Rain Music
Authors: Di Morrissey
About
Rain Music
Di writes about the Australia she knows, she loves, she's explored.
Rain Music
is inspired by her adventures in Far North Queensland â its characters, its forgotten history, its modern dilemmas.
Brother and sister Ned and Bella Chisholm are struggling with a family tragedy that has set them on opposite paths. After taking off to pursue his musical dreams in Far North Queensland, Ned disappears.
When Bella goes in search of him, she finds herself in remote Cooktown, the isolated, little-known gem of the far north of Australia, and a place where both Ned and Bella's lives will be dramatically changed forever.
One story through two sets of eyes.
Contents
For my wonderful Boris (Janjic)
With my love
1
For a man who
surrounded himself with music, Ned Chisholm found the silence strangely comforting. His vehicle was old and tough, made for these outback conditions, but it lacked accessories like Bluetooth or a CD player and as there was no radio reception he had no music to break the silence and monotony of the landscape. As always, the guitar case sheltering his worn, loyal friend rested on the back seat, but it was no good to him while driving. He was unused to such
silence. For him music was a barrier against unwanted intrusions.
The vista before him could have been from the dawn of time he thought, as he drove along the sealed road with its rough, red-gravelled edges. This vast part of Far North Queensland seemed untouched, as though no one before him had passed this way. But he knew that people had penetrated this arid woodland interior, with its eucalypts and dried grasses. The delicate barefoot tread of forty thousand years of hunters and gatherers had touched this country lightly. Colonial adventurers had plundered it; later, there were the thwarted dreams of pioneers, and even now, the tracts of grazing land and the presence of mines encroached on the wilderness. Out here, the baking dry seasons were replaced by surging wet seasons, when the land turned green and wildlife was replenished. This was not country for the faint-hearted.
Ned had been working on the coast, making forays into the hinterland behind Cairns, performing as a singer and guitarist. He was well known and his album successful enough that he was frequently offered gigs and steady work. But always at the back of his mind was the idea of giving up performing for a while and following his dream of composing something substantial. He'd always thought that if he could find a place where he could retreat he would be able to search for the trigger, the spark, the new idea that could form the basis of a long simmering goal of writing a dramatic musical. And now, finally, he'd found his chance.
He'd left the lushness of Cairns to
drive up to Cooktown. He'd heard a bit about the small and isolated coastal township, so when a friend of a friend had mentioned that a musician mate had a place going for free for a couple of months while he was doing a tour down south, Ned had decided to check it out. With some trepidation, he'd rejected offers of steady employment in various bars and hotels in favour of a vague refuge where he could try to capture the music and songs that spun in his head like children waiting to be born.
An hour passed without his seeing another vehicle. Ned
knew there were few people within the boundaries of the hills, gullies and far-glimpsed granite peaks around him.
It was that pearly cool hour before the sun seared
through the soft sky; the moments when the leaves were erect and shadows lightly pencilled, not charcoal dark. Ned well knew how the midday heat in this part of the world sent leaves limp, scorched rocks and sedated animals.
Thoughts flickered through his head as the landscape rolled on. He frowned as he recalled an email he'd received from his mother the day before asking him to return home to Victoria. His frown deepened. The message from his mother had reminded him that his father had been dead almost a year. He could not believe that his father had been gone so long. It hardly seemed possible.
I can't deal with this right now
, he had thought when he'd read the email. Before he'd set off that Tuesday morning he'd replied to his mother's email saying he couldn't make it home anytime soon.
The predawn was still. Soporific. But he knew danger always lurked. He kept his speed down to take into account the possibility of swinging around a corner to find a stolid Brahman bull standing in the centre of the road, or meeting a kangaroo leaping across the bitumen to greener grass. A glance at the wilderness around him made him smile. This was so far from his home in Victoria. He had no idea why remote Cooktown drew him or what he might find there, but he hoped that it would be the place where he could hunker down, focus and see what inspiration came to him.
It's now or never
, a small voice inside him nagged.
Suddenly, as he drove around the lazy curve of the road, everything seemed to lapse into slow motion. A scene unfolded in front of him, as it would do again and again later in his head; the dead cow, the massed birds unfolding giant wings, the curled talons, the evil beaks, all suddenly
startled, rising up. But their bellies, heavy with meat, slowed them. The last bird, too ungainly, struggled to
rise above the car. In a flash Ned saw what was about to happen. The windscreen would be filled with a solid chest of creamy bronzed-edged feathers as the bird and car collided. Ned swerved to avoid this, pushing his foot hard on the brake. He missed the raptor, but as he hit the red gravel on the side of the road he felt the car spin out of control and careen down a slope into the undergrowth, scraping past trees and bushes until it jolted to a halt. Then there was only silence.
Ned blinked, but before he could focus properly his body filled with throbbing pain and he passed out.
When he finally opened his eyes once more, the bright light made him squeeze them shut. He tried to move and a sharp pain shot through his arm and his head pounded. He wondered how badly injured he was. Everything seemed to hurt and his breath came in short, painful stabs. Slowly he forced his eyes open and looked around.
He was jammed behind the steering wheel, the car on its side, its windscreen shattered. His arm was throbbing and he could see that it was covered in blood. When he tried to move, he realised his foot was pinned down by one of the pedals. Instinct told him he shouldn't shake the car, for although he could see a tangle of branches beside him, he had no idea if the car was in a dangerously precarious position.
The day now felt burning hot and Ned realised he must have been unconscious for some time. Because of the angle of the car, he could see full sunlight filtering though the leaves of the tree above. Fumbling beside him, the fingers of his good arm found a bottle half filled with water. He gulped several mouthfuls of the warm liquid, fighting the desire to drink more as he knew he might need the water to last for . . . how long? He had no idea how far off the road the car had stopped. Would anyone be able to see him as they drove past? He could well be out of sight of the road, as he remembered the car crashing downhill for what had seemed like forever.
Besides
, he thought,
how many cars use this road? It's pretty remote out here.
He groped around in the restricted space until he found his mobile phone. He suspected that there
would be no coverage, but a quick glance at the splintered screen told him that it hardly mattered as the phone was useless anyway. He dropped it in despair. He suddenly felt tired and he rested his head against the door and dozed off again, oblivious to his awkward position and the slow seepage of blood from the gash on his arm.
When he next stirred, his body felt stiff and he ached with pain, but his mind felt clearer. Ned saw that the sun was now low in the sky, and he knew night was creeping in. He drained the rest of his water and touched his injured arm. The blood had started to congeal.
That's good
, he thought.
The bleeding has stopped.
Slowly he tried to move his body to assess how he was caught. The car was tilted onto the driver's side and jammed against a tree trunk, pinning him between the door and the steering wheel.
Suddenly a frantic desire to free himself, to live, to survive, came over him. No one was coming for him. He would have to save himself.
Mustering what energy he had, Ned made an effort to free his trapped foot. He cried out as he twisted it, but suddenly it was free. Ignoring the pain, Ned dragged himself across the gearstick and onto the passenger seat. The car shuddered alarmingly with all this movement, but did not budge. The window was open on this side as the air conditioning hadn't worked for several months, so he was able to drag himself through the gap, another cry of pain escaping him in the process. He slid down to the ground and lay there, dazed. Looking at his car on its side, he realised how lucky he was to be alive.
He saw that the car had come to rest in a small gully, well beneath the shoulder of the road. No passing traffic would ever see him or the car in this well-concealed hollow. The incline up to the road was
steep, but probably no more than a hundred metres.
The sun was setting behind him and already the road was in deepening shadow. He shivered in a sudden burst of evening breeze. Night came quickly this far north. There would be very little twilight. He tried to get to his feet, but the hurt foot was difficult to stand on. He dragged himself away from the car, grasping plants and the small trunks of saplings, avoiding the sharp razor grass until, after what seemed an endless and painful journey, he reached the edge of the shoulder of the road. He pulled himself onto the loose gravel and lay there for a moment to catch his breath. He was dripping with perspiration and he felt the warm gush of fresh blood course down his arm.
It was almost dark. He rested for a few more moments, then, using a dead tree branch he'd found nearby for support, he dragged himself to his feet. Ned had no idea how long it might be before a vehicle came past. This was not a busy road at the best of times, but now, in the evening, most tourists and even the locals would have arrived at their destination. He hoped that there might be a passing truckie who would come to his aid.
The air was cooling and he was parched. How little water had been in that bottle, he thought ruefully. His legs began to shake, but he realised that if he sat down he might never manage to attract a passing car. He lost track of time, leaning on the stick, shivering and perspiring, feeling the night air wash over his feverish, bloodied body.
Then he heard the sound of an engine. He edged closer to the side of the road so he would be seen in the glare of headlights. A car approached and he leaned out, waving his arm frantically. But to his horror, the car swerved slightly to the other side of the road and sped on past. The driver had obviously seen him but had no intention of stopping.
Ned was stunned. This was the bush, the outback, where people looked out for each other. Surely whoever was in that car had seen he was injured and needed help. He could not believe the car had not stopped for him. He sank to the side of the road, unable to stand any longer, feeling weak and deflated and very scared. Then he realised that he must look a terrible sight, covered in blood and dust, his clothes ripped by his climb to the top of the gully. And people passing couldn't see his car, so it wouldn't be obvious to them that there had been an accident. He thought of the well-publicised stories of recent years, where innocent backpackers had picked up hitchhikers, only to be assaulted, robbed and even murdered. Horror movies covering the same themes would not aid his case, either.
Geez, Ned
, he thought.
No wonder those people didn't stop.
Maybe he'd have to wait till daylight, so that drivers could see clearly that he really needed help. He was suddenly gripped with fear. What if he didn't last through the night? He felt overwhelmed by the situation.
He wasn't sure if he had nodded off as he slumped by the road, but the next thing he was aware of was the sound of a car braking. He tried to focus his eyes when he heard a door slam. Suddenly he felt a firm grip under his armpits, lifting him to a sitting position.
âWhat happened to you, mate? You fall off the back of a truck or what? Anything broken? Don't move till I get my torch.' The female voice was concerned and yet quietly assured.
Ned took a breath. âGot any water?'
âYeah, yeah.'
Seconds later, as Ned gulped the welcome water, his rescuer shone a light swiftly over him, pausing for a closer look at his damaged arm.
âCan you stand?' she asked.
âI'll be okay, with a bit of help. I've crashed my car.' Ned winced as he was helped to his feet. He leaned heavily against his rescuer.
âThat arm looks as though it could use a few stitches. Are you injured anywhere else?'
âMy right foot is pretty painful,' replied Ned. âAnd I had a bump on the head, too.'
âAnd your car? Where's that?' she asked.
Ned indicated where his vehicle had run off the road.
âHere, let's get you into my car. Do you want to lie down
in the back, or will you be all right in the passenger seat?'
âI'll be okay in the front,' said Ned. The woman, who seemed about his own age, helped him into the front seat of her modest four-wheel drive. Ned winced, but managed to settle into the seat.
âI'll take you into Cooktown. You might not think it, but this is your lucky day. My name is Toni and I'm a physio at the local hospital. I'll get you straight there and we'll arrange for a tow truck tomorrow. Anything important in your car?'
âMy guitar is in the back seat. It's pretty special. Do you reckon . . . ?'
âYou a muso?' She sounded amused.
âYou guessed right.'
Toni went to the edge of the road and swept her torch into the gully. She gave a low whistle. âYou were lucky. How'd you get out? Or were you thrown?'
âI crawled out.'
âOkay, I'll give it a go. Nothing else of value? Not that anyone is going to spot your vehicle down there. I think everything else will be safe till morning.'
Toni hurried out of sight and Ned leaned back, closing his eyes, his head pounding. A few minutes later, the back door of her car opened and, with a grunt, she placed Ned's guitar case on the back seat and got behind the wheel.
âIt's less than an hour to town. You hanging in there?' Ned felt light-headed as he struggled to answer her.
Toni touched his face. âYou look pale . . .'
He tried to focus on her but Toni's face swam before his eyes. The pounding in his head grew intense and a buzzing filled his ears. His head lolled forwards against his chest and he felt his body go limp.