‘Oh yes, you’re trying to charm me. Don’t deny it!’
Harry didn’t deny it. ‘All right. How am I doing?’
She took a long swig from her wine glass and gave the matter some thought.
‘B, I reckon. Moderate anyway. No, I think it will have to be a B . . . you’re doing quite well.’
‘Sounds like B minus.’
‘There or thereabouts.’
It was dark down by the harbour, almost deserted, and a fresh wind had sprung up. On the steps to the illuminated Opera House an unusually overweight bride and groom posed for the photographer. He directed them hither and thither, and the newly-weds seemed to be very annoyed at having to move their large bodies. In the end, though, they came to an agreement, and the nocturnal photo session in front of the Opera House ended in smiles, laughter and perhaps a little tear.
‘That’s what they must mean by bursting with happiness,’ Harry said. ‘Or perhaps you don’t say that in Swedish?’
‘Yes, we do, you could be so happy you burst in Swedish, too.’ Birgitta took off her hairband and stood in the wind by the harbour railing, facing the Opera House.
‘Yes, you could,’ she repeated, as if to herself. She turned her freckled nose to the sea, and the wind blew her red hair back.
She looked like a sea nettle jellyfish. He didn’t know a jellyfish could be so beautiful.
10
A Town Called Nimbin
HARRY’S WATCH SHOWED eleven as the plane landed in Brisbane but the stewardess on the tannoy insisted it was only ten.
‘They don’t have summer time in Queensland,’ Andrew informed him. ‘It was a big political issue up here, culminating in a referendum and the farmers voted against it.’
‘Wow, sounds like we’ve come to redneck country.’
‘I reckon so, mate. Up until a few years ago long-haired men were refused entry to the state. It was banned outright.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘Queensland’s a bit different. Soon they’ll probably ban skinheads.’
Harry stroked his close-cropped skull. ‘Anything else I ought to know about Queensland?’
‘Well, if you’ve got any marijuana in your pockets you’d better leave it on the plane. In Queensland the drugs laws are stricter than in other states. It was no coincidence that the Aquarius Festival was held in Nimbin. The town’s just over the border, in New South Wales.’
They found the Avis office where they had been told a car would be ready and waiting for them.
‘On the other hand, Queensland has places like Fraser Island, where Inger Holter met Evans White. The island’s actually no more than a huge sandbank, but on it you can find a rainforest and lakes with the world’s clearest water and sand that is so white the beaches look as if they’ve been made out of marble. Silicon sand it’s called, because the silicon content’s so much higher than in normal sand. You can probably pour it straight into a computer.’
‘The land of plenty, eh?’ said the guy behind the counter, passing them a key.
‘Ford Escort?’ Andrew wrinkled his nose, but signed. ‘Is it still going?’
‘Special rate, sir.’
‘Don’t doubt it.’
The sun was frying the Pacific Highway, and Brisbane’s skyline of glass and stone glittered like crystals on a chandelier as they approached.
From the freeway eastwards they drove through rolling green countryside alternating between forest and cultivated field.
‘Welcome to the Australian outback,’ Andrew said.
They passed cows grazing with lethargic stares.
Harry chuckled.
‘What’s up?’ Andrew asked.
‘Have you seen the comic strip by Larson where the cows are standing on two legs chatting in the meadow, and one of them warns: “Car!”’
Silence.
‘Who’s Larson?’
‘Never mind.’
They passed low wooden houses with verandas at the front, mosquito nets in the doorways and pickup trucks outside. They drove past broad-backed workhorses watching them with melancholy eyes, beehives and penned pigs blissfully rolling in the mud. The roads became narrower. Around lunchtime they stopped for petrol in a little settlement a sign informed them was called Uki, which had been chosen as Australia’s cleanest town for two years running. It didn’t say who had won last year.
‘Holy macaroni,’ Harry said as they trundled into Nimbin.
The town centre was about a hundred metres in length, painted all colours of the rainbow, with a crop of characters that could have come from one of the Cheech & Chong films in Harry’s video collection.
‘We’re back in 1970!’ he exclaimed. ‘I mean, look over there. Peter Fonda in a clinch with Janis Joplin.’