Read Online The Idea of Perfection by Kate Grenville - Free Book Online
Authors: Kate Grenville
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arrangement that made Douglas feel relaxed. The springs under the seat bounced and rolled and he wondered how much traffic there was, out here in the bush.
He felt the need to swallow. He wondered if he should offer to roll the cigarette for Chook, although he had never rolled a cigarette. He had taken a few timid puffs of joints at parties long ago, but he had never quite seen how home-made cigarettes worked. In design terms, there did not seem to be anything stopping the tobacco falling out the end.
This thing’s buggered, Chook said.
He licked along the edge of the cigarette paper and squashed it around the tobacco.
Know what I mean?
Douglas could see that the cigarette was certainly a strange lumpy shape. He wondered if he should agree about it being buggered. He could suggest more stuffing. That would give it greater longitudinal strength. While he was thinking, Chook spoke again. There was an edge of impatience in his voice.
Your shocks, mate, he said. Your shocks are stuffed.
He glanced sideways at him and cocked a whiskery eyebrow.
Eh?
He stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
I’d a thought they’d look after their vehicles, up in Head Office.
Douglas had no wish to defend Head Office and any decisions it might have made about stuffed shocks. He glanced quickly sideways out of the window as if something had caught his attention, but there was nothing out the window to catch anyone’s attention, only a drooping wire fence and a sheep with a big daggy backside.
Oh well, he said.
Chook glanced at him, waiting for more, but he did not say anything else, just got out a big blue hanky and sneezed into it.
Dust, he said, and laughed as if it was funny.
The road was winding uphill but Chook was not going to let a hill stand in his way. Douglas watched his big coarse hands throwing the ute round on the corners. The Engineering Digest was flung to the floor and he picked it up. He did not know where to put it so he sat holding it between his knees.
Chook smacked the gear stick down through the gears, forcing the ute along. The engine roared and snarled. Douglas had not known that his mild-mannered white ute was capable of making such a sound. He glanced over at the tachometer. The needle was nearly in the red. He stared anxiously ahead, wishing for the crest of the hill. He could hear something rattling angrily underneath and the whole vehicle trembled with the strain. Chook was solid in his seat, his profile impassive.
He could not think of how to draw the position of the needle of the tachometer to Chook’s attention in a tactful way.
They were over the hill now, rocking around the corners down the other side, and Chook was lighting the cigarette. Douglas watched him press the dashboard lighter against it so that it bent like a banana. Finally it began to smoke, and Chook blew out a few big blue puffs. He took it out of his mouth, pulled a shred of tobacco off his tongue, stuck the cigarette back on his lip, settled himself comfortably behind the wheel. He was ready now.
Douglas braced himself for a conversation.
Yes, Chook said.
He resettled the cigarette on his lip and blew out a lot of smoke on the word.
Glad to see the back of it, tell the truth, he said. Danger to life and limb.
He had to shout over the noise of the engine.
Douglas was feeling queasy from the bouncing and the smell of Chook’s roll-your-own at close quarters. He seemed to have missed something. Chook seemed to be waiting for an answer. He thought there must have been a question. He tried to focus.
Greenies! Chook shouted.
He was shouting, but somehow Douglas could not hear him properly.
Chook swung the wheel hard to avoid something dark and dead in the middle of the road.
Douglas looked away and saw another lot of sheep out of the side window. Having to ask Chook to stop so he could be sick would be getting off to a pretty poor start. He made a vague answering noise that he thought Chook would not hear over the
He felt the need to swallow. He wondered if he should offer to roll the cigarette for Chook, although he had never rolled a cigarette. He had taken a few timid puffs of joints at parties long ago, but he had never quite seen how home-made cigarettes worked. In design terms, there did not seem to be anything stopping the tobacco falling out the end.
This thing’s buggered, Chook said.
He licked along the edge of the cigarette paper and squashed it around the tobacco.
Know what I mean?
Douglas could see that the cigarette was certainly a strange lumpy shape. He wondered if he should agree about it being buggered. He could suggest more stuffing. That would give it greater longitudinal strength. While he was thinking, Chook spoke again. There was an edge of impatience in his voice.
Your shocks, mate, he said. Your shocks are stuffed.
He glanced sideways at him and cocked a whiskery eyebrow.
Eh?
He stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
I’d a thought they’d look after their vehicles, up in Head Office.
Douglas had no wish to defend Head Office and any decisions it might have made about stuffed shocks. He glanced quickly sideways out of the window as if something had caught his attention, but there was nothing out the window to catch anyone’s attention, only a drooping wire fence and a sheep with a big daggy backside.
Oh well, he said.
Chook glanced at him, waiting for more, but he did not say anything else, just got out a big blue hanky and sneezed into it.
Dust, he said, and laughed as if it was funny.
The road was winding uphill but Chook was not going to let a hill stand in his way. Douglas watched his big coarse hands throwing the ute round on the corners. The Engineering Digest was flung to the floor and he picked it up. He did not know where to put it so he sat holding it between his knees.
Chook smacked the gear stick down through the gears, forcing the ute along. The engine roared and snarled. Douglas had not known that his mild-mannered white ute was capable of making such a sound. He glanced over at the tachometer. The needle was nearly in the red. He stared anxiously ahead, wishing for the crest of the hill. He could hear something rattling angrily underneath and the whole vehicle trembled with the strain. Chook was solid in his seat, his profile impassive.
He could not think of how to draw the position of the needle of the tachometer to Chook’s attention in a tactful way.
They were over the hill now, rocking around the corners down the other side, and Chook was lighting the cigarette. Douglas watched him press the dashboard lighter against it so that it bent like a banana. Finally it began to smoke, and Chook blew out a few big blue puffs. He took it out of his mouth, pulled a shred of tobacco off his tongue, stuck the cigarette back on his lip, settled himself comfortably behind the wheel. He was ready now.
Douglas braced himself for a conversation.
Yes, Chook said.
He resettled the cigarette on his lip and blew out a lot of smoke on the word.
Glad to see the back of it, tell the truth, he said. Danger to life and limb.
He had to shout over the noise of the engine.
Douglas was feeling queasy from the bouncing and the smell of Chook’s roll-your-own at close quarters. He seemed to have missed something. Chook seemed to be waiting for an answer. He thought there must have been a question. He tried to focus.
Greenies! Chook shouted.
He was shouting, but somehow Douglas could not hear him properly.
Chook swung the wheel hard to avoid something dark and dead in the middle of the road.
Douglas looked away and saw another lot of sheep out of the side window. Having to ask Chook to stop so he could be sick would be getting off to a pretty poor start. He made a vague answering noise that he thought Chook would not hear over the
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