Champion

by Gee, Maurice

  Davies had seen me all right, seen me run, and he had put two and two together.

  ‘You stay where you are, boy,’ he yelled. ‘If you’re not on top of that fence when I come back I’ll screw your neck.’

  He and Simpson walked up the drive. When they went from sight I hopped off the fence. Plenty of time to hide the ledger and get back on top before he came. I ran down to the gully and found a bracken patch and hid the book down among the dry roots, with all the scraps of paper stuffed inside. Then I grew curious about what might be happening on the farm. Why was Davies going there? Maybe it had something to do with Jack. So I slid down through the ferns and jumped the little creek and crept up the other side of the gully where I found a place with a clear view of the house.

  Davies and Simpson were crossing the yard.

  As they approached, Mrs Stewart opened the door. She stood looking down at the men.

  Davies went straight to the point. ‘Did you do that, Mrs Stewart?’ – indicating Simpson, who was drying out in the sun and starting to steam.

  ‘He looked as if he could do with a wash,’ she tried to joke. It made Simpson furious.

  ‘You’re mad. I’ve laid a complaint. You’re getting arrested.’

  ‘Complaints, is it?’ Her composure broke. She started shaking. ‘My husband went away and got gassed and died…I worked this farm for twenty years without any help…I raised this girl…’ (Dawn, in the kitchen, behind her.)

  ‘Mrs Stewart,’ Davies said, in a softer tone, though firmly still. She took no notice.

  ‘And he comes here and talks about complaints…’

  ‘You can’t tip milk on him, Mrs Stewart.’

  ‘I was putting him off my farm. You go too. Go on, get out.’

  ‘I think you’d better come back to town with me.’

  ‘Arresting me?’ She could not believe it.

  ‘No,’ Davies said easily.

  ‘What about my complaints? People come and try to poison my dogs. They come out here and shout things at me –’

  ‘Come on, Mrs Stewart.’

  ‘No!’

  She reached down beside the door and brought out a shotgun. As Davies stepped at her she levelled it.

  ‘I’m not going into Kettle Creek. Get off my land.’

  Simpson backed off. He started to run. Davies stood his ground.

  ‘Hey now, Mrs Stewart, give me that, you’ll hurt someone.’

  ‘I’ll shoot you. I’ll shoot anyone.’

  Davies saw Dawn’s scared face behind her.

  ‘Dawn,’ he said, ‘you go out the back door and go down to the road and wait in my car.’

  ‘Stay there, Dawn,’ Mrs Stewart shouted.

  ‘Let me take the girl. Then we can talk.’

  ‘No one’s taking Dawn. She’s mine.’

  ‘Come on,’ Davies said soothingly. He took a step towards her. She cocked the gun and raised it and aimed at his chest.

  ‘I’m going to shoot.’

  He knew that if he took another step she’d pull the trigger.

  ‘No, I’m going.’ He took several slow steps back. ‘You put that gun away. I’ll come back soon with some of your friends, then we can talk.’

  ‘I’ll shoot anyone who comes past my gate.’

  ‘We’ll see. Now you and Dawn go inside and have a cup of tea. And take it easy, eh? Everything’s all right.’ So he retreated, and turned his back, and walked away steadily down the drive.

  Simpson was waiting at the car. Davies gave him the keys. ‘Get Constable Forbes out here. I’ll stay and watch the girl.’

  ‘Right,’ Simpson said. He was happy to get away.

  ‘Tell him to bring Mrs Crombie.’

  Simpson drove away, and Davies looked back at the house. The door was closed. He risked going halfway back up the drive. It was a mistake.

  The door opened and Mrs Stewart came out. She had left her gun inside and Davies saw his chance. He started running up the drive. From my place in the trees I saw what she was doing and I opened my mouth to yell a warning. Too late. I made no sound. The dogs were free.

  ‘Sool him, Dave! Sool him, Dot! Go on! Get him!’

  They came round the shed into Davies’ view, sighted him and ran at him like whippets from a trap, with that hideous yammering-yelping blood-hungry sound some hunting dogs make.

  Davies might have tried to calm one dog or fight it off. No chance with two. He looked around, saw only one tree close, vaulted the fence, ran for it. The dogs lost speed scrambling through the wires. He reached the tree, a manuka, leaped into it, whipped his ankles almost out of their jaws, and sat there swaying in the skinny tree, only six inches clear of Dave and Dot’s leaping.

  In the kitchen Mrs Stewart grabbed a sugar sack from under the bench. She gave it to Dawn.

  ‘Hold it. Open it, girl.’

  She flung wide cupboard doors and threw food in the sack, whatever was there. The shotgun was lying on the table.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Dawn said. She was terrified. While her grandmother was letting the dogs go she had tried to take the cartridges from the gun but hadn’t been able to get it open.

  Mrs Stewart fixed her eyes on her. ‘They’ll take you away. They’ll lock me up. You don’t want to go away from me, Dawn?’

  ‘No,’ Dawn said.

  ‘I’ve been your mother.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mrs Stewart smiled, a crazy cunning in her eyes.

  ‘I know a place we can hide.’

  I saw them coming out the back door. Mrs Stewart had her gun. Dawn carried the sack on her shoulder. They went fifty yards before Davies spotted them.

  ‘Mrs Stewart!’ he yelled.

  ‘Stay, Dave. Stay, Dot. Sool him.’

  He tried kicking the dogs but one caught the cuff of his trousers and he had to tear it free. The tree swayed. If he didn’t keep it balanced it would bend over gracefully and serve him to the dogs like a lamb roast.

  I hoped he would be safe. There was nothing I could do. I ran down the gully and up the other side to see if Mrs Stewart and Dawn were heading where I thought.

  They were. I saw Dawn stop and Mrs Stewart push her on.

  No, I wanted to yell, don’t go there, Dawn. But I knew there was no way she could stop her grandma. They reached the path into the mangroves. Mrs Stewart took the sack and made Dawn climb the fence. She handed the sack over and climbed herself.

  I turned and ran. Up the paddock. Along the road. Leo was thinning grapes with secateurs.

  ‘Leo!’

  He looked up.

  ‘Mrs Stewart’s making Dawn go on the launch. She’s got a gun.’

  Jack heard the wires squeak. When there was no signal he thought it must be Mum and Grandma coming back. Then he heard Mrs Stewart’s voice.

  ‘Careful with that sack, you’re going to drop it.’

  There was no time to get in the canoe. He slipped into the deckhouse and watched. In a moment Dawn climbed on to the jetty and Mrs Stewart scrambled up behind.

  ‘Wait on,’ Mrs Stewart said. She looked suspiciously at the launch. ‘Someone’s been here.’

  ‘Only me,’ Dawn said. ‘I use it.’ She hoped that Jack had got away; then saw the nose of the canoe beyond the launch and knew he must be hiding in the deckhouse.

  ‘Let’s go somewhere else, Grandma. This is no good.’

  ‘Someone’s been here.’ She saw the movement of Jack’s head as he looked out. She cocked the gun.

  ‘You. Whoever you are. Come out.’

  So Jack stepped out of the deckhouse and smiled at her. ‘Howdy, ma’am. I hope you don’t mind me using your launch.’

  ‘Hands up. Don’t move.’ She made her way along the jetty and climbed on to the launch, her gun never wavering from its aim. Dawn came behind her.

  ‘Jack’s been hiding here. We’ve been helping him. It’s my fault.’

  ‘Back inside,’ Mrs Stewart said. He went into the deckhouse. She followed and looked around. She took in
the rug, the cupboards, the photograph of Rose. ‘Do you know my daughter?’ Odd things were happening in her mind. Perhaps she thought Jack was Jimmy, Dawn’s father.

  Jack’s eyes were on the gun. ‘No, lady, I’ve never met her.’

  She took the bottle of perfume from her pocket. ‘Did you give my grand-daughter this?’

  ‘I’m scared of guns. Put it down.’

  ‘Did you?’ A shout.

  ‘Mum gave it to me,’ Dawn cried. She saw Jack move. ‘Don’t, it’s loaded. Grandma, all he’s been doing is trying to make the launch go.’

  Mrs Stewart nodded. She seemed to work out something in her mind. ‘All right. Make it go now,’ she said.

  We heard the engine cough as we ran down the paddock. It sounded like a sick cow. Then it gave several weak little putters – and it caught. It gave a roar.

  We reached the jetty in time to see the launch turning out of sight round the mangroves, with the canoe bumping at its side. Jack was in the wheelhouse and Dawn was in there too. Mrs Stewart was on the rear deck, holding her gun. She saw us and swung it round. We ran back along the jetty.

  ‘On the cliff,’ I cried.

  We ran across the slope of the hill and reached the low cliff above the river. The launch came nosing out of the creek and turned towards the sea.

  ‘Where are they going?’

  ‘They can’t get out,’ Leo said, ‘they’ll get stuck on the bar.’

  The launch came along below us. Mrs Stewart had her gun pointing at the wheelhouse. Then Dawn came out.

  ‘She’s making Dawn untie the canoe.’

  ‘Jack will lose all his stuff.’

  ‘Untie it. Do what I say,’ shouted Mrs Stewart.

  ‘Grandma –’

  ‘Do it, Dawn,’ Jack said from the wheel.

  So Dawn untied the canoe and left it bobbing in the wake. The launch chugged on, so slow a swimmer could have kept up with it. Jack listened to the sound of the engine.

  ‘I don’t like the sound of her, ma’am.’

  ‘Keep on going.’

  ‘Can’t get over that bar. Too many waves.’

  ‘We’re leaking,’ Dawn cried.

  ‘Yeah, thought she might. She’s opening up with the vibration,’ Jack said. ‘Have to head for shore.’

  ‘No! The other side, go over there.’

  ‘We’ll never make it.’

  ‘You go where I tell you.’ She threatened him with the gun.

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Jack was waiting his chance. He took the old lifejacket from its nail and threw it to Dawn. ‘Put that on.’

  She looked at her grandma. Mrs Stewart nodded. Dawn put the lifejacket on while the launch turned slowly and headed out across the estuary. She saw Leo and me on the cliff.

  ‘We’re sinking,’ she screamed.

  Just like Mum and Grandma, we had the same idea at the same time. We ran across the hill – I can still feel those grass heads whipping my shins – and came to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The shed was open and the amphibian sat inside – unnatural, boat on wheels, crazy machine. We jumped in. The keys were in the ignition. I remembered my lessons in driving it – Jack’s voice, ‘Easy with your foot on that clutch.’ Out of the shed we chugged, across the yard, down the paddock, moving like a flat four-legged beetle in the grass.

  Grandpa ran out of the house.

  ‘Rex!’ I heard him yell.

  ‘We’ll bring it back soon, Grandpa.’

  ‘Rex…’ His voice was lost in the engine noise. What he was saying, I found out later, was that he’d run out of pitch and all the leaks were not stopped yet.

  Leo ran ahead, opening gates. I drove down the track to the beach where we had launched the canoe. Leo came jumping on board. Over the mud and sand we went, into the water, and for a moment we thought the wheels would refuse to leave the bottom and we’d end up driving on the riverbed. At last though we felt some buoyancy, the boat floated, and I changed the engine over – difficult this, I’d only seen Grandpa demonstrate in the shed – changed it to drive the propeller shaft. It started to turn with a deafening clatter in its metal bed and the boat felt as if a weak hand were pushing it. We looked at each other, appalled. We could walk heel to toe faster than this. The launch was halfway over the estuary. We’d never catch it.

  Jack looked at the water on the deck. It was coming up so fast you could see it rise.

  ‘Guess ole Rose wasn’t meant to go.’

  ‘No,’ Dawn whispered.

  ‘We’re not going to make it, lady. Best turn back,’ he told Mrs Stewart.

  ‘We’ll turn back when I say. Can’t we go faster?’

  ‘Listen to that motor. Lucky she’s going at all. Hey, that gun’ll go off the way you’re squeezin’.’

  ‘It’ll go off when I want it to. Dawn, find something to bail with.’

  ‘Bucket’s up front,’ Jack said, ‘but it won’t do no good.’ Then he saw his chance as Mrs Stewart turned. He reached her in two steps, grabbed the barrel of the gun, forced it down and round, away from Dawn. One barrel went off and blasted a hole the size of a soup plate in the hull. Jack wrestled it away and threw it over the engine cowling. Mrs Stewart fought to get to it. He put his arms around her and lifted her up. Dawn thought he was going to throw her overboard.

  ‘Don’t,’ she screamed. But Jack was simply trying to keep her still. They fell and lay tangled in the door of the deckhouse. At that moment the engine stopped. In the silence Jack said, ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you, ma’am.’

  Mrs Stewart fought.

  ‘No, you can’t get up. Dawn, get the gun. Easy, now. Keep it pointed away, one barrel still loaded.’

  Dawn picked it up.

  ‘Over the side.’

  She put it in the water and let it go. The gun sank. Jack released Mrs Stewart. She scrambled to her feet, looked wildly round. Jack went into the deckhouse and tried to start the engine. It wouldn’t go.

  ‘Finish,’ he said. He gave a half-frightened look at Dawn. Tried to joke, ‘This ain’t a good place to have a puncture.’

  ‘We’ve got to bail,’ Mrs Stewart cried. ‘Where’s the bucket?’ She ran into the bow.

  The water was up to Jack’s ankles. It flowed in a little waterfall through the hole the gun had blasted.

  ‘We’re going to sink,’ Dawn whispered.

  ‘You’ll have to swim.’

  ‘It’s too far.’

  ‘No it’s not. Like you taught me.’ He smiled. ‘Like an eel.’

  ‘What about you and Grandma?’

  ‘We’ll be all right. Might last out till they send a boat.’

  Mrs Stewart came back with the bucket. She started throwing water over the side. ‘Get the motor going,’ she shouted at Jack.

  ‘Motor’s finished.’ He gave Dawn a little push. ‘Move, girl.’

  ‘Grandma?’ Dawn said.

  But Mrs Stewart kept working with her bucket, splashing water over the side.

  ‘Go on,’ Jack said.

  Dawn put her leg over the side. She lowered herself, but held on and did not want to let go.

  ‘Swim hard,’ Jack said. He freed her hands and pushed her away.

  The amphibian was leaking too. We knew we would never reach the launch.

  ‘Bail with your hands,’ I cried.

  ‘We’ll have to turn back.’

  Far away, the launch was very low. The deckhouse looked like a little shed standing on the water.

  ‘There’s someone swimming.’

  We saw a flash of paddling hands, a head sleek as wet stone.

  ‘It’s Dawn.’

  ‘Dawn! This way! Over here!’

  She turned feebly. She was very weak.

  ‘Slow down,’ Leo yelled at me. But the amphibian had one speed and all I could do was aim at Dawn and slide by. Leo grabbed at her and missed. I turned the amphibian; a slow, heavy, ugly, labouring turn. We came at Dawn again. Leo managed to get hold of the lifejacket. She could not turn to lock her hands on his.<
br />
  ‘I can’t get her.’

  I saw my BB gun lying in the bilges. I left the tiller, grabbed the gun, held it barrel first at Dawn. She reached it with one hand – and that way, as the amphibian spun round like a bee on the water, we managed to turn her towards us, and get four hands on her, and pull her on board.

  When we looked again the launch was gone.

  We sank too, thirty yards from shore. But Matty and Gloria had swum for the canoe and they paddled up as we went down. They pulled Dawn into the cockpit and Leo and I held on to the sides and we made it to the beach – where, it seemed, the whole town was waiting.

  Stipan ploughed in, grabbed Leo and me, put one of us under each arm. Davies – someone had rescued him from the dogs – grabbed Dawn from the canoe and carried her in and gave her to Grandma. Mum and Dad were there, Grandpa was there – dozens of people. We stood in a group and stared out over the estuary, where several boats were moving towards the place where the launch had been. We watched them circle, blindly searching.

  Dawn’s map, my Champion, a half-empty bottle – that is the sort of thing they found. And two days later searchers found Mrs Stewart’s body on the bar. They never found Jack.

  Dawn stayed with Grandma Crombie for a week. Then her mother came and took her away and I never heard what happened after that. I like to think she was happy with her mother. Leo and I stayed friends for the rest of the year. Then we went to schools in town, mine the grammar school and his a Catholic one, and made different friends and did not see so much of each other. He still lives in Kettle Creek and runs the vineyard with Matty – who married someone else, not Gloria. They make good wine and win lots of medals.

  I study insects at the DSIR. I’m writing a book about wetas. And, of course, I’ve written one about Jack. Here it is. I had to write it. As I said at the beginning, he’s the most important person I’ve ever known.

  I often wonder what happened on the launch at the very end. Jack probably tried to save Mrs Stewart. That is the sort of thing he’d do. And then perhaps he tried to swim ashore. He could dog-paddle, after all. He wouldn’t give up. And sometimes I wonder if he made it – just kept on kicking, paddling, as we’d taught him. Reached the other shore and pulled himself through the mangroves there. Was that someone moving, someone slipping quietly away? And he hid in the bush, up the coast where Dawn had shown him on her map; and somehow managed to survive – rabbit stoo – and travelled to Chicago after the war. He’s in Chicago now, living happily…