Journey’s End

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Kim’s throat had grown tight and she coughed to clear it. ‘Of course he doesn’t blame Taj.’ Jake glared at her. ‘But, Jean, you must understand, the mere mention of Afghanistan is enough to upset Jake.’ And me too, she thought.

  ‘I’m getting Abbey.’ Jake ran over to where she was playing with the hens. He pulled his sister back by the arm.

  ‘I hadn’t finished,’ she protested to her mother. ‘I still had four chickens left to pat.’

  ‘We’re going home.’ Jake headed for the car. ‘Come on, Mum.’

  Jean’s smile had turned to a cloud of concern. ‘Sorry,’ said Kim. ‘It’s just that Jake’s never met anybody from Afghanistan. He’ll come around.’

  ‘I’d appreciate you having a word with him,’ said Jean. ‘Taj is a victim of war too. There’s no place for prejudice at Tingo Primary.’

  ‘No . . . of course not. Leave it with me.’ She shook Jean’s hand. ‘Goodbye, and thank you.’

  The kids were already climbing into the car. Kim hurried after them, feeling like a fraud. Out the gate, and her steps grew slower and slower until she stopped altogether. She couldn’t talk any sense into Jake until she sorted out her own feelings. Taj was from Afghanistan. The very word summoned such powerful emotions – and anger topped the list. Followed shortly by distrust, confusion, fear, and a morbid curiosity about the faraway, alien land that had torn Connor from her.

  It bothered Kim to hear Taj described as a victim of war. Maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t. Nobody in Tingo knew enough about him to be sure, Jean had said that herself. But one thing was certain: he wasn’t as much of a victim as her husband. Connor had travelled to Afghanistan to help people like Taj, and now he was dead.

  Kim braced herself against the old familiar pain. She understood very little about Connor’s death, despite Captain Blake’s words being burned into her brain. ‘Your husband sustained critical injuries when his armoured vehicle hit a roadside bomb in Helmand Province. Two other soldiers were also hurt. The men received immediate medical attention and were evacuated by air to the nearby British military hospital at Camp Bastion. Connor suffered a massive head wound and could not be saved.’ That was it, the sum of what she’d been told, and she hadn’t asked for more. What was the point? Connor was gone and all the questions in the world wouldn’t bring him back.

  But now Kim found herself curious about all sorts of things. Helmand Province was in the country’s south. Did Taj came from there? Had he once travelled down the same road as her husband did on that fateful day? Connor had sent her photos, some the week before he died. Two in particular came to mind – one of an alien, bombed-out scene, and another with fields of flowers stretching into the distance. She hoped that he’d died among poppies and sunflowers, not in the barren moonscape. Would Taj recognise either view?

  Jake opened the car door. ‘Mum. What are you waiting for?’

  What was she waiting for? Life to make sense again, that’s what.

  CHAPTER 8

  Taj watched Jake come for his sister. There was a look in the boy’s eyes that had not been there before, one that Taj recognised all too well. He wasn’t surprised to see it there, but it did sadden him.

  ‘Come on, Abbey,’ said Jake. ‘We’re going home.’

  ‘But there are still more chickens.’

  ‘Mum says you have to come, right now.’

  Abbey set her jaw into a stubborn line, and for a moment looked ready to argue. Then she handed the hen on her lap over to Taj. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye, Abbey.’

  The child blew him a kiss and Jake scowled. ‘Take care of the chickens for me.’

  ‘I will, little one.’ The hen in his arms clucked softly. Taj stroked her ruffled red feathers and gently put her down as the children ran off. Their mother, Kim, was staring in his direction, distracting him, making it hard to return to his task.

  He stole another look. Kim was tall and graceful, with pale-gold hair the colour of ripening grain. She had a fair complexion, like the women from his home province of Nuristan who were renowned for their beauty. Like Camila. But it wasn’t Kim’s physical beauty that drew him to her. It was the depth of sorrow in her eyes.

  Taj pushed thoughts of Kim aside and hefted his hammer. Time to finish the nest box. Working with wood was better than working with people. Wood was warm and honest, its life truly recorded in the grain. His father, Kadir, who died when Taj was twelve, had been a master wood-carver. More than that, he was an artist and wood his medium. He taught Taj to value pattern and texture, to imagine the tables and chairs hidden in raw lumber.

  Taj sorted through the pile of offcuts, and chose a few likely pieces to whittle later on. Kadir had liked to carve statuettes, miniatures of Nuristani deities banned by the Taliban. Taj sometimes entertained himself at night by carving such figurines.

  Curious hens gathered round. Building chicken coops was a far cry from his father’s skilled craftsmanship, but it was good, honest work. And besides, Taj had never shared Kadir’s passion for timber. From the very first his heart had belonged to the living forests and wildlife of his home.

  Ariana, the remote and beautiful village where he was born, stood perched on the edge of Afghanistan’s last great wilderness. It was a charmed place, a Shangri-La, protected for centuries by inaccessible terrain, and far enough east to be watered by India’s summer monsoon. These southern slopes of the Hindu Kush were as lush as Helmand and Kandahar were dry. His uncle grew shady orchards of mulberries and walnuts. His grandfather grazed flocks of fat-tailed sheep on peaceful alpine pastures, watched over by Kuchis, the fearless livestock guardian dogs of northern Afghanistan. Wood-carvers and carpet-weavers traded their wares in the southern city of Jalalabad. To the north lay vast stands of oak, cedar and pine. They reached all the way to the snow-capped summits and craggy passes of the Pamir Mountains, known as the roof of the world. Next stop, China. Snow leopards and bears still roamed these wild forests. Wolves too.

  Taj gazed up at the peaks of Tarringtops, all clothed in green, and inhaled a steadying lungful of air. It was these mountains that had drawn him to Tingo. They reminded him of home. In their shadow he did not feel so alone.

  Taj nailed the last few planks onto the coop and collected his tools. One by one he picked up the hens and released them into their new house. ‘Ladies, what do you think, eh?’

  Kim’s blue station wagon drove past. She didn’t like him, didn’t trust him – he could tell. Why did he care so much about what this woman thought? He was due to start work on her house next Monday – that was it. So much easier if they could get on. Taj waved goodbye to the kids in the playground. Forget about Kim. He had to meet with Melanie Masters, and see how her maremmas were working out.

  Mel had brought two livestock guardian dogs from him after foxes caused heavy lamb losses. Taj was proud of Sultan, the older dog, who was already fully embedded with her sheep. On regular field checks, he’d seen for himself how completely Sultan blended with the flock. On the last visit, the dog had not acknowledged his former master at all. Instead Taj was greeted with a protective volley of barking.

  Hopefully Mel’s new pup, Snow, was doing as well. The critical thing in training a guardian dog was to properly bond it to the animals it was meant to protect. The puppy must feel part of the flock and the flock must feel the same way. It was a dual process. Taj had helped Mel set up a large yard with a few orphan lambs, where Snow was to live twenty-four hours a day.

  Snow had a few tests to pass. She should be sleeping curled up with the lambs. She should never avoid or run away from them, and a visitor should see her standing with the flock. She should tolerate the lambs nuzzling her, and lick their faces in return. Finally, she should be reluctant to leave them.

  Taj had rung several times, offering to help Mel with any training issues, but apparently all was going well. If only more local graziers would embrace the concept of guardian dogs. Maremmas were cheaper, more efficient, and far more humane than haphazar
d baiting programs, like the ones that had wiped out dingoes from Tarringtops.

  Taj had lost his first maremma dog, gentle Farah, to a 1080 bait. Such a cruel and harrowing death. When she collapsed with seizures, Taj had lifted her into the car and headed for the vet in Wingham. There was no antidote. He would never forget her fear and pain, or the wave of relief when an injection finished her suffering. Bush animals could expect no such mercy.

  CHAPTER 9

  Kim arrived home from the interview with Jean to find an ancient kombi van parked in their driveway, piled high with camping equipment. A young man sat behind the wheel, listening to rap music. A teenage girl with braided hair emerged from the passenger seat, holding a grubby purple pillowcase. ‘Thank god you’re here. We found this owl beside the road. I think its wing’s broken.’

  ‘Poor thing,’ said Abbey. ‘Can I see?’

  Kim looked at the offered pillowcase. ‘Why bring it to me? I don’t know anything about owls.’

  The girl’s face fell. ‘But the man at the shop said a wildlife carer lived here. Aren’t you Melanie Masters?’

  ‘Melanie lives next door,’ said Kim. ‘Turn left when you’re back on the road, and it’s the next gate you come to.’

  The horn honked. ‘Sorry,’ said the girl. ‘We don’t have time to go anywhere else.’ She thrust the owl into Kim’s hand, and ducked back into the van ‘Don’t worry about the pillowcase,’ she yelled as they rattled off. ‘You can keep it.’

  Great, thanks very much. The pillowcase quivered and hissed. Kim opened the neck and stole a peek. Two dark spheres stared back from a silver-grey moon-face, edged in coal. ‘Hello there.’ Abbey and Jake peered in. The owl clacked its beak, fell on its back and thrust up a pair of rapier talons. It uttered a piercing shriek that almost made her drop the pillowcase.

  ‘We’d better get it to Mel’s quick-smart,’ said Kim.

  ‘Yay,’ yelled Abbey. ‘I’ll get to see the lambs and the joeys, and Nikki.’

  ‘Nikki will still be at school, sweetie.’

  Abbey didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’ll still get to see their wombat, and Snow, and the lizards and . . .’

  ‘Can we please get going?’ Kim held the owl at arm’s length. ‘This thing’s hissing again.’

  Taj’s dusty black ute was parked behind the homestead at She-Oak Springs when they arrived. Unbelievable. It seemed every time she turned around, Taj was right there. Was he stalking her? No, not unless he was a mind-reader. He might think she was stalking him.

  Jake’s face darkened when he recognised the ute. ‘I’m going home.’ He jumped the fence and set off across the paddocks. Kim watched him trudge away, shoulders squared, big stick in hand. The war, Connor’s death, Afghanistan, Taj – these things were all tangled together in his mind. Tonight she’d have that talk with him, as Jean had suggested: explain how wrong it was to dislike someone purely because of the country they came from. It would help if she knew more about Taj, of course. Jake was sure to be full of questions, and if she had no answers, well . . . the talk would fall flat.

  Kim knocked on the back door.

  ‘There they are.’ Abbey pointed to a red quad bike, bumping towards them. Mel was driving, while Taj rode in the trailer with Snow.

  ‘G’day,’ said Mel, her smile uncertain. She looked brighter than on the first day they’d met, less defeated. ‘I’ve been hoping you’d pay me a visit. Would have popped round myself, but thought you might want to settle in first.’

  Kim heard the unspoken contrition behind her words: an acknowledgement that she’d been a bit too much the first time round, an undertaking to respect boundaries.

  ‘How about coming by tomorrow?’ Kim said. ‘I’ll make lunch.’

  Mel looked so pleased that Kim was almost afraid to produce the owl, the real reason for her visit.

  Abbey made a beeline for Snow. ‘She’s grown so big.’

  ‘Maremmas grow quickly,’ said Mel. ‘Livestock guardian dogs have to.’

  Abbey made a beeline for Snow. ‘She’s grown so big. She looks like Oddball, the dog from the movie.’

  ‘Snow just got her six-month report card.’ Mel grinned at Taj. ‘A miserable fail, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Mel, your dog didn’t fail her report,’ said Taj. ‘You did. Snow can’t bond with her sheep if you keep taking her away from them. She must sleep and eat with the flock. She must not look to you for companionship, but to them.’

  Mel stroked Snow’s ears. ‘What about me? Who must I look to for companionship?’

  Taj’s stern face creased into a smile. ‘Perhaps Snow is not meant to be a livestock guardian dog. Perhaps she is meant to be your dog.’

  ‘Really?’ Mel threw her arms around Snow’s shaggy neck. ‘Hear that? No more sleeping with the lambs.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe she’s been sleeping with the lambs,’ said Taj, and Mel shot him a guilty grin. ‘Perhaps you should get another puppy, for the sheep this time?’

  ‘Puppy?’ Abbey pulled at Taj’s shirt. ‘Can I have a puppy?’

  Taj shook his head. ‘No, little one. These are very special puppies, born with a job to do. They are not pets.’

  ‘Except for Snow,’ corrected Mel.

  ‘Perhaps Snow has the most important job of all.’ Taj stroked the dog’s ears. ‘Helping to heal your heart.’

  A faint flush coloured Mel’s cheeks. Kim looked away as a prickle travelled up her neck. What was it with these people? She decided to steer the conversation back to safer waters. She told the story of Lambert and the foiled fox attack on the lambs.

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s Sultan,’ said Mel, her face aglow with pleasure. ‘He’s another one of Taj’s dogs. I haven’t lost a single lamb since he’s been living with the hill flock. He passed his report with flying colours, didn’t he, Taj?’

  ‘He did, but Sultan was older and already partly trained. If you want another dog, Mel, it’s best that we do that again. You are not to be trusted with cute baby puppies.’

  Kim and Mel exchanged smiles. This was the right time to introduce the owl.

  Mel expertly turned the pillowcase inside out, restraining the owl’s feathered legs and razor claws. Out in the open, it appeared larger and more frightening than Kim had expected. ‘What a find,’ said Mel. ‘A sooty owl. Quite a rarity around here.’

  ‘I’m calling her Dotty,’ said Abbey. An apt name. The bird’s head and wings were smothered in a blizzard of white spots. ‘I wish Daddy could see her. He loved owls.’

  Kim’s heart flipped over.

  ‘I think you’re right about this being a her,’ said Mel. ‘Males are usually darker and smaller.’ Mel extended the bird’s wings one at a time, exploring them with gentle fingers. ‘We’re in luck. This wing’s not broken, only sprained.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Kim. ‘We’ll leave her with you then?’

  Mel put the owl back. ‘Normally I’d say yes, but right now I’m snowed under with rescues. Two more joeys, and a koala hurt in a logging coupe.’

  ‘A koala,’ shrieked Abbey. ‘Can I see?

  ‘I can’t keep it,’ said Kim. ‘I don’t know anything about owls.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Mel. ‘Let’s do a swap. Your owl for my joeys.’

  ‘I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘You take two of my joeys home. That cuts down my workload, and gives me time to bind Dotty’s wing and get her feeding properly. Then when the koala rescue people pick up Blinky tomorrow, I’ll take the joeys back.’

  Abbey’s face lit up. ‘Please, Mum. You said we couldn’t have a dog, but you didn’t say anything about kangaroos.’

  ‘Bonnie and Clyde are older joeys and pretty independent,’ said Mel. ‘They’ll be no trouble.’

  Abbey was jumping round in excited circles. ‘Please, please, please, Mum . . .’

  Keeping track of Abbey was making Kim dizzy. ‘How would I look after them?’

  Mel grinned. ‘It’s easy. I’ll show you.’

 
Why not? It was only overnight. It’s not like she was busy, and therein lay a problem. In theory, twelve months of freedom stretching before her sounded utterly perfect. In practice, it might take some getting used to.

  After Connor died, work had saved her. The discipline of turning up each day. She liked fronting students who neither knew nor cared about Connor, and who weren’t keeping a sympathetic eye on her. A loud voice inside urged her to keep moving, keep running, keep doing. Death didn’t hurt as much when you didn’t stop.

  But here in Tingo, life moved at a different pace. Here, beside the murmuring creek, among the whispering trees, there were no distractions. Too much room to think. Too much time to contemplate what she’d lost. The owl uttered a fierce screech. Mel whistled soothingly and covered its head. Abbey was right. Connor did love owls. He loved all the wildlife found at Journey’s End. He would want this.

  ‘Okay, it’s a swap,’ said Kim. Abbey screamed with delight, and Kim soaked up her happiness. Her daughter was growing more lively, changing from the shy, quiet child, living in a secret world of imagination.

  ‘I’d better take Dotty inside and get her hydrated,’ said Mel. ‘I’ll bring the joeys around later. You’ll need a secure pen for them during the day, with a green pick of grass. Do you have somewhere like that?’

  ‘The old chook pen,’ said Kim. ‘But there are gaps in the wire, and I know as much about fencing as I do about rocket science.’

  ‘Taj will fix it for you,’ said Mel. ‘Right, Taj? Great. Okay, Abbey, let’s put Dotty away and have a look at that koala.’

  When they got home, Kim found Jake reading comics in the woodshed, tomahawk by his side. Kim eyed it warily.

  ‘Guess what?’ said Abbey. ‘We’re getting joeys.’

  Jake didn’t look up. ‘Mum would never let us have joeys.’

  ‘I would, actually,’ said Kim. ‘In fact, they’ll be here this afternoon.’