A Friend in Paradise

by Des Hunt

  “And?”

  “And I saw an Isuzu Bighorn with the number plate EMUS4ME.”

  “That should be easy to find.”

  “I already know who it is. It belongs to Noel Richardson, Jim’s friendly neighbour. The one who spends all his time on the Internet.”

  “What are we going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I have to go into town for supplies. And while I’m doing that, I’ll think about what to do next. You’re welcome to come with me if you want.”

  Robbie wanted to stay at Paradise for a bit longer. He wanted to have a look at that hollow tree. He tried to sound offhand. “I think I’ll stay here for a while. I’ll ride back later.”

  Price looked at him sideways, but said nothing. As he was leaving he said, “I’ll tell Jim you’ll be back by lunchtime. You make sure you’re there by then. OK?”

  Robbie nodded. He was ready to agree to anything.

  * * *

  He messed about until the change in noise of the motorbike told him it was over the ridge. Then he walked quickly towards the bush-line, hoping he was on the right path.

  It took more than an hour to find it. He hadn’t realized how deep into the bush he had been last night. Even then he wasn’t sure, as it had all seemed so different in the dark. For all he knew there were lots of hollow trees.

  The gap at the bottom was big enough for him to crawl inside. Immediately he became aware of a strange smell, musty and familiar. It took a while to work it out. When he did, he sat up quickly. “Oh yuck!” he yelled. It was the smell of the boys’ toilets at school, and he’d been crawling in the stuff.

  His outburst brought a rustling from higher in the trunk. He looked up. There was a small hole at the top that gave some light, but not enough to see what was causing the noise. He was aware of movement. Nowy he was scared. What if the animal jumped down on him? He turned on the torch, thankful Price hadn’t asked for it back.

  As he moved the beam around he could see more movement: wings flapping, heads swaying from side to side. At first he thought they were birds, perhaps some unknown species. That’s when he realized he was seeing something even more special. They were bats — the only land-based mammals native to New Zealand.

  They were hanging upside down. Black, paper-like wings and brown furry bodies. From what he had seen on TV he’d thought bats were ugly creatures, but their fur looked so soft, he wanted to stroke it. Slowly he stretched his hand towards the nearest.

  It never got there. The creature opened its mouth, baring a tiny set of very sharp teeth. He pulled back. While it might look warm and cuddly, it could have a nasty bite. He wasn’t about to find out.

  Instead he shone the torch around, looking for the creature he’d glimpsed last night. There was nothing. If the animal had come in here, it hadn’t stayed. It was too big to be hidden in amongst the bats.

  As he crawled backwards out of the hole, his back brushed against a loose bit of bark. Standing, he could see it was a long strip hanging from high in the tree. He grabbed hold of the bottom and pulled it out from the trunk, thinking there might be more bats beneath.

  There was rattling from further up, too loud to be a bat. He stepped closer so he could see better. There was movement about three metres up the tree. Some animal was trying to crawl higher.

  This could be the creature.

  Before he had a chance to make out any details, the thing was falling, crashing down on top of him, scratching and clawing. Robbie screamed, shaking his body from side to side, hoping to get free of the beast.

  It worked! The animal dropped to the ground. Robbie scrambled away from the tree to get as far away as possible before the thing recovered.

  Out in the open again, he calmed down a bit. He could still feel the cold, rough skin against his face. And the claws. The very sharp claws. When he put his hand up, it came away with blood. He wiped it with his T-shirt. It wasn’t as much as he’d thought.

  Gradually his breathing slowed and his heart stopped thumping. Then his curiosity took over. He had just had a close encounter with something very strange, something that maybe no one else knew about — and he’d run away. At a time when he should have been observing as much as he could, he’d wimped out. He had to see if he could find it again.

  Slowly he crept back towards the free. With any luck it would have climbed back under the bark. He knew what to expect this time, and hopefully he could control himself better. But what if the thing had gone? His chances of finding it again in the thick bush were slim. He’d lost the chance of a lifetime.

  He needn’t have worried. The thing was still there, lying on its back where it had fallen. It was a large reptile, possum-sized except without the fur. Everything about it was reptilian: shape; scales, legs and head. He could have been looking at the belly of a small dinosaur. He picked up a stick and approached it cautiously. It was still alive — there was a slight movement in the abdomen, either breathing or a heartbeat. He touched it with the stick. The legs moved slightly but not enough to cause alarm. He put the stick underneath and turned the creature over onto its belly, half expecting it to stop playing dead and make a run for it.

  Nothing happened. Robbie soon saw why. There were four nasty, wounds in the back, just in front of the hind legs. The dog must have bitten it last night.

  Right way up it no longer looked like a dinosaur. It was a lizard of some sort: a very large one, velvety-brown with red, bark-like patterns along the back. A giant version of one of the lizards they kept at school.

  “You’re probably a gecko,” said Robbie. The animal simply stared at him, without blinking. He knew that if it was a gecko, it had no choice. It had no eyelids and couldn’t blink even if it wanted to.

  What he knew for certain was that it had to be an unknown species. If people knew something like this was in the bush, a native reptile double the size of a tuatara, it would be big news.

  Carefully, he leaned forward to touch it. The animal turned its head, but there was no sign of attack. He needed to get it out of the bush so that if it did run, he’d be able to follow. Gently, he slid his hands under the body. It was heavy and limp. The large, soft belly spilled either side of his hands. But the main feeling was of coldness. He was so used to lifting cats and dogs he expected such a large animal to be warm. It wasn’t. It even seemed colder than the air.

  Out on the valley floor, he gently lowered it to the ground. There had been no struggling. Perhaps it was dying. Though it could also have never had any contact with humans, and had no fear of them. The scratching as it fell from the tree would have been panic, not an attack.

  Robbie sat on a log thinking about what to do. Obviously, the wound needed treatment, but he didn’t want to take it back to the farmhouse. Other people would soon find out about it, and he knew that wasn’t what he wanted. If the species had survived in the bush for so long without discovery, who was he to reveal its secrets? That meant he’d have to treat it himself, which would involve riding over the ridge every day.

  “I can do that,” he said to the animal, “but where am I going to keep you?”

  He couldn’t leave it in the open, nor in the bush. He needed a cage of some sort, or a pen. Then he remembered the docking pen at the bottom of the valley. It was made of netting fine enough to keep lambs in, so it would certainly be OK for the gecko.

  He took three stages in the journey down to the pen. The animal was a dead weight and soon tired his arms. When he finally placed it in the pen, he realized how little protection there was. Some grass grew amongst the dust and the dried lambs’ tails, but not enough to hide the animal. He’d have to make a house of some sort.

  That turned out to be easier than he expected. Amongst the driftwood near the gorge was a good-sized hollow log. He soon hauled it back to the pen. When he placed the animal at the end of the hollow it slowly dragged its body into the hole.

  “There you are. You should be safe there.”

  He then went round t
he fence checking for holes. He knew the lizard could climb over the top if it wanted; the pen was to keep other animals out, especially Richardson’s mongrels. He looked at his watch. Time had passed very quickly. He’d now have to rush to be back by lunchtime. Taking one last look into the log, he found all he could see was the roundness of the animal’s large belly.

  He laughed. “I know what I’ll call you — Puku. Puku, the fat-bellied one.”

  Soon he was on the bike climbing the hill over the ridge. He hardly noticed the track at all. His mind was on other things. Magic things, like living in Paradise, and being the only person in the world with a giant gecko for a pet. A giant gecko called Puku.

  Chapter 7

  His dreaming was shattered as soon as he got to the homestead. Jim started at him straightaway. It seemed the shearing gang had very strict working hours and lunch hour started at midday. Robbie arrived after half past.

  “You’re late!” was the welcome. “Price said you were going to be back by lunch.”

  “It’s lunch time isn’t it?” Robbie pointed at the shearers eating under the macrocarpa. “What are you going on about?” A couple of the shearers lowered their heads in disapproval.

  “Don’t get smart with me, Robbie. We could have done with your help right from the beginning. Johnny here’s been doing the work for two.”

  Johnny was a large Maori man with a thin, straggly, greying beard. There was a large patch of grey in his otherwise black hair. He looked friendly enough. They all did. There were four men and two women, who looked as if they might all be related.

  Jim calmed down a little. “You’d better go and get some cooler clothes. We start in fifteen minutes.”

  * * *

  That afternoon Robbie became a rousie, which meant keeping the floor clear in the woolshed. Johnny Marshall and his niece Irene were the other non-shearers. Irene and Johnny picked up the fleeces and spread them on a slatted table. The scrappy edge bits were picked off before the fleece was rolled and put in the press. Robbie had to clear the floor of scraps, dags and crutchings. It was more for safety than anything else — nobody wanted to slip over with sharp blades around.

  They worked non-stop for exactly an hour. In that time just under a hundred sheep were shorn. Jim had been flat out keeping the pens full.

  During the five-minute break Johnny, came over and climbed up beside Robbie at the top of a pile of bales.

  “You’re doing all right for the first time. Keep it up and we’ll find you a permanent job. It pays fifty cents an hour.

  Robbie looked sideways at him. The man had a twinkle in his eye.

  “Make it a buck and I’ll take it.”

  Johnny, laughed. It was a high-pitched, squeaky giggle, completely different from what Robbie would have expected. “No, that’s way too much. We’ll go broke. But I’ll give you something for nothing.” Suddenly the man was serious. “Go easy on Jim. All farmers get stressed during shearing, and Jim’s got a few other things on his mind. You might not know him very well but he’s a good guy. You don’t have to give him lip.” He stood, grabbed hold of Robbie and lifted him down. “C’mon. Let’s get back to work.”

  Two hours later the shearers were finished for the day. They sat around for a while, talking and drinking to replace the fluids they’d lost. Their talk was full of laughter, much of it jokes aimed at each other. They obviously knew one another very well — some of the stories were never finished because everybody had already cracked up, knowing what the ending would be. Robbie enjoyed himself, learning along the way that Johnny wasn’t the boss as he had thought — that was George. Johnny wasn’t even a permanent member of the shearing gang; he called himself a ring-in, though it was obvious, from the way the others treated him that he was an elder of some importance.

  After they’d gone there was still plenty to do making sure there were enough sheep under cover to start shearing at eight in the morning. Again it was dark before the two weary workers moved inside.

  While Jim got dinner, Robbie raided the bathroom first-aid cabinet. He was worried about Puku. The dog bites needed to be treated soon. If not, they would probably go bad.

  Straight after dinner he went to bed. Even though he was tired he didn’t sleep well — the thought of Puku dying kept him awake until after midnight.

  * * *

  Jim was on the phone when Robbie came down.

  “That was George. They’re still one short, so I’ll need you to rousie again.”

  Robbie looked alarmed and started to say something.

  “Hold it! Don’t get upset — it’s not until ten. Johnny can fill in until then, but after that he has to go to town.”

  Robbie’s look changed to relief. “Good. I want to go back to Paradise first.”

  “Why?”

  “Umm. It’s a surprise.”

  Jim looked straight at him. “OK,” he said. “Just don’t surprise me by doing anything stupid. And make sure you’re back well before ten. We don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”

  Robbie gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “I’ll make sure I’m back in time,” he said quietly.

  The valley looked just as Robbie had left it. He was shaking as he opened the pen. If Puku had gone then that would be OK — he could live with that. But if the animal was dead it would be his fault for not getting back earlier.

  The log was empty. Even though he’d prepared himself, it was still a shock. He was surprised Puku had been strong enough to go.

  He examined the dirt near the ends of the log. There were tracks at one end, but they didn’t go anywhere. They were only around the driftwood. With rising hope, he gently rolled the log over. And there it was, half-buried in the dust. Robbie laughed. It was a much better hiding place than he’d made.

  The cuts were much worse. They were now bulging, pus-filled sores. There could already be some blood poisoning. With the sharp end of a pair of scissors, he cut into each wound. Puku reacted, but stayed put. He washed them with disinfectant until all the pus had gone. They were deep enough to have damaged something inside. He filled each hole with antiseptic cream and covered them with plasters. Finally, he stepped back and admired his work. He couldn’t help but laugh. It looked so funny. The rarest lizard on earth looked as if it was stuck together with sticking plaster.

  Then he fed it. At school they had fed the lizards a honey and water mix. He placed a container in front of Puku, who showed some interest but didn’t drink. Robbie hoped it was the right stuff.

  Before he left he gathered some more wood and made a pile so there were plenty of hiding places, and hid the first-aid box underneath. That would save him having to carry it each time. By the time he turned up the track on the way home, he was feeling much happier. It looked as if his friend, Puku, was going to stay.

  * * *

  The shearing was finished by mid-afternoon, just as the rain came. A heavy, bucketing rain that drenched in seconds. The poor sheep soon looked like drowned rats. Robbie felt sorry for them, especially those that had been cut; their backs and bellies were stained pink with blood. It made him think of Puku and he wondered how he was coping with the rain.

  That evening the Walkers were Price’s guests for dinner. A lull in the rain let them walk the short distance along the main road to where the river flowed into the bay. Price’s place was tucked under some willows. It was a house bus — a 1937 WGS Bedford bus, to be exact. Robbie read it from a sign attached to the front bumper.

  Price had tidied up. His hair was tied back in a ponytail, and his beard had been combed. He showed the boy around with pride. It seemed bigger than it should be. The driving area was the kitchen and dining room with the driver’s seat turning round to form a lounge chair. Then came a large office-workshop, a bathroom, and finally his bedroom, complete with an emergency exit.

  Something puzzled Robbie. He’d seen a huge TV aerial outside by some power lines but couldn’t see the set. “Where’s the TV?”

  Jim laughed. “You’re going to
have to tell him, Price.”

  To Robbie’s surprise Price looked embarrassed.

  “It’s not a TV aerial. It’s an inductor. I’m stealing power from the wires. I just take enough for the lighting and the computer. I use gas for cooking and a stove for heating in winter.”

  Robbie smiled to himself. He liked the idea of power for nothing. He went through to the work area. The computer was on and an Internet browser program was showing. “Where’s your telephone line? Do you steal that too?”

  “No. That’s legal. I worked for TotalCom for many years. I have a lifetime of free mobile use. I can access the Internet through that as long as I park in a place with a signal.”

  “Can I use it for a while?”

  “Yes, if you know how.”

  Robbie looked at him as if he was from another planet. Everyone knew how to use the Internet. Well, almost everyone. He knew his mother couldn’t and he’d seen no computer at Jim’s place.

  He first logged into his school with his password. They had a resource archive that might have something on geckoes. It did, but nothing about giant ones. While he was there he checked out the song of the kokako. Price was right. The sound he’d heard was like kokako, but not the same.

  He then began searching the Internet. He started with Gecko, then added Giant, and then New Zealand. There were twelve hits. The first was from an Australian newspaper. It was about the place of giant reptiles in myths and legends. Most of if was on dragons and the like. Then it got onto Aborigine myths. Finally, there was:

  In New Zealand there is a long history of Maori legends based on reptiles. Many of these can be traced to the tuatara (too-ah-ta-rah), a dinosaur-like animal that still exists. Others are probably purely mythical, such as the taniwha (tar-knee-far). But one, kaweau (car-way-oh) may have existed at one time. In 1980 a giant gecko was discovered in a French museum. It has since been identified as being from a genus found only in New Zealand. They are the only group of viviparous geckoes in the world.