The Rain Circle, page 21
‘Curly was at the wheel when he starts losing concentration and pulls over,’ one of the firefighters tells those who have just arrived at the first aid scene.
Another firefighter, who is assisting by shining a torch on the victim and first aider, adds that everyone knows Curly’s had a heart attack in the past.
‘So why aren’t you treating him for a heart attack May?’ Patrick asks in a manner that suggests he knows the response and agrees with it.
‘Because he’s not having a heart attack Patrick,’ May answers casually without looking up. ‘No pressing chest pain and sweating. Out of breath and dizzy though and the very dry skin tells me he’s suffering from heat stroke.’
The busy day ends rather late and everyone has their mind set on sleep. Everyone, that is, except Christian. He will make that bad news call to his parents.
~~~~
The next day dawns with a flood of text and voice messages. Inka has seen news of the Eyre Peninsula fire and hopes everyone is safe. Curly Norton thanks May for swinging into action when he had to pull the truck to the side of the road and says he’s lucky at least someone listens and learns at CFS first aid training. In a text copied to Brian and May, Curly says they wouldn’t have been as successful protecting those houses if they didn’t have May on board. The longest overnight text is from Maria to her son. She expresses the distress experienced on hearing the bad news and has been frantic trying to find a flight to Australia to bring him home. Christian says he may not be well enough to travel and this is answered immediately by his mother who says she intends to travel with his father, who can assist on the journey home. Unfortunately, she adds, more restrictions are in place and the earliest they can get to Australia is December 2nd , returning two days later.
Patrick is measuring power levels of battery blocks that will be used during harvest, that starts next month, when he decides to send a text response to Inka, thanking her for her concern. No sooner has he texted when his devices buzzes and it is Inka wanting to talk with him directly about the fire, firstly, then to assure him there is no need for him to serve Christian’s every wish.
‘You must not do things like the dubious funeral arrangements talked about at Fogg’s hut,’ Inka says.
‘Last night I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that,’ Patrick responds. ‘Dad was talking with a journalist after the fire and wanted her to know that the rainmaking system can also make a buffer of cold air against hot north winds that drive the fires. Christian buts in and says this is true, sounding like a real authority. He backed off but for a second I was hopeful he’d tell her about his role as the scientist who came up with the theory.’
‘This is how silly it is Patrick. Even my Canberra colleague Adam has figured it out. Right now the general public isn’t so interested in the people behind the science. The research community is of course but meanwhile the interest is in the benefits.’
‘Maybe it’s not his role so much as his cancer along with the role that makes him think the way he does. Dad says he fears a link will be made with the nuclear researcher he worked with and who died this year from cancer.’
‘It was one of the things he told me, too, and I can see where he’s coming from. Yet he is a scientist and knows nuclear energy is used with precision these days. And why can’t it be argued that the two cancer cases, even if connected with the early laboratory experiments, have nothing to do with the rainmaking system itself? Oh, he can be so frustrating sometimes. You know, when I was in Buckleboo I was so irritated by all this that I wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and drop him off at emergency at the nearest hospital! Then run off as fast as I can!’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Patrick says, continuing to record power levels in the battery shed. ‘It’s heating up towards another 40 degree Celsius day here. What’s the weather like in Canberra today and what are you up to?’
‘A bit cooler than it will be in South Australia. I’ll be indoors anyway, powering away on the report. What is on your agenda?’
‘Not a lot. I’m doing a bit of maintenance and May and I are on standby for CFS. Dad and Bernadette will be home for a line conference with Professor Niemenen and Kris Pavic. And Christian of course.’
‘Any problem?’
‘Not that I know of. Just some more discussion about the rainmaking stuff I think. Christian may want to keep a lid on it but he says he’s told his parents so he must let the professor know about his cancer too. I mean, the prof’s got a right, being some sort of employer.’
‘I agree. Hey, nice talking with you Patrick.’
18
Buckleboo, November 2036
It is Monday November 10th and since hearing of Christian’s fate Kris has talked with him a couple of times and today will fly his plane to land at the Ellson strip about 6pm. He’ll bring dinner for everyone in the inner circle, meaning everyone except farm stay visitors. Inka has been back for four days and spending most of her time ensuring Christian is comfortable and is under a watchful eye. Not having to make dinner appeals to her and all she needs to do is set the table in the kitchen of the so-called neighbor’s farmhouse. As a special touch May has picked some lavender from the garden of the main house and placed bunches in two vases she sets on the table.
When Kris’s plane arrives he is greeted by Patrick and May, who help him load chiller bags and personal belongings onto the traytop. Patrick says they’ve got a room for him in the main house.
‘Bugger that,’ he says with an enormous grin across his broad face, glancing at Patrick before fixing his eyes on May. ‘Sorry, thanks, but bugger if I’ve come here without sampling your home stay. Is there a room open in those shearers’ quarters? Sorry, I’m Kris.’
‘I’m May,’ responds May, regretting putting out her small hand to be crushed, although she accepts the crush is not intentional but inevitable considering the difference in hand size.
‘Let’s look around what you’re doing here,’ he says in a request rather than demand tone. ‘So how’s it going?’
May describes the types of accommodation offered, plus things to see and the intentions for expanding experiences like a telescope station for observing the night sky. Then there are activities such as hiking to Fogg’s hut. In particular she hopes that school children with their teachers will make the trip from Adelaide to get a taste of farming and learn more about the environment. Everything she’s said makes wonderfully great sense, Kris tells her. He says he’s particularly impressed with the touches like farm fresh eggs, collected daily, and the way she meets people with a smile. Things like a welcoming smile have value, he tells her. Social and economic power in the hospitality industry. Little does he know that six months ago she couldn’t muster a smile no matter how hard anyone tried.
‘You are in hospitality?’ she asks, with an appetite for advice from those in the know.
‘Yes, I’m in hospitality,’ he laughs, tapping his tummy. ‘From the other side of the counter I’m in hospitality. Love wining and dining. Don’t I look it? No, I’m a humble tuna fisherman. Hey, what do you think of my plans for tonight? Coffin Bay oysters followed by sirloin steak with mushroom sauce.’
‘And for salad?’
‘Salad? Salad? Are you kidding? Salads are for vegetarians,’ Kris says with that puzzled look that tells he isn’t serious. ‘No, I’m joking, only joking, I have prepared with my own hands a potato and spring onion salad and there’s a bowl of my wife’s greens and tomato salad. She’s good, Cosetta, my wife. Italian. Married her for her culinary prowess! Hey, joking again. She’d kill me if she heard what I just said God bless her. She’s put up with a lot since I got involved in the rainmaking venture. She’d always support me, taking the phone calls, putting up with my demands and irritability. Fears flying in the small plane, but some day we’ll drive here and have a good look around.’
May is in awe of this man, massive and neckless like a rugby player, probably wealthy to boot being a tuna fisherman. Right now he appears jovial yet an undercurrent of sadness is perceived. The big fisherman has gone to some effort to provide tonight’s meal, which may be something of a last supper.
Around the table early in the evening there is a relaxed mood as fresh oysters are devoured with a squeeze of lemon and glass of Clare Valley Riesling. Kris insists he prepare the steaks and announces that, to complement the sirloin, he’s brought along four bottles of Oliver’s Taranga 2028 McLaren Vale Shiraz.
‘Just four bottles?’ Patrick asks irreverently. ‘Glad I’ve brought along some Cooper’s ale.’
Hoping Kris understands Patrick is only trying to be smart and wanting to show her appreciation of their guest’s generosity, May says she has no doubt the wine will be enjoyed by the adults.
‘Mum still thinks I’m a kid.’
‘Ah just one glass, under strict supervision, is acceptable tonight isn’t it Bernadette?’ Kris remarks with a look across to the mother that says it will happen anyway.
‘What’s so special about McLaren Vale, Mr Pavic?’ May asks.
‘Where is this Mr Pavic?’ Kris jokes, looking around the room as if searching for someone. ‘Kris. It is Kris. And I love your interest in things May. It is a classic environment, McLaren Vale, for getting all the flavours in the berries. It’s an area renowned for having these flavours carry on after winemaking. It means you have a luscious and lasting sensation in the mouth. You’ll enjoy the long mid palate of this one from Oliver’s. You can expect the aroma and taste of fully ripe ruby black cherries, the presence of slurpy satsuma plums and hints of cassis plus maybe the memories of great grandmother’s fruity Christmas cake.’
‘Are we going to drink it or eat it?’ asks Christian. ‘Sounds more like our dessert.’
‘Cosetta’s got that covered you cheeky Finnish lad. Hope you like sticky date pudding.’
When Christian becomes too weary to stay awake for after-meal conversation, Inka quietly whispers a thank you to Kris and a goodnight to everyone as she takes him by the arm to help him to his room. As they depart, Kris picks up a plastic carry bag from his belongings and sets off after Inka and Christian, telling the others he has something for Christian.
In Christian’s room Inka takes off his shoes and helps him into pyjamas. Before he lays down, Kris helps him to the toilet, returning to take the only chair in the room while Inka sits on the bed. She suspects from Kris’s face that the bag doesn’t contain a gift-wrapped box of chocolates.
Kris leans forward and opens the plastic bag to reveal four small boxes held together by a criss cross of rubber bands. Also in the box is a loose twin pack of squeeze bubbles.
‘This is only for when your pain gets too much,’ Kris makes it clear, demonstrating how the plastic bubble pushes out a needle as it is squeezed. ‘Press it against your arm or thigh like this and squeeze. Although I won’t squeeze.’
‘Morphine?’ Inka quietly asks.
‘Yes. An old aid but more effective than some of the modern medications. Supplied by a medical associate,’ Kris says, pausing before looking into Inka’s eyes. ‘Can you and Patrick keep this hush hush? And sorry Christian for being so direct about this. If you don’t want professional palliative care this is something that’ll ease the intense pains. I’ve a friend who was hit by cancer and I know what you’re going through. I’m sorry. Patrick tells me you like the swims and soaking up the morning sun while you listen to the chooks cluck about. Keep it up, things like this are good for you.’
Although he has said nothing, Christian is grateful and beckons Kris over with a bony hand. There is a gentle goodbye embrace for the two men while Inka massages Christian’s feet and begins to sob. Kris turns as he leaves, raising a hand to wave farewell. With reference to their shared success in the project he softly says ‘We have been winners. Be proud of that.’ The big man’s eyes speak about the sadness of death, particularly a young death, over which there is no victory.
~~~~
During the next few days a pact is formed between Inka, Christian and Patrick, not only about the illegal use of morphine but also about what should be done at Christian’s life’s end. Although Inka has reiterated her position that, with regard to funeral arrangements, Patrick has no obligation to follow Christian’s wishes, he says he’s elevated the importance of his own wishes and will take both into account. Importantly, they will be in control and not handball management to anyone’s parents. With thought, they decide May can to some degree be part of this new circle.
Joining Patrick on an inspection of the stage of ripening of wheat across their properties, Inka asks him about his ambitions and he is a little stunned by the question.
‘I don’t want to say I have none, although I haven’t really thought about it,’ he replies. ‘I suppose I want to make our business more viable, but beyond that, no, I’m pretty relaxed. What about you?’
‘Coming to Australia at first was realisation of a great ambition. To make a contribution to world understanding of old cultures, their unwritten languages and so on. Then I find there has been a scheme to get me here as a cover for Christian. It is like a false project. Worthy, probably, but concocted from laundered research money. If this is not enough I find my partner couldn’t be honest and confide in me. What I thought were special times were not so special. My family has been used. I don’t mean to say there never was a connection there. I think there was. Christian and I met when he was taking a break in Lahti and my mother was hired as a personal cross-country skiing coach. She invited him to dinner and one thing led to another. I thought my life was wonderful.’
Patrick is unsure about what he should say, except to agree life can take unexpected turns. When this is said, unhappy blue eyes bordered by white hair, stare at him in cold agreement.
‘The turn that was taken when we were in Adelaide was not only unexpected, it was damned hurtful,’ she says. ‘My mother, true to form, is forgiving but I can’t be. You probably think I’m a heartless bitch?’
‘I don’t’
‘Well you should. I’m different now. I raised the question of ambition. Although I have none of my own right now. This whole thing has left me feeling empty. Even when we think we’ve made the right choices it can be hard.’
‘I understand.’
‘No you don’t. You’ve gone along with everything. You seem to disconnect when the real things matter.’
‘Oh, Inka, I’m so sorry you think this way,’ Patrick responds, surprised at this belief - which takes a few silent moments to contemplate. ‘You are right, though, I admit. I tend to take the easy route.’
The pair continues walking through the paddocks without speaking. At one level Patrick is puzzled about Inka’s statement coming out, seemingly, from nowhere. On another he is aware that he’s failed to boldly walk into the situation and say ‘No, Christian you can’t stay here. You must be cared for in a hospice and you must be buried according to law.’
While Patrick is mulling over various stances that he may have taken, Inka is distressed, talking almost incoherently about Christian and his mother. Spiritually a galaxy apart but mother and son are stuck to each other. What seems to be causing most distress is Christian’s dependency on others while taking little responsibility for himself.
‘Do you know that he didn’t make a flight booking to return to Helsinki?’ Inka says, stopping in the paddock to make her point. ‘Look, I know I’m rambling and I shouldn’t be cross with you. I’m not. I just don’t want you used and to get hurt like me. By contrast he so much didn’t want to hurt his parents with bad news that it took my mother to push him into telling them. You know he had promised my mother when she came here that he would explain everything to them, about the reason for being here and the fact he is dying.’
‘I think we might have seen him take her call on the beach on the day of the fire,’ Patrick says. ‘Good on Susanna for making things happen. He was distraught and fell to his knees when he knew he had to face up, but at least he called his parents that night.’
‘You’re right, she’s made things happen and all I can hope for is that his parents arrive safely in December and get him home for proper care.’
‘Me too,’ Patrick agrees, turning attention to the wheat crop and twisting off an ear to rub the grains through his palms. ‘Almost there. Reckon this will be the first paddock we reap.’
~~~~
About noon on Wednesday November 26th Patrick takes a harvester to the paddock he inspected in Inka’s company and adjusts the height of twin combs for taking the ears filled with hard ripe grain and cutting stalks for mulching. Although the temperature is rising he wants to ensure moisture levels within the golden crop are low, so he checks sensors installed in the paddock. They predict ideal conditions until midnight at least. The Ellsons have two harvesters, both able to be operated as driverless units after inputting data about best speed and other factors. Today Patrick will fine-tune his harvester, while Brian is going through the same process in an adjacent paddock. Christian will join Patrick in the harvester cabin in the late afternoon.
Helping Christian into the cabin of the harvester, Patrick is made acutely aware of the weight loss and fragile bony frame, yet his companion seems uplifted, excited at the prospect of seeing and hearing grain being harvested. When Christian sees the header front begin crunching its way through the crop he asks if he can hear the sounds generated by the operation. Winding down the window of the sound-proof cabin, Patrick obliges, saying there is the hum of the harvester, a slick regular noise of cutting at the front and, from the rear, the tinny sound of thousands of grains being separated and sent clattering into a bin. Fascination with the harvest orchestra continues for a few minutes until dust and fragments of chaff cause Christian to cough until blood is drawn from his weakened lungs.
‘I’ve decided if you don’t make it to Finland that I’ll take your preferred option,’ Patrick says solemnly. ‘Don’t think of it as me following your wish. Well it is. Your wish, yet it’s also my wish. That’s what I want to do. It’s not going to hurt anyone.’
