Chapter Four
I
The first sight I had of Point of No Return was when the truck had panted up
a sharp hill and then began to coast down into the valley that was as flat as a
plate with ribbed white sand, blinding in the sunshine and dotted with burnt
up scrub.
“That’s it,” Jenson said, pointing, “that’s my place.”
There was a small bungalow, a couple of low sheds, a bigger and higher shed,
three gas pumps, and on the other side of the highway, a cabin. All the
buildings were painted sky blue, and they stood out against the whiteness of
the sand with startling intensity
“That cabin on the far side is for you,” Jenson said. “That was where I was
born. My old man built it with his own hands. I built the bungalow when he
passed on. It takes guts to live out hire. It’s lonely and tough going. I’m lucky
to have found a woman who’ll share it with me. Without her, I’d be sunk.
We’re on call every night of the week. You’d be surprised the number of
times we have to turn out in the middle of the night. Truckers drive over the
mountain at night—it’s cooler, and they always stop here for gas. That’s why
I reckon you’ll be a big help to me. With three of us taking turns, the night
shift won’t be so bad.”
We were down in the valley by now. The heat came at us with an edge to it
that brought me out in a sticky sweat.
“You feel it?” He seemed proud of the heat “But at night it’s okay. At night,
it can be really cool.”
He put his great hand on the horn button and gave two long blasts. He looked
at me, grinning.
“That’s to let Lola know I’m coming. She’ll be surprised when she sees you.
She’s always telling me we don’t need a hired hand. The fact is, Jack, it’s
because I’ve listened to her for so long I’ve never had a fella to help out. You
know these Italians—goddamn thrifty. That’s the way they’re made. Me—I
guess I’m pretty careful with my money too, but my wife—land’s sake—
she’s more than careful. ‘What do we want a man here for?’ she says. ‘If I
don’t mind getting up at night, why should you?’ That’s the way she talks.”
He shook his head. “At my age, it’s not right. For more years than I care to
remember, I’ve slaved seventeen hours a day. Okay, I’ve made money, but
I’ve never had any fun out of it. What do you make money for, Jack? You tell
me. What do you make it for?”
“Why, I guess, first for security, then when you have that, you go after some
fun,” I said, humouring him.
“That’s right!” He punched me on the knee. “Security first. Well, I’ve got
that taken care of.
Now at fifty-five, I’m going to have some fun. With you here, Lola and me
can go into Wentworth every now and then. With you to help out, it’s going
to be a lot easier here.”
But there was a slight doubt in his voice that made me look at him, puzzled.
He didn’t sound like a man who is sold on what he is saying.
The truck was now pounding along the flat, burning road and we passed a big
sign that read:
Point of No Return
You Have Been Warned!
Last Chance for Gas for 165 Miles
Snack Bar. Repairs. Greasing. Service.
I looked beyond the sign to the three gas pumps and the garage that loomed
up towards me.
The service station was bright and gay. There were paths to the bungalow and
to the cabin across the highway edged with stones, painted white. There were
flowers planted around the gas pumps that made a gay splash of colour.
Behind the pumps was a long, low building that housed the snack bar.
Beyond the snack bar was the bungalow with bright blue curtains at the
windows and a cream coloured front door.
“This is quite a place,” I said. He beamed at me.
“Glad to hear you say it. I’ve certainly worked at it. You and me—we could
do a lot more to it. I’ve plenty of ideas. Up to now I’ve had to do it all on my
own.”
He opened the cab door and climbed down onto the white, burning sand. I
followed him down.
If I had owned this place and had a wife to share it with me, and if I had
blasted my horn the way Jenson had, I would have expected my wife to have
come out from where she was and give me a welcome.
But no one came out of any of the buildings to welcome Carl Jenson back to
his home.
The place could have been a morgue for all the excitement his arrival caused,
and that registered with me, although it didn’t seem to surprise him.
He waved to the cabin.
“You go ahead. You want a wash and a shave.” He gave me a nudge in the ribs that made me stagger. “You hungry? I’ll get you something. You go
ahead and clean up.”
“When I’m through—where do I come?”
He pointed to the lunch room.
“Right there,” and nodding, he walked up the path to the bungalow.
I went over to the cabin, pushed open the door and walked into the living
room. It was comfortably furnished, and there was a T.V. set in one of the
corners. Beyond the living room was a tiny bedroom. I stripped off my
clothes and went into the bathroom. It took me a little time to get clean and
shave. By now I had raised quite a moustache, and I decided to keep it. I
returned to the bedroom, put on my shirt and trousers, and then took a look at
myself in the mirror on the wall.
The moustache made quite a difference, but I was still acutely aware that I
was being hunted. Looking at myself now, I felt more secure. If there were
pictures of me in the papers, I was pretty sure with this moustache, I wouldn’t
be recognised.
I went to the cabin door and stood looking across at the opposite buildings,
then I looked back at the long winding road disappearing into the hills. The
desert stretched either side of me: bleak, hot and desolate. It gave me a
feeling of security. The police would be looking for me in Oakland or one of
the other big towns. I was pretty sure they wouldn’t think to look for me here.
I moved out into the sunshine and crossed over to the lunch room. There were
ten fixed stools in front of the counter and five tables along the wall for those
who wanted to eat in style. Along the counter were beer and soda spouts.
There was a glass case full of pies, baked to a turn, with individual labels on
each, reading: cherry, apple, pineapple, cranberry. There was a unit
containing paper napkins, condiments, ketchup, glasses and knives and forks.
Everything was spotlessly clean. On the wall was the menu written in bold, neat printing:
Today’s Specials
Fried Chicken
Veal Steaks
Beef Hash
Fruit Pies
Through the half open door behind the counter came the smell of onions
frying that made my mouth water. I was just about to tap on the counter to
attract attention when I heard Jenson say, “Now look, Lola, you mustn’t get
worked up like this. I know what I’m doing. This young fella can take care of
the place, and we two can go to Wentworth a couple times a week. I don’t
like you going there alone. It’s not right for a woman to go to the movies on
her own in a town like Wentworth.”
“And why isn’t it right?”
She spoke with a strong Italian accent and her voice was shrill.
“It isn’t right. You’re a respectable, married woman. There are guys in
Wentworth …”
“Are you telling me I go around with men in Wentworth? Is that it?”
“Of course I’m not! I’m just saying it isn’t right. With this fella here, you and
me can go together. That’s what we want, isn’t it?”
“I know one thing—I don’t want any strangers here! I’ve told you that a
thousand times!”
“I know you’ve told me, but you’re wrong. We’ve got to have help. How many times did you get up last night? Six—maybe seven times. You need
your sleep. With this guy to help us out, we’ll get our sleep and we’ll get
some freedom. When he’s on night shift, you and me can go to a movie.
You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“How many more times do I have to tell you?” Her voice was angry and
excited, “I don’t want strangers here. Besides, he isn’t working for nothing, is
he? Since when have you started to throw your money about?”
The hard shrill note in her voice bothered me. She sounded vindictive, and in
a hell of a rage.
“Stop yelling at me! Let’s give him a trial. If you don’t like him, well okay,
then we’ll get rid of him. You’ll be glad to have him around. Now let’s stop
this. How about something to eat?”
“How do you know you can trust him? Do you mean you intend to leave him
here to take the money, to have the run of this place while we’re in
Wentworth? You’re cr@zy!”
I felt it was time to let them know I was here. I went on tiptoe to the door,
opened it and let it slam shut.
Click 10 below to continue reading