The Stranger

'You scared me half to death, mate. What's ya problem, standing just outside the light? That kinda thing can get you killed round here.'

Grimbald placed the butt of his rifle on the wet grass, leaning it wholly against the large eucalyptus tree.

The Stranger stood still, his long oilskin covering a massive bulk, his Akubra painting his face in shadows.

'Come on then, get closer to the fire,' said Grimbald, having trouble seeing the eyes of his new companion.

At length, the Stranger walked a few paces to the fire and stood. He watched Grimbald limp his way stiffly to a large upturned log.

'Have a seat, mate, have a seat,' motioned Grimbald, smiling, running his fingers through his long knotted hair and feeling the course texture of its bright red strands.

The Stranger looked behind him for a moment, staring, surveying the dark and rolling lands beyond the clearing. The only sounds were the cracks and pops of the open fire. He slowly sat down on the end of the upturned trunk.

Grimbald leant over and passed him a hot mug of boiling water. 'There, that'll warm ya up.'

A slight wind hovered above the fire and caused the smoke to drift between the two men.

'What's ya name, mate?' asked Grimbald.

The Stranger gave him a look and then turned away with a slight smirk, as if he were just asked a dumb question.

'It's alright,' said Grimbald. 'I know that blokes don't have much need for a name out here.'

A name wasn't an identity, he knew that much. It wasn't a description. A man called Grimbald could just as well be a ballet dancer as he could a mass murderer. You just wouldn't know. He just wouldn't know.

'My name's Grimbald, at any rate. Where are ya coming from, stranger?'

The Stranger stared back, still smiling, still unblinking, still quiet.

'Listen here, didn't your mother teach you manners? I've been nice enough to make you feel welcome. I've given you a warm mug of nature's finest and a bloody good fire if I do say so myself. Least you can do is give me some company. Gets lonely out here on your own.'

The Stranger availed the man once more, his expression at once more serious.

'Should I thank you?' said the Stranger, coarsely.

What a strange thing to say. Grimbald wasn't expecting to hear that sentence. He certainly wasn't expecting to hear that accent.

'Cold night like this, course you should be thankin' me,' he said. 'Should be on your hands and knees, thankin' ya lucky stars.'

'Interesting,' said the Stranger, as if it were three words.

Grimbald didn't really listen to the answer. He knew what was right and what was wrong. He knew what the Stranger should have said, what he should have done. But sometimes a man grows up in the wrong kind of environment and that can skew his thinking. Sometimes he got all kinds of crazy thoughts and wouldn't manage to say what he really felt. It was up to those with big hearts and good parents to take care of those less fortunate. To put it another way, you gotta do what you gotta do.

'What are ya doing, travelling about this late?' asked Grimbald.

The Stranger looked behind him once more, as if he expected something. Or someone.

Grimbald wanted an answer this time, so he waited. He looked closer at the Stranger's face. The red and yellow of the fire reflected brightly off parts of the man's lumpy skin.

Now an anger was slowly brewing inside him, though he wasn't sure why.

The Stranger took a big swig of the boiling water in his mug before making wet noises with his tongue, as if he were still drinking it all down.

Grimbald suppressed his rage, putting it in the other room. It was getting full but he promised himself to only let it out when he really needed to, when the time was right. His tight face relaxed and he ran his fingers through his hair. 'Anyway, good to have ya here,' he said, distantly.

They sat in silence, both with one quiet ear to the land. Grimbald stared out at some grass a few paces away. It was reddened by the light of the fire. The way it grew in patches reminded him of a scalp with just a few chunks of hair remaining, and of the war.

A sharp snap of a twig sent shivers down Grimbald's spine and for a moment he was somewhere else. Both men stood abruptly, looking out into the gloom. The darkness deformed, changing shape at will. Then a shadow crossed in front of a dimly lit row of trees. Grimbald pressed his rifle close to his shoulder. He held his nerve, letting his eyes do all the shooting, while his head remained still.

A meek distant cough relaxed the gun arm of Grimbald. 'What are ya doin here?' he shouted sternly. 'I told ya to stay where you were.'

The shadows spawned a boy, no older than ten. Even as he approached the bright fire his dark hair and sooty face gave the impression of being consumed in darkness. The Stranger gave the child a long stare.

The boy clutched his own shoulders and shivered. Then shivered again, to get the point across.

'Alright mate, come on,' said Grimbald, motioning to the fire.

The boy sat between the men, a tiny figure amongst giants.

The Stranger shifted his gaze from Grimbald to the boy and back to Grimbald. He looked closer at their noses, their mouths, their hair.

'Thought you said you were alone,' said the Stranger.

Grimbald looked up quickly, his face a picture of shock. 'Uh, yeah,' he said, quivering. 'Me and this kid's it. We got no one else, stranger.'

'You lied,' said the Stranger.

Grimbald played with his mug, pressing his fingers hard against its smooth texture. 'Hey now, I'm no liar, let's get one thing straight.' He said it so unconvincingly that even he didn't believe it.

'Of course you are,' said the Stranger. 'You lied.'

Grimbald regained some composure with the warmth flowing through his hands. 'I just meant no adult company. You know? Not the same thing talkin' to a kid.'

'There's only one thing I hate more than liars,' said the Stranger. 'That's them that lie about their lies.' His voice broke a little, removing some of the hoarseness.

It was only now that Grimbald noticed how large the man was, how his presence seemed to loom over them both. He also noticed how the boy was sitting a little too close to someone he didn't know.

'Hey,' said Grimbald, looking at the boy, 'go grab more hot water for me, matey. Here's my mug.'

After the boy got up, Grimbald licked his lips and shuffled on his perch, moving slowly toward the Stranger. The Stranger watched him closely.

'Did you say where you come from, mate?' asked Grimbald, looking into the large, dark shape.

'No,' said the Stranger.

By the time the boy got back, the only available space was on the safer side of Grimbald, which he took without thinking.

'Not from up north, by chance?' asked Grimbald. His hands shook as he blew across the top of his steaming mug, cooling it enough for a sip.

'Yes,' said the Stranger.

'Heard there was some trouble up there.'

'Trouble,' said the Stranger, partly as a question, partly a statement.

'Yeah, up at Mamburi station.' He wasn't sure he should be saying it, saying any of it, whether he was making a mistake. He hoped...he didn't know what he hoped. Sometimes a nervous man would speak too much. A good bushman's best weapon was his silence. He wasn't a good bushman. 'Sad, real sad,' he continued.

The Stranger shook his head.

'You didn't hear about that? Strike me pink, it was all over the papers. Some crazy bloke went and set fire to the homestead. Apparently he waited until the kids were there, alone-' He swallowed. He was trying to act tough, mean, anything but nervous, but his throat had betrayed him. 'He tied the kids up – all of 'em, mind you; every single one!' He swallowed again. Damn his throat! 'So he tied 'em up and...geez, did some other stuff I'd rather not say. Blood everywhere. Then lit the place up. Least that's what the father said. And you gotta take a man at his word, you know?'

The Stranger stopped drinking and held his mug very still. 'That's an interesting story,' he said.

'They're a good mob up there,' continued Grimbald. 'If it can happen to them, it can happen to anyone. The whole thing's got me spooked, let me tell ya. That's why I didn't really tell the whole truth before, you understand.'

As the Stranger breathed in deeply, his nose made a slight whistling sound.

Through the steam of his hot mug Grimbald noticed a large red spot on the Stranger's jeans, just above the knee. The flicker of the fire cast an uneven light over the spot, periodically hiding it in darkness before it erupted, bright and shiny like fresh paint, before fading into the shadows once more. He stared at it for some time. He'd seen that kind of stain too many times, on too many friends, and the colour seared once more onto the back of his head. A few small pieces of a large jigsaw puzzle swirled in his mind, as he struggled for clarity.

He sensed a pair of eyes on him, felt their presence against his skin, against his soul. It was all he could do to avoid a shiver. Without blinking, he raised his moist eyes slowly until they met the cold stare of the Stranger. He sat up quick, covering for a lack of composure.

'You, uh, been in a scrape?' asked Grimbald.

The Stranger stared back. His small, blue, unblinking eyes laid their assault on Grimbald, while the rest of his body remained still. A moment later, with the tiniest of movements, almost imperceptible to even the sharp-eyed boy, the Stranger shook his head.

Grimbald sat back a fraction, now aware of his own deep breathing, in and out, a fine cold vapour dispersing with each breath.

'Been rustlin' up some good tucker? Lots a rabbit down near the creek proper.'

The Stranger said nothing as the fire cracked and popped. Eventually he shook his head slowly.

Grimbald swallowed loudly and looked at nowhere in particular, anywhere but the Stranger. He raised the warm mug, fighting to keep his hands still, and took a sip of the boiling water. 'Shit!' He pulled the mug away quickly, dabbing his burnt lips.

'How long were you in the war?' said the Stranger, breaking his silence.

'Huh?' Grimbald sat back a little. 'Oh. Yeah. Three years.' He looked down and hunched his shoulders, like a man who was trying to hide from himself, uncomfortable in his own skin. He pressed down on his left leg, pushing his foot into the hard dirt, forcing the pain to rise up his body and land as a grimace upon his face.

'I'm guessing you did something you regret,' said the Stranger. 'I'm guessing you've been hidin' from it all this time.'

Grimbald sauntered over some sentences in his mind, mouthing some of the words, and speaking only one. 'What?'

'Tell me what you did.'

It was said in such a knowing way that it sat in the air, thick and resonant. Grimbald peered out into the darkness, finding a single leaf, isolated, hanging down from a weak branch. He focussed on the leaf, suddenly finding importance in its hardiness. The wind pushed forcefully at its dry form, but no matter how hard it tried, the leaf could not break free. It was born of the tree and it would stay a part of the tree.

'Tell me what you did.'

'Tell you what I did? What makes ya think I did anything?'

The Stranger smiled. It hit Grimbald harder than any words could and he erupted: 'Hey! Enough! I'm about this close to asking you to leave. We hafta stick together out here, bushman's oath and all that, but by crikey, if you don't push the boat.'

'Have you always had a problem with your temper?' said the Stranger, calmly.

Gimbald shouted. 'I got no problem-' He stopped and cleared his throat, before continuing, quieter, almost whispering. 'I got no problem with my temper, stranger. The problem's on you.'

The smile hadn't disappeared from the Stranger's face. 'Tell me what you did,' he repeated.

'This isn't school and it certainly ain't show and tell. Got it? So don't go thinking you can ask questions and I'll answer 'em. You got the problem! You! Not me.'

'You hurt those kids, didn't you,' said the Stranger.

'What kids? What? What are you talking about?'

'The Mamburi kids. You hurt them.'

'Hurt them? I saved them! I saved them! Well, two of 'em.'

Grimbald's glassy eyes stared into the fire. 'It was hell,' he continued. 'Flames were everywhere, everywhere! All a man could smell was the smoke. All that bloody smoke in my nose. I can still smell it. And taste it. I couldn't do nothin' about the others. But I got two out, I really did. It was hell, just hell.'

The Stranger stared back, licking a tooth. 'You saved two,' he said.

'Yeah, two!'

Grimbald had just finished getting the words out when he realised what he'd said. He swallowed hard.

The Stranger tilted his head, sharing his attention with both Grimbald and the boy.

'Where's the other?' said the Stranger.

'The other?' asked Grimbald.

The Stranger stared, a deep stare, his lips lightly parted. He seemed more forceful now. 'You saved two. Where's the other?'

'Oh, err,' said Grimbald, scrambling. 'I dropped that one off at my aunty's. Not my real aunty mind, so's you know, just a family friend I've known since I was whipper snapper. She's real good with kids.'

'Why didn't you leave this one with your fake aunty?' said the Stranger.

'Well, err,' started Grimbald. 'I, uh, that is, we didn't think it'd be proper to leave a boy without a man's influence.'

'So the other child is a girl,' said the Stranger.

'Now, now, I didn't say that. Didn't mention what she was.'

'You did. And you've done it again. You're not very good at lying, are you?'

'Stop calling me a liar!' shouted Grimbald, standing.

The Stranger stood with him. They eyed each other, close, with meanness. Both men were hard, tough, and both men had been around long enough to know that the other wouldn't back down. Not now.

The Stranger narrowed his eyes and stood steady. His hand was moving slowly, slowly, down his side.

Grimbald's wide eyes flickered around, watching closely, the mind behind them thinking. Concentrate now, he told himself. Don't let your guard down. Not again. Not like this.

A piercing high-pitched scream invaded the clearing. Both men turned in its direction, forgetting the other. Another scream, mixed in with water splashing. They all knew what was happening, even the boy.

The Stranger's mouth widened as he smiled broadly enough to see his dark teeth. 'You better go save the girl,' he said. 'The one you left with your fake aunty.'

Grimbald turned back to the Stranger, then to the boy, then to the screaming. He no longer cared about maintaining a fierce expression, of putting on a façade. He noticed the Stranger edging toward the boy. Indecision filled his mind. Then another loud scream.

'She's gonna drown in that river if you don't hurry,' said the Stranger, still smiling. 'You about to let someone else die? About to make the same mistake twice?'

Grimbald made to run off, even taking a few steps toward the screams, before looking back at a large arm now resting over the shoulders of the small boy.

Grimbald's muscles contracted. There was no choice. He looked down at the boy then up to the Stranger. He felt the warmth of rage pulse its way up his body. It felt exhilarating and strong and what life was all about. And it felt like home.

The fire became darker, losing its yellows and oranges and becoming simply red. Grimbald's eyes bulged. In one movement he was upon the Stranger, diving and forcing him to the hard ground. He ignored the muted pain in his side and raised himself up over the Stranger, punching, punching, punching, punching him.

The Stranger pushed him aside and rolled to his feet with more agility than a man his size should possess. He grabbed the large pot of boiling water and feigned to throw it on Grimbald, who was now circling on the other side of the fire.

Smoke rose between the men and still the screams came from the river. The boy ran off.

Grimbald brushed his damp shirt and didn't notice the knife landing at his feet. His gun was now ten metres away from him. He knew from experience, bitter experience, that if you focussed too much on a weapon then you'd lose concentration and the fight would be over.

His eye sight became blurry, seeing only faint shapes and hazy movement. The power grew inside him, shifting from his other room to this one, to the now. He felt it encompassing him like water, making it harder to see or hear or touch or feel anything outside.

The Stranger threw the boiling water and hit mostly the fire, putting it out immediately. The darkness shot up. It wouldn't have mattered for Grimbald who was already in darkness, who's past six years had been in darkness.

In a flash the Stranger was mauled, his skin peeled away from the bone with his blood erupting in spurts. The act was merciless and fast, leaving no time for pain or torture. Only a stew of muscle and grit remained.

The distant screaming ended. A few moments later the sounds of three pairs of splashing legs became softer until finally all that could be heard in the cool night air was the foul stench of the past.

© 2011 Ben Safta

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Australia License