'Christopher'	Chapter < three > of sample chapters
	by Myra Howerd, July 1996
	Copywrite held by Claudia Klaus, P.O. Box 5102, Mackay M.C., QLD 4741, Australia

They'd been on the road for a mere ten minutes or so when Christopher began to bubble over with questions once more. It had been the same when he'd been travelling with Eric because the long, boring journeys had proved to be the best time for learning, a relaxed time when they'd decided on a place to go and were actually on their way, the weight of their gear on their backs reminding them that the next camp was literally only steps away. It was something to do instead of cursing the heat or the flies and whenever they were on the road there was always plenty of time to explore a subject to its fullest.

Of course this time it was different, Nicole certainly wasn't Eric and they were in a car instead of walking, but the familiar monotony of it all soon put him back in the old frame of mind. His was an agile, enquiring mind, blessed with a healthy imagination and he liked to explore every hidden corner of a subject.

Now that he really was on the road and heading west he felt much more relaxed and normal, much more his own person. The worry that the girl might turn him in to the sole policeman was gone, left behind in the sunburnt streets of Nullaroo. Besides, there wasn't much else to do except sleep as the same drab old landscape drifted past. Old was the word, the best description of the whole of the country, according to Eric.

'It's one of the oldest bits of real estate in the world, boy. Once there were hills and valleys and rivers and great forests, but over the endless ages it simply wore away to nothing, to what yer see now.'

Most of Australia looked like this, Eric had gone on to comment drily when the boy had asked why they didn't travel further than they did, explore new places.

'I guess I stick around these parts because I like the hill country. A man can get awful tired of mulga. What about you, don't you prefer country with a bit o' guts in it?'

Christopher had agreed, but he still dreamed of other places, other sights. Take Queensland, for instance, why hadn't they ever gone right up north and out to the coast? Eric had evaded that question and changed the subject, the boy remembered now as he made the comparison between the old man and Nicole.

He'd woken in the morning to find the girl already dressed and putting the last few items into her bag. That had been another surprise, that she should have an ordinary duffel bag rather than the soft leather suitcase he would have expected of someone like her.

From the books he'd read he thought women all travelled with great masses of luggage and with hat boxes. This impression had settled in comfortably, reinforced several times by some wives of the property owners they'd worked for. He never realised that these women were as isolated and as ill informed as himself.

This girl broke the rules. Her peculiar barrel-shaped container was fitted with straps that permitted her to sling it over her shoulder in exactly the same way as the boy's own swag.

He'd wondered what she carried in it. Clothes... he supposed so, but what exactly did girls wear? He'd never bothered with the idea before, but he found the remembered glimpses of last night now aroused a strange excitement in him, an insatiable curiosity suppressed guiltily almost as soon as it appeared. Almost.

It was one subject that had barely been touched on in his travelling schoolroom. When he'd finally got up enough courage to ask Eric about girls he'd surprised at the reply. The old man had been much more forthcoming than the boy had expected and in the process had revealed a little more of the past.

'Women are human, boy, same as you an' me. They eat'n piss'n laugh and cry, just the same. Pinch their flesh, it's the same as your own, maybe a little softer when they're young and pretty. No, it's in their heads that they're different, it's the reasons they do things that gets downright confusin'.

'Trouble is, you never can understand how they think, it's impossible because you're a man. Your Aunt Elspeth, now, I never did understand that woman, but she was the best in the world, let me tell you. Man's gotta have woman, there's no getting around that, the trick is to know when you've got a good one, one worth putting up with. When your Aunt died I didn't know if I were comin' or goin' fer a right long time. Cancer, it were. Terrible way to go. You were only six or seven then...'

He'd gone quiet for some time after that and the boy hadn't dared to ask any more questions, least of all about his great-Aunt Elspeth.

He barely remembered the house where they'd lived in Melbourne. There was a vague recollection of stairs and of a white crushed-shell path, but nothing at all about people, he'd been far too young and the following years of roaming had filled his memory far more vividly. This new disclosure had filled in another small blank in the canvas of his life.

Now, for the very first time, Christopher had his own woman problems. He'd had no idea how he should act in the intimacy of a shared room and once he'd managed to suppress the disturbing images crowding into his mind he was left with another, very real problem. He was trying to think of some way he could manage to get dressed without offending her, and just as importantly without appearing overly concerned about it all.

Fortunately she'd no such reservations about boys. She'd smiled at him as she went on out to the car with her bag, giving him time to scramble out of bed and be decent, then she returned to gather the last of her personal things.

"Ready? We should have some breakfast now and then we can make the final decision about what to do with you."

In the restaurant he'd found his tongue at last.

"Nicole, please can I come with you? Last night you admitted that there's not much point in leaving me here in Nullaroo." He searched her elfin face anxiously as he waited for her reply.

"I don't know about that, Christopher. I'm working, you see, and I'm never quite sure where I'll be at the end of a day." She'd hesitated. "It was a foolish thing for me to have done, this getting involved with you, at least from one viewpoint, but it's done now and we've got to make some sensible plan. It's unfortunate but you're quite right, I can't just take you along to the police after spinning them that story yesterday, and I certainly can't just let you roam around on your own. You're quite a problem."

"Why can't you take me with you then?" the boy had pleaded. "You said you're going west. Are you going on to Western Australia?"

"Maybe. It depends on what happens here in the next few days."

"Then take me with you. Eric was taking me back to Perth, you know, taking me to my mother. He said that I was too old to stay on the road any more and so was he. That's why we came to Nullaroo, Eric was getting the money to go over there."

Christopher hadn't mentioned then his secret belief that Eric may have known that something was wrong, that he'd guessed he might have very little time left and besides, there wasn't any need for more money after the roo killing, they were better off than they'd been for some time. All the boy had been able to see then was that his one chance to be reunited with his mother had been cruelly snatched from him.

Nicole had shaken her head.

"I can't do that, Christopher. My work could take me anywhere and it might be weeks before I got as far as Perth, maybe never. You don't know anything about me or what I do, nothing about what might affect my decisions, my direction. What about your family, can't you telephone your mother?"

Christopher had looked down at his breakfast plate, embarrassed.

"No, I don't know exactly where she lives, but Eric knew where her parents lived, my grandparents, I suppose."

"But he didn't tell you, is that what you're trying to say? You want to go to Perth to meet a mother you don't remember and grandparents you've never met, is that it? I bet you don't even know their address... do they know about you, then?"

There had been a small, pregnant silence.

"No," Christopher had finally had to admit, feeling as if he was on a long slide into his worst nightmare. "At least I don't think so. I never was told the whole story, not in one piece. I think my mother had me after she ran away from home and then when things became too difficult for her she left me with Eric and my Aunt Elspeth. He never would tell me much about that part. All I know is what's on my birth certificate, and that's my surname... Pemberton... which is the same as Eric's and the same as my mother."

Nicole had shot him a keen glance.

"You mean you're illegitimate, is that it?"

He'd flushed and nodded, surprised that it could hurt once more.

"I looked it up in the library. If I've got my mother's surname I have to be, don't I? That would mean that 'Pemberton' has to be the name of my grandparents as well."

"Yes, I suppose so, but there must be hundreds of families called 'Pemberton' in every big city. How will you know the ones related to you?"

A mulish expression had settled on the boy's angular features. She had to take him west!

"I know the suburb. Eric sometimes got letters from his brother Bert and I've seen the postmarks."

"Postmarks don't mean all that much, Christopher. Those letters could have been posted anywhere, probably were. No, I think you're building dreams on quicksand and that you're going to be terribly, terribly disappointed in the end. What do you expect to happen, even if you do find them? Don't you think your grandparents would have been trying for years to find you if they knew about you? Or did Eric ever tell them about you... No, Christopher, I think you must face the fact that you're on your own."

"Then you won't help me?" Tears had welled again but his face had been stony, impassive.

"I never said that. I told you before that I'd look very silly if I simply turned you in now, and they would delay me with their questions. Besides, I don't make a habit of walking out on people even if they have an impossible obsession. No, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll take you on as far as Adelaide and there I'll go with you to one of the Church organisations. What do you say to that?"

Christopher had stared at her, trying to see past the big glasses. His heart had raced. Adelaide! That was nearly two days closer to Perth, depending how he travelled. Two days to get her to change her mind. Their eyes had locked, briefly, and he'd nodded.

"Alright, if I have to and there's no other way, I suppose." The subject had been dropped for the rest of the meal. Later he'd gone with her to the office and watched her pay for the meals and accommodation. Christopher had been watching her closely, determined to learn as much as he could about his new companion and to take advantage of anything that could possibly give him any leverage and get him on to Perth. Anything that achieved that would be justified, by his reckoning.

He'd been surprised and then amused to observe that when Nicole talked to the teller her accent thickened dramatically, becoming decidedly laboured and foreign, as if ordinary colloquial English was much too difficult for her.

"Goot morning, I vish to pay my bill, please."

The boy had been at once puzzled and intrigued, wondering why she was doing this. It was so odd he'd begun to smile, then at the serious expression on her face he sobered and simply listened. That had been another lesson drummed into him by Eric.

'Never take anything new at face value, boy, it might get yer killed one day. If something seems odd, do the same as them dingos, slink away and watch a while, get the feel of it before yer let on you're around the place... ' This had suddenly developed that sort of feel, and Christopher had marvelled at the way the girl had put this personality on like it was just an old coat.

The man at the counter had looked at her sharply and reached into his filing cabinet to produce a ledger card.

"Ahh, yes, it's Miss Wasserman, isn't it? There was a query... let me see... oh, yes, there's a note here that there were two persons in your unit, not the single you booked for. Is that correct?"

He'd looked at her a little suspiciously and the boy had felt a surge of indignation. Not so Nicole. She'd given the clerk a flashing smile and a tinkle of laughter.

"Oh ja, natürlich! Ja, Christopher here vas mit me. Also there should be a record of two dinners, and the frü... breakfast, also two. Is that correct?" She'd reached over and gently taken the card from the suddenly unresisting hands of the man and perused it, her finger travelling down the entries.

"Ja, here it is. That iss correct! How much is it altogether, please?" Silently the man placed the card into the slot of his accounting machine and pressed keys.

"That will be one hundred and eighteen dollars, please. Do you wish to pay with cash or with traveller's checks?"

"Oh, nein, nein, I have here... my plastic money!"

Christopher was still a little startled at how much it had all cost. One hundred and eighteen dollars! That was more than the bus tickets had cost for both he and Eric! Suddenly he'd a glimpse of what it really meant for Nicole to keep him with her. Expensive. He'd wondered then if it wouldn't be better to go back on the road, now that he had his bag back.

Meanwhile Nicole had dug into her bag to produce at last a shiny blue plastic credit card and a passport. When she signed the yellow sales slip he'd stretched to read what she wrote. It was 'Ingrid Wasserman', not Nicole... anything. He'd looked at her sharply but had said nothing, remembering another of Eric's little golden rules.

'If it aint your business, Christopher, say nothing. There's plenty of folks manage to make fools of themselves without help from you or me.'

He didn't think Nicole was a fool at all and as they'd walked back to the room to pack he'd thought it over some more and decided that the rule still applied. It wasn't any of his business, and if he asked her the wrong questions there was the very real danger that she might change her mind about taking him west with her. That was at least one excellent reason to keep his mouth shut.

Nevertheless, it had been quite revealing. Why would someone stay in a motel under a false name? He let his imagination run riot for a while before a more sobering thought struck him. What if 'Ingrid' was her real name, and 'Nicole' was the false one? She had a passport in that name, after all. No, he didn't think that was likely, that accent had been all put on. It had worked though, he admitted grudgingly to himself. The clerk had totally forgotten his original intention of asking awkward questions about the extra guest, and anyone asking subsequently would be told about the 'foreigner' who'd taken him.

Neat.

Later, when they were humming along in the little car his curiosity had finally overcome him and he had to ask her what sort of work she did. The road was almost straight, a black tar strip running between walls of desert scrub with only the occasional dead kangaroo to mark the passing kilometers.

When the girl hadn't replied straight away he'd looked over to where she sat behind the wheel, the diagonal seat belt passing neatly between her breasts, and he'd wondered briefly if cars were designed that way. What if the woman was taller or fatter...?

Finally she gave him an answer.

"I'm looking for a man, Christopher, that's my job right at this moment." There was only a trace of accent in her voice now, and it wasn't the heavy fumbling she'd exhibited at the motel but a more subtle colouration.

"Are you a policeman... policewoman, then?" he corrected himself, eyes sparkling with interest.

"No, of course not. You don't have to be a policeman to look for people, you know. There are lots of organisations doing it, all for different reasons, it all depends what you want the person for. The Salvation Army has years of experience looking for missing family members, for instance. The police don't look for people unless they're lost in the bush or if they've committed some crime, they're usually much too busy with other matters."

Christopher thought about it.

"Is the man you're looking for a criminal?"

She shook her head and laughed.

"I don't know. If he is it's not really any business of mine. I just told you, if he'd committed some crime it would be much easier to let the police catch him for themselves. Besides, there are too many laws and too many people in prison already."

"Then why are you looking for him? Does he owe somebody money? Eric told me once that owing money is a bigger crime than killing someone, any day. We used to make up lists of people... you know, people to get rid of to make the world better."

"Really?" She laughed again. "Who was on the top of your list, then?"

Christopher looked out at the apparently stationary black road surface and smiled in recollection.

"He said politicians were always at the top, then racehorse owners, women drivers and churchmen, in that order."

"Racehorse owners...?"

"Yep. He reckoned they're all dishonest and that they all rig races. He used to bet against the odds and of course he usually lost. He reckoned that proved it, and swore he'd belt me if he ever found me betting money. It didn't stop him trying again, though..."

"He sounds like quite a character. What did he have against women drivers?"

"Oh, that, that was because they never stop and give us a lift on the road. Never. Blokes will stop, sometimes truckies or tourists but never any women."

"Do you really blame them. Christopher? Women are much more vulnerable, you know. They'd be very foolish indeed to stop on the open road and pick up strangers, especially if they're alone."

"But why, Nicole? They drive to the same places along the same roads. I don't mind not getting a ride, but it always did seem odd to me."

The girl glanced at him again, her brown hair framing her face.

"It's not safe for them, take my word for it, Christopher. You said clergymen were on the list. Why was that?"

"Oh, Eric said that they were do-gooders, that they always interfered with the natural order of things and were too short-sighted. I thought it just meant that he didn't like religion, and I never really understood what he meant until not so long ago when we were breaking horses down in Victoria. We used to stay in a boarding house there while we broke horses for a retired cockie. Once there was an accident and one of the horses fell and broke a leg. Eric wanted to shoot it, but the cockie lived next door to the local pastor who convinced him to save the horse. Well, that was alright, but that horse never trusted humans again, it became a rogue and about a year later it killed a kid from across the street. Trampled him. They had to shoot it then, of course, but if they'd ignored the preacher that boy would be alive now."

They discussed this for some time, and the boy found her very easy to communicate with. It was the first time he'd had anything to do with females other than middle aged wives or older women, but she made it very easy for him and treated him as an equal in spite of his age.

It was quite some time before Christopher realised that he'd been skillfully diverted from his original question about her work and by then they were nearly an hour into their journey. The girl drove fast, her eyes flicking from road to instruments to mirror and back again, an apparently unconscious process that never interfered with her conversation.

She was so easy to talk with he found himself telling her about people and places in his life, and she often laughed at his exaggerated character descriptions.

Few cars ever passed them. Indeed, the road was surprisingly empty of all traffic. There had been a big semi just after they'd begun, and once an interstate bus cruised up behind them as if they were standing still. When it passed Nicole briefly fought the suction effect and then it was disappearing into the heat shimmer ahead of them.

The next car to actually overtake them was a big black Holden that powered past at a very fast clip, the four occupants staring across at him and the girl as they swung out and past. Christopher thought no more of it, even when shortly afterwards they came up on the same black vehicle now travelling at a relative snail's pace, so slowly that Nicole had swung out and past them before he got as much as a glimpse into the other car.

It was only five minutes later that he saw Nicole's eyes freeze on the driving mirror and he turned to look at the road behind them. The same black Holden was coming up on them again, just as fast as before, but this time instead of roaring past it slowed and hung there a couple of car lengths away.

Puzzled, Christopher looked over at the girl and found her face hard, her whole mien changed from cheerful to sombre and watchful. When she saw his look she gave him a tight smile and returned her attention to the mirror. Suddenly the other car accelerated and was alongside them, holding position on the road directly opposite. At first the boy wondered what they were doing and strained to see the faces of the four figures within, but their features were merely an indistinct blur.

Then the other car was swinging away and back again to smash against the smaller car with a grinding clang that shunted the little Mazda violently to the left with Nicole fighting the wheel. Christopher felt his mouth sag open with the unexpectedness of it, then hot rage mingled with the fear inside him as he realised it had been quite deliberate, planned. They were attempting to force Nicole off the road!

He saw her feet move and the little car howled as it leapt forward, leaving their attackers several body lengths behind. But not for long. The Holden had vastly more power than the Mazda and shortly it was once again alongside and beginning to swing in at them for another try.

This time Nicole slammed on the brakes and the big black shape shot across their nose. Then she was slamming down a gear and racing past the other as the opposing driver frantically fought his wheel to stop the heavier vehicle sliding off the road.

In a couple of minutes everything was restored to how it had been at the beginning, with the larger car pursuing the small white one down the endless strip of tar. Next their assailants tried new tactics. They simply rammed the rear of the Mazda and Christopher felt himself thrown forward against the restraining belts.

His mouth was dry with fear, the anger forgotten now as it now became perfectly obvious that the occupants of the second car intended to kill them. He saw Nicole's face tight with concentration, her hands and feet moving in co-ordination as she strove to outwit her pursuers. Outside the drab olive of the landscape was a blur, meaningless and unreal.

There was never much likelihood that they would get away. It was a long, straight, empty road and the end was inevitable. Nicole was outguessed and then there was the screech of tearing metal as the bigger car forced them closer and closer to the edge of the road.

Then they were on the less stable gravel and sand road margin. For Christopher it all seemed to happen in slow motion. He saw the curve coming and recognised the culvert and the dry creek bed at the same instant that the other car disengaged to leave the Mazda to hurtle over the edge, airbourne.

With slow grace the boulder-shrewn defile lazily rotated to hang over them the windscreen exploding in he saw the steering wheel dart in to catch the girl just under the breasts then the roof was pushing him down into a soft blackness that was almost welcome.

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