"Christopher Kenworthy - The Clear" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kenworthy Christopher)

Christopher Kenworthy - The Clear

Through the coach window, I could feel the heat building; the air was
conditioned, but low sunlight warmed my skin. I'd sworn the previous
season would be my last in the north, because the weather in that part of
Australia wears you out. If it wasn't for Caroline being delayed up there
until after Christmas, I'd have stayed in Perth. But we'd already been
apart for a month, and that was too much, even for her.
I counted again, finger-tapping the hours until I would see Caroline. It
was absurd to clock-watch, because I was almost used to being without her.
Getting beyond the absence was becoming more important than the time we
would spend together.
There was no cloud for the sun to set in, so it went to the horizon white,
like a huge star. The sky cooled, leaving perse light above the vanished
sun, fading to night as I watched. When the coach pulled in at the
Capricorn Roadhouse, finally crossing into the tropics after a
sixteen-hour drive, I left its chill for yeasty heat and dust. The
roadhouse was circled by spotlights, making everything beyond even darker;
the last civilization until morning, the driver warned us. The occupants
of the coach gathered quietly at the benches outside, bewildered by the
journey. There was only the sound of grasshoppers, lulling in and out of
time.
There were two German girls, who appeared to have been traveling together
for a long time, staying close, barely speaking, never looking at each
other. The shorter one was staring at the ground. Behind her, the tall one
bent over her diary, writing carefully, rereading what she had written.
She untied her brown hair, ran her fingers through its short length, tied
it again. Her skin was so tanned, she must have been abroad for months.
She looked up to the left, revealing her profile, deep in thought.
When we set off again, the driver told us it was another twenty hours to
Kununurra, if the road was open that far. The rivers could flood eighty
kilometres wide, and rumour had it that CALM were already closing off the
gorges. In some places, the Wet season had begun.
Willing myself to sleep, I was awakened frequently by the thud of impact,
like stone on metal, as the coach hit kangaroos. I glanced out to see the
desert flecked with the grey haze of smoke-bushes, picked out by
moonlight. Then, in the reflection, I saw the tall German walking down the
length of the coach, to the drink dispenser. Pretending to stretch my
back, I turned to watch her, then slumped back down, feeling ridiculous.
Even if I wasn't going to meet Caroline, I couldn't possibly be with
somebody like that. She looked ten years younger, and must have attracted
so much male attention that getting to know her without looking pushy
would be difficult. And I knew that newness was a lure; people seem
perfect because they are unknown. You can't spend your whole life giving
up what you've achieved, for the sake of another attraction. One day you
have to build on something and make it work. That's how it was with
Caroline, because it had taken months for us to find any sort of peace. It
would be a crime to have gone through all those arguments for nothing.
When she sat again, a few seats ahead of me, I watched her rummage in her
bag, and withdraw a Duracel torch. She held out her hand, and pressed the