Affixing Blame

Affixing Blame.

Dave swings the Ute out in a wide curve onto main road sealed surfaces. First time in a long time, rain tumbled down. His mind full of ribs showing through baby lamb fleece, gasping, and drought affected ewes pushing mewing offspring away. After the latest downpour, he has to head to town, talk to mates, discuss planting crops. Fixated on likelihood the drought has broken, he didn’t see an off-white minivan until he straightened his wheel. Too late to do anything but breathe a word, half obscenity, and half prayer.

Oncoming driver, swerves sharply and hits their horn as sound screams in Dave’s head. Passing on his left and veering off, already dirty cream panels skid into roadside dirt. Rain has partially washed road dirt away, but still persistent mud sticks. Bouncing wildly over rough ground. Eventually the van pulls up inches from a fence post in a great cloud of dust. Hovering above as if escaping spirits.

A vehicle definitely not made for off-road work. Looks like a box chucked out of roadside mail vans buffeted further by jet-streamed air pulled along by passing road trains.

Smells of burnt rubber on bitumen, loose granules settling, familiar as stock moving through dry sale yards. Except minus urine and faeces, telling more about selling precious stock rather than a roadside. Might be able to save some stock, now if the drought has broken.

Thank God, no collision.

Dave can’t believe he’s still seated, fingers glued to the wheel, not hit. Not dead. As if he needed any proof his number isn’t up yet. Hasn't felt like this since local Demons footie team won its first premiership. Mixed in with walking around showgrounds side-show alley, holding Jessica’s sweaty hand right before he graduated high school. A better time, more plenty, more persistent seasonal rains.

Other driver moved but also remained seated. Probably in shock. Or afraid of potential confrontation. Dave’s never had an accident in more than two decades, longer if learning to drive in grey stubble paddocks is counted. Innumerable years driving various farm vehicles. Reassures himself, got good driver status.

Didn’t look. Knows he didn’t look. Just pulled out wide, taking up too much road. Knew from glancing dotted white lines. What’s happening to him? Can't keep a focus for longer than it takes his dogs to push stock up into a shearing shed chase. He gets out stiffly and hobbles over toward the van, ticking as it cools. Stumbling more than walking, too slow. Bowels felt ready to dissolve as he walks. Don’t shit yourself too, mate. Shame.

Then he realises – no witnesses. His word against this fellow. Good, feels better than a moment ago. Relief rushes like untangled fencing wire.

Stranger, behind the other wheel, sees Dave and swings out his legs, but stays seated. Purple trousers already attracting dust. Face white but he manages a grin, of sorts. Brushing clunks of dreadlocks back off his brow. Dave notices three gold rings through one ear. Rainbow scarf tucked behind his dirty T-shirt neckline. Hiss of a CD, more a whirring, is that supposed to be music?

‘Bit close,’ Dave says.

‘Certainly was. You okay?’

‘Yup. You?’

‘Fine. Bit shaky from rough landing.’

Not enough to shift this guy’s phone from easy reach on the passenger’s seat. Even if a curtain material, which blocks views inside the van, still flops about. More appropriate to match heavy flock wallpaper in some old English mansion, thinks Dave.

‘You want to check your stock, might be a few boxes behind, fallen.’ Dave points, curious.

‘Catch my breath first.’ Says Jia, thinking of farmers owning guns. Hearing crazy Wolf Creek actor’s laugh. Recalling disappearing tourists. Victims whose only sin they stopped to help strangers on Outback Highways. Disobeyed his own rules, never come this far from coastal safety. Best keep cool. Looks at his steady fingers, not believing his calm.

No accusations nor anger. So, Dave decides to seize initiative.

‘You were coming down at a fair clip. Didn’t you see me?’

Jia looks up at Dave, one eyebrow raised, brow crinkled; liar! But says nothing. Safer. Like last night outside a rundown hotel. Tense situation, likely someone might be hurt, if he hadn't decided to slink away, mouth clammed shut.

‘Could cause a nasty accident, driving so fast. Farm vehicles all along this road, you know. Combines, harvesters and tractors.’ Although Dave doubts this guy could tell any differences. ‘Stock and kangaroos too.’

Less now, road edges, long paddock, government land, whatever name you attached to verges just as dried up and unproductive as fenced paddocks.

‘You not from round here.’

‘No.’

Never expected to crutch ewes, sew a dog’s gashed leg back together, untangle emus from fencing and know chicks were hiding off nearby in scrub shadows. Kick aside drooping tomato bushes, realize a few scrawny hens are going unnourished.

Dave sniffs air, wet roads, lizards will soon be active, and smells triumph. They both know what really happened, neither willing to take things further. He can sense this fellow’s resignation.

‘Well take a bit more care when you get back on the road, eh? We’ll say no more about it.’

Jia gives Dave a brief nod. As if he’s going anywhere near police stations to make a report, or risk further van inspections. Police closing swaths of highway, looking for reasons, never quite able to factor in human behavior.

‘You don’t want to be a country road statistic.’

‘Seen enough of those road safety ads. Due for a break.’

‘Nearest town, 20 clicks, good coffee at the service station.’

‘Thanks.’

Dave latches onto notions he’d better get out while going’s good, and sets off down road edges towards his Ute before one last look. ‘You be alright?’

‘Fine.’ Says Jia ducking back into his van and starting the engine. Ugly dark smoke wafts out of a reluctant exhaust pipe.

Won’t be long before bashed-around thing gives up the ghost thinks Dave as this stranger-tormentor pulls back onto roadsides and stops again, this time safely tucked off near a stand of mulga bush.

Now Jia’s fingers are shaking as he rolls a smoke.

Dave speeds away, wanting as many miles as possible between him and the minivan. Bloody ridiculous he thinks, way some people drive! Shouldn’t be allowed on roads, particularly now they are wet. Shouldn’t be allowed behind a wheel. Might have killed him, driving like that.