Elegy Read online

  Dealing with the slut had been easy. It wasn’t how he’d planned to hurt her, and he wasn’t near finished, but words could do a real good job. Seeing that look on her face, well, that’d been better than hearing bones snap. And didn’t Todd know that to wound someone – to really hurt them – you had to do it deep so it could fester and rot? Yeah, he knew. Caitlin and Webster had taught him that – naughty, naughty, you two – ohGodhowcouldyouCaitlin? – and didn’t it feel good to repay an old debt?

  It didn’t matter that Gabe knew. Maybe it was better this way. Two for the price of one. That arsehole should never have threatened him. Who did he think he was, telling him not to trespass on property that’d once been Casey land? His land! Yeah, Gabe should’ve kept right out of it because now he was going to pay too, just like the rest of them. When he’d bent Todd’s arm, when he’d twisted it in his hands, Todd had been sure it would split. He’d wanted it to. He’d wanted Gabe to see the maggots and the rot, to feel them; he’d wanted to watch as they ate into him too, munching and crunching and chewing. Golden Boy wouldn’t be so pretty then, would he?

  Mr Fuckin’ Perfect, with his big talk and his big hands. No clue what I’m thinking.

  What he was always thinking about: him and his brother and their beautiful bitch of a sister. And the slut.

  Eenie, meenie, miney, mo, who will be the first to go?

  The death-chilled tongue found yet a voice to cry

  ‘Eurydice! ah! poor Eurydice!’

  With parting breath he called her, and the banks

  from the broad stream caught up ‘Eurydice!’

  VIRGIL, Georgics

  IX

  ‘What do we know about Rosaline?’ Whittaker asked the class, desperate to engage them, but no amount of enthusiasm would get their attention today.

  It was so still outside, close, and the heat smothered everything, pressing and suffocating. Clouds flattened to menace, and trees dropped their leaves like brown snow, bracing themselves for what everyone hoped might be a break in the weather. Inside, ceiling fans whirred and clicked, stirring stale air to cool sweaty faces. Angry flies buzzed at windows while the students lounged, some with heads on desks, willing the day to end.

  ‘We’re told she’s beautiful and Romeo’s infatuated with her but she doesn’t feel the same way. She has no lines in the play yet we learn a lot about her – who she is, what she looks like, what she thinks, how she makes Romeo feel. We know he’s so obsessed with her he’s neglecting his friends. So how is it that this unwritten girl can have such an impact? And what is it that drives Romeo to abandon her in favour of Juliet?’ Whittaker paused again, and looked around tiredly. ‘Anyone? Come on, people.’

  ‘She wouldn’t put out,’ somebody offered from the back of the classroom. The few who were bothering to listen laughed.

  ‘Funny, Simon. But yes, apparently virginity was highly prized in those days.’ Whittaker gave the class a sour look.

  ‘Maybe she caught him cheating with someone else,’ said Jenny, and Michael turned to look at her. It was the first time he’d heard her voice since the incident at the shed and he realised how much he missed it. She had refused to acknowledge him, turning away in the corridor when he approached, and though he knew it could never have worked, that she hadn’t been able to provide the escape he craved – because there was no escape and there’d be no sanctuary, not for him; wasn’t that what Cait had yelled in the shed? – he still missed her.

  Whittaker frowned. ‘There’s nothing in the play to suggest that Romeo was interested in anyone else at the time,’ he told Jenny.

  ‘Well, he can’t have been too interested in Rosaline, because he dumped her as soon as he met Juliet,’ she argued.

  ‘Actually, some believe she plays a very important role,’ Cait said, and Michael looked across, surprised. Cait hardly ever spoke up in class, and when she did no one listened. Michael knew it was because of the way she talked. All superior. Before, he’d thought it was … well, the way she was. Being Cait. Of course, now he thought differently; for all Michael knew, she’d been at the play’s opening performance. For all he knew, so had he. For all he knew – which was pretty much zip, he realised bitterly.

  ‘Yes, yes. Go on,’ Whittaker urged.

  ‘She’s Romeo’s first love,’ Cait said, her voice almost melodic. ‘It’s through her that he learns passion, although not the same passion he shares later with Juliet. She’s the catalyst bringing the two lovers together, because it’s through wanting to see Rosaline at the Capulets’ party that Romeo first meets Juliet.’

  ‘You’re saying Rosaline’s just a stepping stone used by Romeo to get his hands on the more beautiful Juliet?’ Jenny challenged from across the room, and Michael heard the venom in her voice. Gabe was right; she was angry. Others were paying attention now, sensing the tension between the two girls.

  Cait kept her cool. ‘No. She’s a plot device. And Romeo and Juliet are merely characters.’

  ‘The fact that she has no lines in the play shows how unimportant she is,’ Jenny said. ‘She isn’t even given a voice or any chance to explain herself.’

  ‘What is there to explain?’ Cait asked. ‘It’s enough to know that Romeo loves her, that he’s capable of passion. His infatuation might be fleeting but that doesn’t make her any less worthy. It certainly doesn’t make her less important.’

  ‘A really good point, Caitlin,’ Whittaker cried.

  Any moment now and he’d wet himself with joy, thought Michael.

  Ignoring Whittaker’s interruption, Jenny faced Cait, raising her voice a couple of notches. ‘So you agree that the love Romeo feels for her is less than the love he feels for Juliet?’

  ‘Of course. With Rosaline, Romeo pines like a boy. He’s petulant and depressed, without any direction. Even his friends despair. With Juliet, he finds purpose and strength.’

  Jenny was furious now. ‘Juliet might give him purpose, but she’s the reason they both end up dead!’

  ‘No,’ Cait replied, and her voice softened, saddened. ‘Their untimely end is caused by circumstances outside their control. That’s the tragedy.’

  ‘If it wasn’t for Juliet, Romeo would’ve been safe,’ Jenny persisted.

  ‘Perhaps. But who would remember such a play?’ said Cait, and she turned back to face Whittaker, signalling the debate was over.

  There was silence as Jenny sulked, and Whittaker gazed at Cait with undisguised wonder. The class grew restless and someone coughed.

  ‘Yes, well, that was great,’ Whittaker said. ‘Thank you both for your contributions. I think we’ll leave it there. We’ve got about ten minutes until the end of class, so I’d like you all to think about what’s been said. There’ll be an essay question next week. Why has this play endured? What’s its importance? Is it the love? Or is it the tragedy? I want you to compare it to Shakespeare’s other tragedies and ask yourselves: is love really worth dying for?’

  Michael stared out the window, looking beyond the playground with its scattering of gums, to the brown oval beyond. Would he have died for Jenny? Would he kill for her? He’d maimed for her, but that wasn’t the same thing, and he wasn’t even certain he’d done it for her. Hadn’t everything happened because of her, because Casey had pushed and pushed, and Michael had simply lashed out? And if it hadn’t been love, then what was? Would he know? Had he ever known? Cait could probably tell him if he asked.

  Cait.

  Through the greasy glass he noticed a young woman, barely more than a girl, run across the yard. Only, it wasn’t the yard any more and the trees weren’t gums. Palms swayed in a light breeze and groves of olives twisted between boulders, creating shady caverns. The girl was dark-skinned and black-haired but her clothes were pale, and they floated around her, shimmering in sudden sunlight. When she turned her head – almost looking straight at him – Michael couldn’t see the face hidden behind her veil; he could only sense her fear. She darted into the shadows. As she fled, the veil caught on the bra
nch of a spreading tree and was torn from her. She didn’t stop to retrieve it; it slipped to the ground in a silvery pool, where it slowly darkened.

  At that moment a young man appeared, calling for her. The name wasn’t one Michael knew. Spotting the veil, the boy ran to pick it up; it was ripped and bloody. Again and again he called, screaming for the girl, his tears soaking the material, the blood staining his hands. Then, sinking to his knees, he pulled a dagger from the belt at his waist and plunged it into his chest, crying her name even as he died, and Michael felt again that stab of white-hot pain when the metal cut him and pierced the boy and stopped their hearts.

  ‘Thisbe,’ he groaned. And, closing his eyes, bowed his head to the desk as the lesson ended.

  There were only three at the table that evening; Gabe wasn’t around and Cait had cried off dinner. But there was enough food for ten and Michael ate more than he needed, if only to make up for the lack of conversation.

  ‘Where’s Gabe?’ he asked.

  ‘He said he was going to the library,’ Barb replied, and she beamed. ‘It’s good to see him finally taking his studies seriously.’

  Michael looked at her but thought better of saying anything. If Gabe had gone to the library, it had nothing to do with books.

  ‘Pass the potatoes,’ was Jim’s only comment, and Michael handed them across. They ate the rest of the meal in silence, the oppressive heat quieting even Barb.

  Michael rose to clear the table and Jim tossed him his keys. ‘I want you to take a trailer of hay down to the lower forty. Grass is almost gone and those cows need feeding. It’s loaded already. LandCruiser’s out front.’

  ‘Gabe’s not here,’ Michael protested. It was a two-man job: one to drive, the other to cut and toss the bales. ‘We’ll do it in the morning.’

  ‘You’ll do it now. Take your sister.’

  ‘Forget it. I’ll manage on my own,’ Michael said, pushing his chair hard against the table. Dishes rattled.

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ Jim stared at him and Michael glared back. Barb got up and fussed with plates and cutlery. ‘You’re wasting time, boy.’

  Michael snatched up the keys and stalked out, swiping a six-pack of Jim’s beer on the way through. He opened the first can while Jim bellowed for Cait. When she appeared, Michael threw her the keys. ‘I’ll sit in the trailer.’

  Cait didn’t argue.

  She drove slowly, as she always did, stopping metres away from each gate, making Michael walk further to open them, then inching through and way beyond so he had another hike to catch up. Every time was like she’d never driven before; by the time they got to the forty Michael was fuming. He’d already drained three of the beers.

  Cows hurried across, smelling the hay, and Cait slowed even more, nudging her way past them. Michael thumped on the back of the car to get her to move faster, because the animals were snatching at the grass before he could even cut the strings. But once clear, she picked up a bit of speed, driving in a snaking trail while he threw out the bales, making sure he didn’t leave any twine, which could twist in the cows’ guts. Most of them stopped at the first few bales, pushing each other aside to get a mouthful, but the wiser ones kept following, knowing if they walked far enough from the rest of the herd they’d get better pickings.

  The thick cloud cover had brought night early; it was already dark when Michael tossed the last bale over the side and banged the window again to signal for Cait to stop. Lightning streaked the sky to the west and he hoped it wouldn’t strike; there was still no sign of rain. Looping the strings together, he tied them to the cage before grabbing the last beers and yanking open Cait’s door.

  ‘Get out,’ he said. ‘I’m driving back.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cause you drive like a bloody girl and I want to get back before midnight.’

  ‘I’m not sitting in the trailer,’ she said, as though that might put him off.

  ‘Whatever. I’ll just drive faster.’

  Instead of getting out, she climbed across to the passenger seat, not trusting him not to drive off and leave her there. He might’ve done it too, but he knew the momentary pleasure wouldn’t be worth risking Jim’s wrath.

  The old LandCruiser was Jim’s workhorse, and he rarely let anyone else drive it. The back seats had been taken out and the space was crammed with tools and ropes and chains. A long rifle box was bolted to the floor behind the front seats, the key on the ring. There was no radio and no air-conditioning, but apart from that it was a pretty good vehicle. Michael got behind the wheel and put it in gear. The interior was stifling, even with the windows open. Popping open another beer, he booted the pedal so the tyres spun in the dirt, sending up clouds of dust. Cait lurched forwards and back again as they took off, and she glared at him and then at the beer in his hand.

  ‘What are you doing, Michael?’ she asked. ‘Jim will have a fit if he finds out.’

  He glanced across at her. ‘Well, I’m not going to tell him.’

  She ignored his challenge and looked around, realising they were heading east instead of south. ‘Why are we going this way? It’ll be harder with the trailer.’

  ‘The track’s quicker and there are only two gates.’

  She turned away to look out the side window. In the breeze, her long hair lifted away from her face, spreading out in silvery tentacles. Drawing her feet up onto the seat, she wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging herself. She was so pale in the darkness it was hard to tell where her skin ended and her white shorts began. Beautiful and majestic and so bloody cold, Michael thought. An ice maid, frozen.

  Seeing the gate ahead, he braked suddenly, and she had to grab the side handle to steady herself.

  ‘Out you get,’ he said.

  ‘You could move closer.’

  ‘I could,’ Michael replied, but kept his foot on the brake. Sighing, she opened the door. He watched her walk ahead, her narrow hips swaying beneath the curtain of hair, her boots lifting over the uneven ground. Finishing the last of his beer, he compared this Cait to the one at school who’d argued with Jenny about an ancient play as though she’d written it herself. He decided he didn’t like either of them very much.

  But then he’d never liked her, had he? Not according to what he’d read – all the myths and fables he’d found on the internet. What had she told him? That every story was rooted in truth? Well, maybe she was right; he hadn’t liked her then and he didn’t like her now. Yet they were bound together, punished for something he couldn’t even remember doing.

  Accelerating again, he charged through the gate, missing her by inches, and swerved onto the track, swaying to a dusty stop further ahead. She took her time with the chain, making him wait. Back in the LandCruiser, she turned on him.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? You could’ve hit me.’

  ‘So? You’ll be back,’ he said, pushing his foot to the pedal.

  ‘Don’t even start,’ she snapped. ‘It’s not a joke, Michael.’

  ‘Do you see me laughing? Huh? Do you?’ When she didn’t reply, he went on. ‘I have a power I don’t want and don’t know how to use, Jenny won’t talk to me, my life is shit and you say the next one will be too, and the one after that. Nope, no fun here.’ He thumped the steering wheel in anger and the temperature in the car rose a few degrees. ‘I don’t know what to do, okay? I don’t know what you want me to do. I don’t know anything any more!’

  She watched, wary but unafraid. He had to admire her for that, because he was beginning to scare himself.

  ‘You knew enough to heal your hand,’ she said at last and, reaching across, closed her own over it. Michael glared; so pale against his darker skin, but her touch cooled him. ‘I’m sorry about the girl. I’m sorry this has happened so soon and everything’s changed. This is hard, yes – no one understands that more than I do – but you need to take hold of it. For both of us.’

  ‘And what if I can’t?’ he asked her. He didn’t ask the real question, which was wh
at if he didn’t want to.

  ‘At least you will have tried. No one can fault you for that.’ Cait had an answer for everything.

  He stared at the trail ahead. Wide enough, but in the headlights, and hemmed on both sides by trees and undergrowth, it was like a tunnel.

  ‘What happened today in Whittaker’s class?’ he asked abruptly.

  Cait shrugged. ‘Nothing. We were talking about the play. You probably should read it, you know.’

  ‘Don’t be smart,’ he snapped. ‘You never have anything to say at school. Now you’re carrying on like some bloody professor.’

  ‘I was telling her what she needed to hear,’ Cait said. ‘Someone had to.’

  ‘It was cruel. You upset her.’

  ‘She was already upset, Michael. I was just helping her understand why.’

  He glanced across. ‘You know she thinks you and I are fucking.’ He kept it crude, to shock, and was pleased when Cait stiffened.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said faintly.

  ‘Exactly what I said.’ Michael clenched the steering wheel. ‘Has Gabe spoken to you?’

  She shook her head, slowly. ‘About what?’

  ‘Us. Me. What happened at the party. He’s worried.’

  ‘Yes, I know. What did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him to speak to you, seeing as how I know shit and you know everything.’

  Cait sighed. ‘Michael, don’t start. Please? Not tonight.’

  Angry, he pressed his foot down and trees whipped by. He waited for her to tell him to slow down. She didn’t, and a stony silence settled between them before he demanded, ‘Who’s Thisbe?’

  ‘What?’ she asked, but he sensed she was stalling.

  ‘You heard me. Who is Thisbe?’

  ‘Where did you hear that name?’ Her voice was low and tense. She was agitated.