Irish Anne, the weekend receptionist, was on the front desk. She was a big woman with a generous bosom, as Grandpa liked to put it, and apparently she was a softie and you could get almost anything past her. ‘Just dropping in to see Grandpa,’ Leon said, passing the desk swiftly in the hope she wouldn’t notice Bonnie in his backpack.
Anne smiled with crooked teeth. ‘He’ll be pleased to see you. It’s always a good day when your grandson comes in.’
Grandpa’s door was shut, and Leon was tempted to shove it open and barge in like a nurse, give the old man a surprise. But something held him back—maybe fear of causing a heart attack. He knocked, and a rustling, scrambling sound came from inside, then Grandpa’s voice calling imperiously, ‘Who is it? Can’t a man have some peace?’
‘It’s me, Grandpa. Leon.’
There was a brief delay before the old man opened the door, naked except for a towel around his midriff. Leon was horrified to see all that loose, saggy skin. Worse still, beyond Grandpa, perched on the bed with his green-checked dressing-gown clutched around her shoulders, was an old woman with a blue-rinsed perm. Under the gown, she was clearly naked too.
Leon tried to back away. ‘Looks like I’ve interrupted something. I’ll drop in another time.’
Grandpa grinned crookedly. ‘No, lad. Come on in. I want you to meet Glenys, my new best friend.’
Leon edged into the room, looking everywhere except at Glenys whose arthritic hands were doing a poor job of keeping her body concealed. ‘I remember you,’ she said, lighting up. ‘You’re the one who brought the dog to see us.’
Leon nodded. By this time, Bonnie was fed up with being squashed in the backpack and she let out a whimper.
‘What have you got in there?’ Glenys asked, excited.
‘Live cargo.’ Leon put the pack on the floor and pulled out the pup. ‘This is Bonnie.’ He set her down and she capered around, bouncing at Leon’s trousers and then at Grandpa, her sharp claws raking his skinny old legs, drawing beads of blood. ‘Watch out, she’s scratched you.’
‘I don’t care.’ Grandpa lifted the pup.
Glenys cackled with delight and reached for Bonnie. ‘What happened to your other dog?’ she asked Leon.
‘Rosie isn’t mine. She belongs to my neighbours. This is one of her pups. I saved her from drowning.’
Grandpa nodded approvingly. ‘Good decision. Every man needs a dog. She’s just what you need—especially since you don’t want a girlfriend.’
‘Oh, he’ll find a girl now,’ Glenys said. ‘Women love a man who’s good with dogs. Can I hold her?’ Grandpa settled Bonnie on Glenys’s lap, and the old woman curled her hands around the pup and raised Bonnie to her face. ‘Oh, she smells good. Just like a puppy should. You’ll bring her in to see us again, won’t you? Everyone here loves dogs.’ She turned to Grandpa. ‘I never knew things would be so exciting when you came into my life.’
‘Oh, I’m full of excitement,’ Grandpa said, winking.
Leon patted his back pocket, seeking tissues to wipe the blood from Grandpa’s leg, but he found Max’s brochure instead; he must have shoved it there during the discussion over keeping the pup. He handed the brochure to Grandpa. ‘What do you think about this? It’s in a couple of weeks.’
The old man fumbled the flyer in gnarly hands. ‘Forest festival, eh?’
‘Do you want to go? It’d be a day out for you. Glenys can come too. We can have a look around then go for a drive in the forest. Maybe up to the park. See some nice country.’
Grandpa squinted at the brochure then gave it to Glenys, who was craning to see.
‘What are all these events?’ Grandpa asked. ‘Bush Push and Truck Pull. I’ve never heard of them.’
‘Me neither. But it could be fun.’
Grandpa’s eyes shone. ‘I think we could do it.’ Then he became serious. ‘Where do they hold this thing, in a paddock? I won’t be able to walk round for long.’
‘We can take folding chairs so you and Glenys can sit down for rests. Soon as you’ve had enough I can bring you both home.’
Grandpa looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. Give it some thought and let me know.’ Leon picked up the pup. ‘I have to take Bonnie home for some dinner. It’s been a big day and she’s hungry. See you, Glenys. Nice to meet you.’
Grandpa followed him into the corridor. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Home to Bruny.’
‘How did it go?’ Grandpa had a knowing gleam in his eye as if he’d already guessed.
‘I had a run-in with Dad and I didn’t hold back.’
‘Might have done him some good.’
Leon shrugged. ‘I don’t hold out much hope. He’s beyond redemption … Anyway, it was nice to meet Glenys. Sorry for barging in on you like that.’
‘Minor interruption. We can pick up where we left off.’
‘Aren’t crosswords more appropriate this time of day? And I’m not sure it’s legal to sleep with other inmates.’
Grandpa grinned. ‘You ought to get yourself a girl too.’
Leon rolled his eyes. ‘Bonnie’s my main girl now.’ He tapped the pup on the head as she peeped out of the backpack. ‘Oh,’ he added, remembering, ‘Dad said to ask how you used to keep your hands warm in summer.’
Grandpa’s smile shrank and he hesitated. ‘He’d have been referring to the summer of ’67 when a fire destroyed the mill on the island.’
‘A bushfire, you mean?’
‘Bushfires everywhere in the south-east that year—but, no, not in this case. It was deliberately lit. The last big mill on the island burned down, and it wasn’t rebuilt. Had a big impact on the local industry and the family who owned it.’
Leon thought of the history book Grandpa had lent him. He remembered reading about a fire at a sawmill on Bruny Island. Was that the one Grandpa was referring to? ‘Did they ever catch the person who lit it?’ he asked.
‘No, he got off scot-free.’
Leon detected a glint in Grandpa’s eyes and began to understand. ‘You know who did it?’
‘Yes, I know him quite well.’ The old man’s lips and eyes flattened. ‘The boss was imposing himself on your grandmother and he had to be stopped. A woman’s honour is important. And a man in a position of power shouldn’t be allowed to take advantage. That’s why I did it. To make my point clear.’
‘But you didn’t even work at the mill.’ Leon tried to keep the shock out of his voice.
‘No, but your grandmother wasn’t the only woman over the years. That man was a predator. I saw it as a strike for the community.’
If Grandpa had been so protective of his wife, Leon thought, it must have been particularly hard for him to hear of his son’s domestic abuse.
‘How did you do it?’ Leon asked.
‘At night, when no one was around. Threw some petrol over a timber stack and struck a match.’
‘How does Dad know?’
‘Your grandmother told him.’
‘She knew too?’
‘A man shouldn’t have secrets from his wife.’
‘Was she upset?’
‘Of course, but she forgave me and stood by me. That’s commitment. That’s marriage. I was a bit of a hothead back then, but she understood.’
‘How do you feel about it now?’
Grandpa’s lips compressed. ‘There are some things in life a man looks back on with regret, and that’s one of them. I made my point, but it affected the whole town. I should have handled it differently and confronted him. It would have been enough. It would have stopped him.’
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. The pup sensed it and started wriggling. ‘Thanks for telling me, Grandpa,’ Leon said.
Grandpa nodded. ‘I hope you don’t judge me too harshly.’
‘No. We all make mistakes.’
‘The important thing is to learn from them. And cultivate the art of forgiveness—like your Grandma. It’s a generous act. You could use a bit
of forgiveness with your father.’
This caught Leon off-guard. ‘Forgive him for hitting Mum? I don’t think I can.’
‘Is he still doing it?’
‘Mum says not.’
‘Has she forgiven him?’
‘She’s still living with him.’
‘I suppose that’s forgiveness. Maybe you should let it go.’
Leon wasn’t ready for forgiveness. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said, inclining his head towards Grandpa’s door. ‘You’d better get back to Glenys or she’ll give you up for dead.’
A twinkle returned to Grandpa’s eyes. ‘Not likely. We’ve still got an hour before dinnertime.’
20
After the logging was suspended, strangers started passing through town. They stopped in the takeaway shop: city people in khaki-coloured clothes with binoculars strung round their necks. Miki heard their murmurs about the eagles’ nest. Word must have got out. And the bird nuts—as Kurt called them—were coming to find it.
Kurt didn’t like the thought of people snooping around in the forest. It made him edgy. He wanted to check the beehives hadn’t been tampered with, so on Monday they rugged up in coats and beanies, and piled into the new ute, hoping the weather would lift on the way.
The logged area was misty and desolate as they drove through it, curtains of rain sweeping the wide open space. To Miki, it still felt like death. She couldn’t stop thinking about the animals that had lived there: birds and possums hiding in old hollow trees. Where had they gone when the machines came through? Some of the birds might have flown away, but what about the nocturnal creatures? Likely they had been crushed as their trees were knocked to the ground. It made Miki feel ill.
The ute sloshed over wet ground, squelching through divots and puddles. The machines were still there, upslope; Miki saw them through shrouds of drizzle. They were halfway up the hill, wet and silent: great hulking metal skeletons waiting for drivers to bring them to life. Miki couldn’t wait for them to be gone—while they remained, there was a possibility they might resume their work.
At the eagles’ tree, Kurt pointed out tyre marks in the mud and footprints where people had trampled around the base of the trunk. The tyre marks disappeared after that, so it seemed nobody had ventured further into the forest. Miki hoped her large old tree was still safe.
They parked in their usual spot, and Kurt agreed to check the big tree before inspecting the hives. They walked towards it through the dripping forest. And there it was, rearing unharmed into the clouds. But something small and silver glinted at its feet. A Turkish Delight wrapper. Miki’s gut clenched.
Grim-faced and silent, Kurt stuffed the wrapper into his pocket then strode back to the car, Miki scuttling anxiously behind him. He lurched in behind the steering wheel. ‘Get in,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to the hives.’ He backed the ute down the disused grassy track that led to the hiding place, braking with a jolt that sent Miki into the dashboard. ‘What the fuck?’ he barked.
He leaped out and, panicking, Miki followed.
The hives were scattered on the ground in pieces: boxes broken and frames strewn. No bees.
Kurt stared at the ruined hives, hands on hips, nostrils flaring. He was quivering, and it seemed to Miki that he was buzzing with all the angry energy of the bees that had lived in those hives—and that, at any moment, he might erupt and bees would pour out of him.
He kicked at the fragmented pieces of wood with his steel-capped boot. ‘Fucking bastards,’ he yelled. ‘Rotten, fucking mongrels.’ He laid his boot in several times, then picked up a slab of wood and hurled it at a nearby tree with a crash. Miki cowered. It reminded her of Father in a rage. Sometimes when things had gone wrong on the farm, Father had gone off, just like this. A blockage in the water pump. A car or tractor that wouldn’t start. Once, he’d spent hours methodically taking the lawnmower apart and putting it together again, and it still wouldn’t go. Miki had watched him trying to start it, pulling the ripcord again and again, becoming more and more jerky and violent, until he’d flung the mower in an arc across the lawn. Thank goodness it had fallen on soft grass and hadn’t been damaged; they never could have afforded another one.
Now Kurt grabbed a second piece of wood and threw it wildly into the bush, then another, with the intent of slamming it into the ground. But a yell curdled in his throat, and suddenly he hunched over. Bees were attached to his hand. He slapped at them, brushing them off and yowling with pain. The bees must have been hiding among the bits of wood, left behind when the rest of the hive departed. Kurt nursed his hand, anguished. He’d been stung before, but never like this. He was panting. ‘I’ll kill the bastards who did this to my bees.’
Miki was relieved it wasn’t the bees he was angry with, but she was worried about his hand, which was already starting to swell. ‘We need to get you to a doctor,’ she said.
He let her lead him to the car. His face was scrunched with agony, and his eyes were dilated and dark. He shuffled into the driver’s seat, right hand clenched like a claw. ‘Put the keys in the ignition,’ he gasped. Miki fumbled but couldn’t find the right key. ‘The big square-topped silver one,’ he said. ‘Yes, now turn it to the right.’ She did as he said, flinching as the ute roared to life. ‘Okay, now get in. Fuck, it hurts.’
He drove bent forward, grimacing with pain, using only his left hand, the fat-looking right one folded across his chest. It was lucky he’d reversed down the trail because that meant they didn’t have to turn. The rear wheels spun in wet grass, then they were jerking through the bush.
It seemed to take forever to reach the main road. Kurt pulled up on the verge. His face was puffy now. ‘You’ll have to take over,’ he said. ‘My vision’s gone blurry.’
Miki was terrified. She’d never driven a car. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Get behind the wheel,’ he ordered.
She sat in the driver’s seat but her feet couldn’t quite reach the pedals.
‘There’s a lever beside the seat,’ he said. ‘Grab it and pull yourself forward.’
She struggled with the lever, eventually dragging the seat into a better position.
‘Now, the clutch,’ he said.
When the ute finally took off, lurching along the road, Miki was afraid to switch gears, but Kurt made her do it. She was whimpering with the stress of it. Panic burned in her chest. She was scared of the ashen colour of Kurt’s bloated face, the swelling of his hand.
A car overtook from behind, blaring its horn because she was swerving all over the road. Her stress morphed into anger. She could have learned how to drive years ago on the farm; it would have been easy for them to teach her on the tractor. But Father and Kurt had restricted her to the vegie patch, the cow and the kitchen.
Without changing gears and with the engine screaming, she drove into town, barely slowing to make a wild turn into the medical centre, bouncing the car over the kerb. She had no idea where to find the brake so the ute stalled in the driveway. Kurt was beyond caring. He was groggy, his breathing harsh. She jumped out and tugged at his arm. ‘Come on, we need to get inside.’ His lips were fat and his bloodshot eyes barely open as she dragged him to the door.
The receptionist gasped as they stumbled inside. ‘Oh my God. I need a doctor here, right now!’
They took Kurt out the back while Miki sank onto a chair in the waiting room. She could hear urgent voices behind the closed door, calling for oxygen, adrenaline, antihistamine, icepacks. Was Kurt going to die? How would she cope on her own? What would happen to the shop?
‘He’d be better off in hospital,’ a female voice said.
Then a deeper tone: ‘No time for that now. Give him a second EpiPen.’
‘Listen to his breathing. Does he need intubation?’
‘We’re not equipped for that here. Oxygen will have to do.’
‘Do we need to get him airlifted?’
‘Keep your voice down.’
Miki wanted someone to tell her Kurt was okay.
He might be difficult, but he was all that she had.
While she perched there, anxiously waiting, a blonde woman came in and stood at the counter, tapping pink-painted fingernails on the bench. Miki was so addled by stress it took her a few moments to recognise Mooney’s wife, Liz.
‘Nobody about?’ Liz glanced shyly at Miki, who noticed the bruise on her brow was now gone.
‘They’re out the back, looking after my brother.’
‘What happened?’
‘He was stung by bees.’
‘Ouch! Anaphylaxis? Is he allergic?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I know how scary it is,’ Liz said. ‘But he should be okay. One of my girls is allergic to peanuts. The doctor here has helped her before. She was all swollen and could hardly breathe, but she came through it all right. Your brother will be all right too.’
‘I hope so.’ Miki didn’t quite believe it.
Liz smiled. ‘Thank you for the Caramello Koalas the other week. The girls and I really enjoyed them.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘You’ve given us treats before, haven’t you? It’s really nice.’ Liz swept a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
A nurse came out, red-faced, a sheen of sweat on her skin, and directed Miki into a consulting room so the doctor could speak to her. He was a tall, narrow man with grey hair at his temples and pale serious eyes. He said Kurt would be fine but would have to remain under observation for the rest of the day. Miki’s brother was sleepy, the doctor said, which wasn’t unusual after treatment for a multiple-stinging event. They had him on a bed where they could keep an eye on him and give more adrenaline and antihistamine if needed. The doctor said Miki could go home, but she couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in the shop alone, looking through the windows and waiting. So she stayed, watching people come and go. There was no more talk of hospital.
She leaned against the wall, remembering how she had visited the hospital in Hobart years ago. It had been her first taste of the outside world, and the memory was vivid. Closing her eyes, she pictured her younger self and sank into the past.
The Orchardist's Daughter Page 18
