© 2001

what can i do she said as the light moved like a jogged saucer of milk on the horizon it was not the rising sun no an approaching motorbike she had been abandoned by her ‘boyfriend’ the bike roared closer now she could see its dust against the stars she hid in the bush afraid to her horror the bike slowed and stopped it wasn’t her boyfriend coming back for her the man was built like a footballer raw arrogant power or like a soldier with that helmet he took it off and his hair tumbled like an ancient Celtic warrior’s or a native American’s she dared not move he walked a little way into the bush on the other side of the road and had a pee soon he would go she waited and waited saw the steam rising from the cold bracken she shook maybe he was ok maybe she could ask him for a lift maybe he was a gay bikie uninterested in women he zipped himself up and got back on his bike when the motor hammers like a machine gun she will move her aching limbs a twig snapped under her boot and he turned his head sharply in her direction he’ll think it’s a fox or a pig she thought worrying about feral animals nosing up behind her he put his bike back on the stand and walked closer, staring into the bush he’d not yet put his helmet back on he had a primitive face she thought against her own educated tolerance black beard covering much of it a man of crude strength used to having his own way get on your back he’d say or maybe doggie fashion get back on your bike she silently commanded feeling weak feeling useless sick inside as he turned there was a knife in his belt in a scabbard she couldn’t stop herself moving back a lantana rustled he turned back and unsheathed the knife an escaped criminal perhaps a psychopath no that was not plausible yes it was she didn’t know what to think only what not to think maybe he was planning on hunting feral pig singlehanded a regular rambo Aldebaran glinted on the knife blade or was it the moon she was interested in stars what was up there frogs croaked somewhere a river she was thirsty and cold he could give her a lift he’s probably just a traveller he turned away on the back of his leather jacket a crudely sewn swastika what sort of man was this well it was bloody obvious no question of revealing her position and asking for help from someone like that worse than her boyfriend at least he didn’t carry weapons why do men worship violence the ancient Celts saw war as highly desirable her ancestors running naked into battle painted blue yet they wore jewellery and make-up both sexes the aristocratic ones at least Boadicea Boudica burned alive 70 000 Roman civilians worse than Dresden well she was a woman but maybe they were all crazy like the Spartans she taught ancient history at university sang in her spare time at parties had a good voice and now crouched here quivering with terror like a child he was getting back onto his bike maybe a car would come by later give her a lift to town otherwise a 20 km walk the bastard pushing her off the bike just because she’d taken an interest in Dr Fenster who was urbane and stimulating to talk to he’d saved up all his ire for now why she was attracted to neanderthal men she couldn’t say not inevitably working class she’d been brought up among workers most were decent people the faculty didn’t always agree the man had sheathed his knife and started up his bike it sounded like a small war in itself have courage she said he will soon be gone but he stopped the bike again and decided to have a smoke the motherfucker go go go will you get out of my sight you throwback what was the country coming to injustice is the product of anarchy and vice-versa no that didn’t make sense no more than his senseless lingering he looked in the box on the back of his bike what was it called she thought for storage he took out an object a sandwich or something he was eating and the sun was coming up now they’d come all the way from Balranald on Merv’s bike she loved riding on a bike the wind the speed the ground zipping past below like cloud below an airliner zip zip zip never had got herself a licence though alternated between daring and timidity she did he’d eaten his sandwich now and looked around jesus no he had taken out what might be a tent he had decided to camp here he was making a fire when the sun rose he’d see her best to stand and run to the river but would she be able to get across it she heard another motor a car they’d never see her here it was a police car what amazing luck it stopped “you can’t camp here mate” now she heard his voice rasping bravado “who fucken says so?” “this guy’s got a death wish” they got out of the car guns swinging from their hips “give us a look at that knife looks illegal” she too frightened to show herself three burly men the cops taunting him there could be a fight she thought too much sometime then he went for his knife a mistake one cop the biggest pulled his gun fired the man fell back like an upended log crash birds scattered the big cop to her surprise started to cry voice shaking “never meant to kill the bastard self-defence jesus” it hadn’t looked that way as the man hadn’t even drawn the knife “i’ll back you up” said the other and with his gloved hand unsheathed the knife and put it in the bikie’s hand “probably a psycho anyway sure to be the bastard we’re after” then they radioed for assistance the sun was over the horizon now sirens were blaring she managed to get away into the bush undetected feeling ill and dizzy she walked back to town got a lift from a woman with chickens in the back of a ute “you look white as a sheet” obligation to inform the police she got on the bus for Sydney as soon as she could fleeing fleeing and never told a soul how could she it rated only a small headline on page three well he would have killed her anyway had killed his wife and daughter you read about it all the time deserved to die the pig not right in the head maybe he wanted to die clearly she the only witness to a murder went back to teaching ancient history how the Celts slaughtered Roman children how the Romans had rebellious Boudica flogged and her daughters raped what did it matter now 2000 years later people should forget about all that said Dr Fenster an engaging man but no historian spent his time teaching engineering many of his students ended up in arms manufacturing witness witness we all can see it but no one wants to talk the Celts saw war as highly desirable almost a necessity at least the aristocrats the others lived in a state of abject misery some of the aristocrats according to racist Strabo dyed their already blond hair blonder others dyed it black were obsessed with their coiffures Boudica was bisexual what did it matter what did it matter why teach history why study it ancient or modern why not just forget the dead not mention their names let them moulder in silence the good times don’t so often get recorded peace is something stolen from others by war futile as crouching like a small child in the bush while the big men slaughtered each other and the big women sometimes too she fell into a depression resigned and went to live in the country learned to play the mandolin sang songs about it but not about the murder became quite well-known in the end then came her big break soon she had hits in America it can happen and one day she was being interviewed on television and someone mentioned the case that was being re-opened someone had seen a woman running away from the scene just come forward would she care to comment her trip from Balranald well-known too at the university questions being asked she couldn’t answer such questions mightn’t she have been a witness an accomplice of the dead man the police wanted to talk to her all over the papers she sat in her hotel room hunched over not wanting to see anyone having swallowed too many little pills not meaning to she collapsed on the floor it was some time before they discovered the body as there had been no witnesses to her suicide as it was called in all the dailies why should someone at the height of her career the funeral was moving and well-attended the prime minister etc she was only 32 it didn’t make sense in the congregation (though she wasn’t religious) not only her parents but the parents of the dead man who’d been campaigning for justice Aboriginal people small and frail in their 80s could have used her help but it was too late
she had gone.

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