The Burial by Courtney Collins Page A

brushed him down—though she only managed to brush one flank and a hindquarter before all of her energy was gone.
    From outside the stable, the old man kept an eye on her while he cleaned and polished a saddle. Jessie recognised it to be hers. There were blood stains on the seat and she was embarrassed by the very sight of it.
    Where is she? she asked.
    The old man gestured to a tin shed on the far side of the yard. Preparing your ablutions .
    Jessie walked towards the tin shed, feeling the old man’s eyes on her all the way.
    The bathhouse was built around a water tank. There were three walls with a roof but one side was completely exposed to the weather.
    Get undressed, dear , said the old woman.
    My mother looked towards the opening.
    Don’t worry, dear . He won’t bother you. I’ll make sure of that.
    The old woman disappeared. My mother peered around the tin wall, then pulled the nightgown up and over her head. It felt good to be out of it. She stepped into the tub. The water was warm and came to just above her ankles.
    The old woman returned with pots of hot water and poured them into the bath.
    Go on , she said. Keep the tap running and lie down in it while it’s warm. She perched on the edge of the bath while my mother sat down in the water and stretched her legs out.
    The old woman wrapped a cloth around a brick of soap and began to rub my mother’s back.
    I’ll do that , said my mother. I do know how to wash myself.
    I thought you said you didn’t.
    I’ll do it when you are gone.
    The old woman’s eyes narrowed and she scanned my mother’s body.
    Have you never seen a naked woman before?
    And then a look came over the old woman’s face and her forehead flattened, as if she was unveiling herself at last.
    Child, I know it’s not long ago you gave birth . You are all bones except out in front.
    My mother shook out the brick of soap and covered herself with the cloth. You don’t know anything about me.
    I know your name is Jessie , said the old woman. It was written on your shirt, as if you’d come from a prison or some dormitory. Is that where you have come from?
    My mother did not answer.
    And there is no hiding that you were not long ago with child. Your milk is all over the bed sheets and it is seeping from your nipples now.
    Jessie brought her knees up to her chest and raised her eyes to the top of the water tank.
    Where is it? said the old woman.
    What?
    The child.
    Buried.
    Was it stillborn?
    No. It was born live. But too soon.
    Oh, child.
    I’m not a child.
    I know. The old woman’s chin began to tremble and tears filled her eyes. She started to sob.
    Please stop , said Jessie. She could hardly breathe in the old woman’s presence.
    The old woman wiped her face with her skirt.
    Can you leave me alone?
    The old woman left the bathhouse without protest. Jessie could hear her sobbing as she walked around the water tank. And then she was gone.
    My mother leant back against the end of the bath and watched her body rising and falling with her breathing. She held her breath for a long time and wondered how long it would take to drown if she rolled over.
    She did not roll over. She splashed herself with water and the water pooled in the creases of her body and for a moment she imagined that I was still inside her and that my father was not Fitz but Jack Brown and it was Jack Brown, not the old man, on the other side of the bathhouse cleaning her saddle.

BY DAY, THE forest was flushed with the smell of wattle and the smell of honey. Jack Brown veered off the track and pushed into the dense mesh of trees and bright yellow flowers that exploded into dust when he passed them. Soon he was covered in their pollen and their scent masked the stench that he carried in the sack behind him. As he rode, he could see new life poking up from the earth, the forest seeding itself in anticipation.
    He nudged his horse forward until the bush was too thick to