Banner by Erendira

Chasing the Dragon

It seemed to him that Music could see inside his head and read what was there, so accurately did she seem to sense his mood. When he was saddling her, she turned her head and nuzzled his cheek, as if to say “it’s all right, I’ll take you there”. As always, she reacted to the slightest pressure of his thighs and set off into the misty morning. There were times when he was lost in thought and not really paying attention to where he was going but she would know anyway and take him there. The way to the Little Canton camp was well known to both of them.

Ah Joe the Chinamen called him; he had known most of them since he was a child and spent time on the Woolshed diggings with his father. He knew the coppers derisively said he was half a Chinaman himself, on account of being able to speak the language and for his opium smoking, but it was of no consequence to him what they thought. They did not know the first thing about him, not really.

He could not deny there were days when the weight of it all was just too much, the expectations of everyone around him, wanting him to be whatever it was that they needed most. A calm and dependable strategist for Ned, a dutiful son who would make things right for his mother, a mate to share a drink and a laugh with for Aaron, a lover for Kate. Most of the time he was all that and more with no regrets but then he would wake up on a morning like this one and it was like he could not get enough air into his lungs and his skin felt all wrong on him and he knew it was time to visit the Chinamen. 

He had got into the opium smoking quite easily; for the Chinamen it was the equivalent of going to the hotel to have a drink – which they did sometimes too, even though not too many places welcomed them. It was a way to wind down after a hard week’s work at the diggings, to empty the mind and relax. Not too unlike what you experienced with a woman, except with the opium it was just you and there was no need for conversation before or after. Just what he needed on a day like today when he was thinking too much; to be away from himself for a bit, let his mind drift. So that he did not start wondering what would have happened had he not been with Ned and Dan and Steve on that fateful day at Stringybark Creek. There was no point in it; things were the way they were.

Chasing the dragon, that was what the Chinamen called the opium smoking and he supposed it was a fitting enough description. Dragons did not exist and increasingly he was starting to realise that neither did the dreams he was chasing. It had all been such an adventure at times; the exhilaration after Euroa and Jerilderie when they made fools of the coppers and how the tide of public opinion was changing in their favour. But what would happen next? All these grand plans that Ned had… Sometimes he thought that it would be better to just leave before it got too late, get on a boat and sail to America. He had heard that things were different there, the English were not lording it over the Irish and a man had a chance to make a life for himself. He could go to the goldfields in California and maybe he would be lucky and strike it rich. Then he could come back one day and buy all the land that he wanted and the coppers would not be able to do a thing about it. He smiled at the thought of himself as a big landowner – now there was a nice dream to be dreaming. And it was probably just as likely to come true as the mad dream about a republic… But a man needed his dreams, something to look forward to; otherwise what was the point?

Nobody paid horse or rider any attention as they made their way through the camp. People were hurrying about, dodging between carts in the narrow alleys between houses that were more like shacks. Strange garments hanging on washing lines strung from roof to roof declared the otherness of the place, as if the people who lived here had brought a piece of their homeland with them and set it down under a foreign sky. The smells wafting from the cooking fires were different too but he had shared enough meals with the Chinamen to know that their food was definitely edible, in fact quite delicious, contrary to what most people seemed to think.

Music stopped in front of the opium den and he patted her neck reassuringly before tying her to the hitching post. Resolutely he pushed away thoughts of Kate who would be waiting; he was no good to her today, what he needed she could not give him. She would understand, she always did.  She knew who he was, and when he was with her he was there completely, all hers. More he could not give and she knew it. She did not rant and rave and make demands like some of the others, and that was why he always went back to her. He loved her and he knew she loved him, because every time she welcomed him back with open arms. In his darkest and most desperate moments he worried that one day she would not, and he wondered if the pain he felt at the thought was similar to the one he saw in her eyes sometimes, just a flash before she turned away and when she looked at him again it was gone, so that he could almost pretend it had not been there at all.

He was acknowledged with a nod and ushered inside, no words necessary as he entered the familiar dimness and settled on the worn cushions thrown over the low wooden seat. The walls were covered in lengths of printed silk in rich colours and exotic patterns, belying the blackened wood underneath. The smoke from the opium pipe filled his lungs and his eyes focused on an emerald dragon on the wall opposite. There were flames shooting out of its mouth, long red tendrils of burning breath and he let himself sink, deeper and deeper until all his thoughts were burned away and he was just floating blissfully along the River of Forgetfulness.