Read Online The Idea of Perfection by Kate Grenville - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kate Grenville
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But Chook was not worried about what he was saying. He was enjoying his next thought.
Be saving the bloody dunnies next!
He laughed a big laugh with a rattly cough on the end of it. He took the cigarette off his lip, wound down his window, and spat.
Matter of safety, isn’t it? he said. Responsibility to the public.
The phrase made him serious. He was watching Douglas, waiting for an answer. Douglas watched a corner approaching with a big pothole on the left-hand side and a tricky narrowing of the road.
You’d agree with that, wouldn’t you?
It was clear that Chook was not going to stop watching him until he answered. He spoke up loud and quick.
Oh yes, certainly. Absolutely.
The feeling of wanting to be sick was making him break out in a sweat.
In the nick of time Chook looked at the road, skirted the pothole, got the ute around the corner. He seemed satisfied, although Douglas would have liked to know what it was that he had so earnestly agreed to.
He felt foolish, clutching his Engineering Digest. He opened the glove box, but the Engineering Digest was too big for it, so he had to go back to holding it.
No shortage of timber, those days, Chook said. For the bridges and that.
Douglas wished Chook would stop watching him.
Yes, he said. That’s true enough.
He could feel Chook waiting for something more. He supposed it was a bit bland, but it was hard to think of words when you were about to be sick.
He could not see the speedo, but he could feel how the ute was sliding its back wheels out on the corners, and hear the rattle as stones were flung up against the paintwork. Pre-Existing Damage: Nil, he had written on the form.
He was pretty sure that even if he was not about to be sick he would still not know what Chook was talking about.
You’d think they’d be happy, Chook said. Saving the trees. But no, not on your nelly.
He laughed richly. Talking seemed to make him drive faster.
No, Douglas said vaguely.
He stared out the window at where two cows watched the progress of the ute and its cloud of pale dust. One had its mouth in a long funnel, mooing, but he could only hear the roar of the engine.
Talking made Chook go faster, but at least he looked at the road. When he was waiting for Douglas to say something he watched him. He was watching now, waiting for something better than that pale little No. There was another sharp-looking corner coming up.
How do you mean? Douglas asked.
This was not the way he wanted to die, tangled up in a paddock with Chook Henderson and the ute from Head Office, with the Engineering Digest clenched in his white hand.
Happy? Who d‘you mean, exactly?
All the bloody timber! Chook shouted. What they’re on about, the greenies! Bloody possums and that. Endangered this that and the other thing!
He made a big gesture with one hand that made the ute swerve on to the wrong side of the road.
They want the old bloody bridge, see. The bloody Heritage. But they want the bloody trees too. See what I mean?
Douglas nodded, watching the Engineering Digest between his knees. He could not bear to see the corner coming towards them.
Well, he said.
He had to force himself to speak. It came out in a tiny squeak.
The timber is certainly a factor.
He could feel Chook still watching him.
A big factor.
Chook snorted, finally looked at the road, jerked the wheel around casually. Douglas could feel the back of the ute slide on the gravel, the whine as the wheels failed to grip. Then they were round.
You bet your bloody life it is, Doug! Chook shouted. A factor.
The word hung satirically in the air between them.
He looked out the window again. There was no sign of the river now, or the tributary with the old bloody bridge across it. He wondered how much further it would be, and whether he would be sick before they got there or after.
They don’t want the bloody concrete, Chook bellowed suddenly, giving him a fright.
They’re against the bloody concrete. Know what I
But Chook was not worried about what he was saying. He was enjoying his next thought.
Be saving the bloody dunnies next!
He laughed a big laugh with a rattly cough on the end of it. He took the cigarette off his lip, wound down his window, and spat.
Matter of safety, isn’t it? he said. Responsibility to the public.
The phrase made him serious. He was watching Douglas, waiting for an answer. Douglas watched a corner approaching with a big pothole on the left-hand side and a tricky narrowing of the road.
You’d agree with that, wouldn’t you?
It was clear that Chook was not going to stop watching him until he answered. He spoke up loud and quick.
Oh yes, certainly. Absolutely.
The feeling of wanting to be sick was making him break out in a sweat.
In the nick of time Chook looked at the road, skirted the pothole, got the ute around the corner. He seemed satisfied, although Douglas would have liked to know what it was that he had so earnestly agreed to.
He felt foolish, clutching his Engineering Digest. He opened the glove box, but the Engineering Digest was too big for it, so he had to go back to holding it.
No shortage of timber, those days, Chook said. For the bridges and that.
Douglas wished Chook would stop watching him.
Yes, he said. That’s true enough.
He could feel Chook waiting for something more. He supposed it was a bit bland, but it was hard to think of words when you were about to be sick.
He could not see the speedo, but he could feel how the ute was sliding its back wheels out on the corners, and hear the rattle as stones were flung up against the paintwork. Pre-Existing Damage: Nil, he had written on the form.
He was pretty sure that even if he was not about to be sick he would still not know what Chook was talking about.
You’d think they’d be happy, Chook said. Saving the trees. But no, not on your nelly.
He laughed richly. Talking seemed to make him drive faster.
No, Douglas said vaguely.
He stared out the window at where two cows watched the progress of the ute and its cloud of pale dust. One had its mouth in a long funnel, mooing, but he could only hear the roar of the engine.
Talking made Chook go faster, but at least he looked at the road. When he was waiting for Douglas to say something he watched him. He was watching now, waiting for something better than that pale little No. There was another sharp-looking corner coming up.
How do you mean? Douglas asked.
This was not the way he wanted to die, tangled up in a paddock with Chook Henderson and the ute from Head Office, with the Engineering Digest clenched in his white hand.
Happy? Who d‘you mean, exactly?
All the bloody timber! Chook shouted. What they’re on about, the greenies! Bloody possums and that. Endangered this that and the other thing!
He made a big gesture with one hand that made the ute swerve on to the wrong side of the road.
They want the old bloody bridge, see. The bloody Heritage. But they want the bloody trees too. See what I mean?
Douglas nodded, watching the Engineering Digest between his knees. He could not bear to see the corner coming towards them.
Well, he said.
He had to force himself to speak. It came out in a tiny squeak.
The timber is certainly a factor.
He could feel Chook still watching him.
A big factor.
Chook snorted, finally looked at the road, jerked the wheel around casually. Douglas could feel the back of the ute slide on the gravel, the whine as the wheels failed to grip. Then they were round.
You bet your bloody life it is, Doug! Chook shouted. A factor.
The word hung satirically in the air between them.
He looked out the window again. There was no sign of the river now, or the tributary with the old bloody bridge across it. He wondered how much further it would be, and whether he would be sick before they got there or after.
They don’t want the bloody concrete, Chook bellowed suddenly, giving him a fright.
They’re against the bloody concrete. Know what I
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