The Memory Tree

by Jennifer Scoullar

  Fraser opened the first box and took out a stack of books, journals and David Attenborough DVDs. Yesterday he’d agreed to do whatever she asked of him. Was this what she meant? Fraser opened a little book that had slipped from the pile, an ancient children’s reader titled Legends of Greece and Rome. He recognised it as one of his old schoolbooks, with his name written on the first page in a childish scrawl. How curious. He turned to the page she’d bookmarked for him. The Punishment of Erysicthon. He sighed. What was the point of doing this? Still, he’d promised her. There was no harm in reading a simple story.

  ‘There was once a lovely grove belonging to Demeter, a goddess with dominion over the fruits and riches of the earth. This sacred ground was filled with pear and apple trees, mighty elms and oaks. They grew so thickly, an archer could not shoot an arrow through the forest. Its meadows teemed with fat deer. Its creeks ran with silver waters. Demeter loved this place to the point of madness.

  ‘There was also a Thessalian king, named Erysicthon, Tearer of the Earth. He planned to fell the trees in the sacred grove, and with their fine timber build a great banquet and pleasure house for himself. Erysicthon took with him twenty mighty giants, strong enough to lift whole cities, armed with double axes and hatchets.

  ‘Among the trees stood a colossal oak, centuries old. Its broad branches reached to Olympus, towering as high above the other trees as they did above the grass. Around it hung wreaths and garlands and scrolls, with proof of prayers fulfilled. Yet even so, the wicked king refused to spare the blade. The holy tree shuddered and groaned as the gigantic axemen began their work. Each bough and leaf and acorn paled with fear, and blood flowed from its wounded bark.

  ‘In death the holy tree cried out to Demeter, who heard its pain. She took the guise of a simple priestess and begged Erysicthon to stop his destruction, “… lest you anger the lady Demeter, whose grove you now make desolate.”

  ‘But the king was greedy and foolish. “Begone,” he said. “Or my axe will bite your flesh.” The giants rained blow after blow on the holy tree and hauled it down with ropes. At last the mighty oak crashed to earth, laying low its companions for miles around.

  ‘Demeter, furious beyond telling, put on her goddess shape. Her steps touched the earth but her head reached heaven. Dryads of the grove, heartbroken for their loss and clothed in mourning black, prayed for punishment on the king. “Go build your banquet hall,” she said to Erysicthon. “You who never tire of the feast.”

  ‘That night, Hunger wafted on the wind to the palace and entered the king’s chamber. She wrapped him in her arms as he slept, became his breath, channelled her craving emptiness through his hollow veins. When the king awoke, a furious appetite reigned in his burning belly, an appetite that could not be satisfied. Whatever the wretched Erysicthon ate, that much he desired again. He feasted until the fields were bare and the flocks all devoured. Yet he gained no nourishment and wasted away to sinew and bone. The deep pit of his belly exhausted the royal wealth. His only daughter he sold to slavery for more gold to buy food. But the king’s hunger remained unabated, the flame of his greed unappeased. He ate the mules, and the racehorses and his faithful war charger. He even ate his cat. And when his gluttony had consumed all the kingdom had to offer, Erysicthon gnawed at himself, devouring his own flesh and died, one bite at a time.’

  Fraser closed the book. We are creatures of consequence, his Charlotte used to say. How she would have loved Penelope.

  Chapter 28

  Penny checked on Theo for the tenth time, threw a few more bags of whitebait over the top of him, then went into the kitchen. It was almost more than her life was worth, trying to ignite the ancient gas oven, but she persevered. She didn’t want to bother her uncle. Watching football on TV was one of the few things that still seemed to give him pleasure. Penny nestled the beef shoulder in a bed of parsnips, pumpkin and potatoes, then put extra vegetables in an oiled pan for herself. The 1940s kitchen was pre-rangehood, so Penny opened the window, then frowned. Ray wasn’t watching TV at all. He was standing in the driveway, smoking, staring at the road. She studied him. Once upon a time, he would comb his few thin wisps of hair over his bald pate. Lately, he’d forgone this small conceit, and the remnant strands hung like limp mouse tails around his ears. A fully-laden log truck was approaching, and Ray shrank back as it roared past, air brakes screaming, rattling the windows.

  Penny rinsed her hands and joined him out the front. ‘What’s the score?’

  Ray stamped the butt of his cigarette into the withered lawn. ‘I lost track, love.’

  Penny hugged him. He was skinnier than she remembered. ‘Come on, Unk. Let’s have a talk.’

  Ray followed her inside and sat at the kitchen table. ‘Something smells good,’ he said.

  ‘What were you thinking about when you were outside?’

  Ray wasn’t much of a talker, more of a listener, but he gave Penny’s hand an affectionate squeeze. ‘I was thinking how things have changed. You know Pete, stood down the same time as me? He’s depressed something chronic, is Pete. The bastards repossessed his harvester and you’d think he’d lost his missus. To the bank she was just a tractor, but she wasn’t. She was family. Pete and Big Valma were partners, they looked after each other.’

  Penny nodded. Bush crews relied on their machines, even loved them. A man’s machine conferred on him his status in the forest. Penny knew Big Valma, a giant harvester painted red and black like a dangerous spider, a pinnacle of mechanised logging. Pete never had to leave her comfortable, tinted, air-conditioned cabin. Valma weighed thirty tonnes, and boasted a Cummins 300 horsepower diesel engine. Her felling head cut a fifty-metre swathe of destruction in all directions. Hydraulic chainsaw teeth sliced through trees with shocking speed. Curved blades, like talons, seized them in a deadly embrace. Finally, rotating roller wheels forced the trunks inexorably through the de-limbing knives.

  Penny had seen this monster at work and it gave her nightmares. But to Pete, Big Valma was a cherished workmate and ally. Early on in the forest wars, someone had smeared human excrement over her cabin doors. Although far worse was done to equipment later on – sliced electrics, gravel in drives, sugar in fuel tanks – the greenies couldn’t understand how profoundly that first insult had hurt the loggers. It provoked an enmity deeper than they could ever have imagined. Still, in spite of Pete’s grief, Penny couldn’t help but be pleased to see the back of Big Valma.

  ‘Know just how Pete feels, love. I miss the old Kenworth something shocking.’ Ray had leased his truck to Johnno for the layoff, unable to afford to let it lie idle. Penny had a soft spot for the big rigs herself. As a child she’d loved to ride them, perched high above the road beside her uncle, lulled by the engine drone, cocooned from harm. Later on, she got her own heavy vehicle licence and gained a new respect for what it took to drive them.

  Truck drivers needed to keep up punishing speeds to meet their quotas, and she’d been blind to so many things that suddenly mattered: bridge heights, sharp turns, telephone wires. She had to rely a great deal more on other road users. How grateful Penny was for a courtesy flash of the headlights when overtaking, letting her know that her truck had cleared the car, and there was room to safely move back into the left lane.

  When hungry or needing to pee, she couldn’t pull over wherever she wanted. She needed a truck stop with enough room to turn, and better meals than day-old hamburgers. Experiencing the road through a truckie’s eyes made her appreciate the considerable difficulties they faced in simply getting from point A to point B.

  ‘Johnno reckons this layoff’s all part of the curse,’ said Ray.

  ‘That’s silly. There’s no curse, you know that.’

  ‘No I don’t, love.’ His voice raised an octave. ‘What about Scott?’

  Penny felt a chill. She was glad that Ray was opening up, but her chest ached at the mention of Scott’s name. He’d been her dearest friend forever and ever. One day last year he’d been taking tie-down cables off his l
oad, when a log stacked too high above the stake tops rolled off and killed him. Scott’s death had spawned a confusion of superstitious stories. But Penny hadn’t blamed any curse. She’d blamed Burns Timber for tempting drivers to overload their trucks. She’d even tackled Fraser about it.

  'A terrible business, what happened to your friend,’ Fraser had said. ‘Simply terrible. But be assured, my company’s official policy warns contractors to comply with weight thresholds.’

  ‘Maybe so, but unofficially it encourages them not to by paying for loads two tonnes or more above the limit. Some mill managers even hand out fat bonuses.’

  ‘I can’t be responsible for a few rogue managers,’ said Fraser. ‘But I’ll do more to enforce the rules.’

  For a while log weight limits were policed, but the drivers themselves had objected, complaining they couldn’t make a living without the extra payments. Within months things had returned to the dangerous status quo.

  Ray was pacing the kitchen now, more agitated than she’d ever seen him. ‘It’s not just Scott. There’s trouble in that bloody forest every way you turn. The protests, the breakdowns, the accidents. Those poor coppers that fell from that tree. One of them hippy girls told Johnno she were a white witch.’ Ray looked a little shame-faced for spreading this rumour. ‘Reckoned her coven cast a spell to protect the Tuggerah.’

  Penny sighed and put the kettle on. ‘Remember in grade six when my rabbit died, I broke my arm, and I had to have my tonsils out all in first term? Fiona Williams said that she’d put a hex on me. You told me not to confuse bad luck with superstitious mumbo jumbo.’

  Ray finally stopped his pacing. ‘I remember.’ He smiled at the memory, and sat back down at the kitchen table. ‘You must think me a silly old fool.’

  ‘Never.’ Penny kissed his cheek.

  ‘All I know for sure, love, is that Johnno bloody well better be looking after me old mate, or he’ll have more than the curse to worry about.’

  Ray’s old mate was his twenty-year-old Kenworth rig. He knew its moods, and it knew his. It must have felt like abandoning a friend to turn his faithful truck over to someone else. The crowd roared in the lounge room. Penny went to check the score. ‘Carlton’s ahead by six points. Only a few minutes left, come and see.’

  Ray trailed in after her, scowling. ‘It’s time this state had its own AFL team. Who cares about bloody Carlton?’ With that he rolled another cigarette and went back outside.

  Penny couldn’t believe it. Ray was a rusted-on Carlton supporter, had been all his life. Sure he wanted a Tasmanian team. Everybody did, everybody always had. But that had never killed his passion for the game before. No, this was something else, a kind of general dissatisfaction with life itself. It had Penny very worried.

  Trifle. Trifle always cheered him up. ‘I’m going down the street. Want anything?’

  ‘Tobacco,’ he said. ‘And a few packets of papers. I’m a bit short today, love. Can I fix you up later?’

  It wasn’t like him to ask. Ray knew how much she hated him smoking, but anything to make him happy. As she walked over the narrow bridge into town, a log truck thundered by. It barely slowed. Penny cowered against the railing, watching the towering load of logs sway alarmingly as it sped around the bend. Ray wouldn’t drive like that, no matter how punishing his roster.

  A group of children were playing in the civic park beside the bakery. A girl waved and sang out to her. Matilda Murphy and her little brothers, Ben and Tyson, ran over, clutching cinnamon doughnuts.

  ‘Hello,’ said Penny. ‘Those look yummy.’

  ‘We’re here with Great Gran.’ Ben pointed to where Margaret Murphy and Doris Briggs were sitting on a park bench, their heads together.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ called Penny, and they nodded a greeting. Why were they staring at her like that? Emily Bourke, exiting the shop, did the same thing.

  ‘Are you getting divorced?’ asked Matilda.

  ‘No,’ said Penny. ‘What a question, Tilda.’

  The children giggled and ran off.

  * * *

  Inside, Penny handed over her string bag. ‘I’ll have one of those sponges and a pipe loaf please, Colleen.’

  ‘Of course, dear. I’ll pop in some scrolls as well. They’re on the house. And an apple turnover for your uncle. He loves them, he does, and you have quite enough on your plate without having to cook his favourites.’

  Colleen packed the bag high with goodies. How curious.

  ‘Colleen, I have no more on my plate today than I did last week, and I don’t remember you handing out free cakes then.’

  ‘Oh, but we didn’t know then, dear, did we? Although some of us suspected, of course.’

  Penny spotted the Murphy children peering in the window. Her throat was suddenly dry. ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Colleen, but I wish you’d tell me.’

  ‘Oh, you poor love. They say the wife’s always the last to know. But it’s not really my place, is it?’

  Penny’s smile stiffened. ‘Just tell me.’

  Colleen beckoned Penny forward with a conspiratorial air. ‘Your Matt dropped that Yank off at Margaret’s, bold as brass, right in front of Doris …’

  Penny tossed her head. ‘So?’

  ‘At seven o’clock this morning.’

  The shop seemed airless and Penny had to steady herself against the counter. ‘Thank you, Colleen.’ She took her bag and fled down the street, combing through the conversation she’d had with Matt that morning. She examined every word, every nuance. He hadn’t said that Sarah stayed overnight at Binburra, but he hadn’t said that she didn’t either. Sins of omission, sins of commission. How had the game really been played? Then it struck her: Matt’s uncharacteristic desire to clean up the house before she got there … to make the bed.

  Chapter 29

  ‘I’m going for a drive, Unkie.’ No point hanging around. Ray had hardly touched his meal, or the trifle, even with his favourite crushed walnuts on top. Pushed the food around the plate was all, and his gloom was infectious. Penny had no appetite either. Her head ached and her stomach churned. Whether it was Colleen’s gossip, or her pregnancy, or a virus, she didn’t know and she didn’t care. She took the Binburra Road, glad to be out of the house.

  Fraser was waiting for her on the verandah, looking frailer than the last time she’d seen him. McGregor hovered protectively nearby. Fraser beckoned her inside, and Penny followed him to the lounge room, barely noticing the enormous white marble fireplace that she usually marvelled at. A giant’s fireplace. As far as she knew it had never held a fire. If ever she saw one in its monstrous grate she’d call the fire brigade. Something about Canterbury Downs suggested things could get out of control.

  ‘I need your help,’ said Penny. She glared at McGregor as he came in, and Fraser waved him out again. ‘What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this room,’ she said. ‘If it does, I swear I’ll never speak to you again.’

  ‘You have my word.’

  Penny wet her lips. ‘I have the frozen body of a thylacine in my jeep. Matt accidentally hit and killed it on the road.’ She waited, expecting scepticism, shock, amazement. Instead, Fraser just looked stern.

  ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘Sarah Deville.’

  ‘Sarah? She’s the last person you should have told.’

  ‘We didn’t tell her,’ said Penny. ‘She sort of found out by herself.’

  Fraser took Penny’s arm and hurried her to the front of the house. ‘I’m surprised you’ve kept this quiet.’

  ‘So am I. It’s Matt who’s holding out. If it was up to me we’d go public right away.’

  ‘No. No, that would not be wise. So, I have my son to thank. I’ve misjudged him. Now, let’s have a look at your find.’

  Penny glanced around to confirm nobody was about. Then she opened the jeep door and pushed the bags of frozen fish aside from Theo’s body. Fraser heaved a happy sigh and traced a frosty stripe with his finger.


  ‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘Is there much damage to the hide?’

  ‘No,’ said Penny, still astonished that Fraser was taking it all in his stride.

  ‘Well, don’t dawdle. Let’s get him inside. You take his shoulders.’ Fraser grimaced, visibly struggling with the tiger’s dead weight. They stowed Theo in the studio freezer, then went to the breakfast room where fresh coffee and cakes had materialised, although there was no sign of the butler.

  ‘Do you think McGregor saw us?’ asked Penny.

  ‘Undoubtedly, but you have nothing to fear. McGregor and I are the last people on earth who would betray your secret.’

  ‘Why? And why are you so … so unsurprised.’

  ‘That, Penelope, is because it has been our secret for far longer than it has been yours.’

  Penny put down her cup and stared at him. Now she knew where Matt got it from. Holding tight to secrets ran in the family. ‘How on earth could you know anything about this?’

  ‘An explanation that is long overdue and, I’m afraid my dear, one that is for Matthew’s ears alone. But how to make him listen?’

  Penny picked up her coffee cup and stared into the dregs, as if reading tea leaves. Fraser knew about the baby. He knew about Theo. It was time he knew of her suspicions about Sarah too. Her father-in-law was an unlikely confidant, but the truth was she badly needed someone to talk to. Perhaps she and Fraser could help each other.

  ‘It’s quite straightforward,’ he said when she finished her story. ‘Tell my son you’re pregnant. He’ll abandon the affair – if, indeed, that’s what it is – and I’ll arrange for Deville’s funding to dry up. She’ll be on a plane back to Los Angeles before you know it.’

  Penny shook her head, a tight smile on her face. ‘Eliminate my opposition and use the baby to emotionally blackmail my husband. I guess I asked for that, coming to you for relationship advice.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish, Penelope. My advice is perfectly sound. You walk out on a whim and leave the field open for another woman. A highly intelligent and desirable woman, I might add. Then you complain about the inevitable.’