Homesickness by Murray Bail

Author:Murray Bail
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC00000, FIC019000
ISBN: 9781921776977
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2010-11-21T16:00:00+00:00

Hello All

Having an interesting time here—2nd highest capital in the world—did you know?—shops—colourful blankets & people—lawns—Spanish is the spoken language—Catholics—do you know Spanish for man, boys?—you’d like the volcanoes!—quite an interesting party, I think I said—no word from you—anybody. Did you get my scarves? S.

Mrs Cathcart also took the opportunity of writing postcards; sitting among their luggage stacked in the foyer there was little else to do. She scribbled the same fractured message to one and all. Having a good time, etc. Climatic conditions. Summary of cleanliness as related to skin pigment of the locals. Leaving today. At least these postcards would serve to pinpoint their location. The receiver could look at the picture on the front—the same as Sheila’s—and try to imagine. Seated on a suitcase beside her, scarcely had Doug licked a stamp when another card was flung down ready; the two were like an economic unit, a cottage industry. In pale blue shorts and the knitted shirt with his sunglasses hooked over the pocket, Doug liked to be occupied.

The others ambled around; the men, hands in their pockets, testing at random the edges of cases and the carpet pattern with their shoes. It hardly mattered if the bus was running late. Wearing a demilune brooch Louisa struck a gay pose; her eyes and head moved like a child’s. While Hofmann preferred to drift, allowing the residue of the shuttered-up alien place to recede, she chattered about this and that, not even expecting an answer. Strange how seemingly trivial images—section of a peeling wall, the pores of a stranger’s nose—persisted in challenging the most obvious landmarks.

Violet, now she—

Violet smoked cigarettes not so much from habit, but with aggression or realism. She wore large sunglasses and smelt of powder. It generally happened in a group: she found herself isolated, to one side. Sasha had dragged North and Gerald Whitehead over to a display set up along the side wall. Approximately thirty one-litre jars of water had been placed on a long shelf. Beginning clearer than gin the liquid gradually darkened until the final jar was a pale brown with a good inch of silt on the bottom. Interestingly, this was Amazon water collected at evenly spaced, consecutive intervals along its entire course. Although no more than ten yards long here the graduation of the jars graphically demonstrated the length, and even the steady speed of the almighty river. The freshly painted banner running the full length listed in several languages statistics and wildlife, signed by the Amazon Tourist Board.

‘But it could be any river,’ was Gerald’s complaint. ‘I don’t see the point.’

‘You’re never satisfied!’ Sasha laughed; but so excited by their company and the prospect of movement again she hugged his arm, squashing her breast. And the trouble with Phillip North: if you showed him anything, he took too much of an interest. Hands clasped behind his back he was peering closely now at the last jar.

Watching them Violet became angry at her own contempt. She stood to one side, a sharp rock, dark.

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