Wild Orchids: Chapter 19
by Denise Main and Ian Chisholm
Previous episodes
‘George, this bloomin box of junk you salvaged from a pile of rubbish, is in the way. I’ve tripped over it for the third time this morning. When are you going to sort through it and toss out what you don’t need?’ Archie complained as he rubbed his right shin which had taken the stubbing each time.
‘Sorry Archie should have done it. I’ve been meaning to tidy up but getting out of this dingy place each morning has been my top priority. I’ll do it straight away.’ George sat on the folding camp stool he had found in the same pile of hard rubbish and rummaged through the box which contained an old lamp, leads, rope, tin of screws and other odds and ends.
‘These could come in handy sometime,’ George held up the tin of screws.
‘What the blazes are you going to screw down under this Bridge?’ Archie fired back.
‘Yeah, you’re right.’ George chuckled, replaced it and picked out a black drawstring cloth bag. Curious, he untied it, upended it and out tumbled a silver camera with a charger cord still attached.
‘Hey, have a look at this Archie, someone’s tossed out a camera. Not much use to us though,’ he said dismissively, putting it aside. Archie picked it up, turned it over in his hands. ‘Would you mind if I kept it?’
‘OK by me, though I’m not sure how you can get to use it.’
‘I can use a camera. In the past I fancied myself as being a reasonable amateur photographer. Did well enough when I had a bit of money to spend on equipment.’ Archie stroked the camera and put it into his coat pocket.
Keeping aside a biscuit tin and two empty screw top jars, they returned the rest of the bits and pieces to the box ready for a rubbish bin.
‘Well, I’m going to head off now, how about you Archie?’ George stood, stretched his long back and shrugged into his coat.
‘Yeah, me too. Everything’s OK here, let’s go. I know what I’m going to do today.’ Archie’s fingers stroked the camera in his pocket. His destination, the camera shop in the main shopping strip where he often stopped and gazed longingly at the cameras on display.
Hesitantly he entered the brightly lit shop, produced the camera and shyly showed it to the shop assistant.
‘What have you there, Mister?’
‘A camera given to me by a friend who has finished with it, got himself a new one. I’d like to have it checked please. Can’t pay much. If it’s going to be expensive to bring it up to good working order, I won’t bother.’
‘Do you know how to use it when charged?’
‘Yes, I once bought a new Olympus 35mm SLR.’
The assistant turned it over in his hands.
‘This one looks OK. Leave it with me for half an hour and I’ll check it more thoroughly. No charge.’ the young man smiled.
Archie thanked him feeling a twinge of excitement. He loved the idea of taking photos again and rediscovering the joy of finding the best shot at the right time in the right light. But then, he agonised, should I revisit things loved and lost to the past?
He returned in half an hour, hoping for some good news. The assistant handed him the camera and said with a broad smile,
‘Nice little Canon you have there; all we had to do was insert a picture card for $20, make some minor adjustments and charge the battery.’
‘I’m happy to pay for the card,’ Archie said.
‘I have a request, that if we halve the charge, you might show us some of the photos you take?’
Archie nodded his agreement, not trusting his voice to express his relief and gratitude. The $10 note quivered in his fingers as he handed it over. He had deliberated whether he should spend from his stash but decided this was a small luxury that would enrich his frugal existence.
‘Thanks,’ he said, finding his voice, ‘It will do the job nicely, not as complicated or as good as the Olympus SLR, but that’s fine with me.’
‘What happened to that camera?’ the young man asked.
‘Sold it, had to. A friend gave me this one and it’s got me thinking of starting up again.’ Archie smiled, knowing he was not telling a lie.
‘Have fun mister, might see you again.’
‘Yeah sure. The matter of re-charging. Would I be able to do it here? I’m not connected to power for now.’
‘Of course, any time, just leave it with me.’ Archie grinned his thanks.
He couldn’t keep his fingers from stroking the camera sitting deep in his coat pocket. Shivers of pleasure rippled through his fingers. He thought of the cameras he once owned and the photos of plant life and landscapes, but all taken within strict the religious guidelines of the Blessed People. When he was able to save a little money from his gardening business, he pursued photography as a satisfying, creative past time, but he had to be careful to be discreet, fearful of being sanctioned for not devoting sufficient time deepening his faith and belief.
He couldn’t wait to try it out, his fingers itched to peer through the view finder, use the telephoto mode and seek nature’s compositions that could swell his heart with joy. Sea, seagulls, sky and sand were always a good place to start,’ he thought.
The wind streamed in from the west. He watched the clouds build in the south-west corner of the horizon.
‘A change on the way,’ he murmured. ‘Just the sky for a grand seascape.’
Buffeted by wind squalls he staggered to the pier, the one they had slept under on their first night in Fingal Sound. Pulling his coat collar up as a shield he hunched his back to the wind; his footsteps rang on the thick, uneven planks. His heartbeat quickened as he scanned the panoramic view before him. The ocean was wild; colossal swells were building; heavy storm clouds coloured the sky a slate grey. Seagulls wheeled above, their sharp cries echoed along the cove.
He gazed in awe at the huge swells as they swept onto the shore, white caps spraying in the wind, misting the air, the glassy green troughs transparent in the fleeting light. His finger clicked the camera’s shutter button repeatedly. Time slipped by unnoticed.
He heard voices and laughter on the wind. A group of men sat on stools at the end of the pier, their baited lines taut and zinging above the swirling waters.
‘Any luck in this bluster?’ Archie shouted as he reached them.
‘Nah, not much yet, but we have until the change brings the rain or we get blown out to sea.’ The fisherman’s laugh crinkled his weathered face.
‘My name is Archie. Would you mind if I took photos of you all?’
‘No, go for it, Archie. I’m Jock,’ he said as he pulled in his line to re-bait.
Archie captured moments in time; anglers concentrating on their lines, ignoring the pending storm.
‘And I’m Bob. Do you reckon you could let us see the photos you’ve just taken?’
‘Sure,’ replied Achie as he eased himself onto a vacant stool.
‘Here, have a look.’ he passed the camera.
‘Jees, they look great, mate. Me name’s Bill. How can we get a copy? Tell ya what Archie, I’ll trade some sandwiches in return for a couple of those photos.’
‘Done. I’ll get some printed and come back next week,’ Archie said.
‘At least one of us is a regular here, despite the weather. Be much obliged if you would do that for us,’ Bill added.
Archie gratefully accepted the sandwiches and a cup of tea. His stomach growled, breakfast was early, a slice of stale bread browned over the primus stove and covered with a layer of vegemite.
‘Thanks for your hospitality, I’d better get back before the skies really open up and me getting a drenching.’ Archie waved his goodbyes and walked away along the almost deserted pier. More clicks of his camera, then with anxious glances to the sky he pocketed it and hurried to the road which led to the Bridge.
Archie had a new purpose in his daily routine and told George on his return, that he planned to seek potential subjects to photograph further along the creek.
The coastal environment excited him in its unfamiliar variety. He discovered simple rewards by sitting silently on the soft cool grass of the creek’s bank, the winter sun’s warm touch on his cheeks as he waited for the right opportunity.
The birds of the southern coastal woodlands were new to him. Flashes of black, yellow and white caught his eye as the honeyeater alighted on a low branch of a banksia tree. He felt for the telephoto adjustment on the camera and from his vantage point was able to fill the picture frame with a sharp image of a creature he would come to identify with the woodlands.
The sun reappeared from a massive cotton ball of cumulus clouds, high in the sky, a signal to Archie that he had lost track of time. That morning, he had photographed five diverse types of birds who had obliged by ignoring him while they flicked and fossicked. He quietly whispered a prayer of thanks for the wonders of nature. As soon as he had the prints, he would visit the library for a bird book to identify them.
Two days later, with the prints he promised the fishermen, he walked to the end of the pier to find, to his disappointment, they were not there. The chill of a southerly wind carried the invigorating smell of the sea’s brine and its freshness, so he sat, dangled his legs, unwrapped the stale bread roll and munched contentedly. Nearby, surrounded by all the paraphernalia an angler might need, a lone man sat on a stool staring at his rod.
You’re a keen man,’ Archie said, ‘out here in this wind. Worth it?’ he asked.
‘Keen yes just little mad. But I catch fish, good, today,’ he said with a near toothless grin.
‘Me call Hung. What you name?’
‘Archie is my name.’
‘You Vietnam name too. Ah Chee.’ He laughed loudly at his little joke. Archie joined in.
‘No, no, I’m just Archie. Mind if I sit and chat?’
‘No mind,’ Hung responded enthusiastically. His rod bent and the line whistled taut. He quickly applied the braking catch, jerked the rod, released the brake and reeled in the line.
‘Hey, ita lucky day. That make four flatheads now. We eat again,’ he laughed his falsetto laugh.
‘Maybe, my friend, I bring you luck,’ Archie suggested laughing. ‘Would you mind if I took a few photos of you fishing?
‘Would be good. May be, you, ah, stick round, bring more luck.’
Archie took photos as Hung removed the hook from the struggling fish and dropped it into his battered metal bucket. Hung then deftly re baited his hook, cast the line and with a loud singing swoosh the reel clutch unwound.
‘I so sorry. I forget, you still stand. Ar-chee, you like sit on cooler maybe talk little bit?
Thanks Hung, cooler’s real comfy. Tell me, did you come here as refugee?’
‘Yes, that how we, family, come. By boat, terrible time. Long story but good ending.’
‘Hung, it’s been so interesting talking to you and letting me to take photos but it’s time for me to head back, I’m shivering. The sun is sinking, the wind is freezing and going straight through me. I hope we can meet again soon. Sorry, but I’m not as sturdy as you in this weather so must leave you to your lucky fishing.’
Hung shook Archie’s outstretched hand.
‘Goodbye mister Ah Chee and it so nice meet with you. Next time, you bring some more luck, I give you a fish of maybe more. OK?’
‘I look forward to that,’ Archie said and let out a stifled groan as he forced himself from his cramped position and onto his feet.
‘Farewell my friend.’ He hurried along the pier and across the highway, thinking, here is someone else who, like me, has had to flee from something he couldn’t live with.
On reaching the Bridge, he scrambled down the bank. His eyes took a few moments to adjust from daylight to deep shadows, for the sun’s rays never found their way into those sheltered depths. When his eyes adjusted, he gasped in horror at what confronted him, a chill of fear slid down his spine. The large wire trolley was emptied: sleeping bags, primus stove, precious few books and canned foods were scattered across the dirt floor.
He had lived in fear that at any time, this could happen. Living homeless and rough they were vulnerable; fair game. In panic, his eyes swivelled to the rocks under which his money stash was hidden. A sigh of relief whistled from his lips; at least the bastards hadn’t found that.
While on hands and knees searching for his bible, Archie looked up and noticed that nearby tall grass had been flattened.
‘Something wrong here,’ he muttered and scrambled to investigate. Used syringes lay in the grass, fresh blood in the barrels. ‘Bloody druggies,’ Archie hissed.
‘Oh my God, I might have walked in on them had I arrived earlier Who knows what might have happened then,’ he stuttered and sank down against the wall, his head in his hands.
‘Gotta get away from here, they’ll probably come back and give the place and even us, a good going over,’ he muttered as he went to gather the strewn items, not knowing what was missing and what was not.
‘I’m outa here,’ he said, looking at the mess. ‘I hope George will come with me.’
