On The Beach

"Sooner than that for most of us." He said something in a low tone, and added, "Keep that under your hat. It's going to be tomorrow afternoon for me."

"I hope that's not true," said the American. "I kind of want to see you get that cup."

The scientist glanced lovingly at the car. "She's fast enough," he said. "She'd win it if she had a decent driver. But it's me that's the weak link."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."

"Okay. Bring me back a fish."

The American left the mews and went back to his car, wondering if he would see the scientist again. He said to his leading seaman, "Now drive out to Mr. Davidson's farm at Harkaway, near Berwick. Where you've taken me once before."

He sat in the back seat of the car fingering the little rod as they drove out into the suburbs, looking at the streets and houses that they passed in the grey light of the winter day. Very soon, perhaps in a month's time, there would be no one here, no living creatures but the cats and dogs that had been granted a short reprieve. Soon they too would be gone; summers and winters would pass by and these houses and these streets would know them. Presently, as time passed, the radioactivity would pass also; with a cobalt half-life of about five years these streets and houses would be habitable again in twenty years at the latest, and probably sooner than that. The human race was to be wiped out and the world made clean again for wiser occupants without undue delay. Well, probably that made sense.

He got to Harkaway in the middle of the morning; the Ford was in the yard, the boot full of petrol cans. Moira was ready for him, a little suitcase stowed on the back seat with a good deal of fishing gear. "I thought we'd get away before lunch and have sandwiches on the road," she said. "The days are pretty short."

"Suits me," he said. "You got sandwiches?"

She nodded. "And beer."

"Say, you think of everything." He turned to the grazier. "I feel kind of mean taking your car like this," he said. "I could take the Chev, if you'd rather."

Mr. Davidson shook his head. "We went into Melbourne yesterday. I don't think we'll be going again. It's too depressing."

The American nodded. "Getting kind of dirty."

"Yes. No, you take the Ford. There's a lot of petrol might as well be used up, and I don't suppose that I'll be needing it again. There's too much to do here."

Dwight transferred his gear into the Ford and sent his leading seaman back to the dockyard with the Chev. "I don't suppose he'll go there," he said reflectively as the car moved off. "Still, we go through the motions."

They got into the Ford. Moira said, "You drive."

"No," he replied. "You'd better drive. I don't know the way, and maybe I'd go hitting something on the wrong side of the road."

"It's two years since I drove," she said. "But it's your neck." They got in and she found first gear after a little exploration, and they moved off down the drive.

It pleased her to be driving again, pleased her very much indeed. The acceleration of the car gave her a sense of freedom, of escape from the restraints of her daily life. They went by side roads through the Dandenong mountains spattered with guest houses and residences and stopped for lunch not far from Lilydale beside a rippling stream. The day had cleared up and it was now sunny, with white clouds against a bright blue sky.

They eyed the stream professionally as they ate their sandwiches. "It's muddy kind of water," said Dwight. "I suppose that's because it's early in the year."

"I think so," the girl said. "Daddy said it would be too muddy for fly fishing. He said you might do all right with a spinner, but he advised me to kick about upon the bank until I found a worm and dab about with that."

The American laughed. "I'd say there's some sense in that, if the aim is to catch fish. I'll stick to a spinner for a time, at any rate, because I want to see that this rod handles right."

"I'd like to catch one fish," the girl said a little wistfully. "Even if it's such a dud one that we put it back. I think I'll try with worm unless the water's a lot clearer up at Jamieson."

"It might be clearer high up in the mountains, with the melting snow."

She turned to him. "Do fish live longer than we're going to? Like dogs?"

He shook his head. "I wouldn't know, honey."

They drove on to Warburton and took the long, winding road up through the forests to the heights. They emerged a couple of hours later on the high ground at Matlock; here there was snow upon the road and on the wooded mountains all around; the world looked cold and bleak. They dropped down into a valley to the little town of Woods Point and then up over another watershed. From there a twenty mile run through the undulating, pleasant valley of the Goulburn brought them to the Jamieson Hotel just before dusk.