Chapter Seven

 February 2003

The hostel in 1770 is friendly and relaxed. There are hammocks in the courtyard. On the evening I arrive everyone is sitting at picnic benches chatting.

   In the morning I join a walking tour of the beach. The guide talks about the plants and animals. We get to a place where the beach is covered in clay-like mud. The guide tells us it's good for the skin, good for sunburn. We should all put it on. 

   I swipe a thin layer over my burnt legs, tentatively, not liking the texture. The guide scoops mud up in his hands. 

   'You need more than that.' His hands are on my upper thighs, rubbing it in. I want to jump away, tell him to stop but I can't move. My bikini is loose around my legs. His fingers slip under it for a second.

   'That's better,' he says, stepping back, looking at my legs.

   I look at the others in the tour group. They are staring at me in silence.

   Back at the hostel I'm in my dorm when the tour guide walks in.

   'Did you enjoy the tour?' he says.

   'Yes. Thank you.' I want to back away but the bunk beds are right behind me.

   'There's a place in the town where you can get a pasta meal for $11. Do you want to go there tonight?'

   I shake my head. 

   'Are you sure?'

   'Yes. I'm sure.'

   He stares at me for a moment.

   'All right.' He starts to go but then turns back. 'Can I ask you something?' He points at me.

   I nod.

   'If you're so shy how can you travel by yourself?'

   I shrug.

     'But-' He stops. 'I find you very attractive. And I don't know why.' He says it like an accusation.

   He must be in his forties. I am twenty two and he's just seen me in a bikini. I don't think there's any great mystery here.

   He goes at last. The Dutch girl who shares my dorm comes in. 

   'Was he coming onto you?' she says.

   I nod.

   'Ewww.'

   I force a laugh. 'Yeah.'

   'But he does do good tours though,' she says.

  

I spend time on the beach. I talk to a Canadian man called Mike at the hostel.

   ' So was coming to Australia this big thing for you?' he says.

   'What do you mean?'

   'People say that travelling in Australia is this big thing you have to do.'

   I shake my head. 'I just didn't want to stay at home and work.'

   'Yeah, me too. Why did you come on your own?'

   I shrug. 'No one wanted to come with me.'

   'Same here,' he says.

   I go on a day trip to somewhere they call Pancake, the only place where the Great Barrier Reef extends into freshwater. I spend the journey there throwing up over the side of the boat. The water is calm. I think of Nick in Sydney, the night I still haven't left.

   Could I be pregnant?

   I clench my fist. I can't be. I've had my period since then. How could it even be possible for this tiny stick like body to get pregnant?

   There are oysters on the rocks. We are told they can be pulled off and eaten raw. I hang back, my stomach still churning. I don't eat seafood anyway.

   Brandon, a Canadian man on the trip says they taste good. 'Want to try it?" He holds one out to me. He's joking. I smile and shake my head.

   We snorkel on the reef. Though it's meant to be freshwater I still get a brackish taste in my mouth. It's like another world in the coral, the mysterious shapes, the bright little fish zig-zagging through it. If I could live in that world then I would.

   I am sick again the whole way back to 1770.

   In the evenings I sit in the courtyard with Brandon and Kirsty, another Canadian. I don't know what they are to each other. A couple I think at first, or siblings. They look similar, both small and blond. But no, it seems they are acquaintances from their hometown who just happen to be here  here at the same time.

   One night a large group of us are taken in a minibus to watch a local band play in a pub. The guide from the walking tour is the guitarist. He makes eye contact with me as he plays. I look away. They play Gloria. The singer says it's the Patti Smith version but they miss the part about Jesus dying for somebody's sins. Afterwards the tour guide asks me if I liked the music. I nod and smile.

   Two local men come back in the minibus with us. One is loud, he dominates the conversation at the picnic table. The other one is quiet. I am sitting at the end of the bench, he is next to me. His name is Ian. He is badly shaven and messy haired. His clothes are dirty. We talk for a few minutes, about the beach, about Pancake then lapse into silence. 

   I feel his fingers running up and down my arm. I stare straight ahead. His hand is on my leg, stroking higher and higher. I keep ignoring him. His lips are on my shoulder. I turn. He looks up. We stare at each other for a second. Then he kisses me.

   Perhaps there is some kind of kiss reflex because even though I don't want to I kiss him back.

   'Shall we go somewhere?' he says.

   Hand in hand we walk into the woods behind the hostel.

   I feel almost giddy with relief when it's over. The woods spin as I shake dirt and leaves out of my hair. We stand in a clearing, kissing. 

   'How old are you?' he says.

   'Twenty two. How old are you?'

   'Nineteen.' 

   I pull away from him. The trees stop spinning.

   'Am I too young for you?' His face twists.

   I don't know how to say yes. 'Am I too old for you?'

   He smiles. 'No,' he says as if it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

   We kiss again.

   When we get back to the hostel the courtyard is dark and empty. He leaves and I go to my dorm and curl up under the cover as small as I can. At least I won't have to see him again.

   The next evening I am sitting in the courtyard with Brandon and Kirsty. We are all leaving in the morning. Ian comes, looking scruffier and even more unkempt than the night before. Without a word Brandon and Kirsty quickly stand up and leave.

   They saw me go into the woods with Ian last night I realise. Everybody saw me.

   'Shall we go?' says Ian, gesturing towards the woods.

   I don't know why I say yes.

   'Shall we do it here?' he says as we get a little way in.

   'No.'

   'Here?' he says further in.

   'No.'

   He keeps saying here. I keep saying no.

   'Are you going to say no to everywhere?' he says at last.

   I hug myself and look at the ground. 'Yes.'

   'Why don't you want to?'

   I try to think of something nice to say. 'I'm never going to see you again, am I?'

   'But I love you.'

   I roll my eyes.

   'I mean I really like you.'

   I don't know if I should apologise or not.

   'There's no point being here, is there?' he says.

   I shake my head.

   We go back to the hostel. He walks away looking' hurt and confused. I should never have let him think I liked him.

   I think of Gloria. It wasn't my sins Jesus died for. They remain unforgiven.

Gloria by Patti Smith

Chapter Eight