We travelled down the highway that January, in a brief interlude between the fires. The air was sticky, and firedust riddled the atmosphere – ash, heated clouds, smoke. The earth was hot, the hills on either side were scarred black with flameburst.
The road itself was clear – three lanes either direction make an effective fire break – but the ravages of fire were evident at the shoulders. Nor were there the usual number of holiday cars. People had stayed away, or been prevented from leaving by fire. Assuming they still had a car they could have left in. And a house to stay in.
We refilled at a highway service centre, and restocked with teas, coffees, sandwiches and travel treats.
A man stood at the exit, holding a cardboard sign with ‘Beechworth or near’ in what looked like charcoal. He had long unkempt hair, a dark stubble and sallow tanned cheeks. He wore crumpled jeans, a faded white tee and dirt covered dunlops. A small day pack stood limply by him.
Parents had always warned us to be careful of hitchhikers, but he looked harmless enough, forlorn even. Besides there were four adults in the car. I pulled over with the window down.
He picked up his bag and squinted into the car. The cabin filled with the smell of acrid smoke, burnt eucalypt, hardwoods, metals, embered ruins.
Sandy, on the passenger side said,
‘We’re going to Melbourne, but we can take you part way there.’
A grin cracked yellow between chapped lips. His eyes were sunk well into his brow; one was red. He nodded curtly.
‘Hop in the back next to Tom,’ said Sandy.
Tom moved across as the man slid in, his back pack on the floor between his legs. Sandy turned around the edge of the seat.
‘So that’s Tom, and his wife Erice, I’m Sandy and this is Ed.’
‘I’m the talking horse,’ I said, and grinned into the rear vision mirror. He didn’t look at me. ‘You know, nobody can talk to horse -‘
‘Of course, dear,’ said Sandy, patting my thigh, ‘it’s been thirty years since I first heard that one.’
‘And what name do you go by?’ said Erice from behind me.
The man paused, then ran the back of his hand across his nose. ‘Dog,’ he said, without looking at anyone.
‘Did you say Dog?’ said Tom.
‘Dog,’ said the man.
‘Is there are real name?’ said Tom.
‘Just Dog.’
‘Well, Mr Dog,’ I said as I pressed the accelerator and entered the highway, ‘Welcome aboard. As my wife said, we’re heading to Melbourne. We can drop you somewhere on the way to Beechworth.’
In the mirror I saw his eyes dart from me to Sandy, then back down to the floor where his backpack lay.
‘Full story is we’re off to Tasmania,’ Tom said. ‘We’re catching the ferry tonight and are having a bit of road tour. We’ve booked Cradle Mountain Lodge for five days, then we’ll head back up to Devonport via the east coast, Freycinet Lodge, that sort of thing.’
The man did not stir at this information.
Erice said, ‘We’ve just stocked up. I can offer you a sandwich if you need a bit of lunch.’ She offered him an open sandwich pack containing two triangular halves of chicken and mayo on white bread. ‘I know, they saw white bread white death, but it’s best they had. It was either that or one of the dry sausage rolls.’
The man called Dog grabbed both halves of the sandwich, looked at them, and then ate the two together.
‘Alright then,’ said Tom. ‘I think we have another one down here.’ I felt him rummage behind the seat and pull out another sandwich. The man took it before it could be opened, still chewing the last of the white crusts. He gulped, ripped open the new pack and bit into its contents.
Sandy raised her eyebrows at me. I turned to watch the traffic.
Tom said, ‘Terrible fires this year.’
The man chewed his lunch.
‘We could smell them all the way down,’ said Erice. ‘It’s been awful, don’t you think?’
I saw the man swill his tongue about his mouth. He nodded lugubriously, and said, ‘Yep.’ Then he bit into the bread.
‘People have lost their homes and even some their families,’ said Tom, but he was looking towards Erice.
‘It’s climate change coming true,’ said Erice.
‘That’s the nub of it,’ said her husband.
The car slowed as we approached a large truck in front of us. Frankston Meats said the ribboned sign on the rear doors, next to a cow and a pig.
‘See that, folks?’ I said. ‘Adaptive cruise control. The car slows to the speed of the vehicle in front.’ I switched lanes and we sped past the rumbling truck. ‘That’s what I love about technology. I remember my dad buying our first car with bucket seats. Bucket seats. No one calls them that now, they’re just seats. And here we are, with computers driving the car and adaptively controlling the cruise and all the other bells and whistles.’
After a moment’s silence Sandy said, ‘Ed, stop talking.’
I laughed. ‘It’s just chit chat, darling. Dog’s got adaptive cruise control on his car, I bet. What do you drive, Dog?’
Dog had finished the sandwich. He leaned back in the seat and let out a long breath, and ran his hand through his hair. Dust flew out and down.
‘Ed loves his toys,’ said Tom.
‘Hello, pot calling a kettle black,’ I said. ‘You’re the gadget man, Tom. Tom’s got a new Airbook every second month, an apple watch, at lest two iPads and god knows what else. Anything electronic he’s got it.’
‘Yeah, but I have justification,’ said Tom. ‘I’m in IT. You’re just the driver.’
‘You need three TV’s for IT?’ I said.
The last one was LED, I bought an OLED to compare,’ he said.
‘Listen to you both,’ said Erice. ‘Pay no attention to them Mr Dog. Sometimes they’re like little boys boasting about who’s go the biggest you know whats.’
‘You’ve never complained about the size of my you know whats,’ said Tom, and he nudged Erice. ‘Men,’ she said.
‘Dog, we men have to stick together on this,’ said Tom. ‘You got a wife or a main person in your life?’
Dog turned his eyes briefly in Tom’s direction and a paltry smirk escaped. Then he rubbed his eye.
Sandy, who had turned around, said, ‘I noticed you had a sore eye, Dog. Is that a cinder or something? I’ve got some drops if that would help.’ She rummaged in the bag at her feet and pulled out a small bottle. ‘Here,’ she said, and stretched her arm around the seat to the man.
He took it, unscrewed the cap and leant his head back on the headrest. The drops in, he blinked a few times and handed the bottle back to Sandy.
‘Those cinders can be awful,’ said Sandy. ‘Got one in my eye as a kid and had weeks of agony. I’ve worn glasses ever since.’
‘That explains why she doesn’t always see things my way,’ I said, looking into the mirror at our hitchhiker. He didn’t see me though.
I saw a patrol car and checked my speed. ‘Woops, cops are out. They don’t pick you up if you’re only three K’s above the limit,’ I said. ‘Haven’t seen too many on the drive though. Most of them have been caught up by the fires I expect.’
‘What’s taking you to Beechworth?’ said Tom.
The man smacked his lips. ‘This car,’ he said.
‘Oh très drol, good sir, très drol,’ said Tom. ‘I meant, are you visiting family, or returning home, or …’
I watched Dog look down at his backpack and lean against the window with his eyes closed. Tom turned to his wife and mouthed, ‘Rude.’
We travelled in silence for a while, Dog apparently asleep, Tom flicking through his phone. I couldn’t see what Erice was doing.
We entered the urban traffic on the outskirts of Albury Wodonga. A road work sign pulled all traffic to one lane and we slowed considerably. A bobcat surrounded by four men in hi-vis stood by the side of the road. There were orange flags on a forty speed sign. Sandy squeezed my forearm and nodded her head in Dog’s direction.
‘What’s his story do you reckon?’ she said under her breath.
I shrugged.
‘He might have lost everything in the fires, he’s pretty smelly, in that campfire sort of way,’ she said.
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered, ‘he doesn’t say much.’
‘Or he’s going home to safety after helping out friends.’
‘That’s another possibility.’
‘I feel sorry for him. He’s so forlorn.’
‘He’s a country bloke,’ I said. She rapped my thigh.
‘Just look at him. He needs help.’
I looked into the mirror. Dog hadn’t moved. His eyes were shut and his breathing steady. Erice grabbed the back of my seat and her face appeared between us.
‘Are you talking about -?’
Sandy nodded.
‘Where do we drop him?’ Erice said.
‘We could take him into Wodonga,’ said Tom, whose face had just paired with his wife’s. ‘There’s a road directly to Beechworth from there. He’d have a better chance of getting a lift from here than the next turn off from the highway.’
I checked the sat nav, and said, ‘There’s an interchange near a place called Chiltern but it’s in the middle of nowhere.’
‘We can’t just dump him though,’ said Sandy.
‘We only promised him near to Beechworth, not to it,’ said Erice.
‘Yes, but look at him. He’s like a waif,’ said Sandy. Erice giggled. ‘What?’ said Sandy.
‘Waif, he’s not a kid. He’s a grown man.’
‘Well a grown up waif,’ said Sandy.
‘Shoosh you two,’ said Tom. I looked into the mirror again, but Dog had not moved.
‘We should take him to Beechworth,’ said Sandy.
Tom looked at the man next to him.
‘That’s a good hour out of our way,’ he said, ‘on a nine-hour drive.’
‘We can share it,’ said Sandy.
‘What time do we need to be at the ferry?’
Sandy looked at her phone. ‘It leaves at six forty-five, so we need to be there by six at the latest.’
‘How are we for time?’ said Erice.
‘About three and a half hours to go. We’d be cutting it fine if we divert to Beechworth.’
‘Well, let’s take him into town and leave him there,’ said Tom.
‘But we could still make it, couldn’t we?’ said Sandy.
‘It’d be very tight,’ I said.
‘Too tight?’ said Tom. ‘What’s our margin for error? I mean, we’re crawling along here. What if we get more work on the back roads?’
‘Or worse, get caught in the fires,’ said Erice. ‘Has Beechworth been affected?’
‘No idea,’ said Tom. ‘There have been so many it’s hard to keep up.’
Erice said, ‘My vote is dump him in town.’
‘Erice!’ said Sandy in a harsh whisper.
‘I don’t mean just dump him by the side of the road like a rabid dog. Take him to a bus station or something. Pick a spot where he is likely to hitch a ride.’
‘I think we should do more,’ said Sandy.
‘We don’t know anything about the man,’ said Tom. “He has refused to offer anything up for us. He could just be an ordinary bum.’
The traffic was still slow. A mound of bare soil stretched alongside the road, attended by crews of workers. A flock of pink galahs pecked at the summit.
The man stirred and Tom and Erice sat back quickly.
‘Hey Dog,’ I said. ‘We’re coming into Albury Wodonga. Traffic is slow due to road works. We thought maybe we could pause here.’
We were through the worst of it. A short while later I could see the KFC sign.
I said, ‘There’s KFC everyone. Anybody up for a bit of dirty bird?’
‘Gross,’ said Erice behind me.
‘We took the kids there once,’ I said, ‘to this very one in fact. We were coming down to ski at Falls Creek, and the kids said they’d never had KFC before. They called it Kid’s Fat Centre, so I said you’ve got to try it before you condemn it, so we went in. It was disgusting, full of grease and saccharine flavours and the kids laughed. Of course we ate the lot. And we’ve never had KFC since, have we darling?’
‘Never,’ said Sally.
‘’S’good eatin’,’ said Dog.
‘What, KFC?’ I said.
‘Mhmm.’
‘You enjoy it, do you?’
‘Take the littlies there, feed the family cheap, laugh.’
I could see him looking at me in the rear vision mirror, the first time he had made eye contact. Although he was staring through me. I thought maybe it was just the mirror, but his eyes were dark and fierce, as if stirred by some biter memory, part contempt, part grief, deeply and irretrievably wounded, a soul whose burn scars still stung. I said,
‘If you like we can stop in and get some. Why don’t we? Anybody object?’
I took their silence as acquiescence, and turned into the car park. When we opened the doors the heat lunged at us in a hot wind. It was heavy and humid, dense with the odours of grease and the distant fog of fire. Dog took his backpack and sign with him. We entered and ordered, pieces of chicken, nuggets, a zinger burger, chips, coleslaw and potato with gravy, pepsi and juices – all the stuff of my childhood.
We sat at a bench and watched Dog bite into a drumstick.
‘Brings back memories,’ I said.
‘Did they have zingers when you were a kid?’ said Erice.
‘I was a zinger myself,’ I replied.
We ate and wiped the spillage from our chins. The kitchen clattered in the background. Inside, the air was as sticky as a bushfire, but sugary, not charred. Dog put his drumstick down and stared out the window at the parked cars.
Tom said, ‘So, Dog, we thought it might be good to drop you off here somewhere. You’d have a good chance of hitching a lift from here rather than the next turn off. Would that be agreeable?’
‘We’d offer to take you the whole way, but we’ve got the ferry to meet, and time’s a bit short,’ said Erice.
Dog continued to look out the window. I chewed on a chip. Sandy stared at the man intensely. He was slowly rolling the drumstick in his fingers.
‘So, I’m not sure of the best place to drop you,’ said Tom. ‘Maybe a bus station or the main exit to the Beechworth road. I don’t suppose you have any suggestions?’
The man didn’t move.
‘We’d like to give you the best opportunity,’ said Erice.
Dog turned slowly from the window and picked up his backpack from under his seat. He pulled out a battered teddy bear, its feet badly singed, missing one ear and an eye, its fur ash grey and dirty. He held it to his chest and started to cry. A torrent of full tears ran across his taut and tired face. They flowed down his cheeks and clung to his chin before pooling on the burnt head of the bear in his arms. They were tears he did not want to release, but were unstoppable, as if life itself had fixed in him its most basic and pitiable state. His head was pressed against the head of the bear, which he clutched to his chest as the tears ran.
We sat and watched, embarrassed and concerned, not knowing what to do. Sandy passed a wad of serviettes to him. No one touched the food.
Sandy said, ‘We’ll have to take him to Beechworth.’
Tom looked at her and said, ‘Let’s have a chat outside.’ He got up and stood outside the door. ‘Excuse us,’ I said to Dog as we got up to join Tom in the cloying heat.
Tom said, ‘We can’t take him to Beechworth. We’ve lost time as it is coming to this godforsaken hellhole.’
‘But we can’t just leave him,’ said Sandy. ‘I mean, look at him, it’s the least we can do.’
‘Look, I appreciate the man is upset, but we have a ferry to catch,’ said Tom.
‘Upset?’ said Sandy. ‘He’s weeping for god’s sake. Didn’t you hear him? He used to come here with his kids and laugh. That means his kids aren’t around anymore. And by the bedraggled look of the teddy bear he’s hugging it’s fairly obvious what’s happened.’
‘We could take him to a hospital,’ said Erice. ‘They might be able to console him. They’re the professionals after all.’
‘There’s some reason he wants to reach Beechworth,’ I said.
‘Could be family there,’ said Sandy. ‘I think it’s important he get there.’
‘It is, but it’s also important for us to catch the ferry,’ said Tom. ‘Otherwise we’ll incur the cost of an overnight in Melbourne, and the cost of another ticket tomorrow. If they have room. Plus we’ll lose a day in Tassie.’
The sun was burning the back of my neck, just near where I’d had the spot removed a year ago. ‘I’ve got to get my hat,’ I said.
‘I should get mine too,’ said Erice.
The four of us walked to the car. I pressed the button for the boot to open and a hat tumbled out. We stood about in hats and sunglasses deciding if we should keep discussing the matter here, or near the door, or if we should go back and talk with Dog.
Erice, who had been checking her hat in the reflection, said, ‘Oh look, it’s Dog.’
We turned to where she was pointing. He was climbing into a car that had pulled up for him. It drove off. His ‘Beechworth or near’ sign fluttered on the ground in the wake of its departure.
‘Oh, he’s off,’ said Tom, ‘without so much as a goodbye.’
‘Chucked his sign on the road too,’ said Erice.
‘I hope he gets there,’ said Tom.
‘Well, problem solved,’ I said. ‘We’re good to go catch our ferry.
‘Hold on,’ said Erice, and she hurried over to the seating area and returned with the food we had not consumed in a bag. ‘We don’t have any sandwiches left, so should finish this,’ she said.
‘It’s the least we can do,’ said Sandy.
* * * * *
Photo by Lucas Andrade via Unsplash.
