Water
by Trudi Lisseman

   The fan swirled above their heads making a breeze. This was not the reason for the chilly atmosphere in the dining room. The real reason was the bottle of water. The government official placed the file in front of him. Mary tied her hair away from her face. In her early thirties she had retained her looks despite the hours she worked. She remained silent as he opened the file placing it onto the solid pine table. The document inside was from the Natural Resources Department. John held a loaded shotgun in his hand. He raised it slowly, aiming it at the man.

   "Got a licence for my water, so what you doin’ here?" John spoke.

   "Mr Walsh, it has been brought to my attention that the water you have supplied people is contaminated." Remaining calm he continued "I am here to trace the source of the poison. Your contract has been suspended until the water is safe."

   "Of course it’s safe. We drink it every day. Ain’t nothing wrong with us."

   "Your cattle have not been well. We have evidence." He produced photographs from the file.

   John replied "It was bad food, that’s all."

   The man shook his head. "Other farmers have not had any problems with their cattle. We have tested all the water supplies in the area. The water you supplied appears to be the only one contaminated."

   Since the drought had started he had watched as the water companies slowly increased prices. The government had issued out advice to save water but it came too late. In the major cities only the rich could afford the luxury of running water. Rationing each household to 600 litres of water per month had resolved some problems. It had also created others. A new law was passed to prevent tampering with supply pipelines. The water companies were quick to prosecute but took longer to repair damaged pipelines. If anyone complained the water was turned off. As the situation got worse ration books were allocated for community standpipes. In the countryside people had the right to use water on their land if they obtained a license. Those unable to pay the license fee had the property seized and a government minister moved in shortly afterwards. Within two years the government possessed most of the countryside and the water sources.

   John Walsh owned Willow Farm. Most people would pass the farm completely ignorant of the hidden resources on his land. The only entrance to the farm was by a narrow dirt road with a gate starting to show signs of rust. A dip in the landscape hid the farmhouse from the road. On his property were two pools and a freshwater stream. He provided a few friends with water, charging less than water companies but had still made a profit. This had brought him to the attention of the authorities. Now that the fishing pool had been drained and the other pool was slowly drying up he was cautious about water leaving the farm.

   John had used water from a well for use on the few fields left for grazing. The well had not been disclosed to the authorities. This water provided a lifeline to the farm.

   His wife remained seated at the table. John’s finger twitched on the trigger of the gun. But his eyes watched the man as he shuffled the photographs of cattle. Some were bloated, others covered with blisters but he felt sick when they turned to pictures of family friend. Large sores on his arms had burst open. A yellow fluid trickled down his limb towards the swollen hand. The pus didn’t conceal the bright rash underneath.

   "God!" Mary ran out of the room with a hand over her mouth.

   "Look what you’ve done. Are you pleased with yourself?" John aimed the gun at the man.

   "Not at all. When is the baby due?" The tone was clinical.

   "Two months. She don’t need this. Did you have to do that? "

   "Mr Walsh, I am sorry if your wife is upset but I have a job to do. The rash on your hand, how long have you had it?"

   John glanced at his hand. It had appeared a week ago but he had put it down a reaction to sheep dip. He remembered his grandfather use to have the same problem. His father hadn’t. Same stuff though, he had put it down to sensitive skin.

   Mary waddled back into the room. She had regained some of her composure. Her pale face had little colour as she approached John crying softly. "Put the gun down, love. It’s not his fault."

   "If he let us be, we’ll be fine. Sticking his nose in where it don’t belong." John replied.

   "We won’t. John did you use the well?" She placed her hand on the gun and lowered it to the ground. "You did, didn’t you? John, your father always said not to. He never told us why. I, we…" She gently stroked her expanding stomach. "We need to be safe. Please, don’t make it worse. This won’t help anyone."

   As he placed the safety catch on the gun, he knew the truth. Most of the land was barren. The fields once green only produced dust. It was pointless ploughing them anymore. The sun was too harsh for anything to grow. Any dry kindling was gathered to prevent any fires. The remaining cattle grazed on the few fields that he had watered daily. After the herd showed signs of disease, he moved the pregnant cows nearer the barn. Calving had been difficult and he had destroyed most of the newborns that had born alive. Even in the womb they had not been protected from the illness.

   "There was no choice. The pool won’t last much longer and the stream is barely a trickle. I won’t let them have the land. It was the only way."

   "Remember your Grandfather. What have you done?" Mary whispered.

   John closed his eyes trying to destroy the last image of his grandfather. Watching as the rash covered his skin. Turning into ugly blisters disfiguring him. His face had been covered in blisters, even his eyelids so he didn’t see when John had stepped into the room. As he walked towards him blisters from his hand seeped yellow pus staining the bedding. The smell from the bed sheets had made him retch and he ran out of the room screaming. He never saw him again. Even when Nana had used bandages to cover the blisters, they too turned yellow. By the time she had completed the task, they would be soaked within the hour. John remembered his father lighting the incinerator in the top field daily. He refused to go in the room. When grandfather died everything in the bedroom was destroyed including the wallpaper. He had been just six years old but the image had haunted him.

   As he opened his eyes the man in the suit had stood up. "Go and do your tests. The well is near the hay barn."

   Mary eased the shotgun out of his hands. Calmly she placed the shotgun on the table as the man gathered the photographs into the file. Switching on a walkie talkie he gave the location to the support unit.

   "The medics will need to test you both. Shall I send them in?" The government official addressed Mary rather than John. There was no emotion in his voice after all this was his job.

   Shaking her head "No, I need to talk to my husband."

   Now they were in the room alone, John held his hand out to Mary. He stood there numb. The family farm was lost after five generations. He had failed to keep his family safe. Once he had paid the fines he couldn’t afford to rent a property. When the baby was born the cost of food and nappies… God the baby!

   "Mary, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry."

   "I know. But where do we go from here?" She was shuffling the photographs back into the folder. " He didn’t take it with him. Why didn’t you tell me!" Mary spoke quietly.

   "I didn’t know how to."

   Mary paused at the black and white photograph of the calf. "Is this what you were hiding." Anger flared in her eyes.

   "I don’t know" was all he could say.

   As the folder flew through the air, the images flashed in his eyes. Each calf he had delivered blistered and disfigured had made him sick. A bullet had ended their short life. Reaching for the shotgun before Mary realised what was happening. In one swift movement the safety was off and his finger pulled the trigger.

   A single shot sounded. The government official ran swiftly to the farmhouse. In the dining room John sat against the wall with the shotgun under his chin. A pool of blood slowly seeped from Mary slumped on the floor. Her hands placed over her stomach struggling to save her unborn child. The carpet became damp from the leaking placenta. John watched as her eyes glazed and as her hands fell to the ground, revealing the child curled tightly inside her.

   "I’m sorry."

   John Walsh pulled the trigger for the final time.

©2003 Trudi Lisseman