The Swagman

'I want to fuck you,' I said. 'I've been waiting all evening.'

'No.'

'No?'

'No,' she replied petulantly, slurping at her water. 'I don't want to fuck you, so I won't.'

I went to bed. Half an hour later I could hear her in the bathroom, vomiting. I crept out of bed and stood in the doorway, watching her leaning over the old, heavily stained black and white loo, dressed in nothing but a pair of knickers.

'Where is Riley now?' I asked her.

She leant her head against the toilet wall and laughed. She was still drunk.

'You think he'd be interested in seeing you this way?' I asked. 'Drunk and fat and near naked?'

Caroline stared at her legs. Confusion creased her face. Maybe reality was filtering through her alcohol-sodden brain. Maybe she could see what I could see; a foolish, middle aged woman. She glanced up at me, her bloodshot eyes wide open.

'I hate you,' she said. 'I hate what you've let me do to myself. I used to like myself. Once upon a time, there were things to be proud of. But now there is nothing. Nothing, nothing at all. I'm glad I went out tonight. For a while, I was happy again.'

I went to bed for the second time.

~~~~~~~~

Saturday morning was hot and muggy. The insects sounded loudly, birds screeched, and for once there was no smell of fire on the wind. Caroline was still asleep, passed out in her underwear in one of the spare rooms. I stared at her body; ugly, lumpy, marked with the spots and veins and flaws of age. Jesus Christ.

I went for a run, and when my muscles were warmed and my rage red hot, I returned home and jogged down the track to the creek. Riley was taking a piss when I arrived and I caught sight of a dick that cast it's own shadow. Did that count for much when it came to women? Did being hung like a horse compensate for a desperate need for dental work?

Riley shook the last drops of piss from his prick. I watched with morbid curiosity as the foreskin he'd retracted to urinate engulfed the head, and then the whole apparatus was stuffed back into his jocks.

'If you're thinking of asking if you can suck it, the answer's 'no',' he said, the hint of a sneer on his face.

'Dream on,' I replied.

I'd been thinking nothing of the sort and he knew it. He just smirked, and the uneasy suspicion that he'd intentionally started taking a piss when he'd heard me coming, just so he could show me his cock, settled in the pit of my stomach. This was what it had come down to. A dick measuring contest.

'You need to move on,' I said.

'Indeed,' he agreed. 'I'll be gone in a few days. Mackenzie is settled in, and the shearing wrapped up on Friday.'

'Your wife left you.'

He shrugged. 'It was time.'

'But still, she left you,' I crowed.

Riley didn't bite. 'Which means I did her right,' he said. 'She was never meant to stay.'

'I call bullshit. She sounded to me like a woman with a plan to escape you. How old was she when she married you?'

'Sixteen.'

I laughed at that. I'd called it, hadn't I? I'd know within twenty-four hours of meeting the couple that she hadn't been an adult when they'd met.

'Was she pregnant?' I prodded.

'Nope.' He reached into his pocket and retrieved a zip-lock bag filled with tobacco. He rolled himself a cigarette and lit it. 'She wasn't my lover until she was maybe nineteen or twenty.'

'Then why did you marry her?'

He took a puff of his cigarette and turned towards the creek. He didn't meet my eye. 'I had my reasons. She had hers. None of it is any of your business.'

'You're making your business my business. You're on my land.'

'Not for much longer.'

'I'm glad you have plans to leave,' I said. 'Because I came down here to tell you that if you weren't gone within a week, I'd be calling the cops.'

Riley exhaled a long stream of smoke. 'Your wife might not be pleased if you did that.'

'Don't you talk about my wife.'

'Or what?' He laughed, noting that my hands were still by my side, that no threat of physical violence had been levelled against him. 'You'll do what?'

I'd had enough. He was pathetic. Overweight, middle aged, homeless and needing to show he had a bigger cock than me to try and earn respect.

'Keep making those plans,' I said. 'You'll be gone in days.'

'Oh yes, Boss Man,' he replied sardonically. He took another puff on his cigarette. 'Don't you worry about me. I have plans. Men like me, we always have a plan.'

~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the cottage, I checked the locks. I appraised our valuables. There weren't many; most of anything worth a quid was back in Tarragindi, in our safe. Other than my watch, my wallet and my wedding ring, there was little of value. Caroline, who had never worn much jewellery, was even less of a target because she both rarely carried more than fifty dollars cash and didn't wear a watch.

My wife spent the day suffering. I largely ignored it. Instead, I paced the house, thinking about what Riley must have meant, and berating myself for not having moved him on earlier. He'd become a nightmare, hadn't he? A distraction that neither Caroline or I had needed.

On Sunday morning, Caroline woke early and made us both breakfast. As she served me bacon and eggs, I told her about Riley.

'I know,' she said quietly. 'He told me on Friday that he'd be moving on.'

'His wife left him.'

'Yes,' she agreed. 'They both said it was time.'

'He's a sketchy sort.'

Caroline didn't respond. She ate her eggs, her bacon and her toast. When she was done, she picked up our plates, took them to the sink, and washed and dried them.

'It's a beautiful day,' she remarked. 'We should do something.'

'What did you have in mind?'

'I don't know. Maybe we could go for a walk along a trail and have lunch together.'

'That sounds great.'

We showered, dressed, and headed off to a National Park that neither of us knew. The hike was long and hard for Caroline; seven kilometres up a steep mountain, and then the mercifully easy descent. I enjoyed it, and appreciated that she'd made the effort for me.

On the way down I had her lead the way. She was in black leggings and a singlet, with her hair pulled into a ponytail and a cap on her head. I thought she looked nice. Yes, she could have stood to lose weight, but she still had shape, and the sight of her cleavage was a temptation in itself.

We talked a lot. Children, work, life. You can't completely stop loving someone you once adored. You can't wipe away feelings and pretend they never existed. As Caro and I chatted, I saw the woman I'd once loved. Away from Riley, away from politics, she transformed back into a woman I cherished and lusted after.

We had a late lunch at a bakery. The food was heavy, carbohydrate rich and not particularly tasty, but we were too hungry to care. I laughed, Caro laughed, and when we got back in the car to drive home, we were happy.

We didn't mention Riley or Mackenzie as we made dinner and sat down to eat together. I didn't even think about the duo as after the meal, my wife set about seducing me. The only thing I thought about was Caroline.

'I love you,' I whispered, as we lay together in the aftermath. 'I'm so sorry. About Ellen... it was stupid.'

~~~~~~~~~

I rode to work on Monday in an excellent frame of mind. I was happy. Why would I not be, when it seemed that the swagman was finally moving on, and my wife was returning to her long-forgotten joyous, sunny, self?

I called Caro at lunch but she didn't answer. I wasn't too surprised. I'd told her last night to go to the nursery and buy herself some more plants. I expected she was in the garden, arranging and planting her new purchases.

The day drew to a close. I regretted riding to work, because I wanted to buy Caroline flowers. Instead, I bought her chocolates, something I ordinarily wouldn't have dreamt of doing, and rode home.

It was then that my world came crashing down. Her car was still parked in the driveway, but her purse was gone, and on the table was a note.

I'm sorry.

Caroline.

I knew. Oh, I knew, I knew, I knew. I raced outside to my bicycle and rode down to the creek, my already tired legs aching from the sprint riding. Please God, I prayed. Please no, no, no, not this.

But when I reached the creek, I saw exactly what I expected to see.

Riley had gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I knew she was with him, because her car was parked at the house and because her wedding ring was on her bedside table and because my wife was a silly, stupid, foolish woman. All the same, I phoned James in the hope she was at Tarragindi, and I rang Officeworks to see if she'd been called in for a shift.

James told me he hadn't heard a peep out of her, and when I spoke to the bitch who answered the phone at Officeworks, they told me they weren't at liberty to discuss their staff rosters.

I called Annette.

'What do you want?' she asked, sounding for all the world like Caroline. Same voice, some accusing tone, some lack of respect. Like mother, like daughter.

'I want to know where your mother's gone,' I said.

'Mum's gone?' She was surprised.

'Yes. She left me a stupid note. I think she's run off with someone.'

Annette paused.

'Well,' she said eventually. 'I expect we'll hear from her in due course. If she's left you for someone, she'll want a divorce.'

My rage bubbled over. 'Would you listen to yourself?' I demanded. 'Your mother's run off with a squatter, and you don't give two shits?'

Annette hung up the phone.

~~~~~~~

Over and over I dialled Caroline's number, but on each occasion, the phone rung out. I had Riley's number but I refused to call it. I refused to listen to him gloating, and I knew he would gloat, because he know had everything he wanted; my wife, and the proceeds of her upcoming divorce.

The rage I felt. The anger. The bitterness. If I could have found either Riley or Caroline I would have choked them. But their whereabouts were unknown, so I instead tried searching for some clue about Mackenzie. A surname. A workplace. Anything. But I knew precious little about the woman, and my searches were all in vain.

After a few fitful hours sleep, I woke the next morning to an epiphany. An idea. One last shot. I would go to the farm at which Riley was working, speak to the farmer, and try and glean some information about where the swagman might have been heading.

I didn't know much about farms, but I knew a lot about land. I'd seen the size of the property, the houses on it, the silos and the sheds. Farming can be a hard slog that results in not much more than poverty. It can also be extremely lucrative. I knew that the owner of the sheep fell at the latter end of the spectrum. He would be a man like me, one who understood the dangers of the contract labourers he employed.

I went to work for a few hours before excusing myself to attend an off-site 'meeting'. No question were asked; I had already proven my worth, and good things were being said about me. I then got in my car and drove to the farm.

It was a few minutes past twelve when I arrived. I parked my car next to the vehicles of the permanent employees, then went and knocked on the farmhouse door. A woman answered, a baby on her hip.

'Can I help you?' she asked.

'I'd like to speak to the owner,' I said.

She took in my suit, ties and haircut. 'May I ask the nature of your visit?'

I smiled reassuringly and held out my hand. 'My name's Saul. I had a gentleman living on my land recently, and unfortunately he's left behind a few personal belongings. I believe he worked for your husband for a while, so I thought I'd see if he had any idea where the worker is currently living.'

'Oh.' A smile of relief flickered over her face. 'Fair enough. It's probably lunch time, so my husband and the staff will be in the green shed. Kyle generally eats with them so he doesn't wake the children by coming inside the house.'

Kyle. A name.

'Thanks,' I said. 'I hope I didn't wake your children.'

'No, no.'

I walked down the veranda, and around the back of the house. I saw the shed she had mentioned and approached it. I could hear laughter and conversation reverberating through the tin walls, but the words were lost under the din of an ancient, window-mounted air conditioner.

I smoothed my hair and knocked on the door. The conversation stopped. I knocked again. The door was opened and I was greeted by a man in his late fifties.

'Kyle?' I asked.

'No,' he replied suspiciously. 'Who are you and what do you want him for?'

I scanned the lunchroom table behind him and saw a woman, a bald man, and at the end of the table a third man, one who was short and lean of build. It was the last one who was Kyle. I could tell by the way his dark eyes drank in my suit and tie, and the questioning expression on his face. I met his gaze.

'Could I speak to you in private for a few minutes?' I asked, ignoring the employee who had answered the door.

Kyle didn't budge. 'What's this about?'

'A man called Riley,' I said.

Kyle's eyes narrowed. I could feel him appraising me, weighing me up. For a second I thought he might have recognised me from the time I picked up Riley, but I realised that was nonsense. Firstly, I had stayed in my car on that afternoon and secondly, most people don't remember faces half as well as they believe they do.

I waited for his answer. My heart thumped in my chest. Kyle's three employees were staring at me in a manner I didn't appreciate. I hadn't expected to face this scrutiny. I'd assumed that it would be a simple matter of pulling Kyle aside, explaining my issue in delicate terms, and receiving information on Riley and Caroline's whereabouts.

'What do you want with Riley?' Kyle asked.

'He stayed on my property for a few weeks,' I replied. 'I'm trying to get in touch with him.'

Kyle turned away, hiding the expression on his face. The tension in the tin shed was so thick you could have heard the proverbial pin drop.

'I haven't seen Riley in years,' Kyle said.

'I picked him up from this farm just last week,' I replied. 'He sheared your sheep.'

Kyle shook his head. 'Nope,' he said matter-of-factly. 'We haven't sheared yet this season.'

A lie. A complete, bald-faced lie. This was the right farm, I knew it. I remembered it. And there were fields to the left of this part of the farm that were filled with newly shorn sheep.

'I think you have,' I replied, shocked that he would patronise me so openly. 'It was definitely this farm, and I've seen some of your sheep. They've been shorn.'

'Nope,' Kyle said. 'We haven't done any shearing. You must be mistaken.'

'You have,' I argued. Irritation tickled my gut. What a fucking crock. What reason could this short, weak little shit have to tell me such a lie? 'And I have some things I need to tell you about your employee.'

'No sheep have been shorn at this farm this year,' Kyle repeated.

I stared at the farmhands. The woman and baldy were confused. The other employee, the older one, seemed to understand something that the others didn't.

It was the senior farmhand that caught my gaze, staring a hole through me.

'Reckon you should go,' he said. 'We don't have anything to say to you, and you heard the boss; no sheep have been shorn.'

'But they have!' I argued furiously. 'They have, and Riley was here. He was squatting on my land at the time, and yesterday he ran off with my wife. So listen to me, you piece of shit, I know you're all lying to me, and I demand to know where my wife is. Tell me! Tell me! I have too much to lose. I have a house in Tarragindi, and I refuse to give sixty percent of it to her, so she can give it to him.'

There was silence. The employees turned to Kyle and waited for him to respond. Kyle stared at me, his dark, almost black, eyes boring into me. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.

The older farmhand took the role of spokesman.

'The door, mate,' he told me. He pointed to it, as if I might have forgotten where it was. 'Works like a cunt. The same way in is the same way out.'

I stared at them all in abject horror. I was going to lose everything. Everything. Oh God, I was going to lose everything to Riley and his plan.

What reason could these people have for lying to me? Did Kyle not know that I was like him? How would he feel if one day, some itinerant came and stole away his wife? How would he feel if he had to sell his farm to pay a divorce settlement?

Tears pricked my eyes. Oh, the frustration. The disappointment.

As I shut the door to the tin shed and made my way towards my car, I heard the sounds of mirth echoing out of the shed and into the afternoon sun, and I wondered what they found so funny about my predicament.

The End