The afternoon had already begun its course in the morning. Now that it had developed entirely, not even the slight gusts of sandy wind that blew from the South could cast away the blanket of lead oppressing the earth and its occupants. Only the stagnant air was mad enough to dare move under the Sun, and so it did with glee above every car, every rock and every roof of the town. Under such heat, it would be insane to go out and work, and so, one did, the dwellers hiding away in the illusory coolness of their homes, blinds closed and windows open, in hope of inviting a breeze in to alleviate the atmosphere. Silence had been the rule, unspoken but followed by all long before the Sun had begun to shine. Therefore, when the noise arrived, it came booming like an explosion in the Main Street.
"Why won't you take me there?" Screamed a female voice.
"Are you daft? I'm not risking me bloody life in your little adventure! And you should do the same!" Answered a deeper, more masculine one.
"I have money, I can pay!"
"Do I look like I give a bloody damn? I told ya, I'm not dying for you lil' adventure there! You wanna go lose yerself in the bloody desert? You go on yer bloody own!"
"Please, don't leave, we can discuss it!"
"Watch me!"
The exchange had been loud enough for the whole street to hear, such that everyone had stopped their activities, now to listen. But as the burly man walked away to his car and turned the keys, revving the engine as if to mark his last words, blinds closed again, and faces disappeared. The people would need more than a lone standing girl in the middle of the street to keep their attention more than was required by the laws of curiosity.
"Gobshite! Ye bloody bastard poxbottle!" screamed the girl as the car passed her by. She let out a frustrated scream, and angrily threw the piece of paper she was showing the man on the ground, kicked it, and sat down in the dust. A pitiful sight, really. There, crushed under tons of white-hot air, head in her knees, shoulders shaking irregularly, she might as well have been left to cook in an oven for the dinner of some deranged god.
It took a few more minutes before the door behind her opened slightly to let the wrinkled face of its owner slide through. After assessing the potential danger of the unexpected guest on the threshold and deciding it was harmless, the body followed, to let out an old woman.
"Well, what have we here?" she said in a soft tone.
The girl stood up suddenly, startled by the unexpected sound: "I'm sorry, I didn't want to bother you, I'll be on my way." Her voice was slightly shaking.
Her face was red. It was hard to tell if it was from anger, the tears streaming down her cheeks, frustration or simply a sunburn.
"No need for such hurry luv. What seems to be the matter here, it's not everyday ya hear a bloke scream at the top of his lungs around these parts. Oh, and I thought ya might need this." She offered a tall glass filled with tinted water and ice. The girl on the pavement looked at it for a second. "It's only lemonade, luv." The girl took it with a soft "Thank you". She drank it whole within seconds. How long has she been going without a drink? Thought the old woman.
The girl gave the glass back and already seemed a tad less red.
"Come in the shade, luv, ye're gonna have a heatstroke if ye stay in the Sun." The girl followed. "Now, what was all the fuss about moments ago?"
"Yeah, sorry about that… I… I was just looking for a guide to take me somewhere in the Outback, but nobody here will listen to me…" She fidgeted on her feet, passing her hand through her hair, distressed. "I don't know what to do, I've been in Australia for almost a week, and I'm still stuck in this shitehole of a town! I've tried Perth, nobody cared, I've tried Southern Cross, nobody cared! Now I try Kalgoorlie, and I still can't seem to find anyone who cares!" Anger and frustration mixed together in her tears now, and without the calming touch of the woman on her shoulder, she could have exploded at any second.
"Well, methinks ye might have been looking in the wrong places," said the old woman. "Those wankers wouldn't find their own brains in the Bush for dear life, and God knows many should at least give it a try! I bet ye've been searching in pubs and bars for your guide, am I right?" The girl nodded. "See? Ye'll only find bogans and dipsticks in those." The girl let out a pitiful sigh. She looked exhausted. Desperate, even. If only there was something the old woman could do…
Her eyes lit up at the realisation. She could! She cleared her throat: "Ye know what? I might have an idea. I've got a nephew who's a regular in this bar, just outside of town. The blokes from town won't go there, too many passerbys, and not the copper-loving kind, if ye want my mind. But if ya want somebody to take ye to the Bush, and make it back alive, ye're better off looking there." She paused and gave the girl a gentle smile. "Oh, they'll ask for money, certain, and I'm not promising they will accept… But I'm sure ye can negotiate."
The girl's face illuminated at these words. "Can you… Do you think you could take me there?"
What is this shitehole? Thought the girl when she saw the 'bar' the old woman had been talking about. Old bricks and cement were the only prominent feature of the building and could only be holding together thanks to the will of the Holy Spirit itself. Dust and sand crusted the windows where the glass had been holding up, and the planks where it had not. The door was slightly ajar, but it couldn't have mattered less, since only silence was coming out of the main room.
"Here we are luv!" Said the old woman. "I have to leave ya there, I'm not really welcome in this place anymore." She turned to the girl, and gently took her hands, smiling at her confused glare. "You're better off not knowing, trust me. I hope you find what ye're looking for." She let her hands go and turned back towards the street she had come from, without the slightest look back. "Oh, and when you get in there, tell them Gladys said 'Hi'!"
Confused, the girl waved the old woman goodbye, not expecting any response, and she turned around to the old building. Hard to believe there's anyone in there, she thought. Beyond was only the endlessness of the Outback, and a straight road to nowhere. She breathed in deeply and took the first step.
A small bell chimed when she pushed the door, breaking the silence of the main and only room of the bar. A few old tables were up here and there, surrounded by chairs of different ages and states of decay. Because of the dirt of the glass of the windows, almost no light could shine inside, but the heat sure did enter, and she felt like walking into a furnace. She had been inside the forge of an old friend of her parents' when she was a child, and aside from the blaring noise produced by the fire and the pounding iron, she felt like choking from the lack of air all the same. There was a counter at the back of the room, with an arch to a backroom, or a kitchen perhaps, and five stools, two of which were occupied. Their owners turned when they heard the bell, and she felt uncomfortable. She quickly pulled herself together, hoping her uneasiness could pass as only being attributable to the heat.
"Roy! Someone's in your bar!" cried one of the men towards the arch.
"I know Duncan, ye two have been wearing off my stools for a week now, don't you got some fresh news?" Answered a voice from the back.
"Nah, ya daft bastard, I mean someone new, a sheila!"
"What the bloody… Oh!" A man came out through the arch in a hurry, as if the very presence of someone new was unlikely. He rubbed his hands on the apron around his waist. "Sorry Miss, hadn't heard ya coming in! Take a seat! What will it be?" the owner of the bar was a surprisingly pleasant, slightly balding man, who seemed out of place in the building, despite his dirty vest and apron. He looked at her with a toothy smile, and she relaxed a little.
"Nothing, thank you very much. I've… I've just been told that I could find someone to take me to the Bush in this bar. I… I need a guide."
"And where would that be?" Said the man who had been called Duncan a few moments ago. Oh right! Strait to the point. Very Australian, she thought.
"I don't know the exact location, but it's somewhere around here." She unfolded her map, now covered in red dust, and pointed at spot, where she had drawn a circle. "I've tried triangulating a position, and I think I'm on the right tracks. You'll only take me there, and bring me back, that simple. Could you…"
She couldn't finish her sentence before the other patron interrupted her. His eyes went wide and crazy when he assessed the location: "Are ye crazy sheila? No way I'm going there! I've been wandering the Outback all me life, but never, on the Holy Cross, never have I ever dared to get close to that! And lemme tell ya, no one will ever take ye there, it's suicide!"
"Old Owen is right, that's too dangerous. Take it from those old dafts, even the most desperate bushranger won't step a hundred miles from that place," said Duncan.
"Please, I can pay, I have money, I just need to get there! It's important!" she pleaded.
"I don't know what ye're looking for in this place, Miss, but it's suicide," said Roy. "You better get back to your home, this is not something a young girl like you should try. Don't take it lightly, we are not joking,"
"Me neither," she said back dryly. "Listen, I'm tired of it, all I want is to get to this place, what is wrong with it? How can it be so hard to guide me there? Come, on, I know it can be done, my…"
"There's still this young bloke…" cut Owen rubbing his beard thoughtfully.
"What young bloke?" said Roy.
"Ya know, the bushie who came by a few days ago, that young bloke who said he was a hunter! He even asked ye if there were any interesting game around, and ye told him about the dingoes that trashed ol' Tommy's flock!"
"Oh! That one! Come on, he's a kid, ye're not suggesting he could agree."
"Why not? He already said he would take care of the dingoes, and ol' Tommy said there were about fifteen o'them! I bet ma good carabine that he's crazy enough to accept"
"I think ye have already gotten enough to drink Owen. That, or the dust has gotten yer cogs stuck," said the bartender. "Listen, Missy, you know just like me that this is insane. Ye won't find anything in there but sand, snakes and disappointment. Ye have a place to stay here in town?" She shook her head, slightly. "Well, I have a room upstairs, if ye got nowhere to go. My advice is that ye go back to Perth tomorrow as soon as possible and go back home. I got a mate who's hitting the road in the morning, I can ask him to keep ye a seat. If ye don't, ye'll only get killed the way I see it."
She sat down on the closest chair with a sigh, defeated. "So… There's really no way I can find any help…?"
The bartender looked at hear with a weak smile: "I'm sorry, but that's the best you can do right now."
She couldn't let the tears come again. She doubted she even had any left at this point. She was exhausted, beaten and dirty, she didn't even have the strength to get mad anymore. She rubbed her face in her hands and took a moment to let everything sink in. Hopeless… Get killed… Suicide… Abandon… Her head rose again, sluggishly, when she heard the slight tap of glass against wood next to her.
"Jameson. That's the only Irish whiskey I have. Figured ye'd like a taste of home," said Roy.
She gave him an understanding smile. "How'd you figure it out?" Of course she knew how. She had a thick accent, and she knew it. And even without that, her mane of red hair and her white skin couls hardly pass as anything else. But she was still surprised that he recognised where she came from. He smiled back at her, no words needed. She took the glass and emptied it in one go, letting the fire of the drink burn her tongue and throat, hopefully her feelings in the process, and swallowed. Old Owen prepared his mouth to make a comment on her swiftness when the front door opened violently, sending the bell to chime in terror at the attack.
All heads turned to see who it was trying to destroy the already worn out front door.