Stood Up

Stood up in rural Victoria, Australia, 1947

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Keith had spent much of Saturday afternoon washing his father’s new Nash car. The windows gleamed, and he had even polished the wheels with his mother’s black stove cleaner. He had just finished admiring his work when dark clouds rolled in, bringing thunder and lightning. As the rain strengthened, he hurriedly backed the spotless car into the earthen-floored garage, hoping he had avoided watermarks on the freshly buffed duco.

Tonight would be the first time he took Miss Merrilyn Steel out without the Vale girls along as chaperones. He enjoyed her vivacious nature, and there was no use pretending any longer. The whole district knew he was sweet on the new schoolteacher and had been quietly courting her for several months. It seemed, however, that Merril herself had not realised.

He chuckled as he thought of the ruse he had used, escorting his neighbour’s daughters to disguise his intentions towards Merril. It had worked quite well. Merril was not to know that he usually took the Vale girls to dances or balls only a few times a year. Since the new schoolteacher had arrived as their boarder, Keith had attended every dance and ball in the surrounding districts. And what a fine little dancer Merril had turned out to be. That was a real windfall, he thought, given how much he loved to dance. And how I admire her slender legs and dainty ankles; the daintiest ankles I’ve ever seen!

By the time he was due to collect Merril, the wind and rain were almost torrential. Keith used his father’s black umbrella to reach the Nash unscathed, but he was disappointed that all his work cleaning the car would be wasted. The roads were sure to be muddy and slippery, and the tyres would fling red dirt onto the duco. How annoying.

As he drove towards his neighbour’s place along his father’s silver gum-lined driveway, the storm intensified. Lightning split the sky and thunder crashed overhead, almost deafening him. Sheets of rain battered the windscreen so relentlessly that he could barely see the track ahead.

Vale’s front gate was only a short distance away when Keith suddenly began to tremble. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his heart pounded, and he felt light-headed. It was happening again. I must be more anxious about this outing than I realised. He pulled The Nash off the road, stopped at the entrance to the long driveway, and turned off the engine. These attacks came regularly, though usually at night when he was trying to sleep. There was nothing he could do but ride it out.

*

It was 1945. Back in New Guinea.

He was thrashing in the river, fighting the pull of the current and the weight of his pack as he struggled towards the bank. His mud-filled boots dragged him down. Leeches latched onto his calves. His heart hammered at the thought of snakes, rats, and mosquitoes.

Gasping, he clutched at weeds to steady himself. Up the bank. Panting. Heart racing.

Dry land ahead.

‘Come on,’ his sergeant ordered. ‘We need this dug before nightfall.’

‘Dig, boys, dig,’ he ordered as they scrambled to dig enough trenches to protect their life-saving equipment first.

‘Harder, faster,’ he urged them.

After that, they still had to build a rough camp, though they had already spent the day pushing through dense jungle and sliding down steep ravines in search of dry ground.

He longed for the scorched plains of Picola West, for its hot, dry summers, and for the sight of the sun sinking over the horizon. Here, the heavy humidity drenched him in sweat, soaking through his army shirt.

It was strenuous work, but they had to keep digging, though they were all exhausted. He would not admit it to anyone, but he was terrified of the Japanese snipers who took no prisoners. They could creep up from anywhere, concealed by the impenetrable jungle. Thick grasses and dense climbing vines clawed at him, trying to envelop him. The snap of a twig made him jump as the jungle took on menacing shapes.

The strange night sounds in that remote place were terrifying too, disturbing every attempt to sleep. Oh, to hear the familiar call of a night owl or the shrill cry of curlews from home. He could sleep through those.

Keith’s heart sank when he saw Skinny Brereton’s shovel slide down a ravine.

‘Use your pick,’ their sergeant ordered in a hushed voice, but Skinny was already pulling it from his pack.

As Keith sweated and toiled, he heard his mates swearing under their breath. Tropical rain assaulted them as they dug faster and faster, though their stomachs growled and their arms felt like jelly. They all dreamt of food rations tomorrow; the army’s drop the day before had landed in a river.

Keith wondered how much longer he and his mates could endure the torrential rain, the humidity, the hunger, and the mud dragging at their clothes and boots. It was hard to keep pretending to be cheerful, hard to keep urging the others on as they expected him to. Even Picola Joe, as they called him, was struggling in this appalling place. He was fighting his own demons.

*

When Keith came back to the present, he was still trembling. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his body felt weak and limp. Worse still, he was sobbing uncontrollably.

Oh no. I’m no good to anyone in this state. Merril will think I’m a weak, blubbering idiot. I can’t let her see me like this. Damn it.

He started the engine and turned The Nash towards home.

*

The Vales were enjoying an evening cup of tea in the front room, quietly agreeing they were glad to be too old to go gallivanting about in such dreadful weather.

Ned looked up at Ivy when the back door banged.

‘You’d better see who that is, Ned,’ Ivy said, though she stood too and followed him down the long passage to the kitchen. Uninvited visitors at night usually brought bad news.

Merril stumbled inside, soaked to the skin.

‘Oh, my goodness, Merril. What’s wrong?’ Mrs Vale rushed to comfort her. Merril’s shoulders heaved with sobs. Her clothes were disheveled, and her drenched permed hair clung to her scalp, dripping onto her overcoat. Mud caked her favourite white high heels. She tried to wipe the rain from her glasses, but her tears made it impossible.

‘Sit down, sit down, Merril,’ Mrs Vale said, guiding her to a chair.

‘Winnie, can you make Merril a cup of tea, please?’ she asked her eldest daughter, who stood stunned in the doorway. Dorothy and Beth, startled by the cries, lingered awkwardly in their pyjamas behind her.

‘Whatever’s wrong?’ Mrs Vale asked, sitting beside Merril and stroking her arm.

‘He just turned around and drove off,’ Merril spluttered. ‘He didn’t come to take me out.’ She tried again to wipe her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘I don’t know why… I saw the headlights at the end of the driveway…just idling…I walked out from the veranda to the picket fence…but he just left… without me…’

Then she began sobbing again.

‘There, there,’ Mrs Vale said, trying to soothe her boarder. ‘There must be some mistake… perhaps something was wrong with the car… or he forgot his money… or thought you might need an umbrella…’ She searched desperately for a reason Keith would stand Merril up. ‘I’m sure he’ll be back when everything is sorted,’ she added, but her voice wavered.

Ned made soothing noises, then returned to the front room. Merril’s distress upset him, but he felt this was a matter best left to the women. What was going on? He had been pleased that Keith had finally moved on from Lorna’s betrayal. He and Ivy both thought Merril was a perfect match for him. As a boy, Keith had spent many days on the Vale farm, especially when he was in trouble with his bad-tempered father and trying to avoid the strap. Ned had always had a soft spot for him.

But why would he stand Merril up? What could that be all about? Keith could be arrogant, but not hurtful like this. I wonder what’s up with him.

Poor Merril. She’s always such a friendly person who tries to please everyone. The whole family enjoys having her board with us. She’ll be feeling very hurt as she’d been so excited about her first official outing with Keith.

Unable to understand Keith’s behavior, Ned took himself off to bed. He’d try to talk with him tomorrow and get to the bottom of this.

©SNC (1440 words)