The Savage: Part 1 of 8.

Kokoda. Australians know the place. That outpost in the northern wilderness of New Guinea. And they know the track. Just a shoulder's width, winding 96 kilometres south through the mountains and valleys and jungle - from Kokoda to Ower's Corner, just a spit from Port Morseby.

It was here, from July to October 1942 that Australian soldiers killed and died for their country. Outnumbered ten to one their fighting retreat exhausted the Japanese attackers. When finally reinforced they drove back destroying their enemy on New Guinea's northern coast.

The brutality of this campaign, the savagery or it, was unparalleled.

This short story, this imagined life contemplates that campaign and the terrible toll exacted upon the men who where there, and the women and children who came after.

The Savage will be published in eight parts over four weeks (Sundays and Wednesdays). Here begins The Savage.

The Savage. Part 1.

Her husband was dead when she awoke. It was before dawn. Merle Jessup rolled towards him, kissed his shoulder and draped her arm across his chest. He was still warm but she knew he was dead.

She smiled. It was good that he was gone. His long war with the chickens was over. She ran her fingers up his neck and felt his crocodile skin. She felt the grey stubble on his chin and cheeks with the back of her hand.

‘Oh Bob. My poor old Bob,’ she whispered and kissed him again, still smiling. Outside the Currawong called.

Merle rummaged under her pillow for her handkerchief. She pulled out the scrunched up square of cloth and dabbed at her eyes though there were no tears. Then she licked a corner and rubbed at the dried dribble in the creases of her husband’s lips. She held him again.

Soon the day pushed into their bedroom; barging in as summer days do. Sunlight burnt the edges of the curtains. The currawong called again. The sound was cheery with the sunlight. Merle heard the familiar sound of the van on Dornoch Terrace and the thud of the newspaper out the front.

Routine followed: the habit of years. Merle took hold of the bed head and pulled herself onto her feet. She got into her slippers, took her robe from the chair by the bed and pulled it about her. She stood before the bedroom mirror and adjusted herself before shuffling across the worn carpet, past the kitchen, through the lounge room to the front door and the porch. She saw that the paper had not landed on the grey weathered floorboards but had fallen between the three front stairs. It was down in the dust with a half dozen other editions, all various shades of yellow.

‘Bugger’, she said. It was the one curse she would allow herself and even then only in private. The word had been Bob’s favourite and she found herself adopting it as he had slipped away from her. It somehow seemed appropriate in the circumstances: like the time he emptied his roast meal into the dishwasher, or the first time he was bewildered in his own home. She had ignored the early signs. Later, when she knew but denied the truth, she had protected him. It was a terrible burden, to guide him and guard him from the prying eyes and the vicious whisperers. She had wept like a child when he was diagnosed. She had shuddered with the effort, her cheeks red and wet and he had pattered her back and said ‘there, there’ but without the faintest idea what all the fuss was about.  Then he was medicated and managed and things had improved. She could not have coped otherwise.

To be continued. Next time (Wednesday 3 August), a life remembered. Bob and Merle meet at the Brisbane Ekka, before the battles that savaged them both.

Bonus Link: The Australian designed and build Owen gun was widely used by Australian troops fighting in the Pacific during WW2. Here is a clip of this 'forgotten' weapon being test fired.