Rain

The sky darkened once more over the dust of Kerry Downs. With night came no relief from the day’s heat. It seemed to permeate from the ground into the air in waves. Wayne stood on the veranda surveying his property. His dirt darkened hands rested on the railing. His jeans were worn and the leather of his belt wore the scars of notches now unused. His feet ached but he stood and watched as the night fell over the family property. His property. The stars revealed themselves in their full glory without a cloud to hinder them. On the horizon, a distant green glow disrupted the skyline.

Wayne woke at sunrise, as he always did. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with his hands clasped gently together over his heart. The sound of his wife’s breathing next to him set a metronome rhythm. It was almost hypnotic. In and out. Just as we exist in life. In and out. She never seemed to wake with him. You would think after 15 years that she might start to notice his sleep patterns. In bed at 9 and up at sunrise. She would usually stay up reading something or other. They hadn’t had sex in years. Not that it bothered Wayne. He hadn’t thought about sex in a long time. As he stared at the ceiling he could see a dark grey spot right in the centre of the room. Funny; he’d never seen it before. As he lay there, he wondered how many mornings he had stared at this spot without seeing it.

The calf was already stiff. Flies were trying to nest in the remaining moisture of its eyes. Caramel hide hung loosely from the skull of the 6 month old calf. It was clear the cause of death was dehydration. Each step Wayne made kicked up more dust as he headed towards the small dam he had in the western paddock. The sky was a perfect blue; pale as ice across the horizon that blended up into a deep calming colour. Wayne noticed how the transition of colour was seamlessly beautiful. As he came closer to the dam, the ground changed from orange to brown and began to crack and splinter. He walked to the centre of what remained of the life source of his property and fingered the khaki mud that drank his water. He rubbed the mud between his thumb and fore finger feeling its smooth cooling consistency. The heat soon dried it to hard clay and it cracked and flaked to the ground leaving only the memory of moisture behind. Wayne headed to the silo to check the grain supply.

He sat on the veranda watching the lights in the distance. Night used to be so peaceful for Wayne. Nothing but the stars in the sky and gentle rustling of his heifers in the distance. The night was quieter now. He knew they were reserving their energy. Trying to last just one more day. He could understand. The night was no longer what it used to be. The lights were different too. Once, only stars broke the blackness. The pulsing green light that persisted in the distance was like a disease on the skin of the earth. Wayne decided it was time to go to bed. He kissed each of his children on the forehead and closed the bedroom door behind him.

The grey spot on the ceiling had gotten bigger. Yesterday he could barely see it. Now it was the size of a twenty cent piece and seemed to glisten.

Wayne was watching his children play in the front yard. They seemed so free of concern. Jack, the pup, was running up and down the flowerbeds, kicking up dirt as the kids chased him, giggling elatedly. Such innocence was untainted by the wilted rose petals and dried lavender. At least the garden smelt like a haven for playing children. The sun was going down and a red glow encompassed the afternoon. The heavens began to darken above Wayne and a pustule of green light seeped into the night.

That night Wayne dreamed of a simpler time. He was the child chasing the pup and the roses were in full bloom. He crushed the fresh lavender between his fingers to stain them with its scent. He stood in the yard staring past the house at the horizon. Black clouds gathered there. The ominous still that restricted his movement gave way to a swift gust of air. One clear bolt of lightning hit the ground between his feet and scorched the land. He ran to the veranda as a heady rumble of thunder begun to build and the wind picked up the leaves from the ground and threw them into the air about him. Branches began to creak and ache as the howling of the wind grew stronger. His ears reverberated with the booming of the clouds. Lightning found him once more and split the timber that protected him from above. Swift came the crack of thunder that smacked him to the floor. The smell of rain was thick in the air and a dark sheet of water broke from the clouds above. Rain. He could see it rushing forth to his house and his unprotected position, falling like a curtain over the land. It stopped short; ringing his house with a halo of water. No rain touched his flowerbeds. He lay still, terrified of the fury of the storm, without feeling its healing strength. Blistered and burnt was the house and ground but the rain did not come.

Wayne was wet with sweat when his eyes opened at the breaking of day. He felt his heart beat wane with disappointed anticipation. There was no rain. He stared directly in front of him at the white ceiling. The grey spot was spreading. A depth of colour concentrated towards the centre and diluted further out, culminating in one distinct, uneven greyish green ring around the outside. It seemed to bulge out this morning and cause the ceiling to flake. A shiny tear drop hung from the centre. Wayne laid there and waited ‘til it let go and slipped from the ceiling, landing on his cheek. He raised his hand and wiped it with his finger and brought it to his lips. Salty and bitter.

Tracy Grimshaw was dressed in an electric blue collared shirt that accentuated the shadow around her chin. She was her usual serious self as she read the headlines for Today Tonight. Wayne was sitting at the dinner table as she gave the outline of the evening’s show. ‘This evening on Today Tonight we’ll bring you the story of a teenage girl, attacked and gang raped by seven Lebanese men and left for dead. Her heroic story of trial and triumph is not to be missed.’ Images flashed passed of a young woman in a hospital bed. Tracy’s expression remained the same as she introduced the next headline. ‘But first we bring you the plight of Central Queensland. Flood, the threat of fire, flood and now drought. Is there no end to the suffering of our Australian farmers? We will take you into the lives of the Aussie Battlers that courageously continue to farm this great land.’ Wayne flicked off the TV with the remote control. He traced his finger over the power button and felt its pliable edges compress under its pressure.

Wayne knew his wife was screaming at him. He could see her with a slow precision that made her movements seem lethargic. Her brows were bent so deeply into a furrow that they had become severe points and her eyes glistened with fury. He watched as spittle flew from her mouth and landed on the floor in front of her. The tea towel she was holding was being flicked and flung about her as if she were trying to swat a fly. Wayne was listening to the gentle hum of the refrigerator. He remembered the day they got it. Three days after moving into the house, they had made the trip to town to purchase the necessities. They’d only been married a month. The way his wife looked at him when he had shown her the house for the first time made his heart ache with love. He promised himself that he would do anything to make sure she looked at him like that every day for the rest of his life. He was broken from his reverie when the tea towel hit his face. ‘I’m taking the kids!’ she screamed at last and stormed out of the kitchen.

The next morning he woke and there was no metronome to keep his time to. He stared up at the ceiling and he knew what he would see. The spot had consumed the ceiling. Dominating the white and spoiling its purity. It was as if the edges were the final frontier. The cornices were struggling to keep it at bay as the subtle seeping of grey began to infringe the plaster. The single drop of water that had pervaded the ceiling before had multiplied. Thousands of tiny drops hung from the ceiling causing it to bow under their weight. Wayne didn’t know whether the drops or the ceiling would fall first. He was rigid for fear of causing one or the other to slip. A tiny splat of moisture hit his chin. He blinked reflexively. Another droplet fell and landed on his hand. Wayne raised his hand and as he did a roar filled his ears as he was saturated with drops pouring down on him from above. He lay there, suspended in time, allowing it to fall at will, not trying to escape it. At last it subsided and Wayne raised his hand again to wipe the moisture from his eyes.

As dusk settled, Wayne looked at the spot where his children had played days before. Empty. Barren. Dead leaves were being whipped up by the incoming winds and had begun to invade the lawn. The sunset was molten, thick grey clouds backlit by the sinking red sun. Red and purple hues filled the sky and lit Wayne’s path to the shed. He slowly but purposefully worked his way around it, evaluating all he had. Touching old tools and rusted tractors, filling his nose with the scent of the farm. Fuel and grain, dirt and cow shit. His hands found an old piece of rope behind a disused paint can. He took it between both hands and ran his fingers over it gently, brushing away the dust. He grabbed and old saw horse from the corner and dragged it to the centre of the shed and sat down. As the green light on the horizon grew brighter with the darkening of night, Wayne Kelly could hear the ting ting of tiny water drops reverberating off the corrugated iron roof.

Fifty kilometres to the west, the rain had begun to fall as well. The black ground was being turned to sludge and the water was making work hazardous. A maze of conveyor belts raised 20 metres into the sky were turned into giant drainpipes guiding the water underground. A group of belt splicers were in the middle of a job as the rain interrupted their work. ‘Alright boys,’ called the supervisor, ‘cover ‘er up! I’m gettin’ out of this fuckin’ rain.’ Their fluorescent shirts reflected the green light of the wash plant as their boots were blackened by wet coal.