The Crossing

“We didn’t have to wait in my day. We could just….”

“Walk right across. I know, it was a different time back then.”

“A better time.”

“Different, Grandpa, just different.”

Grandpa made a humph noise in the back of his throat.

“When will it get here?”

“Soon.”

“Was that a sigh?”

“No, Grandpa, it wasn’t.

In the moonlight below, one of the grazing kangaroos stood up, ears standing to attention as it sniffed the air. The rest of the mob followed its example. The joeys moved closer to their mothers.

As one, they turned and hopped back through the paddock, towards the distant farmhouse and away from the deep moon shadows of the bush. It wasn’t a panicked rush, just a decision to be elsewhere.

“Come on, Grandpa, it’ll be here soon.”

Grandpa muttered under his breath as he used his stick to pull himself up off the old piece of granite.

“I’d just warmed that patch up,” he grumbled.

“You must have one warm butt to heat a rock that size.”

“Not the whole rock, just the patch I was sitting on. You can be an ass sometimes, you know that?”

They picked their way off the outcrop, threading their way through the thin, dry undergrowth.

“Ow, damn it. Does anything in this country not have spikes?”

“That’s why I told you to wear long pants and boots, Grandpa.”

“You expect me to arrive looking like some kind of labourer?”

“Better a labourer than a lacerated King.”

Grandpa made another humph sound as he pulled himself and his ceremonial robes out of a particularly grasping parrot bush, emerging just in time to see the shadowy building settling onto its chicken legs near where the kangaroos had been grazing.

“Is that her house?”

“No. It’s nothing like it. Did you ever see her house?

“No,” Grandpa admitted. “I only heard about it afterwards. I had bigger fish to fry back then.”

“That you did. She was never the danger she was said to be. All that stuff about children, it was utter nonsense. I met her, you know?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Helped her turn the house around and get it back to the crossing. It was basically out of control; she was the only one crazy enough to stay in it.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I was just another pair of hands. That was all she needed, someone to steer. She did all the hard work. The house wouldn’t listen to me. Anyone could have done what I did.”

“And the stories about the children?”

“Folklore. Once we got the house under control again, a few families went back with her, but they all chose to go.”

“History doesn’t remember her kindly.”

“Just history, Grandpa?”

Grandpa didn’t reply. They picked their way through the tough, dry grass, heading towards the incongruous old barn sitting silently at the edge of the bush.

The sounds of others doing the same floated towards them on the cool night air.

“Not alone?”

“There are always others these days, Grandpa. It doesn’t matter how remote the location is. The barn doesn’t stop in one place for long.”

“Why?”

“Too long attracts attention.”

An anguished, inhuman howl ripped through the night.

“This is why you insisted I wear shoes, I suppose.”

“Yep, here they call them double gees. Evil little things. Given that howl, I don’t think shoes were really an option for them.”

“Suppose not. It was a bit lupine, wasn’t it?”

“I think so, Grandpa. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard one.”

“You’ve been away too long, my dear.”

Above them, the stars disappeared. The bush behind the barn became less distinct and faded as well. Even the ground began to blur.

Slowly, silently, the barn door swung open. A dim yellow light trickled out. Silhouetted against it was a small furry figure.

“Welcome, old King.”

Grandpa stood, silent.

“Are you ready to obey the Treaty this time?”

For a long moment, Grandpa stood stock still. The figure in the doorway did not move. Eventually, the old man gave the slightest of nods.

Satisfied, the figure stepped back into the barn.

“So, I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yeah, it is, Grandpa. I can’t come.”

“I know. I didn’t expect you to. Thank you for bringing me this far, and… thank you for speaking for me. Many wouldn’t have.”

The younger woman shrugged. “Will you try and find her?”

“I think so. I have… missed her.”

“She may not forgive you.”

“You did.”

“I’m not your wife.”

“Time is ticking, Old King,” called the voice from the barn, “others await the chance to cross, and I cannot hold the way open for long. Your destination is but one of many.”

Without a backwards glance, he left. His granddaughter the only witness to his passing.

She looked out the tiny window of the plane as they levelled off. For a second, she caught a glimpse. The bush, the granite outcrop, the dry paddock, and the place where the barn had been.

The old man was finally gone.

Relief tinged with sadness. Maybe she’d be able to find her place here?

Or maybe she, too, would finally go home?