Then it all come out of me like a cough. I couldn’t make it into words. But everything stopped. The whole fucking rigmarole. Even Fintan stopped. They all looked my way. There was piss running down the old man’s legs. And then he wasn’t looking at me anymore, his chin was on his chest and he give out a little coo. The world was silent, a quiet so deep that when the safety catch come off, the gritty sound the steel made was a shaming disgrace.
Fintan give a grunt then and sunk on the gambrel and the shithead with the hat reached behind for his automatic but I had the crosshair on his Adam’s apple so when I fired I expected him to snap back like a roo. But the shot went wide and I thought I’d missed completely. Sounded like a misfire to me and I thought of all the dirt still in the barrel. The bloke stepped sideways a bit with his teeny little straw hat still on his head and that’s when I saw the spout come out the side of him. Off the side of his neck. He sat down. Hawking and grabbing at himself. And when I turned the gun longhair’s way that dumb evil cunt was just standing there with the knife. Looking down. At his mate. Like the dude didn’t need any help at all. The fuckwit didn’t even pull out his pistol.
The spent shell come out the .243 shining like a bright idea. And the second one went in sounding like bones grinding. The hair just couldn’t credit what was happening. He didn’t believe in me, that was it. But there I was.
I didn’t say nothing. Though I could of. I had plenty to say but not to him. I saved it for Fintan. For now it was enough to know what I was. An instrument of God. And right at the last second the hair he knew it too. He turned to run and the back of his shirt ruffled where the first round struck him and he was halfway to the hut before he went down on his face. The second shot missed him totally and he crawled along a little way until I let another one loose and after a chunk come off the back of his head he give it up.
Fintan was breathing when I got to the gambrel. And he was still alive when I let him down on the sticky earth. I don’t know if he heard anything I told him. There was spit running off his chin and his eyes looked half burst but I think he knew I was there. He felt me. He always knew what I was. He saw me coming before I knew I was even there. And now I saw him too.
I buried him on the lake, in the salt. It seemed right.
The others, they went in the mining business.
I never touched the weed. It wasn’t worth the grief. But I did borrow the Jeep. And because of all the jerries in that horse float I’ve got enough petrol to get to Magnet and Broome and Darwin without having to stop. I’ve got almost everything I need. Food. Cash. A few books to remind me of Fintan. The rifle’s gone of course. But there’s a shotgun on the back seat. And a box of shells on the floor right here next to me.
Me phone’s charged up now. No signal yet but I got to see her face at last. I’ll be in Magnet by noon but I won’t call till I’m just outside town. I’ll take it slow with Lee. It’ll all come pretty sudden, me showing up out of the blue, so I’ll have to be patient. But I can afford to be. Because I know what I am now. And peace is on its way. It fucking better be.
ALSO BY TIM WINTON
NOVELS
An Open Swimmer
Shallows
That Eye, the Sky
In the Winter Dark
Cloudstreet
The Riders
Dirt Music
Breath
Eyrie
STORIES
Scission
Minimum of Two
The Turning
FOR YOUNGER READERS
Jesse
Lockie Leonard, Human Torpedo
The Bugalugs Bum Thief
Lockie Leonard, Scumbuster
Lockie Leonard, Legend
Blueback
The Deep
NON-FICTION
Land’s Edge
Local Colour (with Bill Bachman)
Smalltown (with Martin Mischkulnig)
Island Home
The Boy Behind the Curtain
PLAYS
Rising Water
Signs of Life
Shrine
HAMISH HAMILTON
UK | USA | Canada | Ireland | Australia
India | New Zealand | South Africa | China
Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies
whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
First published by Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd, 2018
Text copyright © Tim Winton 2018
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Liam Rector is quoted with the kind permission of University of Chicago Press.
Cover design by Louisa Maggio © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd.
Cover photograph by Trent Parke / Magnum Photos / Snapper Media.
ISBN: 978-1-760-14373-2
penguin.com.au
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