Ulla smoothed the back cover gently. “Billy gave me this.”
Whenever she spoke about Billy, she had a sort of glow about her, and I don’t think it was religious zeal.
“He said if ever I am not sure of my road, I should read this book and it will tell me where to go.”
Dolf took the book from her and flicked through its few pages. “A German book,” he said, “in English.”
He gave it back to Ulla and poked the fire again.
I was looking through Ulla’s BIT notes to see if there was anything about where to catch the bus from Istanbul to Amsterdam. I was finding the words hard to read because they kept crawling across the page like little black insects.
“Well, we’re not journeying east,” Alun said. “Just the opposite. We’re heading home.”
Val didn’t make any objection, he was studying a leaf as if it was the first time he’d seen one.
“I told my mother I would be back for her birthday,” Alun continued. “And anyway I need to change my university subjects. I’d like to do something about the Medieval Middle East.”
“You can ride with Jackie and me, isn’t it?” Dolf said.
“Nice one,” Alun replied. “We can chip in for the petrol.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I wanted to hug them both. In a few seconds, everything had fallen into place. I didn’t have to go on the bus.
Dolf was staring miserably into the fire.
“Play us a song, Dolf,” I said.
He got out his guitar and the Rolling Stones’ song book and played “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”.
“Is there a way we can go that avoids mountains?” Alun picked up his map, but couldn’t work out which was the right way up.
I could see the road stretching straight back to London. With four people sharing the driving and the cost of the petrol, England didn’t seem far away at all. It would be like driving from Adelaide to Kalgoorlie. I could be back in less than a week and start getting on with my life. I could apply for a job with Mary Quant’s boutique, Bazaar. I could work my way up from shop girl to a junior on her design team. I had a feeling they’d be interested in me as I had inside information on Konundrum. Everything was crystal clear.
It would be a while before anything was clear again.
Thirteen
Far Out
The Danish couple had a portable cassette-tape player. I’d never seen one before. It was very small, about the size of a hardback book, with push buttons along the front, one of which flipped open a lid so you could insert the cassette. Behind that was a speaker. The sound wasn’t much better than a transistor radio, but we were all hungry to hear music again. They played lots of cassettes—Led Zeppelin, Creedence Clearwater, the Who. The young Pakistani was thrilled. He looked at the picture on the Led Zeppelin tape box. He pointed to Robert Plant and then to Dolf, who had changed into clean jeans and a ladies’ white lacy singlet.
“You look the same!” he said.
Dolf proudly flicked his hair back from his face.
The music sounded amazing echoing around in the darkness. The guitar chords made my spine tingle, and the harmonies were so beautiful that they brought tears to my eyes.
Then the batteries ran out, so Dolf picked up his guitar and sang “Stairway to Heaven”. Val produced a little flute and joined in. I hadn’t realised he was musical. They played that Janis Joplin song about the Mercedes Benz, and songs from the Rolling Stones’ song book and everyone sang along. Even Ulla. She looked around at us all and smiled. I’d never seen her smile before. It looked like it was difficult for her, as if scar tissue inside her mouth made smiling painful.
I’d almost finished my skirt. I just had to sew up the hem.
“You are very clever.” It was the Pakistani boy. His name was Wasim and he had thick wavy hair which he was constantly pushing back from his forehead. “I didn’t know American girls could sew.”
“She’s not American,” Alun said. “She’s from Australia.”
Wasim looked embarrassed. “I am sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Alun replied. “No reason why you should know. You can speak two languages—”
“Four.”
“There you are. I’m hopeless with modern languages.”
We all looked grubby, except Wasim who was wearing a clean pale green shirt.
Someone had bought dates. We’d already eaten all the peaches and cakes, but everyone hoed into the dates as if they hadn’t eaten for a week. They weren’t like the ones you get in a packet at the supermarket, all dry and hard, they were soft and sweet and caramelly and reminded me of eating Mum’s cake mix. And there were figs too. I’d never eaten a fresh fig before. I peeled back the skin and it looked like it was filled with little pink jewels.
Dolf wanted to smoke a hookah pipe before he went back to Holland and the older Pakistani offered to take him into the city in the green Mercedes. Veronica and Vanessa had to get back to Gertrude, so they went with them. Val wanted to check out the Palace for signs of a rock concert. Wasim took the rest of us in the cabriolet. Alun sat in the front. He was in heaven.
The Palace was floodlit. It was pale and unsymmetrical, with a lumpy roofline of breast-shaped domes and spiky towers, but there was neither sight nor sound of a rock concert anywhere. Across the road there was a wide stretch of dark water. Everyone got out of the car. I climbed over some rocks to get to the water’s edge.
“This is the Bosphorus,” Val said. He’d followed me over. “See those lights over there? That’s Asia.”
The twinkling lights on the other side of the black water looked close enough to reach out and touch. Val was close enough to touch as well. I did touch him or at least his shirt.
I could hear the others laughing back at the car. I felt like I had supernatural hearing.
“I can hear beetles walking over the rocks and fish swimming in the sea,” I said.
Val smiled and nodded. “I can see your hair,” he said. “Each individual hair. It looks like gold.”
Wasim was also staring out at the water. “In my country there is no sea.”
“That’s sad,” I said, thinking of the constant presence of the sea at Semaphore where even when it was out of sight you could smell the salt air or see the way it was rusting the window frames.
Just south of where we stood, the Bosphorus opened up into a wide inky sea.
“What’s that way?”
“That’s the Sea of Marmara and the Dardanelles,” Val answered.
I remembered the annual Anzac Day lesson at school. So that was where I was in the world, not too far from Gallipoli. At that moment a freighter loomed out of the darkness. It was huge, and fast-moving, like some sort of sea monster, and it was so close I was sure it was going to plough into us. It blasted its horn. I jumped back and slipped.
“Sugar!”
Val reached out and grabbed my hand.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
We went back to the others. I had an urge to hug them all, even Ulla.
“Are you all right, Adelaide?” Alun asked.
I wasn’t sure.
The Danish couple wanted to go to the Covered Bazaar. I hadn’t even noticed they’d come with us. Val still hadn’t bought anything to sell in London.
Istanbul was different at night. There weren’t enough streetlights and the alleys melted into darkness. A dog leapt out at us and went for Alun’s ankle. Children, who should have long been in bed, asked for money. I was glad to get to the bazaar, which was brightly lit and crowded with people.
It was a wonderland. I walked around like a child in a toyshop staring at the mounds of spices, the cascades of coloured cloth. I looked down at my plain skirt with its unfinished hem. I wished I’d chosen more colourful fabric. Why hadn’t I bought one of the shimmering layered skirts edged with sequins? There were beautiful cups and bowls, lanterns that glowed like jewels. And there were jewels—bracelets, necklaces, earrings, headdresses.
A shop owner threw carpets down in front of us one at a time, as if he was dealing a giant pack of cards. Each one was more brilliant than the last. I wanted to get lost in the patterns, the flowers, the colours.
The others had gone on without me. The light from bare electric light bulbs made everything look harsh. Everywhere I turned there was another dark, sweaty face, a mouth spouting words I didn’t understand, hands trying to make me take things I didn’t want. It was so crowded, I could hardly move. Bodies were pressed up against me. Every pair of eyes was staring at me. Men kept touching me. There were no women.
I could feel panic rising in my throat, or maybe I was just going to be sick. I needed to get out of the bazaar, but I didn’t know how. It was like a maze. Every time I turned a corner, there was another alley crammed with people, another row of stalls stacked with dazzling things. Then I came to the food section. Skinned animals hung from hooks, their teeth bared, their glazed eyes staring at me, blaming me. Slimy fish mouths gaped. Pieces of meat oozed dark blood. The place smelt like death. I thought I really was going to be sick. I pushed through the crowd, elbowing people out of the way. I was shouting, I can’t remember what. Above me were arched roofs, stained and peeling. I felt like I was going to suffocate. I needed fresh air, but I didn’t know the way out of the maze. Then I glimpsed Alan and the Pakistani boy. I pushed my way towards them, kicking people in the shins to get through. I finally got to them and put my arms around Alun’s neck. He smelt of wood smoke and sweat. It was a reassuring smell.
“Look what I’ve got.” He held out a plastic bag for me to see. It contained six earthy potatoes. His eyes were shining with pleasure. “Wasim found them for me.”
Wasim pushed his hair back from his eyes.
“I have to get out of this place,” I said.
“Wasim will find the way.”
A path between the people appeared like magic and Wasim led us through the crowd.
“Breadcrumbs,” I said.
I meant that we should have left a trail of breadcrumbs like Hansel and Gretel, but I couldn’t find the words to explain it. I don’t know how, but we came to the cabriolet, and Ulla and Val were waiting for us.
When we got back to the camping ground, Dolf and the other Pakistani had returned. The fire was out. Alun broke twigs into small pieces, threw them on and blew on the ashes. Flames sprung up like magic. He added more wood and fanned the fire with a piece of cardboard. Once it was going, he dropped two of the potatoes into the coals.
I stared at the fire for what seemed like hours. The flames were very beautiful, all sorts of colours I’d never seen in flames before—blue, green and purple. But they were also frightening. Too hot and full of potential pain and destruction. Dolf’s face was a pale shade of green. It might have been the reflection from the fire, but he didn’t look well.
Alun was hugging his book. He started reciting it from memory. It sounded wonderful, even though I couldn’t understand a word because he was saying it in Welsh.
“I want to go on a quest,” Alun said.
“You are on a quest,” Ulla replied.
“That’s right,” Alun said. “And you are all my retainers. Valentine of Westminster who knows all the tongues; Dolf of the Golden Hair who can woo fair maidens with his magic lute; Jacqueline of Adelaide, who drives the chariot blue; Wasim, Prince of the East who knows the way no matter how hidden; Ulla of Upsalla, whose needle has this peculiarity—that it can turn rags into cloth of gold.”
He stopped.
“What about me?” he said. “What’s my special skill?”
“Alun of Aberystwyth, son of Gawain,” Val said, “who can eat his weight in potatoes?”
I laughed, but Alun didn’t. He looked really upset. His forehead was crinkled, his eyes were sad and there was a catch in his voice.
“I can’t go on a quest. I don’t have a steed with head dappled grey and shell-formed hoofs. I don’t have a goldhilted sword three ells in length. I don’t have a four-cornered cloak of purple with an apple of gold at each corner.”
The Danish couple had bought more batteries. Ulla gave them a cassette to play that she’d bought in Morocco. It wasn’t nice music—just pounding drums and some sort of weird wind instrument, screeching and frantic. It was scary. I’d never imagined music could be scary. It made my heart pound too. I looked at my hands, which were splotched with red and purple like I had some sort of disease.
The smell of charcoal was in the air. Alun had forgotten about the potatoes and they had burnt. He looked like he was going to cry. Everyone was speaking in other languages and I seemed to be the only one who couldn’t understand them. I put my hands over my ears, but I couldn’t block it out.
Ulla told me to do yoga breathing. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
“You’re freaking out,” Val said.
He led me away from the fire and told the Danish guy to put on something quieter. He played James Taylor—sweet and slow and soothing.
“You’ll be okay tomorrow, Jackie,” Val said.
“I don’t think so.”
“You will. Trust me.”
I looked into his calm blue eyes. I did trust him.
Alun came over with half a burnt potato in his hand.
“Wasim rescued them from the fire for me.” He was eating the potato with a spoon. “They were only burnt on the outside. He put olive oil on them and they taste like nectar.”
He held out the spoon for me. The warm, soft potato tasted like campfires and Sundays and Shell Beach holidays.
Dolf got up and walked towards the toilets, but he stopped halfway there and was sick. No one else noticed.
Ulla was talking to the older Pakistani. He was sitting next to the fire and his skin was dark and shiny, his eyes were brilliant white with jet-black centres.
“Where’s Alun?” I asked. I’d only been talking to him a minute before, or it could have been hours.
“He can look after himself,” Val said.
“Who’ll look after me?”
“I will.”
For some reason that reassured me. I looked at Val, and I felt like I was seeing him for the first time. As if some veil between us had blown aside. He was talking, just to me, telling me about when he had seen Jimi Hendrix getting off a bus on the Edgeware Road. Then he stopped in the middle of a sentence. He dug in his pocket.
“I bought you something at the bazaar.”
“You bought something for me?”
“It was the only thing I bought. I didn’t realise it was for you when I bought it, but now I know it’s yours.”
He unwrapped a crumple of brown paper. Inside was a silver bracelet. It had little coins hanging from it and tiny round bells. He held it up and it made a beautiful tinkling sound.
“Put it on.”
I held up my wrist.
“No, it doesn’t go there.”
He gently pulled my foot towards him and fastened the bracelet around my ankle. He ran his fingers over my toes, along my instep. He smiled at me. Such a beautiful smile, the whole one with the dimple. I felt privileged. He was looking into my eyes. I was sure he could see inside me, right into my mind, and read my thoughts. And I didn’t mind.
I looked at the beautiful bracelet around my ankle. It made the tinkling sound when I moved my foot.
“This is why I’ve come here,” I said to myself.
At least I thought I’d said it to myself, but I must have said it aloud, because Val said, “Why?”
“To be here with these people, with you. It’s all been leading to this.”
“It’s a random meeting.”
“No,” I said. “It was meant to be.”
I’d gone all that way with no plan and ended up in that particular spot, at that particular moment. The paths of all those people I hadn’t known before had intersected with mine. It didn’t seem possible that it was random.
I was so entranced by the sparkling, jingling ankle bracelet that I forgot to thank Val fo
r the gift. When I remembered, I looked up and he was talking to Ulla. At least she was talking to him, saying something in another language. Val laughed. I was sure they were laughing at me. The firelight created deep shadows on Ulla’s face as she leaned closer to Val and touched his arm. She spoke into his ear and he was hanging on every word. They got up and walked away together, towards Val’s tent. I was left bewildered, bereft, betrayed. I wanted to cry. I think I did.
I felt dirty, like the Istanbul pollution was clinging to my skin. My hair smelt of wood smoke. My body smelt of stale sweat. I needed a shower. I stumbled to the shower block. I’d been dreaming about having a shower for nine months. This was nothing like the shower I remembered at home which was surrounded by pink tiles and a glass shower screen with a shark and a sunken treasure chest etched on it. That shower smelt of Cussons Imperial Leather. This one smelt of shit and urine and rotten rubbish. The floor was slimy with algae. I could hear scuffling noises and I was sure it was rats, but I had to clean my skin.
The tap groaned like an old man when I turned it on. The water flowed reluctantly. It was still warm from the sun. I had almost forgotten sunlight. I washed off the dirt with a little sliver of soap that someone had left behind.
I’d forgotten to bring my towel. I went back to my miserable quilt and plastic shelter to look for it. Some Turkish boys were talking to the Danish guy. They stared at me. That was when I realised I’d left my clothes in the shower. I was naked. I just stood there, thinking it had to be a dream and I’d wake up soon. The Danish girl was dancing even though the music had stopped, waving her arms in the air, and weaving her body to a rhythm that only she could hear.
I went over to my suitcase, pulled out my Marks & Spencers nightie and put it on. My body was still, but not my brain, which was whirling and twirling like a carousel. Thoughts were cascading into my mind and colliding with each other. They were important thoughts. Revelations. They couldn’t be coming from my brain; someone had to be beaming them into my head. Someone clever and important like Julius Sumner-Miller or John Lennon or Miss Twartz, my algebra teacher. I had to remember those thoughts. My future, possibly the future of the world, depended on me remembering. I had to write them down. I scrabbled in my suitcase and found paper and a Biro. I wrote by the faint light of the moon. I wrote and wrote, but the pen would only move in slow motion, and couldn’t keep up with my thoughts that were flashing at the speed of light.