Nina took a final look around the sandy corner where she and Ric used to meet as children. The wide sweep of water, dappled with sunshine and shade. The twisted trees bowing to their reflections. Despite the dwindling flows, this place retained more than a hint of magic. Nina threw sticks for Jinx as she walked back to the house. What would Dad think of her inviting a Bonelli to Red Gums? He’d be pretty mad, she imagined, even after all these years.
Nina didn’t know how or why the war between Max and her father had begun. No point asking Dad. She’d tried that. When she was little, he used to growl about Max being a no-good wog. She had no idea what a wog was back then, but she’d guessed from her father’s tone of voice that it was something horrid.
Later she’d befriended Ric’s sister, Nadia, a classmate at Drover’s Central School. She’d made the mistake of asking to go to her birthday party. ‘Nadia’s dad is cooking pizzas in an outside mud oven,’ she’d said. ‘You get to put on your own toppings. And there’ll be a piñata full of lollies. We’re going to play bocce. It’s like lawn bowls, but the balls are steel or something. You play in the dirt!’
Mum had frowned, looking past Nina to where her father stood listening in the doorway, his expression grim. She was sent to her room, and had lain on her bed, listening to the shouting in the kitchen. She never went back to school at Drover’s. After two days at home, she was sent to board at St Patrick’s in Moree. Nina had learned the hard way that the Bonellis were out of bounds, and that she must never, ever tell anyone about her secret friendship with Ric.
It had started when she was nine years old. One summer morning she’d gone down to the river to catch tadpoles. Her dog Buddy had been chasing moor hens. On that particular day, he’d mistaken a spreading expanse of green duckweed for dry land. Momentum took the little dog far out of his depth before he realised his mistake. ‘Buddy!’ she screamed, as the pup’s flailing served only to take him further from the bank. ‘Help!’ She waded in, tearing her bare legs on sticks, slipping and sliding in the sucking mud. She called out again but the house was too far away. Nobody could hear her. Launching herself into the water’s cold bite, she started after Buddy. Then Nina was struggling too, her foot somehow snagged, her body tugged by the current so she couldn’t reach down to free herself. ‘Help!’ she yelled again, swallowing water.
And then there he was, right in front of her. A brown-skinned boy. He seemed to spring from the river itself, rising from the dark waters, lifting her sodden, spluttering pup aloft. ‘Grab on,’ he said. She grasped his shirt with one hand, gave an almighty kick and freed her trapped foot.
She didn’t know quite how he managed it. With Buddy slung somehow around his neck and with Nina gasping for breath, dragging him down, Ric struck out for the bank in a one-armed, rhythmic crawl. The river held onto them, insistent, urging them downstream, but Ric doggedly held his course. He swam with steady determination, legs scissoring, slicing through the flow until they reached calmer, shallower water, where Nina’s toes touched solid ground.
She stumbled ashore, cuddling Buddy tight, then looked around. They stood on a clean sandy bend, bordered by smooth rocks. Piles of driftwood lay about, bleached by the sun and carved into strange water-worn shapes. ‘You’re Ric, aren’t you? she said. ‘Nadia’s brother.’ He nodded. ‘I’m Nina.’
The boy smiled. ‘I know who you are.’
‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s a dragon.’ Buddy wriggled free of her bear hug, and she picked up the dragon-shaped piece to show Ric.
‘And here’s a bird,’ he said, joining in the game.
Later they flung themselves down on the hot sand, surrounded by a gallery of natural sculptures, admiring their collection. ‘Are you a wog?’ she asked.
Ric nodded.
‘Did you save Buddy because you like him?’
Ric nodded again.
‘Did you save me because you like me?’
Ric took a long time to answer. He stripped a reed and slipped it between his teeth. He patted Buddy. He doodled a picture in the sand. ‘Guess so,’ he said at last, with a grin.
‘I’d better go.’ She brushed mud and sand from herself.
‘Me too.’ He stood up, then bent down again and picked something up, something that flashed blue in the sun. ‘For you.’
Nina examined his offering. A shining kingfisher feather. ‘Thanks.’
He grinned again, then dived into the water, swimming straight as an arrow back to his own side of the river. Nina still had that feather. Year after year, she and Ric had continued to meet at that little sandy beach, sharing their secrets, their dreams, their fears.
As they grew older, the intensity of their forbidden friendship grew. They even chanced meetings in town when she was home on holidays. When she was thirteen she made them matching friendship bracelets from coloured string. ‘It won’t come off unless you cut it,’ she said, as she tied the band to his wrist. ‘You have to make a wish, then wear it until it falls off. That’s when your wish will come true.’ She offered her arm. ‘Here, tie mine on.’ Ric had solemnly done the honours, but months later when her bracelet caught on a fence and snapped, the wish hadn’t worked. Her father and Max Bonelli had not become friends.
When Nina was fourteen, Ric gave her a ring on the last day of summer holidays. ‘It’s a promise ring.’ He slipped it on her finger. ‘Cara mia.’ She’d never heard him speak Italian. He held out his own hand to display a matching silver band, and they’d shared their first tentative kiss.
That night, back at boarding school, when she took off the ring to examine it, she found the word forever imprinted on her finger. Hidden letters inside the simple band had left a temporary impression. She wore that ring with such pride, thrilled with the impassioned secret that lay against her skin. Two weeks later, Ric vanished from her life.
Nina braced against the old pain and left the sandy bank. ‘Come on, Jinx,’ she said. ‘We don’t want to be late for our visitors.’
Nina studied the girl curiously, feeling a little jealous. Of her, and of her mother. She almost hoped for some reason to dislike the child. It would make things so much easier. Sophie oohed and aahed over the ducklings. She looked like she could use a good feed. Wisps of dark, unruly hair fell across her pale cheek. She must have her mother’s complexion. The girl wore a baggy red T-shirt, faded to pink, and blue nylon parachute pants. It looked like she’d been dressed in an op shop. Nina searched her face for traces of Ric. The nose, perhaps, and the determined chin.
Sophie reached out a skinny arm. ‘They’re so cute. Dad, could we get some ducks?’
‘Maybe,’ he said.
Nina’s mouth narrowed to a tight line. Any duck in the care of Max Bonelli would sooner or later end up on the menu. Even wild ducks weren’t safe. That man regarded Billabong Bend as his own personal larder.
‘Can we get some just like these?’ asked the girl.
‘No,’ said Nina. ‘Not like these. I don’t know what sort of ducks these babies are yet, and they’re not domestic ducks anyway. They’re wild – from the wetlands further down the river. Their mother was shot.’
Sophie turned to her with a horrified expression. ‘That’s awful,’ she said. ‘How could anybody do that?’
‘How indeed?’ said Nina. ‘Would you like to hold one? Here, put both hands together like this, so you don’t drop it.’
She placed a duckling into the child’s cupped hands. ‘Dad, look!’ Sophie showed the duckling to Ric, who made admiring noises. ‘This baby duck is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in the whole world.’
Nina smiled. ‘We’d better put this little one back with its friends.’
Sophie bent down and released the duckling. When she stood up, Jinx nosed his way into her arms. ‘You’re the most beautiful thing in the world too.’
‘How do you like living at Donnalee?’ Nina asked.
Sophie gave her a guarded, guilty look and then glanced at Ric. ‘It’s all right, I suppose.’ She hugged
the dog tighter. ‘I miss my mum, and it’s hard getting used to a dad. I’ve never had one before.’ Ric’s jaw stiffened.
‘New places always take some getting used to,’ said Nina. ‘Come on, there are more ducks, and some other birds as well.’ She picked up the bucket of pellets and led her visitors down the hill. ‘Mind you don’t leave the gate open.’
Ric forged on ahead. He was wearing beat-up old jeans and a T-shirt like the boy she’d once known. But unlike that old Ric, his expression was closed to her. She felt the darkness of his mood in the bright sunshine. For a moment she wanted to ask him what was wrong, then reminded herself she didn’t care. She was showing Sophie the animals, and that was all.
Six-foot fences surrounded the small paddock above the river. In the middle was a reedy dam with an artificial floating island made from planks and tyres. ‘My own mini-wetlands,’ said Nina. ‘A place where injured birds can mend. That little windmill keeps it full.’
‘There was a movie on television yesterday,’ said Sophie, ‘about a boy who looked after an injured pelican called Mr Percival. Do you remember, Dad?’
‘Sorry, Soph,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t paying attention.’
A shadow of disappointment crossed her face. ‘It was in a beautiful place like this, except with a beach as well.’
‘The Coorong,’ said Nina. ‘Storm Boy.’
‘That’s it,’ said Sophie. ‘A hunter shot the pelican in the end, just for no reason. Even though the boy loved it. Even though it was his only friend. I cried.’ She looked like tears weren’t far away again. ‘Do hunters really shoot beautiful birds like Mr Percival? Just for no reason?’
‘I’m afraid they do,’ Nina said. ‘All the time. But don’t worry. These birds are safe here. And I’ll let you into a secret – when I saw Storm Boy, I cried too.’
A variety of ducks swam in the water: common ones like black ducks, teal and mallards, and rarer ones as well – a little pink-eared duck with its cartoon eye patches and huge square-tipped beak; a pair of bluebills. Loveliest of all was the plumed whistler, with its flank of lance-shaped feathers, and shining chestnut breast, barred in black.
Sophie beamed with delight as several ducks waddled from the water towards them. Nina gave her some pellets to throw. ‘Look,’ said Sophie. A white egret emerged in measured steps from behind a wattle thicket, its long neck retracted in a graceful curve. He was in full breeding plumage, his beak a crimson dagger, his noble face the softest green. A silken train of snowy plumes extended well beyond his tail. Sophie heaved a great sigh. ‘That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in the whole world.’ Nina and Ric exchanged amused glances. The little girl was certainly full of superlatives today. ‘What sort of bird is it?’ asked Sophie.
‘That’s Prince. He’s an egret,’ said Nina. ‘He lived on a big lake near here, but somebody cut down the trees and drained the water. Prince and his family had to fly away. A piece of fishing line got wrapped round his leg and slowed him down, so he was lost. Just after sunset a farmer noticed him circling a tree full of roosting white leghorns.’ Sophie looked puzzled. ‘They’re chickens.’
Sophie nodded. ‘Keep going.’
‘Prince landed on the top of the tree. You see, from the air he’d mistaken those white chickens for his family and the tree for his home. But he was lonely, and even chickens were better company than nothing. So he folded up his wings and went to sleep. In the morning, the farmer saw the fishing line was tangled in branches and Prince was stuck. He was a very kind farmer, so he rescued Prince and brought him here.’
‘What will happen to him?’ Sophie eyes were wide.
‘When he’s all healed, I’ll take him to a paradise for birds called Billabong Bend, where there are other egrets. He’ll miss his old mates, but he’ll soon learn to love his new family, you’ll see.’ The beautiful bird spread his wings and bowed his head in agreement. ‘And he won’t have to pretend he’s a chook any more.’
Sophie giggled. ‘How will I see? Will you take me there?’
Nina looked at the child’s excited face, remembering her own delight in the wetlands when she was no older than Sophie. She suddenly wanted to share that special pleasure with this little girl. ‘What do you say, Dad?’
‘How about all three of us go?’ said Ric. Nina’s mouth dropped open. No, she hadn’t meant for him to come.
‘Yay!’ yelled Sophie, jumping around in circles, much to Jinx’s delight. He went leaping after her. ‘When? When can we go?’
‘Soon,’ said Nina. ‘But not today. Come on, I’ll show you the horses next and then you can feed the parrots.’
Nina and Ric stood on the verandah, watching Sophie feed carrots to Monty and Flicka. ‘Does Sophie have any brothers and sisters?’ Ric shook his head. ‘She’s a nice kid,’ admitted Nina.
‘Being here’s good for her,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen her so happy, so interested in things. She’s not like that back at Donnalee.’
‘How are you all getting on over there?’
‘Good, good . . .’ His voice trailed off and he played with his hat.
‘How’s Max?’
‘All right. I can’t believe how great he is with Sophie.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘Is it that obvious?’ He sighed. ‘I’m no good at this father stuff. I don’t know what to say to her, what to do with her. And Donnalee’s not much of a place for a kid, especially a city kid. She’s got nobody to play with, nothing to fill her time. And she’s missing her mother, I guess, although today’s the first time she’s said so. Usually she doesn’t say much of anything.’
‘Are you going to stick around?’
‘Until Sophie goes back to Rachael. I want her to get to know my old man. And the truth is, I don’t have anywhere else to take her. I’ve moved round a lot. Mining camps, oil rigs . . . nowhere I’d call home.’
His fingers tightened on the rail. She wanted to ask him about these places that he wouldn’t call home, wanted to ask how a boy from the riverlands ended up in a mining camp, but she didn’t, wouldn’t.
‘What does Sophie do all day?’
‘Nothing. She’s on a planet of her own. Wild horses couldn’t drag her away from that television.’ A cloud of worry passed across his face. ‘It’s like she’d rather live in a fantasy world, like she believes that the movies she watches are real.’
Nina looked about at the olive groves, the nursery of native seedlings under shade cloth, the bank of red gums by the river. She looked at the sleek grey weaners butting heads on the hillside, the wide expanse of blue sky, the grand beauty all around her, and wondered how a person could want any other world but this one. Then she remembered a small girl, an only child like Sophie, sneaking away to meet the boy from the other side of the river. How lonely that girl had been sometimes, how left out she’d felt.
‘Give her something to do,’ said Nina. ‘Even if you have to invent a job. You saw her today. She wants to look after something, she wants to feel needed.’
Ric’s face softened. ‘Max found a mouse in the kitchen yesterday. Sophie wouldn’t let him hurt it. She said, how did we know it wasn’t like Stuart Little, looking for his family. My father, my tough-as-nails father, made a home for it in a shoebox.’ Ric chuckled. ‘Damnedest thing I ever saw. It escaped overnight and Dad spent half the morning trying to find it for her.’ Nina smiled and the gulf of years between them seemed to slip away. Ric’s expression grew serious and his eyes held hers. ‘Remember the hats?’ Nina turned from his penetrating, brown eyes. ‘Of course.’
As children, they’d invented an ingenious signalling system for their meetings, using coloured hats hung in trees. Visiting the river to check for them had been a daily routine, whenever Nina was home from boarding school. A red baseball cap was an invitation to meet that afternoon. A beanie in response meant no. A yellow cap meant I’ll come tomorrow afternoon instead. As their codes expanded, so did their hat collections. A straw hat meant let’s me
et the morning after tomorrow. A white cricket hat hanging beside an invitation hat meant it was an emergency. Funny how she still remembered.
‘Mum used to complain about it,’ said Nina. ‘“Never known a girl to have so many hats,” she used to say. “Shoes yes, but not hats.”’
‘I hid mine under the house,’ said Ric. ‘Don’t know what Dad would have made of a boy with a hat collection.’
‘And Freeman?’ said Nina, caught up in the fun of remembering. ‘Remember how we’d swim across to that rundown houseboat of his? What was it called?’
‘Warriuka,’ said Ric with a grin. ‘He’d make us golden syrup pancakes and mugs of tea with about ten sugars in them.’
‘What about when he took us up the Kingfisher and showed us where that big old Murray cod lived? It even had a name, Guddhu, remember? What a fish.’
Ric nodded. ‘Must have been a hundred years old.’
‘Freeman said it was a water guardian, and if anyone hurt it, a curse would fall on people along the river.’
‘He sure was a crazy old man.’
‘Not crazy,’ said Nina. ‘More like eccentric. And you loved his stories as much as I did. I think Freeman was the only one who knew about us.’
She jumped off the verandah, suddenly self-conscious. ‘Let me show you and Sophie round. You won’t know the place.’
They went down to the river track, where the banks were clothed in saplings, planted as part of her local seed project. The silvery, weeping leaves of slim borees shimmered in the sunshine. Young red gums rose strong and straight around the trunks of their dead parents. A scattering of kurrajongs, coolibahs and casuarinas sheltered thriving understoreys of lignum and goosefoot. In the shallows, chicken-wire coops protected native sedges and rushes, plants that hadn’t been seen along this stretch of the Bunyip for years.
The contrast with the river’s north side was stark and unavoidable. Just metres away on the opposite slope, yawning washaways scarred the bare, broken banks. Cattle had gouged deep pug-marked tracks down to the water. A series of wallows stained the mud an even darker brown, and an algal bloom coated the rocks a slimy blue-green.
Billabong Bend Page 5
