The Shepherd's Hut

by Tim Winton

  Give those duds a good laving, too, while you’re there. All of it. They’ll dry soon enough, and I have some spares for ye.

  I spose I stared at him. He just raised up his eyebrows and grinned, like I should get on with it. But I sure as shit wasn’t gunna drop me dacks in front of some stranger.

  You go ahead, there. I’ll make us some tea.

  I waited till he was halfway back to the hut before I even pulled me boots off. I stood at the gate a moment. Wondered if I was any smarter than a wild goat. And then I pushed at the gate and went in.

  The ground under me feet was spongy with goat poop. The damp come right up through me socks. I looked at the greeny insides of the trough a minute, hung me cap on the fence, set the phone on top of the post and climbed in with all me clothes on. I didn’t know what this old joker was into but if he was bent that way I sure as hell wasn’t gunna make it easy for him.

  And Christ, was the water cold. It was hard and brassy like the water from the rez and when I yelled I heard him laughing all the way up the track. I thought fuck you, old man. Laugh at me. But same as at the rez, the cold give off a buzz after a while and then me body warmed up to it and for a moment I floated, like the whole of me was free.

  When I come up later he had a fire going on the ground out front of the hut and his big black billy was nearly at the boil. The old man looked at me standing barefoot in the towel and he seemed too shocked to be pervy. I spose I was in pretty bad shape then. Apart from the scratches and divits I caught along the way, there was the bumps and bruises I left home with. I hadn’t planned to take me gear off at all but with them cold clothes hanging off me I got the mighty shivers, so I shucked them soon as I got out of the trough and I hung them on the windmill. A rub with the rough towel did some good but it was only the fire out in the yard that got me feeling human again.

  By God, he said. Looks as if you fought your way here tooth and nail.

  I didn’t say nothing to that. I had the phone wrapped in me hat and I clamped it hard in front to keep the towel up. I stood in to the fire till it felt like the hairs on me legs would go up in flames. The old man went in the hut. He come out with a tin bowl in one hand and some clothes in the other.

  Here, he said.

  I took the duds but I wasn’t about to put them on there and then.

  Of course, he said. Step inside, there.

  He put the bowl on the dirt and I saw it was full of flour dough. He sat on a milk crate and pinched off a handful and flattened it out a bit and set it on the ashy coals, to one side. It seized up in the heat and give off a smell too good to believe in. I watched till I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  Inside the hut it was dim. Same cement floor and stud walls as my prospector’s shack but it was roomier and better built and he sure as hell had more stores. He had a tin sink and bucket under the window next to the wood stove. There was no glass in the window, just a shutter pushed out on a pole. An old iron bed and mattress. A table. Two chairs. In pine crates stacked against one wall he had books. And along the jarrah noggins all round there were rocks and shells and bird nests and bits of bone. The best thing of all was the meat safe. Really just a flywire cupboard. Painted green once by the looks but the colour was gone all milky. Each of its wooden feet was in a tin of water to keep the ants out. It was perfect. For half a second I saw meself lugging it back up the lake and over the ridge to where I had the roo hanging. But how could that happen? What was I gunna do, steal it from him?

  Me rifle was stood against the wall inside the door but the mag was gone and my guess was the chamber was empty. I couldn’t see the shotgun anywhere.

  In the end I got into them old man shorts and pulled on the shirt. Both smelled of woodsmoke and something lemony and familiar. Near the door there was a little shaving mirror but I didn’t want to look. I put the cap on and stuck the phone in the pocket of the shorts and when I walked it thumped against me leg.

  Out at the fire the old bloke knocked the grit and ash off the damper and give me half. He poured tea into two pannikins and give me one. I waited as long as I could but I still burnt me mouth on the tea. I dogged the damper down in three big bites and the old dude laughed and give me the rest of his. He grabbed up another batch and set it on the coals. And for a while we neither of us said nothing. Him sitting, me still standing. It was weird.

  Then he said to get meself a chair and I told him I was orright like I was. He clacked his teeth together like I’d pissed him off a bit and after a coupla moments he pointed at me eye and said, That’s a mighty shiner there.

  I shrugged.

  You’re a brawler, then?

  I sipped me tea.

  Not so many doors to be walking into out here.

  I just sniffed. I didn’t know what he was on about.

  So, he said, you’re out hunting and you get yourself turned around somehow and you lose the others, and so here you are, no?

  If you say so.

  Whatsay?

  I said if you say so.

  Hmm, he said. Do you not say so yourself, then?

  Why d’you want to know? I asked him.

  Well, now, I’m a curious fella, he said still smiling.

  I didn’t say nothing to that and he looked me over again like he was trying to decide something. Behind his specs his eyes swum like two fat fish. Restless fish.

  Put yourself in my shoes, lad. I’m out here alone and I see no man from one month to the next and when some fella comes creeping up on my place unannounced I get a burning interest in what his provenance is, what the caper is, what his fecking story might be. You understand me?

  All I did was shrug and chew on me damper and look into the coals of the fire.

  It was your glasses gave you away, anyroad, he said. The binoculars, or the rifle sight. Just so you know. I caught a flash down there to the south. A gentleman on his own notices things, and out here an event is a premium phenomenon. So I kept me auld eyes peeled, as they say in the fillums, and there you were again, in closer but up towards the ridge. You were out by those stones on the salt yesterday, am I right?

  I nodded.

  Something to behold, wouldn’t you say?

  You knew I was here the whole time?

  Oh, I had a notion. A man alone reverts to his animal nature, lad. Don’t you agree?

  I dunno. Maybe.

  That’s not to say he becomes a beast, now.

  I thought of that scattergun again. I knew I could be dead already, or bleeding and full of pellets.

  So, like a creature of the wild, I felt you out there, he said. Sensed your presence, felt you watching. Good God, boy, it’s a wonder I didn’t smell you as well, given the state of you. And there’s the small matter of your knapsack – I can see it from here even now.

  I looked up past the killer tree and the gambrel to the thorny-bushes where I was hid all night and there it was, plain as all fuck, a flash of blue against the green and grey.

  Jesus, I said, disgusted with meself.

  But I’m still a civilized man, you know, and a man needs more than scents and shadows to make sense of the world. A fella needs a story. Don’t you think?

  I watched him turn the damper with a twitch of fencewire. The smell of burnt flour give me the headspins.

  Go on, now, he said. That was your cue.

  What? I said.

  Tell a poor auld fella your story, why don’tcha.

  Nothing to tell, I said.

  Whatsay?

  I said nothing to tell.

  You’re not lost, then?

  Not really.

  Eh? he said turning his head at me like he wasn’t hearing right.

  I’m not lost, I said.

  So who sent you?

  Nobody.

  Then how in hell’s teeth did you get here?

  Walked, I said.

  Pshaw!

  I shrugged.

  Walked from where, the highway?

  Further, I said.

  How much farther?r />
  Doesn’t matter, I said, knowing I’d spilled too much already. I didn’t want to be leaving any trail of breadcrumbs back to Monkton. I didn’t know who he might know there.

  You stole a car, then? How old are you, boy?

  I didn’t steal any car, I told him.

  It’s of no account to me, lad, I’m not the law. I see the state of you.

  I come on foot. All the way.

  All the way from where?

  I looked away from him and into the ash and coals and the ants coming round to snaffle the crumbs.

  And you just happened to find me. In all this forsaken wilderness.

  Didn’t even know anyone was down here, I said.

  So what’s your game? he said, getting all hot. Why might you be here? What’s your purpose?

  That’s my business, I told him and I got sharp as I could then, ready to fight if he come at me. I figured he was old and I was young and he was still sitting and I was on me feet. I knew if he come for me I had to get him first.

  But now it’s my business, too, you see.

  Bullshit, I said.

  The point is you came from somewhere.

  That shit don’t matter.

  And you’re headed somewhere.

  Jesus, who cares?

  Oh, I’d say we both do.

  The old tool got all smiley again and hooked up his damper and set it on a coupla sticks to cool. Then he rubbed his silvery whiskers. I really couldn’t make him out. And I didn’t know if I should stand down or stay fierce. The only thing he had for a weapon was that bit of fencewire but then he set it on the dirt and scratched his head with both hands and sighed.

  Well, now, he said in the end. If that’s your story, I’d say you either lack imagination or you’re short on generosity. You’re all middle, it would seem. No beginning, no end. You disappoint me.

  I needed salt, I said without meaning to.

  Oh? Salt is it now?

  I wanted salt to keep me meat. That’s all. I seen your roof and come up to check it out.

  To check me out.

  Look, I got no beef with you. I had a gun too you know. I coulda done things if I was like that.

  And you’re not like that?

  No.

  You had the means to do me harm, I grant you that, and you refrained. Which is why I wondered if you’d come bearing a message.

  No message, I said.

  Ah, he said, softening up like he was baffled all of a sudden and a bit bummed. No message.

  Didn’t mean to give you a fright.

  Well, you’re a mystery, then, he said, picking up the damper again and pulling it in half and passing me one bit. But I’ve had my fill of mysteries.

  I et the piece slowly to show him I wasn’t some kind of savage. Maybe to show meself too. He looked at the damper in his hands and turned it over like it was something might have clues in it.

  Sometimes it’s a mighty struggle to know what’s real and what’s just . . . a mirage. You understand?

  Yeah, I said.

  In a place like this, alone, oftentimes you wonder. And it’s hard to know what to trust in. So you are quite a conundrum.

  A what?

  You’re something of a problem, lad.

  I don’t have to be, I said. I’m not gunna say anything. About you, this, whatever it is you’re doing.

  How will I know that?

  Because I said I won’t. Why would I? I don’t want the grief. Hell, I dunno who you are, what you’re up to, really I don’t give a fuck. I got me own shit to get done. I never seen you and you never seen me, end of story.

  You really don’t know my name?

  No bloody idea, I said with me mouth full.

  Is that the truth?

  I nodded.

  And does the truth mean something to you? That is to say, is it important? Have you been lied to, have you had lies told about you?

  I stopped chewing then. I had a cold feeling come over me. Like he could see into me.

  I’m telling the truth, I said.

  Well, I’ll have to take you at your word, lad.

  And I’ll have to take you at yours.

  Yes, he said, distracted.

  When you give it to me.

  Whatsay?

  I said when you give me your word. You dunno who I am, you never saw me.

  Of course.

  Orright then.

  And then he looked into the fire a while.

  So, you really didn’t come here for me?

  Fuck, man, I just told you.

  Not even a confounded message?

  No, I said. There was no one sent me.

  He bit on his damper and et it like an old geezer will, like his teeth and gums were sore, like he was trying to chew sand and ball bearings. And there was something went out of his eyes. I couldn’t tell if he was relieved to hear nobody sent me or if it was the worst news of his life.

  Am I sposed to know who you are? I asked him. Like, are you famous or something?

  No, he said. I’m nobody. Please God, whatever I was I am no longer. And it could be that none of it rates now. All is forgotten, if not forgiven – it could have come to that. But I don’t trust the thought. I don’t know if it’s because it would be too easy or too terrible to imagine no one cares anymore.

  I didn’t follow him. So I didn’t say nothing. The damper was good and the tea was even better. And he was right, the bath done me good but it all made me sleepy as a baby. I looked away to the crap he had stashed under the verandah, the coils of rope, the axe and sledge, the swag under the sheet of corry iron.

  You see, he said peering into the smoky coals, they send children out to do what a man wouldn’t do. Fill them with drugs and arm them to the teeth. And it’s not just Africa, not just these days, either – they’ve been doing it since Cain and Abel. I truly thought you were the end of days.

  I guess he copped me looking at him like he was a fucking nutburger because he give a little laugh and stopped.

  My name is Fintan, he said. Fintan MacGillis.

  Have you been to Africa then? I asked.

  Who’s asking, now?

  Forget it, I said.

  Not if you’d been there, you wouldn’t.

  I stared at him a while. I couldn’t figure him out in a fit.

  Our stories. We store them where moth and rust destroy.

  I tipped me dregs on the dirt and kept me mouth shut.

  We’re precious about them, no? Not because we treasure them at all, but because it’s safer to hold them close. Am I reading you right? Do we have that much in common?

  I turned the pannikin in me hands and looked away from him.

  There you are in your beginning, and here am I near my end.

  Me name’s Jackson, I said. Jaxie Clackton.

  There it is.

  Yeah, I thought. You fucking idiot, you’ve done it now. And could be he was thinking exactly the same thing. We’d shown ourselves, said our names. We’d both of us near as hell given ourselves away.

  I never did know what to make of Fintan MacGillis. In the end you could say I knew what kind of man he was and maybe that was the important thing. He was Irish, he told me that straight up. But I never found out what it was he done to get himself put there by the lake, what kind of person he was before. Not really. He let things slip, but he never give me the whole beginning and middle. Like he said, I showed up at the end and that was plenty enough for both of us. It’s only now I get what he meant. He was one of them geezers been out on his own so long he talks to himself all day, tells himself what he’s about to do, what he should do, what he’s forgotten to get done. He talked so fucking much it was like a junkpile he chucked at you. You had to sort through all these bent up words to figure which was bullshit and which was true. What I mean is he made a lot of noise but sometimes he didn’t say much. With that accent of his and the way he said things fancy and musical, it was like camouflage and you knew deep down he’d been doing this all his life, hidi
ng in clear sight.

  He had a boozer’s face but as far as I could see there was nothing to drink out here but rainwater and billy tea. He had skinny legs with ropey blue veins winding up them and his top teeth were plastic and they moved enough to make you seasick. His specs was always on crooked too, one hinge busted and the arm wired on rough as a pig’s tit. And it was clear he was half deaf. Anytime you said something he cocked his head like a kelpie.

  That first day we sat out there all morning, it felt like. When the damper was gone he tickled up the fire again and went back to poking and prodding questions at me like he could stoke me just as easy. But I was careful. I didn’t want him knowing anything in case others come through and put the hard word on him. I figured I’d be back down at the diggings for a few weeks.

  He said his place was an old shepherd’s hut from the days when they ran sheep on this country. I asked him who owned the land and he said he didn’t know, but I reckoned he knew once and things had changed. People are always talking about the damn Chinese buying up land but it could have been anybody. Whoever owned it now, they were in no hurry to do anything with it. There was no stock, no machines, no people. Just him and me and a few wild goats.

  I asked him did he have a phone or VHF and he laughed at me. Said he saw I had a phone. I said there was no signal. So we was square there. Then I asked him about his car and he told me there was no car, he’d never had a car out here. And that was when I copped on a bit. Like he really wasn’t any hermit prospector or weekend warrior popping goats for fun. And he sure as hell wasn’t on any kind of holiday up here in the salt country. He was like some sailor put off on an island in the middle of nowhere. This fella was marooned.

  That was weird. And interesting. I was pretty curious about him. But really I was more keen to pull me gear together and get going. If he’d let me. Because it was still him calling the shots, far as I could see. So I watched and waited. And he just sat on by the fire like he was thinking. It was kind of out there. Me squirming about in his flappy shorts and shirt, in me bare feet, wondering what the fuck next.

  Then he stirred and got up and started into making tea again. He hummed and grunted and talked under his breath. And then he let off a fart.

  Oh, he said. Manners.