On the screen, a man with a rotund belly and bushy beard was talking about Tasmanian devils. Holding up a poster, he explained the breeding program at his private wildlife park. He spoke about an illness affecting devils called facial tumour disease. While he talked, the camera crossed to devils with sores and lumpy wounds on their faces. In some cases, the tumours had eaten away the devils’ faces so the poor creatures looked like monsters. Miki felt sick. The man was saying how much he loved devils and wanted to save them. He said the tumours were caused by a disease passed on by bite wounds. Devils bit each other all the time; Miki knew how an argument over food could easily lead to a fight. She wondered, with a flash of panic, whether this disease had killed the other two adult devils at the tip last year. They’d had sores on their faces. The man said all the devils were dying—ninety per cent had already gone. He spoke of losing them forever. Miki was so distressed she couldn’t listen anymore. She stumbled into the main hall and wove numbly through the exhibits, heading for the door.
‘Are you all right?’ The lady behind the counter was speaking to her. ‘You look upset.’
Miki hesitated. Could she put her trust in this woman? ‘I saw the film about the devils,’ she said miserably. ‘I didn’t know about the disease.’
The woman tutted sympathetically. ‘Yes, I know. It’s awful, isn’t it?’
Miki gravitated towards the desk. The woman had a kind smile and crinkles at the corners of her eyes. The name tag on her generous bosom said Geraldine; on the counter in front of her lay a thick, forked-open book.
‘I think I’ve seen devils with that disease,’ Miki said.
Geraldine looked concerned. ‘Around here?’
‘Yes. At the tip. Some of them disappeared.’
Geraldine’s face twisted with worry. ‘We need to tell someone. Devils are a Tasmanian icon. We’re afraid they’ll go extinct like the tigers.’ She paused. ‘I’m Geraldine, by the way.’
‘I know.’ Miki pointed to her name tag.
Geraldine smiled. ‘And you’re Miki, aren’t you? From the takeaway.’
Miki was surprised this woman knew her. Was it possible that everyone in town knew everyone else, except her? What else didn’t she know?
‘I’m sorry I don’t come into your shop,’ Geraldine was saying. She patted her bulging waistline. ‘Trying to watch my weight.’ She opened a laptop on her desk and typed on the keyboard. ‘There’s a scientist in Hobart working on that disease,’ she said. ‘His name’s Dale, and he’s been asking whether anyone has seen devils around town. How would you feel about talking to him?’
‘Perhaps he could find them himself,’ Miki suggested. Kurt wouldn’t want her talking to strangers.
Geraldine shook her head. ‘I’m sure he’d want to speak to you. He’d want to hear about everything you’ve seen, especially about the devils that disappeared. Why don’t I find out when he’s going to be here again? He might make a special trip.’
Miki pretended to look through the postcards while Geraldine was typing. She wanted to leave, but that would be rude. She shouldn’t have come here. Things were getting out of control.
‘There you go.’ Geraldine smiled. ‘I’ve sent him an email.’
Miki’s knees felt weak, so she put a hand on the counter to steady herself. Geraldine’s book was there; Miki’s eyes were drawn to the cover: The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton. ‘How is your book?’ she asked.
‘It’s very good. It won the Booker, you know.’
‘The Booker?’
‘The international prize for fiction.’
‘Of course.’ Miki tried to hide her embarrassment.
‘You like reading?’ Geraldine asked.
‘I love it.’
Geraldine’s smile widened. ‘That’s great. I do too. What books do you read?’
‘I like classics,’ Miki said, feeling safer.
‘Me too.’ Geraldine’s face lit up. ‘How wonderful. We can talk to each other about books—there’s not much opportunity for that around here.’
Miki pointed to The Luminaries. ‘Your book is almost as big as the Bible.’
‘The Bible is an enormous book,’ Geraldine agreed.
‘I’ve read most of it,’ Miki said.
‘Really?’ The older woman’s eyebrows lifted so high they were lost beneath her fringe. ‘That’s an achievement.’
‘It’s the only book we had growing up.’
Geraldine tutted. ‘People should grow up in a house full of books. Do you have many now?’
‘Only a few, but I read them over and over.’
‘You should join the library,’ Geraldine said. ‘You can borrow ten books at a time, and if they don’t have what you want you can put in a request and they’ll bring it across from another library.’
‘I don’t think that will work for me.’ Miki knew Kurt wouldn’t approve.
Geraldine frowned. ‘What books do you have?’
‘Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights and Tess of the D’Urbervilles.’
‘Good taste. Those are wonderful books. I used to teach literature at school and I loved teaching the romantic classics. These days they mostly teach modern stuff. Such a shame.’ She sighed. ‘I had to give teaching away when I moved here. Not many jobs at the local high school and I don’t like to drive, so I’m doing something easier now, working here … although some days you wonder … especially when the children are screaming and you have difficult people.’ She smiled. ‘The books save me. I read whenever I can.’
Books saved Miki too.
‘What I love about books,’ Geraldine went on, ‘is that they show you about life. You fall in love with the characters and see the world through their eyes. Then you realise parts of their lives are just like yours. Different setting and time, but the problems are the same. You just have to be clever enough to see it. Does it work like that for you too?’
‘Yes,’ Miki said. Hadn’t she been thinking about Jane Eyre just that morning?
Geraldine picked up The Luminaries and slid in a bookmark. ‘I’m sad you have only three books—that’s not many. Fact is I have too many books at home, so next time you come here I’ll lend you one. How about that?’
Miki didn’t know what to say. A new book would be good, but how would she hide it from Kurt?
‘What sort of book would you like?’ Geraldine asked. ‘Where shall we start? Another classic, perhaps?’
Miki nodded. That would be safest with Kurt.
‘Good. I’ll bring something tomorrow … Oh, look—Dale has written back already, and he says he can come in two weeks. What day would be best? You can choose.’
Miki felt paralysed. There was no way Kurt would allow it. And what if he found out about the key? She wouldn’t be able to get out.
‘How about 7 p.m. Monday?’ Geraldine prompted. ‘Does that work?’
‘I don’t know,’ Miki said.
Geraldine’s eyes softened. ‘Is everything all right?’
Miki swallowed. ‘Monday’s okay. But if I’m not here, you’ll have to go without me.’
Geraldine smiled. ‘That sounds like a plan. Dale will bring a car full of traps, and then you can show him the tip.’ Her smile deepened. ‘How about I come too? We’ll have fun. I’d love to see a Tasmanian devil in the wild.’
PART II
Germination
9
Max was looking forward to Rosie having pups. Every day her tummy grew bigger, and the other morning he’d even noticed a bead of milk on one of her teats. Since she’d gone to the vet with Leon nearly two weeks ago, Max had been looking after her. He’d made a bed for her in the shed and he put out her food every night: two cups of dry kibble. It couldn’t be long now till the pups were born, and this time he wasn’t going to miss it.
‘Hey, Mum,’ he said. ‘Can we get a muzzle for Rosie so she can’t eat her pups?’
It was just before dinner. Mum was at the kitchen bench, cutting potatoes. She frowned. ‘I wouldn’t worry about
that.’
‘But she did it before. Dad said she did.’
Mum stopped cutting and stared through the window. It was dark out there. Max couldn’t imagine what she might be looking at. She sighed, but no answer.
‘Mum, please. I want to see the pups this time.’
She scraped cubes of potato into a pot, half-filled it with water and set it on the stove.
‘What if she has her pups up in the forest?’ Max asked.
‘Yes,’ Mum said. ‘That would be a problem.’
‘I want her to have them at home.’
Mum sighed again. ‘I’ll tell Dad to leave her here instead of taking her to work.’
But later that night Dad was cross when Mum suggested Rosie should stay home. ‘The dog guards the ute,’ he growled. ‘She always comes to work with me.’
‘Maybe she shouldn’t,’ Mum said. ‘It’s not as if you’re carrying anything worth stealing. And look what happened to her last time.’
‘That wasn’t my fault.’
‘Of course it was. If you’d tied her up properly, she wouldn’t have fallen off and cut herself.’
Dad had nothing to say to that. Max knew he was still angry at Leon for getting Rosie stitched up.
‘If you leave her home, I can look after her,’ Max offered.
Dad scowled. ‘Are you two ganging up on me?’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Mum said, laughing.
‘When do those stitches come out?’ Dad grunted. ‘I’m not paying for it.’
‘Leon said it was all covered,’ Mum said.
‘Do we have to take her to the vet?’ Dad asked.
‘Leon will take her,’ said Max. ‘But he can’t if she’s up in the forest.’
Dad was mad then. He stomped around the house cursing Leon. ‘If I wanted him to take my dog to the vet, I would have asked for it.’
‘You’d never take a dog to the vet,’ Mum pointed out.
‘I don’t want to owe him anything.’
‘That’s easy to fix,’ Mum said. ‘He was asking if we knew anyone on the footy team. Says he’s interested in playing. Maybe you could put in a word for him with Robbo.’
Dad glared at her. ‘Why were you talking to him?’
‘He was kicking a footy with Max.’
‘Got a new coach, have you?’ Dad stared at Max, and Max couldn’t help squirming.
‘He’s more patient than you,’ Mum said.
‘But nowhere near as good,’ Max added quickly. Mum was mucking this up. She was making Dad madder.
Dad gave Max a pleased smile and brushed a hand over his head. ‘Good on you, buddy.’
‘So you’ll speak to Robbo?’ Mum asked.
‘And can Rosie stay home?’ Max put in.
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Dad, opening a beer.
Next morning when Dad drove off, Rosie stayed home. Max ran over to Leon’s and knocked on the door. ‘Rosie can get her stitches out today,’ he told Leon.
Leon scratched his head. ‘Oh yeah. I forgot about that.’
‘Can you take her?’
Leon looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure. I can’t leave her in my car all day. How about I ring and see if she can stay at the clinic while I’m at work?’
‘What if the pups are born while she’s there?’ Max asked. ‘Will the vet get to keep them?’
‘No. The pups belong to you.’
Max sprawled on the doorstep while Leon made the call and talked to someone. ‘Who was that?’ Max asked when Leon was finished.
‘It was the vet nurse. She was very kind to Rosie.’
‘Is the vet nice too? Is he a good bloke?’
‘He isn’t a bloke,’ Leon said. ‘He’s a lady called Kate. And she’s very good.’
When Leon brought Rosie home from the vet that afternoon, Max inspected her wound to make sure all the stitches were gone. ‘Did they make you pay?’ he asked, because Mum had been going on about it since he arrived home from school. Leon said no, but he had that look on his face adults got when they told lies.
Max took Rosie home and fed her in the shed. She was restless after dinner, scratching around in her blankets and wandering about the yard, sniffing like she was looking for a bone. Maybe she was upset after having to sit in a cage all day. Max didn’t blame her; it would have been like sitting in class.
Dad came home just on dark, and Mum called Max to dinner. It was meat and three veg again: barbecue chops with boiled potato, carrots and peas. Suzie was picking at her peas like they were poison, but Mum and Dad ignored her. If Max had mucked around with his food like that, he would have been in trouble. Nobody was talking much so he thought he’d better fill in the space. He didn’t like it when Mum and Dad were quiet because that meant an argument might be brewing. ‘Rosie got her stitches out,’ he said, knocking his plate with a clatter that made Dad look up.
‘Why is your fork in the wrong hand?’ Dad said. ‘If you’re going to eat like an animal you can go out with the dog.’
That wasn’t a bad idea. Max wouldn’t mind being outside with Rosie. At least it was quiet out there. No arguments. And nobody telling him what to do. He picked up his plate and fork to go, but Dad yelled at him to sit back down. Max shook his head—he couldn’t win.
‘Did it cost anything to get those stitches out?’ Dad asked, scowling.
‘No. Leon said it was free.’
‘Damn right, it ought to be free. Especially when I didn’t want it done in the first place.’
‘Her scar looks good. That’s what Leon said.’
Dad glared at Max. ‘What would he know? He’s a bloody Parkie.’
Max asked, ‘What’s that?’
‘Someone who works in the National Park,’ Mum said. ‘A ranger.’
‘A Parkie is someone who locks up trees and steals people’s jobs,’ Dad snarled, leaning across the table towards Max. ‘And don’t you forget it.’
‘Is that what Leon does?’ Max asked Mum. Sometimes Dad got all hot about things that weren’t true.
‘He empties rubbish bins and fixes up trails,’ Mum said.
‘He’s a damned greenie, that’s what he is,’ Dad insisted.
‘His family were all loggers,’ Mum said.
‘Sounds like bullshit to me. You believe him?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Then you’re just as clueless as he is.’
Max bent his head and got on with eating. The sooner he was done, the sooner he could get out of here.
After dinner he found Rosie in the shed, sitting in a funny position and pushing with her tummy. Max wondered if a bone had got stuck, then he realised she might be squeezing out a pup. He ran inside and fetched his torch so he could see. By the time he got back, Rosie had dropped something on the blankets and was eating a piece of red rubbery meat. Was she eating her pup?
Max shouted at her and reached to pull the pink stuff from her mouth, but it was slippery and Rosie rumbled at him. She gulped the last bit down and turned to the blankets, snuffling at the thing she’d left there. Out came her tongue, swiping. At first Max thought she was going to eat this too, then he took a closer look and almost burst with excitement. Rosie was cleaning a little white pup. She wasn’t a bad mum after all.
He crouched and watched Rosie busy licking. She pushed the pup all over the place, and its head kept bobbing up and down. Its eyes were shut tight and its ears were funny little flaps of black skin.
Rosie started squatting again and pushed out another pup. She cleaned it, then a third one came out. Then she lay on her side, and the pups wriggled up to her tummy and tried to latch on to her teats. Two of them worked it out quickly, but the last one went the wrong way, right up under Rosie’s nose.
Max couldn’t handle it—on hands and knees, he gently scooped up the pup and pointed it onto one of Rosie’s teats. Luckily Rosie didn’t seem to mind. She lay back while Max helped the pup to hook on. It made him feel good to watch those pups sucking. Rosie looked like she’d done
this before.
Mum came out when Rosie had six pups in total. Smiling, she sat down with Max to watch. ‘She’s really good at looking after them,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been here the whole time and she hasn’t had any troubles.’
Mum’s smile faded a little.
‘Look at her licking them,’ Max said quietly. ‘She’s cleaning them up. Isn’t she clever? What happened those other times? Didn’t she know what to do?’
‘I don’t know, Max.’ Mum’s face had a crumpled look.
‘What’s the pink stuff that comes out with the pups?’
‘That’s the afterbirth.’
‘It’s gross. Why does she eat it?’
‘To clean up, I suppose. Like all mothers.’
Max was horrified. ‘You didn’t eat the afterbirth, did you?’
Mum laughed so hard she had to lie down on the edge of Rosie’s bed. ‘Oh, Max,’ she gasped. ‘You’re so funny. Of course I didn’t eat the afterbirth. Only animals do that.’
Max looked at her, surprised. Didn’t she know humans were animals too?
‘Well, some people eat it,’ Mum said. ‘I’ve heard you can make it into lasagne.’ She was snorting through her laughter. ‘Imagine that. You’d never want to eat lasagne again.’
Max had never seen her so laugh so crazily. Part of him wanted her to stop, but it was fun to see her so happy. ‘I’m glad you didn’t do it,’ he said. ‘And please don’t make lasagne this week.’
Then they were both laughing so much it made Rosie growl. Max had to tell Mum to shush up. Sometimes parents got carried away and forgot how to be sensible.
10
Thursday night, Leon pulled up at the oval for footy training and parked under the gum trees. Shane had told him the coach was willing to give him a run, but suddenly it didn’t seem such a good plan. The weather was terrible and the field was a sea of mud. But that was footy, wasn’t it? Rain or shine, you had to get out there.
The Orchardist's Daughter Page 9
