Beware of Dogs

by Elizabeth Flann

  Fortunately the beach seemed to be serpent-free, perhaps because it was on the more exposed side of the island. I worked without pause – lift, stagger, throw; lift, stagger, throw – until my legs collapsed from under me and I knew I was done. The pile, when I examined it, was impressively large and would make a sizeable blaze. But when I looked out to sea, there was no sign of sail or boat. I didn’t want to light the fire unless I was fairly sure it would be seen because, once lit, the evidence would be impossible to disguise.

  I dragged myself to a higher rock and set up surveillance. I could see the line of the mainland faint in the distance, but I couldn’t be sure that a fire this far away would be visible to the naked eye. Not willing to take such a risk without a realistic chance of success, all I could do was wait. My insides seemed to have settled so I took out the remaining fruits and ate first one, then the rest, carefully monitoring for after effects. All seemed well. This was good news, but it raised the problem of finding more food. Without cooking facilities, I had probably almost exhausted the food resources of the island.

  I checked the water bottle, and found that it had cooled down nicely, so after a few experimental sips I had a good drink. I didn’t feel hungry, but I knew I had to build up my strength to walk back across the sandblow. I tried to think of any possible food sources I hadn’t checked. The only birds’ nests I’d seen had been abandoned, so even if I did find an egg it would probably have gone bad by now. I don’t know when mutton birds breed, but of course that’s why the snakes are there. I’d have to be very sure of the eggs, and very desperate, before I’d willingly reach into a burrow.

  I didn’t think I could risk limpets again, in case they were the cause of the sickness, so unless I could catch another skink, I was left with a totally fruit diet. I’d have to search the jetty area thoroughly before I left, because supplies on the other side were becoming worryingly scant.

  I scanned the ocean again, but nothing broke the endless blue. There was no wind. The sea looked as though it had been ironed flat. Hardly ideal sailing weather, which probably explained the absence of sailing boats. I didn’t expect working boats on a public holiday, so at least that was one disappointment less.

  It was peaceful sitting there, though my eyes began to squint with all the looking.

  But there was nothing to see. Nothing at all.

  The sun began to lower and with all hope gone I knew what I had to do. Slowly, methodically, I reversed my earlier procedure, taking armfuls of sticks off the pile and throwing them as naturally as possible around the beach. For some reason the dismantling was even more arduous than the building and I was almost crawling by the time I reached the base of the wood pile. I’d also run out of likely spots on the right of the jetty to toss my burdens into.

  To the left was the edge of the tussocky mutton-bird country. I only had a few piles left, and I judged that the edges should be pretty safe. I knew I should take all the precautions – stamping, poking, shouting – but I didn’t have the energy. I just wanted to be rid of the stuff.

  I spent some time tidying up the area so that the base of the fire looked less ring-like and more natural, then carried the second-last load to the edge of the tussocks. There was a deep mound of driftwood, leaf litter and seaweed near the vegetation line. I tossed my load recklessly on top of it, and grabbed a bushy branch to tidy up the edges and make them look nice and windblown.

  When I walked back with the final load I heaved it as far inside my neat edge as possible. And a metre-long black snake came hurtling out towards me.

  For a second I was paralysed, then the adrenalin cut in, giving me an extraordinary boost of energy, and I ran like hell, as far as I could go. I was halfway along the other side of the beach before I dared to look back. There was no sign of the snake and I slumped, puffing and gasping, onto the sand. I didn’t stop surveying for a moment, but it was a long time before I could manage to stand up.

  Now that I was there, I knew I must do a food search. The cove around the jetty was quite small so I walked slowly to the end of it, collecting another stout stick along the way. There were rock pools at the end but I doubted if they’d be any more productive than the ones on the other side, and I knew I didn’t have a lot of time. Instead I followed the vegetation line, this time shouting and bashing the ground with my stick whenever it looked at all like snake habitat, although I still suspected that the northern end of the island was relatively snake-free.

  At first there was nothing, and I found myself wondering what that snake would have tasted like if I could have caught it and cooked it (and if I would have been able to make myself eat it if so). Fortunately after a while I came upon quite a large area of karkalla, and took the time to strip it of every fruit, enough to fill two bags. Almost back to the sandblow there was a muddy little area probably caused by the sea at very high tides. After much shouting and banging, I made a circuit of this area. Although there was not a hint of food, I found something so wonderful I did a little dance, all exhaustion forgotten.

  It was a flat piece of thin metal, about a quarter of a metre in diameter. I didn’t have my hammer with me, but I tried bashing one of the edges with a rock, and it bent slightly. My heart leapt. I might have found a cooking pot. To celebrate I collected my water bottle, sat on a nice flat rock, and had an afternoon tea party of karkalla fruits and water.

  Then I gathered everything, checked that the beach looked relatively untouched, knowing I could rely on the elements to improve on the job I’d done. Less disappointed than I would have expected, perhaps heartened by my finds, I set off along the sandblow. If I hadn’t realised the importance of regular food before, I certainly did now. Even the small amount of energy from the fruit was enough to make the walk seem shorter on the return journey, which was fortunate because the metal disc was not easy to carry.

  3.00 p.m.: Write up diary.

  It’s been a chaotic day and a tedious and exhausting expedition, but now I’m back outside the cabin, taking some rest time to sit and write up my diary, and I estimate the time to be about three o’clock. I hope I’m right because this will give me just enough time to have a quick swim, collect and cook some food, and still make it back to the cave for the night. I don’t want another chilly night on the sand.

  This time, thank goodness, everything went as planned. I stripped off and raced into the sea for a quick swim, followed by an even quicker rinse at the water tank, then put on my clothes and sat on a log near the barbecue with the sheet of metal and my hammer. My aim was to beat the sides into shape but leave a flat base to sit on the barbecue plate. It took longer than I had hoped, but after some trial and error, and a lot of manoeuvring, I had a semblance of a pot.

  Next I assembled all of the remaining specimen bags and went on a search for ingredients. I’d brought the hammer to help with catching crabs and this proved an inspired plan. Instead of trying to grab them, I gave them a good sharp tap, and while they froze in shock, threw them into the bag. It took time, but I accumulated five small crabs in this way. Then I detoured to the vegetation line and picked whole branches of karkalla leaves, and as I neared the cabin I filled a bag with saltbush leaves.

  I lit the barbecue, filled my pot with water, and placed it nervously on the plate, hoping it would be strong enough to withstand the heat. Heart in mouth, I watched as the water began to heave, then bubble, and I threw in handfuls of karkalla leaves, sprinkled in the saltbush leaves like herbs, and finally, when it looked almost ready, added the crabs.

  Then I turned the barbecue off and used the T-shirt I had just taken off as a mitt to transfer the pot to the sand, where I gave it a minute to cool down. I didn’t have a spoon or fork so I had to use the lid from my water bottle as a scoop for the vegetables and juices. When they were all gone I used my knife to skewer out the crabs onto a plastic bag, and pulled them apart with my fingers.

  It was a feast. There was not much meat on the crabs but what there was tasted sweet and fresh. The karkalla and saltbush
leaves imparted a salty tang to the dish, but it was not as heavy as I feared. The saltbush was a bit chewy, but the karkalla leaves were delicious, a bit like soft, salty cabbage stalks. I ate every bit, except the crab shells, and I even ate some of the softer parts of the carapace.

  Now I needed to move fast. I threw the crab remains in the sea, knowing from previous experience that they would be gone by tomorrow, and washed first the metal pot, then the T-shirt, as thoroughly as possible. I hid the pot in the scrub behind the cabin, covered my traces as well as I could, filled my water bottle, stuffed the wet T-shirt into one of the anorak pockets, and set off. It seemed like days since I’d been along this path, and I almost became nervous as I approached the cave.

  The disguise tree was now well and truly dead, so I took a few minutes to hide it and replace it with a new one. A delaying tactic. Now that I was there I found I was afraid to go in. Why, I’m not sure. Did I think my belongings would have disappeared, stolen by aliens? Or that the cave would have been colonised by wolves?

  I knew it was illogical, but still I hesitated. Then, noticing that the sun was receding remarkably quickly, I took a breath and entered, pulling the replacement tree across the entrance behind me. And there was my cave, just as it was. I was home.

  I returned to the entrance to remove my jeans and boots, then unpacked, dressed for bed and reassembled my sleep padding. Tomorrow I should get some more sheoak branches, but for tonight the existing ones would do.

  After the freedom of movement of the day before, and the brief luxury of sleeping lying down, I find the cave cramped and uncomfortable. How could I have become used to this? I do not know the time, but it is the night of Wednesday the 25th of April.

  * * *

  When I wake it’s pitch black and my head is swimming, and white lights are dancing in front of my eyes. Odd, obsessive trains of thought begin to swirl around in my mind.

  I live in Australia. I speak English. I even dream in English. Why does everyone still regard me as Dutch? Is it my accent, my appearance, my manner? I’ve never lived in Nederland. How Dutch can I be? If I went there I’d be just as much of an outsider.

  Perhaps that’s what it is. I’m a natural outsider and people just think it’s because I’m Dutch. After all, the Malagasy thought we were English, which for them was another name for outsider.

  Would religion have helped me to belong? Abel seems to have found a stable life in Canada. Do they regard him as Dutch or Canadian? I wonder if becoming an Australian citizen would have made me any more acceptable. Or are Australians really just as exclusive as the English, but they manage to hide it better. I don’t think so, but the thoughts roll round and round inside my head . . .

  I dream I am in Edward’s grave on the moors. It is cold, very cold. And dark . . . I wake with a start. My father is standing at the entrance of the cave. I scream out in terror. What’s happening? Am I dead?

  He comes towards me, looming in that tiny space. ‘Ja, that’s right, Alix, you are dead. You just don’t know it yet. Dead. Dood.’

  I scream at him to go away then close my eyes. When I open them he’s gone, but the lights are still there. Now a shark comes swimming towards me, pushing through the air of the cave. It swims straight at me and I shrink against the rock wall, only remembering to shut my eyes at the last minute before it can snap its gaping jaws around me.

  Then I hear voices calling. I have to look. Ghosts and wraiths appear with the forms of Jonathan and Pauline, dancing and weaving around the cave.

  ‘See how happy we are, Alix!’ Pauline sings. ‘See how we dance!’

  Jonathan weaves right up to me and his face grows larger and larger. Then it shrinks and fades away.

  And Vader is back. ‘You see. You took the wrong way, Alix. The God-forsaken way.’

  I shut my eyes so tight my head hurts.

  When I open my eyes again the hallucinations have gone. Thank God! But my mind is filled with memories, coming to me out of the past, clear as yesterday. I am back in Madagascar, in the Punishment Room. Just me and my father. I don’t know what I have done, but it is a four-beatings punishment, so it must be something very bad. ‘Your hand, Alix,’ Vader says. I put out my right hand and he hits it, hard, with the big black Bible.

  ‘De linkerhand.’ This time he hits harder and my finger bends backwards in a funny way.

  ‘Turn.’ Now he uses his own hand and punches my right shoulder until I can feel the big purple bruise forming.

  Then the other shoulder, and after that the worst part. He sits me on a chair, and sits himself facing me. ‘Alix, why must you be so bad? You are such a disappointment to me. Why can’t you be like Abel? He listens to God’s Word and follows the path of the righteous. But you, Alix. Always trouble!’

  I recall now what I’d done wrong. Something in the Bible didn’t make sense to me and I asked a question, a major transgression, forgetting that the Bible is the True Word of God and cannot be doubted. I also remember the pain of the broken finger, but somehow I could never manage to stop asking questions. Sending me to England certainly cured me of that. Perhaps that was the plan.

  And now the dormitory of the boarding school comes back. The eight beds lined up, four to a side, each with a cupboard in which only a crazy person would put anything of value. And at the end of every room a cubicle in which a teacher slept with one ear open for any suspicious sound. Can’t have been much fun for them. No wonder they seemed angry all the time.

  But why was my father so angry? When I visited Laos I thought it would be different. I should have known better.

  Moe had delivered the car first on the outskirts of Luang Prabang. Then she said, ‘I have a treat for you, Alixi.’ We loaded ourselves and our luggage into a pedicab, and were taken on a magical mystery tour that wound up on the river’s edge. Leaving everything with the driver, we boarded a small boat, so that we arrived at the centre of Luang Prabang adrift on the Mekong.

  It was like arriving in paradise. Golden spires soared out of tropical rainforest, and we berthed at a set of delicate white steps that took us up onto the road. There our driver was waiting to take us home.

  ‘Thank you,’ I remember saying to Moe. ‘I can’t believe such a beautiful place still exists.’ Perhaps the beauty made me too hopeful. Despite all of Moe’s excuses about Vader being too busy to join us at Vientiane, the truth soon became brutally apparent. When we finally arrived and got ourselves settled, Moe led me into Vader’s study. Although I knew he was aware of our presence, he waited some time before he looked up.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Alix. Have you finally accepted the Way of Truth? Or have you come to disappoint me once again?’

  I was too taken aback to speak, but my silence was enough for Vader. ‘You may leave now. I have work to do.’

  At least he visits me now, in my cave.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Thou shalt fear the Lord thy God, and serve him, and shalt swear by his name. Ye shall not go after other gods, of the gods of the people which are round about you (for the Lord thy God is a jealous God), lest the anger of the Lord thy God be kindled against thee, and destroy thee from the face of the earth.

  King James Bible, Deuteronomy 6:13-15

  FIELD DIARY – Thursday 26 April

  * * *

  I woke up stiff, sore and disoriented, thinking: Where am I? What am I doing here? The next thing that hit me was thirst. I was so out of routine it hadn’t occurred to me to set any bags yesterday, so I knew I would have to hike to the cabin to get water. At least I no longer felt sick. My mind was clear to plan this day carefully, and to try to re-establish a routine.

  Today is Thursday, and even though it’s pretty likely that the Duffy brothers will still be in Melbourne, or back home nursing Anzac Day hangovers, I wanted to keep clear of the cabin area around the middle of the day. I moved outside the cave entrance to put on my jeans and boots and tried to estimate the time, then returned to the cave to pack up my supplies.

  Once th
at was done, I set out immediately, making a quick detour to the coast banksia thicket to try sucking the remaining flowers for nectar, but they were already dry. I’ll have to be sure to go out early tomorrow. While not particularly nourishing or filling, nectar is a food, and at least it adds some sweetness to my diet. It also has quite good energy-boosting qualities and I guess, like honey, might aid digestion. Given my current strange eating patterns, it could be a valuable supplement, and one I had temporarily forgotten all about, although it would mean keeping up my water consumption. I don’t want another bout of cystitis, but at least for the moment obtaining water is not a problem.

  When I reached the cabin, I took a fast walk along the vegetation line, filling my bags with every karkalla fruit I could find. By very thorough searching and stripping every morsel, no matter how small, I collected enough fruit to make an adequate breakfast, with a small handful left over for lunch.

  Then I filled my bottle and two extra specimen bags with water from the tank, cleaned up the area and took my trophies up to the boat viewing hide on the clifftop. I made a thorough sweep of the cliff area for food, always keeping a wary eye out to sea, and found a few last boobialla fruits, some interesting-looking sap congealed on the trunk of a sheoak tree, and a large grasshopper, which I grabbed and sealed into a plastic bag.

  I shuffled my way into the hide, pulled my shielding shrubs across, and settled down to wait.

  When the sun was high in the sky I ate my mixed fruits, taking my time, and then cautiously bit off a little of the sap. It tasted OK, quite resiny and fresh, so I chewed it a bit at a time like chewing gum, spitting out the waxy residue when I’d exhausted all the flavour. I thoroughly enjoyed this bizarre snack, which just goes to show how desperate I’ve become.