All Write, Already!

Gawler was a speck of a town, perched halfway up a mountain alongside the young, fast-moving Hatch River. I was relieved when I saw the sign that read "Now entering GAWLER, hidden mountain treasure! Population 425". A town that size would be no effort to search, I thought. It would probably have only one petrol station, a pub or two, maybe a cafe and a restaurant. If Amy had been left here, we would know.

I was right about one thing: Gawler had only one petrol station. It was fairly small, with four pumps - two regular, one diesel, and a gleaming new LPG pump that looked like it had been deposited in the night by visiting aliens - but it was not quiet. All pumps were occupied, and the driveways in and out were packed. Stephen and I stared through the windscreen at the gathering in front of us. It looked like all of the world's Volkswagen Kombivans had arrived in Gawler, southern Queensland.

It appeared to be a hippie convention.

"What is this?" I asked out loud.

"Forgot about this," Stephen said in response. "Shit. It's the Hatch River Festival. A sort of . . . Woodstock thing. Live music, hippies camping out, about a thousand people on average. Came here a few years ago with . . . my wife." He cleared his throat, but not before I heard the tremble in his voice.

"This is going to make things harder," I said, perhaps stating the obvious. I looked at Stephen, but he simply stared ahead and showed his agreement with a slight nod. "Okay, first thing. My mobile is still out of range, so we can't call the police. You want to go use the public phone to call the cops and report what's happened."

Stephen glanced over, looked hesitant. I raised an eyebrow, a wordless question, and he shrugged a bit self-consciously. "Well, what if she's right here somewhere? Wouldn't it be kind of dumb to report it to the cops without looking first?"

Carefully, I chose gentle words. "Even if she is here," I said slowly, "even if she's fine . . . something bad happened. The police have to be told."

He nodded. "You're right," he said, popping the door open and putting a foot outside. "I suppose I was just eager to get looking, not stand around chatting with some phone operator for god knows how long."

"I understand, mate," I replied. "Have a good look around on your way in to the phone. Meanwhile, I have to get some fuel. I'll probably see you in there."

Stephen agreed, shut the door, and headed into the crowd of people and cars. I shook my head in disbelief at all the VWs - the petrol station was a sea of off-whites, creams, tans, and browns. God, I thought to myself, didn't they ever make those things in any attractive colours?

The queue of cars moved excruciatingly slowly, and ten minutes later when Stephen returned I was still two cars from the front. He slipped into the passenger-side door, and I could tell he was unhappy - his body was thrumming like a guitar string. After some gentle prodding, he finally spoke.

"Nobody answered! he snapped. "The triple-oh operator put me through to the local station, and the fucking-" He realised he was starting to shout, stopped, breathed deeply, then continued. "The station had an answering machine on. I just . . . I can't believe it! Police station, on triple-oh emergency relay, and they've got a fucking answering machine turned on in the middle of the fucking day! What kind of town is this?" His shouting died off, but his hands were quivering. "What now?" he asked, near tears once again.

"Did you have a good look for her?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "Not a sign."

"Okay." I spent a few moments in thought. "Well, it's a little flyspot of a town. Even full of hippies it shouldn't be too hard to spot her. Red t-shirt, wasn't it? She should stand out. You know, theoretically." A Kombi, the colour of mustard but covered with hand-painted flowers in rainbow colours, finally pulled away from the pump in front of me, and I nipped into its place. I pressed the fuel cap switch beside the steering wheel, and opened the door to get out, but stopped and turned to Stephen. "Go on, I'll do this myself. Walk down to the main drag and have a look around. I'll cruise down there in a few minutes." He hesitated, so I added, "Seriously, you'll go nuts wating for me. There's no need. Go look for Amy." I think the sound of his wife's name convinced him, and he got out.

Before closing the door he leaned his head inside. "Thanks so much for everything . . . Shit, you never told me your name!"

"Joe," I said with a smile. "Joe Reynolds."

"Thanks Joe," he replied, giving a small smile of his own. "I could've been walking down that bloody highway all day if you hadn't turned up."

"You're welcome," I said, "Now go! Amy's waiting for you!"

He nodded, then closed the door and jogged off. I watched him go, then started filling the tank.

- - -

It was nearly fifteen minutes later - after waiting for a petrol pump as old as God to push fifty litres of fuel into my car, and standing in a long queue at the counter - that I turned my car into the main street of Gawler and started scanning for Stephen's blonde hair and white shirt. I should have known it would be useless; the petrol station was only a hint of things to come.

The main street was pandemonium. A folk quartet played on the back of a big flatbed truck parked outside the pub, amplified by many large speakers. Hundreds of happy people packed the footpaths, spilling out onto the road - dancing, drinking, laughing. In the middle of the street were jugglers, stiltwalkers, firebreathers, firetwirlers, clowns, and even a guy on a unicycle. The thing that really drew my eyes, though, was the dragon.

It was huge, maybe fifty metres long, scarlet and gold, with a massive head of yellow, red, white, and gold, sparkling with tiny mirrors and glass beads, truly beautiful. It danced left and right, gnashing its jaws with staged ferocity. Onlookers left the footpaths to run and jump and dance alongside the hyperactive monster. I couldn't even guess how many people hid under its fabric; it seemed to have a thousand legs, each pair of them wearing red silk pants and bright yellow slippers.

Obviously there was no way I could drive through, so I parked my car, got out, and engaged the central locking. blip blip! That done, I turned to face the throng of revellers. With a sigh, I dropped my car keys into my pocket and entered the fray.