Deep in the Forest

by Joyce Dingwell

  "I prefer down here," Selina said, and she meant it. Tall Tops was tall enough for her ... and it was nearer the valleys. She loved the valleys.

  She took the children down often in the pretence that it was for nature study, but actually it was to delight in the trees, especially the trees in the twilight jungle, that deepest valley of all where the sun never reached. Here, the little ones walked quietly, without being told to, for somehow they sensed that no one ran and shouted in the twilight jungle, that instead one spoke in whispers and looked with awe at the old myrtles, the old, old musks and blackwoods almost mummified in that cold corridor between the high gorges. Because it was always near-dark there, the toadstools, growing out of mouldering boles of long dead trees, gave out an electric green light. Moss encrustations and lichens were bewhiskered in silver and jade.

  Although they all loved it, coming up again to the higher valleys was like casting off a spell. Now the children would shout, pretend they were Tarzans speeding through the trees, the more daring ones swinging on thick liana coils from one branch to another.

  Today their joy was complete. Among the ring-barks waiting to fall, for a forest had to be disciplined otherwise it would choke, they stumbled on a carpet

  snake. Being timber children, they recognised the huge fellow at once, and stood gloating over his yards and yards of patterned body.

  "Three dollars a foot," called Michael.

  "It's gone up since inflation," said Phyllida.

  Ignace, who had been looking a little doubtfully at it, came and stood by Selina's side, and she tried to tell him by words, gesticulations and drawings on the earth that this snake was a good snake, you could touch him, but you must not do such a thing with another snake.

  Michael meanwhile was organising a gang to get the snake up to the chalets where they might do a deal with the storeman at three dollars a foot, even more because of inflation, because storemen liked carpet snakes around to keep down rats.

  "He's terribly heavy," said Phyllida, trying the tail.

  At that moment Iron Grant came down the track, saw the carpet, and gave it a goodnatured kick.

  "You're taking all the sun, Eustace, get back to where you belong."

  "Where is that ?" asked Selina, getting into step beside Joel, and laughing as the children followed the yards of big snake who was actually proceeding obediently up the hill.

  "Brent's piggery and chicken run. Eustace belongs there. They call him Eustace because it means rich in corn, which they reckon he must be, since something round there consumes more than the livestock, and it must be Eustace."

  The children and the snake were out of sight now. Selina and Joel walked past marked trees that always made Selina a little sad, then finally reached Anton's

  totem tree, his tribute to his dead wife's and his stepson's Poland.

  "Svantovit," said Selina, "He Who Can See the Whole World. Why," and she stood on tiptoe, "Anton has put a horn in his hand !"

  "I have," claimed Joel, "and filled it with the appropriate vintage." He stepped across and lifted Selina off her feet to peer into the liquid. Ruby red. Selina put her finger in it and tasted.

  "Yes, it's wine."

  "What else did you think? As a matter of fact it's a very good wine. I had to make sure of that fruitfulness."

  "Does the quality matter ?" She was still up in the air.

  "I think it might help." He made no attempt to put her down.

  A little embarrassed, Selina put a finger towards the horn again.

  "No," he denied, "you're supposed to help the fruitfulness, not deplete it."

  "How could I help?" she asked.

  "Isn't your very name fruitfulness, oh, woman?" "Be serious !" she laughed.

  "I've never been more serious in my life," he said. He put her down at last.

  They walked in silence for a while. A little angrily Selina was thinking : He says this nonsense, but he gives Madeleine the ribbon-cutting honour.

  "You're having a grand opening for Puffing Billy, I hear," she said coolly.

  "Yes, something to mark the occasion."

  "My sister is cutting the ribbon."

  "Seeing that the train will be travelling up to the plateau where she's been working so well, I thought that was only fair."

  "Also she's the elder, of course." Selina did not mean to snap.

  "Hi, what is this ? You didn't want to hold the scissors yourself, did you ?"

  If I was holding them right now, Selina fumed, I' d—I' d-

  "We've decided on the approaching ledge gymkhana for our grand opening," Iron advised. "It's down for next week, which suits us very well. We can all proceed from Billy to the doings, which, as always, will be attracting the district boys with the axe and saw contests, not forgetting the time-honoured tug-of-war. You'll be there, of course."

  "I generally go," said Selina coolly again. He chose to ignore her frigid note.

  "This time it will he history, you'll go by train instead of truck or car. Puffing Billy expects a very busy morning."

  "... After the ribbon has been cut."

  He stopped, and stopped her with him.

  "Are you sore about that ?" he asked.

  "Of course not ... I mean—"

  "I gave the job to Madeleine simply because the train is going up there" ... he pointed ... "and up there is her place. You're here and here is your place."

  . Is it ? Is it my place ? For how long ? Selina turned away.

  But at once he was turning her back, turning her quite roughly.

  "You tasted the wine," he reminded her a little

  hoarsely, "so you can't back out."

  "Back out? What on earth are you talking about, Mr. Grant ?"

  "I'm talking of Madeleine up there . . . but you here. Here... I repeat myself . . . is your place. You are committed to it."

  "By tasting wine ?" She laughed scornfully at him. "Is it a magic wine ?" she asked.

  "It's the wine of life and this is your life. I told you before."

  "I remember." She made herself laugh scornfully again. "Isn't your very name fruitfulness, oh, woman ?"

  "Well, isn't it ?" he asked, and his eyes were, suddenly dark on her, dark and warm.

  "Oh, really, Mr. Grant, this is going too far," she said.

  "As a matter of fact it hasn't even started, Selina." "Miss Lockwood."

  "Does he call you that ?"

  "My fiance?"

  "I see by that answer that he doesn't." A deliberate pause. "And Madeleine, what does he call her ?"

  "I don't understand you."

  Iron did not comment on that, but he gave a low laugh. The laugh followed Selina up to the house, where she finished putting the correspondence lessons that had been done this morning into their envelopes ready to be mailed.

  The approaching ledge gymkhana was one of the many gymkhanas staged throughout the timberland at this time of the year. Usually the word gymkhana conjured up the idea of pony clubs, but horses were

  the one thing you did not get at these outdoor offerings, not, anyway, the timberland variety. The emphasis was on men, not horses.

  On the arranged Saturday of the ledge gymkhana, so Selina read in the pamphlet that came up with the mail from the road box, there would be the time-honoured tree felling, log cutting, sawing, and, as was always the case, the tug-of-war. Timber men loved a tug-of-war.

  Like the axemen and the sawyers, they would travel long distances to participate. Last year Western Australia had travelled across, and, as Unk had said, three states and a continent's entire width was a very long way to come to pull a piece of rope.

  Madeleine was getting quite excited over her ribbon-cutting role that took place before the gymkhana so that the Puffing Billy travellers would have ample time to make it to the field. She had even gone down to Tallow Wood to buy a ribbon-cutting dress, as she gaily put it, and had come back saying that country styles weren't so bad after all, and had displayed a turquoise silk creation that promised to do
wonderful things for her already wonderful eyes.

  Just to be unco-operative, Selina purchased nothing. She was still smarting over the fact that Madeleine, newly returned, should have taken precedence when it came to signalling the small train off for its initial ascent from Tall Tops. It was all very well for Iron Grant to say that up there was Maddie's place, here was her place, but the fact remained that she had been around Tall Tops all her life, she had never left here, so shouldn't she have been given the honour?

  So, on the Saturday morning of the function,

  Selina put on her navy knife-pleated skirt and her white blouse, and looked, she knew without Madeleine telling her, like the prefect of the class.

  She was sorry, when she reached the clearing and saw all the other Tall Tops people in their gayest and brightest, and Puffing Billy fairly smothered with balloons and ribbons, that she had been so stubborn. Glancing across to Joel Grant, actually wearing a frivolous rosette in his shirt, she saw that he was displeased as well.

  Jock, seated at the controls of Billy and dressed up also, at a nod from the boss started the engine, then

  diminished it to the lowest tick possible so that Madeleine could be heard in her part of the performance. Madeleine said inappropriately but to much laughter : "I name you Billy, and may God bless you and all who sail in you." She added charmingly : "Oh, dear, that isn't quite right, is it ?"

  No one cared, for the bottle of champagne Maddie had released had spilled over Billy, but other champagne was being produced, and pop for the small ones.

  Then in the middle of it all, Jock pressed the tooter, and Iron Grant turned round and bowed low and gallantly to Selina.

  "Me ?" She knew she could not be heard above the cheers and shouts, but all at once Joel Grant was so close he had to hear her.

  "Who else ?" he asked. "Gym-slip and all." "It isn't a gym-slip !"

  "You could have fooled me."

  "If I'd known—"

  "It wouldn't have been a surprise. Please get in,

  Miss Lockwood, we're ready to go."

  She got in, completely mollified, saying foolishly it was a pity such immaculate polish would by next week be marred by wet sawdust, for it would have to be damped down not to fly away.

  He did not answer, and she looked where he was looking, and was silent, too. She had thought she had known Tall Tops, but now, travelling vertically, she saw things she had never seen before. Deep gorges and chasms and small peaks standing out in symmetrical beauty, water hurtling from suddenly abrupt places she had not even known were there. Trees everywhere.

  Instinctively her hand was dropping down to his and he was holding it. Hand in hand they went up the mountain right to the sky—at least that was how it felt.

  They joined the old line at Redgum Ridge and continued up to the ledge. Jock returned at once in Billy to fetch a second load. He reckoned it would take him an hour to bring all Tall Tops to the top. "There's not anyone," he called cheerfully as he started back, "travelling by car today."

  Selina and Joel waited until Madeleine and Roger ascended, then the four of them strolled off to the gymkhana grounds. Considering that the ledge ... everyone called it the ledge . . . was edged by deep valleys on four sides and was really only an unexpected pasture on the top of a minor plateau that could only be reached by small aircraft or rough track (in Tall Tops' and Redgum Ridge's instances today by Puffing Billy) there was a remarkable attendance.

  Tallow Wood teams had flown in by special helicopter shuttle service, and there were several Cessnas

  that had brought in interstate sawyers and axemen, since, although the location was remote, the prestige here was high.

  The fun of the fair already had begun. Little marquees had been erected, a tea tent, a fortune-telling tent, a beer tent and a lemonade tent rigged up. There was no need for any changing tent, the competitors came as they always came, in white pants, black singlet and white boots, ready for the starter's signal. Meanwhile a chocolate wheel rattled, trying to gather money for future gymkhanas, and the grass became noticeably thinner and littered with lolly wrappers.

  At noon, when the committee decided that everyone who intended coming had come, the whistle blew for the first event. The Single-handed Championship Saw. There were six sawyers competing, though eight logs had been set up. Selina listened to the usual instructions she had known from a child, as to three blocks to be severed and all saw cuts to be started as close as possible to the front end of the log.

  She heard : "Sawyers, stand by your logs." Then she saw to her utter surprise, no surprise over Iron, for it was the kind of thing he would do, but surprise at—Roger.

  Roger stood by a log. He must have intended to enter, just as Iron must have intended, for both the men now wore white pants, black athletic singlets and white boots like the rest of the squad. They must have had them on under their outer clothes ready for this moment. But Roger's gear looked entirely different

  from the rest. Even in something like sawing a log,

  Roger had to be impeccable. There was not a pucker

  anywhere and his slacks were immaculately creased.

  "He won't know anything about it," Selina fretted unhappily to herself. She did not want Roger to be embarrassed.

  Madeleine, who had come to stand near her, gave a short laugh.

  "Oh, Roger knows."

  "How can you say that ?" Selina asked in surprise; several times Madeleine had spoken as though she was more aware of Roger than was thought.

  "The Academy," Madeleine said impatiently, actually impatient with herself and her too-ready tongue had Selina looked at her. "They go in for the scientific side, but that does not mean that they don't know the other side as well."

  "But how would you know, Maddie ?"

  "Oh, I don't. Not really. But even a full-fledged chef once must have boiled potatoes. In other words, an afforestation graduate must have learned how to chop or saw a tree as well. But stop chattering, Selina. It's beginning."

  It was. The starter was intoning : "Get ready—set —go !"

  And it was on.

  Almost before they realised the entire line of men were halfway through their first logs. Some worked like Puffing Billy, putting everything into it, some were naturally quicksilver, some appeared effortless, some seemed to wield the saw to a rhythm.

  Iron and Roger were not, Selina was relieved to

  observe, the tortoises in the line. But neither were they

  the hares, who by this time were on their second logs.

  The dead silence that had dropped with the starter's

  `Get ready' was breaking up now. The people were

  beginning to get excited. As everyone favours an underdog, the spectators were shouting for the tortoise of the sawyers, who was steadily but surely catching up ground. By the time the third log was reached the tortoise passed the leader, and one moment later it was all over, with a second, third, fourth, then after that, the judge announced, the rest stood at dead level.

  Selina saw Iron 'Grant look across to Roger and call : "Quits, Peters. I'll double up that wager in the cut."

  "Done," Roger called back.

  So they were betting on themselves.

  The cut was always the more thrilling event. No one ever could see an underhand cut and not stand fascinated.

  All the big names were here today, Crawford, the current Sydney Royal axeman, Tulloch from Tasmania, Smith from Gippsland where the trees reached four hundred feet. Joel Grant. Roger Peters. They were all tall, and they all wore the black singlets cut deeply under the arm to allow free movement for rippling muscles.

  "I never," Selina murmured, "thought Roger had muscles."

  "Of course," Madeleine said "He'd have to, leading an outdoor life."

  It was still a surprise to Selina ... but Iron Grant was no surprise. There he stood, a little taller but a lot broader than the others, and Red Indian to their brown. She wished she could look away from him, but every time she tried she foun
d herself looking back.

  The men were squinting at their axes, gleaming

  silver axes, most of them imported from the States, for the best racing axes came from America. Selina heard the starter, and again it was on.

  The same as the tortoise in the sawing, a second tortoise, actually Crawford who had won the Sydney Royal, played Wait-and-See with the axe boys. He was behind all the way, then suddenly he was in front, his axe flailing through the air like a machine. Then his log was severed. The second, third and fourth were announced, then, the same as with the saw event, the rest categorised as dead level.

  This time it was Roger who looked across and issued a challenge.

  "But what else can they bet on ?" said Madeleine. "The tug-of-war," groaned Selina.

  "But this is all too silly. Surely those two men aren't going to pull against each other at the end of a rope ?"

  "No, but Tall Tops has a team, it always has, and I expect Redgum Ridge has one, too. The men will be coaching their respective sides."

  As she said it, Tall Tops? eight men were taking their place on the rope . . . Anton Wolhar was one of them, and Ignace was jumping up and down with excitement. Roger came and stood beside his team.

  Iron Grant brought his boys out, then that favourite recreation of all for mountain men began, that heave back, that resistance to the opponent's heave, that careful strategy, those words of advice from the coach. That best out of three pulls.

  The first pull took only seconds. Tall Tops took Red-gum Ridge by surprise and had them over the line soon after they had started. The second pull went the same way, only to Joel Grant this time. The third pull

  reached into minutes, and at last was called off as an equal win because the professional teams were waiting for their turn.

  "Redgum Ridge and Tall Tops dead level," called the announcer, and everyone clapped . . . except Roger and Iron, who looked across at each other and this time made no wager. One of the Redgum Ridge men, who had come to watch beside Selina, told her disgustedly that the boss wasn't trying.