The rectilinear man.

"Can we go and see my mum this weekend?"

David glanced up from his Saturday morning newspaper. He and Sandra sat together on the balcony of their apartment, two coffees on a small table between them.

Sandra gazed at her husband, waiting for his answer. David shifted in his seat, peeved, and did not respond.

Below them, two parallel streets converged into the distance, flanking and confining two rows of back-to-back houses. In the far west, beyond this clean perspective, there was a disturbance, an ill-defined wavering at the edge of David's vision: the mountains, stretching low along the horizon. David had known this view all his life.

"You never want to go with me to my mum's," Sandra complained.

"I don't mind your mum," David muttered. "It's that drive I can't stand; especially all that Sunday afternoon traffic in the mountains. It's a pity she has to live up there."

"A pity!" Sandra snorted, exaggerating his tone with a sarcastic expression on her face.

But David saw she was beginning to look upset, and immediately surrendered. "Okay, we'll take a trip up there tomorrow!" Sandra brightened.

"But we'd better come back before the Sunday afternoon rush, straight after lunch--that means before four."

"Great!" Sandra jumped up. "I think I'll make some more coffee."

David followed her into the kitchen, intent on justifying himself further, but unable to articulate his real feelings. He said, "I suppose we should take something nice with us."

As he spoke, he reached up and adjusted a calendar on the kitchen wall that was slightly askew, and stepped back to check the results.

Sandra half-smiled at him, and then the picture, as she cleaned out the coffee grounds for the percolator.

"What?" he said. Sandra shook her head, busying herself with their second round of coffee.

The rest of Saturday passed quietly: a trip to the chemist, a gardening centre and the supermarket, where their purchases included a bottle of wine to take to Sandra's mother.

Late that afternoon, when the sun's rays turned horizontal, so that if they had looked outside they would have seen the mountains spreading between the horizon and the sky like a black chasm, they watched a video with their dinner.

The story did not absorb them.

"Did you like it when you used to live up there?" David asked. Sandra glanced across at him. Where. Oh, the mountains."

"Yes."

"Why not? It's cleaner, quieter. But it's a long commute to a job."

"You weren't ... nervous?"

"Nervous? About what?"

"Well--the fires, I suppose."

"You get used to it." A pause. "You never asked me that when we met."

"I was working in your mum's garden. It would have been too familiar."

"You had a lovely little bum too. But it would have been too familiar of me to tell you that."

Her words made David looked pleased.

Outside, they did not see the clouds begin to build, piling up across the setting sun, merging with the dark line of the mountains to form a single mass that climbed into the sky like the opening of a gigantic black mouth.

They set off at eight the next morning. For a long time, neither spoke much. David felt grumpy and tired, sitting alongside Sandra as she drove. It was nearly an hour before there was anything like a conversation, as they neared the mountains.

"I wonder if she's going to mention children again," David said. He had begun tapping his foot on the floor.

Sandra glanced at him. "You'll just have to be polite. Like you always are."

The highway swung around to the left and began to climb into the foothills. A long barrel-like cloud hung over them, grey at the base, its ragged tops lit by the early morning sun; harried and tumbled by high altitude winds.

"Anyway," Sandra added, "we'd have to move somewhere bigger if we had kids. That place of ours is too small."

"That would be a big move for me."

"Don't you think you could do it?"

"Mmm, probably. I don't know. I've lived in that apartment since I was a baby."

Sandra cursed suddenly, forced to brake as an overtaking sedan edged in suddenly ahead of oncoming traffic. "All the fools come out on Sunday!"

The highway, bordered by a ribbon of small towns and strung-out development, now ran along the top of a meandering ridge; buildings flashed and glinted all along it. Subsidiary ridges branched out, dotted with glittering structures, but the valleys below were dark with forest; mist climbed the slopes. Only the mountain ridges were occupied. Beyond the thin strip of buildings and residential areas along the highway, ranks of empty valleys faded to the horizon.

David kept tapping his foot, attracting irritated glances from Sandra.

"I don't think I'd like living up here alone, like your mum."

"I think it's life stages. She's had her family, done the social thing. Now she likes quiet."

When the highway briefly twisted south or north as it followed the main ridge, they glimpsed the distant city in gaps between the surrounding buildings and trees. The towers of the central business district gleamed in the sunlight like an architect's model.

Not far from the highest mountain town, they turned off the highway and followed a suburban road, descending a branch ridge. The buildings thinned out, and the road ended. Their destination was a house at the top of a forested slope.

Sandra's mother opened the door as they walked down the path. "Hello! Nice to see you both!"

Sandra pushed forward eagerly to embrace her mother. Mary said, over Sandra's shoulder, "Hello, David. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks, Mary."

Sandra stood aside as David and Mary exchanged polite kisses. Mary's dog capered at their feet.

"How's the landscaping business? Bandy! Behave yourself! Shoo!"

"We're battling on okay, thanks."

"Oh, David," Sandra said, "we've got loads of work coming in." She patted David on the shoulder. "He's very much in demand!"

Irritated, but not knowing why, David turned away.

"That's good." David's mother-in-law ushered them both inside. "Go through to the back veranda; I'll bring you both a cuppa."

Walking through the hallway, David glanced at the various knick-knacks on display: small sculptures, wall hangings, a couple of posters from the sixties that looked faded and a little sad, pictures of Sandra as a child; the usual memoirs of a life. There was one photo of David and Sandra in their apartment. They stood on the balcony smiling into the living room. Behind them, the two parallel streets and the rows of houses vanished into an over-exposed glare.

Sandra's mother went into the kitchen. On the veranda, David and Sandra gazed out over Mary's garden.

"She's put in a bit of work," Sandra said, as she sat down at the small veranda table.

David looked out at the garden on which he had once worked, and which was now quite different from the orderly landscaped scene he had created, though he could see the remnants of his design. The paths among the untidy native plants were still straight, and he could still see the remains of his neat rockery towards the back. But the clear boundary he had established at the rear fence of the property was now unclear, and the bush beyond seemed to be washing up towards the house.

Mary returned with a tray. "I've done a roast," she said as she sat down with her daughter. "It'll be ready in an hour or so."

David turned around and joined them, asking Sandra, "Did you get the wine out of the car?"

"I've got it in the kitchen, thanks," Mary said, responding for Sandra.

"I hope you didn't go to too much trouble over lunch, Mum," said Sandra.

"No, no don't worry," Mary assured her, leaning over the table and pouring the tea. "It's really easy. I don't usually have the excuse for a roast, living by myself, so it's good to have you here. Help yourselves to milk and sugar."

"A roast what?" David asked.

"Lamb. Shall we go for a stroll after we've drunk our tea? Bandy, you naughty dog! Get down!"

"Okay!" Sandra replied.

"Maybe I'll just sit here and read something."

"No, David!" Sandra protested. "Come with us!"

"But don't you and your mum--you know--want to have a mother-daughter chat?"

"Oh, we do that all the time on the phone, don't we, San&a?"

David gazed at his mother-in-law, wondering what she could find to do all day. He said, "Aren't you a bit bored or lonely by yourself, Mary?"

Mary nodded. "I do feel alone sometimes, yes. I'm used to it. On the other hand, I'm never bored. I have plenty to read, I have friends up here, and I enjoy walking down in the forest."

"You should be careful down there, Mum," Sandra said. "There's no phone coverage if you get into trouble."

Mary replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I never stray from the paths, and I'm careful not to overdo things. I love to find a nice spot and just be there."

David stared out at the uncertain borders of Mary's garden. "Why don't you have a clear boundary, Mary? It's not obvious where your property ends."

Mary sipped her tea. "I think it creates a nice effect--it makes the garden look a lot bigger."

David stared down into his cup, considering his mother-in-law's words.

Their tea consumed, they stepped down from the veranda and walked through the garden, led by Sandra's mother.

"You've changed things round a bit, then, Mary," David remarked.

Catching a too casual note in his voice, Mary replied, "Yes, er, I felt I needed something a bit more informal. Bandy! Come here!"

Beyond the garden, they pushed through the vegetation until they connected with a rocky bushwalker's path that began to wind downwards, through shrubs and tall bushes, and into the forest that welled up from the valley below. The eucalypt scent was strong.

"You always head downwards when you go into the mountain forest," David muttered. "Down into the valleys. And when you want to come home, you climb out. Don't you think that's weird?"

Nobody answered.

They passed through a thick area of vegetation, and a few branches began to catch at them. The path continued to descend.

"Oh, Sandra, look at that wonderful bottlebrush!"

"Yes it's lovely, Mum."

David looked around uneasily. In all directions, his vision was beginning to be blocked by leaves, ferns, branches and bark. To him, it seemed a formless tangle. "I hope you're not going to get us lost," he said, half jokingly.

"Of course not!" Mary smiled at him.

Sandra glanced around at David.

The path continued to descend. A short time later, it opened out into a small glade, lit by the morning sun. On the other side, two tracks led off.

"Bandy! Come back at once! Drat that dog."

"This is a lovely place," Sandra said. "I've always liked it." She sat on a nearby log. "It's so peaceful and pretty here, isn't it, David?" She looked at David as she spoke, expecting agreement, but he did not answer.

Mary said, "This is one of my spots, where I like to come and sit, and read."

David thought, we should rescue her from this, bring her down to the city. Otherwise it's going to swallow her up.

"Mum, you really ought to have the dog on a lead down here."

"I know I should, but he's usually well behaved. Having visitors has made him excited. The silly thing. He's run off chasing something."

Above their heads, a solitary cockatoo flapped across the glade, and settled on a nearby tree.

Mary and Sandra called the dog's name a few times, their voices echoing in the forest in the strange flat way that forests return sound, half absorbed.

Mary said, "I'd better go off and find him, if you don't mind. Do you two want to sit here for a minute?"

"Sure, Mum," Sandra answered. "But wouldn't you like us to come and help?"

"It might be easier if there's just me. Back in a jiffy." Mary disappeared into the forest.

A few minutes later, Sandra muttered, "I wish you'd stop tapping your feet and fidgeting."

David felt pressure building within him. "Why are we supposed to like this?" he suddenly demanded, waving his hand at the forest surrounding them. "You can't live in it! It's too hot during the day, too cold at night; when it burns--you're dead!"

Sandra patted him on the back. "Calm down, David. I know you're not much of a nature person. We don't have to stay here long. I wonder how Mum's going? Maybe we should take a look for her."

"No!" David insisted. "Let's stay here. Or go back to the house."

"I feel like walking some more. Coming?"

"No!"

"I won't be long." Sandra stood up, brushing bits of bark off her pants, and walked to the other side of the clearing. Regretting his obstinacy, David gazed after her as she vanished down one of the paths, following her mother.

"Shit!" he muttered to himself, glancing around. He saw nothing.

As he waited, alone, he became more sensitive, more agitated. There was no one to talk to. All around, the forest was stealthily animated with rustlings, clicks and birdcalls. Where he sat, the air was calm, still, but he could see the tops of the trees waving and flapping, hear the wind rumbling in them, like distant road traffic.

A solitary white cumulus cloud drifted above the trees, swelling slowly, swaying like a gigantic balloon.

As David gazed at the forest, something terrible happened to him. His vision began to fail. He still saw colour and shapes, but the world he knew was disintegrating. When he looked for more than a few seconds in the same direction, the view dissolved into frantic patterns that he could not understand. He had to keep moving his gaze; he could not sit still.

Panic-struck, David leapt up and fled along the trail he had seen Sandra follow.

The ground below his feet was the only thing he could recognise. Above, the sky was a vast mottled green mesh. Ahead, and all around, his vision was filled with dark verticals and savage, endlessly radiating patterns, hectic in hundreds of shades of green. There seemed to be no perspective; everything was flat. He stumbled. The path was descending.

It was terrifying to look up, to see the colossal, cold indifference above: a pointless, terrible chaos. People were maudlin fools, always burbling on about "mother nature", trying to be reverent about it, but never truly seeing it.

He was forced to look down and identify his feet as they shuffled along, to try to focus on the earth and pebbles, desperate not to face the appalling scene that circled and enclosed.

A voice began to scream. "Sandra! Sandra!"

The voice kept calling, for a while. Then there was nothing: no voice, no feet, no path, and no thoughts; only dizzying patterns.

Lights. Buzzing. Something crashed hard.

A period of time.

Words: "There he is, he's fallen over--what's the matter with him?"

The words seemed to affect the chaos; a part of it became a fraction more ordered.

"Sandra, he's worse than the last time you came!"

A voice, Sandra's, said, "David? Are you okay?"

This was an arm, lifting, guiding. The chaos faded a little more.

"Get me out of here!"

"Yes, okay, don't worry." Sandra's hand held his, pulling him along. He kept looking down; he recognised shoes.

He heard Mary's voice. "But I didn't realise he was this bad."

"Neither did I."

"Where did you both go?" David demanded, growing angry, now that he thought he was safe, safe enough to begin to feel humiliated.

Sandra and her mother guided David back up the path: up, up to the house and safety. David kept his eyes lowered.

A few days passed.

David sat on his balcony, restored to normal after a brief interval of calming medication. The doctors found nothing much wrong with him; there was no sign of a cancerous growth in his head; he was not mentally disturbed. Perhaps he had collapsed from exhaustion and stress.

The roofs below glowed. They flowed away from him in ever diminishing reflections of each other, each perfectly aligned with the next, crown upon crown, almost as far as David could see. From each roof a television antenna sprouted, all aligned in the same direction. Their metallic branches were at right angles to the trunk, and their small cross-members were at right angles to each branch.

It was home.