by Tony Black
“Why not?” I stepped away from her; the braces that had sat on her shoulders hung behind her like coattails.
Tilly’s eyes were wide as she looked at me. “Myko, it is just a dog.”
I could not face her anymore, and turned away.
“Myko … Myko,” she said as I moved off to be alone, “where are you going?”
I said nothing, as I ran quickly.
Chapter Seven
As soon as I arrived at the billet, I took the back of the station’s grey mare. She was straight-backed and strong, at least sixteen hands high, and jumped the woodheap like she was taking flight.
I heard the rolling sea as I took the track to the headland gorse. It felt good to be putting distance between myself and the station as I pressed my feet in the stirrups and thundered through the boggy speargrass flats.
The sun came out and pressed itself on the sky like a medal, turning the air humid and syrupy as the wet land began to steam all around. I raced over the man ferns, which shook out their stores of raindrops, and I was soon on the track to the coastal grasslands.
The raw yellow of the beach was visible far below. Gannets and albatrosses fished out beyond the cliff edge in the darkness of the deep and green sea. The island looked calm now the sun had shown, and then the stillness was suddenly disturbed.
The grey stiffened her shanks and would not proceed. “Hup, hup,” I yelled, “hup … go, go.” I dug in my heels but it made no impact upon her. I slapped at her hinds, I dug harder at her sides, but she remained unmoving.
“What is it?” I said, “Why have you stopped?” The grey laid back her ears and refused to go forward. As she did so, two terriers which trailed us from the station crouched under her belly and bared their teeth.
“What’s going on?” I said. I had never seen anything like this happen before, I had never known animals to show such fright.
As I climbed down and made to tie up the grey, I saw that her flanks were wet with mud and sweat, then suddenly she reared up like a circus horse.
“Whoa, whoa, girl,” I said. I stepped before her and gently stroked her nose with my fingertips. “Whoa, whoa, girl,” I said again.
I felt relieved to see the grey soon settled; I hitched her to a heavy sand-scoured piece of driftwood and proceeded upon the track by foot.
The sun shone high in the sky and the light dappled through the high branches which spread in a vault above the track. All around was the fresh smell of salt sprayed from the sea.
I heard gannets squawking and looked out to the ocean, where the white tide ate at the beach, when suddenly the strongest of scents dragged me back upon the track. The air was heavy with the smell. I saw nothing, but I knew it must be the animal scent that the grey and the terriers had sensed.
The track was empty, but then I heard a noise, a low muted tone like the cries of a baby.
What could it be? I wondered, no one leaves an infant alone on the coast.
I continued on the path and the crying grew clearer, though no louder. It was a painful cry, a plea for help. I knew that I was needed nearby and I felt my heart beating high in my chest, pressing on my throat.
I imagined what miseries must have befallen the poor creature making such frightened noises, but I found nothing, I saw nothing. Though the scent was at its strongest, I found not a trace of any living soul.
As I passed the path’s wide curve I started to pray, I begged to be of use to the maker of these sounds. But my prayers were not answered and I drew in my fists and began to hold them tight, swinging out in quick sharp bursts of frustration.
As I lashed out, suddenly, the cries stopped. From the trackside, beneath a patch of bracken, burst a tiger. The yellow-brown of his coat flashed before my eyes. In one wild leap the tiger freed itself from a necker snare. He seemed to jump straight up into the air, above the full height of a man.
I watched, mesmerised; I had never seen a living tiger. He was a beautiful beast, a large bull tiger, at least seven feet from nose to tail.
As I watched him straighten his backbone I saw the black bands upon his rump; the stripes reached halfway along his body.
Here was the tiger I heard so much of. As he faced me now I sensed his strength. He stood in the track and set his eyes upon me. I felt my breath quicken and then slow into the lightest of gasps. I trembled with fear.
The thin sea breeze fed my thoughts. Should I run? I wondered, then, to where? I could not outrun a tiger. I could only stand before the tiger, knowing I was trapped.
As the heavy air carried the tiger’s scent to me, I knew this was the beast which raided flocks and terrified settlers at its every turn. The beast of myth which stalked the island.
I had heard many stories of the tiger’s ferocity. It crushed the skull of Nathaniel’s sheephound with one bite of its mighty gape. I knew they said the tiger was no ordinary animal, I remembered the settlers told me: “It feasted only on the blood of its victims, and sometimes, the heart.”
My pulse throbbed and my breath burst before me. My fears were real, my heart quickened with every second I held the tiger in my gaze. But as I stared, I saw nothing of the demon he had come to be.
I felt the breeze touch my cheek as a line of clouds passed before the sun, bringing mottled brown dots down in shadows upon the path.
I thought the tiger seemed so calm, such a peaceful animal. As we faced each other, marking the seconds between us, I lessened the grip on my fear and I soon drew out my deep curiosity.
I could see this animal contained no terror. He had markings which were unusual, which were the tiger’s alone, but I knew I was wrong to let my fears rule my head. At once I wished to right my thinking. I wanted to judge the tiger afresh, to see it as it appeared to me now.
The clouds receded and the sun glowed warmly above. The tiger’s yellow-tinged coat began to glow, showing the dark gaps in his ribcage. He was a lean animal, strong and sinewy where he stood before me in the path.
Beneath the sun’s heavy throb I felt sweat beading on my brows and down my spine. I held myself like a pillar, my heels were deep in the soft ground. My muscles began to ache and twitch from the strain of being so tense and I knew that one of us must soon move.
I took one step beyond where I stood. Slowly, I lowered my hand towards the tiger and then I reached out to him. “Hello, friend,” I whispered, “hello, friend.”
For a moment, I thought the tiger would come to me, his nostrils widened and flared for the briefest of instants. I reached out further for him. “Yes, I am a friend,” I said softly.
But then, quicker than the breeze, the tiger darted.
In a few large bounds the tiger leapt from me, running high into his stride. As I watched, the first and only tiger I had ever seen disappeared into the scrubland.
For a few tense seconds I could not move. This tiger was no ordinary animal, I saw there was magic carried within his sad eyes; hadn’t the grey mare and the other animals felt this, too?
“Goodbye, friend,” I said. “Goodbye.”
My secret surged to get out and I longed to tell my brother Jurgis, but I knew that I could not. I knew I must tell no one, not even Tilly. As surely as my discovery had come to me alone, I knew I must be the one to hold it back, tighter than the stone walls of a dam.
Though my tiger was gone, vanished into the scrub that lay deep and harsh from path to coast, I still heard his sorrowful cries like an infant. This was the tiger’s island, he fought for his ground and claimed this small apple-shaped isle as his own. From the jagged sawtooth tips of the mountain ranges through the rugged gullies and river valleys to the wooded plateaus and button grasses, he roamed free.
My tiger wanted nothing from us. He had all he needed without our flocks and hen coops and wing-clipped geese. And yet, I knew, the settlers still feared him.
Chapter Eight
In the warmth of summer the station fell spiritless.
The grazings were good, they did not dry to the wheat-whites of the
main under the hot sun, and the drovers found little work for themselves. Chores like draining waterlogged pastures, or lambing the ewes, looked far away in time. For all the settlers, any flurry of activity became something worth latching upon.
I had just begun baling in the hayloft when I saw the burning in the scrubland at Welcome Heath. I knew at once the scorching of the earth must be something sinister.
Black clouds perched over the land like gargoyles, curling and twisting, contorting their ugly features beneath a blue stretch of sky. The sun gazed on from above, grim and disapproving, directing the gales of wind to carry off the rising spires of smoke before they could come together.
What is happening? I thought.
I threw down my pitchfork and ran straight out into the scrub. I did not know what to expect. I found my legs weak beneath me, folding at my knees as I was carried forward, lightly as a leaf upon the breeze. All around me the air hung heavy and pungent and laced its way angrily into the landscape.
I had not seen the property in such disarray before. At the station store, where the Van Diemen’s Company held my family’s credit, the closed sign hung on the door; this was the first I had seen of it. The storekeeper stood out front, a short brown boater pulled firm across his brow. He did not look used to sunlight and seemed uncomfortable in the outdoors, but he carried an old muzzle loader in his grasp and strode out to meet the men that stood in the street.
A woman gathered up a red-haired child and called out, “Quick, the children, get the children indoors!”
The little ones, all about, bawled and screamed. Women bundled them up like packages and rushed them inside, finger-marked and ruddy-cheeked.
“Quick! Quick! Get them inside,” the woman wailed on.
Frenzy ran through everyone and a stream of footfalls kicked up a dust storm so thick that I found it difficult to see a yard to the front. Restless leaves rustled all around me and a hundred cries rippled through the air.
“Get out of the way, boy!” I was ordered by a man with a rifle. As he laid his hand on my chest and pushed past me I saw the dry dust caught in his dark whiskers.
I ran recklessly into the confusion, but I was shoved aside again and again. “Myko, get to the billet,” said a voice I recognised. It was one of the women who kept my mother’s company on wash-day. But I could not see her through the crowds, as my gaze trawled the tight packed hordes I saw only one face I knew for sure.
“Tilly,” I called out, “Tilly, over here.”
Tilly raised her hand above her eyes to seek out who had made her name. Dust marks clung around her mouth and beneath her nose where she breathed in the heavy foot-spray floating all around.
She could not see me. “Tilly, Tilly … this way,” I called out again.
Somehow she sensed where I stood and came running towards me. As Tilly moved she seemed to disappear for an instant and at once I realised she had fallen.
“Tilly,” I called as I set out towards her. I waved my arms through the dust but I took only a few steps then I saw her standing again; the patches on her knees looked dark where they broke her fall.
“Myko, what’s going on?” she said.
I shook my head and drew up my shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Something is the matter,” said Tilly, “look!” Where she pointed I could see that every man held a weapon, either a rifle or a stiff blue gum waddy; they were all held out front, all at the ready.
“They’re worked up about something,” said Tilly. “Come on, Myko, follow me.”
I felt panic rising from the deep core of me. My legs trembled as a bursting sweep of wind caught my back and propelled me down a shaly road behind Tilly, “Where are we going?” I said.
“There.” She pointed to a tree-bordered clearing, I saw metal-grey smoke rising beyond.
“What are they burning?”
“The scrub.”
The idea was strange to me. “Why?” I asked.
“They’re trying to shift something out of there. Come on, Myko, let’s go see.”
We ran through the silver tussock plains. Ground larks and galahs screamed in the sky high above us as they fled the burning scrublands. I heard the cracking noise of great trees falling. Dust and smoke rose everywhere and the perfume of eucalyptus carried in the air. My eyes burned red as I saw the bushfire looming ahead.
The game behaved in a frantic manner; wallabies scampered at full pelt from the forest and settled in the earthy tang of the open plains. I felt the blood pumping in my head. I grew dizzy and could not think clearly. All around me the voices of men yelled; it seemed like fine sport to them.
I stopped still and tried to calm myself, to better understand the cries falling all around me. Suddenly, I was stunned, knocked dumb as any possum in a trap, as I heard the word “TIGER” ring out.
Tilly came to a halt a few paces ahead of me. She turned to stare open-mouthed as I took in the yells filling the air; I could tell the appearance of my face startled her.
“Myko, what is wrong?”
I said nothing in reply. For a moment Tilly stared on at me, and then she dropped her head low on her chest and ran towards me. At my side Tilly grabbed my shirtsleeves and shook me where I stood. “Myko … Myko, what’s wrong?”
I saw her lips moving but her voice did not register in my ears. I heard only the cries of “TIGER”.
“What’s going on, Tilly?”
She dropped her arms before me. Tilly’s eyes were wide and still as she took me in, and then she turned from me, staring towards the dark depths of the forest. “They have found a tiger, Myko.” Tilly’s voice came so low and faint that I hardly believed I heard the words.
“What … what did you say?” I roared at her. I spun Tilly around by the shoulders, “What did you say?”
As she faced me, I saw her eyes were moistening, “They have found a tiger,” she said once more.
I knew there to be only one tiger in this range. At once I took off, running for the pack of men. Their beast-like howls fell all around. The men returned to their primitive type, the entire station taken up with the rage of the hunt.
Great smiles filled the flushed red faces of the men as they ran through the smoking scrublands. Black soot gathered under their eyes and around the corners of their mouths like the natives’ war paints. Roo dogs barked at their heels; they ran wildly as ever, their long jowls frothed white with the exertion of the chase. They scented the tiger and became reluctant to follow, but the men cajoled and pointed front and the roo dogs’ terror vanished.
All the while my eyes stung with the smoke and tears spilled down my face, hot as dripping wax.
“Myko. Myko,” cried Tilly as I ran, “we should go back.”
“Why?” I called out amidst the rising fury.
“Myko, there’ll be trouble, the men won’t want us here.”
I kept to my hard pace and ignored Tilly, but I did not want to see the blue sky open up before us. I did not want to feel the green field grasses beneath my feet once more. When they came, I wished I could lead the wailing pack of men out above the cliff edge, running on only the clearest of air, all the way to the jagged rocks below.
The roo dogs howled bravely as they came first upon the plains. I watched them leap, starting with the first of the men, their eyes gleaming like quartz as they lunged into the day’s sunlight once more.
The men’s Purdy shotguns, the barrels broken over their arms, were quickly snapped into place as the sun bowed before them. They dropped to their knees and forced down the dogs’ snouts, towards the ground, to catch the tiger’s scent once more.
“Seek, seek,” they called out.
The roo dogs sniffed at the dry grass as if their supper was buried beneath. They knew what they were looking for and there was no doubt they had the scent already.
The dogs kept their heads low, hoping to find a familiar trail, perhaps a black goose or a dusky moorhen, anything but the tiger’s fearsome scent. They whimpered, making d
esperate glances to their masters, but they earned scoldings for their cowardice and were once again forced in upon the task.
“Seek, seek,” was roared out now, and this time the dogs gave in to the command. I watched, knowing that my tiger’s fate was nearing.
My eyes stung harsh in my head but I dared not shift my gaze from the plains to rub or wipe. Streams of moisture rolled down my face and the light poured out slantwise over the sculptured hills, and the smoke-warped gum branches slid behind me. And then I saw him.
As my painful eyes washed over the scene I knew at once I was the first to see my tiger. Before even any of the baying hounds that took chase firm upon his tail, I had found him.
“Tilly, look there …” I yelled out.
“The tiger!”
I watched my tiger slowly trot across the plains. His legs were short, his body deep-chested and strong. He was not made for speed, but I knew he could run for great distances with his powerful stride.
The black stripes upon his back stood out clearly against the yellow-brown of his coat. My tiger shone in the sun, and the island rolled out beneath him as though it were saluting his every stride.
I watched my tiger chased, pursued by the roo dogs and the ringing of gunfire. I coughed for breath, my lungs nipped in the open air, but I could not be moved from this sight for a second.
I stood beneath the desolate sky and feared for my tiger and then, as I saw him clear a patch of low bushes, my heart suddenly gladdened.
“Quick … faster,” called the men. They fired their guns and shouted, “faster … get in there!”
The roo dogs dropped from the chase as the cracking barrels of shotgun fire failed to make halfway upon my tiger’s tracks.
“Tilly, he’s made it.” I could tell my tiger had moved beyond the pack’s range.
“He’s beaten them, Myko … look, look.” Tilly’s voice sounded high and excited.
I had believed all was lost but my tiger showed he was the more cunning. He put distance between his pursuers, enough to let him flee to safety. As the settler’s loud uncouth curses fell all around me I felt my spirits begin to sing.