STEPS

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

"Words colour people. Black and blue of childhood I can turn to green, gold and that unmistakable hue of purple regal."

Shortly after this feverish recording came the impulsive decision to stay overnight at a bygone railway carriage perched atop a hill. A rare occasion; an opportunity for my sons and me to escape... perhaps create some happy memories to counter the far too many awful ones; their lives entrenched since birth in tragedy, illness and my gloom.

Rolling countryside, gentle slopes studded with orchards, and vineyards; horses in loose groups one or two cantering, lambs skirting around ewes in small valleys in-between the hills. 

I woke early as usual the next morning and balanced coffee cup, reading glasses, printed out Memoir, pen and cigarettes in one hand. The morning staples. I opened the heavy inner carriage door followed by the screen door leading to a rustic table and two chairs outside. Soft yellow hues from the early sun bathed the countryside. Left behind droplets from last night's rain glistened on nearby leaves. Low, streaky clouds drifted across the pale sky, early rays warming the dew, a soft mist rising from the low lands. The long red carriage perfect in this rather bucolic scene, the hulking turf-covered hill opposite begging to be walked; the presumed arduous climb to its top a promise made.

Pages unturned because a group of kangaroos approached, several large adults guarding the few youngsters in their midst. They formed a tight group, metres from where I sat, standing upright, their smaller front paws at times swiping at flies, eyes focussed on this new intrusion with interest.

I remained motionless, the coffee cup untouched, the just-lit cigarette smouldering in my hand, mesmerised by their sudden presence, held fastened to long moments of shared, inquisitive staring. Until the largest of them hopped away and the rest followed, stopping further down the hill and forming yet another tight cluster.

Their sudden departure introduced other sounds; the cry of a kookaburra; two sparrows flirting on a nearby tree, ruffling the leaves. A cicada calling, other insects buzzing, a tiny lizard scurrying to some upturned rocks.

I was left facing the curious notion t I had arrived home, this new and all too brief pause feeling familiar, comfortable? The supposition I had been here before and surrendered a part of me, the preceding moments reconnecting me with the left behind portion of self. An absurd, nonsensical notion, because this was my first visit here...

"Hotels with balconies," I'd typed into the search engine a week ago, followed by "Canberra." Only a few to choose from and all far too pristine, too modern. I tried searching for B&Bs instead, imagining perhaps a picturesque farmhouse or a cute cottage close to town? That's how I found this train. "Last stop, Ambledown Brook" the advertisement whispered, and yet I heard the call. The oddity of an almost hundred year old red carriage still retaining most of its original fit-out, set atop a small hill in the bush? That's me right there. Captured and booked. Almost two hundred dollars for the night, but I figured the boys would love sleeping on a train. The location hadn't seemed too far away on the map, a few winding roads leading North from the city.

Who the fuck chooses to stay on a train carriage a solid half hour away from town, forgetting to factor in they'd be returning at midnight? The earlier quaint and narrow dirt roads now impossibly dark under heavy rain-clouds, the GPS cutting out and obsolete - leaving only the earlier backward journey taken in full sunlight as guidance. Yeah. Me again.

This previous journey having led us to Canberra's best hotel, where my brother and his family were staying. Waiting long minutes, eyeing the grand marbled lobby, everything shiny, swanky, and everyone well-dressed, casual loose groups seated around low tables or individuals and pairs rushing to and from the wide sliding front doors.