Into That Forest

by Louis Nowra

  The tigers stopped being animals to me. They were Corinna and Dave. She were a bit smaller than him and she had black hairs sprinkled on her white upper lip. Dave’s were just white. He liked us but kept his distance cos he had a lot of things on his mind, like protecting us, keeping an eye open for prey or enemies like bounty hunters. Corinna showed she liked us by licking us and curling up with us whenever we slept. Though I have to say, if she didn’t like something you did, she’d nip you to let you know. Their eyes were full black and they had a sort of inner glow so that at dusk they shone green and sometimes red. They liked to bask in the sun but tried to avoid looking into harsh light if possible. It were something that I were learning. I might be studying them, but they studied us as well. When they looked deep at you, you knew they were peering right into your soul and they knew if you were lying or not. You couldn’t pretend to them that you were happy when you were not. They knew when we were down in the dumps and would nuzzle and comfort us.

  One time I laughed and said to Becky, Things are topsyturvy, we sleep during the day and we be awake all night. She didn’t find it funny cos she knew that meant the tigers had changed us and she didn’t like that one bit.

  There wasn’t a time when I realised I were becoming like a tiger, I guess it just happened, like it were natural. But when I think back there were signs that I had changed, and Becky too. Our sight got better at night. Once nighttime were as thick as mud to me, but now it were like clear water. And me hearing - I could sit in silence and hear so many things that I did not hear before: the movement of fern leaves, like the bristles of a brush being stroked, when a quoll were passing (the black ones with white spots like a starry night coming to life) or the sharp cry of pain in a tree when a quoll knocked a sleeping bird off a branch and catched it in mid-air; the squeal of a mouse being taken by an owl whose wings sounded like the creaking of a ship; the whisper of dead leaves as an adder slid over them; the coughing of a distant tiger, like a pipe-smoker clearing his throat of spew; a barking snake; a possum munching on fruit; the devils yowling and snarling like something from hell when they were fighting over a dead animal. And the smells - soon I could tell the difference between the dung of all sorts of animals. Even the most stinky shit were interesting cos it were mixed up with the smell of seeds, animal flesh and fruit. There were many sorts of piss and it told you all sorts of things - what sort of animal, how old, how pregnant, how sick. I could sniff shit and know what sort of animal it were, and when I got really good I could tell how fresh it were. We learned to be downwind so our prey couldn’t smell us. And I learned something else: Corinna stopped feeding me her milk when her teats dried up and I realised why she had taken a liking to us. Her pups had died or more likely been killed by a bounty hunter. She thought we were babies so that’s why she took us in. Then I said to Becky that I hated that tiger man who stayed with me and me parents cos he murdered tiger pups.

  It were not only bounty hunters who killed them as I found out one late afternoon when we were walking through the bush. It started to drizzle so we took shelter under an overhanging rock that looked like some sort of sandy frozen wave. I were glancing up at the roof when I seen some paintings on it. They must have been done by the blackfellas when they were kings of Tasmania, said Becky. There were four drawings of what looked like dogs but because they had stripes on them we knew were tigers. One had three spears sticking out of its flanks. We both went Oh at the same time, cos it made us sad to see how even blackfellas killed tigers. I remember us running our hands over the picture of the speared tiger, like we were trying to help it or save it cos there beside us was our saviours - Dave and Corinna. I felt terrible. For days I dreamed about our two tigers being speared by blackfellas and it were more nightmare, much more nightmare, than dream. Becky told me she had those nightmares too. See, we were family. We did not think that at the time, but when I look back, I know we were family and that’s the truth of it.

  It were now summer, bright and hot, filled with so much lightning that trees burst into flames and burned for days. I loved going out hunting during these warm nights. We slept in the den of a day, keeping away from the terrible heat and the flies, millions and millions of them, that swarmed over us, filling our eyes and ears with their squirming, tickling bodies. And at night the snakes were gone. We and the tigers hated snakes. Sometimes at night we might come upon one of those damn snakes curled up on a warm log, its belly big with some small animal it had got, and the four of us made a wide circle round it, even though it weren’t interested in us.

  One night when the full moon were glaring bright, we went hunting. We ended up passing through a forest of ferns taller than us when I seen a pair of bright burning eyes. It were a devil, and instead of being afeared I were cocky and I jumped at it, snarling and hissing like they do, and it took fright and skedaddled. Becky just shook her head, as if to say You are a right Tom Fool, Hannah, but I didn’t care cos I knew the tigers liked me courage. We drank water from the creek not far from the ferny forest and again Becky sneered at me for lapping up the water like the tigers but it were quick and water didn’t drip through me hands like it did to her. We four sat listening to the night sounds, hearing every little thing and Becky and me seeing into the darkness like we were born with sharp eyes. As we waited to hear the sounds of some animal we might kill come to drink at the creek, Becky looked up at the tree above us and climbed up it like a monkey. She made it look easy. When I asked what she were doing she said she had seen some fruit. She started throwing down berries the size of small apples. I tasted one. It were sour and I wondered if the fruit were poisonous but she said she had a tree like this one at home and it were safe to eat. She chucked down lots of fruit and then jumped down to join us. It was then that I were glad I had hands, cos it were easier to eat holding the fruit than for the tigers who only had their mouths. So I hand-fed them and you know what? Becky started to do it too. We could do things for them, and they could do things for us we couldn’t do.

  Becky seemed more happy than I ever seen her since that dreadful day of the picnic. She were rocking back and forth, humming and eating the fruit. I asked her if she were happy and she said she were. I asked the tigers if they were happy. Becky called me stupid. They can’t talk, Hannah. I told her that might be true, but they could understand me. It were then that Becky suddenly stood up, an action that caused me to jump and the tigers to go alert as if something dangerous were round us. I asked her what were the matter? She didn’t say anything but were frantic as she searched round the base of the tree in the long grass, til she found what she were looking for and showed me. It were her mother’s cameo shining in the moonlight. I thought it were funny she was worried about losing it, but she said it belonged to her mother and it were the only thing of hers she had. That’s all I got, she moaned. I got nothing of me father’s and only this to remind me of me dead mother. I hated her misery talk so I climbed up the tree and threw some more fruit to the tigers. From the tree branch I were standing on I looked down and I seen Becky sitting on the grass staring at the cameo, like it belonged to a different life, to a part of her which were a long time ago and she were trying to remember. I dropped a fruit on her head. She yelled, Ouch! and looked up at me. Instead of being angry she were deeply sad. We will never go home, she said. It struck me to the core of me heart to hear her say that. Aye, she were right. We would never go home. I stood on the tree branch and looked out towards the moon-kissed mountains. One day we’ll get home, I said. She just shook her head.

  Perhaps it were good that Becky thought that, cos she became closer and more loving to the tigers. She understood that it were the four of us against Nature and only by being close would we survive. She never criticised me being close to Dave and Corinna again. After a night hunting and gorging on prey, me and the tigers would go back and sleep. Becky liked to stay outside the den watching dawn come up and she’d talk to herself, singing rhymes, reciting the colours of the rainbow using a chant a teacher had given h
er (‘Richard of York Gave Battle in Vain’), arithmetic tables and fairytales her father had read to her. She didn’t want to forget. Me? I thought it were stupid to try and remember like Becky did. I didn’t see any use for it. Me English started to shrivel up, like an old dry skin a snake gets rid of. It just lies there in the grass rotting away and then vanishes with the wind. I took to talking in grunts, coughs and hoarse barks like the tigers. This annoyed Becky no end. But it were simple - the tigers understood me. Becky warned I were making a mistake. You will forget your language. You will forget your parents. You are becoming an animal, she’d say. Why argue with her? She were right on every level.

  One autumn evening when the air were full of chill we went out hunting. There were less and less animals ’bout and the birds were flying north. It were weeks since we were full up to dolly’s wax. The tigers must have known what autumn meant cos they didn’t bother to sniff out prey and one evening set off at a steady pace in the opposite direction of our usual hunting grounds. I knew what that meant. They were planning on a long walk. We headed off through tara fern country and once we had left the green world we moved through a forest of blue and silver gums, taking a wide berth round giant fields of barking brilla that we knew were squirming with tiger snakes, and headed down the slopes.

  Becky and I wondered where we were going, but the tigers had no way of explaining to us so we could only follow. Becky were thinking out loud at one point, becoming excited that they might be taking us home. I didn’t think so, but they had a purpose in mind cos they seemed to be dead certain where they were going. The good thing were that as we went further downhill the warmer it became. It had been hard to keep warm at times cos I had little of me dress left. It were really just a piece of ripped material that hanged on me like a useless kerchief, and Becky’s, although she was always trying to look after it, were torn too and she used the cameo to pin together two pieces at the top of her dress. She didn’t want anyone to see her chest. Who cares? Who’s gonna see your tits out here? I’d say, which really made her cranky. She thought I were right grubby but I didn’t care. I were wearing bits of me dress but I had thrown away me underclothes. It were easier to piss and shit without them. Becky still washed hers in the creek and wouldn’t be seen without them.

  Just after dawn the tigers stopped. They sniffed the air. We sniffed the air too. There were the smell of smoke. Becky burst into a grin as wide as a tiger’s yawn. I always remembered what she said then, in an excited voice, her eyes sparkling: A house! That’s someone’s fire! Without waiting for us, she ran off through the brush and up a slope where she stopped and stared at something I could not see. I raced to join her and there through a mist of trees were a wooden shack with smoke puffing out of the tin chimney. There were someone there! Me heart beat so loud I thought I were going deaf. We were looking at the cottage when I seen a figure, a man with a wild ginger beard, step off the back verandah and walk towards his horse tied to a tree. It’s a man, she said, excited and twitching as if stanged by jack jumpers. She were about to yell out to the man when I slapped her arm.

  I recognised him; it were that terrible tiger man who sometimes stayed with me parents. Then I seen he were holding something that made me want to piss meself. I squeezed Becky’s arm real hard. She spinned round wanting to hit me. I pointed to a huge carving knife he had in his hand. So what! she replied, thumping me back. I were aware of a padding sound behind us and seen the two tigers had joined us. They too were watching this fella as it began to drizzle. There were something ’bout the way he held the knife that scared me. I thought he were going to kill the horse but he threw the knife into the ground and untied a bundle that were strapped to its back. I heard Becky gasp. It were a dead tiger. Then before we had time to think what this meant, he pulled the knife out of the earth and made a deep cut along the tiger’s belly. He were good at what he were doing. In next to no time he had skinned that tiger, ripping its skin off in one tremendous yank. He carried the skin to a lean-to round the side of the shack then went back inside as it began to pour down something shocking.

  The horse sniffed the shiny skinned body of the tiger and went back to eating grass. Both Becky and I looked at our tigers and hoped that they didn’t know what were happening, but they knew. Their noses were working overtime cos they smelt raw flesh and blood. Their tails were rigid with fright. Come on, said Becky, grabbing me, let’s go to him. I shook me head, I didn’t like that man. I didn’t like anyone who killed tigers. Becky didn’t wait for me answer and crept closer. I followed. The horse looked up when it seen us and made a snuffling noise. Becky stared at the dead tiger. It looked like something out of a nightmare. Its veins and pink bloody flesh were awful to see and it seemed so helpless, so naked as the rain fell on it, causing the blood to weep down its sides into the earth.

  I thought Becky were going to run inside the house, but she were heading towards the lean-to. There were no door and by the time I had reached her she were stiff as a statue, standing in the doorway gobsmacked. I peered inside. O my, O my, me heart and brain were filled with shock and the most awful pain. I had to suck in me breaths so as to not cry or faint. The lean-to were filled with tiger skins all nailed to the walls or hanging from the beams - all in different stages of curing, so it stank like a swamp filled with rotting animals. I think I lost most of me language there. I mean, where are the words to explain what I seen? There must have been twenty or so skins, male and female, big and small. It were like a slaughterhouse. I felt sick to me stomach and coughed up a purple vomit of berries. I felt like I were nailed to the earth. I couldn’t move. Becky grabbed me and put her fingers to her lips, telling me to be quiet. I followed her from the lean-to round to the front of the house. The tigers had backed away and were staring at us from the bush. Their eyes were full of fear and trembling for us and for them. I wanted to join them but Becky were curious ’bout something and she grabbed me by the hand and led me to the shack.

  We creeped onto the front verandah and looked in through a grubby window. There were the murderer sitting and watching his billy boil in the fireplace. He had taken off his wet clothes and were drying them in front of the fire. He himself were naked as the day he were born, as if he too had been skinned. Above the fireplace were a huge tiger skin nailed to the wall. I could stand no more and found meself walking down the side of the house back to the tigers. Becky stopped me, asking where I were going. It seemed right obvious to me. I were going back to the tigers. No, we ask him to take us back home, whispered Becky. He won’t kill us. I shrugged her off. I couldn’t think straight. All I knew was that our tigers, who were still waiting for us at the top of the slope, had to be warned to run, to run as far as possible away from this goddamn awful place. He’s just a bounty hunter, she said. I told her I knew the tiger man with the ginger hair. He had stayed with me parents and me. I had never liked him. He smelt like shit and death. I were afeared this fella would kill us and skin us too, that’s how close I were to the tigers. All right, she said. You go with Dave and Corinna. Me, I’m going to ask for his help in getting home. I said nothing and walked back to the tigers. Becky disappeared round the front of the house. I ran me hands over the tigers’ backs. Their hair were bristling with terror. Just the thought of seeing their skins on the wall above the fireplace were enough for me to think to flee and flee and flee til I dropped dead of exhaustion.

  Then, when I thought Becky were gone for good, I seen her tearing down the side of the house towards us, shouting, Run! Run! The man appeared round the side of the house brandishing a shotgun. The strange thing were that he were still naked, except for boots. Becky cut across the back yard, jumping over the skinned corpse of the tiger and scaring the horse so that it reared up on its back legs, and ran towards us. The man were calling out, Come back! But we were shit-scared - the four of us - and raced off, heading down the slope, into the mess of trees and through the button grass. I expected to hear shots, but there were none, only faint calls for us to come back. We wer
e full of panic and we ran til we could run no more. When we stopped the tigers’ tongues were hanging out and ours were too cos we were panting so hard.

  The rain were growing thick and we looked for some shelter and found an overhanging rock pale green with lichen. I asked Becky if she had talked to the tiger man. I were going to go inside, she said, when I seen something.I asked her what she seen but she closed her mouth real firm and shooked her head til she got sick of me questions, and suddenly snapped at me, He were doing stuff to him self that were rude. I had no idea what she were talking ’bout and even though I pestered her for days, she wouldn’t tell me. Then it didn’t matter any more. But I were glad we didn’t ask him for help. I couldn’t have asked anybody for help who did what men like him did to tigers. Tiger men are the spawn of Lucifer. I think Becky were glad too. She had seen things she didn’t want to see again.

  We slept til evening and set off downhill, finding some shrivelled heartberries that had fallen on the ground. One time we came upon some rusted-out boilers. It were the ruins of a piners’ camp and the boilers were where the men distilled the Huon pine oil. We were walking on a gum tree that had fallen across a creek when I slipped on the mossy trunk and fell into the water. It took me some time to reach the bank and I were a right sight. Me body were one squirming mass of shiny black leeches, on me legs, arse, arms and a couple sucking at me nose. It took me and Becky some time to remove them all. Oh, I shiver even now at the thought of those dreadful creatures sucking me blood.