Prohibited Zone (14 page)

‘So you got some fire in your belly,' I said.

‘And then came nine eleven,' she said, ‘and the War on Fucking Terror, and the lines were drawn. Howard and Bush and Blair lined up together and anyone not on their side was the enemy.'

‘And then there was the children-overboard thing,' said Luke.

This was another incident involving a boatload of refugees. The Australian government had accused the refugees, mostly Afghans, of throwing their children into the sea in an effort to force the Australian Navy to rescue them. The allegation was later shown to be false.

‘Yes, it was two months from hell.
Tampa
, nine eleven and children overboard, boom boom boom. The country went mad and jumped headfirst into a couple of wars that have killed hundreds of thousands of people.'

‘People lash out when they're scared,' I said. ‘When those passenger jets flew into the World Trade Center we all had a collective panic attack. The Bali bombing brought it closer to home. We've all become shit-scared.'

‘Some of us lashed out. Some of us tried to make sure we didn't become just as bad as the terrorists.'

She slapped at a fly that had landed on her bare calf. It fell onto the sand, gave a couple of delicate little quivers of its legs, and was still.

‘How do you know some of those boat people aren't terrorists?'

‘I've talked to them. I've spent the last few years getting to know them. Like any crowd there are a few ratbags. But mostly these are decent people who have been treated like shit. Australia was their last resort. But when they got here they found they'd just swapped one bunch of dicks for another.'

The clouds on the western horizon were moving across the gulf towards us. They were purple and black and looked like bruises on the pale flesh of the world. Soon they would cover the sun; the temperature had already dropped a few degrees. Along the beach people were packing up their canvas tents and loading eskies into cars. In front of us, Bozo had brought the beach cricket to a standstill by running off with the tennis ball.

‘Shouldn't you do something about your hound?' I asked.

Luke shrugged. ‘Just pretend you don't know him.'

‘That might be difficult,' said Kara. ‘He seems to be bringing the ball over here.'

Bozo trotted towards us, holding the ball aloft in his jaws as if it were a rabbit he had just run down. He dropped it at Luke's feet and stood there grinning at us and showing us his big pink tongue.

‘Good boy,' said Luke. He grabbed Bozo by the collar and tossed the ball to the boy, aged about eight, who had come to retrieve it. Bozo strained to race after it but Luke held him firm. The father waved his thanks to Luke. He had taken the ball theft as a cue to bring the game to an end and was starting to stuff gear into a large beach bag. Bozo gave up on the ball and forced his way between Luke and Kara. Having conquered the territory he lay down and rested his head on Luke's thigh.

‘Go on,' I said to Kara. She was scratching Bozo's neck.

‘Where was I?'

‘Something about swapping dicks.'

‘Yes, that's right – one bunch of dicks for another. So, anyway, I started visiting refugees in the Villawood Detention Centre near Sydney, and I saw how inhumane the whole system was. Not only did we torment these people in their boats and try all sorts of nasty tricks to stop them landing, but when they did land we locked them up and took away their hope and ground their souls into the dirt. So I became involved. That's how I met Saira.'

‘She was in Villawood?'

‘Yes. Later – about six months ago – she was transferred to Woomera. She's smart and she's got a lot of guts. She agreed to start documenting some of the abuses that were happening in the centres. I smuggled in a camera and an audio recorder, and every now and then we would exchange memory sticks.'

‘Get any juicy stuff?'

She was scooping sand up with her hands and letting it trickle through her fingers. She flashed me an angry glance.

‘No, we got some very bad stuff.' She turned to Luke. ‘Is your brother really as cold and callous as he makes out?'

Luke reflected. ‘Yeah, that pretty much sums him up. Me, I'm much warmer, much more caring.'

‘You're much more full of shit,' I said. He grinned.

‘And then you hatched a plan to spring Saira from detention by starting a riot,' I said to Kara.

She hooked some now-dry hair behind an ear and looked like she was about to say something but thought better of it.

‘So what do you plan to do with it?' I asked. ‘The evidence?'

‘I plan to close down those detention centres, and maybe bring down the government.'

‘Is that all?'

She gave a sharp exhalation of air. ‘Isn't that enough? Meanwhile, what have you been doing to improve the world?' She threw a handful of sand towards the sea. An ocean breeze had sprung up and the sand didn't make it very far. Bozo wanted to kill it but Luke still held his collar and eventually he settled back down.

‘Apparently you didn't hear the irony in my voice,' I said.

‘I think you mean sarcasm,' said Luke.

‘Do I?'

‘I believe so.'

‘What's the difference?'

Kara made another noise of exasperation, this one like the sound of someone twisting the top off a beer.

‘Is any of this going to help the refugees you're so concerned about?' I asked.

‘Of course it will help them. If there are no detention centres they won't be locked up, they'll be able to be with their families, maybe find work. They'll be able to get on with their lives. Of course, they'll still have to wait for Immigration to decide their fates, but at least they won't be living in concentration camps.'

‘Fine,' I said.

She looked at me sharply. ‘What do you mean by that?'

‘By what?'

‘By the sarcasm.'

‘Or irony?'

‘No, the fucking sarcasm.' Her voice was getting louder and more irritated.

I shrugged. ‘It just seems naïve, that's all. As if by showing people there's a little bit of rough stuff going on that the detention centres are suddenly going to be closed down and it's all going to be happy families again. It won't work like that, I guarantee it.'

‘You don't know how rough the rough stuff is.'

‘Doesn't matter. The world has changed. People don't care anymore.'

‘They don't want to care,' said Luke. He had been exchanging looks of mutual admiration with Bozo but now looked at us. ‘Everyone has too much information and too much money, or at least too much credit. So most of us have decided that since the problems are too big to be solved we might as well just look out for Numero Uno, I'm alright Jack and fuck you. It's actually a rational response to an overload of information. We've all realised that God has fucked off, life is nasty, brutish and short, as someone once said, and we might as well live it in front of a plasma screen TV.'

‘Or LCD,' I said.

‘Or LCD, true. Watching crappy American comedies and pretending the future isn't as bleak as we suspect.'

‘You'd never guess he was a sociology student,' I said to Kara, indicating Luke with my head.

‘Psychology, actually,' said Luke.

‘The point is,' she said, ‘I am not going to
not
try just because the chance of success is low. I don't accept your cynicism.'

I looked at Luke. ‘I think she means irony.' He didn't laugh, and neither did Kara.

‘I think people do care,' she said. ‘Or they
will
care when they find out what's going on.'

‘Well, good luck,' I said. ‘So what's your plan?'

‘My plan? Saira is going to tell her story on national television.
60 Minutes
has already agreed to interview her.'

‘Cool,' said Luke.

‘Yeah, cool. And I already know what you're going to say, West. You think I'm using this girl, setting her up, getting her into even more trouble.'

‘Yes, I might be thinking that.'

‘Well, it's not true. We've talked about this many, many times, and I have explained to her all the risks she will be taking. She doesn't care. She wants to do it.'

‘Fine.'

‘Yes, fine, and fuck you.'

‘Don't be so prickly.'

‘Don't be such a prick.'

‘Fine.'

‘Say “fine” one more time and I'll scream.'

‘Fine.'

She lay back on the sand – one hand on the towel to stop it coming apart – and screamed at the top of her lungs. It was an excellent scream. The heads of everyone left on the beach within a hundred metres jerked around and looked at us. They probably thought someone had just been taken by a shark.

‘She's fine,' I called to the family of beach cricketers, which seemed to redouble its efforts to pack up. ‘Feel better?' I asked.

‘Much better, thank you,' said Kara. ‘God, that felt good. How long have we known each other, West?'

I looked at my watch and calculated. ‘Forty-two hours, give or take a few minutes.'

‘Are you sure? I feel like I've aged ten years. Has my hair turned grey yet, like every other poor bastard in this town? I have never met anyone more infuriating, more self-centred or more shallow than you.' She turned to Luke, who had been surreptitiously looking at her cleavage in the hope that the towel would slip down. ‘My sympathies for having him as a brother.'

‘Luckily he's only a half-brother.'

‘Half-brother and half-wit.'

He laughed.

‘What about the girl?' I asked. ‘Is she safe?'

‘Yes, she's safe. I don't think anyone will find her.'

‘When is the interview?'

‘In two days, on Tuesday. The journalist I want is on assignment, but as soon as she's finished with that she's flying here with her crew. They think they can do the interview in one day and screen it the next Sunday.'

‘Fine.'

Luke rolled away from us, his hands protecting his head as if he expected her to blow herself to pieces. Nothing happened for a few seconds and he dared a glance in her direction. She looked at him and then shot me another high-beam glare. She burst out laughing. It was the first genuine laugh I could remember from her. It was nice.

‘You're such a dickhead.'

The clouds had covered most of the sky by now, but a shaft of light was beaming down through a gap, lending platinum highlights to the flat grey water. Out to sea, rain was falling in a dark purple shroud. There was a solitary flash of lightning.

‘That weather will be here in less than ten minutes,' predicted Luke. We beat a retreat to the ute, Bozo bounding alongside. The beach was almost deserted now and the breeze was whipping up.

‘Where have you parked?'

‘Up the top,' said Luke. ‘Didn't want to pay the five bucks.'

‘Hop in, we'll give you a lift.'

Kara dressed discreetly in the lee of the car, pulling on her shorts, a yellow polo shirt she took from her suitcase, and a pair of sturdy sandals that strapped to her ankles. Luke and Bozo jumped into the back of the ute and I drove it up the ramp. At the top we turned right past the general store, the type of beach shop that sold fishing tackle, hot food, ice-cream, milk, bread, the newspaper, and one can each of every kind of vegetable ever described by science. Alongside it was a row of holiday houses with big, seaward windows, and beyond those were a dozen more rows, one above the other up the face of the dust-coloured hill.

Luke had parked on the barren edge of the cliff a few hundred metres to the south of the car ramp. The beach houses were more modest here, some of them only single storey. I pulled in next to Luke's car and Luke and Bozo jumped off. Kara and I both got out and walked to the cliff edge. At some time in the not-too-distant past the top part of the cliff had slumped, forming a giant step to the beach about thirty metres below. The cliff face directly beneath us was furrowed with small erosion gullies that were steadily chewing into the land and one day would wear it back to the bedrock of the Hills. Parts of it were almost vertical, others could probably be clambered down without too much difficulty. A dirt foot track to our right led diagonally down the cliff face to the beach.

I looked out at the grey, stirring sea. The weather was not far away now; the breeze was becoming a wind and the air was moist. The clouds were still high, but they were pregnant. There was another flash of lightning.

‘Friends of yours?' asked Luke. He gestured with his thumb and I looked to see four men walking towards us. They all had shaved heads and big muscles, they were all ugly, and they were all carrying bits of four-b'-two about the right size for a window frame or for smashing a bloke's head in.

13

They were all guards from the detention centre and two of them were Janeway and Hose, last seen at Spuds. They formed a semicircle around us, hemming us against the edge of the cliff. The one closest to me was wearing a black t-shirt with an ACDC logo and the words ‘I'm on a Highway to Hell' on it. Next to him was Janeway, who was grinning; in the clear heady light of the approaching storm he looked yellow and almost transparent. His eyes were dilated and wild. He was continually licking his lips. He looked like a snake. Alongside him was a thickset man with square shoulders, square hips and a low-slung singlet. I'd seen him a few times at Spuds but only knew him as PJ. Next to him was Hose.

‘Hello, Westie,' said Janeway.

‘Janey,' I said. ‘Out for a game of beach cricket?'

He stayed grinning. ‘Something like that. A bit of sport, anyway.'

We stared at each other for a few seconds, he licking his lips. Then he shifted his gaze to Luke, looking him up and down. Luke was standing with his left foot slightly in front of his right, his weight on his back foot. His fists were clenched but otherwise he seemed calm.