Billabong Bend

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Ric proceeded along the crop, repeating the process over and over. Max arrived to help, but Ric waved him away. The work was as hard as he remembered. The relentless heat, the constant bending, the mind-numbing repetition. But two hours later, when he’d set the last syphon, when the thirsty cotton leaves were plumping up at the edges, when he sat nursing his blisters and waving his hat at flies, then he was happy, really happy. He could smell damp earth and hear the silence. He could feel his body spent, his restless energy drained away, replaced with a deep and unexpected sense of satisfaction.

  Ric got to his feet as the truck approached with Max driving. Something caught his eye as he climbed in – a hessian bag on the floor, moving of its own accord.

  ‘It’s for Sophia,’ said Max. ‘A turtle. She loves the animals, that little one.’

  Nina’s words came back to him. ‘She wants to look after something. She wants to feel needed.’ Even his father had figured that out. Everybody seemed to understand his daughter better than he did.

  CHAPTER 8

  ‘Meet Britney,’ said Sophie. The little brown turtle peered at Nina through golden eyes, pupils large and round. All four webbed feet waved helplessly in mid-air. ‘And these are my tadpoles.’ Sophie set the jar down on the table.

  Nina took the turtle from the girl’s outstretched hands. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘A Murray River short-necked turtle.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘See this?’ Nina’s finger traced the yellow stripe running from the corner of the reptile’s mouth and back along the side of its head. ‘And I’m afraid I don’t think it’s a Britney.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Nina gently turned the turtle over, revealing its creamy-yellow under-shell. She pointed to the tail. ‘See how fat and long this is? Girls’ tails are smaller.’ Nina got up and took a shoebox down from a shelf. ‘I think he might be happier in here.’

  ‘He’s not eating,’ said Sophie.

  ‘What are you feeding him?’

  ‘Poppi said to give him bread.’

  ‘Bread’s no good. He eats what he finds in the wild. Water weeds and snails and insects, that sort of thing.’

  Sophie was looking at her earnestly, clutching the shoebox to her heart. She had a pretty, turned-up nose, like a little ski jump. Nina sat down beside her and took the girl’s small hand in hers. ‘Why don’t we take your turtle down to the river and let him go?’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Ric. ‘She loves that thing. Her granddad gave it to her.’

  ‘The turtle wasn’t his to give.’ Nina frowned. ‘It belongs to the river.’

  ‘Will he die if I keep him?’ asked Sophie. ‘Some of my tadpoles have died.’

  ‘He will if you keep feeding him bread,’ said Nina. ‘But even if he gets the right food, do you think he’ll be happy, locked up all by himself?’

  Sophie looked at the turtle, scrabbling uselessly at the corner of the cardboard box. ‘No,’ she said, sadly. ‘He won’t be happy. He’ll be lonely, like me.’ She picked up the jar of tadpoles. ‘I’m going to set them free too.’

  ‘I think that’s very kind and wise,’ said Nina. ‘Come on, I know the perfect place.’

  ‘Can I speak to you?’ Ric’s voice had an edge to it. ‘In the kitchen.’

  She led him into the kitchen, conscious that it was the first time he’d been inside it, conscious of the mess.

  ‘She only wanted to find out about the turtle,’ he said. ‘What to feed it. And now the poor kid’s going to lose all her pets?’

  ‘Get her some proper pets, then,’ said Nina. ‘But don’t steal animals from the wild. Frogs and turtles are having a hard enough time already with the drought.’

  ‘Couldn’t she keep them till she goes home?’

  Nina shrugged. ‘The tadpoles will be dead by then. And maybe the turtle too, but it’s not up to me.’

  Sophie appeared at the door. ‘Dad, I want to let them go. They need to be free, like Elsa.’

  ‘Who’s Elsa?’ asked Ric.

  ‘The lion in the movie yesterday. Elsa couldn’t be properly happy until she was set free.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Dad, I’m sure.’ Sophie drew a giant breath. ‘Let’s do it.’

  They all trooped down to the river. Nina noted the stick she’d dug in last week to mark the water level. It sat a good ten centimetres above the surface.

  Sophie kissed the turtle. ‘Bye bye, Britney.’ It scuttled down the bank and into the water with surprising alacrity. Next it was the tadpoles’ turn to swim off into the reeds. Sophie looked like she’d lost her best friend.

  ‘Ric,’ said Nina. ‘I promised to show you and Sophie around Billabong. We could go today?’

  ‘Righto.’ He picked up a stone, examined it briefly, then dropped it. ‘How about it, Soph?’

  The girl looked a little less miserable. ‘Don’t you have to help Poppi? You always have to help Poppi.’

  ‘I don’t have to do anything,’ said Ric. ‘And anyway, it’s Saturday. I want to spend the day with you.’ He picked up another stone, tossed it and caught it a few times, then expertly skipped it on the river, once, twice, three times.

  ‘Can you show me how to do that?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Sure,’ said Ric. ‘First you need a skinny flat rock.’ They both started hunting around for something suitable. ‘This’ll do.’ He put a stone into the girl’s hand. ‘Hold it with your thumb on one side and your middle finger on the other.’

  The back of Nina’s neck prickled to see Ric with his daughter like this.

  ‘I’m left-handed.’ Sophie’s tone was matter of fact, but a slow flush of embarrassment crept upwards from Ric’s jaw. How must it feel to know so little about your own child? Nina pretended to examine some freshly planted seedlings, giving Ric room to save face. His reaction had been so heartfelt, so genuine. It moved her, revived old feelings.

  Ric pressed the stone into the palm of Sophie’s other hand. Her fingers curled around it. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You want to send it spinning in a straight line, almost flat along the water. It’s all in the flick of the wrist.’ With a gentle hold of Sophie’s arm, he took her through the motion a few times.

  Sophie threw the stone. It bounced once before sinking. ‘I did it!’ She looked over to Nina with excited eyes.

  ‘Yes, you did,’ said Nina. The vignette stole her breath. The stunningly handsome man and the pretty dark-haired girl, framed by the river, trees and sky. Ric saluted his daughter and then flashed Nina a smile. She bit her lip. It was a physical shock when their eyes met, as if she’d been jolted into feeling twice as alive as before.

  ‘Can Jinx come to paradise?’ The dog heard his name. He stopped nosing around a rabbit hole and trotted to Sophie’s side.

  ‘Paradise?’ asked Ric.

  ‘Nina called it a paradise for birds, remember?’

  ‘It is a paradise,’ said Nina, ‘except for the mosquitoes. And yes, Jinx can come.’

  The Pelican headed downriver, past where the Bunyip met the Kingfisher, past the boundary between Red Gums and Billabong Bend and out into the wetlands proper. A stiff headwind sang in the treetops, accompanied by the humming motor. Nina slowed the Pelican down and switched to neutral. ‘Shh.’ She put her finger to her lips. ‘Listen.’

  A series of low trumpeting calls sounded to their left. The boat veered towards the sound, keeping to the shadows along the bank. ‘There.’ Two graceful grey brolgas, wings unfurled, faced each other in a green marsh meadow. They threw back their red-crowned heads and called in unison; wild, ringing cries, echoing off the water.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Sophie asked.

  Nina shushed her again and grabbed her camera. ‘The dance of the native companions,’ she whispered. ‘You’re in for a treat.’

  The first bird bowed, the second one curtseyed and the show began. Strut and salute, retreat and advance, piaffe and pirouette – the elegant cranes mirrored each other in an intricat
e ballet of measured perfection. The taller one seized a reed. He hurled it skywards, followed it into the air and parachuted back to earth on broad, still wings. His partner followed suit, and soon they were leaping in a grand celebration of life, all the while trumpeting their joy. It was a truly mesmerising sight. At last their display was done. With a final, graceful bound they took to the breeze and soared away.

  ‘That was the most beautiful thing —’ began Sophie.

  ‘I know, I know.’ Ric laughed. ‘The most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your whole life.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sophie smiled at her father.

  ‘For once I agree with you,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen it before. Lived here half my life and I’ve never seen it.’

  There was something in his voice. Nina looked up from checking her shots. Ric wore a look of wonder. Something fluttered in her stomach. He still got it, despite how he’d changed. He got how special these wetlands really were. As a child, he’d always loved the river, but who knew how he might feel now? One look at his face dispelled her doubts. Why it mattered so much, she couldn’t tell. She just knew she wanted to sing. She wanted to whoop and leap along with the brolgas.

  ‘Why do they dance like that?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘Nobody knows,’ said Nina. ‘People used to think it was a courtship ritual, but brolgas display all through the year. Sometimes a dozen together.’

  ‘I think they just love to dance,’ said Sophie. ‘I would too, if I was as good as them.’

  Her words reminded Nina of a story Freeman had told her and Ric, long ago. ‘Once upon a time,’ she said, ‘there was a girl named Brolga who loved to dance. Each day she’d practise her moves, copied from the sweep of a pelican’s wing or the strut of an emu or the whirl of the wind. People came from miles around to see her.’

  The boat drifted into the mud. Nina handed Ric the broom handle she kept in the stern and he pushed the boat off the bank. ‘I remember this story,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Dad, don’t interrupt.’

  ‘Well, one day another tribe stole Brolga away. Her people searched and searched, day and night. When they finally found her there was a big battle and the kidnappers used magic to escape. They changed Brolga into a bird so her friends wouldn’t recognise her. But when her family saw the dancing bird they knew at once who she was. Brolga was safe at last and nobody could steal her away from home again.’

  Sophie looked dubious. ‘I don’t know if that’s a happy story or a sad story.’

  Close by, an unusual bird separated itself from the reeds. ‘Sit still,’ said Nina. In one swift movement she seized her camera, and aimed it at the mottled, pot-bellied wader feeding in the shallows.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘That,’ said Nina, as she madly snapped photographs, ‘is a sharp-tailed sandpiper.’

  ‘Is it special?’ asked Sophie. ‘It doesn’t look very special.’

  ‘Oh, it’s special, all right,’ said Nina. ‘That plain-looking little bird has flown halfway around the world to get here.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘All the way from northern Siberia.’

  ‘Siberia,’ said Ric. ‘Russian Siberia?’

  ‘Yep. It breeds in the tundra of the high Arctic. Then leads its chicks in a migration across Kazakhstan, Mongolia, Manchuria . . .’

  ‘No way,’ said Ric, shaking his head.

  ‘Then get this,’ said Nina. ‘It stops to rest in the no-man’s-land between North and South Korea, smack bang in the middle of the demilitarised zone, guns pointing from both directions.’ The bird turned to look at them and bowed. ‘Wit-wit, wit-wit.’ Three other sandpipers stalked from the reeds. They greeted each other with a series of musical twitterings. ‘Mum, dad and the kids,’ said Nina. ‘What a story they could tell us.’

  Nina detoured down Langley Reach and showed them the jetty and the house on the hill, its broken windows staring like blank eyes. She showed them the canoe tree, and the swan nests near the old bridge, and the egret colony in the melaleuca woodland.

  ‘Will Prince live here one day?’ asked Sophie.

  Nina nodded and shushed her again. A movement in the downstream marshes had caught her eye. A single wading bird foraged furtively in the sedgeland, a bird much larger and stockier than the sandpipers. It crept along, chestnut head held low, rosy bill drawn into its body, as if trying to present a smaller target.

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ Nina’s voice was low and her hand reached for the camera. Impossible, surely . . . but there was no mistaking the distinctive, comma-shaped mark framing the eye. Or the white-striped crown and breast. Or the barred, metallic green of its back and wings. This was a moment she’d longed for, dreamed of. The bird disappeared behind a fallen tree. ‘Everybody stay perfectly still,’ she whispered. ‘I have to get a photo of this bird.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Ric.

  ‘It’s a miracle,’ said Nina. ‘That’s what it is.’

  Her passengers remained obediently quiet as the Pelican drifted ever so slowly downstream. Time and time again, the elusive bird emerged from cover only to vanish just as quickly. At last her chance came. The wader paused behind a jumble of reeds. Nina could see its raised leg protruding from the thicket, could read its body language, as the bird prepared to make a break to open water. The leg pulled back a fraction, poised. Any second now.

  A shot rang out, then another, startling Jinx into a flurry of barking. No! The leg withdrew and the bird took flight, just a shadowy blur obscured by the tangled lignum. Nina’s mouth went dry. She clicked a few times, knowing that it was hopeless, then flicked in vain through her photos.

  She couldn’t speak, her throat so tight she feared she might choke. Her best chance. Her very best chance to protect Billabong and she’d ruined it. No, some moron with a gun had ruined it for her. She squeezed her eyes shut so hard they swam with dots. Jinx’s consoling tongue probed her ear. ‘Get off,’ she said, sitting up. Her chest hurt. She couldn’t breathe.

  ‘Calm down,’ said Ric, as Sophie offered her a water bottle. ‘Tell us what’s wrong.’

  She heaved a deep breath and managed to get some oxygen into her lungs. ‘That bird was a painted snipe.’ Her voice sounded thin and faraway. ‘It’s rare, very rare.’

  Sophie pointed to a magpie perched in a red gum, observing them with keen eyes. ‘He’s not scared. Take his photo instead.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ Nina’s lip trembled. ‘A photo of a magpie won’t save Billabong.’

  ‘Save it from what?’ asked Sophie.

  ‘From being sold.’ Nina tried to compose herself. Despair was turning into anger and her hands curled into fists. She swept her arm wide, indicating the beauty all around. ‘New owners mightn’t feel the same way we do about this place.’

  Another shot, and the magpie arrowed away to safety. Nina slammed the motor into life. She pointed the Pelican upstream towards the gunfire, taking off so fast that Sophie almost lost her balance. Ric steadied the girl with his arm. ‘For Christ’s sake, Nina.’

  Nina slowed to check Sophie was all right, then spun the helm and shifted gears. They were wasting precious minutes. The boat sped down a narrow channel. Caught between the bank and a fallen cooba, it whined and shuddered alarmingly, finally scraping past and breaking free.

  ‘Nina, slow down!’

  The motor roared and the bow rose as they leaped away. She scanned the water ahead. Still no sign of hunters.

  A sudden wrench on her arm caused the Pelican to yaw wildly. ‘Stop the bloody boat!’ Ric’s expression, taut with anger, shocked her and brought her crashing down to earth. She straightened their course and shifted to neutral. The Pelican settled quickly, like it too was sick of their wild ride.

  Nina’s nose ran, her head throbbed and her eyes were wet with tears. Sophie clung to the side rail, white and shaken. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Nina. ‘I wanted to catch them so badly, I just didn’t think.’

  ‘What we
re you going to do if you did catch them?’ asked Ric. Nina looked away. ‘They could be nutters or drunk, or anything. You don’t know. The only thing you do know is that they’re armed.’

  ‘Well, so am I.’ Nina kicked at the rifle box bolted beneath the front seat.

  ‘Great,’ said Ric. ‘So, what, you were going to shoot them?’

  Sophie was trying to smother a succession of short sobs. Jinx whined in sympathy. He sat beside the girl and began to lick away her tears.

  ‘Let’s all settle down and go home,’ said Ric. ‘And I’ll shout us a counter tea at the pub.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Nina.

  ‘Please, please come,’ said Sophie. ‘It’s boring with just Dad.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ said Ric.

  Nina looked at Sophie’s eager, tear-streaked face. A night out with Ric? She imagined them, sitting together in the beer garden of the Angler’s Arms, music from the jukebox drifting in the warm night air. Fun for Sophie, maybe. Risky for Nina’s confused state of mind. But the thought of being at home by herself wasn’t what she wanted either. Not after missing that photo. If only Lockie was coming tonight, instead of in the morning. They’d hardly seen each other in the last few weeks, and it was lonely without him. It wasn’t really his fault. Lockie had been kept so busy lately: mustering, drafting, selling off cattle because of the drought. Prices were way down, but if the weather didn’t break soon, she might have to do the same thing.

  ‘Okay, I’ll come,’ said Nina.

  Sophie’s face lit up. ‘Can I have a grown-up dessert, instead of ice-cream?’