The Nest Read online

‘Not with him, there’s not,’ snarls my father. ‘He’s never given me the benefit of the doubt. He only thinks the worst.’

  ‘Now I see you as you really are,’ I say. ‘I’m not making any more excuses for you.’

  ‘Ungrateful brat!’

  ‘Murderer.’

  Charlie gasps at the word. ‘Robin!’ she exclaims.

  His response is accusing and hard. ‘I didn’t kill her. I’ve only known for sure that her body was up here somewhere since I got …’

  ‘Body?’ yelps Charlie, jumping up from the sofa. ‘What body?’

  ‘My mother’s body is down the mine,’ I say. ‘He put it there. He was trying to get her out when I found him.’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘You’re wrong. She must have fallen in.’

  My stomach starts to spasm again as the enormity of what happened at the mineshaft threatens to kill all rational thought.

  ‘You killed her,’ I spit out, standing up too. ‘And you’ve been here before. You knew where the fresh clothes were.’

  ‘You’re smart, aren’t you, but you know nothing.’

  ‘How did you know where her body was if you didn’t do it?’

  ‘Stop it, stop it,’ cries Charlie, her hands over her ears.

  At this point my father retreats into himself and moves closer to the fire, squatting down in front of it, claiming the warmth for himself as usual. His back is turned to us which doesn’t surprise me one bit. He suddenly stands, walks to one of the bunks, lies down and pulls the blankets up over his head.

  It’s like he’s closed the door, leaving us outside. He’s not going to explain himself – not to me, anyway.

  Charlie whispers again, soft but urgent. ‘Robin, this is terrible. What’s going on? It’s madness. You’re both scaring me.’ She starts crying then and I put my arm around her. I lead her back to the sofa and we snuggle up by the fire, staring into the flames.

  After a short time my father’s breathing becomes regular and I know he’s asleep. It’s amazing that he can shut down like that and I’m glad he has. Charlie and I are alone. I tell her everything.

  Almost.

  It was a hot summer’s day in inner-city Melbourne. Don Baker stepped down from the witness box after confirming that he’d seen my father on the mountain near the place my mother’s body was found. Don had told him that swallows had been nesting in the old mine for years and he’d seen my father head off in that direction.

  Having satisfied himself about that, the coroner recalled my father to the stand where he sat with a defensive, self-pitying face. I had to force myself to look at him as he squirmed under the questioning. In the past I’d told myself he didn’t really mean the terrible things he’d say to me. Either that or I’d excuse his abuse, feeling sorry for him because he’d had a hard life. But now I could see that he was obsessed with one thing: himself.

  ‘So tell me, why did you run off to the refuge with your baby son?’ the coroner asked. He was trying to keep his tone neutral but it was obvious he had a low opinion of the man in the box.

  ‘My wife had written a note. I found it on her dressing-table with her ring and hairbrush. She was planning to take Robin and leave me. I had to stop her. After all I’d done for her, she was just going to clear off without a word.’

  ‘So you took the baby and skied up to the refuge because you knew she wouldn’t leave without him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long did you think you could hide up there? How did you plan to look after the baby?’

  ‘I took supplies. I knew there were provisions in the hut and I took a backpack with baby food and formula and other stuff for Robin.’

  ‘You must have known that his mother would follow you?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, fixing his eyes at a point in front of him.

  ‘Wouldn’t she have followed your tracks?’

  ‘It was snowing. Pelting down. My tracks would’ve been covered in no time and I didn’t think for one moment that she could have found us. She was unpredictable. You never knew what she would do.’

  ‘Go on,’ said the coroner.

  ‘The weather closed in. I only just made it to the hut when the full storm hit. I was snowed in with Robin for a week. When I returned, Miranda was gone. I figured she’d run off with another man.’

  ‘When in fact she’d gone looking for you and Robin and fallen to her death.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed my father. ‘She can’t have known the mineshaft was there and must have walked over the rotting boards which would have been buried under the snow.’

  ‘You took her baby in order to stop her leaving you?’

  ‘I already told you that. He was my son too.’

  Not anymore, old man, I thought. Not anymore.

  The coroner hardened his tone. ‘So you abducted him? Weren’t you aware that’s an offence in this country?’

  ‘Well, she was going to take him from me.’

  ‘But she left a note saying she’d contact you. You left her no idea where her child was at all.’

  ‘Miranda wasn’t fit to bring up a child. She had outbursts of temper. She was a liar and …’

  He stopped short. I wanted to shout out ‘you are the liar’, but I kept quiet. There were no words that could express my grief. There was no hurt I could inflict on him that would compensate for the loss of my mother.

  I pushed these images aside as the coroner continued. ‘So we come to the present. How did you know that your wife’s body was in the mine?’

  The court was hushed. I looked around at some familiar faces. Mrs Baker, Bazza, Mr Rogers, and Russell and Louise.

  ‘It was the DNA,’ my father was saying. ‘I took a sample of her hair from the brush in Robin’s room and a sample from the …’

  I already knew the rest. I couldn’t take any more of him. I rushed out into the bright light of day. Trams clattered along the streets next to footpaths filled with hurrying people intent on agendas of their own. It had been a hell of a long season with the snow lasting until late September, but summer always comes in the end. I could just make out the distant ranges shimmering blue through the heat haze. Charlie followed me out and put an arm around my waist. We both stood in silence and let the sunshine drain away the anger.

  It was nearly autumn before we were able to get Mum’s remains from the Coroner’s Court. We held the funeral at White Mountain Cemetery not far from where she died. The scented bush made a wonderful chapel and the birds sang the only hymns that were needed. I wanted the burial to be private – Mum had no other relatives but me. My father, wisely, decided not to attend.

  I wrote a few words for the occasion, which I read to the small group consisting of Russell, Louise, Charlie, Grandpa, Moose, and Mary and Don Baker. I didn’t want anyone from the school. The two funeral directors stood discretely in the shade of some snow gums.

  It was only a small tribute, not my best writing really, but it came from the heart. I choked back tears as I read it aloud:

  Dear Mum,

  I can’t remember you but I know that you loved me and that it was enough love to fill the empty places which have opened up inside me from time to time. Sometimes I feel a harshness inside myself but it is always extinguished when I think of you. I have seen your face on the frozen windowpane and in the clouds and felt your presence carried on a gentle breeze and a flurry of snow. I know that you gave your life looking for me and that there is no love like …

  At this point I could feel my voice begin to give up the fight to hold an even tone. I stopped and gestured to the two men in grey. They quietly stepped forward to lower the coffin into the mountain soil. As my mother began her last journey I walked forward and placed my tribute on the polished wood. Not flowers, but the nest into which the swallows had woven strands of her long red hair.

  My father wasn’t charged with any crime. He moved to Queensland and I haven’t heard from him since. I’ll probably contact him one day even though he doesn’t want to see me. He’s only
human and we all have our demons. I should know: I’ve got enough of my own.

  It turns out that the workshop and lodge were left to me in my mother’s will. So I no longer repair snowmobiles for the Mountain Rescue Service or Integrity. I’ve leased the workshop to a cross-country hiking and skiing outfit which enables me to stay at school and finish my studies. I’m in Year Eleven now and doing well in English and Literature. I hope to go to Melbourne Uni.

  Verushka and Ryan got back together again – I guess the way she used me to make him jealous worked – but it didn’t last for long. The rumour is that she borrowed quite a bit of money from him and then took it with her when she left the mountain like she’d always wanted to. No one knows where she is now, not even him.

  The warm weather lingers on well into April. Charlie and I are climbing up a narrow trail that winds steeply through Finnegan’s Forest. The trees reach up to the sun, releasing a heady eucalyptus fragrance. Bellbirds squeak all around us and the last wildflowers peek out from rocky nooks. The mossy green and white of winter has given way to a dry carpet of fallen bark and branches. Autumn leaves crackle underfoot.

  From time to time I stamp loudly on the baked surface of the winding track.

  ‘You’re not frightened of snakes, are you?’ laughs Charlie.

  ‘Isn’t everyone?’

  ‘They’d hear you coming and get out of your way. You’re a lot bigger than them.’

  ‘They’re unpredictable,’ I say.

  We break into the open where a clump of boulders rests like giant marbles. ‘Let’s sit down,’ suggests Charlie.

  ‘Okay,’ I say.

  We sit for a while looking at the scarred cliffs which fall dizzily into the patchwork quilt of the valleys and lower slopes of the mountain range. Our bodies are touching and I can feel the electricity flowing between us. Charlie gives me a smile and begins to unbutton her shirt. It’s not until she reaches the third button that I realise what she’s doing. I can’t believe her boldness. And generosity – risking herself with me in this way. I’m blown away with wonder and happiness unlike anything I’ve ever imagined or thought possible.

  ‘I love you, Robin,’ she says. Her eyes are so trusting.

  I gently take away her hand and do up the buttons.

  Her head jerks back as if I’ve slapped her. ‘What’s wrong?’ She leaps up from where we’re sitting and straightens her top.

  ‘Charlie, please sit down. I need you to understand. I have to tell you something about me. You have to know what you’re getting into before we go any further.’

  ‘Why should I?’ she says in a voice made of lead. ‘This is the second time you’ve done this to me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ I say. ‘What you’re doing is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me.’ I swallow hard. ‘Listen, it’s this: I’ve got a terrible problem which I’ve never mentioned to anyone.’

  She’s concerned now. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I started to tell you that day in the forest, just before I saw that little bird suffering and you ran off.’

  ‘You mean there’s more? Not just what you told me in the letter?’

  ‘Yes, there’s more … I want to tell you …’

  I can’t go on. What will she think of me when she learns the truth?

  Charlie hesitates, then … ‘It’s okay, Robin. Don’t bottle it up. You can tell me.’

  So I do. I begin to talk, not looking at her, telling her about the dreadful pain caused by the glimpses of hell which have been inexplicably flickering into my mind without warning for about three years. I let it all pour out, not hiding anything, until there’s nothing left to say. I feel completely drained.

  Charlie remains silent.

  I’ve done it now. I’ve lost her.

  But she looks into my eyes again and says, ‘Robin, it’s okay. We can work this one out.’

  ‘We can? You’ll help me?’

  ‘Robin, you told Mr Rogers that you didn’t have anything to tell him, but you do.’

  ‘Steve?’ I say.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll go and see him.’

  A blue wren flits happily nearby, pecking at the ground.

  Charlie takes my face in her hands and pulls it towards her own. She kisses me gently on the lips. It is so good.

  Oh, yes.

  The Snake

  And they all lived happily ever after? Not really, not if you think about it. Take the story of the Frog Prince.

  A beautiful princess came along and took pity on a poor ugly frog. She kissed him without knowing that he was really the king’s son and he turned back into a handsome prince. They were married and lived a life of peace and joy for the rest of their days.

  That’s how it happened in the fairytale but in real life, after they were married, the prince would sometimes get out of his bed in the middle of the night and sneak back to the pond and be a frog again for a while. He would get down there in the mud and sludge and eat flies and jump around and croak and call to the other frogs and do all the horrible things that frogs do. The princess could tell that he had been visiting dark and grubby places because when he came back she would see he was a bit muddy but she learned to live with it. And sometimes when she was grumpy over nothing at all, the prince would pretend not to notice and give her breakfast in bed to cheer her up. That’s how it goes in real life: everyone gets down in the mud sometimes.

  Take Gordon, for example.

  He loved to wander in the forest but the thick and tangled trees were full of snakes of which he was terrified. There were black snakes and brown snakes and tiger snakes and many others besides. He was especially frightened of the tiger snakes because he knew that the females would chase anyone who came between them and their young.

  One day Gordon was walking in the darkest part of the forest when he came to the bank of a wide river. He sat down and stared into the gently flowing water, lost in thought. So deep was his reverie that at first he failed to notice an incredible change happening to his body. He reached down to pick up a stone to skim across the surface of the river and found that his fist was clenched tight and he couldn’t open it. To his horror he saw the skin creep over his fingers. In no time at all there was only a large bulge on the end of his arm where once his hand had been. Two little buds began to grow on the knob; they quivered then blinked and opened. A pair of narrow, green, malevolent eyes met his. Gordon’s hand had turned into a head which at that very moment was growing a mouth and fangs.

  By now Gordon was almost crying with fear. But there was worse to come. A forked tongue appeared between the curved fangs and flickered in and out, mercilessly feeling for prey. Gordon no longer had fingers, no longer had a hand – instead he had his own snake and it was on the hunt.

  ‘Aagh,’ he screamed as the snake began to grow. Soon it was as long as two arms joined together. It curled and writhed. Its eyes were cold and cruel. Even though the snake was part of himself, or perhaps because it was part of himself, Gordon was terrified.

  The snake hissed and felt for his face with its forked tongue.

  ‘Don’t,’ screamed Gordon. ‘Leave me alone.’ The snake elongated its head like a stretched poma spring. Gordon struck first. With lightning speed he grabbed the snake behind its head with his left hand. The snake was angry and slippery and strong. Gordon fell to the ground, rolling and struggling to hold the terrible creature. It hissed as it sought him with wide open jaws. Two needle-sharp fangs each held a tiny drop of green poison.

  ‘Stop it,’ screamed Gordon. ‘Go away. Leave me alone.’ But the forest was empty. He wanted to run away but there was nowhere to hide from a snake that was part of himself. He could feel his left hand grow weaker as the reptile’s cruel fangs reached for his eyes, his lips, his ears – any soft or vulnerable spot.

  By now Gordon was exhausted and almost beaten by terror. His only weapon was his mind. Think, think, think. Do not surrender to this fate. Gordon grasped at a sl
ender chance. Desperately holding the horrible head only centimetres from his cheek, he struggled to his feet and began to run towards the gently flowing river. With a warrior’s cry of rage he leapt into the stream, landing on his feet in water up to his waist. With his left hand he forced the snake’s head beneath the surface. It writhed and squirmed and struggled furiously.

  Just when he thought he had won, Gordon felt his feet slipping. In a flash the tables were turned and he began to choke and breathe in water as his head sank beneath the surface. He staggered blindly to his feet, losing his grip on the snake which whipped back to make its final attack. Gordon punched the snake in the mouth, snapping off one fang with his knuckle, leaving the snake with only one curved tooth, still deadly – as dangerous as a sharpened icepick.

  Before the snake could strike, a saviour arrived. A body floating gently towards them: a sleeping woman, as beautiful as a queen, carried by the current. Her eyes were closed but she smiled as if held in a magic dream. Her trailing dress flowed and rippled behind. Her long hair burned red in the sunlight. The snake was distracted. And attracted. The sleeping woman was better prey.

  ‘No,’ screamed Gordon. ‘No. Leave her. Bite me! Bite me!’

  The snake, infuriated by this selfless cry, turned his attention back to Gordon and granted his wish. It struck like a whip with its single tooth, biting the poor boy on the tongue. Gordon choked and fell back onto the bank as his tongue began to swell. Helplessly he surrendered to his fate. The snake twisted and turned, its tongue flickering in frustration at the sight of the sleeping woman floating away in the arms of the river.

  To Gordon, the world seemed black and far away. His last thoughts were about the life the snake was stealing. This wretched reptile, this part of himself, was a filthy robber. From some unknown place he found the will to fight again and fumbled blindly at the forest floor with his good hand. A stick or a rock would have helped but there was nothing to grasp.

  ‘Have some of your own medicine,’ gasped Gordon. He opened his mouth and chomped with his teeth. He bit the snake just behind the head. He bit down with the power of desperation. He bit with the will to live. He bit until the snake’s bones broke and its green eyes turned red. He bit until its tooth decayed. He bit until the snake became what it had always been – an arm, a normal part of himself. He stretched his fingers. Oh, it was so good to have them back.