A Friend in Paradise

by Des Hunt

  Richardson’s face lit up. Robbie was now an admiring fan. “Yes, yes. Of course. Let’s do it now.”

  Behind the house were two large sheds. Robbie had no idea what to expect. Later, he realized he would never have guessed. They were full of hundreds and hundreds of emu chicks, from day-old to chook-sized. Room after room of them.

  Richardson gave them the full treatment. He started with the incubators, huge machines that each held a hundred of the large eggs. They moved on to the grinders that prepared the birds’ special mix of corn and fishmeal, then the control room where everything about the birds was measured, counted and compared.

  But most of all they got the money bit. How much everything cost. And the bottom line? “At six months I can sell every one of these birds for at least two thousand dollars. And the hens are worth even more.”

  Robbie saw two dead birds trodden into the sawdust. There’s four or five grand gone, he thought. Then, as he walked away, he thought of what Puku could be worth — at least a hundred times more. And then there were the babies. In Richardson’s world, he would be seen as a very rich young man.

  * * *

  At one stage Robbie interrupted and asked to go to the toilet. Richardson looked annoyed. “There’s one around that corridor there.”

  Robbie followed his directions and found that several doors led off the corridor. The first was a food store, the second was the toilet. When he was finished, he took the opportunity to explore one of the other doors. It led to a large storage area, with cages of various shapes and sizes. Most had food containers in them. Not all the containers looked suitable for birds, and Robbie got the impression the cages were used for a wide range of animals.

  Behind the cages were egg cartons, but nothing like the flimsy cartons you see in supermarkets. Each was made of pale blue polystyrene and had twelve large depressions. They were solid blocks, designed to protect eggs under the roughest of conditions.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Robbie jumped. The man had appeared out of nowhere. He was unshaven and wore rough clothes. Robbie knew he hadn’t seen him before, but the voice was familiar. He suddenly realized he might have been one of the men hunting the kiwi.

  “I asked you what you were doing here!”

  Robbie put on his best dumb-kid act. “I went to the toilet and got lost on the way back. Can you tell me where to go?”

  The man looked at him with narrowed eyes but said nothing, pointing at the door.

  “Thank you, sir. Sorry to annoy you, sir,” Robbie said, and hurried back to join the others.

  * * *

  The final part of the tour was out in the fields to see the adults, and this was the most surprising thing of all. There were only ten. Five pairs, each in a separate pen. Two of the nearest came to the fence when called and Richardson hand fed them with some pellets.

  “Where do they nest?” asked Robbie.

  “When they’re ready to lay we shift-them over to the corral.” Richardson indicated a set of high yards at the far end of the paddock.

  “Do you ever have any trouble handling them?” asked Price. “They look like they could give a nasty peck.”

  “Sometimes the cocks get a bit stroppy in the breeding season. We give them a mild drug to calm them down.”

  “Karlim?”

  Richardson looked surprised. “Yes. It works very well with all the ratites. Emus, rheas or ostriches.”

  And kiwi, thought Robbie. It works very well with them too.

  * * *

  As they were walking home Price asked him an interesting question. “What’s your arithmetic like, young man?”

  Robbie hit him playfully on the arm. “It’s OK, elderly man.”

  “How many eggs do you think an emu lays in a clutch?”

  “I don’t know about emus, but kiwi only lay one or two.”

  “It was the same with moa, I believe. But they’re island species. The Other ratites evolved where there were enemies, so they lay more eggs. Let’s say ten as a nice round number.”

  “They’d lay more if you took the eggs away.”

  “Right. For argument’s sake, and to give us an easy number to work with, let’s make it fifty a year. With five pairs, that’s two hundred and fifty eggs at the most.”

  Robbie could now see what he was getting at. “So how did he get all those chicks?”

  “Precisely!”

  “He might be hatching them for other people.”

  “Not Richardson. You saw, the way he was adding up the dollars. No, they’re all his. There’s only one place they could come from.”

  Robbie waited.

  “And that’s overseas. He must be smuggling them in from some other country”

  “He could be buying them.”

  “Not allowed. You can’t bring birds in from anywhere, not even frozen chickens. Most of the rest of the world has Crazy Crow disease and everybody’s scared to buy emu or ostrich meat, or even chickens. But we don’t have the disease so our stuff still sells — if you’ve got lots of money.”

  Robbie had heard about Crazy Crow disease. Who hadn’t? It had been the biggest news item last year. It was named after another disease called Mad Cow disease that had almost destroyed the beef industry in some countries. Crazy Crow disease had the same symptoms, and there was even a suggestion that it had the same cause. The disease had a long scientific name, but the papers and TV usually referred to it as CCD.

  It could be in a bird for up to two years before any symptoms showed. Then the bird would fall off its perch, even hang upside down, or fly around in circles. The news footage looked funny, until you realized the bird was dying. The disease could be spread to humans who ate bird products, slowly destroying the brain until the person died. There was no known cure.

  “Can Crazy Crow be spread by eggs?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. That’s probably the main way it’s spread.”

  Robbie told him about the egg containers and cages.

  “Excellent work. So now we know he’s moving eggs and birds around the place. Well done, my dear Walker! I knew we’d get to the bottom of this.”

  They walked in silence for a while.

  As they passed over the bridge, Robbie had a horrible thought. “Do you think Crazy Crow could get into the native birds from Richardson’s farm?”

  “Yes. The bush is only a stone’s throw away. I don’t know exactly how it would get there. But then, nobody knows a lot about how it spreads. If it got in there it could be the end of our native birds.”

  “And reptiles?”

  “Yes, that’s possible. It’s already passed from mammals to birds, so I can’t see why it couldn’t spread to reptiles.” “Then we’d better do something about it,” said Robbie.

  “Yes. I agree. But what?”

  “We could burn down the sheds.”

  “Ha! I must say, Robbie Walker, you have a very direct way of solving problems. Blocking roads, burning buildings! I suppose we could even dam the river and drown them all. Or blow them up with explosives.”

  “Yes,” said Robbie, without smiling. “If we have to.”

  Chapter 10

  Robbie thought very little about Puku and her babies over the next day. He was too worried about himself. At one stage he thought he was going to die.

  The sickness he’d felt most of the day quickly developed into a fever. By ten o’clock that night he was a sweating, moaning, itching mess. Jim didn’t have a clue what to do. It was completely outside anything he’d experienced. If it had been a farm animal, he would have been all right. In the end he called Price.

  Price had never had children either, but readily accepted it wasn’t an act. He suggested they ring a doctor. With Jim on the phone and Price at the bed they helped the doctor through his long-distance examination.

  What’s his temperature?”

  “We don’t have a thermometer, but it seems higher than normal.”

  “Heart rate?”

 
“Price counted for fifteen seconds. “Just under, ninety per minute.”

  “Mmm, that’s a bit high for lying down, but not too bad. OK, are his eyes bloodshot?”

  “No.”

  “Any sore throat, running nose, wheezing or coughing?”

  Jim had already asked Robbie about that. “He says not.”

  “Examine his body. Look for any signs of spots or rashes.”

  Price carefully removed Robbie’s bedclothes. “Yes, spots. Some on his stomach, his thighs, and his lower right leg.”

  “Are they uniformly distributed? Look at his back.”

  Robbie moaned as Price rolled him over. “No. It just looks as if he’s rubbed against something. Though some of them are in places that aren’t normally exposed.”

  It took a while for the doctor to respond. “I think it’s probably an allergic reaction. Has he been playing around plants in the bush or anything like that?”

  Jim answered. “Yeah, he’s been in the bush a bit. I think he’s been building huts. Do you think he’s allergic to some of the plants?”

  “It seems likely. Are you sure his breathing isn’t affected?”

  “No doesn’t seem to be.”

  “Any sign of swelling around his eyes or lips?”

  “No, he’s just a bit red.”

  “Well, sounds as if he’s been lucky, and it’s not a severe reaction — he might have an unpleasant night, but he should be OK in the morning. Give me a ring straightaway if any of those things change, or his breathing is affected.”

  * * *

  Robbie wasn’t all right in the morning. The fever had almost gone, but his whole body ached and felt sore to touch and he was very weak. Jim was about to ring the doctor again when Johnny Marshall arrived. He’d rung the day before saying he’d drop in sometime for a chat. Jim asked for his advice, after all, Johnny had five children and already had three grandchildren.

  Johnny’s examination was quick and his diagnosis even quicker.

  “You been playing in amongst the ferns?”

  Robbie nodded.

  “Get some of that brown dust down your pants?”

  Robbie nodded again. It was simpler than explaining he was naked at the time.

  “Yeah, I thought so,” said Johnny. “Some of the ferns around here can cause real problems.” He rose from the bed. “But it’s easily fixed. Give me half an hour and I’ll have the cure, though it won’t be one you can buy in a chemist’s shop.”

  Half an hour later, Robbie was soaking in a hot bath. Johnny’s cure was a couple of handfuls of leaves and flowers. He crushed them into the water, where they formed a soft lather. “Kumarahou he said proudly. “Can do almost anything, according to my grandmother, and she lived into her nineties. So I figure she would know.” He gave his little high-pitched giggle. Robbie managed a thin smile. He was already feeling slightly better.

  By dinnertime he felt well enough to get out of bed for a while. They were quiet for most of the meal. Over pudding, Jim told him he’d taken the ewes back to Paradise. “The water’s back to normal and the grass will come away a real treat.”

  Robbie mumbled agreement.

  “Found that hut of yours, too.”

  Robbie stopped chewing.

  “I was surprised to find it over the other side of the river, seeing as I told you not to go into the water.”

  The boy stared at his plate, dreading what was coming next. Then his uncle laughed loudly. “But now I know how you got pimples on your bum. Serves you right. You took your clothes off and swam across.” He laughed again. “Just as well there weren’t any weta in that stuff or you might have had some problems with a few other parts of your body”

  Robbie laughed too, relieved that Jim hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the hut. “Sorry,” he said. “But I am a good swimmer.”

  “Mmm, so was your father. We’d often take a dip up there after it flooded. Used to make good huts too. Much better than yours. But then you’re just a city kid. What would you know about bush huts?” He stood and roughed-up Robbie’s hair. “C’mon, let’s get these dishes done. Then you’d better give your mum a ring. She might be worrying about you.”

  This time the discussion with his mother was much easier. They both had plenty to talk about. It seemed as if Wendy and his sisters had been shopping almost every day, that’s if they weren’t horse riding or sunbathing. Robbie was pleased to hear they were enjoying themselves, though he didn’t envy them. None of their activities interested him; shearing, bike-riding and nude bathing were more his thing. When it came to his turn he filled in all the gaps since the last call. The shearing, the emus, the flood, his illness, and especially the farm bike and helmet. However he made no mention of Puku or the babies. He could never tell anybody about them. They were too special to share with anyone.

  * * *

  Over the next few days Robbie did several feeding experiments with the kaweau, and found they ate a wide range of small animals. The babies’ choice was woodlice, while Puku seemed to prefer plants. Her favourite was pohutukawa shoots, buds and flowers. She would select them out of a bundle of plants, leaving the others for later.

  He also tried them on eggs. The babies loved them, gathering around the broken shell with their tongues darting in and out of the fluid. It wasn’t surprising they liked them. Eggs would be a ready source of food for any animal that lived in a tree. Unfortunately, his experiment also showed there was a way in which CCD could spread, from birds into kaweau. And that worried him.

  Robbie was beginning to see where kaweau fitted in with all the other animals in the bush. It was like the possum, which also ate pohutukawa and eggs. He was starting to think kaweau filled the role possum-like mammals had taken in the rest of the world. It made sense that a giant gecko had evolved in New Zealand. The huge trees in the forest around him were perfect homes for a large animal. Everything they needed would be up there. They’d never have to come down. And that would make them very difficult to see, and even more difficult to catch.

  On the second day of his experiments, Robbie found he wasn’t alone in the valley. He was about to move into his hut when a movement caught the corner of his eye. It was something shiny, moving on the track. He went into the hut and watched through the fronds. It was a vehicle, but he never saw enough of it to see what type. It was always hidden by trees. He got the feeling it may have followed him over the hill. By the time he left the valley it had gone.

  The next day he kept a lookout for it. Sure enough, he spotted it when he was crossing the river. That day it stayed around until he started to move back across the valley on his way home. On the fourth day he hid in the bush beside the track hoping to see it more clearly, yet that day it never came.

  It worried Robbie that someone might be spying on him. Yet what would they see from a distance? Just a boy, playing in a hut he’d built in the bush. Nobody would be interested in that. The only way they would discover Puku would be if they actually went into the hut. Even then they’d need to know what they were looking for. Some days it took him several minutes to locate her latest hiding spot.

  However, just to be sure, he spent the rest of the day building a new hut. It was deeper in the bush and well hidden. This time he carefully avoided all contact with fern fronds — he kept his clothes on too.

  Puku and the babies were transferred over to the new home. Then he cleaned up the inside of the old one so there was no trace of his experiments. It was now exactly what Jim thought it was. A kid’s play hut. What could be more innocent than that?

  Chapter 11

  Friday started with a shock. During breakfast Jim made an announcement. “There’s going to be a bit of excitement around here today. The helicopter’s coming to drop some poison up in the wilderness. Get rid of all those damned possums.”

  All Robbie could say was: “What?”

  “They’re doing the loading down in the old pig paddock. You’ll find it interesting. With any luck you might be able to wangle a ri
de.”

  Robbie was shocked. It had to be stopped. If the poison killed possums, it was likely to kill kaweau.

  After breakfast he jumped on his bike and raced down to Price’s bus. “They’re going to drop poison on the wilderness!”

  “I know. Bloody good idea. About time. This bit of the country has never been done. There are possums everywhere.”

  “But it’ll kill other animals. Like the kiwi.”

  “No. The old poison might have. But this is a new variety that’s only attractive to possums.” He smiled. “Very clever it is, too. The poison’s coated with a protein that only dissolves in the gut of a possum. Then the whole thing’s covered with bait that tastes just like pohutukawa buds. Seems the possum is the only bush animal that eats them.”

  “No it’s not.” Robbie had made up his mind. He had to share his secret with Price. It was the only way.

  The man stared at him. “OK, tell me what else does.”

  “A giant gecko called a kaweau.”

  Price nodded, slowly. “And I gather this kaweau is an endemic, arboreal, viviparous omnivore.”

  “Yes. I’ve got four of them. A mother and three babies.”

  “You’d better show me. I don’t want to make a fool of myself over this.”

  * * *

  Price was enchanted by the kaweau, particularly the mother caring for the young. “That’s the way it was with some of the dinosaurs. It makes sense to me, the bigger the animal, the slower the young are to develop. That means they’re exposed to danger for a much longer period, so they also need more protection.” He quizzed Robbie on the feeding experiments, and seemed very pleased with his approach.

  “Excellent work, Walker. You can see her diet will be mostly plants by the size of the gut. Animals that eat a lot of plants need a big gut to digest the cellulose.”