Arthur Upfield: Death of a Lake

“But Gillen must have been drowned,” Bony argued. “Wearing only his pyjama trousers, he couldn’t have cleared away to another part of the State.”

That’s so,”Draffin agreed.

“Well, then, he must have been drowned,” persisted Bony, prodding the simple driver to defend himself.

“Could of been, and then he could of not. George Barby told me he reckons Gillen went after a woman that night.”

“Wearing only pyjama trousers?”

“It was a hot night, and itain’t necessary to be all dressed up.”

“Well, he went visiting, then disappeared. That it?”

“Yair.”

RedDraffinbraked the truck on a hardclaypan and silently cut chips from a black plug. Without speaking he rubbed the chips to shreds and loaded his odorous pipe and, still without speaking, lit the pipe and again settled to his driving. When they had covered a further three miles he voiced his thoughts.

“Don’t know what you think about things, Bony, but I reckon booze is a safer bet than women. You can trust booze. You know just what it can do to you. But women! All they think about is what they can get out of a bloke. Look! Only theblacks get their women in a corner and keeps ’emthere. Do they let women play around with ’em? No fear. Theygives their women abeltin ’ every Sunday morning regular, and there’s never no arguing or any funny business during the ruddy week.”

“There’s an old English custom. Are you sure the blacks choose Sunday mornings for the belting?” Bony asked, and RedDraffin, noting the smile and the twinkling blue eyes, roared with laughter.

“Could be theymakes itSat’day night sometimesso’s not to miss out,” he conceded, a broad grin widening the spaced flame of hair on his face.

“What makes you think Gillen mightn’t have been drowned?”

“Well, you being a stranger, sort of, I can talk to you, and you can keep it under your bib. As I said, it’s no use stirring up mud. When you get a bird’s eye view of Ma Fowler and the daughter you might feel like me about Ray Gillen. Y’see, it was like this. Ray had a good suitcase, and one day I’m having a pitch with him in his room when he was changing hisunders. He pulls the case from below his bed, and he unlocks it with a key what he kept on a cord with a locket, what he always had slung round his neck. The case was full of clothes. He took a clean vest and pair of pants off the top of the stuff in the case, and he had to kneel on the lid to get it locked again.

“That was a week before he went missing. I wasn’t at the Lake when he drowned, if he did, but George Barby was, and the next day, or the day after, the overseer got Bob Lester and George to be with him when he opened the case and made a list of what was inside. Andaccordin ’ to George Barby, the case was only three parts full of clothes and things. I never saidnothink to no one except George about that, but I’ve thought a lot of what happened to make the tide go down like it did.”

“And did the overseer discover anything in the case, or find anything about Gillen’s parents or relatives?” Bony asked, to keep the subject before RedDraffin.

“Not a thing. Ray’s motor-bike’s still in the machinery shed ’cosnobuddy’sclaimed it, and the police took thesuitcase and things. I’ll tell you what I think. I think Ray got wise to them women, or someone got wise to him, and that sort of started someone off. I tell you straight, I don’t believe he got himself drowned, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they come across his skeleton when the Lake dries up and find there’s bones broken what the water couldn’t of broke. So don’t gomuckin ’ about these women. Keep to the booze and you’ll be all right, like me.”

“I will,” Bony promised, and there was no further opportunity to discuss the disappearance of Ray Gillen.

So swiftly as to provide a shock, the ground fell away before the truck, to reveal the track winding down a long red slope, the buildings clustered at the bottom, and the great expanse of sun-drenched water beyond, shaped like a kidney and promising all things delightful after the long and arid journey.

“Beaut, ain’tshe!” remarked the ungainly, uncouth driver, and added with genuine regret: “Just too crook her going to die.”

‘I am what I am’

THETRUCKSTOPPEDoutside the store and Bony’s world was filled with sounds common to every outback homestead. Chained dogs barked and whined. The power engine chugged in rivalry with the clanging of the lazy windmill. Cockatoos shrieked and magpies chortled. People appeared and gathered about the truck.

Bony opened his door and stepped out. To him no one spoke. He saw RedDraffin pass the mailbag to a dapper man and knew instantly he was the Boss of the out-station. The other men were types to be seen anywhere beyond the railways. He was conscious first of a big-boned woman with flashing dark eyes and raven hair, and a moment later was gazing into eyes as blue as his own. In them was reserved approval. His eyes registered points… deep gold hair, oval face, wide full-lipped mouth… and again his eyes met the eyes of the girl, and they were green and smiling and approving.

“Now you two wash and come in for your dinner,” the elder woman told RedDraffin. “I’ve kept it hot for you, so don’t delay by gossiping.”

Draffingrinned at her, and took Bony to the men’s quarters where they shared a room. In the shower house at the rear of the building they washed and then Bony needs must return to the bedroom to comb and brush his hair.

“Never mind makingyourself look like afillum star,” Red said.

Bony was sure that neither comb nor brush had been applied to the red hair for many years, but his own lifelong habits could not be interrupted by Red’s impatience. He was conducted across the open space and into the men’s dining annexe off the kitchen. Mrs Fowler appeared carrying loaded plates.

“Well, how’s things, Ma?”Draffin cheerfully asked as he slid his enormous buttocks along the table-flanking form.

The woman’s dark eyes flashed and her mouth became grim.

“You should have been smothered at birth.”

“Now, now, no offence meant,” placated the driver. “Allwidders are natural mothers to me. You’re awidder, aren’t you? Hope so, anyhow.”

“Eat your dinner. And don’t waste your time. I told you last time you were out that you haven’t a chance.”

“So you did. Never mind. Next time I’m out here you won’t. Or it might be the time after.”

Mrs Fowler sat on the end of the form nearest the door to the kitchen and regarded Bony with slow appraisement. He was supposed to be a horse-breaker and to be casual in manner and careless in speech, but he was too wise to adopt in the beginning idiosyncrasies which with the passage of time would be difficult to maintain. As, ultimately, he would be judged by his acts, he decided to be himself.

From glancing at the man of cubic proportions and slovenly habits he studied the woman. That she was the mother of Green Eyes was very hard to credit, for there was no hint of the matron about her figure. She smiled at Bony with her lips and not her eyes.

“D’youthinkRed would have a chance, Mr…er…?”

“Call me Bony,” he replied, beaming upon her, and noted the fleeting shock he gave. “I cannot believe that MrDraffin has the merest ghost of a chance.”

“Chance of what?” asked Joan Fowler, who appeared at the kitchen door and came to sit opposite her mother. She sat slightly sideways, that she could the better see Bony who was sitting on the same form.

Bony hesitated to explain, and was glad when Red took the lead.

“The chance of marrying your mother, Joan. What do you reckon?”