The Shepherd's Hut

by Tim Winton

  For a while I couldn’t even get up, let alone walk. And there was bull ants crawling over me like I was dead already and I figured it was better to get to me feet than be eaten alive, so I dragged meself up and hung off a jam wattle till I could man up and get going again.

  So I did that. I drank off me water and ditched the jug. Got moving. But not real quick. And it wasn’t long before I knew things weren’t gunna go our way.

  I don’t even know how long it took me to get there. All I know is it was too long.

  I saw the shine off the Jeep before I even copped the hut roof. It was parked along the lakeshore maybe half a click south. They come in just the way I dreaded. When I got in closer, trying to stay as low as the knee would let me, there was no sign of them or of the old man. And I knew odds were he hadn’t listened to me. He wouldn’t be hid up behind the ridge, the silly bugger. If he hadna seen them coming he’d be well in the shit already. I shrugged off the pack and used the .243 as a prop as I got belly down on the dirt. The knee hurt like a motherfucker.

  I wondered how long I should wait. Then I heard his voice. That crazy bloody laugh. They were all inside the hut together.

  Fintan was a sneaky old prick, he was twice as smart as he looked and about half as clever as he thought he was. But if he was still laughing things hadn’t got nasty yet. I had time to do something to keep him safe. Thing was, I couldn’t figure what that thing might be. I could shoot their windscreen out, give him a chance to run, but Fintan wasn’t any sort of runner. And maybe before I did anything at all I needed to know what was happening. I had to get close. So I crawled in slow and bitsy like a half squashed bug. I hauled meself along with the Browning. And it took a while, but in the end I washed up in pretty much the same spot where I hid that first day. Same pebbly dirt, same thornybushes.

  From there I could see the open door, the shutter poled out, no smoke from the chimney. And there were voices. Fintan’s was easy to pick. You’d never miss that dancing Irish sound. The others were hard and blunt. But I couldn’t see much, not even through the scope. The angle was bad and it was dim in there anyway and the light outside was hot and white.

  Out front the billy was steaming in the coals. He was making them tea, the wily coot, giving them the priesty runaround, seeing if he couldn’t still talk his way out of a corner. And this was one time I hoped he’d never shut up. Both of us needed all the time he could give us.

  That was when I noticed the goat strung up on the gambrel. It was between me and the hut, right there in me face. Dunno how I didn’t see it before. And honest, I could of spat. Because instead of hiding like I told him and waiting for me signal, the dozy old prick had gone down the mill yard and made himself busy. But he’d only got the beast half skun before those two jokers showed up. The goat looked like some unlucky schoolkid with his jumper pulled over his head.

  Then Fintan give a yelp. Or it might of just been that laugh of his. Whatever it was I was twitchy as fuck now. I didn’t like the look of any of this.

  I wondered what me chances were of creeping up to the door. Surprise the shit out of them if I could get that far. But if both those pricks had guns and there’s three people there in the dark and me suddenly lit up in the sunny doorway, well none of that was gunna go smooth and not much of it would go our way neither. But it still looked like the only chance I had. I thought about letting off a shithawk call to warn the old man I was on me way in, but tell the truth I couldn’t work up the breath for it, I was panting like a mutt, sucking up the balls to make me move. And I was half a second from pushing up to go when the dude in the tiny hat showed in the doorway.

  I caught him clear in the scope and saw he was a big shiny-skinned fella with earrings and a chipped tooth. He looks left and right and then behind him comes Fintan and the longhair after that, pulling down his mirror shades. The old priest’s bare-chested and his shorts are halfway off his arse and there’s blood all down his arms and belly, and for a sec I think they’ve been at him already but then I remember the goat.

  I thought about the birdcall again. And then I said to meself what kind of stupid idea is this, giving a deaf bloke a noise for a signal? So I didn’t make a sound. The scope got fuzzy and that was when I knew how bad I was shaking.

  All three of them stood out in the yard a bit. And right in front of them the billy come to the boil, the lid started jumping and a tail of steam got up. Them blokes stood looking at it a sec. Fintan said loud and plain he best go in and get the makings for a brew, said it cheery as you like but if I could see the lumps in the back of them two’s shirts from here he must of twigged they had guns by now. But there he was, nattering away like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, edging his way back a little and I’m urging him on, go mate, get inside, grab the bloody shotgun.

  I jacked a round into the chamber then and it sounded so loud and gritty I couldn’t believe no one heard. I sighted on Fintan first. He was all smiles and twinkles but I could read him like a book. If he come out shooting I had to make sure I didn’t hit him. The longhair was closer to the door, the blast from the shotty would knock him down. But the driver in the hat was further my way, it was him I had to hit. So I watched Fintan with one bare eye and sighted on the hat with the other.

  But the driver’s casing the yard. The windmill. The half skun goat.

  No hurry, he says to Fintan. Don’t go to any trouble.

  Oh, no trouble, says Fintan, slopping back a way in his gumboots.

  And then quick as a snake longhair is between him and the door and the old man’s got that rolled-gold look of surprise on and I’m thinking ah, that’s fucked it. The hat jerks his head at the goat on the gambrel.

  Looks like we interrupted something, he goes.

  No matter, says Fintan. She’ll keep awhile. Long enough for a spot of tea. I can make a damper, if you fancy.

  Maybe later, says the longhair behind his sunnies.

  So, goes the hat, all curious and friendly, how long you been out here?

  Whatsay?

  Here. On this land. How long?

  Fintan goes, Oh, a nun’s age, now. I’m not the lessee, mind, I’m only a guest these days.

  Okay, says the driver in the hat. Like a caretaker then?

  Fintan just smiles.

  So who owns the place? goes the hat.

  Oh, some corporate shenanigan.

  Foreigners, says the longhair. Chinese, I’ll bet.

  Well, goes Fintan. It’s the way of it, these days.

  Yep, says the hat. The poor old Australian farmer’s becoming a thing of the past.

  You’re a man of the land yourself, then? asks Fintan.

  Yeah, says the hat. More or less. We’re looking at some property round this way.

  Ah, says Fintan. A spot of reconnaissance. I see.

  How long did you say you were in the game? asks the longhair.

  Pastoral concerns? Oh, fifty years, give or take.

  So, goes the hat. You’d know where all the bodies are buried out this way. Wouldn’t be much got past an old hand like yourself.

  Oh, says the old man, I don’t take much of an interest anymore. Keep to myself, these days.

  The billy rattles and steams. Fintan pushes his specs back up his nose. The afternoon sun hits the scaly top of his head and he’s licking his lips like he’s thinking hard and fast.

  Nice and quiet out here, says the longhair.

  It is indeed.

  And just you out here these days is it? asks the hat.

  Yes, yes, just me.

  And then I catch them blokes looking at each other and it’s like something’s passed between them. And me heart fucking sinks like a brick. Because they’re looking at me camo clobber and me shirt and socks all strung out on the wire. And I know sure as shit they’ve seen two pannikins on the sink inside and two greasy plates as well. Across the clearing, under the stubby gum, me swag’s still unrolled and the sheets are all twisted up the way I climbed out of them this morning.

&nb
sp; The driver in the hat walks over to the tree and checks out the dripping goat. At his feet a thousand greedy flies bubble and shine on the dirt. On the grey stump the knife and steel are layed down side by side. Fintan shuffles up near him with the longhair in behind and I can see his eyes like trapped fish in the bowls of his specs.

  Well, says the hat. Gotta be a bit of a challenge living out here without a vehicle.

  Fintan shrugs and opens his mouth.

  Oh, says longhair, cutting him off. His mate’s got that.

  Whatsay?

  I said your mate’ll have the car, won’t he?

  No, no, says Fintan. There’s no vehicle.

  No kidding, says the hat.

  I’m not even legal to drive, now, says the old man.

  Not even a trail bike? says the longhair.

  No, not even that. Strange as it may seem.

  Well, you’re a puzzle then, aren’t you? says the hat.

  A fountain of bullshit is what he is, says the longhair.

  Ah, lads, I mystify myself, ye know. Now, how about that brew?

  The poor old bugger never even saw the kick coming. And I only copped it at the last moment when longhair leant back and chopped him one in the kidney with his gay Adidas trainer. Like a karate thing it was, just a white flash you only saw after the old fella was already down on his hands and knees huffing and moaning. And then come another kick and the old man cried out, and the turd in the hat talked on, reasonable as anything.

  I didn’t make a sound. I don’t think I was even breathing. I’m seeing all this close up, so tight in I can’t get things focused in the scope anymore. And I’m doing exactly fuck all about it. I’ve still got the frigging safety on.

  Righto, said the hat. Let’s rewind. I’m in a hurry here. I don’t have time for your piss-weak act. What’s the deal here, Gramps?

  How many of youse are there? said the longhair. What the fuck’re youse up to?

  Fintan felt about on the mucky dirt for his specs. I dunno if he had the wind to say anything but the longhair booted him again before he could.

  Where’s your phone?

  No phone, said Fintan real quiet. No phone and no radio.

  Go and look, said the hat to the hair.

  Why don’t you go and fuckin look?

  Don’t be a dick. Just check it out.

  Jesus, said the hair, pulling away.

  And I figured this was me best chance, now I had one of them cunts away from the other. I waited till the longhair was gone then I tried to wind the scope back for range but me hand was staked and me fingers were like they belonged on a stranger’s hand and I could see the shadow of Fintan getting to his knees and the bloke with the hat lending an arm like he was some kind of civilized individual, one of nature’s fucking gentlemen, and now I’ve gone and dialled the scope so far everything’s a murky blur, so I’m futzing it back again when that longhaired bastard comes out and yells there’s no bloody power, how can they run a phone out here with no fucking electricity?

  Christ, said the hat. Haven’t you boys heard of solar energy?

  Oh, said Fintan, upright now, with his specs on again. Sure I have, now. And what a marvel it must be.

  You should look into it, mate.

  Well, said Fintan, a bit shaky. Note to self. Note to self, indeed.

  Nah, said the hair. Him and his mates’re too smart for that.

  No batteries, said the hat. Not even a genny?

  Ah, noisy divils, those generators. Never did like them.

  He’s old-school, this fella, said the hat. He’s a hard case.

  You lads seem to be several drinks ahead of me, said Fintan. I think I’ve lost the thread of the conversation somewhat.

  Well, said the hat, it’s probably best we clear this up quickly then.

  He took up the knife and cut the goat off the gambrel. And that’s when the old fella’s face changed.

  Get something to tie him with, said the hat.

  My boy, said Fintan while the hair scrubbed round. You’ve come to the wrong place and the wrong man.

  Is that a threat, Grandpa?

  No, son, it’s a simple statement of fact.

  And I figured they were only bluffing him, that he’d see the guns and the gambrel and start telling them whatever it was they wanted to know, but when the longhair come out with a hank of barbwire I knew it wasn’t gunna be like that.

  They lashed him by the hands to the gambrel. He didn’t struggle, he just nattered away like he thought they were ridiculous, like it was all a joke and a mistake. And all his chat must of got up them because the longhair hit him and his glasses bent and one side cracked. And he laughed, the mad game old bastard. His skin swam on him like it was too big for his carcase, like it was borrowed. With his hands up over his head like that he could of been a high diver getting ready to jump, or maybe a bloke stopping traffic. What he didn’t look like was a man who was gunna surrender. Even if I wished to fuck he would.

  They didn’t hoist him off the ground these dumb cunts. I reckon they didn’t know how. They just started poking at him with the blade, the knife I sharpened for him as a favour. Just a little at first, picking at him like it wasn’t full serious. And they got into some song and dance about what we were up to, me and him, and got nowhere at all which is when they got real pissy and stepped it up.

  And it was like all this was happening on telly. The shit they said and did. How weird and familiar it looked, horrible and not quite real. They’re doing stuff to Fintan you wouldn’t do to a mad dog. Like they’re in some sicko vid even they can’t believe is real. So you think in a sec it’ll stop, this won’t keep going, people don’t really do this shit.

  But there it is, they do it, keep at it, and you’re stuck looking. Locked in watching. Because you can’t truly believe in it. And you’re filthy at yourself for letting it happen. With the blade you stoned up sharp as a motherfucker to show you’re grateful without actually coming out and blabbing it.

  It isn’t like these shitheads are enjoying it, I’ll give them that. Dude with the hat’s jabbing his phone, stressing about no signal. And you can see pretty clear that now they got this circus going they don’t know what to do about it, because the old boy’s giving them jackshit and that’s not what they were expecting. So they’re scared now, frightened of themselves and feral with it. Digging Fintan with the knife tip, lifting his baggy grey skin, going on and on about his mate, about me, like where is he, because we got something to give him, something he left behind.

  Over and over they went, on and on. Where was I? Who was I? What fucking was I?

  And I don’t know how to explain this, I’m not proud to be saying it, but I got caught up in it. Not the vicious shit, the cruel part or the streams of blood running off Fintan like he was some kid’s painting. It was like I started wanting him to speak as much as those arseholes did. Maybe more. To make it stop. But also so I could know what Fintan really thought. About who I was. Maybe even what I was. All of a sudden this was deadly important. My heart was busting to know. And I wouldn’t care if he did give me up. Christ, I wished he would. If only he’d say something true about me. It would be worth it just to hear. And that’s the only excuse I can give for letting it go on so long. No one on this earth will ever understand this, I know, not even Lee, who knows me better than anyone alive or dead. But it’s the truth, I got snagged up in the questions. And I was hanging on for his answers.

  And the old man wouldn’t say diddly squat. Half the time he looked happy, the cunning bugger. He was sly. And tougher than I could of imagined. I don’t know if he knew I was there or not. If he couldn’t see me or feel me then he musta believed he was on his own in the empty world and was just gunna die. But if he thought that, he never give a single sign of it. Not once. Not even when that longhaired fucker lost his shit and started cutting him for real. Fintan was high. Like he was tipsy with the fear and glad of the pain. Honest to God, he got bigger in the gambrel, straighter and stronger the lo
nger it went on, and the way his skin got tight you’d swear he was filling up on something. The more they went at him, panicky and savage, the fuller and firmer and prouder he got. Fuck me dead, it was like he was grateful.

  And then he caught me eye. Or maybe it was just a flash of sun off his busted up specs. He turned his head all round. Like a creature feeling the dark. And till that moment he was giving them nothing at all. But then he began to sing. Though it wasn’t quite a song because he could only get it out in bits, in sucks of breath and groans. It come out in grunts like he was throwing it at them. But then I heard the words and I seen it was me he was throwing it at. In gobs and gargles he got a whole verse out. And that was plenty.

  Oh, he fired. A shot at. Kelly. And laid him to the ground. And turning. Round to Da-aa-vis. He received . . . a fatal wound. A bullet pierced his brave young heart. From the pis-tol of Fitzroy. And that is how they cap-tured him. The Wild. Colonial. Boy?

  Maybe he wanted me to kill him then. I’ve thought of that. A lot. Or it could be the song was just somewhere for him to go, like what I done a thousand times meself copping a flogging. It was always hard to tell with Fintan. The first time I heard him sing that song I wondered if he was singing it at me then too, taking the piss and geeing himself up all at once. Maybe it was just that again. But his eyes got so wide. Like he was running out of fun.

  And they kept at him. Like they was out of ideas themselves. But they kept asking the three same questions.

  Where was I?

  Who was I?

  What was I?

  And for a long time Fintan took it just like that. Giving them nothing. And it was horrible and incredible and it all piled up on me, squashing me in, forcing me down, until something cracked and all in one moment it was like everything landed. All the birds landed. The sunlight landed. The song landed. All the decent things in him landed. On me. On my head. And I knew where I was, and who I was, and what I was. Yes, what I am. And it was just like he said. What I laughed at him for. It was like the sun and moon going through me. I was charged.