Maralinga by Judy Nunn

him the receiver before discreetly disappearing into the transport office.
    â€˜Hello,’ he said as he sat at the desk, ‘Lieutenant Gardiner here.’
    Elizabeth’s voice came down the line. ‘It’s me. I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘I realise that I overreacted and that I owe you an apology.’
    â€˜That’s all right. I’m sorry I gave you such a shock. I didn’t mean –’
    â€˜Don’t apologise, Danny. Please. That’s my job.’
    â€˜Right. Apology accepted then.’ He wanted to say, So where to from here, but didn’t dare, she sounded so brittle. ‘When do you leave?’ he asked.
    â€˜On Friday.’
    â€˜Oh. So soon.’
    â€˜Yes. Daddy’s driving me up to London. An associate of his has a real estate business and he’s going to show us some flats in South Kensington.’
    Will I see you before you go? he wanted to ask, but he didn’t because he knew he’d sound desperate. ‘That’s good,’ he said.
    â€˜I feel ridiculously mollycoddled, but Daddy’s insistent that he won’t be satisfied until he sees me properly settled, so I’ve had to give in.’
    â€˜Well, you’d be insane not to take advantage of his contacts, Elizabeth, and surely it’s a father’s prerogative to look after his daughter.’
    â€˜Yes, yes, I know, and I’m grateful.’
    There was a moment’s awkward pause as they both realised the small talk had run out.
    â€˜I don’t want to lose your friendship, Danny,’ she said.
    â€˜You don’t have to.’ He felt weary and suddenly defeated. I don’t want to be friends with the woman I love! he felt like yelling. I want to be friends with my wife! ‘We’ll always be friends, Elizabeth,’ he said instead.
    â€˜That’s good. I’m glad.’ Another pause. ‘I’ll let you know where I am and we’ll keep in touch then?’
    â€˜Yes, absolutely.’
    â€˜Bye, Danny.’
    â€˜Bye, Elizabeth.’
    Several months later, Daniel was posted to Frankfurt to serve with the occupying forces for six months. When he rang Elizabeth in London to tell her the news, there was another brief and awkward farewell over the phone. Then, shortly before Christmas, he departed, thankful to leave Aldershot.

 
    Yarina crouches in the red dust, motionless, the child beside her, a boy barely three years of age, equally still, equally silent. Aware of his mother’s unspoken signal, he clutches tightly to her hand, and the two become one with the landscape, melding into the shadows of the mallee scrub. In the gathering dusk, they are all but invisible to the approaching strangers.
    As the truck slowly passes, Yarina hears the voices of the two white men through its open cabin windows, but she does not understand what they are saying. She does not speak the white man’s language.
    She watches as the truck pulls up barely a hundred yards from her, and watches as the men alight and take equipment from its tray.
    Her eyes flicker beyond the truck to where she sees her husband, Ngama. He has been hunting, and the fat ramia he has caught for their dinner is slung over one shoulder. He stands frozen amongst a clump of mulga trees, the only movement being a droplet of the goanna’s blood that slowly winds its way down his bare chest. Ngama has not botheredto hide from the strangers, but like Yarina he too has become a part of the landscape. It is easy to remain invisible to the white man, they have found.
    Yarina squeezes her little boy’s hand. He is a healthy, boisterous child, unaccustomed to staying still for any length of time. But her warning is not necessary. The boy has seen white men only once before in his short life, and even then from a distance. Instinctively, he fears them.
    From their separate vantage points, Yarina and Ngama continue to watch as the men attach something to