Dash and Dingo

by Catt Ford

  And the mere fact of Dingo’s presence in his bed spelled another kind of danger; if that were to become known, they might be the subjects of yet another kind of witch hunt. It would be safer by far if Dingo went back to his own bed, but Henry couldn’t bear to let him go.

  Who knew when they might be able to lay together again?

  Despite the comfort of holding Dingo in his arms and feeling Dingo’s good arm around him in the dark, when the wind started to rage, lashing drops of rain against the windows as if angered that it couldn’t reach them, the sound seemed to mimic the desolate cries of the two tigers when they discovered the dead cub Hodges had murdered.

  When Dingo’s body started to shake, Henry wrapped his arms around him and held him in his grief.

  The next time Henry opened his eyes, he was alone again—a state he supposed he would now be forced to accustom himself to. His leg had stiffened up and threatened to collapse under him when he attempted to get to his feet. He flexed his knee several times and tried again, managing to limp into the bathroom.

  There was a door on the far side of the bathroom, standing slightly ajar. Henry hadn’t noticed it last night, but he peered through the crack to find Dingo heavily asleep in a darkened room. Henry shut the door quietly so as not to awaken him and ran the water in the sink, waiting for it to heat up.

  He gave himself a good scrub, as well as he could considering the collection of bruises, scrapes, and wounds he bore. He still felt like he was carrying the forest with him, despite Jarrah’s thorough cleaning of him the night before.

  Returning to his room, he noticed clean clothing on the chair, presumably left for him by Hank or Jarrah. It was a relief to put on a clean shirt and whole trousers again, but there were no socks or boots for him. I suppose they don’t want to take a chance on me running away, Henry mused with a chuckle. No chance of that, not with the man he loved lying asleep in the next room.

  He tossed the filthy remains of his jungle clothes into the trash bin, thinking back to the night at his flat when he’d tried them on, full of naïve illusions about this journey. How differently it had all turned out—

  The knock on the door was quiet but insistent. Thinking that perhaps Hank had sent a waiter up with breakfast, Henry limped to the door and opened it.

  Two men pushed into the room, and he staggered back against the wall to avoid a painful collision. “Here, who are you?”

  One of the men was taller than he and glowered at him silently. The second was more conciliatory, bringing out a folding case from his inner pocket and holding his identification so that Henry could read it.

  “William Mortimer. My colleague, Walter Robbins. We’re with the government.”

  “Which government, Mr. Mortimer? And what business do you have with me?” Henry crossed his arms and glared at the two men.

  “We’re with the Tasmanian government, from the Animal and Birds Protection Board,” Mr. Mortimer explained.

  “And what do you want with me?”

  “We know you went looking for the thylacines, in the company of one Jack Chambers.” Mr. Robbins pushed himself forward for the first time. “With intent to carry one of the animals out of the country.”

  Henry laughed. “And you think I’ve got one hidden under the bed right now?”

  “We want to know where Chambers is. And his dad,” Mr. Robbins insisted.

  The door between their rooms swung open, and Dingo sauntered in, looking rakish and adventurous in his dirty clothes, making Henry feel almost unnaturally civilized even though his feet were bare.

  “Dingo,” Mr. Mortimer said, politely.

  “What are you doing here, Will?” Dingo asked, as if he didn’t already know.

  Henry rolled his eyes. Again! Even the government agents who were after them seemed to be on first name basis with Dingo!

  “Where’s Hodges?” Mr. Robbins growled.

  “He’s not in my bag,” Dingo said dryly. “You can search the closet and the priest’s hole.”

  Henry wanted to laugh at the wildly startled look on Mr. Mortimer’s face, although Dingo’s repartee didn’t deter the single-minded intensity of Mr. Robbins.

  “Don’t give us that. We’ve had no word from him. Yet here you are.”

  “It’s a big fucking country. People can take a while to cross it.”

  “Tasmania isn’t that big.”

  “He’s always had his own agenda at heart. Perhaps he’s gone exploring.”

  Mr. Robbins scoffed at this. Mr. Mortimer looked mildly interested and spoke this time. “Mr. Hodges wasn’t the type to go off on his own without informing his superior as to his plans.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you boys. What I do know is that he isn’t here. And neither is a tiger.”

  “Did you find any?”

  Dingo laughed. “Like I would tell you.”

  Mr. Robbins resumed his visual inspection of the room, and Henry twitched when he saw the agent’s eyes light upon his camera.

  “What would be on the film here if we were to develop it?”

  Henry spoke up. “Just some holiday snaps. To show my family what I’ve been up to.”

  “They’re nosy buggers,” said Dingo.

  “Yes,” Henry said, playing along. “Quite… nosy buggers. Can’t do a thing about them.”

  Robbins looked over at the camera with interest. “Really.”

  “Feel free to develop it, but don’t be disappointed with the results.” Henry caught the flash of alarm on Dingo’s face that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He limped to the chest where the camera lay, reaching it before Mr. Robbins, who was a step behind him.

  Henry turned and staggered into Mr. Robbins, dropping the camera when they collided. “Damn you! You’ve ruined the camera!” He kept his eyes downturned to hide his dismay as film unspooled from the open camera; all the photos of the tigers, especially the shots of Dingo interacting with them, those exquisite moments of history, all lost. It was enough to break his heart.

  “That was rather clumsy of you, Mr. Percival-Smythe,” Mr. Robbins said grimly.

  Defiantly Henry raised his head, alert to the fact that the man had used his proper name although he hadn’t introduced himself. “Sorry. But there was really nothing on film that you would have found interesting.”

  “I’ll buy you a new camera,” Dingo said.

  “Thanks.”

  Henry looked down at the film again, sighing heavily. Even though he had seen the tigers for himself, the tangible evidence that had now been destroyed made it seem like a mere dream—a fevered fantasy no more real than those he had dreamed up while still in the college archives.

  “This isn’t the end of it, Chambers,” Mr. Robbins warned.

  “You know they’re working on a law now,” Dingo told him. “Soon there will be official government protection for the tigers, and there’ll be nothing else you can do against them.”

  “Well, that day isn’t here yet. And when it comes, it’ll be too late for them,” Mr. Robbins said.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Dingo hissed.

  Mr. Robbins gave Dingo one last look and stalked out. To Henry’s surprise, Mr. Mortimer quietly said, “Sorry about the camera, Mr. Percival-Smythe. Good to see you, Dingo.” Then he followed his partner out.

  Dingo kicked the door shut after them and turned to Henry.

  “It’s never going to be enough.”

  “Who were they?” Henry asked.

  “They really do work for the Tasmanian government. Robbins is a crony of Hodges’s. Will’s actually not that bad; he does what he can.”

  Henry picked up the exposed film and ran it helplessly through his fingers.

  “I’m really sorry about your camera, Dash.”

  “It’s okay,” Henry said, and he believed it was. “It’s not like we really could have kept those photographs a secret. The tigers are better protected if there’s no evidence.”

  “I guess you’ve decided then. I admire t
hat you had the balls to do it.” Dingo paused, but Henry didn’t answer. “I’ll get you another camera.”

  “I don’t care about the camera, Dingo!” It came out more harshly than he intended, and he was immediately apologetic. “Sorry, I guess it’s all catching up with me.”

  Dingo nodded. “C’mere, Dash.”

  Henry willingly stepped into his arms, and they stood holding each other until time once again became inconsequential.

  After a couple of days’ much needed rest, they, along with Hank, moved back to the pub where their Tasmanian adventure had started from. Tony had seemed concerned by their bruised bodies and beaten demeanor and doted on them. Although they kept separate rooms for appearances, they still only lived in one.

  For some reason, Hank seemed to be avoiding them, but Henry was too apathetic to ask Dingo why. And he never saw Jarrah.

  They didn’t speak about the extreme emotions that had played between them their final night in the hotel, because it was too painful. The memories of the tigers were raw, and they couldn’t revisit them just yet.

  “There’ll be another time and a place for that,” Dingo had said in the early hours of the morning. “Just hold me, Dash.”

  And Henry had.

  Returning to the pub brought them some more unwelcome attention, however. After having lunch their first day back there, they had trudged back upstairs to find the door to Dingo’s room slightly ajar. Dingo pressed his palm against Henry’s stomach to stop him from walking in and motioned for him to be quiet.

  And Dingo kicked the door with such force it almost flew off the frame.

  Two men were going through the belongings they’d left behind, and although they had been caught in the act, they didn’t even have the decency to look guilty at being caught in the act.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” Henry snarled.

  Dingo glanced at him in surprise before turning back to the two men. “What are you doing?”

  “Where’s Hodges?”

  The goon advanced on Dingo threateningly, but Dingo stood his ground.

  Before he even knew he was doing it, Henry stepped between them. He took a deep breath. “He wasn’t one of our party.”

  “So you weren’t traveling with him. We knew that.” The man seemed at a loss of what to ask next, especially confronted with two men who showed no signs of backing down.

  Henry wasn’t in the mood to help him; he just stood there and waited. Dingo stepped up next to him and glared at the two men.

  “We want to know where Hodges is.”

  “Have you ever thought maybe he’s double-crossed you?” Dingo smirked at them. “Maybe he changed his mind about the tiger.”

  “As long as he was always on the opposite side of you, his interests and ours were one and the same,” the goon growled.

  “Well, we haven’t seen him. Now beat it!” Dingo jerked a thumb at the door.

  “We’re keeping our eye on you, Chambers.”

  “That won’t help you find him. I don’t have him and I don’t want him.”

  “He’s missing.”

  Dingo smirked. “So go look for him.”

  The two men shuffled their feet uncertainly, not wanting to admit defeat. At last they circled around Henry and Dingo, leaving the room without closing the door.

  “More government men?”

  Dingo peered into the hallway and closed the door. “They work for the same group that hired Hodges.”

  “What kind of crooks—”

  Dingo held up a finger to his lips and said quietly. “That’s the shame of it. It’s not a group of criminals or even the people who supply specimens to zoos. Just farmers and ranchers who want to protect their property.”

  Henry shook his head in disbelief, even though he had seen enough to realize it was probably true. “And where will they go now?”

  “They’ll probably go and search for him, but Jarrah will have covered his, and our, tracks completely.”

  “And where is Jarrah? And your father?”

  Dingo shrugged. “Maybe it’s better that we don’t know. They’ll be back.”

  They slept better that night, despite the run-in with the goons. But when Henry awoke in the morning, the space next to him in the bed was cold, long vacated. He gave himself a quick wash at the basin and made his way downstairs. Tony was behind the bar, and he jerked his head toward the back. Henry nodded and found Dingo sitting in the beer garden, a cup of cold coffee sitting before him.

  “Morning,” he murmured, sitting across from him.

  Dingo looked at him, and then he glanced at his coffee cup and grimaced at the contents. “Morning. Shall I get you a coffee? I think I could use another.”

  “Sure,” Henry said uncomfortably.

  Fortunately, Tony had already beaten them to the punch and brought out a fresh pot just as Dingo was standing up. Alone again, they silently poured their cups, and Henry wondered how to breach the alien quiet that had started between them.

  It was Dingo who spoke first. “I have to go back to Melbourne.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I’ll have to report back to… the interested parties. And let them know about Hodges and what happened to the cub.”

  “How will they take it?”

  Dingo twirled his cup on the saucer. “Not well. But at least we managed to save the parents and two of the cubs. Although their rationale would probably be if we hadn’t gone there in the first place, Hodges wouldn’t have followed us.”

  “It’s my fault,” Henry said bitterly.

  “No, Dash, it’s not.”

  “It is! This only happened because I dredged it all up, from following it back home. I made people look and keep me informed. That’s how Gordon found me.”

  “Hodges already knew we were looking, because of what we were doing here anyway. He knew we kept making tracking parties into the forest, trying to observe the numbers of the tigers. It would have happened with or without your involvement.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Dash—”

  Henry stared down at the table.

  “Dash, look at me.”

  Henry looked up and met his gaze.

  “Jarrah said you were meant to see the tiger. You were meant to. Sometimes things are set in motion, and we don’t know why. Maybe you were meant to come here, for your own reasons, but you were to come away with something else entirely.”

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe you were meant to become their protector. Like us.”

  “How much protecting can I do from England?” Henry asked.

  “You have your own report to hand in,” Dingo said. “It depends what you put in it.”

  “You mean lie,” Henry pointed out.

  “Or protect.”

  “And after that?”

  The moment had come. The one Henry had been dreading. Farewells and cheerios, promises to meet again that would never be fulfilled. The last goodbye. “When I woke up this morning, and you were gone, I thought—”

  “I don’t want to leave you, Dash. Don’t you know that?”

  Henry felt his blood warm, although logic prevailed. “I don’t want to leave either.”

  “Maybe,” Dingo said carefully, “just maybe, you don’t have to stay in England.”

  Henry felt the prickles of sweat develop against his hairline. “But my whole life is back home.”

  “And it sounds as if you weren’t that happy there.”

  Henry didn’t answer; he couldn’t.

  Dingo continued prodding him. “You could start over again here.”

  “It would mean giving up everything.”

  This time it was Dingo who remained silent.

  “Sometimes…” Henry said hesitantly, “it’s better to stick with what you know.” He wasn’t sure if he could fully articulate just what he meant. He had a job, a flat, a potential career back in England. If he were to give all that up, what guarantee would he have about a li
fe in Australia? What kind of life could he have with Dingo?

  Dingo downed the rest of his coffee. “I guess that’s that, then.”

  Before he could stand and leave, there was the sound of footsteps behind them. Hank and Jarrah entered the beer garden; Hank looked tired, but Jarrah looked just as usual, with a placid good humor that spoke of a man satisfied with his work.

  “Hey, old man. Haroo, Jarrah,” Dingo said.

  “Boys.” Hank nodded, and they took a seat.

  “What have you all been up to?” Dingo asked.

  Jarrah bent to extract his pack from under the table. Carefully he pulled an object wrapped in cloth patterned with a striped pattern. Henry’s palm began to tingle.

  “You came a long way to go home empty-handed,” Jarrah said. “A gift for one who loves the tiger as we do.”

  Henry took the object in both hands, surprised at its weight. He hesitated.

  “Go ahead, open it,” Jarrah said.

  Henry unwrapped the cloth, stroking the soft cotton striped with caramel, orange and brown. He uncovered a piece of sandstone. It was tan and mostly smooth with a few sparkly bits of gunmetal grey, like some sort of ore. He looked up at Jarrah questioningly, even as the feeling in his palm intensified.

  “Look at it closely.”

  Henry picked it up and tilted it. Excitement began to build as he caught the faint lines on the surface. He recognized the line of the spine, leading to the stiff tail, the wide-spread jaw, the stripes drawn over the haunches. “Tassie,” he whispered joyfully.

  “A rock painting,” Dingo said in a reverent tone. “Does Mary—”

  “She wants Dash to have it,” Jarrah assured him. “This is very old. The ancestors painted it.” He licked his thumb and swiped it over the surface of the rock.

  Henry gasped and jerked, as if to pull it away, but for some reason, he let Jarrah do as he wished. If he had some good reason for destroying this one as he’d done with the first—

  “It’s over one thousand years old. Silica has leached out of the rock and covered the painting. It cannot be washed away, no matter how many tears are shed over the tiger,” Jarrah said. “Take that with you, Dash, to remember that you saw the tiger alive and free.”