Heartstrings | Page 5

the vehicle amble down again, without accelerator or brakes.
Loose boondies shifted under the wide-tyred wheels, and the engine whined, and then it took
him down onto the level, sandy bottom of the dry-creek.
It was coming into the time of rain, but there was no threat tonight of a washaway, and he
decided that here, where the thin mallee grew taller, where the bones of sheep lay scattered,
and the scar of an old campfire blacked the white rocks beneath a solitary Salmon Gum tree,
that here he would camp, out of sight of the roadway.
He decided to make a fire tonight, as the place was already burn-scarred, not too long ago, so
it took little time to gather up dry fallen branches from the skimpy trees, a few handfuls of
leaves and twigs, and the trunk, not yet devoured by termites, of a fallen log. He lit the fire,
dragged the end of the log onto it, to start it burning, and, going to the back of the wagon,
took out his tucker box, and put it on the ground. He took out tinned green beans, and
opening them, curling back the top, placed the tin on a flat stone at his fire's edge. He took
out two potatoes, and poked them in the fire's heart, where the ash was forming, breaking the
cone he had built down, to cool the fire. He took out a package of meat., vacuum sealed,
chilled still, from the top layer of the 12-volt freezer, and the wire grill from the cook-box, to
hold the meat over the flames. He set two big rocks either side of his fire, placed the steak
between the two frames of the wire grill, closed it, and set the grill, resting it on the rocks.

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The fat began to melt away, to fall into the fire and the flames sparkled and fizzled. He took a
fresh tomato from hanging a string bag filled with fruit and vegetables, and with his sharp
knife, sliced it into halves, to grill lightly, when the meat was nearly done.
He filled his soot blackened billy-can with water from the tanks installed under the cab of the
wagon, two big water tanks, stainless steel, that he had made, and fitted himself, each taking
80 litres. The billy-can he set right on the last of the hot part of the fire-in the flames, to start
it to boiling, and he got out the tea-tin, the sugar, and the UHT milk, and a plate, spoon and
fork.
Not much more waiting now. He hunkered down on the heels of his boots, enjoying the chill
that had crept into the air, and the cold feel of his denim shirt on his back, while his face was
heated and lit by the small campfire. Around him the land was dark. No moon tonight, only
Venus rising behind him soon on the Eastern horizon, he hoped, and the stars so bright, so
many, hanging overhead in the beautiful empty blackness of the firmament.
He sighed, turned the meat, the fire had died down, and he shoved the log further into the
glowing heart of it. He took out the smoke he had rolled earlier, at lunchtime. A little thin
greyhound, but enough for now, and he lit it, and drew the pungent, sweet hempen smoke into
his lungs and held it and felt its gentle peace ease into the sick tension of his high-strung
nerves.
He exhaled, and steadily smoked the joint down, to throw the roach into the fire.
His meal was ready. The steak was flipped from the grill, and the lightly seared tomato. the
tin of beans was hot and bubbling, and the spuds he rolled out from the embers, to let them
cool a little while he ate from his plate. Finishing the meat and beans, he took the spuds,
tapped the burnt outer skin away, and dipped the white, floury flesh into the juice on his plate,
and finished his meal.
The billy was boiled. He tossed in a small handful of tea leaves. Took the billy by the
handle, and swung it overhead in an arc, grinning to himself. Then he set it down, stirred it
with a twig, and tapped it, to settle the leaves. The first cup of tea was sheer delight - scalding
hot, sweet, with the tannin overlaid by the milk.
In the clear, cold, air, he could get drunk on tea and breathing.

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Scraping his plate, he cleaned it with sand from the creek bed, and the implements also. He
put away his tucker box, took out