Thought Crimes (34 page)

I had mixed feelings about my departure. Although I'd never left the safety of the railway carriage, I felt that I was leaving something crucial behind. I felt that if I returned to this land, nothing would be the same. Or everything would be
exactly
the same.

At the passport control, when removing the detachable portion of my exit visa, the officer asked not whether I had enjoyed my visit, but whether the visit had lived up to my expectations.

When I said that it had, her face made an odd expression, ironic perhaps, a look that I probably mistook for sympathy.

Then, for no apparent reason, she launched into an anecdote. She told me that only three weeks earlier, an archaeologist working in the border regions had chanced upon prehistoric cave-paintings. The images were unusually sophisticated, and featured cave-dwellers in the act of making cave-paintings.

Forgetting myself, I opined that the cave artists must have been the forbears of the tunnel-detailers.

The official couldn't have looked more affronted if I'd tried to corrupt her. When I attempted to correct her misunderstanding, she wouldn't listen. She hammered my passport with a stamp and waved me on. A few moments later, however, she left her post and ran after me. I thought that I was about to be arrested, but she grabbed my shoulder to berate me in a loud whisper, ‘None of
our
forbears lived in caves!'

THE FUTURE PERFECT

Wherever they go, they meet a different version of the same conversation. No sooner are kids sent from the room to watch
Futurama
or
The Simpsons
than one parent leans in to speak confidentially. ‘I'd never say this in front of them – they'll find out soon enough – but we're fucked.'

Their hosts have been reading the papers, following the dismal analyses and forecasts. ‘Things are already worse than previous worst-case predictions. In Africa, people are dying of thirst and disease in huge numbers. It's only a matter of time before nations start warring over water, fish or fuel. They already are. The next wars will be endless … Entropy's gone past the point where it can be reversed.'

For one host, the best thing would be for humans to be wiped out by a rogue asteroid. At least that would be fast and impartial. There's another nod in the direction of the living room, where the kids are siding with Homer against Burns. ‘If it wasn't for them, we'd party it up, then pass around the Kool Aid.'

Later, when strolling home along the beach path, Kaz is ropeable. ‘Luke and Annie never cared about endangered frogs, or the toxic contamination of remote beaches. The same week water restrictions went to Stage 3, they put in a pool. They're only desperate because lifestyle supplements call despair the new black. They wouldn't know what despair was. Wouldn't have a fuckin' clue.'

That's true. In her terms, they were fly-by-nights. Kaz has been threatening to commit suicide for as long as Thompson's known her.
So help me, I'll cut my throat if things don't improve /
if the phone doesn't ring / if someone doesn't shoot that man. Give
me a good reason why I shouldn't just take the kids and …

But for the fact that they don't have kids, her suggestions have merit. Some friends ask how he puts up with this – doesn't he find her darkness and negativity impossible to deal with? – and Thompson's not sure they believe him when he says that life with Kaz has always been great fun.

‘What was Annie saying about having the cats put down?'

‘Penguins are starving because pilchards have been fished-out for cat food.'

‘Spray-on doom. Those frauds don't deserve asteroids. You've gotta pay your dues before you get the cheap trip home.'

Thompson won't disagree. Having devoted his life to suicidal thoughts, he too resents the fact that so many prosperous, ostensibly happy people were crashing his party. It was like seeing a band that only you and your dog love suddenly become hugely popular.

‘Annie and Luke, Wendy and Steve … They should all be shipped to an Indian slum to learn about dealing with nil returns and being happy while you're at it.'

Kaz doesn't answer. Her silences generally mean stewing, which tends to herald a slump, but now a huge grin spreads across her face, one of those pulsating smiles that she reserves for special occasions.

‘But it would be worth seeing. Annie and her mates gulping Kool Aid. All thinking that life's pointless without a new gizmo each month. That's worth hanging around to see.'

Much as Thompson might like to deny it, it was a happy thought. This Great Catastrophe would be worth enduring if only to farewell those who couldn't stand a little despair every now and then. If these frauds didn't have the grace to leave suicide to the experts, they'd have to learn the hard way.

At a clearing, they pause to watch a beige moon-sliver tease the motionless bay, and Kaz pulls Thompson close.

‘We could stay here for a bit.'

‘What do you have in mind?'

‘You don't need a panel van to go parking.'

Something had freed within them. Never faddish, they'd stuck true. To Sisyphus. To Godot. And now they'd be rewarded. By the hunger in their kissing, and by a steadfast belief in that hunger. And by an orange glow in the depthless sky that would grow strident by the time it finally caught their attention.

‘We're so fucked.'

‘Mmm. Totally.'

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Significant portions of this book were written with the assistance of an Established Writers Grant from the Australia Council, and a fellowship at Varuna, the Writers' House. My sincere thanks to both those organisations.

The following stories have been previously published: ‘The Enemies of Happiness', ‘People Whose Names Bob Dylan Ought to Know', ‘V2', ‘The Darkest Heart', ‘Astronauts' and ‘The True Nation' first appeared in
Meanjin
. ‘Club Selection' and ‘Dog's Life' first appeared in
Overland
, while ‘On the Make' appeared in overlandexpress. ‘The Futures Market' first appeared in
Heat
. ‘Magnetic' first appeared in
Going Down
Swinging
. ‘Intermittent Red Flashes' first appeared in
The Sleepers
Almanac No. 5
. ‘Queue Jumping' first appeared in
Forever
Shores
, edited by Peter McNamara and Margaret Winch (Wakefield Press, 2003). My heartfelt thanks to all the editors, interns and fiction consultants who worked on these stories. Particular thanks to Ivor Indyk at
Heat
for his extensive notes on ‘The Darkest Heart'.

So many friends have helped with the production of these stories over so many years that I couldn't possibly thank them all individually here. Crazy-headed fictions such as these couldn't have been written without a huge amount of support and forbearance, and I have been incredibly fortunate to have received that.

Many thanks to Caitlin Yates, Denise O'Dea, Elisabeth Young, Elke Power, Thomas Deverall and all at Black Inc. I am deeply indebted to Donica Bettanin at Jenny Darling and Associates for her faith, kindness and guidance.

My parents and family have always been unstinting in their love and support, and I could not thank them enough. I hope that they will forgive the (slightly) dark imaginings contained herein.

I wish to dedicate this book to the memory of Nan and Doug Campbell, and Reni and Alan Shaw, marvellous storytellers all, and to Mickey, a great inspiration.