I sniffed. Nothing. I couldn’t smell a thing. But the others could.
The blowflies were first to go. They fell from the ceiling like rain. They dropped to the floor without so much as a buzz.
Mr Lovell jumped as if a pin had been stuck into him. Then he slumped on his desk. Asleep. A crumpled heap of dreams. The class collapsed together. They just keeled over as if they had breathed a deadly gas.
They were alive. But they slept and snored. Victims of my fetid feet.
I wish I could say that there were smiles on their lips. But there weren’t. Their faces were screwed up like sour cabbages.
9
I ran out of the room and across the school yard. The caretaker was emptying a rubbish bin into the burner. He dropped the bin and flopped unconscious to the ground as I passed.
My three month smell was powerful. It could work in the open at a distance of ten metres. Horse and his gang wouldn’t have a chance. They wouldn’t even get near me.
But I had to hurry. If Old Shelly came early . . . I couldn’t bear to think about it.
The beach bus was pulling up at the kerb. I had one dollar with me. Just enough. I jumped onto the bus steps.
‘Turtle Island, please,’ I said to the driver.
He didn’t answer. He was fast asleep in his seat with the engine still ticking over. I looked along the row of seats. All the passengers were snoring their heads off. I had gassed the whole bus.
‘Oh no,’ I said. I jumped off the bus and headed for the beach. The quickest way was straight through the shopping mall.
I didn’t really want to run barefooted through the town but this was an emergency. I passed a lady on a bike. She fell straight asleep, still rolling along the road. The bike tottered and then crashed into a bush.
This was terrible. No one could come near me without falling asleep. I ran over to help her but her eyes were firmly closed. The best thing I could do was to get away from her as quickly as possible.
10
I jogged into the shopping mall. People fell to the ground in slumbering waves as I approached. I stopped and stared around.
The street was silent. Hundreds of people slept on the footpaths and in the shops. A policeman snored in the middle of the road. I felt as if I was the only person in the world who was awake.
Suddenly I felt lonely. And sad.
But then I thought of Old Shelly. That poor, helpless turtle dragging its ancient shell up the beach. To the waiting Horse and his cooking pot.
I ran on. My heart hammered. My knees knocked. My feet fumed. ‘Old Shelly,’ I said. ‘l’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming.’
I pounded on and on, not stopping for the people around me as they fell to the ground like leaves tumbling in autumn.
At last I reached the beach. The tide was in. A strong current cut me off from Turtle Island. A flock of seagulls flew overhead. They plummeted to the ground, reminding me of planes that had lost their pilots.
My feet still worked. They were as powerful as ever.
I gazed at the swiftly running water. I peered along the beach for a boat. There was none. I looked at my foul feet. If only I could fly. On the wind I thought I heard wicked laughter. ‘Old Shelly,’ I mumbled. ‘l’m coming.’ I plunged into the sea and waded towards the island.
My toes sank into the sand. I could feel the grains scouring my skin. Washing away at three months of muck. The water was clear and cold and salty. On and on I struggled through the cleansing stream. Splashing. Jumping. Crying. Until I reached the other side.
The seagulls scampered around my feet. They were awake. They didn’t even yawn.
11
I looked down at my lily-white toes. They were spotless. The water had stolen their strength. Three months of saving my smell. Gone. Scrubbed away by the salt and the sand.
There was no sign of the three bullies. But I knew where to find them. I staggered up to the top of a huge sand dune and stared along the beach. There they were. And there in the clear blue water was a moving shadow. Old Shelly.
Horse and his mates hadn’t seen her. There was still a chance. I plunged down the dune towards them, yelling and screaming. Trying to distract them from their search.
It worked. They turned around and watched me approach. I had to draw them off. Once they saw the turtle they would know which part of the beach she was on. Even if Old Shelly escaped they would dig around and find the eggs.
I knew it was no use arguing with them. They wouldn’t listen. I had to say something mean.
‘Bird brain,’ I said weakly to Horse. I felt silly. It didn’t come out right. It wasn’t tough. I bunched up my fists. ‘Get off this island,’ I ordered.
‘Who’s going to make us?’ jeered Horse.
‘Me,’ I said.
I felt very small. They were real big kids. They walked towards me with snarling faces.
I turned and ran.
‘Get him.’ They pelted after me. I scrambled up the sand dune and along the top. I felt them panting behind me. The sandy ground turned to rock. It cut my bare feet. They hurt like crazy. I slowed down to a hobble. My toes were bleeding. It was no use. The gang had me trapped.
I turned and faced the gang. Behind them, way below, I could see Old Shelly hauling herself over the sand. They hadn’t seen her. Yet.
Thistle circled around me. They closed in. I tried to find something to defend myself. There was nothing. I put my hands in my pocket in a desperate search. My fingers found something useful.
‘Get back,’ I yelled. ‘Or I’ll use these.’
Horse laughed out loud. ‘We’re not scared of a pair of .. .’
He never finished. He crashed to the ground like a tree falling. The others followed. They were fast asleep on the sand. I held my putrid socks in the air. Boy, were they powerful.
12
I put the socks near the sleeping bullies. Then I walked down to the beach.
Old Shelly was digging a hole with her flippers. Slowly, painfully, she dug and dug and dug. She was helpless. ‘Don’t worry, girl,’ I said. ‘I won’t hurt you.’
I sat a little way off and watched the miracle. I watched the eggs drop like beads from a broken necklace. The sun sank into the sea, lighting the old turtle with gold.
I watched as Old Shelly covered the eggs and then crawled back towards the shore. Just as she reached the edge she turned. And nodded her head as if to thank me.
‘Think nothing of it,’ I said. ‘Your eggs are safe now. I’ll see you next year.’
I have to admit there was a tear in my eye as I watched her sink under the water and swim out beneath the silvery arms of the rippling moonbeams.
I went back and fetched the socks. I threw them in the sea and waited. In no time at all, Horse and his mates started to stir. They sat up and peered into the darkness. They couldn’t work it out. It was light when they had fallen asleep. They didn’t know where the sun had gone.
Suddenly Horse gave an enormous scream. He ran for it. The others followed him, belting along the sand as if a demon was after them. They thought I had strange powers. I guess if you think about it, they were right in a funny sort of way.
I walked slowly home.
A nasty thought entered my mind. What if Horse found more members for his gang? What if they came back to wait for Old Shelly next November?
I was worried. Then I chuckled and spoke to myself. ‘If I start going to bed with my shoes on tonight,’ I said, ‘my feet ought to be pretty strong by this time next year.’
‘I’ll jump,’ I screamed. ‘I will. I really will. I mean it.’
I stared down at the water churned up by the ferry’s huge propeller. Would I fall straight on top of those terrible blades? Would I end up as just a brief red smudge in the ocean? Would I really jump?
Or was I bluffing?
Dad didn’t know. ‘Don’t, Jason. Please don’t,’ he said.
‘Then stop the ferry. Get my hat.’
Most of the passengers were
tourists on their way to look at the coral and fish of the Great Barrier Reef. They stared at this real-life drama with wide-open eyes.
‘Let him jump,’ said a man in a Hawaiian shirt. ‘A soaking will do him good.’
‘It’s only a hat,’ said the captain. ‘I’m not going back just for that. Time is money. And so is fuel. You should have hung on to it.’
‘It’s his mother’s hat,’ said Dad. ‘She died three weeks ago. He’s not himself.’
I stared at the Akubra hat bobbing way off in the distance. It was upside down, floating like a tiny round boat. Soon it would be out of sight.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the captain. ‘But we’re running on tight margins. We can’t stop every time a hat blows overboard. It happens all the time.’
I let go of the rails with one of my hands and dangled out over the sea. ‘I’m going,’ I yelled. ‘I’m going to swim back and get it.’
My father slowly took out his wallet. ‘How much?’ he said to the captain.
2
‘One hundred dollars,’ said Dad. ‘Just for a hat.’ He shook his head slowly as the ferry disappeared across the water.
While we walked along the little rickety jetty I hardly noticed the swiftly flowing river. It made its way to the ocean through the mangroves and the wide muddy beach. Even the splashing of rainbow-coloured fish in the swirling water failed to interest me. I hardly saw the crabs as they scurried into their holes at our approach. Normally I would have been racing around checking everything out.
‘I’m sorry, dad,’ I said. ‘I really am. But Mum loved this hat. I feel close to her when I wear it.’ I grabbed the wet brim of the wide stockman’s hat and pulled it firmly down on to my head.
Dad didn’t answer. I guessed that he didn’t like the mention of Mum much. He probably didn’t like her. She certainly hadn’t liked him. I was never allowed to visit him on school holidays. And Mum would always say, ‘It’s him,’ when Dad phoned. She had a special way of saying him which sounded as if she was talking about the most horrible person in the world.
I didn’t really know Dad. My own father. And now I was going to live with him. And spend the time in this small camp in the rainforest. Checking on the wildlife and making sure that tourists didn’t camp in the National Park or shoot native animals. He was a park ranger. That was his job.
Dad put his arm around my shoulder. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you something special.’ We walked past the main building with its wide verandah and across the lawn which swept down to the water.
‘Don’t swim in the estuary,’ said Dad. ‘There are crocodiles.’
I gave a shudder. ‘I hate crocodiles,’ I said.
Dad pointed across the river to a patch of sunlight between some trees.
‘Geeze,’ I gasped. ‘It’s huge.’
‘Yeah,’ said Dad. ‘He’s big. And he’s fast. They can beat a racehorse over a short distance.’
‘What do you do if one chases you?’ I asked.
‘Run like hell. But not in a straight line,’ said Dad. ‘They are not very good at turning. It slows them down.’
‘I wonder if it’s seen us,’ I said.
As if in answer, the huge beast opened its jaws in a yawn. Then it slid silently into the water and disappeared.
We stopped at a small hutch surrounded by chicken wire. A fine-meshed wire fence surrounded it. It was strong and well made. Not even a mouse could sneak into the enclosure. Dad unlatched the gate and we stepped inside.
The hutch reminded me of Ralph, my pet rabbit back home in Melbourne. I had to give him away when I left.
‘Rabbits,’ I said excitedly.
‘No way,’ said Dad. ‘We shoot rabbits up here. They’re pests. So are the pigs and the feral rats.’ He said the word rats with a disgusted look on his face. It reminded me of the way that Mum used to pronounce the word, him.
He opened the top of the hutch and carefully took out the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. The hard look fell from Dad’s face. He reminded me of a mother staring down at a newborn child.
‘This,’ said Dad, ‘is an Eastern Bilby. A native animal. It’s meant to be here. But bilbies are on the edge of extinction. Killed by introduced animals brought in from overseas like pigs and cats and . . . filthy feral rats.’
It was a beautiful animal. About the size of a rabbit with a pointed face and long ears that seemed too big for it. The bilby’s nose made it look like a stretched mouse. It waved its furry tail slowly from side to side.
It sniffed Dad’s skin. Like a pet.
Dad placed the bilby in my hand and smiled. ‘There are only two of this species left alive up here. A male in the zoo in Brisbane. And this one. She’s pregnant. Her name is Breeze. I’m trying to introduce them back into this forest. The feral rats and pigs have wiped them out. It’s a battle, I can tell you.’
His face looked weary.
‘I’ll help you,’ I said.
Dad grinned at me. His weather-worn brown skin broke into friendly wrinkles. He suddenly pulled the brim of my hat down so that it covered my eyes. ‘Come on, Jason. I’ll show you around.’ From inside the hat I could hear him laughing. I didn’t like him touching Mum’s hat. But it wasn’t the time to say anything.
Nothing would part me from my hat. I would have jumped off the ferry to get it if they hadn’t stopped.
Even though I couldn’t swim.
3
That night I lay alone in my room on the verandah and listened to the sounds of the forest. The air was warm and only a fly-screen protected me from the dark outside. I left the light on – it made me feel a little safer.
The ceiling had paintings of small green lizards scattered across it. I wondered if Dad had put them there especially for me. It looked like wallpaper.
In the darkness of the rainforest the sounds outside seemed incredibly loud. I was used to trams rumbling down Barkers Road in Melbourne. At night in the city I would never even notice the sounds of squealing brakes and blaring police sirens. But here in this wild and lonely country every rustle seemed to hold a threat.
Suddenly, the wallpaper lizards began to walk. I screamed. They were real and walking upside down on the ceiling, clinging to the paint with little suction cups on the ends of their spidery toes.
Dad raced into the room and then began to laugh. ‘You are a city boy for sure,’ he said. ‘They are geckos. They can’t hurt you. They are lovely creatures.’
Dad turned off the light. ‘It attracts the mossies,’ he told me as he gently closed the door.
Mum’s hat dangled from the bedpost. I could see its dark outline in the glow of the huge, soft moon. A tear ran down my cheek and soaked into the pillow. ‘Mum,’ I moaned to myself. ‘Please come back.’
I grabbed her hat and pulled it down over my face to keep out the silent dangers of the night. The hat still smelt of Mum. Even its soaking in the ocean hadn’t been able to take that away. No one would ever get that hat away from me. I would go to my grave before I would part with it.
Those and other sad thoughts circled in my head until finally I fell into a deep sleep.
Blam.
I sat upright in terror. What was that noise? Like the slamming of a million doors at the same time. Like the snapping of a giant tree.
I heard the sounds of a struggle and scrabbling feet. Then again.
Blam.
Now I recognised the sound. Even though I had never heard it before. Not in real life anyway. A shot-gun. Someone had fired in the middle of the night. Footsteps approached.
‘Sorry, Jason,’ said Dad’s voice. ‘A ruddy feral pig. But it’s okay. I got it.’
I shoved on my shoes and staggered outside. Underneath a curtain of hanging vines lay a huge black pig. Its body still steamed with the warmth of its lost life. I gave a shudder.
This place was so brutal. On the one side there was the love of bilbies and crocodiles because they belonged here. And on the other side a scorn for pigs and rats becaus
e they didn’t.
‘I’m feral too,’ I said. ‘I don’t belong here either.’
‘No you’re not,’ said Dad. ‘Feral animals are killers. You and me – we are protectors of the weak.’
Dad put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. I knew what he was saying. There was nowhere else to go. So I had better get used to it.
4
The next morning Dad raced into my room before I was fully awake. ‘Quick, Jason. Get dressed. Something’s happened.’
‘What is it?’
‘Three baby bilbies have been born.’
‘Terrific,’ I yelled.
‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘But there’s something else.’ His face was grave. He was worried. I followed him outside.
We both stared down at the damage to the bilby enclosure. The gate had been flattened and the wire mesh pulled off. The mesh had been twisted into a long rope and dragged off into the forest.
‘Who did it?’ I exclaimed.
‘Not who. What,’ said Dad. ‘The feral pig that I shot. I thought that it was making a lot of noise. Pigs have enormous strength. Fortunately it didn’t get into the hutch. The bilbies are safe.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I have to get some new wire,’ said Dad. ‘And quick. The pigs won’t be back in daylight. But nothing stops feral rats.’ He pointed to a patch of tall green grass that stood out against the brown dirt.
‘I saw a rat there a couple of days ago,’ he said. ‘It’s the septic tank. I was going to clear it out but I had to . . .’ His voice trailed off, ‘go to your mother’s funeral.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ I said.
‘Stay here while I take the dinghy along the coast to our next ranger’s station. There’s a roll of new wire there. I’ll be back before dark.’
‘No worries,’ I said. ‘Can I see the babies before you go?’
Unreal Collection! Page 20
