Castaway

by Joanne Van Os

  ‘Where do you reckon it’s from?’ said Uncle Mungo.

  ‘No idea, but it must be old. See that wooden tiller? You don’t see many boats like that anymore. I saw one in Darwin once that had this old-fashioned steering system.’

  Sam was poking around nearby. There were bits of broken planking, scraps of cloth and wrought iron bolts crusty with age. He stopped and bent to pick something up.

  ‘Hey look – a saucepan!’ It was a blackened pot. The heavy cast iron was cracked on one side, and the handle held on with wire. He tossed it into the hull where it landed with a dull clunk. There were some battered cooking utensils scattered around, but not much else. George climbed into the hull. It rocked alarmingly and Mac told him to get down.

  ‘There’s a name painted on the side – see?’ said Sam. The words didn’t make any sense to anyone.

  ‘Looks like a foreign boat,’ said Mac finally. ‘It could have been a dinghy come adrift from a trawler – we get a lot of illegal fishermen up here.’

  ‘There was a piece of netting over on the beach,’ said George.

  ‘Flamin’ illegal fishermen,’ snorted Uncle Mungo. ‘Flamin’ foreign thieves comin’ here and takin’ our fish. The navy oughta blow ’em all outta the water. Y’ better let Customs know, Mac.’

  ‘Yeah, I will. We should get back. The tide’s already coming in.’

  As they climbed up the dune to the camp, Sam turned to gaze at the wreckage. There was something else in the water.

  ‘Dad …?’

  ‘Holy hell, will you look at that!’ Uncle Mungo had seen it too. An enormous crocodile was cruising slowly around the edge of the reef, just metres from where they had been standing a few minutes before.

  ‘Hey, that’s old Lumpy! The croc we saw up at the rookery, remember? Haven’t seen him around here for at least ten years. The storm must have upset him, and he’s moved back out into the river again.’

  They all watched intently as the huge reptile swam slowly and sinuously past the reef, his head and back clearly visible out of the water.

  ‘That’s a monster!’ Uncle Mungo was impressed.

  ‘We’ll have to watch out when we come down here, if Lumpy’s back. He’s a cranky old man. Remember how he rushed our boat last time? You blokes be very careful.’

  On the way back to the house they found a couple of broken wires on the fence line leading from Deception Point. The fence needed tightening up in a few sections as well.

  ‘We won’t stop now,’ said Mac. ‘You blokes can come down here on the quad bike and fix it this afternoon while Uncle Mungo and I check the weaner paddock fence line. That can’t wait.’

  ‘Oh-oh … I left my water bottle at the camp, Dad,’ said George sheepishly.

  ‘Pick it up when you go back this afternoon, okay?’

  Sarah, Jaz and Old Jock had been busy clearing away fallen branches from around the homestead, and had got the tractor ready to lift the tree off the school caravan. Lunch was the first priority, though, and they had just finished eating when they heard the whap-whap-whap of rotor blades coming towards the house. Sam and George watched from the verandah as a large Jetranger helicopter landed on the grass a couple of hundred metres in front of them. A door opened and a tall, lanky figure climbed out, folded itself in half and scurried away from the chopper. When it was clear of the rotors, the figure unfolded itself and ambled casually towards them. It looked vaguely familiar.

  ‘Hey, that’s Charles! What’s he doing flying around in helicopters?’ yelled George happily.

  He and Sam raced down the stairs. They had first met Charles Rowntree when he was working as an undercover Federal Police officer trying to catch a gang of bird smugglers who were operating on Brumby Plains. Sam had been very suspicious of Charles at that time, but he now considered the eccentric Englishman practically a family member.

  ‘Well, well, fancy meeting you two characters! Hello-hello-hello – wonderful to see you both,’ he said, his bushy eyebrows and brown ponytail keeping time with the handshakes.

  ‘G’day, Charles!’ Mac had come up behind them, and he shook hands with the visitor too. ‘This is a bit of a surprise! Improved your mode of transport, eh?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Bit of an improvement on battered old white vans, isn’t it? Actually, I’ve been seconded to Customs for a while. Get to hurtle around in flying machines all over the countryside. Great fun!’

  ‘Well, you must be psychic then, because I was just about to ring Customs. Come inside …’

  The pilot shut down the engine and joined them as they trooped into the house. Mac introduced the visitors to his brother Mungo, and to the governess Jaz, and explained about the boat wreckage down at Deception Point while Sarah poured tea.

  ‘Well, we’re keeping pace with you, Mac. We were doing some reconnaissance along the coast and came across it just now, so I thought I’d nip up and see you about it.’

  ‘Dad thinks it might be a dinghy from a trawler,’ broke in George. ‘Sam and I spotted it from the beach, didn’t we, Sam?’

  ‘It may well be just that, George. However, we’ve had reports of another group of suspected illegal immigrants heading towards Darwin and coming through this way, which is somewhat unusual. Two boats landed at the Tiwi Islands last week with fourteen people on board, and we understood there were a couple more out there still. We stopped and had a look at the wreck at the Point, but there’s not enough evidence to say what it is, or rather, was, and certainly no sign of any people, so you’re probably right, Mac. Just the same, we want you to keep a sharp eye out, in case anyone might have come ashore.’

  ‘When are you fellers goin’ to do yer job properly an’ blow these boats outta the water when you spot ’em, eh?’ Uncle Mungo said loudly. ‘Underminin’ our way of life, they are. Got no business comin’ here, none at all.’

  ‘Mungo!’ said Sarah in a shocked tone. Jaz made a quiet exclamation and looked askance at the big red-haired man.

  Charles just raised his eyebrows, nodded at Uncle Mungo and said, ‘Yes, that’s how a lot of people feel about illegal arrivals. But we’d have a bit of trouble on our hands if we just started shooting people on the water.’

  ‘Yeah, ease up, Mungo, that’s a bit savage. They’re refugees. They’ve got nowhere else to go,’ said Mac.

  ‘A lot of miserable queue jumpers is what they are,’ growled Uncle Mungo. ‘Come over here because they don’t like things in their own country, get on the dole and Medicare, and we’re the poor beggars who pay for ’em. Oughta sink the boats before they get here. You let one lot in, they’ll all come.’

  ‘But aren’t they running away from war and stuff?’ asked Sam. He could think of nothing worse than being forced to leave his home.

  ‘Well they should stay at home and sort out their own country’s problems, not bring them over to us. And they’re not refugees,’ Uncle Mungo said, looking at Mac. ‘They’re flamin’ illegal immigrants!’ He wrapped his big hands around his mug and glowered into his tea.

  Jaz picked up her cup, her face stony, and went into the kitchen. Sam elbowed George, and the two of them excused themselves from the table, and slipped outside.

  ‘Gee, Uncle Mungo gets pretty cranky about things, doesn’t he?’ Sam said to his brother as they wandered over to look at the crushed caravan.

  ‘Yeah, I guess. There’s a lot of people he doesn’t like. Refugees. Tree-huggers. What’s a tree-hugger anyway?’

  ‘Someone who likes trees, I s’pose. I hope he’s not gunna to stay too long. I don’t think Jaz likes him much either.’

  ‘Dad seems pretty happy to see him.’

  ‘Well, he’s his brother. You put up with a lot from your brother,’ said Sam.

  George punched him on the arm and pulled a face at him.

  Just then Mac came out of the house with Charles and the pilot, and called out to Sam and George. ‘Hey, guys, Charles is going back to have another look around the Point. You can go along if you promise not to break anything
.’

  Zooming along at three hundred feet above the flood plains was Sam’s idea of bliss. From the air the potholed bumpy surface looked as smooth as a bowling green. He could see across almost the whole spread of his home, from the looming sandstone bulk of the Arm in the east, to way across the river that formed their boundary on the west. Ahead of them lay the sparkling blue waters of the bay and from this height, he could see the hazy shadow of the Tiwi Islands to the northwest. Charles had put headphones on them so they could talk, and he asked them about what they had seen that morning.

  ‘An old black pot and cooking stuff,’ said Sam, ‘and some smashed-up wood. George found a bit with a name painted on it – or some letters anyway.’

  ‘What about along the beach? Did you see anything unusual washed up?’

  ‘Not really, just some old fish net, and more bits of timber,’ said George.

  ‘What about that book you found?’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh yeah! I found a soggy old atlas, like the ones we have in school. Or used to.’ He smirked at Sam.

  ‘An atlas, you say? That could be interesting. We might go down and have another look around the beach.’

  Charles spoke to the pilot and the helicopter banked to one side, veering off along the shoreline. In a few minutes they were touching down in a clearing beside the campsite. Sam, George and Charles climbed down the embankment to the beach, leaving the pilot in the helicopter with the engine running. The tide was coming in, and was well up the beach already.

  ‘Here’re the fish nets and the wood,’ said Sam. ‘Where’d you chuck the atlas, George?’

  ‘Just here somewhere … that’s funny, I can’t see it now.’ George cast about with a puzzled frown, but the atlas had disappeared. ‘I can’t see my water bottle either. I’m sure I left it around here.’

  ‘Maybe a crow picked it up, or a dingo or something,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, the tide has come in a fair way,’ said Charles. ‘Perhaps the atlas has already washed away. Never mind. We’ll look around a bit more, and make sure there are no shipwreck survivors sending up smoke signals.’

  Half an hour later, they were back home. They walked up to the house and, as they moved further away from the noise of the helicopter, they became aware of a commotion coming from the direction of the schoolroom. Voices were shouting above the rumbling of the tractor.

  ‘Dad must be getting the tree off already. Quick, let’s get there before it’s all over!’

  Sam and George ran ahead, with Charles loping along behind. As they reached the crushed van, they realised that something dreadful had occurred. The big tree was lying beside the caravan. Mac was sprawled awkwardly on the ground next to it, his face white and his eyes closed. Mungo shut down the tractor as Sarah hovered over her husband, crying his name. Jaz knelt beside her, and Old Jock was crouched on the other side of Mac, ashen faced, wringing his hands and looking aghast. Mungo jumped down from the tractor, and rushed over to his brother.

  Sam and George halted beside Sarah, not understanding what had happened. She looked up and saw them, her face absolutely stricken.

  ‘Sam, George! Oh God, he’s hurt!’

  At the sight of her sons, she forced herself to calm down, and began checking Mac for signs of further injury. He was unconscious, and his breathing was shallow and uneven. His right arm and leg were obviously broken, but his injuries seemed to be worse than what Sarah could immediately see. Uncle Mungo turned to Charles, who had come to a standstill beside him.

  ‘I was just pullin’ the tree off the van when it slipped sideways. Dragged the tractor across. Mac was standin’ near the tractor and a branch caught him hard across the body. I just managed to lift the tree enough for the others to pull him out from under it …’ The big man’s voice cracked, and his hands trembled. He knelt down next to Sarah. She looked up at Charles.

  ‘We’ve got to get him to hospital, and fast.’

  ‘I’ll let the pilot know.’ Charles ran back to the helicopter, and the two men began taking out the rear seats.

  Uncle Mungo shook himself, got to his feet, and said to Sam and George, ‘Fellers, we need to make a stretcher to carry Mac to the chopper. What’ve we got?’

  Fifteen minutes later, Sam and George stood on the grass in front of the house as the helicopter lifted off. Sarah had gone in the chopper with Mac, and Sam, George and Uncle Mungo would follow by road. Charles had also left with the helicopter.

  ‘I’m very glad we were here when this happened,’ he had said to them as he climbed aboard. ‘Don’t worry about Mac – he’ll be well looked after. The hospital’s alerted and we’ll be landing there in twenty-five minutes. Chins up.’

  They watched until the Jetranger dwindled to a speck in the western sky and vanished.

  Three hours later, Sam and George were in the waiting room of the hospital’s emergency ward. People hurried in and out of doors, or waited on the hard plastic chairs to be seen by a doctor. Occasionally a name would be called, and someone would heave a sigh and follow the nurse through the doors. Uncle Mungo appeared before them, polystyrene cups of hot chocolate looking fragile in his huge hands.

  ‘Here, you blokes, get this inside ya – we could have a long wait.’

  Their mother’s sister Aunty Lou arrived and swept them into a tight embrace as soon as she spotted them.

  ‘Oh, boys, boys, it’s so terrible! You have to be strong now, and stay brave for your dad. It’ll be all right, you’ll see. Tess and Darcy send their love, but I left them at home …’ She went on and on, a torrent of well-meant words that Sam and George heard as a kind of background blur.

  Aunty Lou dressed quite differently from her sister Sarah, who tended to favour jeans and cotton shirts, and pulled her blonde hair into a ponytail. Aunty Lou’s hair was cut short and spiky, and regularly changed colour. This time it was an odd shade of purplish-red. She was wearing a long, multicoloured patchwork skirt and a bright orange cheesecloth blouse. The jingling of dozens of silver bracelets and necklaces could be heard every time she moved, which was often. Aunty Lou never sat still for very long. Sam usually thought she looked a bit like a demented parrot, but tonight he barely noticed.

  She flung her arms around Uncle Mungo and gave him a frantic hug. ‘Mungo! It’s been years – not since the wedding, I think. My God, aren’t we all getting old! It’s so good to see you. It’s a pity it’s under such dreadful circumstances …’ Sam glanced sideways at George, and they both tuned out as their aunt chattered away to Uncle Mungo, who blinked at Aunty Lou as if she was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.

  They drank two more cups of chocolate before a white-coated doctor called out their names. Sam, George and Uncle Mungo followed him along a corridor to a room full of lights and stainless steel and frightening-looking equipment. Mac was in a bed, with plastic tubes coming out of him everywhere and a bulky white brace around his neck. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t look as deathly pale as he had back at the homestead. Sarah was sitting close to him, holding his hand and talking quietly to him. She looked up as they came in, and tried to smile at her sons.

  ‘Hey, guys,’ she sniffed, giving them both a hug. ‘It’s okay, he’ll be okay. He’s stable, but they want to fly him to Adelaide – they can’t do the operation here …’ She couldn’t speak any further, and the doctor standing next to them introduced himself.

  ‘I’m David Petersen. Apart from the broken arm and leg and the superficial injuries, your father has a serious fracture of his spine. He’s asleep now – we’ve given him some medication to keep him quiet and still – but I’m afraid the damage is quite bad. There’s a spinal unit in Adelaide which is much better equipped to handle this kind of injury, and his best chance is to go there as soon as possible. We’re flying him out tonight. Have you got any questions?’

  They were both silent for a moment, and then George blurted out the question Sam couldn’t ask.

  ‘He’s not going to be paralysed, is he? He’ll be able to walk agai
n, won’t he?’ A tear rolled down George’s cheek, and Sarah pulled him to her.

  ‘Mate, it’s too early to say,’ said Dr Petersen. ‘But your dad is strong and healthy, and that’s a big plus on his side. We’ve got the best spinal surgeons in the country waiting for him, and they’ll operate as soon as they can.’

  Sarah and Mac were taken by ambulance to the airport a little while later, and afterwards Uncle Mungo drove Sam and George to the Munros’ house. Aunty Lou gave them both more life-threatening hugs, sat them down to some dinner they barely touched, and put them to bed in the spare room.

  ‘Tess and Darcy are already asleep, but you’ll see them in the morning,’ she said as she switched off the light. ‘Do try and get some sleep, poor things. Don’t worry about your dad, his angels are watching over him.’

  ‘Angels?’ said George as her footsteps faded away down the hall. ‘Is she into angels now?’

  ‘Well, it’ll make a change from all the other stuff she goes on about.’

  The two boys lay on top of their beds, too dispirited to even get undressed. Neither could voice the worries they had, so they just lay there in the darkness. The door opened, and two figures slipped silently into the room. Sam flicked on his bedside lamp.

  ‘Hey, guys. We knew you wouldn’t be asleep yet …’ Tess sat down on Sam’s bed, and Darcy on George’s.

  ‘How’s Uncle Mac? Mum won’t tell us anything, just says we shouldn’t worry.’ Darcy looked irritated and concerned at the same time.

  Sam sat up and hugged his knees to his chest. ‘We saw the doctor in the hospital before Dad flew out. He’s hurt pretty bad. They said he’s got a fractured spine, and he needs an operation in Adelaide.’

  Tess and Darcy were silent for a moment and then Darcy said, ‘A fractured spine? Does that mean he’ll be paralysed … you know, in a wheelchair?’