Rain Stones 25th Anniversary Edition

by Jackie French

  The milkshakes arrived. They drank them in silence.

  The owl was hooting out the window again. There was a rustle in the garden; the wombat was back. The creek hushed and tumbled through the flat below the house, louder than it ever was during the day.

  ‘Gwyn?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘You asleep?’

  ‘Not now you’ve woken me up.’

  ‘Would you like to own this place?’

  Gwyn woke up properly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said finally. ‘How about you?’

  ‘I don’t know either,’ admitted Rob. ‘I thought I hated it a few days ago. Now I just don’t know.’

  A possum shrieked on the flat below. The wombat moved closer. They could hear the steady chomp as he pulled at the grass.

  ‘Go to sleep,’ advised Gwyn. ‘We’ll think about it in the morning.’

  It was hotter than ever at breakfast. Even the birds seemed quiet outside. The trees stood limp and pale green in the dark sunlight.

  Dusty looked out the window. The sky arched deep and blue. ‘Storm this afternoon,’ he said.

  ‘How can you tell?’

  Dusty shrugged. ‘You get to feeling it,’ he said. ‘You watch. By lunchtime there’ll be a million flying ants all over the place. They hatch before the rain. All the lizards’ll be out. Snakes too. You keep an eye out if you’re going down the creek.’

  ‘We will,’ Gwyn assured him.

  Dusty seemed tired today. Rob watched him clear the plates away. ‘You going to use that wire today, Dusty?’ he asked. ‘Need a hand?’

  Dusty shook his head. ‘What’s the use?’ he asked. ‘Let the wallabies come into the orchard. There’s more fruit there than I can eat. No, I’ll just putter round here a while. You go off. Take some lunch with you or something. Off with you.’

  Rob and Gwyn walked in silence down to the creek. Part of Dusty’s depression had spread to them. Lunch was in an old pack of Dusty’s. He’d lent them hats as well.

  ‘Where to?’ asked Rob, as they paused in the shade of the casuarinas.

  Gwyn shrugged. ‘It’s too hot to go to the ridge and we went up the creek yesterday. How about we go up the gully on the other side? There should be shade there and a bit of water.’

  Rob nodded. They climbed up the bank again and headed across the flat, along the jumbled rocks from flood time when the water sprang out of the gully.

  ‘Do you think Dusty’s angry with us?’ asked Rob.

  Gwyn shook her head. ‘I think he’s more worried by the woodchipping than he lets on.’

  ‘Would it really be so bad?’ asked Rob.

  ‘Don’t know. Dusty thinks so.’

  The ridges seemed to collect the heat around them. The hot quartz gleamed. There was still no sign of a storm. The sky was unnaturally blue, astonishingly clear. The trees seemed to shiver beneath the weight of the sun.

  ‘Hey, Rob, look. There’s a track. Where’s it going?’

  They hurried up to it. ‘It’s an ant track!’ exclaimed Gwyn. ‘Look at it! It’s enormous. There must be millions of them!’

  ‘Let’s follow them,’ suggested Rob.

  ‘Do you think they bite?’ wondered Gwyn.

  Rob shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘They all seem to be on their highway. I think if we just keep to one side they won’t notice us.’

  They walked quietly beside the ants. The sun beat down on their shoulders. The world seemed drained of colour. The sun was too strong, the light too bright, as though it sucked the colour away.

  ‘Hey, there’s the nest!’

  ‘Wow. It’s as big as the living room at home.’

  ‘It looks like a great yellow pancake,’ said Gwyn, ‘all dusted with cinnamon.’

  ‘Yuck. Cinnamon doesn’t crawl,’ said Rob. ‘Hey, do you see what I see?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Over there, dummy.’

  On the far side of the ant nest an echidna was snuffling, its nose delicately touching the ground as it felt and smelt. Suddenly it stopped. It seemed to be feeling the vibrations beneath it. It began to dig furiously.

  ‘Bye bye, ants,’ said Rob. ‘You’re going to be an echidna’s lunch.’

  ‘Speaking of lunch,’ said Gwyn. ‘How about we find somewhere cool and eat ours?’

  They found a rock in the gully, overlooking the creek, and under the shade of a stringybark. The damp soil was bare around it, as though water seeped below. Bees buzzed and sipped at the moisture as they ate. Two golden skinks chased each other on a far rock, lashing their tails and biting at each other’s throats. Rob and Gwyn watched the battle.

  ‘It’d be scarey if they were bigger,’ said Gwyn.

  Rob nodded. Then he lifted his head. ‘What was that? That noise?’

  Gwyn listened. ‘Thunder,’ she answered.

  ‘It can’t be thunder. The sky’s still clear.’

  ‘Well, it was,’ said Gwyn. ‘No, listen. There’s something else.’

  It sounded like a blanket being dragged through the scrub, like large paws pushing across the earth. A long, deep stepped sound, a rhythmic thud.

  ‘Rob,’ whispered Gwyn. ‘I’m scared.’

  Rob nodded. His eyes were wide.

  ‘Should we run?’

  ‘Not till we know what it is. It might catch us.’

  ‘Maybe if we screamed Dusty would hear us.’

  ‘Too far away. Shhh.’

  Then they saw it. It swayed through the trees, its belly nearly touching the ground, its short fat legs twisting its body back and forth. Its eyes were small, its skin deep grey and slightly mottled. It was longer than either of the children and twice as wide. Each leg was as thick as Rob’s and Gwyn’s together.

  ‘What is it?’

  The animal stopped at the noise. It looked at them. Its mouth opened. It hissed.

  ‘It’s a dinosaur,’ whispered Rob. ‘It moves just like the ones at Disneyland.’

  ‘They’re extinct. It can’t be a dinosaur.’

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘I think it’s a dragon,’ Gwyn said in awe. ‘It’s exactly like the drawings in the books.’

  ‘It can’t be a dragon. They don’t exist any more either.’

  ‘What else can it be then?’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Rob. ‘Maybe it’s magic. A magic dragon. It has to be magic.’

  The dragon blinked at them. It seemed wary. Gwyn remembered Dusty saying snakes were more scared of her than she was of them. The same was probably true of dragons.

  ‘Do you think it breathes fire?’

  ‘I don’t know. It can’t, can it, or it’d start a bushfire. Maybe Australian dragons don’t breathe fire.’

  ‘Do you think it’d run away if we went closer?’

  ‘I think it’s coming closer anyway,’ muttered Rob. ‘Hey, can’t we give it something to show we’re friendly?’

  ‘What do dragons eat?’ whispered Gwyn.

  ‘Maidens,’ said Rob.

  ‘Huh. I bet that was just a story put around by blokes. I bet they eat other things as well.’ She rummaged in the bag and took out a lamb sandwich. Slowly she threw it to the dragon.

  The dragon started. It turned, took two, three steps away, heavy steps that seemed to shake the ground, then looked back at them. It stopped, moved slowly back to the sandwich, and sniffed it. Its head was as high as Gwyn’s waist. It bolted the sandwich, then lifted its giant head. It peered at them through narrow eyes.

  ‘It wants some more,’ breathed Rob.

  ‘See,’ said Gwyn, ‘told you dragons ate other things.’ She threw another sandwich. The dragon gulped it down and looked at them with interest.

  ‘Maybe we’d better keep feeding it,’ suggested Gwyn. ‘We don’t want to make it angry.’

  ‘Let me try. Do you think dragons like hardboiled eggs?’

  Dragons loved hardboiled eggs, even more than lamb sandwiches. Rob and Gwyn took turns in throwing down the food.

  ‘That’
s it, dragon,’ said Gwyn finally. ‘You’ve had the lot.’

  The dragon lashed its tail.

  ‘No, really,’ said Rob. ‘We’d give you any more if we had it. Promise.’

  The dragon considered. It opened its mouth.

  ‘Hey!’ whispered Rob. ‘Do you think it’s going to breathe fire?’

  The mouth opened wider. The dragon burped. Its breath smelt of old meat and bones.

  ‘Do you think we could pat it?’ wondered Rob.

  Gwyn shook her head. ‘It might bite. Look at those claws. Maybe we should just bring it more food tomorrow. I wonder if it lives here or if it just, you know, appeared.’

  The dragon grew tired of waiting. It turned and lumbered over to the creek, glanced back at the children again in case they’d laid more eggs, then slowly shinned up a casuarina tree. Halfway up it stopped, settled, and appeared to go to sleep. Its claws dug into the bark and its tail drooped down the trunk.

  ‘Look!’ whispered Rob. ‘All those scratches. I bet it’s often in that tree.’

  ‘Wait till we tell Dusty.’

  Rob looked at her in concern. ‘Do you think we should? I mean if it’s magic it might disappear if too many people know about it.’

  Gwyn considered. ‘Yeah. Maybe you’re right.’ She gazed at the dragon thoughtfully. ‘Dusty knows this place like the back of his hand. He’d have told us if he’d seen a dragon here. Told us to be careful or something. That means the dragon’s never shown itself to Dusty.’

  Rob nodded. ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘Rob!’ exclaimed Gwyn suddenly. ‘I’ve just realised!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t you see? If there’s a dragon it means the valley’s magic. I mean, it feels magic, doesn’t it? If it’s magic the logging can’t affect it. It means the valley’s safe. We can tell Dusty the valley’s safe.’

  Rob thought for a moment. ‘If the logging doesn’t matter then we needn’t tell Dusty. It’ll happen anyway. Besides, it’s our dragon. Dusty’s had lots of adventures. This is ours, not his.’

  Gwyn was almost convinced. ‘All right. Let’s get to know it first anyway. Maybe we could tame it. Then it mightn’t disappear no matter who we told. A tame dragon! Even Dusty’s never had that.’

  It was hotter than ever now. Suddenly the mountain growled behind them.

  ‘What was that! Another dragon?’

  ‘That was thunder!’ exclaimed Rob. ‘Real thunder. We’d better be getting back.’

  ‘Rob! Look!’

  It was a cloud; not like the white clouds they knew at home. This cloud was green and purple. It edged smoothly over the sky.

  ‘We’d better run!’

  The world was suddenly quiet. Birds darted above them, intent on reaching shelter. Ants crawled in panic on the ground. Small winged insects rose in clouds from the grass, and stuck to their legs and elbows as they shrugged off their wings. The children panted over the creek flat.

  ‘Do you think we’re going to make it?’ heaved Gwyn. ‘Rob, listen!’

  There was a sound like a gunshot behind them, then a roaring, closer and closer. The first of the hail hit them, sharp and cold, then more and more, as though the sky were pounding tennis balls down at them. The roaring grew louder. Just as they reached the gate the water hit them, a wall of white, drenching them in seconds. Gasping, they ran up onto the verandah.

  Dusty was waiting for them. ‘Heard you coming,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if I should come and look for you. The creek comes up quickly in a storm like this. Off you go, get changed. I’ve got the stove on inside, and cocoa.’

  They puddled up the corridor. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t tell him?’ whispered Gwyn.

  ‘No!’ insisted Rob. ‘What if it disappeared because we did? Then Dusty would never see it and the valley wouldn’t be protected any more.’

  Gwyn nodded slowly. It was too noisy to argue. The rain beat on the roof and roared outside. The world was white through the window. Even the trees were just dim shapes, huddling under the thunder of water.

  It would have been frightening by themselves. It was exciting with Dusty. They sat on the verandah and watched it, sipping their cocoa, wondering at the lightning as it flashed from ridge to ridge, at the thick fat bubbles that gleamed and burst as the water ran across the garden and the flat.

  ‘It’s like a magic storm,’ said Rob.

  ‘There’s always a bit of magic in the bush. I like a good storm,’ said Dusty. ‘Cleans things up. You can feel things growing after a storm.’

  ‘I hated storms in the city,’ said Gwyn. ‘They’re different here.’

  ‘That’s because here there’s nothing between you and the storm. You’re close to it,’ said Dusty. ‘You realise that storms and droughts don’t mean to hurt you. Only people mean to hurt. Here the earth repairs any damage after.’

  ‘Hey, listen!’ announced Rob. The creek was growling now. Far away came a roaring, as though a giant plane was flying down the gorge.

  ‘Flash flood!’ said Dusty. ‘You watch it.’

  Where the smooth flat creek had been was now a boiling torrent, rocks and branches tossed up into the sky. The water lashed at the banks and heaved and muttered, down towards the wider river below.

  ‘Won’t come up far,’ said Dusty. ‘That’s because the valley’s so steep. The water just goes faster. I’ve seen some big floods here but it’s never even come over the flat. It carries boulders the size of horses sometimes. You can hear them grinding from the house.’

  The light was fading from the valley now, sucked into the grey of the storm.

  ‘No shadows tonight,’ said Dusty. ‘Come on, let’s stoke up the fire. There’s nothing like a good fire in a storm. I’ll show you how to make pancakes. Pancakes and lemon. That’s what you need in a storm.’

  ‘Can I put the wood on?’ asked Rob.

  Dusty considered. ‘I reckon you can. It’ll be a good fire tonight. A good wind makes the chimney draw. Come on, Gwyn. You do the table. Good thing I picked the lemons this morning. Wouldn’t want to duck out in this to fetch them.’

  The pancakes were eaten, the lemon halves lay empty on the table.

  ‘Dusty,’ said Gwyn.

  He shot a look at her. ‘I know what you’re going to say. You want a story.’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Dusty thought for a minute. ‘I’ll tell you a story,’ he said. ‘It’s not a nice story, but it’s one that needs telling. People forget or never know. It’s important, this story. I want you to listen so you learn something.’

  ‘Learn what, Dusty?’ said Gwyn.

  ‘Learn how to fight,’ said Dusty Dargan quietly. ‘Not how to fight with your fists like you see on TV. Any fool can fight with their fists.’

  He paused, then began slowly. ‘The biggest fight of all, sometimes, is just to survive.’ He looked at the children. ‘I did my learning in the bush, down at the dole camps, up on the Track. Then I was tested. You’re always tested sometime in this life.’

  ‘What was the test, Dusty?’

  ‘I built a railway,’ said Dusty Dargan. ‘Me and a few thousand others. It was in the war. It was a railway for the Japanese.

  ‘We were from Singapore, our lot. That was in ’42. We built 300 miles of it in a year and nearly a hundred thousand of us died for it, prisoners of war and conscripted labourers.

  ‘There’s only one way to win a war. That’s to survive.

  ‘It was another world. You kids can’t imagine it. Your parents couldn’t either. No one who wasn’t there can imagine it. We starved. We died from cholera and malaria and bashings, beri beri and dysentery and ulcers. That’s what they said anyway. I reckoned most died because they’d lost hope. They’d forgotten there was another world away from all that.’

  ‘What world, Dusty?’ asked Rob quietly.

  ‘This world. The bush. Our homes. The things that mattered.’ Dusty paused again. Outside the children could hear the roar of the creek and the gentle call o
f the mopoke.

  ‘Our boots rotted on our feet and then our skin rotted. We carried the materials for the railway in slings on bamboo poles and we drove the poles for the bridges in by dropping them, then lifting them and dropping them again. No machinery, no post-hole diggers, just our bleeding hands. There were ten miles of bridges and they shook like our hands. We ate rice and more rice and sometimes vegetables or maybe fish if the guards had time to dynamite the river. Dynamite killed the fish and we caught them with our hands.’

  ‘Could you eat the fish?’ asked Gwyn.

  ‘We ate them raw. The fat melted from our bodies. We had legs like darning needles, faces brown and thin as a burnt biscuit. We worked eighteen hours a day or we were bashed. You were bashed if you collapsed, you were beaten with sticks if you had dysentery. We were slaves of the Emperor of Japan for life and they said we should cry with happiness at being allowed to serve him. They said someone died for every sleeper we laid on that railway.’

  The mopoke was nearer now. Its song floated up through the cool air outside. The children could hear the fat drips from the gutter onto the window sill. It was a long way from the world of Dusty’s story.

  ‘What was the jungle like?’ whispered Gwyn.

  ‘It was horrible and it was beautiful. You can’t imagine the beauty, you kids, and I hope you’ll never see the horror. It was green and brown and there were snakes and orchids and butterflies like coloured angels, and birds like you’ve never seen before. Then the monsoon came and the world was water and muddy graves and at night you were too tired to dream.

  ‘But I remembered this place. I remembered the way the soil swells after rain and the smell of the mist. I remembered how the blue cranes flap their wings through the casuarinas. I remembered the feel of hot grass on my feet and the call of the owls at night.

  ‘I knew that all I had to do to hear them again was survive. So I lived,’ said Dusty Dargan.

  He was silent again. Rob waited a moment then asked, ‘How, Dusty?’

  ‘I made myself boots out of wood and old tyres. I ate lizards and sucked on leaves. I ate whatever they gave me. I pretended the maggots were currants and ate them for their protein. I used palm leaves as bandages and for a lap-lap. I stood in the river to let the fish bite away the bad flesh around my ulcers.’