The Mammoth Book of International Erotica

WHERE THE WILD ROSES GROW by Mark Timlin

This story was inspired by a song by Nick Cave which he recorded in 1995 with Kylie Minogue. I was impressed by the tune, the lyric, and the video that accompanied it, and I felt that there could be more to the story. The title and theme of the song are used with the kind permission of the songwriter.

ON THE FIRST DAY the hot wind whipped hard across the central Australian desert and blew sand abrasively against the faded paintwork of the ancient Ford pick-up truck as it crawled across the dusty blacktop, the needle on the fuel gauge banging dangerously against the peg that showed that the petrol tank was empty.

The driver relaxed a little when he saw a signpost that told him that a town called Refuge was only a few kilometres down the highway. He lit his last cigarette and tried to remember how long it had been since he’d had human contact.

As Refuge got closer, the features of the land softened slightly and as he bumped over the narrow bridge that crossed the river that ran sluggishly beside the town he noticed red roses growing bloody and wild on its banks.

Seventeen-year-old Eliza Day was staring through the dirty, fly-blown plate glass window of the diner where she waitressed, as the truck pulled into town and stopped in front of the single pump of the small gas station that together with the diner, a general store and pub called The Moon In The Gutter made up the entire commercial area of Refuge.

God, it’s so hot, she thought as she fanned herself with a menu. When will the rain come and give us a break? And she swatted half heartedly with her hand as a sand fly buzzed around her head.

The truck was the only thing that moved in the heat and she watched as the driver climbed out of the cab. He was in his twenties, tall and thin with a slight stoop in his ragged denim shirt and jeans, over brown, high-heeled boots, and his long hair was as black as a raven’s wing. Eliza’s heart lurched at the sight of him. She wore nothing under the short cotton uniform dress that her boss insisted she wear and she could feel sweat running down from her armpits and between her breasts and staining the material until it was almost transparent. My God, she thought as she squinted through the haze at the driver’s sharply featured face. He’s gorgeous. And she blushed as she rubbed her damp thighs together and felt them grow damper still at the sight of him.

She continued watching as Jo-Jo the proprietor of the garage pumped gas into the tank, replaced the cap and took a few notes from the driver’s hand.

Don’t go, she prayed. Please don’t go.

As if he had heard her, the driver turned and surveyed the decaying township, got back into the truck, started it with a puff of smoke from the exhaust pipe and swung the vehicle across the road and parked it outside the diner.

Eliza ducked back out of sight, then went back to her place behind the counter as the driver exited the vehicle again, climbed onto the boardwalk and through the door directly in front of her.

Close up he was even more handsome than she’d thought, with a few days’ dark stubble darkening his cheeks and the most penetrating blue eyes she’d ever seen.

He looked round the empty tables and seats then at Eliza before he walked across the gritty lino floor and took a seat at the counter. “Hi,” he said, pulling some notes and coins from the breast pocket of his shirt. “I think I’ve just got the price of a burger, beer and a pack of Marlboro’s.”

She smiled shyly at him, ignoring the cash in his hand. “How do you want your burger done?” she asked.

“Bloody,” he replied, as he watched her take the top off a bottle of beer, freezing from the chiller.

She felt his eyes still on her as she turned and called the order through the hatch to the kitchen at the back.

“What’s your name?” he asked when she turned back.

“Eliza. Eliza Day.” She smiled again and stared into his eyes.

He smiled back and shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re the Wild Rose and you are the one.”

“That’s what people call me around here. The Wild Rose. How did you know?”

“I didn’t. It just seemed to fit you.”

“And I’m the one for what?” she asked, although she thought that she already knew.

“You’ll find out,” he replied, smiled again and sipped at his beer.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Just someone,” he said. “Someone passing through.”

“But I must call you something.”

“Must you?”

“Yes.”

“Then call me Joe. That fits me as good as anything.”

“OK, Joe. Where are you heading for?”

“Nowhere,” he said. “Nowhere special, I might hang around for a bit.”

Oh good, she thought. “Where will you stay?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“They have rooms at the pub,” she said.

“No money,” he said. “I’ll camp out in the truck. I’m used to that. Where do you live?”

“I’ve got a room at the back here,” she replied. “It’s not much, but it goes with the job.”

At that moment, Sonny, the chef, owner and proprietor of the diner, and by definition, Eliza’s boss, shoved the hamburger through the hatch and she placed it in front of Joe, who took a bite, then almost delicately wiped the bloody gravy that dripped down his chin off with a napkin.

“That’s good,” he said, washing the mouthful down with beer. “What time do you finish?”

“Seven.”

“Can I see you later?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll call for you at eight,” he said.

She hardly had time to think before she nodded. “OK,” she said.

After he’d finished his meal he went back to the truck and drove through the tiny town back to the bridge that ran over the sluggish river. He pulled off the road to the riverbank where the breeze was slightly cooler and the wild roses grew in profusion, their petals the same scarlet as Eliza Day’s lips.

He sat in the bed of the truck on top of the old mattress where he slept when no other accommodation was available, lit a cigarette and dozed in the shade of the cab until it was time to meet the young girl.

Eliza was more excited than she could ever remember as she got ready for her visitor. After work she hurried to her room, stripped off her damp uniform and stood naked for a moment in front of the mildew stained mirror in the door of the old wardrobe that made up a quarter of the furniture in the room that Sonny allowed her to stay in for nothing as part of her meagre wages. Sonny was all right. Unlike most of the other men who passed through the town he didn’t undress her with his eyes, and although at first she’d feared it, he never came knocking at the dead of night to try and force his favours on her. When the diner closed at seven, he just exchanged his dirty white jacket for a leather one, and drove his ancient Holden back to Mrs Sonny, who waited on the small holding they owned with their two children.

Joe hadn’t undressed her with his eyes either, although she wished that he had.

She was happy with the sight of her slim, tanned body with only two white stripes where the bikini she wore covered her breasts and sex, and she tossed the long blonde hair that fell into a tangle around her shoulders off her face and stuck out her tongue at her own reflection, before she went to the little chest next to the wardrobe and carefully chose her underwear. White lace bra and panties, very brief, and she blushed again as she caught a second look of herself in the mirror as she opened the wardrobe door to choose a dress. I wonder, she thought. He said I was the one, I wonder if he’ll be the one.

For Eliza was a virgin. Unlike her school friends from the town and surrounding area, Eliza had refused to surrender her innocence to the first farm boy who asked for it. She was more choosy. She was waiting for the right one, and perhaps Joe would be it.

At eight precisely there was a knock on the door of her room. It opened directly onto the car park at the rear of the diner. Joe was standing there, a single red rose in his hand when she opened it. “I thought this must be right,” he said. “And I bought you this.” He gave her a red rose and she felt the thorns bite into the skin of her fingers as she took it from him.

“Thanks,” she said. “Come in, I’m afraid it’s not much.”

“Better than what I’ve got.” And he entered the room and sat on the arm of the broken backed sofa and watched as she filled a juice bottle with water and put the rose inside.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he replied, and he saw her blush and he grinned. “So what do we do in a one-horse town where it looks like the horse died?” he asked.

She smiled at his words and said, “Pub or pub I’m afraid. The diner’s closed.”

“Pub it is then,” he said, and reached out his hand as he stood up, and she took it and they left the room and walked towards The Moon In The Gutter together. And the sun was setting through the haze of the evening and the clouds that sat on the edge of the horizon were like purple ribbons on a golden bedspread.

When the pub closed he took her home and kissed her gently at the door. Eliza shuddered in his embrace and she felt tears smart in her eyes which he wiped away with his thumb before he said, “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know. I’m just happy I guess.”

“Good.”

“Do you want to come in?”

He hesitated for a moment. “No not tonight. It’s not quite right. Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes of course.”

“Same time?”

“It’s Saturday. We close at noon. Come in the afternoon.”

“I’ll do that,” and with another kiss he vanished into the dark, and Eliza felt herself begin to ache with want for him.

On the second day Joe arrived not long after Sonny had left the car park in a cloud of dust. Joe carried another rose and when he handed it to her he said, “I’ve been picturing your face all night. My Wild Rose, I believe you are more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s the loveliest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“It’s just the truth.”

“I doubt it. You’re just a flatterer.” But she smiled and added, “But don’t stop.”

“I won’t.”

“Where did you stay last night?” she asked.

“I slept down by the river where the wild roses grow so sweet and scarlet and free.”

“It sounds beautiful,” said Eliza Day.

“It was. But still not as beautiful as you.”

She blushed again. “Come in,” she said. “I got some beer from next door. It’s cold.”

“Good,” he said and walked across the floor and put the second rose into the bottle next to the first which had already started to wilt and drop in the heat.

She gave him a bottle that glistened with moisture and he twisted off the cap and drank deeply. “What do you want to do?” he asked.

“You know,” she replied boldly.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“There’ll be no turning back.”

“I know.”

He stood, took her hand and led her over to the bed. “Give me your loss and your sorrow,” he whispered.

“I will. I’ve waited forever for this. You are my first man.”

“I know I am. I was always going to be. Wait no longer,” he said and kissed her on her lips.

He was as gentle as a man could be with her, undressing her slowly on that hot afternoon, then himself and as they lay together their sweat and juice mixed pungently together and as the rose petals fell onto the table one by one, Eliza cried out and looked through the window and saw the thunderheads gathering on the horizon, thick and black like flowers piled on a grave and illuminated by the occasional flash of sheet lightning.

They stayed together until almost dawn, making love, and for Eliza it was the best night of her life.

Then as the sun began to rise Joe left her with a kiss.

“Come visit me later,” he whispered. “I’m parked down by the bridge.”

“Stay,” she begged.

“No. Come later. It’s Sunday. I need to pray.”

“What time?”

“Do you work today?”

She shook her head.

“Give me a couple of hours,” he said, and slipped through the door and she was alone.

She could barely contain her impatience, but waited until almost midday before walking down towards the river. She saw the pickup from the bridge and ran down towards it. The truck was empty and she looked around in confusion until she heard Joe’s voice from the middle of the tangles of thorny wild roses. “This way,” he said. “Be careful. Those thorns are sharp.”

She pushed aside the ropes of bramble and found Joe sitting by the water’s edge. “You came,” he said.

“Of course.”

“Sit beside me.”

She did his bidding and they held hands.

“I’ll be moving on soon,” he said.

“No.”

“I must.”

“Let me come with you.”

He shook his head sadly.

“Please.”

“You wouldn’t like the places I go,” he said. “They’re not for people like you.”

She thought with the innocence of her youth that she could bind him to her with love and she kissed him on the mouth. He responded as she knew he would and soon they were naked with only the sound of the hot breeze in the rose bushes and the trickle of the river to remind them where they were. Eliza lay on her back and watched as the thick clouds that had been gathering all night and that morning finally shrouded the sun and the wind picked up and shook the rose vines so that the petals fell around them like red snow.

When they made love he knelt above her and said, “The roses are dying,” and picked one from its stem and carefully put it between her teeth and a thorn pierced the skin and one perfect pearl of blood stood out on her lip, and she saw the terrible sadness in his blue eyes as he whispered the words. “As all beauty must die.” And the last thing she saw was the rock that he had in his hand before he brought it down on her face and the last thing she felt was the rain that came at last and washed the blood from her eyes like the tears she’d cried all her life.