by Des Hunt
Robbie was excited. “He rode the computer chair back into the kitchen where Jim and Price were drinking. “What does viviparous mean?” he interrupted. He made it sound like Vivy Paris.
“Vee-vip-arus,” corrected Price. “It means to give birth to live young. As against oviparous, which means to lay eggs. Why? What are you working on?”
Robbie tried to look blank. “Oh, nothing really,” he said as he scooted back to the computer. He now had something to work on. He added Kaweau to his search. That reduced it to three hits.
The first was an article in a magazine called Geckoid. It gave the first few words:
Giant kaweau, a gecko from New Zealand, has now been recognised as the…
Robbie clicked on the link that would give him more. The screen changed into a credit-card payment form.
“Damn!” He would get nothing more unless he paid for it.
The second was no better. It was the original article about the discovery of the kaweau in the Museum of Natural History in Marseilles, France. It was probably interesting, but it was all in French.
The third was pure gold. It was from the Journal of the Los Angeles Herpetological Society. The title didn’t look much: Isolationism and the Development of Gigantism in Hoplodactylus delcourti.
He had no idea what that meant. But decided he’d better look at it. He clicked the mouse and waited, expecting the screen to fill with more boring text. It took a long time. The counter showed it was a big file. Robbie was just about to cancel the transfer when the screen blanked. An instant later he was looking at a picture of Puku.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” he yelled, thumping the table.
From the other room he heard Price say, “Do you think he’s found what he’s looking for?”
“Sounds like he might have,” replied Jim. “God knows what it is though.”
Robbie ignored them. He was gazing at the photo. The colour was darker, but the markings were the same. A plastic ruler gave the scale. It looked like Puku was slightly bigger than this one. The caption said:
The only recorded specimen of Hoplodactylus delcourti, known in New Zealand as kaweau. (Courtesy: Musée d’Histoire Naturelle, Marseilles)
He pressed the Page Down key. Another photo appeared. Then he started laughing. It was the bottom view of the same specimen. The skin of the stuffed animal was stitched along the belly. It seemed to Robbie that the only two known kaweau were either patched together with sticking plaster, or stitched up with cotton.
The boring text was on the next page. It took a long time for him to read it. He used Price as interpreter.
“What does arboreal mean?”
“Lives in trees.”
“Omnivorous?”
“Eats both plant and animal things.”
“Endemic?”
“Only found in that place.”
“Scansorial?”
“Scansorial? Never heard of it. Probably a misprint.”
And so it went on. What he learned was that really, nobody knew much about kaweau. But everyone wanted to make some guesses.
He closed the file, pleased with what he’d found. The scientists could use all the big words they wanted. He didn’t mind. There was only one person in the world who could find out for sure. And that was Robert James Walker, Visiting Expert, RD 4, Opotiki, New Zealand.
* * *
The talk over dinner was about Richardson and the kiwi. Price told Jim what they’d seen the night before last. Surprisingly, Jim seemed to accept what was happening. “Yeah, I thought it’d be something like that.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“Is it worth doing anything? He doesn’t seem to have caught many yet.”
“That’s because his dogs are useless. If he wakes up to that, and gets something decent, he could catch heaps. Judging by the calls at night, there are plenty of them up there.”
“Could you block off the road?” asked Robbie.
“That’d be a bit obvious,” replied Jim.
“Not if you make it look like a slip or something.”
“Mmm,” added Price. “That could work.”
Jim looked to the roof. “If this rain keeps up, it’ll happen anyway.”
Price got up to make some coffee.
When he returned he looked thoughtful. “You know, I’d like to find out more about what he’s up to. I think I’ll pay him a visit.”
“You could take Robbie over,” said Jim, “and get the guided tour. Richardson’s always keen to show off his place. That’d give you a chance to have a look around.”
“Yes please,” said Robbie. He’d already heard lots about this Richardson and was keen to meet him.
After some discussion they decided to go over sometime before the weekend. Hopefully, the rain would have stopped by then.
The two men kept talking late into the night. Robbie curled up on a sofa and dozed. He heard bits of what was said, but nothing that interested him. It was mainly about a poison drop over the wilderness. This was meant to get the possums that were killing the bush. It seemed some people were against the drop, but the two men were for it. So was Robbie, he supposed, but he was really too tired to care one way or the other.
As they were getting ready to leave, Price decided to shift the bus, just in case the river flooded. At the same time he’d be able to give Jim and Robbie a ride home.
“Even if it doesn’t flood here,” said Jim, “it will for sure up in Paradise.”
Suddenly, Robbie was wide awake. “Do you think it will flood up there?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t take much. Anyway, it’ll do it good. A decent soaking in the middle of summer brings the grass away.”
Robbie wasn’t thinking of the grass. He was thinking of Puku and the docking pen. It wasn’t in the lowest part of the valley, but it could easily flood. It was something he hadn’t even thought about.
Later he lay in bed listening to the rain. As it continued, he got mad with himself for not thinking carefully enough. He’d shut Puku in a place where he could drown. It would be a tragedy if that happened, and it would be his fault. Oh how could he be so useless? So useless that he couldn’t even look after a lizard properly.
Chapter 8
It had stopped raining by morning. Only just, though. Robbie felt as if he’d been awake all night listening to the deafening noise on the iron roof.
The weather looked as if it was clearing from the south. White Island was still covered in cloud. He hadn’t seen it in three days. Maybe it wasn’t there anymore? Perhaps it had blown up? Although he was sure they’d feel something if that happened, even if they didn’t see it. The bay was brown with muddy water from the river. The land where Price lived was hidden by trees, but Robbie thought it must be flooded, judging by the torrent downstream. His heart sunk. If there was this much water here then there would be real problems at Paradise. He had to get up there as soon as possible.
Luckily, Jim felt the same way. He needed to check it out before taking the ewes back. This time they took the tractor with Robbie sitting in the trailer. It was one hell of a ride. He had to hold on tightly as the trailer did the rock and roll over the rough track. He couldn’t relax for a minute. And all the time he was thinking about what he would find when he got there.
Just as well they didn’t have the ute, as there were several new slips. At each one they had to take off the trailer so that Jim could use the scoop on the front of the tractor to clear a path through the debris. Two hours later they reached the spot where they could view the valley. Yes, it was flooded, although not completely — there was still a strip of pasture around the edge. The rest was a beautiful calm lake sitting in the wilderness.
Robbie didn’t see any of the beauty. All he saw was the ring of netting that was the docking pen. The water can’t have been more than a metre deep, but that was more than enough to drown Puku. He could see the logs were floating, turning slowly in the centre of the pen. There also seemed to be some coloured things betwee
n the logs. It was hard to see clearly.
“Looks like we need a boat, not a tractor,” said Jim with a chuckle. He got off the tractor and fished around in the toolbox, pulling out binoculars and a roll of toilet paper.
He handed the binoculars to Robbie. “Have a look to see if the water’s draining into the gorge. I’ll be back shortly.”
Instead of sighting on the logs near the exit, Robbie turned to the pen. The pieces of colour were the food container and the first-aid box. There also seemed to be something funny about one of the logs, but it was all blurred. He fiddled with the knobs. As it came into focus he saw Puku sunbathing on the largest piece.
“Yes!” he breathed. Then he saw some movement behind Puku. There were other things on the log as well.
“Is it moving OK?” Jim had returned.
Robbie jumped. He swung the glasses to the gorge. There was one large log over the exit. But the water seemed to be flowing OK.
“Seems all right.” He handed the glasses to Jim. Instantly he regretted it. What if he looks at the pen?
“Yeah, that’s fine! He put down the glasses. “Seems like it’s been higher though. Some logs have floated into the docking pen.” He picked up the glasses again.
Robbie cut in quickly. “How long will it take to go down?”
“Oh, most of it will be gone by evening,” replied Jim lowering the glasses. We’ll be able to get the ewes up here in the next day or so.” His eyes scanned the Valley once more. “You know Robbie, this flooding would have been a real nuisance if I’d turned it into a campsite. Imagine having to evacuate people in the middle of the night. Maybe your father saved me from a whole lot of problems.” He put the glasses back in the toolbox. “We might as well get back home. There’s nothing to do here.”
Robbie was desperate to stay. “Can I walk back? Riding in the trailer makes me sick.” He put on his best feeling-sick face. It wasn’t all an act. He actually didn’t feel too good.
Jim paused for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose so.”
“I might rest here a while until I feel better. I’ll watch to make sure the water goes down.”
“Yeah, you do that,’ said Jim, chuckling. “And keep an eye on the grass too. Check that it’s still growing.” Robbie smiled weakly. Jim climbed onto the tractor seat. “Right, I want you home by three. Remember it’s a fair walk back — it takes more than a couple of hours.” He started up. “And don’t go into the water, either.”
A moment later, he was driving off shaking his head, no doubt at the thought of anyone wanting to watch water drain from a lake.
* * *
Robbie soon became impatient. He could see the water was dropping, but it would be too late before it was back to normal. The only thing to do was to wade across. He took off all his clothes. Even though he knew nobody could be looking, he was still a bit embarrassed.
He almost made it to the middle before he finally had to swim. Fortunately there was no current and he found it easier to swim than walk. By the time he got to the edge of the pen the bigger logs had grounded and the water was only up to his knees.
Now he could see what was on the log with Puku. Strung out in a row facing her were three normal-sized geckoes. For a moment he thought they might be another unknown species, but then it dawned on him.
They were kaweau!
Puku had given birth to three babies, all of them perfect copies of their mother.
Robbie was thrilled. He looked at them in wonder. “Hello Hoplodactylus delcourti. I see you’re not a he after all.”
He wanted to cuddle her, he was so pleased. “We’d better get your family to a safer place, hadn’t we?”
When he first grabbed the log, the babies scampered to their mother and sheltered under her belly, which was no longer as fat as before. Supporting the log with his hands, he floated it out of the pen and up onto the grass. Puku showed no fear. He was amazed at how possum-like she looked gripping onto the log. He’d noticed that in the picture of the stuffed kaweau. The body shape and claws were just like the possums he saw squashed on the road.
Robbie decided he wasn’t going to risk drowning them again. He’d build a home out of logs up near the bush. If Puku decided to take her family away then that would be fine with him. Anything would be better than the guilt he’d felt over the last twelve hours.
* * *
The finished hut was a rough circle of wood and fern fronds held in place with stones. In the middle was the original hollow log and some larger stones. There was plenty of cover to protect the animals. It wouldn’t keep them in, not if they wanted to go, but that wasn’t the idea. All he wanted was a place where he could study them if they decided to stay, and something to keep the sheep out if they returned tomorrow. It was also a cover for his visits to the valley. He was just coming to play in his hut in the bush. Wasn’t that a normal thing for a kid to do?
His first experiment tested Puku’s diet. He broke open a number of rotting logs to collect huhu grubs, thinking that if humans could eat them, then so might geckoes. They did — Puku scoffed six with hardly a pause. Then she did something remarkable. She took one in her mouth, chomped a couple of times and spat it out. The babies swarmed in and ate it almost as quickly as she had. This was repeated four times until their bellies were bulging. Robbie watched, enchanted. It was just like a bantam hen and her chicks.
“Wow!” he proclaimed. “None of those scientists said they cared for their young.”
Experiment number two was with cicadas. There were plenty of those. Their songs filled the valley and they were also easy to catch. He took off their wings so they couldn’t fly away.
Puku ate two and offered one to the youngsters, but they no longer seemed interested in eating. They’d started to explore the world around them, but never moving further than a quick scamper back to their mother.
Before he left he collected flowers and young shoots from the trees. That would make sure there was something before he came back tomorrow. He hoped with all his heart that it was enough to keep them there.
Chapter 9
That evening Price took Robbie to Richardson’s. They walked, as it was only on the other side of the river, just past the bridge. On the way Price told him the latest news. “You know, those pellets I took out of the kiwi’s crop? I’ve had them analysed. They contain Karlim, a drug that calms and pacifies.”
“What would it do to the kiwi?”
“Make them dopey. Easy to catch.”
Robbie was silent for the rest of the walk. He was thinking about Karlim and whether it worked with kaweau. Because if it did, that could explain why Puku was so quiet.
He wasn’t prepared for what he saw at Richardson’s place. He’d formed an image of a nasty, mean, dirty farmer. Nothing about the place fitted that picture. It was fenced with high shelter-belts, all neatly trimmed, as was the lawn by the roadside. The stone gateway gave the impression of money — lots of it.
The driveway was lined with flowering shrubs, and he had the odd glimpse of lush pastures beyond. It was one of these glimpses that stopped him in his tracks. “Look!” he yelled at Price, grabbing his arm. “He’s caught some moa.”
“He hasn’t has he?”
“Yes, there!”
Price leaned back and laughed. “You’ve been dreaming too much about finding things in the bush. They’re emus. Richardson farms emus.”
Robbie saw he was right. Still, he thought, it was an easy mistake. If there were kaweau in the bush, then why not moa? Anyway, emus were cousins of the moa.
The house matched the gateway. It was a low sprawling place, where the inside merged naturally with the lovely gardens. And Richardson matched the house. He was the complete image of the rich countryman, with a pair of huge Irish wolfhounds at his side. The successful businessman blending perfectly with the farmer. It was hard for Robbie to imagine this man doing anything criminal. They must be wrong about him.
Price introduced Robbie.
“Hello, young man
,” said Richardson. “I gather you’re the one who was nearly in a plane crash.”
Immediately, Robbie’s view changed. Richardson was talking down to him. “Yes, Mister Richardson. I am that young man.”
The sarcasm was lost on Richardson. “Well, you don’t seem to be damaged. With that, Robbie was finished with, as far as the man was concerned.
“And Price. What are you doing with yourself?” It was asked in a way that said: “I’m asking because it’s polite, but I’m not the least bit interested in your answer.”
Price’s answer sounded much the same. “Oh a little bit of this and a little bit of that.”
“Good. Good. You know, we must go out fishing sometime. I believe the tuna are huge this season.” It sounded like an offer he made to everyone, but nobody was expected to accept.
“Yes. That’s a great idea. How about the weekend after next?”
For the first time Richardson showed some emotion. He was annoyed. Price had broken the rules.
“Er … yes,” he mumbled. “That’d be fine. Yes. Yes,” he said again, recovering. “That weekend will be fine. How about the Saturday? We’ll go out by White Island. Might even be able to land. I’m sure the young man would like that.” And so it was arranged. Price, Richardson and the young man were going tuna fishing. No doubt the boat would match the house, the gate and the man.
After some boring talk about the weather, Price turned the conversation around to the reason for the visit. “Young Robbie here is rather hoping you’ll show him around.”
