Winning by losing harder than anyone else was particularly Australian.

The others tried to show how it wouldn’t work but they gave up after a few minutes. Max had indeed scored 500 points and won the game. It was a rare occurrence. Never happened to her before. What a night!

She went outside and started walking aimlessly down the street. The southern cross was just visible at one end of the sky. Everything was lucky. Suddenly Max knew she was a genius. A great joy came over her. Her generation were certain to win. They would smash the flawed world economic system. They would switch to sustainable energy. They would eliminate injustice. She started to run. Then she started to sing.

*****

After work Henry got a lift into Civic with a colleague. He walked fifteen minutes down Northbourne Avenue to a visit a drug dealer he knew. He turned off the footpath into a block of units. It was the kind of place that had a reputation for benefit fraud and the occasional stabbing. On the plus side however it was close to town. There were even big white gums in the carpark for scenery. Henry approached a flat on the ground floor. There were two guys outside fixing a motorbike.

“Came here to see Paul.”

Paul was a big older guy with a shaved head. He was a bikie from Sydney. He always wore black jeans – even in the summer. In the past he’d rolled with a lot of tough guys and criminals. But now he had retired to Canberra. He lived in a small two room flat that was decorated with photos of naked girls and pictures from Wheels magazine.

“Hi Henry. Take a seat. How much are you after?”

Henry sat down awkwardly on the couch. He looked at the ground. “A twenty?”

“Are you pulling my leg you little shit? Never waste my time for such a small amount again.” Paul stomped around for a few moments like he was going to beat Henry up. Then he just went into the bedroom to get some marijuana.

Henry coughed. “Anyway I wanted to ask if you ever met someone in Sydney.”

“There’s bloody five million people in Sydney.”

“You ever come across someone named Kylie? Kylie Sadler?”

“Can’t say that I did mate.”

“Used to call herself Jenny Mental?”

There was a pause and then Paul came back into the room. He had gone slightly pale. “Jenny Mental,” he said, “is the biggest nutball I ever met.”

“Oh. She seems quite clever to me.”

“She’s extremely clever. But extremely mad. That’s the problem. Have you seen her recently or something? Is she in Canberra? I was hoping she was dead.”

“Ah, yeah. I think she is in Canberra.”

“Listen up mate. Two things about Jenny fucking Mental. One, she’s completely unpredictable. Don’t trust her for a minute. Second thing – do not ever ever ever tell her where I live or even mention that I exist. Do you fucking understand? Now here’s your fucking weed.”

nineteen

It was Friday. Max had arranged to borrow the car from Henry’s mother. The idea was to take a girly picnic with Kylie. The car was a Mazda 121 – popularly known as a “bubble car”. It was small and a boring grey-blue colour. Max put the P plates on. On the other side of the road their neighbour was polishing his Torana.

“I’d like to take that for a spin someday,” said Kylie. “That’s a real set of wheels.”

“I don’t think he’ll be interested somehow. But you could ask.”

“Nah. I’ll just beat him up and lock him in the shower.”

They got in and drove off. They were getting out of the city, but they didn’t have any particular idea where.

“Let’s just drive, follow the winds and see where it leads us.”

Max drove through town aimlessly and out through Queanbeyan – from there they tried to go south and got lost in a whole series of small roads. They were looking for inspiration but it was just Canberra. The countryside became degraded grazing paddocks.

“To hell with this. Let’s go to the mountains.”

From the Old Cooma road they diverted onto country routes which were almost deserted. Then the blacktop appeared again. After ten minutes of bumpy corrugated tracks they appeared at the side of the Monaro Highway. The lower mountains were in the windscreen. They crossed over and kept driving and found a long gravel road running south through a valley. A sign advised them they were entering national park. Suddenly there were big gums and bushland all around them. A rosella flew across the road. They took an unmarked track and followed it for a few kilometres. The car scraped bottom several times. Abruptly they emerged into a tiny camping spot by a clear mountain stream. Max killed the engine. There were a lot of grass trees and banksias. Birds twittered. Oil dripped from eucalypt trees in the sunshine.

“This is beautiful. We can make a fire and have a cup of tea here. We’ll be like bushrangers.”

They took out the meagre possessions they’d bought with them. Kylie took out the bowie knife and jabbed it into a tree trunk.

“Let’s get down to some basic training first.”

Kylie began to demonstrate a variety of defensive maneouvres. She showed Max how to surprise someone if they were leading you at gunpoint. Next she illustrated several ambush techniques. Finally she started detailing the best techniques for killing a man quietly and efficiently.

Max was a little bit squeamish about it. Sometimes Kylie was so serious that it made her feel uncomfortable.

“Don’t they teach you anything non-lethal in the army?”

“Oh I didn’t learn this in the army. Anyway, in a combat situation you can’t afford to go soft on someone.”

“What about hitting them over the back of the head?”

“Well that’s always an option of course. But if you hit someone over the head you might kill them or permanently brain damage them. I have on good authority that there’s only a one in three chance they get knocked clean unconscious.”

“But it’s better than slitting their throat right?”

“Sure. Anyway. Feel like a muesli bar?”

They sat down for a while.

“We need to settle on a plan for our first action,” said Max. “As underground pacifists I feel that there are two things we could try. Firstly, there's kidnapping. We could nab a politician, hold them to ransom and possibly brainwash them in the process.”

“I like it,” said Kylie. Then she paused. “But aren’t we going to need a lot of resources?”

“Well, handcuffs and gags and so forth will be readily available in the sex shops of Fyshwyck. But you’re right of course. We’re going to need an underground dungeon and a lot of back up locations in case we have to move. In short we’re not yet ready for something like that.”

“Ok, so what else could we do?”

“Well, we could blow something up.”

Dear Primeminister,

I’ve come to realize that writing letters won’t change anything. I’m getting older, and I think I know my path in life. In another time and place it might be appropriate to be a politician, or start a business, or make money. But right now it’s time to get heavy. To really take out the trash. To put a stop to you and all the moronic neoliberal types that are running the show. It’s about the planet now. And the future generations. And all that. You’ve had your chance.

Yours sincerely, Max

*****

It was Australia Day. The primeminister was standing on the banks of Lake Burley Griffin. It was the annual citizenship ceremony. Five hundred immigrants were there to shake his hand and officially become Australians. But the primeminister was bored. He wished he was at home drinking tea with his mother. Then an ASIO officer interrupted him.

“Sir, we’ve received another communication from the terrorists.”

“You’re still taking this seriously? What does it say?”

The man coughed and read the note. “Our demands have still not been met. In revenge we will blow up a famous Canberra icon – namely the Telstra tower. PS: stop logging Tasmania. Or else.”

“What rubbish.”

“Sir, we’ve found what might be explosive devices! We’ve closed the tower and evacuated all the staff.”

But the primeminister was too busy for this. He checked his watch. Almost noon. Suddenly he was thrown to the ground by a deafening explosion. Across the lake the Telstra tower erupted in billowing smoke.

The new citizens shrieked in awe. People scattered and ran. This wasn’t part of the Australia Day celebrations! Red and black debri filled the sky and the Telstra tower was toppling over. It hit the side of the mountain like an enormous rolling pin and began sliding through the parkland crushing trees and mangling satellite dishes.

*****

Max and Nico were riding their bicycles through Canberra. It was hot. You could almost watch skin cancers forming on your arms. They rode into the Causeway – the forgotten suburb.

“So you’re still using this place then?”

“Do you swear never to tell a soul?”

They pushed through the overgrown front lawn and found the path to the backyard. Nico left his bicycle leaning against a lemon tree. Max just let hers fall to the ground. They stepped into the house. Nothing much had changed since the demolition party. Pieces of fibro stuck out at strange angles from the walls. Broken glass cracked under their sneakers. The air smelt like stale asbestos.

“Is it even safe here?”

“It’s meant to look treacherous. Totally uninhabitable.”

They went through into the room that Max had once wanted as an office. She pulled aside a bookcase that was leaning against the wall. Behind it were two large bags of fertilizer.

“What the hell? Is that what we came here to see?”

“Mix it with diesel fuel and you have some pretty good explosives.”

Nico tripped over a shattered armchair.

“You’re serious aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m serious. We’re going to blow up the Telstra tower. I told you already.”

Nico started backing away through the house. He stepped over piles of broken glass in a delicate rush.

“This is crazy Max. Really crazy. And bad for student politics. And you know what? I’m leaving.”

“You’re leaving? You can’t leave. Once you’re in, you’re in.”

Max grabbed him by the wrist but Nico was surprisingly determined and wrenched himself free. Max stumbled against a wall and Nico ran out into the yard. By the time Max got there he was already on his bike and disappearing down the path.

“You better not tell anyone!” called Max. “If you do you’re dead.”

“Yeah well fuck you too!” said Nico as he rode. “I never liked you in the first place! I was just letting on that I did!”

What a fucking little turd. Max picked up an old star picket and rammed it through the wall.

twenty

Two policemen were coming across the lawn towards the caravan. Henry’s mother was a few steps behind them. Henry stood in the doorway. One of the policemen addressed Henry. He had a deep voice and sounded serious.

“Are you Henry Moffet? We’re looking for Kylie Sadler.”

“Well I’m afraid she’s not here.”

“What about Maxine Donnelly?”

“Sorry, she’s not here either.”

“Don’t you know where they are?”

“Sorry.”

“Mind if I have a look around?”

The policeman stepped into the caravan and surveyed the mess. There were a lot of blankets lying about on the floor. He stepped back outside.

“Can you tell us what this is about?” asked Henry.

“Oh it’s probably nothing. Might just be kids mucking around. But there was a bashing a few weeks ago. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Ok. Well, if you see either of them ask them to give me a call.” The policeman handed over a small card. “Thanks for your help.”

Henry watched them walk down the drive. Finally he gave the signal and Max squeezed out from the storage area under the bed. She had indents on her hips and shoulders where the wooden panels had been pressing into her skin.

“Jesus Christ Max, what the fuck is going on?”

“I can’t tell you, it’s for your own protection.”

“Come on Max, this has gone too far. We need to lose Kylie. I’ve told you already she’s not to be trusted. She’s got to go.”

“But she’s my best agent! Besides, she painted the carport.”

Kylie had painted the carport. Although blue and green stripes were not what Henry’s father had expected.

Henry sat down. “Listen Max I’m worried about you. I think all this is going to your head. I mean a lot’s happened in the last year.”

“Oh shut up. How absurd.”

“Max. You’re not normally like this! I’m worried about you. When was the last time you slept?”

“Yeah. Well. At least I don’t sleep ten hours a day like you.”

It was close to ten o’clock at night when Max heard an unfamiliar car in the drive. She hurried out of the caravan and saw Kylie getting out of a red laser. Didn’t that belong to Nico? Or was it his flatmate’s car? Kylie did not look pleased.

“Get a bag packed,” said Kylie in a low hiss. “We’re leaving.”

“Why? What happened.”

“He’s in the boot,” said Kylie. She handed Max the keys. “But not a word to Henry.”

Henry was approaching too. Kylie tried to keep him away. “This doesn’t involve you mate.”

“Don’t try that shit on me,” said Henry, as he attempted to squeeze past her.

Meanwhile Max was opening the boot of the car. Nico was inside. He was tightly bound in gaffer tape. It looked like a dozen big rolls had been used. He was like an egyptian mummy. His knees were bound up to his chest and he made a neat compact package. He was probably trying to scream but his mouth was well covered and the best he could manage was a sort of aggressive snorting with his nostrils. Only his furious eyes reminded Max that this was actually a human being.

She looked up and saw that Kylie was struggling with Henry. She had pinned his arm behind his back and was pushing him into the yard.

“Let the fuck go you crazy bitch!”

“Shut it Henry. Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Then someone switched the yard light on and Henry’s mother appeared on the back steps. She was in her nightie.

“Henry? What’s the matter? Everything alright?”

Max froze. But suddenly she knew what to say.

“Nothing’s the matter Mrs Moffet. We’re just fooling around.”

Henry opened his mouth to speak but then he closed it again. Everyone looked at each other in turn. Kylie let go of Henry.

“Everything’s fine, Mrs Moffet,” said Kylie. “I was just giving Henry a bit of exercise. You know, muscle stretches and all that.”

Henry’s mother was so naïve and easy to lie to that it would have been quite cruel to tell her the truth. Henry had always denied that he smoked marijuana and in fact claimed that what he smoked was a legal alternative – more closely akin to green tea, and that it was soothing to his throat. Over the years a tacit agreement had developed that was very hard to break. He kept quiet.

“That’s alright Kylie,” said his mother. ”Goodnight guys.”

She went back inside. Henry, Max and Kylie convened in the caravan.

“So now will you tell me what’s going on?”

“I thought you were only going to scare him!”

“Well he looks pretty scared doesn’t he?”

“You mean you’ve got someone in the boot? Who is it?”

“It’s Nico. The bastard threatened to rat on us.”

“I think he’s well and truly rat on you already.”

“Did you torture him?”

“Not yet.”

“What do we do?”

“We’re going to have to run. We’ll get rid of Nico somewhere. Start a new life in a different city.”

“Are things really that desperate?”

“We’re not quite at suicide pact level yet. But yeah, things are pretty desperate.”

Henry put his head between his hands. “Can’t you just let him go and forget about all of this?”

Veins bulged on Kylie’s forehead. “Shut it Henry. I think you know too much as well.” She turned to Max. “We might have to tape up Henry too.”

“That’s crazy,” said Max. “He’s on our side. That’s one thing that’s certain.” Max grabbed Henry. “You won’t let anyone know – will you Henry?”

“You can’t just kidnap people and steal their cars!”

“It’s too late now. Anyway, have you got a better idea?”

“There must be millions of better ideas.”

“But we don’t have time to waste.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

They got on the highway and headed south towards the mountains. Kylie was driving and Max was riding shotgun. Henry was an uncomfortable mass huddling in the backseat. But Kylie knew what she was doing. Didn’t she? She would get them out of this mess nice and cleanly. The atmosphere in the car was tense.

“I still don’t get what the plan is,” said Henry. “Don’t you think the police will trace the car?”

“We can always ditch the car and get another one.”

“But he’s right, Kylie. Where are we going to end up?”

“I told you. We’ll lay low. Go fruitpicking or something. Maybe Mildura.”

“But what about Nico?”

“We’ll dump him somewhere. No-one’s going to pay a ransom for this little shit.”

Henry leant forward and whispered to Max by the window. “Listen Max. This isn’t like you. I know it’s hard. But Kylie’s definitely lost her mind, and I think you have too. We need to turn back.”

Kylie turned. “Shut the fuck up Henry or I’ll cut your head off. You’re coming along cause we let you. Don’t forget that.”

They drove on in silence down the Monaro highway.

“And put some fucking music on will you?”

Max tried the radio but it was broken. She started looking through the glove compartment for cassette tapes. She pulled out a club lock and a few maps. Several tapes fell out at her feet. The Church. Weddings Parties Anything. The Divinyls. She slid in a tape labelled “classics”. Gangajang started playing over the speakers.

A police car passed them on the other side of the road. Kylie was looking for the quiet road into the national park they’d taken on their picnic two weeks earlier. It no longer seemed to exist.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll find another way in.”

They turned off at a more substantial road and followed the signs. The country road whipped past and beyond that was only darkness. Suddenly Max wasn’t feeling very much like a bushranger. She was starting to freak out. Things had gone horribly pear-shaped. Inside her head small voices were whispering reasonable suggestions. She stifled them. They must go on!

“I wish it wasn’t like this Max,” said Kylie. “But I can’t get picked up by the cops. You know I can’t. I’ve done too much. I don’t want to go back to jail.”

They filled up with petrol in Adaminaby and started prowling cautiously up into the mountains. They were almost the only car on the road. This area was more popular during the ski season. Kylie wrestled with the high beam lever and the headlights swept over huge trees. The road wound higher. They passed beneath power lines and saw the ghostly shapes of gigantic pylons silhouetted against the stars.

Max decided to say something.

“Listen Kylie. It’s real nice here and I’m sure no-one will find us, but we’re not really going to drive all the way up into the mountains are we? Let’s just ditch Nico and get out of here.”

“You’re right. We’re going to have to do it sooner or later.”

Suddenly they rose out of a valley and there was a huge void to their right. Max peered out in an attempt to understand. There were no trees and it was unnaturally black. Finally it dawned on her that it was a dam. She was actually looking at a vast expanse of still water. It was just one of several dams that made up the Snowy Mountains scheme.

Kylie turned a sharp corner and started heading across the top of the dam. It was like being on a bridge. To the right was a waist-high concrete wall that separated the road from the reservoir. To the left were a few metal and concrete structures and beyond these must have been the dry side of the valley. Dull yellow lights were set into the concrete and spilled out onto the road. Kylie pulled over in the middle of the dam. There was plenty of space. She stopped the engine. The mountains were quiet all about them.

“Beautiful isn’t it.”

“Yes, but what are we doing here?”

“Well, we’re going to have to do it sooner or later.”

Kylie got out of the car. Max followed. So did Henry. Kylie opened the boot. Their gaffer-taped victim was still intact. The skin around his eyes had gone red. He thrashed and squirmed.

“Oh god I just can’t look at him.”

“Shut up. Help me throw him over the edge.”

“You want to throw him in the dam? But he’ll drown!”

“That’s the fucking point isn’t it?”

“This is insane,” squealed Henry. “I can’t let you do this.”

The bowie knife appeared from Kylie’s skirt.

“Pick up his fucking legs – or I’ll cut your throat out.”

Then Max hit her with the club lock. It was kind of like cricket. She took a big swing and hit Kylie right in the back of the head with all the force she had. Kylie fell forwards and lay face down on the road. Blood trickled out of her head. For a few moments the only sound came from Nico. He seemed to be sobbing.

“Fucking thank christ,” said Henry. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Max was one step ahead of him. She grabbed the keys out of the boot, slammed it and slid into the drivers seat. Before Henry was even in the car she had the engine running. Within seconds they were driving away. They didn’t look back.

*****

Max and Henry were driving through the mountains. There was no plan. They didn’t really know where they were going. And Max wasn’t very good at driving a manual anyway. But at least with Kylie gone they could make rational decisions.

“We’ll go to Sydney,” said Max. “I’ve got some friends there. They’ll look after us.”

“No way,” said Henry. “We need to turn ourselves in.”

“Are you joking? You might get off but I’m guilty. I’m not going back to Canberra.”

“For fuck’s sake Max! This isn’t our problem. We’ll tell the police it was all Kylie. We’ll get off very lightly.”

“But Henry. It wasn’t entirely Kylie. I’m not going to lie about it.”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

“I think sometimes you have to be honest to yourself. And that means staying on the run.”

“Well then stop the car and let me out at a town somewhere.”

“So you’re just going to abandon me are you? Like you did in Gosford?”

They drove on without conversation. They were now deep enough in the mountains that any direction was as good as another. They reached a high plateau and then started to come down the other side of the ranges. The lights of a big town appeared below them. It was Tumut. Henry said nothing. They passed through it. At Gundagai they found the Hume Highway and from there it would only be a few hours to Sydney. Max dug a cassette out of her bag and shoved it into the stereo.

“Oh god,” said Henry. “Things are bad enough. Do we really have to listen to techno?”

twenty-one

It was four am when they reached the outskirts of the city, and by four-thirty they were lost in the Western Suburbs. Max gave up and pulled into a no standing zone near the Canbramatta train station. The sun was coming up and the city looked ugly and apocalyptic.

“So can we go home yet?”

“Shh. Nico will hear us. Take everything. Don’t leave any clues behind.”

They got out of the car and walked around to the rear. Max juggled the keys around in her hand. Then she opened the boot quickly and stepped back. Nico was still thoroughly wrapped up. He would have made a good advertisement for gaffer tape.

“You ok down there? We’re going to remove the tape from your mouth. Ready?”

Max reached down and peeled the tape from around the mouth. There were several layers and it took two or three minutes to get it all off. Once Nico had his mouth free he started coughing and shouting for help. Max slammed the boot again.

“Listen Nico. There’s no-one awake who can hear you. So save your breath. But someone will be along in an hour or so, probably a traffic cop. When they get here you make as much noise as you want. Tell them the keys are under the bumper bar ok? The right rear bumper. They’ll let you out.”

Nico uttered a few swear words. As promised Max hid the keys under the right bumper of the car.

“For what it’s worth,” said Henry, “I’m really sorry about all this.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Max was already running down the hill towards the train staton. Henry was close behind her. They stopped at an ATM near the entrance. Max took her card from her purse and hurriedly began withdrawing everything she had saved. All up it was close to sixty dollars.

“Quick. You too Henry. We can’t ever use these accounts again.”

“But I still haven’t been paid for the last fortnight.”

“I’m very sorry but you’re never going to see that money.”

Max was already putting coins into the ticket machine. There was a ten minute wait for the first train of the day. Only ten minutes, but it felt like forever. Then it was half an hour into the city.

“Anyway, they’ll know we’re in Sydney. They’ll look for us.”

“That’s the brilliant part about the plan,” whispered Max. “We’re not staying in Sydney.”

At central station Max went into the public toilets and locked herself in one of the cubicles. She took a pocket knife out of her bag. Had it really come to this? She regarded the blade grimly. Then she began sawing her dreadlocks off one by one. She shoved them unceremoniously into the sanitary disposal. Afterwards she considered herself in the mirror. Hmm. Not bad.

Henry was waiting nervously outside. “I just got us two tickets to Melbourne. We were lucky. The last two seats.”

“Don’t you notice anything different about me?”

“Yeah, nice hair cut. Max. We don’t have time for this.”

They ran downstairs into the Greyhound depot. It was full of people with bleary eyes sitting on their backpacks.

“Isn’t it great? We’re finally going to see Melbourne.”

It was scarcely a few moments until boarding commenced. They walked out to Eddy Avenue and filed on board with a lot of happy travellers making their goodbyes. Unfortunately Henry and Max wouldn’t be sitting together. Max checked her seat number. She had an isle seat in the middle of the bus and just in front of the toilet. A fat guy with a baseball hat was already sitting in the window seat. She sat down. The man had body odour that smelt strangely fetid. Like warm compost.

The journey was unpleasant. The bus was full of people who talked too much and Max just wanted to sleep. But even if it was quiet she wouldn’t have slept. She was on the run. Maybe she would never sleep again. Henry was a few rows behind her and every now and then she cast him a look to see how he was doing. He seemed to be unhappy. And her seat wouldn’t recline properly. Only a few measly centimeters at the headrest. Meanwhile the guy next to her fell instantly asleep and began snoring. Loud frightening snores. They sounded like babies farting in slow motion.

They made it through Goulbourn and then the driver announced they would be watching a movie. The TV set fizzed into life. It was Babe, the movie about a talking pig. Max didn’t like it much, but she knew that Henry would despise it. She turned around and saw him squirming in agony. She closed her eyes and waited but it wasn’t until Aubrey Wodonga that she fell asleep. Then she woke up with her head hitting the seat in front. The bus was coasting through the bleached outer suburbs of Melbourne. The faded shopfronts became houses that gradually became skyscrapers. They pulled into a carpark on Spencer Street. It was seven o’clock in the evening.

The air outside was intensely dry and hot. The passengers turned to ash and blew away as soon as they stepped off the bus. Was this normal weather? Max hadn’t been to Melbourne before. Everything looked simultaneously new and worn out. A tram went past, jolting slowly around the corner to Burke Street. Sparks crackled on the electricity cable above it. Cars pulled up at the traffic lights. Sweaty people in suits crawled into the train station.

They embraced.

“It’s Melbourne. We made it. No-one will find us here.”

“No Max. We’ve got a day pack each and about a hundred bucks between us. We’re screwed.” But he smiled. Henry had never been to Melbourne either.

One of the many legends was that the Melbournians were friendly. According to rumour strangers cast friendly glances around and sometimes even spoke to each other on the tram. Max asked a young passerby where Flinders Street Station was.

“Geez. Fuck off already. You think I’m a tourist office?”

Max almost gave the boy a kick in the back of the knee but she stopped herself. Better to keep a low profile. They asked the bus driver for directions instead.

They found it. The building was big and yellow and the steps were dirty and littered with teenagers. The teenagers stood beneath a row of clocks swapping cigarettes. Max and Henry loitered around hoping someone would befriend them, but the sun went down and the teenagers disappeared.

“Let’s go check out Fitzroy. I heard Fitzroy is kind of cool.”

They jumped the number 112 tram along Brunswick Street and got off in a neighbourhood characterised by ridiculous shopfronts. Giant flowers leaned over the street. A young busker told them that the action was better on Smith Street, and they followed his directions into Collingwood. But what was there here? A lot of shoe shops and underwear retailers. They gave up on tourism. They were just too tired.

Further north they discovered a big road with too many lanes and not enough cars. The road went over a bridge and there was a gully underneath. They found a gate open beside a graffiti-splattered warehouse. They scrambled downhill through the long grass. It was nice down here. The bottom of the bridge was cool and bluestone.

“We’re safe Henry. Forget Canberra! We’ll get a new life. New identity. New friends.”

“I don’t know about this.”

They lay down next to a sapling. The creek trickled along.

Max slept terribly. Insects crawled into her clothes and she moved several times to try and throw them off the scent. It wasn’t cold but her bones were aching all night from the damp. Finally she got some real sleep as the deep morning sun hit the gully banks. For a few hours it was just the right temperature for dozing. But by nine o’clock it was too hot. She woke up Henry and they decided to face the city.

They were also hungry. Not surprising considering they’d hardly eaten in two days. Only an overpriced strawberry milk they’d shared outside the Big Merino. They took a road that followed the gully. It didn’t matter which direction they took. Everywhere was new and everywhere there were genrous smatterings of cafes. They’d landed in a fun town. Melbourne! So what if they worshipped a strange form of football which involved tight shorts and jumping on shoulders.

“Hey, Henry. I think the rumours are true. It seems like lots of people are checking us out.”

They walked along a busy street with a newsagent, a library and a supermarket. Max scratched her belly. They didn’t have a lot of money but they did had enough for a nice breakfast. And then, outside the newsagent, Max saw something that made her jump. Just as if a seedy old man with gigantic fingers had given her a pinch on the backside. Her mouth popped open like it was spring loaded. Her fingers stood on end like it was part of a bad dance routine.

Henry and Max were front page news. Their photographs were side by side on the front page of the Herald Sun. The famous Melbourne newspaper. Their very own faces looked back at themselves from the newsstand. RATBAG MAYHEM ran the headline. They each had a separate photograph and neither of these were particularly flattering. Henry was posing with a hood hanging down to his eye level – it was a photo Max herself had taken. Max’s photo was worse. They’d used a portrait taken during her last year at high school – on year twelve muck-up day. In the photo Max was grinning from ear to ear and kissing both index fingers to her lips in a mock “fuck you” gesture. Well it had all seemed like a laugh at the time. But how on earth did the newspaper get hold of these photos so quickly? Her parents must have wasted no time in selling her out. Bastards.

A boy was walking past them and then he stopped short in surprise. He looked down at the newspaper and then back up at Henry and Max. “Hey guys – isn’t this you on the cover right here?”

“No,” said Henry. “No it’s not.”

It was now clear that several people on ths street had recognized them. People were pointing and tapping each other on the shoulder. A woman nearby was speaking urgently into her mobile phone. It was probably time to make a run for it. But the desire to read the story was greater. Max slipped into the newsagent and brazenly bought the paper. She didn’t care if the attendant noticed. Back outside she sat down on a milkcrate with Henry and read the article start to finish.

RATBAG MAYHEM!

These are the faces of Australia’s most wanted criminals. Maxine Donnelly and Henry Moffet. The pair are the masterminds behind a violent kidnapping that shook the ACT yesterday. The Australian federal police also believe that Maxine is the leader of a group of insurgents who were planning a full scale attack on the public. The attack may have resembled the 1995 bombing of Oklahoma City.

The whereabouts of Donnelly and Moffet are currently unknown. A police spokesperson said yesterday that a nationwide manhunt had not been ruled out. When apprehended the pair may face charges of kidnapping, car theft, assault, treason, conspiracy and disorderly behaviour. Police warn that anyone hiding or assisting the fugitives could also face serious charges. Above all the public should consider them armed and dangerous.

The kidnapping victim, Nicolas Kyritsis, is a student at the Australian National University. He was abducted at knife point on Tuesday night and driven over 500 kilometres in the boot of a Ford sedan. Nicolas is currently recovering from the ordeal and was unable to comment. His father, however was available to comment.

“There’s something wrong with the kids today,” said Mr Joseph Kyritsis.“You’d never hear of this happening twenty years ago.”

The Herald Sun was also able to speak with Miss Donnelly’s parents. Jack and Amanda Donnelly say they are ashamed by their daughter. “Maxine was considered a role model amongst her peers,” said Mrs Donnelly. “We’re just devastated by the path she’s chosen in life.” “We don’t sympathise with Maxine in the slightest,” said Mr Donnelly. “She’s gone too far and we hope to see her punished to the full extent of the law.”

Former neighbours and community members say that Maxine Donnelly was a self-styled student activist, although many have been surprised by the bomb-building allegations. “This is just an example of how far these people can go,” said one commentator. “They’re dangerous and their activities should be monitored. Curfews might be appropriate.”

In a further twist to the story a woman found suffering from severe concussion yesterday in the Kosiuszko National Park has been confirmed as an accomplice in the kidnapping. The woman remains under guard in a stable condition in the new Canberra Hospital. She is suffering from delusion and memory loss, although whether these symptoms predate the concussion is unclear. Her identity is currently unknown.

(the end)