Prohibited Zone (6 page)

‘Jesus, I'm tired,' said Kara. ‘You make me tired.'

‘Except haiku. I'm not too keen on haiku.' I loaded Nick Cave into the CD player and we all listened to him for a while. By the third track I'm pretty sure I was the only one still awake. I spent the next forty minutes wondering why I had suddenly become an accomplice to a crime, why I had an Afghan refugee in my car, and how many lies I'd have to tell before it was all over. I thought about some good lies to tell. I thought about the woman next to me, breathing deeply and moaning softly to herself from time to time, her hair falling across her face. I wondered what her face would look like close up, really close up. And I thought about Lucy, waiting for me in Adelaide. By the time the CD had played out I had finished thinking and was struggling to stay awake myself.

I almost missed the turn-off. It was hard to spot – it was virtually invisible from the highway anyway, let alone in the dead of night. But I knew it was about a kilometre past the distance marker that said eighty-five kilometres to Port Augusta and I had slowed down just enough. I braked hard and turned onto an obscure dirt track that led through a roadside grove of native pines onto a broad spinifex plain. I had discovered the track one afternoon when I'd pulled off the road to take a piss. It didn't appear to lead anywhere; maybe it had been made by fox and kangaroo shooters to give them access to open country out of view of the highway.

Kara had stirred at the abrupt change of pace. ‘Where are we? Why are we stopping?'

‘I'm tired. We'll rest here until morning.'

‘No, we should keep going. I can drive if you're sleepy.'

Using the headlights I picked out a rough path through the spinifex towards a clump of mallee that stood dismally in the plain like mourners around a grave. I turned the motor off.

‘No, we'll rest. You can sleep in the car. Saira can have my seat if she wants, although she seems happy enough back there.'

Saira might have been happy, but Kara wasn't. ‘You can't do this. The cops will be out in force tomorrow. We should drive all the way through tonight.'

‘I said no.'

‘Fuck!'

I took the keys out of the ignition and put them in my pocket. I opened the door, stepped out and tilted my seat forward for Saira to get out. She did so, sleepily. I fetched my swag from the tray, unstrapped it and removed the sleeping bag from inside, which I handed to Kara. ‘You'll need this, it's going to be cold. You can unzip it and share it with Saira, although her cloak should help keep her warm.'

‘It's called a chador.'

‘Whatever. Push the seats back as far as they can go.' Saira was already asleep in the driver's seat, clutching my pillow. I closed the door and navigated my way by moonlight to the clump of mallee – it was slightly warmer among the trees than in the open spinifex – where I laid out the swag. It had a canvas outer shell, inside which was a thin, high-density foam mattress. I slotted the d-rings into place so the canvas formed a small tent around the mattress. I donned a woollen pullover from my overnight bag, took off my boots and crawled inside. There was going to be a dew, so I zipped the upper flap closed, leaving just a small corner open, through which I could see the universe above. It held my attention for about two seconds.

5

T
HE DAY WAS JUST STARTING TO CRACK OPEN
when I awoke. It was before six and I still felt tired. The light was strong enough, but the plain was still in shadow and it was very cold. I thought fondly of my sleeping bag. I heard a noise, unzipped the swag and stuck my head out. Saira was kneeling on all fours next to one of the mallees, the bottle of water I had given her on the ground nearby, empty, alongside her sandals. She was wearing trousers and her chador, which was long and blue and covered her head. She was murmuring to herself in what I assumed was Arabic and touching the ground with her face. I wasn't sure whether I should interrupt her or wait until she finished before drawing attention to myself. In the end I decided it was better to interrupt than to be a voyeur. I cleared my throat and she looked up in alarm. She peered through the trees, saw me, relaxed and gave a short wave.

‘Hello,' she said.

The swag was camouflage green and blended well with the surrounding bush. I must have looked like a demon emerging from Hell but she seemed calm, almost serene. The chador obscured her hair but exposed her face, a young and very pretty face. I pulled on my boots and started packing the swag.

‘I'll get out of here and give you some privacy.'

‘No, please. I am finished.' She picked up the empty bottle and got to her feet, slipping into her sandals. She moved at a slow, sensual pace.

‘You always pray, even when you're sleeping rough?' I asked.

‘Sleeping rough?'

‘You know, moving around, camping.'

‘Always I pray. Five times a day. And you?'

‘No. Never I pray.'

She looked a little shocked and very concerned. ‘You do not worship?'

‘No.'

She thought about it. ‘I will pray for you.'

‘I'd appreciate it.'

‘Your name is . . . Westee?' She squatted down to show me she was comfortable talking to me. One hand was holding her chador closed.

‘Yeah.'

‘I thank you for your kindness.'

‘I haven't been kind.'

‘You are helping us.'

She had a quiet, slightly husky voice. Sunlight was hitting the tops of the mallee trees about four metres above our heads and starting to wash colour into her. She had finely textured skin that was perinone orange in the early morning light. Her eyebrows were thick and dark, as if they'd been drawn on with a stick of charcoal. They formed intimidating arcs over two eyes that were even more startling than Kara's: steel-grey, with flecks of green and hazel and maybe even violet. But it wasn't only their colour that made them startling; it was also their intensity. I was sure then that she was the woman Baz and Chook had been talking about at Spuds. She was shit-hot, as Chook had put it.

‘All I've done is given you a lift in my car,' I said.

She shrugged. ‘You do not know me yet you help me. That shows great kindness.'

‘Possibly also great stupidity.'

Her eyes swept the landscape, watching it light up in the new sun. The clumps of spinifex were golden against the red of the earth beneath. A pair of brilliantly coloured mulga parrots flew low over the plain, changing their course often, apparently at random but in tight synchrony with each other. She watched them until they were out of sight.

‘It is a beautiful country.'

‘I suppose it's more beautiful when you're not seeing it through a steel fence.'

She looked at me and gave a short, sharp nod. ‘It is the first time I have ever been free.' She took a deep breath, as if she was smelling the freedom.

I waited; she looked like she had more to say. Her eyes wandered to the middle distance.

‘I came to this country nearly two years ago, and for that entire time I have been in a detention centre. Before that, I was on a boat. We were packed in like animals and treated like animals. Before I left Afghanistan I could not leave the house or I would be punished and my father would be punished. It feels good to be free.'

‘You couldn't leave your house?'

‘No, I grew up in my house. My father feared for me, and I feared for him. The Taliban did not like him. Before the Taliban the Mujahideen did not like him. Before that, the Soviets did not like him. Nobody liked him, or his family.'

‘Why not?'

She shrugged. ‘Because he would not change just because the regime had changed. Because he was Hazara. Because he was a teacher. Because he thought that people should be free to think what they like.'

I glanced at my watch: twenty to six.

‘We must hurry?'

‘Not particularly. So now the Americans are in Afghanistan, and the Australians. Is that good?'

She shrugged. ‘Many things change in Afghanistan, and many things do not.'

I thought about that as we returned to the ute, but I couldn't decipher it. Kara was picking her way carefully through the spinifex, holding her satchel in one hand and a roll of toilet paper in the other.

She saw me. ‘Shouldn't we be going?'

‘Looks like you've already been.'

She reddened. ‘Very funny.'

I checked my watch again. ‘We go in fifteen minutes.'

‘Why wait?'

I ignored her and started up my little gas stove, making coffee using a small Italian mocha jug. Saira was talking to Kara in low tones. While I waited for the coffee to percolate I packed my sleeping bag into the swag. In seven minutes I had three espressos ready in paper cups. I handed one to Kara.

‘Sorry there's no croissant.'

‘I forgive you. Unless the coffee tastes like shit.'

I handed another to Saira. She took a sip.

‘Good,' she said, frowning.

I downed mine in four sips and packed up the equipment. I heard a truck on the highway using engine brakes to slow down and then the hiss of its air brakes.

‘Right on time,' I said.

‘For what?' asked Kara.

‘A plan. Know what that is?'

We drove back towards the highway and I parked behind native pines that shielded us from the road.

‘Let's walk,' I said to Kara. ‘Saira, wait here.'

I grabbed my swag and carried it to the highway. Parked fifty metres or so to the south on a wide shoulder of the road was Col's road train, its hazards flashing and engine idling. Col was standing by its side, taking a piss with his back to us. We walked towards him.

‘Do you know him?' asked Kara.

‘Yep.'

‘And the point is?'

‘He's going to take Saira to Adelaide.'

‘Why?'

‘Because there's a police roadblock this side of Port Augusta and she'll be caught if she stays with us.'

Col finished his slash with a shake, a dip and a fart and turned our way. He was taken aback to see us. ‘Jesus, I wasn't expecting an audience,' he said. He walked over to us.

‘We weren't expecting a performance,' I said.

He guffawed in his high-pitched way and rubbed his hands together. ‘Cold as a witch's tit, isn't it? But it's gunna be a beautiful day.'

The temperature was probably above freezing by now, but only just. The sky was clear and in a couple of hours it would be intolerably hot.

‘It's going to be a stinker,' I said.

‘You spent the night with this lovely young lady?' he asked me, gesturing at Kara.

‘We shared the same hectare.'

‘I'm Kara Peake-Jones,' she said, holding out her hand. Col looked at his own hands and wiped them on his shorts. Kara frowned and shook his hand quickly, which made him grin.

‘Col Paddick.'

‘Paddock?'

‘Paddick. Dick, not dock.'

‘I see.'

I would have bet she didn't.

‘Where's the cargo?' asked Col.

‘She's not cargo, she's a human being,' snapped Kara. She turned to me. ‘Can we trust this guy?'

‘Yeah, take it easy on old Col,' I said. ‘He was just being jovial. He's got a bigger bleeding heart than you have, haven't you, Col?'

Col gave us a short rendition of his guffaw. ‘Yep. Got it from me mother. She was a real softy.'

‘Jovial, too, I believe.'

‘As a matter of fact she was.'

Kara studied him for a few moments and the hackles went down. ‘I suppose you'll do,' she conceded. ‘Just don't turn her into a commodity. She's a human being.'

‘Of course,' said Col. ‘No more cargo jokes. We've got it all worked out. We'll put her in with me tropical fruit.' He waved at his truck. ‘That's the first trailer. It's refrigerated, but she can slip into Westie's swag and she'll be as happy as Larry. She can sleep 'til Adelaide. I don't reckon the cops'll search the trailer, but if they do she'll be hidden behind a few dozen crates of mangoes. They won't find her. Then when I get to Adelaide me missus will feed her and give her a cuppa and you can pick her up whenever you like. I've already phoned her.'

‘I'll have to discuss it with Saira,' said Kara.

‘Sure, go ahead,' I said. ‘But don't take too long. The longer we hang around the more likely some stray cop is going to come along and stickybeak around.'

She ran back up the road and disappeared into the native pines. She re-emerged in less than a minute, Saira with her. They ran to the truck. Col had opened a door at the rear of the trailer and was unloading crates of mangoes. Inside he prepared a little nest, complete with swag, sleeping bag and a thermos of hot tea; he must've had it filled at Spuds. A car flashed past, heading towards Port Augusta, but I doubted its occupants could see what was going on because most of the action was hidden by the second trailer. Kara and Saira hugged, holding each other for a few seconds. Then Col helped Saira climb into the trailer and settled her down in the swag. He stacked the crates back in, closed and sealed the door and handed a fat mango to Kara.

‘These are bloody good,' he said. ‘Certified fruit-fly free, too.'

She hesitated.

‘It's legit,' he said. ‘I bought a box for meself when I was in Darwin.'

She took the fruit. ‘Thanks.' She managed a dim smile. ‘Look after her, won't you?'

‘You betcha.'

‘Where's
my
mango?' I asked.

He ignored me, grinning stupidly at Kara instead. She nodded, turned and began walking back to the ute. Col gave a big hissing sigh, a sound not dissimilar to a set of discharging air brakes.

‘Handle with care, mate,' he said.

‘More like “Do Not Touch”.'

He laughed and hitched his shorts. ‘But the one in the back's got something, hasn't she? Jesus, when she brushed past me just now I went all weak at the bloody knees.'