Sam said the earth would rebel. Sam said the earth would not want her here. But who said Molly Hook was not allowed to rebel too? Dig, Molly, dig. Dig for your courage. Dig for your rage.
And the gravedigger girl thrashes her head in the water and pushes her head back against the hand that holds her down. Her legs kick and kick and thrash against the rocks on the surface and then, as if the earth is responding to her will, relenting to it, the hand holding her hair and her head falls away, the pressure eases. And the clear water surrounding her turns red.
Her head is still underwater when she sees the body of the bald man fall in and down into his own water death, the eyes open on his disfigured face, looking back at Molly. Such surprise on that face, such confusion. Then Molly’s underwater eyes find the source of his puzzlement: a hole in his stomach, leaking blood into the water in the languid way the smoke from Bogart’s cigarette can fill an office. Blood folding in the water like cirrus clouds in a blue sky.
Molly lifts her head out of the water and sucks air into her lungs and turns to find the Japanese pilot standing above her, his sword fixed in his right hand, its short blade red with the blood of the man who now floats face down in the creek.
‘Yukio,’ Molly whispers. She breathes again, hard and fast, her backside flat on the rocky creek bank. Soaking wet.
‘Yukio Miki,’ she says, pointing at the pilot, between further sharp inhalations. ‘The good one.’ Gathering her breath, but needing to acknowledge this. ‘I knew it, Yukio, I knew it.’
The wonder of all this. She points at him again. ‘The good one who fell from the sky.’
*
Thump. The steel block stamps meet the ground and the brief shockwaves of that meeting reverberate beneath Greta’s flat back. Thump.
‘Who told you about us?’ Kane barks.
‘Nobody!’ Greta says. Her arms are outstretched and her hands are bound by rope that tears at the skin on her wrists. Circles of blood around her ankles where her feet have been roped together too tight.
‘Who else knows you’re here?’ Kane blasts.
‘Nobody does,’ Greta says. ‘Please. Please. Nobody knows we’re here. We came looking for someone.’
Thump. Thump. Thump. Steel blocks smashing against the earth.
‘Who are you looking for?’
‘The girl,’ Greta says – there are tears in her eyes now – ‘the girl believes she’s had some sort of curse put on her. She wants to find the blackfeller who can take the curse away before her heart turns to stone.’
She shakes her head. It sounds foolish saying it out loud. She breathes hard. ‘That’s the truth,’ she says. ‘You let us walk out of here and we won’t tell a soul about this place. I swear that to you.’
Greta pants. Panicked. Primal. Kane studies the actress’s eyes.
‘Throw me that bag,’ Kane says to the red-haired boy, who immediately slings Molly’s duffel bag to his boss. Kane kneels, dumps the bag’s contents at his feet. He inspects a couple of food tins. Flips through the Shakespeare. Scans the gold pan briefly and tosses it aside. Then he holds the blood-red rock up to Greta’s eyes.
‘What’s she carrying a rock for?’ Kane asks.
Greta shakes her head, confused. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I’ve never seen that rock before.’
Kane drops the rock and finds Molly’s paring knife. ‘The girl is not cursed,’ he says. ‘How could she be cursed when she has just lucked upon the new world.’
The steel stamps thump into the ground. Kane leans over Greta’s face. His body so large. The smell of toil. Yellow pus inside the open lesions on his neck. He runs the point of the knife along the bruising on her eye.
‘Someone tried to disfigure you,’ he says. ‘Who did this to you?’
Greta is silent.
‘Answer me,’ Kane says.
‘Just someone I knew back in Darwin,’ she says, quietly.
‘Someone you loved?’ Kane asks, softly.
Greta nods. Kane turns to the red-haired boy. ‘Go to the house, Shane.’
The boy stomps like a petulant child. ‘But you said I’d have my time.’
‘Your time will be with the girl,’ Kane says. ‘But all in good time, Shane.’
Shane runs off along a path that fringes the mine entrance and disappears into the scrub.
Greta reels in horror, bringing her knees to her chest. ‘Get away from me, you fucking animal,’ she screams. She pushes herself across the ground with the heels of her tied feet.
‘Sssshhh,’ Kane says. ‘Please understand that if you move again I will be forced to keep your head extremely still beneath those steel blocks. Please tell me you understand?’
Thump. Thump. Thump.
‘It’s a new world, Greta,’ Kane says. ‘There are no rules in this new world of ours. There are no laws.’
Greta shaking. She nods. She weeps.
Kane’s thumb wipes away a tear. ‘He tried to make you ugly,’ he whispers. He runs his thumb now across her face. ‘He failed.’ He smiles. ‘Who would do this to something so beautiful?’
Greta shivers.
‘I will never do this to you,’ Kane says. ‘We will treasure you. We will always know what you are.’
Greta shivers, moves her head away from Kane’s fingers.
‘What am I?’
‘You are the
