Free Watercolours by Adrienne Ferreira Page A

to be doing okay.
    Directly opposite on the far bank of the river stood the monolithic RSL, a broad grey face full of glittering teeth. Beside it the bowling club’s greens were deserted, the two rectangles of turf tranquil as lakes. A breeze came up off the river. Dom caught the smell of eucalyptus, dry grass and an undertone of cow. The country . There was something else in it, too, something green that clung to his throat. Slime green, pond-scum green. He breathed in the smell of his new home until he couldn’t distinguish grass from dung from decomposition. Until they blended to become one hot breath.
    The afternoon sun flared as it sank towards the range of mountains in the west. He closed his eyes and the world turned orange. He imagined himself in a desert, wandering among towering dunes and rivulets of sand. He peered down the length of the river until it bent under the iron bridge to the right and was out of sight. There were worse places than this to be posted, he thought. Arid places poisoned by salt, pricked by thorny plants and ravaged by dust.
    Out of nowhere came an explosion of colourful lorikeets. Wildlife! They landed in the shrubs below and Dom watched in delight as they jumped and scrambled over each other for the hairy blossoms, tittering and shrieking, apparently unaffected by the heat. After a while they flew off, tumbling out over the river to graze further downstream.
    The afternoon fell silent again. In the wake of the cheerful bird chatter the air felt heavy, almost awkward. The sky seemed to flush in embarrassment. The river wrung its thin hands and waited for someone to speak. As if to comply a bird called outover the water, clear and strong. Dom searched the trees but couldn’t identify the source. It called again in an upward tone and he tried to make out if it was five questions or just one, repeated for emphasis.
    There was a pause, which lasted so long Dom felt like a thwarted lover on the end of a telephone, waiting, waiting for someone to pick up. He felt the urge to whistle himself. Just as he decided the bird must have flown away, up it piped again, five clear calls for the benefit of some distant mate that might have just caught the end of the previous set and was now paying proper attention. God, it sounded lonely! Especially after the lorikeets, all shouting over the top of each other to have their say.
    Dom drummed his fingers on the railing. He hadn’t really met anyone outside work yet. He was still a stranger in this place. He decided to call home. He felt like telling someone about Novi and his afternoon’s triumph.
    His mother answered.
    â€˜What are you having for dinner?’ she asked immediately.
    Dom sighed. ‘Dunno, Mum. I only just got home.’
    â€˜Well, make sure you eat properly up there. You can’t live on McDonald’s, you’ll get sick.’
    He fought down a surge of irritation. ‘I know.’
    â€˜Buy yourself some fruit.’
    â€˜Okay!’
    Silence. Eventually she asked, ‘How’s work going?’
    Suddenly he felt too exhausted to explain about the meeting. Instead he just said, ‘Fine.’
    â€˜Well, let us know if you need any money, all right, Nicky?’
    In the background he heard his father bellow, ‘Christ, Angela, don’t tell him that!’
    â€˜I’ll be right, Mum,’ Dom said quickly. ‘Thanks anyway. Look, I’d better go. It was just a quick call. Say hi to Dad.’
    â€˜Okay. Love you.’
    He sat on the lounge and stared out the window. It was good he was here. It would take a while to settle in, that’s all. Just as he sensed his elation fading, a knock at the door made him start. He wasn’t expecting anyone. When he opened it, a thin old woman in a pink tracksuit and white sneakers was holding out a bottle of wine and a casserole dish, its contents hidden under a glass lid opaque with condensation. Her long white hair was pulled back in a