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meal and stuff myself until I could barely walk. I read random articles from newspaper pages that had been used as packing. Apparently there was a woman in Adelaide who collected dead people’s dentures. She made the idea of collecting mummified ferrets or ceramic camels or even wild animal droppings seem pretty normal. When the daylight became too weak to read by, I clambered back into the cargo net, disassembled, packed myself in my cosy suitcase and promptly fell asleep.

CHAPTER 9
    W HEN I WOKE , the world had stopped vibrating. The silence was unsettling and I could smell my own feet. I realised there were good reasons feet had evolved at the opposite end of the body to noses.
    The fan inside my case had stopped.
    I tongued the switch to set the ventilation spinning but nothing happened. I licked at the roof of my mouth to pop the locks but there was no response.
    Some time during the night the plane had landed.
    Some time during the night the batteries in the Oral Remote Control Centre had run flat.
    I was trapped.
    Over the top of my panic, I heard voices, strangely accented women’s voices.
    ‘Oh my god, will you look at this mess? Empty cans of kangaroo stew and chocolate wrappers all over the place.’
    ‘You boys really had a party, didn’t you?’
    ‘We’re going to have to quarantine every opened article in accord with Section Three-oh-seven-six.’
    ‘But it wasn’t us,’ a man’s voice protested. Maybe the pilot. ‘Archie and I always pack our own food. I tell you it wasn’t us.’
    ‘What are you telling me, airman? Are you saying you got rats in your wings?’
    ‘Heh heh. Mighty intelligent rats that know how to open tins of stewed wildlife. That’s disgusting.’
    ‘Sister,’ one of the women mumbled, ‘that ain’t a sign of intelligence. That’s a rat with big psychological problems. You know what I’m saying?’
    ‘I hope you boys got relatives in town, ’cos this is going to take weeks to sort out. Weeks.’
    ‘We don’t have weeks. We’re on a schedule. Twelve-hour turnaround. We have to get out of this godforsaken country.’
    ‘Watch your mouth, boy.’
    ‘Did I say weeks?’ another women said bitterly. ‘I meant months.’
    ‘Oh, come on!’
    ‘Listen, airman, if you have a problem with that, I suggest you talk to our boss at Aphis. We’re just following orders.’
    I heard a frustrated moan and hurried footsteps on tarmac.
    ‘Okay, ladies, sticker every box that has been tampered with and get them all into Bay Twelve. Let’s contain this madness.’
    My head was spinning. A combination of being detached from my body for hours and the inhalation of toxic sock fumes had taken their toll. Even in my dazed state, I knew I was in trouble and I knew I couldn’t get out. The voices came and went. I heard women and men, Mickey Mouse and a whole chocolate factory worth of Oompa-Loompas. That sock gas was making me crazy. Finally I felt my case move.
    ‘Here’s another one, Candy. It’s a heavy sucker, too.’
    For the briefest of moments, I could smell the refreshing fragrance of aviation fuel as my case was transported to Bay Twelve.
    Bright lights as my case flew open.
    I froze, staring straight ahead. A pretty African-American woman stared back at me. A squeal split the air. The woman disappeared and I heard the unmistakable thunk of a body hitting the floor.
    I stared at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling like a rabbit in a spotlight.
    ‘Oh my god! Candy? Candy, honey, are you okay?’
    Slap slap.
    ‘Wake up, darling. Clifford? Clifford! Candy’s had a fall. Clifford, get in here!’
    There was a faint moan. Running footsteps with the rhythmic accompaniment of jangling keys.
    ‘She’s coming around. Candy, honey, are you okay?’
    ‘Dead body. There’s a dead body in the silver case.’
    ‘What? Candy, you’re delirious. What’s she talking about, Clifford? There ain’t no dead body in . . .’
    A lanky man with the bushiest moustache I had ever seen