Dewey Cosway was hungry, but he was always hungry and his stomach growled and gurgled as he reached for the next cluster of tomatoes. Just past his fifth career change and messy divorce, he heard of work available on the Australian harvest trail. It seemed like good adventure and so he accepted meager accommodations at an old miner's shack with four transplanted South Koreans as roommates for $130/week.

He welcomed the daily routine of picking and relished the ritual morning stump meetings where Tony, the crew boss would complain loudly in at least two and sometimes three languages that too many greens were being picked and that dire circumstances would result is more color was not selected. Following each morning's sermon the crew trudged forward to collect their individual tags that would define their day's wages and began the task of setting out their buckets. He enjoyed the work as it helped him forget his troubles back in the world. He liked the early morning coolness when the damp sat heavy on the red fruit and the squidgy sound his fingers made as he twisted the juicy orbs from the vine. The monotony of picking color, filling 20 liter pails and moving down the endless rows appealed to his overworked and over-faxed mind. The last thing in the world that he wanted at was to meet a woman. Then along came Sheila McGown.

She was raw boned gal of average height with strawberry blond hair and a slightly ruddy complexion. He'd heard that she hailed from London, Ontario and it piqued his interest that she was a licensed massage therapist as that special place in his lower back flared that occasionally served as a reminder of the cheap shop inflicted long ago on a high school football field. She was traveling with her cousin Mark who was slightly younger, sported a shaved head and a crooked smiled that did little to hide his contempt of the system. He seemed to possess that ill defined Gen-X view of the world that left him both without ambition and completely restless about the situation.

Dewey sidled up to Sheila at his first opportunity as she picked the next row over.
'Ever tried one?'� he asked.
'You mean a tomato?'�
'On the continent they call them love apples.'�
'Oh. We don't grow these in Canada and I hadn't even seen a fresh one 'til I got here. Though I've seen 'em in magazines'� she added.
'You really should try one. The Italians thought they were aphrodisiacs when they first arrived from the New World.'�
'Hmmm. I just might'� she said and smiled coyly.

Just then they heard Tony begin to berate one of the Korean pickers in his native Dutch Afikaner-spiced English, 'What did I tell you about picking too many greens?'� he shouted while dumping the plastic pail over in the row, the offending lime-colored orbs bouncing hard on the baked red soil.

Dewey looked at Sheila and shrugged, 'Back to work.'�
He whistled as he picked the next 17 buckets and time seemed to pass quickly as he grabbed for color and moved down the row. The crop making a familiar thumpety-thump, thumpety-thump as it rebounded into countless buckets.

Upon his arrival back at the 'Sugar Shack'� as he affectionately called the decrepit hovel he found the elderly Korean that he nicknamed 'General Henry Li'� due to the way he would stroll round the place as if inspecting the troops. The General seemed in rare form as he'd been fishing with his chums and had netted several beers as well a barramundi, two green eels and some other unidentified icthyus. In his drunken zeal he had filled the bathtub in the privy so his catch could have one last swim prior to corpus dilecti. Dewey sized up the situation and quickly retreated to his room where he rid himself of the vine-green grunged clothes and strung out on his cot. In between shouts of slurred Korean staccato he mused 'She never even had seen a love apple before she got here'�'�

He woke to the high pitched tweakings of lorikeets stationed outside his window and marveled at how many of the birds roamed wild through Northern Queensland when stateside they would fetch $300 and up to be kept in cages. The smell of an Asian fish market hung in the air as he showered and considered his best approach.

As the full crew gathered for the morning pep rally he spied her and moved near. Tony was standing on an overturned bucket and boomed on about the increasing number of stems being discovered at the sorting sheds. 'If all stems are not removed people will be sent home from work!'�

'Is that punishment?'� Sheila giggled as Dewey approached.
'Bore da Bonesig Sheila?'�
'How's that?'�
'Its Welsh for Good Morning Lady Sheila, I've been boning up on my phrases for a visit next spring.'�

'So if you want to be sent home and have your pay docked then just keep messing up!'� Tony shouted in Nathan Hale manner as he trod off the make shift stump.

'Looks like the beatings will continue until morale improves'� Dewey observed as they slogged to the patch.

As the sound of hundreds of tomatoes hitting the bottom of scores of buckets thumpety-thumped in the background much as a Vegas slot machine section, he put the words together in his mind.

'Say listen Sheila I was wondering if ya might want to go for a walk on the beach tonight?'�

She looked at him over her shoulder and batted her eyes 'Well that is an interesting proposition but I barely know you.'�

'If there's a better way to get to know me than walking on the beach at sunset, then I'd like to hear it.'�

'You do have a point. Meet me outside my hostel on Herbert Street at 6:00 pm and we'll go for that walk.

'And will you try a love apple?'�

'I'm not making any promises.'�

Dewey chuckled as he went about his work. He wondered what caused the odd-shaped fruit to grow at the upper wire in the closely bunched top row. 'Is it due to some genetic anomaly in the plant?' he wondered. The vines seemed to cry out in protest as he ripped at them sometimes grabbing three or four at a time as the day quickly passed. He felt like a high school kid prepping for the prom as he readied though he didn't remember having to scrub vine green-stained hands before the big dance. The 'green grunge'� as he called it would stubbornly reside in every crevice on the back of his knuckles and cause him regular embarrassment. He took to keeping his right hand in his pants pocket to avert the persistent stares that might define him as a 'Picker.'� He marveled at how even the pizza man could possess such a Victorian attitude towards work as he condescendingly looked upon him while kneading the dough. He was still rubbing at a few persistent spots as he neared the hostel.

'You look like a breath of fresh air'� he offered as he reviewed her appearance. He especially liked the bright yellow Kapok blossom she had clipped behind her ear that gave her a distinctive Island girl look.

'We all look better out of our work clothes'� she chorted.

He could only shake his head as he pointed to the strip of coarse sand that ringed Port Denison. The sunset was of a persimmon-orange variety that diffused into an amber glow on their silhouettes while they strolled along the wet sand in their bare feet. Sheila spotted an elderly couple walking on the beach along the pier as she inquired.
'So why'd you leave the states?'�

Dewey's relaxed look turned to pain as he negotiated the response. 'Oh, one too many turns on the hamster wheel, I guess'� he offered with a chuckle. 'When I was younger I thought being successful meant going to college, getting a good job, getting married and raising a family. Well I went to college. Got two degrees but couldn't find work as a scientist. I got married and had two beautiful daughters but could never please their mother or her interloping parents. It sounds kind of loopy but I guess the American Dream isn't what it used to be. Several career changes and a failed marriage later, here I am.'�

'It sounds like you've been hurt pretty bad'� she sympathized.
'You get numb to it after awhile. By the end of the marriage neither of us cared enough to get mad. I hung around several years just to look after the kids but it got impossible.'�
The pair kept walking silently as she changed the subject. 'What's that island in the distance?'�

'Captain Cook named it Gloucester Island when he came through here in the 1770s' but the locals pronounce it Gloster.'�

She admired the rugged features of the rocky outcrop jutting up from the sea. It looks like one of those islands in a James Bond movie where the evil genius keeps his underground lair.'�

Dewey eyed the rough terrain and nodded in agreement. 'So tell me Ms. Sheila McGown, what brings you to Bowen?'�

'Oh 'bout the same. My fiancé and I had a massage therapy business and were doing pretty well with a long list of mostly elderly clients until some government bureaucrat starting denying their claims. As we lost business we started fighting with each other, I guess just out of frustration 'til one day we just decided it was over. My cousin was drifting from one minimum wage sandwich shop job to another when I offered him a plane ticket.'�

'Sounds like you've had it rough as well'� he commiserated.

Sheila peered into the distance. 'It's like the earth shakes somewhere out there in the ocean at first all you see is just a ripple. Then the waves begin building and increasing in intensity 'til it becomes a tsunami and comes and washes away big chunks of what you try to build.'�

Dewey shook his head in agreement as he noted the sand castle near the shore that represented some amount of industriousness and wondered if its' builders reckoned on high tide prior to construction. 'It's funny that we had to come here to better understand what was going on in our lives there. Maybe sometimes you're just too close to it all and wrapped in the day to day hassles to really see what's going on.'�

Sheila noticed the waning sunset and pointed towards her hostel. 'We should be getting back.'�

Dewey frowned 'Work day tomorrow, huh? I hear there's a good chance of rain. You know what we used to say in the states?'�

'What's that?'�

'80% chance of rain means a 20% chance of work.'�

They both laughed awkwardly as the approached her door. Their eyes met as she began 'We should do this again.'�

Dewey was thirsty, but he was always thirsty in this parched land and he ached for a cool sip of what the natives called 'watah'�. He leaned towards her unsure of what to do as she quickly kissed his sun-chapped lower lip while reaching for her key. 'I'll see you in the morning then.'�

He smiled as he turned 'You know I normally French kiss on a first date.'�

'I'm not normal!'� she shouted as she playfully closed the door.

Dewey was still in a good mood as he reached the Sugar Shack, though the Koreans seemed a bit edgy as they spoke in excited high-pitched tones.
'Henry! What is it?'�

'It is the North Koreans. They have nuclear bomb! They have tested it! Now there may be war and the young men do not want to go home after the harvest.'�

Dewey surveyed the concern displayed in the three younger faces who had already spent years of mandatory service in the army and did not want any part of another tour of duty let alone having to deal with a North Korean nuclear threat. He considered the situation but couldn't find words that could possibly soothe them so he quietly shook his head and escaped to his room. He knew that should be more concerned about the North Korean's nuclear ambitions but at the moment his mind was on Sheila as he laid on his cot and stared at the ceiling. 'The ripples that turn into tsunamis. Hmmm'�'�

The sky was overcast as they arrived at the tomato patch. The Turkish pickers already complaining amongst each other in their native dialect as it drizzled. Sheila moved close, '80% chance of rain, 20% chance of work.'�

They both laughed as Tony began the chatauqua. 'I know that youse don't like to work in bad weather. Who does? But the sorters and packers at the sheds still work today and we need at least two hours of production to keep them busy. Let's get to it.'�

They reached their rows as the rain began to fall harder. As Dewey's back began to tighten in the cool wetness he began to think of Sheila's skilled hands. One of the Turks started to wail a native tune in a raspy voice that seemed to be a lamentation to Allah, as there was a loud shriek and he spotted Sheila falling into the next row. He dropped what was in his hands and ran slipping and sliding over to where he found her shaking in an epileptic shock. 'What is it? What happened?'� Her jade green eyes began to roll back into her head as he noticed the swelling in her right hand and a drop of blood dribbling from her index finger. He pulled her to him and wrapped her up in his long, husky arms as he spotted a black serpent with orange-red bandings wrapped tightly around the green leafy undergrowth of a vine. 'Damn. What's that doing here?'� he thought to himself as he screamed for help. He held her tight to try to shield her as the water dripped from his matted hair in a continuous stream. She coughed and tried to mouth some words.

He could hear just above a gasp 'I can't feel my arm.'� He looked down at her right hand that was now purplish-red and had swelled to the size of a Virginia Ham as he screamed again for help. The first to arrive was a Turk that he knew only as Kamel and whose eyes appeared as two Spanish olives while he surmised the situation and called out in urgent Turkish. Dewey could hear Tony slog his way towards them using the support wires to steady himself and offered no words but only pointed at the red blotched snake wriggling lethargically in the cool dampness of the viny undergrowth.

Tony was on his cellular quickly. 'We need an ambulance to the Omaugh Tomato Field on Collinsville Road quickly! We have a snake bite victim. A young woman in her twenties. Yes! Yes! Yes! he barked into his phone as he bent down to get a better view of the perpetrator. It appears to be a Collett's Snake. I think they're also called Down's Tiger Snakes, if that helps. Yes, we'll elevate the wound and try to keep her warm 'til you arrive. But hurry!'�

Dewey only relaxed his grip when the medics began to load his island girl onto a gurney and as the doors shut he overheard the EMT say that there was a chopper wanting to fly her up to Townsville for treatment. It suddenly dawned on him that due to their tenuous relationship that this may be the last he was to see of her. The rain eased as the flashing lights disappeared from view. Dewey poured himself into his cubby hole and started a three day bender occasionally surfacing to hear news of her being moved to bigger hospitals in Brisbane, Sydney and Los Angeles before hearing that she was back home. His relief for her recovery was quickly overshadowed by his renewed sense of loneliness. Tony showed up at his door as the end of October rolled round. 'Only 3 more days left in the tomatoes. We're going to start the strip pick where we take everything. The greens, yellows, oranges, reds, whatever. It's good money if you feel like working. If you don't I understand.'�

Dewey rubbed his five day beard growth and pondered the offer. 'Yeah, the work would be good'� he finally warbled.

'Great! We'll see you tomorrow then. If you're up to it we're leaving on Saturday for Emerald and the grape harvest. Good money in grapes.'�

Dewey acknowledged the encouragement 'Thanks, but I think I'll take it one day at a time here.'�

Dewey's head still pounded from too much whiskey the next morning as Tony began the prayer meeting. He could hear the noise but couldn't comprehend the words as he tried to smile and could only shrug at offers of sympathy. He made his way to an open row and began setting out his buckets when he noticed a lanky raven-haired beauty. She was mouthing some words that he couldn't quite register through his self-induced haze.

'I said, Have you ever picked mangoes?'�

'Huh? Mangoes'� He stammered as he considered her proper English accent.

'I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced. I'm Lucy Starks and I was told that we'd be picking mangoes here. Have you ever picked them?'�

He thought for a moment 'Mangoes, huh? We don't grow those where I'm from. Seen pictures of 'em though. I reckon they grow on trees.'�

'They surely do and it's said that there's quite good money in picking them. Where I come from they are quite a favorite around Chrissie time.'�

'Mangoes'� Dewey laughed to himself as he began to hear the thumpety-thump, thumpety-thump, thumpety-thump'�.

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