Clark was well aware that the very thing he needed most was to watch Australian football actually being played. If not live, then on the television. But Lois had already been more than generous with her time, and he'd sensed some hesitancy when he'd asked her to come for supper.
"Have you ever seen a game of footy?" Lois asked.
"No," he admitted, trying not to look too needy.
She grinned. "What are you doing tomorrow arvo?"
He returned her grin. "I'd like to watch a replay," he said quietly.
Her grin widened. She reached across the table to where he'd left the map she'd given him. Picking up a pen, she drew two asterisks. "You live here," she said. "I live there. Come around whenever you're ready."
Clark's immediate reaction was joy - at the close proximity of their homes. Then he sobered quickly. The reality was it represented how close Lois lived to Dan - how close she would live to Dan long after he, Clark, had left, reduced to a vague memory of an exchange reporter called 'Rubber'.
Part 4
"Clark! It's so good to see you!"
Clark quickly crossed the yard to take his mom into his arms. She hugged him tightly, and he breathed in the sweet scent of cinnamon. Was it too much to hope she had baked an apple pie? When she released him, he laughed at the exuberance of her welcome. "It's not like I've been away for months," he said.
"No, but you've been so far away," Martha said, smiling warmly. They turned together to go into the farmhouse. "How is it?" she asked. "Are you enjoying Australia? Are the people nice?"
Clark took a big breath. "There's more to get used to than I thought," he admitted. "And the people are very nice."
"Tell me about them," his mom said as she put on the kettle to boil.
"Well, there's Bluey and Banjo and Gazza and the editor - his name is Paul Brown but everyone calls him Browny."
Martha looked at him blankly. "What are the others' real names?" she asked.
"I don't really know," he said. "They don't seem to use real names much."
His mom's eyes sparked with sudden interest. "Do they call you 'Clark'? Or 'Mr Kent'?"
Clark snorted with amusement. "I haven't heard anyone referred to as 'Mr'," he said.
"So they call you 'Clark'?"
"Some do," he hedged.
His mom's grin widened. "But some don't," she guessed gleefully. "What do the rest call you?"
He didn't want to tell her, but Clark had learnt a long time ago that if his mom really wanted to know something, resistance was useless. "Rubber," he said quietly.
"Rubber?"
He nodded, hoping that if his mom made the obvious connection, she wouldn't feel the need to expound on it.
"Why?" Martha asked.
"Beats me."
"Isn't there someone you can ask?"
"Well ... there *is* someone. But I haven't wanted to ask her in case -."
"Her?"
Clark tried to ignore the flare of interest that lit his mom's face. "Lois," he said casually. "Lois Lane."
His mom contemplated him for a long moment. Then she slid into the adjacent chair, and Clark could see her concern manifest in the little crinkles that had gathered at the corners of her eyes. "Have you had contact with anyone at the Planet since leaving?"
"Not really," Clark replied. "I emailed Perry, and he replied with a few lines saying he was pleased I had arrived safely."
"Nothing about ... Mayson?"
Clark shook his head.
His mom's hand rested on his arm. "I think the chance to be in Australia for three months came at exactly the right time."
"That occurred to me too," Clark said. "Though I hate feeling like I've run away."
"You don't think Perry knows?" Martha questioned, suddenly alarmed. "You don't think that's why he offered you the chance to go?"
"No," Clark said firmly, hoping to reassure her. "Perry knows things have been strained between Mayson and me recently, but I don't think he knows that Mayson's continual attacks on Superman land so close to home."
"I read Mayson's story last week," Martha said. "You know - the one where she asserted that Superman has a secret life, and challenged him to stop hiding behind a disguise and reveal who he really is."
Clark felt the familiar tightening across his chest. "Mayson hasn't liked Superman right from the get-go," he said. "I remember when Cat suggested the name 'Superman', Mayson said that 'Super-*monster*' would be more appropriate."
"Do you think there is any chance she will drop this now?" Martha asked hopefully. "If Superman makes very few appearances during the next three months, Mayson might realise that he's old news and move on to something else."
"Not Mayson," Clark said with a sigh of resignation. "Once she gets an idea, she never, ever lets it go."
"She gave up on having a relationship with Clark."
"Only after I got far more brutally honest than I was comfortable with," Clark said grimly. "She had decided I was the man for her, and once Mayson Drake decides she wants something, she usually gets it, regardless of what anyone else wants."
Martha stood and poured the boiling water into the teapot. "And she wants Superman exposed?"
"Yep," Clark said. "Exposed, and confined to somewhere he can be controlled ... preferably by her."
"Oh, Clark," Martha said.
He heard the fear in his mom's voice and tried to reassure her with a smile. "Despite Mayson's influence and her one-woman campaign to stir up suspicion and distrust, she can't actually force me to reveal that Clark Kent is Superman - unless of course, she discovers it for herself."
"If she did find out," Martha asked, "Do you think she would print the story?"
"In a heartbeat," Clark said with certainty. "So for a whole lot of reasons - you, Dad, the farm, me having anything that resembles a life - I have to ensure that she never finds out."
"How are you going to do that?"
"I can't help feeling that she has left me with only two choices," Clark said disconsolately. "Either relocate - again - or give up the idea of trying to help people."
"Ah, Clark," Martha said. "I'm so sorry."
He manufactured another smile. "We tried, Mom," he said. "I've been in Metropolis for two years - that's way longer than I've ever been able to stay anywhere before. Using the suit as a disguise was a good idea - it bought me some time, allowed me some stability."
"But won't that stability just make it harder?" Martha asked. "Harder to leave your friends and your job and the life you've made in Metropolis?"
"That's how it is, Mom," Clark said. "People move on."
Martha poured milk into the cups. "You're not thinking of moving to Australia, are you? Permanently?"
Clark's pause was infinitesimal but he knew it was long enough to spark his mother's suspicions.
"You *are* thinking of staying there?" she pressed.
"No," he said. "If I stayed there, I'd still be Clark Kent, formerly of Metropolis. If I move, I need to go some place where there is no link to the past."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm not making any decisions yet, Mom," Clark said. "I want to help people, I want to use what I've been given to make a positive contribution to the world that has been my home for all these years ... but I just don't have what it takes to be a big celebrity. I hate it when they gawk at me. Superman's not even real - he's just a front, yet people can't accept that. They either idolise me like some sort of god - you've seen all the merchandise - or they are terrified that I am going to hurt them. The only way I can live my life is to be Clark Kent, regular guy. But every single time I use my powers, I put that in jeopardy."
"And being in the same newsroom as Mayson Drake - the nation's top investigative reporter - didn't help much."
"No," Clark agreed with a wry, humourless grin. "That's why I ran away."
Martha laid a motherly hand on his arm. "You didn't run away," she said gently.
"Sometimes it seems that I've spent half my life running away."
His mom poured the tea. "Your father and I worry about you."
"I know, Mom."
"Sometimes ... even though you have us ... sometimes you just seem so ... alone."
"I'm not alone," Clark said, brightly. Too brightly - his mother would see right through it. "I have you and Dad and Jimmy and Perry."
"But you've never felt close enough to anyone to even consider telling them the truth about yourself, have you?"
Clark took his tea and stared into the brown liquid. "No," he answered. "No, I haven't."
His mom waited until his gaze rose from the cup and met her eyes. "You'll find someone," she assured him. "I know you'll find someone."
An image invaded Clark's mind - uninvited, unsought, but welcome nevertheless - the image of a woman surrounded by agitated youths.
"She'll have to be someone very special," Martha said. "Someone trustworthy, someone loyal, someone who can overlook a few unusual circumstances and appreciate the heart of a truly special man."
There was a touch of humour in Clark's grimace. "A few unusual circumstances?"
His mom smiled back. "Just a few."
As Clark sipped his tea, his mind volleyed back to the other side of the world. This time he saw her dressed in a pink tracksuit. His arms could almost feel her tackling him.
"Tell me about Lois Lane," Martha said.
Clark's attention swung to his mother's face, and for the thousandth time he wondered if she could see into his mind. "She works for the Herald Sun as a football reporter," he replied evenly.
"Is she pretty?"
"Mom!"
"Is she pretty?"
Again, resistance would be futile. "Yes," Clark admitted. "She's pretty."
"You like her, don't you?"
Clark tried a final means of escape. "I've known her for less than two days."
"But you like her." It wasn't a question.
"What makes you say that?" Clark asked, ironing his tone flat.
"The way you said her name."
Clark feigned a spluttered snort that he hoped would convince his mom that there was no substance to her conjecture. "She's in a relationship already."
Martha was undeterred. "Are you sure about that?"
Clark hesitated. Was he? Lois had said she spent a lot of time with Dan. She said she would miss him. But had she ever actually said they were together?
"Are you?" Martha persisted.
"He's in Metropolis doing my job," Clark said.
His mother stood and removed an apple pie from the oven. Its aroma flooded the kitchen and Clark inhaled appreciatively. "Are you seeing her tomorrow?" she asked conversationally.
"I've missed your home cooking," Clark said. "There's no smell in the world quite like your apple pie."
"Are you seeing her tomorrow?" Martha asked, less conversationally this time.
"Yes."
"At the newspaper?"
"No," he admitted, feeling ridiculously like he was ten years old again. "We both have tomorrow off."
Martha placed the pie on the bench and turned, her eyes gleaming with triumph. She squeezed his shoulder as she bent low and whispered in his ear. "I can't wait to meet her."
Clark smiled. "You'll be waiting awhile," he said mildly. "She lives on the other side of the world."
Martha just grinned wider. "Want some apple pie?" she offered.
||_||
Clark stayed in Smallville long enough to help his dad with wiring a new fence and snatch a few hours' sleep in his own bed. When he returned to Melbourne, it was late morning, and he only had a short time to fill before he was due at Lois's to watch the replay.
He completed settling into his new environment and stashed away his empty suitcases, trying not to think about the time when he would have to bring them out again. By then, his time would be over. The time he had with Lois. The time he had to make a decision about his future ...
And the future of Superman.
As Clark ate his lunch, he memorised the grid of AFL teams that Lois had given him and read every word of the Herald Sun he'd bought. He also read the football section of the Age - the rival Melbourne paper. He finished eating his lunch, glanced at his watch, and wondered how early would be acceptable to arrive at Lois's. It wasn't one o'clock yet.
His thoughts returned to Smallville and his conversation with his mom. Since arriving in Australia there had been so much to learn - so many new people, new circumstances, and new experiences - he had been able to push Mayson Drake to the shadows of his mind.
But he knew she would not give up her campaign to hunt down and expose Superman.
He had relocated to a new country, but even that hadn't enabled him to escape the truth that he was an alien with extraordinary powers living on a planet that could never be his own. From his earliest memories he had known he was different, had known he didn't really belong here.
Didn't belong anywhere.
But - this was old ground. Worn ground. No amount of wishing or speculating or dreaming could make him normal. And, right now, he was a long way from Metropolis. A long way from Mayson Drake.
But close - geographically - to Lois Lane.
And that thought made him smile.
His mom's words came back to him - about meeting someone special.
Lois Lane.
She was unlike anyone he had ever met.
She was open and friendly and seemed to accept everyone at face value. Was there a limit to her acceptance? What if he told her he was an alien? Would she run away in shock? Would she look at him like a bizarre museum piece?
Somehow, he couldn't imagine either reaction.
Not from Lois.
But he doubted she would ever know.
There had been nothing in Lois's behaviour to indicate that she saw him as anything other than a colleague who could sorely use her help.
And maybe she was in love with Dan Scardino.
Maybe.
Clark wasn't sure.
He needed to find out.
But how did you ask a girl if she were in love with someone else?
And he certainly wasn't going to use others to procure information about Lois.
A knock sounded and his heart leapt in hopeful anticipation. A quick glance through his door confirmed it was Lois. Clark forced himself to cross the floor at mere human speed and opened the door, hoping his smile didn't seem too excessive. "I thought I was coming to you," he greeted.
"No replays for me," Lois said. She was casually dressed in jeans, a red sweater, and a denim jacket. "I just got a call from Browny, and rumour has it that Kendall has gone down with a training injury, so I've been sent to see what I can find out."
"But it's your day off," Clark protested.
Lois shrugged. "That's what happens when you're on the lowest rung of the ladder."
She said it with such easy acceptance, Clark wanted to take her into his arms and tell her she would never be on the lowest rung of his ladder. "Kendall?" he said. "From Geelong?"
Lois's eyebrows lifted in surprise even as her mouth cut to a broad grin. "I'm impressed with your research," she said. "But your pronunciation needs a little work."
"It does?"
"J'long," she said. "The team is called J'long."
"J'long," Clark repeated. He gestured behind him to the newspapers still on his table. "I did some reading over lunch."
Lois reached into her bag and brought out a video tape. She offered it to him. "You can still watch the replay," she said. "There's commentary, so you'll be able to pick up some of it."
Clark felt the sudden rise of panic. If he didn't come right out and say that he wanted to accompany her, he risked spending the afternoon alone with a video tape.
"Dan's VCR is under his telly," Lois said.
"Would you mind if I came with you to Geelong?" Clark asked in a rush.
"No, I wouldn't mind," Lois said evenly. Clark could determine nothing in her reaction to enlighten him as to whether she was hoping he would ask or hoping he wouldn't. "It's a bit of a drive though," she warned.
Even better. "What should I bring?"
"The usual. Notepad, pencil. I've got a camera."
"You don't get a photographer to go with you?" Clark asked, acknowledging privately that his real motivation for the question was to determine if they would be travelling to Geelong alone.
"Not on Wednesday," Lois said. "Not when it's Geelong. Not when there's no story yet."
Clark picked up his notepad and pencil from the table and slipped his leather jacket from the back of a chair. He gestured to his clothes. "Are jeans OK?" he asked.
Lois nodded. "Sure. We don't dress up much around here."
He'd noticed that.
Soon they were in the Jeep and heading west. "We have to go back through the city," Lois said. "Then over the Westgate Bridge, and it's about fifty minutes to Geelong."
"Geelong isn't a suburb of Melbourne?"
"No. Geelong is a city of about 125 000 people set on Corio Bay. For many years, they were the only non-Melbourne club."
"I was going to ask you about that," Clark said. "There are sixteen clubs, but you said that eleven of them were local to Melbourne - that's an incredibly high percentage."
Lois sighed. "Yeah," she said. "Of the sixteen teams, five are from interstate - two in Perth, one in Sydney, one in Brisbane, and one in Adelaide. Of the other eleven teams, ten are in Melbourne, and then there's Geelong, an hour down the Princes Freeway."
"*One* city supports *ten* teams?"
Lois nodded.
"Why?" Clark asked. "Why are there so many teams in Melbourne?"
"For many years, the AFL was the VFL - the Victorian Football League. There were twelve teams - eleven in Melbourne and one in Geelong. Six games were played every Saturday afternoon. It was the best of times."
Her voice had become imbued with an enchanting richness and her face was potent with memories.
"Every Saturday morning in winter," Lois continued, "Melbourne would be alive and buzzing with people heading to the games. It was almost tribal - herds of followers making the trek to whichever suburban ground their team was playing that day. In many ways, just getting there was half of the fun. Then a few hours later, it would all happen in reverse - except now half of the tribes were deliriously happy and the other half were distraught."
"What happened?" Clark asked. "What changed all of that?"
"The powers that be decided we needed a national competition," Lois said. "Sydney is the biggest city and it had no Aussie Rules footy, so at the end of 1981 South Melbourne - the Swans - were moved to Sydney to become the Sydney Swans."
"Sounds reasonable," Clark said hesitantly.
"Not if you barracked for South Melbourne it wasn't," Lois said darkly. "When Sydney played at home, there were only five games in Melbourne on a Saturday - and lonesome figures dressed in the red and white of South Melbourne were scattered amongst the crowds at the other games looking like the fallout of a master plan that didn't include them."
Clark figured that whatever he said could be taken the wrong way, so he didn't comment. They had long since passed the river and were coming down the far slope of the Westgate Bridge. The views of the bay had given way to factories and residential areas on both sides of the freeway. "When did the other interstate teams join?" he asked.
"In 1987, a club was formed in Perth, called the West Coast Eagles, and a club in Queensland called the Brisbane Bears. The Eagles had a good foundation to build on because Western Australia played footy and had their own league - the Western Australian Football League - the WAFL."
"The waffle?" Clark said, smiling.
"Western Australian Football League - the WAFL." Lois smiled before continuing. "But Queensland and New South Wales are rugby league states. So when South Melbourne went to Sydney and when the Bears began, there was very little interest."
"Is there interest now?"
"It's growing slowly. There's always been fierce rivalry between Sydney and Melbourne. They are passionate about rugby league, which we derogatively refer to as 'mobile wrestling'. They retaliate by calling footy 'aerial ping-pong'."
Clark smiled. "When did the other two clubs join? Adelaide and Fremantle?"
He was rewarded with a grin. "You *have* been working hard," Lois said.
"I'm coming from a long way behind."
"Adelaide joined in 1991, and Fremantle, the second Western Australian club, joined last year."
"And does it work?" Clark said. "Has it made the competition better? Does the average supporter like the changes?"
"There is the argument that we had to do it - grow or be overtaken. Expand or be sunk. Explore new markets or risk sucking the old ones dry."
"But?" Clark pressed.
Lois sighed again. "But some of us miss the days when the trip down the Princes Highway …" She gestured around them, "… to watch your team play in Geelong was considered the big footy trip of the year."
"Do you think more teams will join?"
Lois sighed. "I think sixteen teams is as far as we can push it, so if other interstate clubs come in, I fear it will be at the expense of a Victorian club."
"I read that Sydney and Melbourne are similar in size," Clark said. "So it seems logical that the single team in Sydney would have many more opportunities for support and sponsorship than the ten teams having to compete in Melbourne."
Lois's eyes left the road long enough to send him a look of undisguised respect. "Exactly," she said quietly.
The warmth from her look meandered through him like warm, sweet honey. "That worries you?"
"That worries me a lot," Lois said earnestly. "I don't know what it's like your country, but here - in Victoria - footy is everything. Many, many people - people whose lives are hard, people who have very little - find their greatest joy in their footy team. They identify with it, love it, consider it a part of their family, talk about it, mourn the lost games, gloat over the victories, and cry over the memories - both good and bad. It is something that binds us all together. It is said that if you can talk footy, you can talk to anyone in Melbourne and find common ground."
"It really is that all-encompassing?"
"Very close. I don't know anyone who doesn't have a footy team." She grinned sideways at him. "Except you."
"Can the average fan afford to go to games?"
"Absolutely. The entry prices are kept low, and it costs only a few cents for kids to get in. The grounds are big - the MCG can hold one hundred thousand people, and Waverley seventy-seven thousand. For many families it is their big outing of the week."
"But things are changing?" Clark said.
Again Lois sighed. "It may be a good business decision to take a team from Victoria, but that won't mean much to the thousands of supporters who will feel like the lifeblood has been leached from them."
"They can't choose another team?"
Lois shook her head. "No. The bond between supporter and club is rarely broken. That's why so many South Melbourne supporters still go to other games in their red-and-white jumpers. You look into their faces, and you can see their loss. They loved something and it was snatched away from them."
"They can't barrack for Sydney?"
"Some do, probably most. Some turned their back and vowed to never again watch another game. Some - very, very few - found other clubs."
"You think other Victorian clubs will go?"
"I'm sure of it," Lois said, her sadness oozing through her words. "I'm sure that within three years, at least one of the current Victorian clubs will no longer exist in the form it is now. There will either be a merger or a takeover or a forced move interstate."
"How do the people feel about that?"
"Many of us are terrified that it could be our club. The big clubs are safe - Collingwood, Carlton, Essendon - the clubs that have large memberships, huge followings, draw big crowds, and are financially stable. But others - Footscray, Fitzroy, North Melbourne - their supporters fear the future that rests in the hands of those despised administrators who choose to only see the game as a business."
They were well out of the city now - there were green fields on both sides of the freeway.
"Is your club safe?" Clark said.
"I hope so," Lois said and her voice shook. "I hope so."
||_||
Glossary
Just a note ... despite its spelling, the 'Princes Highway/Freeway' is pronounced the 'Princess Highway/Freeway'.
