Robyn Hogan

‘Well, what about it? Did you enjoy that?’
          ‘Too right! But it’s a bit of a shock.’
          ‘Specially in the dark,’ I grumbled.
          ‘That section is only the beginning, the easy part.’
          We were standing on the bank of the dry creek bed, the part water swirls over in times of heavy rain. Grass, still green here and cropped by the kangaroos, wallabies and wombats, spread outwards and down to the stoney edges of the creek. Now that we knew of the cave, of this entrance, our exit, at the base of the cliff face, the area looked different. My arms were folded in what I hoped was a casual manner. I was trying to contain the excitement rippling through me, fluffing out ideas inside my head like birds their feathers.
          ‘Have you been in more sections?’ My tone seemed, to me, to carry a note of envy.
          ‘Not yet. Only that chimney is safe alone. But the cave goes up, back and beyond.’ He shrugged his shoulders, ‘Or, I think it does,’ and he smiled, sweet and cautious.
          I relaxed. Jacques was being quite normal. Maybe pretending something was after us was his way of making a joke.
          ‘It is my plan to map this area but I can’t do it alone. I’ve been waiting for some friends of mine to come but my time is running out.’ His rich voice was rational, warm, a little sad.
          Fox bent, pulled a stray blade of longer grass, carefully stripped it back and began sucking on the sweetish stem base. Dad’s always telling him not to do that – animals might have pissed on it – but it seems to help him think.
          ‘Could we really be counted in?’ Fax asked slowly, disinterested-like.
          ‘That’s what I wondered.’ Jacques took a few restless paces back and forth then seemed to gather himself together. ‘Rules are you need four for safety in any expedition; two to be experienced. Well, there’s only me with experience but you two, I’ve watched you, you are strong, have stamina and pull together. I don’t go much on your friend but, between us, we should be able to push him into line.’
          Perhaps I was wrong about his age: he sounded at least twenty-four now.
          ‘Yeah,’ Fox drawled in a pensive, pondering way.
          ‘I’ve brought good equipment. Old Jacques and his team don’t take risks. We have respect for the natural world.’
          ‘What sort of equipment would we need?’ Fat chance we had of getting hold of anything more than some fencing materials.
          ‘We’re fully equipped.’ He looked us both up and down as if he didn’t trust us completely then swung off along the cliff face beckoning with his arm. About four metres along the sheerness of the cliff was interrupted by a low, attached off-shoot. He had converted the far side into a storage bay, a light tarp covering his possessions. Lifting it, he picked up one of the two rucksacks pushed close into the rocky corner. He took a swipe over the surface of the jutting rock using the bag as a tool and cleaned off the animal dung. Sitting, he unbuckled the pack and, bending forward, shook the contents onto the grass. Helmets, head lamps, another torch, coils of nylon cord, a ball of string and a ladder, neatly folded on itself, of wire with aluminium rungs.
          ‘See! Plenty of gear. Planned for four.’ He sounded pleased with his goodies but his face continued to express a sadness. Indeed, he had only smiled that once that I could remember.
          Fox pounced on the items, checking them out. ‘This is great Jacques.’ He picked up a helmet, fastened a lamp to it and slapped it on his head, pulling the chin strap firm. ‘What do you say, Ame? We give it a go?’
          Jacques began repacking the gear. That we would have a light each and a rope gave me some confidence. I was also pretty sure our parents would slam a veto on. And there was the question of Alex. I watched Jacques, crouched over, scrabbling in the second rucksack. ‘We could get lost down there, couldn’t we?’ I challenged.
          He shook his head and, reaching for the ball of string, tossed it up and down. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, I remembered a story, an old tale, of someone, a god or goddess maybe, escaping a labyrinth by spooling out a thread along the passages, tracing the pathway taken.
          ‘I’ll also be making a map and I have a compass direction calculator.’
          ‘Yeah? Show us how it works.’ Fox was excited and committed now. I could tell by the shine in his eyes, the quick, eager movement of his head. I knew, too, I’d give in. We’d be going caving.
          ‘No!’ Jacques shouted and stood rigid, arms clasped to his chest as if he was folding himself in. ‘We can’t risk them knowing we have it. Ssh.’ His voice dropped but remained fierce, hissing. ‘Don’t mention it again or they’ll hear. They’re after all the information I have, you know.’
          Stunned and silenced we regarded him with our mouths hanging open. What were we getting ourselves into? Jacques didn’t seem to notice our reaction. And when I think about it, we never did see that compass. Either of us.
          ‘Food, though, that’s what we need.’ He shifted suddenly from tension to ease, flinging his arms wide, his voice calm. ‘Could you be the caterers/” As we nodded solemnly, still stunned, he continued, ‘plenty of energy foods, juices, sandwiches.’
          ‘Fair enough,’ Fox agreed after an interval of thought.
          ‘Sure,’ I added, softly, on my breath. I was worried.
          ‘We will meet here early tomorrow.’
          Fox removed the helmet, examined it carefully before handing it back, nodding his agreement.
          ‘Not tomorrow,’ I butted in. ‘You might be organised but we aren’t. It’ll take us at least a day to get the food ready.’ Fox looked at me with scorn but I defended my position. “Energy foods” means cakes and biscuits; they will have to be made,’ I said sharply.
          There were a lot of aspects of this proposal I was not happy with and I needed a bit of distance. As I’ve said before, I worry round and round; Fox just goes for the eye. ‘Make it the day after tomorrow and we could manage.’
          As it turned out, arranging for a long day excursion picnic was a snitch. We had been working hard and I think Mum was feeling a bit guilty about Alex. He was so tired, always falling asleep as soon as he sat down. But enlisting City Boy proved quite difficult.
          It was, of course, only reasonable that he was wary of us and we had to kindle his trust somehow. And we hadn’t bothered to find out anything about his likes and interests so we had nothing to use as a lure. He’d been with us nearly a week now so that just shows what selfish little pigs we are. So, we tried butter and jam. Buttered him up with praise and apologies then laid the making-up on heavy. At first he was as suspicious as a cornered cow but we gradually soothed him. We even risked telling him we were going caving, calling it ‘pot-holing’ as the locals do. It seemed he could keep a secret; he hadn’t once told on us. I suppose he had been a see-saw between his dad and mum all his life so was in the habit of not passing on information. We would have liked him to be a bit more grateful to us for including him but then, you can’t have everything. And Jacques did stress we had to be four.
          A pity Jacques didn’t stress a few more things. We were really quite ill-prepared.