Dingo: The Dog Who Conquered a Continent

by Jackie French

  She was more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen.

  He felt like a small boy, not the hunter who had killed a massive sow just that morning.

  ‘Leki.’ He walked up the hot sand towards her, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘Don’t leave your people to live with strangers! Your parents can’t make you marry Bu. You could … you could marry me.’ His tongue felt tangled. ‘I speared a sow today. Grandfather will tell your parents I’ll be a great hunter too …’

  His voice died away as she smiled at him. It was the smile an older sister might give her brother. Suddenly she seemed years older than he was. ‘Loa, I want to marry Bu.’

  She said it so simply Loa knew that it was true.

  It was as though a wave had leaped from the sea to slap his face. Bu was older, stronger. He had shown the uncles and grandfathers a new way to shape a canoe to give it better balance. His muscles had gleamed as he swung his adze.

  How could a girl not love Bu?

  That was the worst of all.

  ‘I want to go back to Bu’s clan too. Haven’t you ever dreamed of new places, Loa? Something beyond the hunting ground and the lagoon?’

  No, he thought. Why would I want to leave here?

  Leki looked back down the beach towards the camp. The smoke from the cooking pit had vanished into faint shimmers in the air. She smiled, almost as though she no longer saw him. ‘Go back to the feast.’

  As though I’m a child to be told what to do, Loa thought bitterly.

  ‘Bu might bring some of his sisters with him. Maybe you’ll fancy one of them.’

  ‘No!’

  Her smile disappeared. ‘Loa, don’t be like this —’

  ‘I’m going fishing!’ he yelled. It was the first excuse he could think of.

  She looked at him like she had when they were toddlers pretending their sticks were canoes in the lagoon. But at least she was seeing him now, not dreaming of Bu. ‘You’re stupid. No one will take out a canoe with you today. They’ll want to be at the feast.’

  He was being stupid. There was no need for fish, not with pig and dog in the fire pit. But he couldn’t take his words back.

  Leki wasn’t the only one who could go to new places.

  ‘I’ll take the canoe out by myself. I’ll paddle down the coast to the clan who lives beyond the giant-headland-near-the-sky. I’ll come back with the most beautiful wife in the world. Two big, fat wives!’

  ‘Loa.’ She looked at him indulgently, as if he’d boasted he could climb up the pig-tusk path across the ocean to the moon.

  He wondered if he had ever really known her. She was the most familiar thing in his life — and suddenly the strangest.

  And even if he did bring back a wife, Leki would be gone with Bu.

  She stood there on the beach, exotic in her golden-grass headdress. No matter how long he looked, he knew he would never find anyone as beautiful as her.

  He tore his gaze away and ran back towards the camp.

  CHAPTER 5

  The Dog

  The dog’s legs ached from the cords. She wanted to run, to whimper.

  She couldn’t do either. The cords held her jaws shut too.

  The world smelled of death and pig blood. It would smell of dog blood soon too.

  An old man limped over to the rubbish dogs. He grabbed her uncle by the cords that held his paws. The dog remembered her uncle bringing her monkey meat when she was a puppy; and sitting guarding the litter while the others hunted.

  The old man slashed Uncle’s throat. Suddenly Uncle was meat, not her uncle at all.

  She wanted to howl, to whine. All she could do was shut her eyes or watch.

  She watched. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance to get away.

  She wriggled her paws again. The cords still held them tight. She moved her jaws from side to side, but even that didn’t lessen the bonds.

  Only she and her brother were left now. She growled as the old man approached them. He grabbed her brother this time. The old man dragged him to the killing ground, then threw his body in the pit.

  The old man made a noise. He sounded happy.

  The dog stared at the lounging humans, at the heap of pig entrails, flies buzzing around them, at the waves lapping on the beach. She watched for any chance to struggle, to bite and run …

  She was next.

  CHAPTER 6

  Loa

  The men dozed in the shade around the cooking pit; the boys were off somewhere. None of the women had come back.

  No one noticed Loa grab his fishing spear. He jogged down to the lagoon where the canoes lay high on the sand, away from the reach of the tide. He tied his spear into the smallest craft. Canoes sank down almost to the level of the water when there was a pile of fish in them. You had to tie your spear on so it didn’t float away.

  The canoe needed two paddlers, but he could manage it alone. He was Loa, pig killer! He untied a bundle of dried pig bladders from one end of the canoe and filled them with fresh water from the stream, then fastened them carefully in the canoe too. His new knife hung on the cords around his waist.

  What else did he need? Food?

  He hadn’t eaten all day; no one ate before a feast. But he’d be at the next clan’s camp by nightfall. There’d be food there.

  He hesitated. He’d never been to the giant-headland-near-the-sky, though his grandfather had found a wife there. You could only see the headland on clear days. What if it took more than an afternoon to paddle there or find the camp?

  Of course he could find the clan! He only had to look for the smoke of their campfire. And if the journey took longer than he thought he could come ashore tonight to make a sleeping platform out of reach of crocodiles and rats. He could eat shellfish and long fat mangrove worms in the trees. The world was full of food.

  Maybe he could spear a big fish as a present for the headland camp. A shark, perhaps …

  He bit his lip. He’d be alone on the water, with no one to look out for sharks. A shark could snap you right out of a canoe. A crocodile could too.

  He needed a rubbish dog. Crocs and sharks liked rubbish dog more than man. Fishermen always took a rubbish dog on long voyages, so they could throw the dog out to any circling sharks.

  A rubbish dog was the best food to take too. Even strips of salted shark went bad in the glare of the sea, but you could kill a tied-up dog to eat whenever you wanted to go ashore, or make a tiny cooking fire on board and roast it piece by piece.

  He ran back to the camp. Some of the women had returned. They sat in the shade, laughing and talking, wrapping their tubers in arrowroot leaves. But there was no sign of Leki, or her mother, or his own mother either.

  His mother would worry when he wasn’t at the feast. That’s what mothers did: they worried. But Leki could explain where he’d gone. His mother would be glad when he brought back a wife, he told himself.

  ‘Loa!’ One of his friends gestured for him to come over and sit with them.

  Loa pretended he didn’t hear. He looked over to where the netted rubbish dogs had lain. Only one was left — a small female. She glared at him as he walked up to her.

  ‘You’ll do.’ He picked her up by the cords that bound her paws and carried her upside down.

  The dog struggled, but she didn’t make any sound. Rubbish dogs didn’t make much noise: just growls, if you came near their pups, or long slow howls at night. This one didn’t even whimper. Her jaws were tied too tightly.

  He slung the dog into his canoe, then lashed her securely to the side next to his spear so no wave could wash her away.

  He hesitated.

  This was a big thing — to leave his clan, to try to find a wife all by himself. Young men went off to find wives, even sometimes stealing them. But not alone.

  Should he wait? Ask some of his friends to come with him tomorrow?

  Deep down he realised he didn’t want to go at all. He didn’t want a wife from a different clan. He wanted to be at the feast as everyone ate his
pig meat and exclaimed; he wanted to make his pig’s-teeth necklace; he wanted to hunt pig again in a few days’ time.

  But he had told Leki he would go. He wasn’t going to hang around the edges of her feast, like a rubbish dog looking for her scraps of attention.

  He had to go! Now!

  He pushed the canoe over the sand, through the first waves, then clambered in. He began to paddle across the lagoon, towards the reef and the sea beyond.

  Someone shouted from the shore. He looked back, but he was already too far away to see who it was. He waved, then turned back to paddling.

  The rubbish dog stared at him from the end of the canoe.

  CHAPTER 7

  The Dog

  Her back was bruised where the bony boy had flung her into the canoe. Her legs ached from being tied in one position. She needed to drink, to howl. But she was tied too tight to move.

  She sniffed the salt water, trying to find familiar smells. It wasn’t right to be out here on the sea. It wasn’t right to be tied up either, or to be alone away from the other dogs, with just a boy. Bony Boy, she thought, not a pup but not grown up either.

  She wriggled to ease the pain in her legs. Suddenly her muzzle felt a sharp edge on the canoe. Cautiously she rubbed her nose along it.

  The rope moved, just a little.

  If she could get the cords off her muzzle then she could bite through the cords that held her paws. She could bite Bony Boy too.

  She could be free.

  But first she needed to move the cords. She rubbed again, slowly, keeping her eyes on Bony Boy as he paddled.

  CHAPTER 8

  Loa

  The breeze ruffled the surface of the lagoon. Loa paddled towards the white water that led out to the open ocean. The sea was rougher beyond the reef, but he needed to leave the safety of his own lagoon if he was going to paddle along the coast to the headland clan.

  He tried to think of returning with a bride of his own. She’d have plump legs and a little round tummy, to show how good she was at finding tubers and catching birds …

  Reality spat in his face with the windblown spray from the waves on the reef. How could he get a wife like that, when even Leki — who had known him all her life and his family’s worth — had chosen someone else?

  In a few years, when he’d proved his worth as a hunter, he could have his choice of wives. He’d be taller and stronger, instead of being only just a man. But now?

  He gritted his teeth. He was already a hunter! Hadn’t he caught the sow this morning and with his first spear thrust too?

  He’d show the men of the giant-headland-near-the-sky clan just how strong he was, despite his age. He’d hunt pig with them. Show them Loa the hunter! They’d see his fine fish spear, his obsidian knife …

  The canoe bucked as it reached the rougher water beyond the lagoon. He paddled out far enough from the reef to be safe from the waves that might suck him onto the jagged teeth of the coral or swamp him in their froth and tumble, then turned the canoe expertly and began to paddle parallel to the reef and the beach. The sun beat hot on his back. It was almost midday now. Back at the camp the women would have baskets of wild figs. The young men would be dozing in the shade till the feast was cooked.

  The coastline began to curve. Soon he wouldn’t be able to see their campsite, the dark figures on the beach, the faint hint of smoke in the air. He looked ahead.

  He couldn’t bear to look back now.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Dog

  The day grew hotter. The light bounced from the sea, brighter than the sky. She wanted to pant, but the cords that held her were too tight.

  Where were her brothers and sisters, the older dogs? Where were the smells of soil and bones and trees?

  She had never been so hot before. Never so thirsty. There wasn’t even the scent of fresh water out here. She didn’t like these smells, or the way the world bounced beneath her.

  Her thirst grew worse. She could feel her strength ebbing like the waves from the sand, but she forced herself to keep rubbing the cords around her jaws against the wood of the canoe.

  She had to get free.

  She didn’t try to think how she would get back to land after she had freed her paws. Her world had narrowed to one fierce thought.

  Attack the boy.

  CHAPTER 10

  Loa

  It was mid-afternoon when he felt the current change, tugging at the canoe. It was as though the reef was pulling him towards it.

  He was far beyond anywhere he’d paddled before. The uncles hadn’t said what winds and currents they’d faced when they’d paddled to the camp on the giant-headland-near-the-sky. It was best to show a boy how to do a new thing, not tell him.

  He should have waited till tomorrow, tried to persuade one of the older, more experienced men to come with him. Two canoes and four men, perhaps, or even three canoes. Three canoes were safest. Yet here he was, one boy and one canoe out on the broad expanse of the sea, alone …

  Except for a rubbish dog. He glanced back at it.

  The rubbish dog lay on her side. She had been scratching against the edge of the canoe, but she stopped moving as soon as he looked around.

  She must be thirsty, he thought. He’d forgotten she’d need water, here in the glare of the sun. A dead dog wasn’t as useful as a live one. Sharks liked their prey fresh. But there was no time now to give her water. He needed to keep the canoe from the reef, or they’d both be dead.

  He turned the canoe out towards the open sea, not directly opposing the rip but at an angle to it, and began to paddle as strongly as he could.

  His arms ached as he fought the current. At last the drag on the canoe lessened. He relaxed, undid one of the water bladders, then took a deep drink.

  The water cleared his head. He crawled over to the rubbish dog, then dripped a little water into his hand and held it out to her.

  The cords around her muzzle wouldn’t let her open her mouth wide enough to bite him, but were now loose enough for her to put out her tongue a little. She lapped, feebly at first, and then more eagerly.

  He filled his hand again, then tied the bladder up, instinctively cautious. He knew she wanted more. He wanted more water too. But they were far from land. So far away that the trees looked as small as leaf ants.

  It scared him a little. He had never been so far out to sea before. Canoes were made for fishing in the lagoon, or short voyages around a cape, not for facing the vast sea. He’d imagined creeping around the beaches till he found the headland camp, not drifting alone in the vast blue like this.

  He forced the fear away and scanned the waves between him and the shore, trying to see if there was a calm area that looked like a break in the reef.

  There had to be one soon!

  But he hadn’t even been paddling for half a day yet. Maybe there’d be a break soon …

  Or maybe there wouldn’t. Maybe you had to paddle a whole day in this direction, just to find a place where you could safely take a canoe in to shore. And he’d set out when the daylight was already half over. He’d be out here in the roughness and vastness of the open sea at night, alone.

  He twirled the paddle slowly from one side to the other, so the canoe stayed pretty much in one place while he considered. If he turned back now he’d be back at his own camp with enough light to find it, especially with the big fire for songs and storytelling after the feast. You could see a glow like that from a long way away.

  Or he could keep going and hope that he’d find a place to go ashore soon, even if he hadn’t reached the giant-headland-near-the-sky.

  But reefs could be tricky, with outcrops here or there, waves and rips and sandbanks. He’d have to work out the best way through, keeping a sharp eye out for the unexpected, whether that was a rogue wave or a cruising shark.

  And he was tired. Up in the first grey light for the pig hunt; carrying the sow back to camp; paddling for so long.

  He scanned the coast again, looking ahead and then looki
ng behind him, trying to make up his mind whether to keep going, or head back.

  And then he stared. Billows of grey pushed up from the eastern horizon.

  Storm! The worst storms came from the east: the wild winds that tore up forests, when all you could do was huddle together in a cave till the fury of the storm was gone. But it wasn’t the Thunder Season yet, though that was coming next. It wasn’t even the Rain Season, with its sudden downpours, when the sky turned to solid water and then, just as suddenly, sunlight returned.

  Sometimes the seasons came early, but the aunties had a pretty good idea when that would happen. The trees told them by the way they flowered or fruited. The aunties hadn’t said anything about an early Wet this year.

  So this was just a storm. A little storm.

  Probably.

  But any storm would be bad out here in the rough water, in a shallow canoe. He had to get to safety. Fast.

  He had no choice now. He had to turn back and get near the camp, into the seas he was familiar with, before the storm hit.

  He manoeuvred the canoe around. He had only tried to paddle half a dozen strokes before he realised.

  The current was pushing him away from the camp. He hadn’t noticed because he’d been trying to go the same way. It was going to take him twice the time, twice the energy, to get back home.

  The grey clouds filled all the low horizon now. This is going to be a bad one, he thought, just as the first gust of wind hit. It was so hard it almost blew the canoe over on its side.

  This morning he’d thought the sea was his to play with. Loa the pig killer was lord of the sea too.

  Now the sea and sky were vast, and he was small.

  A current tugging west. A wind blowing him west too. He couldn’t paddle against them both.

  Behind him the rubbish dog whimpered as though she sensed the danger. He gritted his teeth as he turned the canoe back yet again.