page 108

Train

Federico misses the tin roofs of Johnsonville. Here, there are cows and sheep, water troughs covered in slime, the occasional horse for interest. A symmetry of paddocks and a sky like an open mouth.

He watches Tom at the wheel. Tom's large hands work the heavy clay like dough. He teaches Federico to push the air out, remove weaknesses, he says. The thermostat in the kiln clicks every few minutes, pushes the heat up slow so the pots won't shatter.

Cicadas rub their metal wings inside the grass. The green undergrowth has turned brown in the drought. A continuous haze rises from the hot earth. Elizabeth and Amy are in hammocks, reading. Amy fans her face with her book but doesn't look up at him. Elizabeth smiles. He sits down on the steps.

Amy, you could take Federico to the pool.

He can hear Amy breathe out heavily. I said I would later.

Well you could be early.

Amy gets slowly to her feet. She walks into the house still reading. Elizabeth says he can use her bike. It's a green Raleigh Twenty. Amy's is a ten speed.

Amy clicks her gears down and pedals fast onto the road. The smell of hot tarseal hits him. Wait up, he yells. Amy doesn't turn round. He rides behind her to the end of the road. They stop before the railway crossing as the arm descends. The bells start to ring. Under his pack, his back's wet, his feet puffy and tight in his sneakers. He counts carriages in his head as the train passes. From the corner of his eye he can see Amy yelling at him, but he can't hear her for the ringing and clattering.

What!

How come you're so white?

He doesn't know what to say to that and looks away, up into the swaying poplars. We don't have to be friends. She looks right at him when she says it, her face calm. He keeps counting. The train passes.