The Grey Man Read Free Page A

cover his expenses; in spite of his earlier refusal, he simply nodded and accepted the money.
    Even though this was only my second successful rescue, I'd already realised that if I was expecting any Hollywood endings to this business then I was wasting my time. Jumna said he would take Kem to someone who would drive her to Mae Sai and I realised it was time for me to go, as I had to get the car back early the next morning and retrieve my motorbike. I got to my feet and said goodbye to Kem. ‘You're free to get on with your life.’
    She just looked at me, not understanding the English.
    â€˜ Mee kwam suuk ,’ I added, a Thai phrase that simply means ‘Have happiness’.
    â€˜ Kop khun ka ,’ was all she said back to me, using one of the few Thai phrases I could understand back then. I love the way Thai women, and Kem in this case, say thank you in their language; the final kah is like a soft sigh. No promises, no gushing – but all the same, those three words . . . they were enough.

ONE
    Aimless
    People get lost in the Australian bush all the time, and many of them learn that this seemingly temperate, benign and beautiful world can actually be deadly.
    At fifteen I was starting to find my way in the bush, but in other areas of my life I was lost. I had learned to recognise vague pathways and rock formations that were my landmarks and I now walked, alone, through this oddly welcoming landscape, so different to the urban environment in which I lived. One minute I was weaving between towering blue gums, my feet crunching on dry bark and fallen twigs, and in the next instant I was on the edge of a precipice. If it had been dark I might have walked off, and it could have been years – perhaps never – before someone found my body at the foot of the 150-metre cliff face on the top of which I now stood.
    Spread out below me were the suburban streets of Wollongong and the towns that flanked it down the narrow stretch of inhabitable land on the east coast of Australia. Off to the right were the belching smoke stacks of the Port Kembla steelworks that provided employment to so many people in this tough, working-class city. Beyond a fringe of golden beaches was the Pacific Ocean, dotted not with pretty sailboats but with the rust-streaked hulls of cargo vessels bringing iron ore to the mill and container loads of crap for the consumers populating the streets beneath me. That was my world. But was it to be my future? I hoped not. I made sure the straps of my small hiking pack were pulled taut, then I stepped over the edge of the sandstone cliff. It was dangerous, but what fifteen-year-old thinks about the consequence of his actions? Besides, I'd done this before and I knew the familiar hand and footholds. Muscles straining in my arms and legs, I climbed carefully but confidently down the almost sheer face of the cliff.
    For a moment my foot dangled in midair as I felt for the natural step. I connected and lowered myself to the ledge that jutted out from the face. I was here, my place of refuge. There were no Aboriginal carvings or paintings in the small hollow that backed onto the ledge, just the scuffmarks of my feet from my last visit. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if a descendant of one of the continent's first humans had sat up here in shelter from the elements and watched the white man claim this ancient land.
    I shrugged off my pack and laid out the meagre contents; I had already learned that it was good to travel light in life. I unrolled my blanket and set out my knife and supper – a trail mix of dried fruit and nuts, and some water. I was alone and, for the moment, at peace. Beyond the glittering ocean was the rest of the world; behind me was an environment as inhospitable as it was beautiful. From my perch I could see my house and the community in which I lived, and I was glad to be up on my cliff, in my cave.
    I was stuck, a prisoner of a life that held no promise and little love,