On The Beach

They walked back to their newly acquired transporter and drove it back in the half light to Haystack Corner, and commenced the somewhat ghoulish task of stripping the dead bodies of the wrecked cars of anything that might be serviceable to the Ferrari. It was dark before they finished and they drove back to Melbourne in the rain.

8

In Mary Holmes' garden the first narcissus bloomed on the first day of August, the day the radio announced, with studied objectivity, cases of radiation sickness in Adelaide and Sydney. The news did not trouble her particularly; all news was bad, like wage demands, strikes, or war, and the wise person paid no attention to it. What was important was that it was a bright, sunny day; her first narcissus were in bloom, and the daffodils behind them were already showing flower buds. "They're going to be a picture," she said happily to Peter. "There are so many of them. Do you think some of the bulbs can have sent up two shoots?"

"I shouldn't think so," he replied. "I don't think they do that. They split in two and make another bulb or something."

She nodded. "We'll have to dig them up in the autumn, after they die down, and separate them. Then we'll get a lot more and put them along here. They're going to look marvellous in a year or two." She paused in thought. "We'll be able to pick some then, and have them in the house."

One thing troubled her upon that perfect day, that Jennifer was cutting her first tooth, and was hot and fractious. Mary had a book called Baby's First Year which told her that this was normal, and nothing to worry about, but she was troubled all the same. "I mean," she said, "they don't know everything, the people who write these books. And all babies aren't the same, anyway. She oughtn't to keep crying like this, ought she? Do you think we ought to get in Dr. Halloran?"

"I shouldn't think so," Peter said. "She's chewing her rusk all right."

"She's so hot, the poor little lamb." She picked up the baby from her cot and started patting it on the back across her shoulder; the baby had intended that, and stopped yelling. Peter felt that he could almost hear the silence. "I think she's probably all right," he said. "Just wants a bit of company." He felt he couldn't stand much more of it, after a restless night with the child crying all the time and Mary getting in and out of bed to soothe it. "Look, dear," he said, "I'm terribly sorry, but I've got to go up to the Navy Department. I've got a date in the Third Naval Member's office at eleven forty-five."

"What about the doctor, though? Don't you think he ought to see her?"

"I wouldn't worry him. The book says she may be upset for a couple of days. Well, she's been going on for thirty-six hours now." By God, she has, he thought.

"It might be something different-not teeth at all. Cancer, or something. After all, she can't tell us where the pain is…"

"Leave it till I get back," he said. "I should be back here around four o'clock, or five at the latest. Let's see how she is then."

"All right," she said reluctantly.

He took the petrol cans and put them in the car, and drove out on the road, glad to be out of it. He had no appointment in the Navy Department that morning but there would be no harm in looking in on them if, indeed, there was anybody in the office. Scorpion was out of dry dock and back alongside the aircraft carrier waiting for orders that might never come; he could go and have a look at her and, as a minor side issue, fill up his petrol tank and cans.

On that fine morning there was no one in the Third Naval Member's office save for one Wran writer, prim, and spectacled and conscientious. She said that she was expecting Commander Mason on board any minute now. Peter said he might look in again, and went down to his car, and drove to Williamstown. He parked beside the aircraft carrier and walked up the gangway with his cans in hand, accepting the salute of the officer of the day. "Morning," he said. "Is Commander Towers about?"

"I think he's down in Scorpion, sir."

"And I want some juice."

"Very good, sir. If you leave the cans here… Fill the tank as well?"

"If you would." He went on through the cold, echoing, empty ship and down the gangplank to the submarine. Dwight Towers came up to the bridge deck as he stepped on board. Peter saluted him formally. "Morning, sir," he said. "I came over to see what's doing, and to get some juice."

"Plenty of juice," said the American. "Not much doing. I wouldn't say there would be now, not ever again. You haven't any news for me?"

Peter shook his head. "I looked in at the Navy Department just now. There didn't seem to be anyone there, except one Wran."

"I had better luck than you. I found a lieutenant there yesterday… Kind of running down."

"There's not so long to run now, anyway." They leaned on the bridge rail; he glanced at the captain. "You heard about Adelaide and Sydney?"