The ritual had been going on for months. She didn’t discuss it with Barry. He hated stuff like that, liked things to remain grounded in reality, in science, in reason. That’s what had kept him going through the long years of drought, logging on to the computer every day and filling in his statistics sheets: rainfall, temperature, humidity…getting a sense of the weather patterns across the country, across the world. Feeling a bit of control.
It was interesting, how they were different, she thought. Barry’s gaze was always up in the sky, whereas hers had always been on the earth. She never seemed to be able to get the earth out of her mind. The drought had stretched on and on. All she could see as she got up, got dressed, made breakfast, took Lara to school, did the washing, made lunch, went in to town, fed the animals, made dinner, watched television, and went to bed; all she could see, stretching out for miles all around her was dry, flat, shimmery, hot earth. Even when she couldn’t see it she could see it.
She didn’t mind it. There was a simplicity about it that pleased her. An austerity. Things had been reduced to the essentials.
But lately, things had changed.
They’d had a couple of good soakings. Barry was calmly and quietly hopeful. Didn’t say much, except that in his opinion the drought was softening. He didn’t say breaking. So after the second good soaking, late in May, he decided to plant the crop, and take the chance. They didn’t talk much about it. There wasn’t much to say. The farm was mortgaged up to the hilt, most of the animals had been killed, the vegie patch was tiny, and they’d all become thin.
Sounds strange to say it. But there it was. All three of them had become thin.
And they all knew that if the crop failed that was probably it. A move of some sort. An upheaval.
She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay part of this earth. This bit of earth which stretched out, brown, when she came out the front door. Which greeted her, hot, when she walked to the truck. Which rolled by, flat, flat, flat as she drove down to the letter box.
And so, it began.
A bit of water from the dishes stolen before it reached the vegie garden and taken in a small jar to the front gate of the property. She’d leap out of the truck and quickly toss it to the ground under their sign, Binowee. A tiny patch of wetness, and then it would be gone.
But she found it comforting.
Please, she would think.
That’s all.
Please.
And then, as the wheat crop grew, it became twice a day. Once at the front gate and once at the main paddock. That’s right she thought. Once for us, once for the wheat.
And then one morning Barry said ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if some rain was coming.’ Before he went off to his job of driving the school bus in a nearby town.
He paused. And then he said quietly, ‘I only hope it’s not a storm.’
She thought about that all morning. Through doing the accounts and through doing the bathroom. And, sure enough, as she came back in to the kitchen, the sky was darkening.
She knew what would happen if it stormed too hard.
The little stems would break.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
By lunch time, it was all she could think about. Through the kitchen window she could see the dark clouds massing, like a mountain in the west. And they were moving fast.
After lunch she went outside with her jar to the truck and she could smell it, smell the rain, smell that storm. Coming, quickly coming.
And so she decided on stronger action. She went back into the house and got a biscuit. A freshly baked yoyo. Made yesterday in preparation for Gareth, Suzie and the kids who were coming for the weekend. Those kids loved yoyos.
She got out one of the biscuits and wrapped it in greaseproof. It was an appropriate gift she thought. Not just an everyday biscuit, but one for a special occasion.
She didn’t know exactly what she was going to do. She just got in the truck, her little jar of dishwashing water and the yoyo sitting on the seat beside her and drove to the paddock.
When she got to there, the sky had darkened and the wind was much stronger. The bank of cloud was closer and much bigger, and as she walked into the middle of the paddock she could see an occasional streak of lightning. She walked through all the young greenness, already starting to bend with the force of the wind, watching the dark mass of clouds in front of her, and everything became simple. This was all there was: a flatness of green, a wild body of energy, and her in the middle with her offerings of water and food.
She reached the middle of the paddock and knew what to do. Slowly, deliberately, she placed the two offerings on the soil. Waited a moment. Then she opened the jar, and carefully poured the water into the earth.
Thankyou, she said quietly, firmly.
Then she unwrapped the yoyo and held it in her hands. She faced the storm. The wind hit her body and a few rain drops flew past her face. She could see the lightning, could hear the thunder.
Please, she said. Please.
Please help us.
After a moment or two she noticed that the yoyo had crumbled in her hands. So she lifted her palms into the air and let the wind and the rain take the crumbs, lift them away into the sky.
She was brought back to herself by drops on her face. It had started to rain, but it was soft rain, and things had quietened down a bit. The sky was still dark, but it had settled somehow, and the thunder was gone. It was just quietly raining, on her and the wheat. She looked down at her hands and there, still in her palms, was the centre of the yoyo. The little bit of icing and jam.
Oh, she thought, something left over, for me. And as she walked back to the truck, slowly, through the green and living field, she ate it, delicately, bit by bit.