Black Spot

Dewi Anggraeni

I have driven to the airport so often I could probably do it blindfolded, with or without heavy traffic. This time it is different, because Bernie is adamant we should take the new ring road to the airport. "It's so much more straightforward, Andi. After that roundabout at Diamond Creek Road, you turn hard left, not diagonal left, then after that you just follow the signs. It's easy." Seeing my hesitation, he adds, "You don't have to worry this time. I'll navigate."

I am a creature of habit. By nature, I prefer a well-known path, even if rendered tortuous by heavy traffic, to a new route relatively free of traffic and requiring only two or three turns. But this time, I just nod. I know Bernie is in a hurry. His flight is in an hour and he doesn't want to miss it.

It is still light and the spitting rain doesn't make much difference to the driving. Bernie was right. After the roundabout, it is just a matter of following the road signs.

"See? This ring road has made driving to and from the airport a breeze, don't you agree? And we're now only 10 minutes away, while if we'd taken the usual route, we'd still have been sitting in the Mahoneys Road traffic jam, an hour from nowhere."

Again I just nod. He's right again. I hate it when he's right so many times in one day. Makes arguing with him so much harder.

After a quick kiss and a wave goodbye, I drive off. There is no point parking the car if he's going to board the plane straight away. Besides, it's getting dark and cold. With the increasingly heavy rain, I can imagine lighting the fire won't be easy. Our chimney has a leak, so the logs in the fireplace are often too damp to light at first go.

I nearly follow my natural inclinations to take the familiar route back home. Before taking the exit turn, I catch a glimpse of the traffic below. The rows of car lights are almost stationery. I drive past the exit and go on to take the ring road again. It's so easy I can't go wrong. Besides there are so many other vehicles going in the same direction; even if I get lost, I won't be stranded alone in a deserted place at night.

I soon feel dwarfed by the other vehicles zooming past and overtaking me. They seem bigger and more powerful, moving at over 100 kilometers an hour. Every so often my car shakes from the vibrations caused by a truck roaring past beside me. I watch my windscreen wipers straining pathetically against the pelting rain on the glass. I begin to regret I didn't take the usual route. Although it is straightforward, it is still a new road for me. And being on a freeway I can't slow down.

My grip on the steering wheel is enforced by the swearing I let out privately. Are they all drivers from hell, moving so fast and seemingly without care in such weather? I keep looking at my rear-view mirror to see how far the car headlights are from my bumper.

As the sun disappears completely from sight, I become more nervous and more agitated. The road seems so much longer on the way back, maybe because I am too busy praying and counting the seconds. I sit forward, almost hugging the steering wheel in an effort to see a fair way ahead of me. Suddenly, almost without warning, I see the roundabout right in front. With the vehicles behind pushing me along I have no time to stop and think. Which turn?

No street names are visible, but I have to turn. Within seconds my intuition tells me I've taken the wrong turn, but a street sign that says Diamond Creek Road reassures me to a degree. I drive on in the vain hope of finding a familiar landmark.

Five kilometers later, I am sure it is not my road. But, if this is also Diamond Creek Road, does that mean that the road actually bends sharply without changing names? When there are fewer cars around, I slow down. The place looks deserted, yet feels curiously familiar. My head swims and tightens alternately, and I feel the thumping of my heart in my drying throat. I check the rear-view mirror and confirm I am all alone.

With one hand still holding the steering wheel, I clean the fogged up window on my side with my coat sleeve. A cluster of lights emerge. They seem to come from a house above the embankment across the other side of the road. Where have I seen this set up before?

It's too late into the evening to muse over this futile speculation. I move across to the right lane, looking for an opening in the median strip to make a U turn. The road was deserted on both sides, so I begin to swing my steering wheel.

I drive straight into a pair of headlights, then total darkness.

Familiar voices welcome me back to slow consciousness. Yet when I open my eyes, I don't believe I know the people around me.

"You've come to," says the woman sitting on a chair beside me. I'm lying on a sofa in someone's living room, shivering despite the layers of blankets over me.

One of the men standing some distance away rushes up to look at me. "You'll be alright. We've called the ambulance," he says. The other man watches from near the window.

I try to take my hand out of the blankets to wipe my eyes, but the woman bends over and asks me not to get up. As she moves closer, we both frown, seemingly from gradual recognition. Since I can't place her, I just ask, "What happened? Where am I?"

"We heard you skidding off the road into the median strip. It appears that you blacked out when trying to make a U-turn. Do you have a history of blacking out? You should be careful driving. Are you on medication of some kind?"

"Was that what happened? Strange. No, I don't have a history of blacking out, and I am not on medication." After a few moments I remember something and add, "Actually, I have blacked out once before. A long time ago though. Come to think of it, it was in this area..."

"Mum," said my son Christopher on the phone, "David's Dad's gonna be late home, and his Mom hasn't got a car. Can I stay until his Dad comes home?"

I looked at the clock. 6:30 p.m. I didn't like not knowing when Christopher was going to be home when Bernie was away. "I think it's best if I pick you up, Chris. David's Dad's gonna be tired and wouldn't feel like driving out again. Give me his address again, son."

Being new in the area, I checked the street directory and plotted my route before leaving home. Tracing it on the map was something, but following it in practice was another. There were very few street lights, and I had to guess the turns because street signs in this part of the world were also scarce.

I found myself on a long stretch of road with open farmlands on both sides. There were no other roads for miles, it seemed. "I must have taken the wrong turn," I thought, desperately looking for a house or even another vehicle. Somewhere to ask for directions. Suddenly I saw specks of light in the distance. As I drove closer I saw a house on a hill, over on the other side of the road.

As it was a fair distance away from the road, I decided to drive on looking for something more accessible. But I immediately changed my mind; that house might be my only chance. So I made a U-turn.

They had to call my best friend Nora, whose phone number was in my handbag.

As Nora climbed back into her car she looked at me in the passenger's seat and shook her head. "God, Andi! You were just damned lucky. That's all I could say." Then she stared at the wreck of a car that the tow truck operator was trying to lift onto its tray.

The driver of the utility truck that ran into my car leaned on the passenger window and asked again, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Positive," I replied. "Ring me tomorrow, I'll contact my insurance company and arrange for them to take care of your truck."

I was more concerned about picking up Christopher. "He might be wondering what has happened to me," I said. Nora didn't appear to hear me, and went on asking me how a utility truck could run into me yet it was still my fault. I explained that I'd made the U-turn without looking because I'd taken for granted there had been no other cars around.

"It's not like you, Andi," mused Nora, "You're usually so careful."

"Hmm. I was disoriented and anxious, I guess."

"On the other hand, that place might be your black spot."

"What do you mean, my black spot?"

"Most people have a black spot, where they keep behaving uncharacteristically, often causing terrible mishaps, each time they hit it."

"This is not one of your weird superstitions?" I asked, holding my neck, checking for whiplash.

"My grandmother used to tell me that. You don't have to believe it, of course."

I can almost feel the heat of the woman's eyes examining me. When I focus back on her face she asks, "In this area, did you say?"

"Sorry?"

"You said you had blacked out once before in this area?"

"Oh that. Yes, I mean in an accident in Diamond Creek Road. By the way, is this also Diamond Creek Road?"

The woman turns, incredulous, towards the men and exclaims, "It is her alright, Ted!"

Ted takes several steps to have a closer look at me. "What car were you driving then? A Volkswagen?"

I gaze so sharply at him my head hurts. "I remember you," I whisper finally. "You were the man who helped me and rang my friend, some 15 years ago!"

All three are now bending over the sofa studying me, as if to confirm their suspicions. I don't recognize the second man.

"Before the new road was built, this was the old Diamond Creek Road. It has been widened and a median strip was built along it. You had an accident fifteen years ago, exactly today," the woman whispers, "Did you know that?"

I squint a question, and the woman replies, "It's our son's birthday", tossing her head towards the second man, who now smiles at me.

The ambulance is coming. I can hear its siren. Or is it an eerie ringing in my head?

The author was born in Jakarta and now lives in Melbourne. She was the Australian correspondent for Tempo and currently writes for The Jakarta Post, Forum Keadilan and other publications in Indonesia and Australia. She has three books published in Australia -- two novels, The Root of All Evil (1987) and Parallel Forces (1988), and a trilogy of novellas,Stories of Indian Pacific (1993).