Forest Spirit Read Online Free Page A

insane glaze as she hunched over the steering wheel, wrenching it this way and that. Rivulets of sweat poured down her face. Jars crinkled her nose. A mixed smell of fear and cabbage was wafting across to her from Ms Barnard, whose khaki shirt was now stained dark with perspiration. Jars wound the window down. She needed fresh air.
    Except for the occasional moans and squeaking whimpers coming from Ms Barnard’s throat, they drove in silence. At last they came to the metallic grey road that was the Stuart Highway.
    They drew to a halt. Ms Barnard let out a sigh and slumped over the wheel. ‘Lucky,’ she said, ‘it’s a miracle we made it.’ She leant back, stretching and swivelling her neck in an attempt to relieve the tension in her tight muscles. She lifted her hand and looked at her watch. ‘It’s past ten o’clock. We’ve lost time, but it’s all smooth sailing from here on. We ought to make it.’
    Jars didn’t know whether she was being spoken to or not. She didn’t reply.
    Ms Barnard gave Jars a quick glance, her thin lips stretching into a vague smile. ‘I realise we were planning to purchase some clothes for you, something decent to travel in, but I’m afraid that won’t be possible now. There’s no time. I’m aware that you were provided with funds to buy new clothes, but unfortunately you’ll just have to make do with what you’re wearing.’ She sniffed as she glanced towards Jars. ‘Such as it is.’
    Jars shrugged without replying and wound the window up. Clothes? What did they matter? She had already lost all that she really cared for.
    They sped along the bitumen highway towards Darwin Airport. Jars stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the road. They ate up the miles.
    It was nearly eleven-thirty by the time they got to the airport car park. Ms Barnard lost no time. She jumped out of the car and hurried ahead towards the lounge and ticketing area. ‘Quickly now,’ she called over her shoulder, ‘keep up, we’re late.’
    Jars, almost running, followed. As soon as they were indoors Jars wanted to retrace her steps; she desperately wanted to leave. She did not belong here. Not among all these people, who had taken care to dress for their journey. They wanted to be there. She had been forced to leave against her will. They had a purpose, a reason. She did not.
    Clutching her battered suitcase, Jars looked down at herself – stained jeans, old flannel shirt, thongs. She felt out of place; maybe she was wrong back there when Ms Barnard mentioned clothes, because right now she felt tacky and out of place, like a starling lost among a flock of parrots. ‘Ms Barnard,’ she called out to her back. ‘Do you think we could find some place around here where I could buy those clothes … to look better?’
    Ms Barnard, without slowing, barked a reply. ‘Don’t be silly. You know very well we’re running behind time. Just pray that they’ve held your seat.’
    They came to the ticketing area. Ms Barnard, breathing heavily, approached and began talking to a male uniformed attendant. Jars stood at a distance, shoulders slumped. The attendant, fresh-faced and smiling, called out to her. ‘Just pop your case on the scales’. He glanced at her ticket. ‘Jacinta. Nice name. Now, here’s your ticket for seat allocation. And don’t worry, one of the flight attendants will help you with that and anything else you’re not sure about.’
    Sitting in the departure lounge next to Ms Barnard, Jars saw her plane through a viewing window. It was a jet. She stared at it. It was so big. Not like the few aircraft she had seen flying over the cattle station. They were small and insignificant, like distant birds.
    Jars shifted in her seat, hearing the muffled conversations and occasional laughter of the other passengers, catching the hint of their perfumes and lotions.