An Indecent Obsession. Mudrooroo

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      Well, three times lucky and I phoned the last one, which was the best bet, North Stradbroke Island Redland Shire Camping Grounds. As the phone rang out, I noticed that my hands were slightly shaking. Would she be there and make my agitation all for nothing? Would I be listening to her voice with that contrite girlish tone as she apologized? Pay dirt of sorts! They remembered Johnny White because he had come with a whole Rugby team, but they could not remember a woman, my wife, being with them. In growing desperation, I went back through the yellow pages and found the Stradbroke Tourist Park. Again nothing! Frantic with a growing anger and despair (how could she do this to me?), I made up my mind to go to Stradbroke Island on the morrow to find out if she had been there for sure. But I had classes… what to do? With my marriage falling apart, I had been slack at my work lately and if I didn’t pull up my socks I would find myself before the Dean again. Then I thought of Rhonda Smythe-Jones, who had a different tone of reddish hair to that of my wife as she got her hair dyed professionally, who might take them. Even though it was rather late, I rang her and said that I was coming down with something and would she look after my students. For some reason, she always manifested a friendliness to me that I thought meant that she was keen on me. Well, no matter. She would take my classes. I slammed down the phone, strangely in elation, and for a moment thought about Rhonda and how perhaps I should have cultivated her more, even to having an affair. Darlene had been so cold and frigid with me that I would be justified in seeking relief elsewhere, but then I had been so absorbed in my wife that I had allowed myself to be overwhelmed by her misery until I too was suffering. God, I wished that nothing had happened to her. I stared at that thing she had sketched on the paper. The circles about a roundish raised object, a cock within a cunt, made me perspire. If she had been unfaithful to me, I would pay her back. Yes, I would hurt her in a way that would make her back pain feel like a tickle.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Early next morning I was on my way, with her photograph on top of my dashboard and for some reason that list with the doodle. Every now and again, I took my eyes off the road to glance at one or the other. The road to Cleveland was not that busy on a Tuesday morning and just after an hour my SAAB purred into the queue for the barge. Not too many vehicles waited there for Stradbroke Island and I would get a place on the next boat that was already in sight. I got out, bought a ticket, then unable to keep still or put off my investigation, strode over to the Drinks Kiosk (the name and without an apostrophe “S”) and after buying a coke, showed the dowdy woman behind the counter, the photograph.

      ‘Did you see this woman on Saturday morning,’ I asked her.

      ‘To busy then to notice anyone, love’ she replied.

      I went back to my car and sat there staring at the doodle. ‘The bitch,’ I suddenly exclaimed loud enough to make a man who was walking past misstep. He glanced my way then hurried off. Thank God, the barge was nearing the wharf and soon I would know for sure whether she had had an accident or was still on the island for whatever sordid reason. Well, I would show her a thing or two. I had had enough of her peccadilloes. I stared at the heavy clumsy car ferry maneuvering to the quay. It banged against the land, like, well, like my fist would slam against her jaw. The cars and trucks drove off and then I was on and sailing towards my kismet, my destiny. It lay in wait for me there, almost as plain as the great scar sand mining had slashed down the central hill of the island.

      If this was another time and I was going, say for a bit of a relax, I would have sat back, put the radio onto the Classical Music station and settled back hopefully to listen to Brahms. The bay was seldom rough and when it wasn’t raining quite picturesque in a classical music sort of way. But this was not the time to take things easy. I felt my teeth grinding together so that I had to consciously make an effort to stop them. Visions of her fucking and enjoying someone else filled my mind. I managed to have myself under control when the barge man came to check my ticket. I showed him the photograph and asked if he remembered the woman from Saturday as she had not returned from her trip.

      He barely glanced at it before replying, ‘No, mate.’

      ‘Well what about Johnny White, a well known Rugby player. He had a whole team with him.’

      ‘Them,’ the bloke exclaimed. ‘Who could forget that lot?’

      ‘And she wasn’t with them?’

      ‘No, only blokes,’ and he went off.

      It was then that I thought of her with one of those beefy Rugby players and the thought chilled me. Still it was something I could not believe of her. She would never stoop to that level after being with me. She didn’t like that macho type. Well, that was what she had said; but was she to be believed? They might have gotten her drunk and the whole team gone through her. For an instant I saw and enjoyed the scene, then dismissed it. Her brother was there and they belonged to a class which reacted in a fury if a sister was threatened. I really was barking up the wrong tree in my anxiety. I tried to stare at the view, but found myself instead watching a woman with red hair a few cars away. She turned her face towards me and she was nothing like my wife.

      Dunwich, and I drove off and rushed along the East Coast Highway. There was Myora, but I ignored it, too far from the beach and Darlene was one for the beach. I reached the first camping ground between Amity Point and Point Lookout at Adder Rock. No! There was another at Cylinder Beach. Again, no luck! I rushed past the red brick facade of the Anchorage Beach Resort. I doubted that she would have been there. Too expensive! Next, I came to the main Redland Shire Camping Ground and they remembered Johnny and the Rugby team that spent all the night boozing and playing practical jokes. Darlene had not been among them. I hesitated, what to do now? Perhaps she had not come to the island after all, but if this was the case where would I find her?

      I go back into my car and drove slowly towards the point. I was feeling despondent and about to give up when I saw the pub. Everyone went there and surely if she had been on the island someone must remember her. Maybe she even stayed there to escape the Rugby team and their antics.

      I pulled into the parking lot and taking the photograph, got out and walked into the bar. It was as I remembered it, touristy. There was a young bloke behind the counter and I bought a beer and then showed him the photograph.

      He studied it and said, ‘She looks familiar. Did you say, the weekend? Go and ask, Mavis, she remembers everyone, especially the sheilas. Underage a lot of them, you know.’

      ‘Where’s this Mavis,’ I asked him, and he directed me to the dining room.

      The woman had sharp gray eyes which matched her grey hair. She took the photograph from my hand, held it up to the light and studied it.

      ‘Weekend, you say,’ she muttered.

      ’She might have been with the Rugby team,’ I replied.

      ‘Those boys,’ she said. ‘Naw, not her!. She was in here, in this dining room. Had a feed, Bloke was with her, a thick set chap. He bought the meal with a hundred dollar note, that’s how I remember him. He was not much to look at, looked a bit too old for her, but they were lovey dovey. You know sitting at the same side of the table and close together. Didn’t stay here though, neither of them. Went off, I don’t know where and that was the last I saw of them. Saturday night it was. Early! They didn’t stay around for the band. Expect they wanted some place quieter, more romantic.’

      Bingo, I almost shouted. The bitch had come over here to meet someone, but who? And where did they go after they had had a meal here? I thanked her and took myself outside to sit on one of the benches there that gave a fine view of the Pacific, but I wasn’t interested in that. A thickset bloke, oldish, with money, just the СКАЧАТЬ