by Tony Black
“Will you not eat some with me, Mama?”
My mother did not answer me; did she hear me? Had she the strength for any more words? I watched her weakly stoke the red embers in the grate and then she lodged the last piece of hewn blue gum from the woodpile on top of the flames. Sparks flew up and hung momentarily in the air before turning to ashes and floating up into the chimney breast.
I was concerned by the sight before me. I had meant to chop wood for the homefire a day ago, but time slipped away from me. I was too taken up with other things. “Mama,” I called out, “I shall cut some wood for you before I leave.”
“It is all right, I can use an axe,” she said weakly.
I could think of no worse task to set the frail figure slumped before me. “No, I will do it.”
My mind returned to what had occupied me the day before. I recalled the events clearly, they appeared fresh to me, and I knew at once I must run the tigers from the station. If my father or the settlers found them, they would not survive.
My mother caught me raising my eyes aloft. I felt my brows knit and knew that I could not hide my thoughts and fears for the tigers from her.
My mother leaned forward in her chair; her shawl dipped below the line of her shoulders. “What is it, Myko?”
Quickly, I returned her gaze, “I don’t know what you mean.” At once I knew my words sounded unconvincing.
My mother stood up and walked soft-footed towards me. At my side she placed her cold hand on my cheek. She smiled sweetly as she spoke to me. “Myko, oh my Myko, I have seen your eyes wander … you cannot keep such things from your mother.”
My speech became trapped within my throat for an instant. I lowered my mother’s hand from my face and turned away from her. “No, I don’t think so. Perhaps I am tired, like you say.”
I panicked. I felt my breath grow heavy. As soon as I spoke my words became snatched, too loud to cover my fears, “I had very little sleep … I must be used to more.”
My mother smiled once again. “Perhaps that is it.”
I knew she did not believe me, but I felt relief that she pried no further. I saw her eyelids become heavy and her cheeks draw in as she returned to her chair at the fireside. I do not believe she had the strength to draw her suspicions from me.
I did not want to stay where I might betray myself any more, and I stood up to leave; “I will go and cut the wood for you now.”
My mother’s eyes did not move. As I walked to the door, she sat as motionless as if restrained by invisible hands. I wondered what thoughts now turned inside her head, but I dared not ask.
Outside the hut a dew had settled upon the paddocks and a cool breeze carried the scent of eucalyptus from the woodland beyond the coastal heath. I saw the acacia blossoms spreading, dense and aromatic, throughout the spiny wattle.
In the open my fears fell on the tigers I witnessed at hunt the night before, but I could not help but worry about my mother.
I collected branches which had fallen from the blue gums. They felt heavy and I had to heft high the axe to split their tough contours. I thundered through the firewood; the handle of the axe felt smooth and sure, familiar to my hands.
Soon I breathed heavily, my shirt turned damp with sweat. The work took me from my gloom and I did not want to stop, but as the woodpile filled, the six taut wires of its sides strained tightly.
I laid down the axe; as I did so I noticed the hut’s door swinging noisily in the open air. Its hinges screeched like galahs and its latch worried at the jamb. At once I wondered why my mother left the door to blow in the wind and I strode clump-footed to the hut’s entrance.
I did not know what to expect – had my mother left? Had she injured herself in some way and found herself unable to move? As I walked through the door my eyes seized a sight which struck me as hard as an iron fist.
My mother sat where I had left her, stock still, crumpled as an old handkerchief. I saw she held many miseries, which were stored deep within herself. She seemed to be stooped over a dark vault, for which she alone held the key. Had she shared her anguish with anyone? Did my father know of it?
“Mama,” I said softly, but she did not respond.
Mother suffered, she had tried to keep strong, but I understood now that she possessed no strength for further trials.
I left her where she sat, and returned to the yard.
I caught sight of a dusky robin which settled on a stump beyond the woodpile. I watched it jump between the split logs, hoping to uncover a louse. For some minutes I stared at the small bird’s efforts; it did not seem to tire.
“Are you done, my Myko?” said Mother. I was startled to see she had raised herself and followed me back out to the yard.
“I will cut some more wood for the fire,” I said.
“No, you must go now.”
I picked up the axe and raised it above me. “Just a few more, it may get cold later in the day.”
I let fly with the heavy blade; its head lunged into the gum branch and was buried to its hilt. I knew my stores of anger could sustain me, my father had his labours; but what about my mother?
She faced her torment alone, with no one to turn to. I longed for her to reach out to me, but her grasp never came. As I glanced upon her where she stood before the acacia blossoms, I knew there never would be any such call from her.
“That is enough, Myko. Go now, I can manage fine on my own.”
I lowered the axe and turned from her.
I cared deeply for my mother but I now feared the cast of her mind had grown as fragile as frost upon a meadow.
Chapter Nineteen
I travelled to Woolnorth and, though lost in duty, my mind wandered. At the brow of the settlement’s hill I gazed across the landscape, searching for my tiger. I knew the tigers ranged over many miles when they took to the coastal runs, but I did not see any sign of them.
The sun shone down on the sea and pulled shivering yellow lines high above where the sea birds circled into the clouds. The water ran deep and green where it met the shore and then carried itself twinkling over sands and rock pools.
I heard the calls of the honeyeaters and knew they kept at work, stripping the dry bark from the eucalypts and fetching out the insects beneath. I heard the currawongs too and looked to see their black wings spread and soaring above the foothill slopes.
I set my eyes upon the full view of the station. I saw the valleys and canopies, the tracks and sandy banks and the hillsides running deep and green, beaten hard by the heavy treading of the flocks. But I saw no tiger.
I knew I should not see my tiger during the daylight. The wise beast rested during the day, so he could hunt under the cover of darkness. But in these settled lands I still worried – my tiger might be disturbed. As if in tune to the notion my eye suddenly jerked upon a flash of fawn coat. It made my heart quicken. When I narrowed my gaze to the blurred form, however, I saw only a pack dog, running as aimlessly and wildly as all pack dogs do.
I gazed for hours, looking far and wide for the tigers, but soon the day neared its end and the sun settled low on the horizon like the last light of a sinking ship.
The water turned to a deep and dark shade of purple and the clouds came down to make a long grey line as ragged as a saw’s teeth above the swell.
I followed the hum of endeavour which came from the station where all hands had turned towards the dipping. The great flocks required much attention and hardly a boy or man was left who had not rolled up his sleeves and stepped into gumboots to play a part, however small or flighty.
A lantern lolled out of the distance and came swaying towards me. I saw Tilly smiling as she came into sight, grasping tightly on the lantern’s handle. “Myko, Myko,” she called out.
I returned her smile and waved. At once I longed to tell her about the tigers I had seen, but I knew my secret must be kept hidden from everyone, even Tilly.
“They won’t let me help with the dipping.”
“Why?” I asked her.<
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“Because I’m a girl … it is man’s work they said.” Tilly blew up her cheeks and raised her arms up above her head, showing her muscles like we had seen the strongmen do in picture books. I laughed out loud. When she heard me laughing Tilly could not hold in her breath, she burst open her mouth and her cheeks closed like bellows as she laughed with me.
“Where have you been?” said Tilly. As we walked in the fading light men paced back and forth, their heads bowed in concentration. It was like watching a circus’s arrival, the whole troupe mustered to raise the top before light failed and the footfall of the night’s customers came.
“I have been minding my father’s flock.”
“So they won’t let you near the dipping, either.” Tilly pointed to the men at the dipping well. “It’s a fussy business … the sheep don’t like it, look.”
A hundred sheep passed into the well, poked and prodded on the points of broom handles. I saw not one that welcomed the process. We watched as they emerged, wet and wounded from the experience, their sense of the fight lost to them once again.
“They take it so seriously.” Tilly swung the lantern from side to side, making rings of light in the air before us.
“They have no time for capers,” I said, “a drowned sheep costs the station dearly, says my father.”
We watched together as some boys we knew to be fools led away the wet and shaken animals from their chaos. Tilly let out a long, slow breath. I could tell the dipping time made her restless. As I looked at her I saw her eyes rolling up to the sky and I longed again to share my tiger sighting with her, but I knew it must remain my secret.
“This will go on for days,” said Tilly, “days and days …”
I knew that with the dipping underway my tiger had chosen his time well. Had he shown in the quieter months, he might not have survived a day. I was glad to see the station given over to such toil and fervour.
“It’s the busiest time of the year, the dipping,” I said, “my father says when the work is done there will be time to play.”
“Fiddles in the barn, and dancing.”
“Yes, when they’re finished.”
A pair of roo dogs began to bark beyond the dipping well. As I watched the dogs they seemed to be truly disturbed, but no one paid them any attention. The noise unsettled me, however, and I wondered, had they caught a tiger scent.
“I have to go, Tilly.”
“But, why?”
“I just have to go,” I said, breaking into a run.
“Myko …”
“I have to go,” I shouted, “I have to.”
At another time there may have been hunts raised, snares set and trappings mustered, but a roo dog’s barking gathered little attention with the station men engaged in such a solemn duty. But still they unsettled me as I ran for home.
As I went I heard the song of the reed warblers and knew day’s end fast approached. They sang from the tops of reed spikes, announcing their presence and territorial rights to all, but I could not see any of these wary birds.
On the road I took up a number of Huon pines from a hawker. He collected the slim tree shanks in the southern rainforests where the loggers that claimed the larger pines left them behind.
The wood smelled sweetly and felt hard to the touch as I dragged my pines by a firm hemp rope, secured with a reef knot, along the dry track to home.
The night’s dusk came creeping down from the hills and the ragged mountains beyond. I heard the curlews stirring by their roosting sites in the salt marshes. They foraged in the sandy spits and rocky outcrops for ghost shrimps and creeper crabs. Where I watched them their down-curving bills and mottled plumage were unmistakable, as they waded in the eelgrass beds, waving their open bills to detect their prey.
I cut a path through the sedge and bracken to home. At the edge of the cleared land, by the stone wall, a cloud of blowflies rose to greet me. Chooks came running through the yard and by the hut’s side I saw weeds beginning to creep.
Inside, my mother sat like a beaten dog, barely lifting her head to greet me as I went to her side at the table.
“Mama,” I said, lowering on my heels to face her. She seemed to be deep in concentration, her mind wandering far away.
“Ah, Myko, you are home.” My mother rose from her chair and directed me to sit where Father always served us at the table.
“But, this is Father’s place,” I said.
“Sit. Sit, Myko.”
In the Sakiai we observed strict order at mealtime. Father sat at the table’s end and I, being his eldest son, sat to his right. My brother then sat beside me, and my mother sat opposite Father. Our daily bread stayed on the table’s most honourable position, before Father, and our eating always began with his cutting of the bread.
“Here, have the bread, Myko.”
“But, Mama … this is Father’s duty.” I recalled how he sliced and passed the bread with great respect, the first piece, a corner, always going to myself and carrying the wish that my firstborn be a son.
“Myko, your father is not here.”
It did not feel right. I protested: “He is only at the station. He will be back when the dipping is over.”
“Myko, your Father is not here now. Do as I tell you.”
I sliced into the bread and offered it as I had seen my father do many times before. Mother took a piece of bread and placed it respectfully before her. When this was done, I placed the bread facing the corner of the room. I knew we must never put the bread upside down, but I did not know why.
“Mother, why must we never turn over the bread?” Immediately I looked away, I had broken the table’s peace and displeased my mother.
Her milky eyes took me in. “Because,” she said calmly, “it brings death to the family.”
I wanted to leave the table and go to the flock and Father’s snare lines at once. I lowered my head and wished I had thought to keep my words to myself. I stared at the curd cheese, the sausages and the round edible mushrooms collected from the forest groves, which my mother still called, grybai.
“I am worried about you Myko … what is it?”
As I shook my head, I saw her fingernails were bitten low to the quick, the skin around them cracked and broken.
“Nothing, there is nothing wrong.”
“I did not ask what is wrong. I asked only to know what it is that occupies you.”
I fought a need to pause. “It is nothing, Mama.” I rushed out the words and did little to convince my mother she had nothing to fear.
“Well, then is there something wrong after all?”
I wanted to end our talk, “No, Mama. I am fine.” I raised myself from the table, “I have my duties, Mama.” I held fire within me hot as any furnace coke for what I must do.
Mother watched me as I collected my father’s stock whip and rolled it in my hands. “Be careful,” she said, “you must take care.”
My mind hardened. “I have only the flock to check.” I knew this was a lie, but I knew also I must protect my mother from further troubles.
“Myko, you are my son. I know when you must take care.”
“Yes, Mama, I will take care.”
I left her alone, I feared, to worry some more.
Chapter Twenty
After the soldiers took Father from us, our life in the Sakiai changed completely.
In our own home, where we once had been so happy, where Mother and Father read us the old stories by the fire, taught us our prayers and watched us at play with our toys, we found we now had masters to answer to.
“They are not like our people … they are our conquerors and enslavers,” Mother said to me.
I knew Kazimeras and Ruta came to us from Russia and they could not be trusted. Any wrong word or deed from us was likely to be reported back to the Russians, Mother told me.
Kazimeras sat in Father’s chair. He broke the bread first, like Father. Our mother could not watch him, but Ruta took great pride in her husband’s passing of the
bread to us all. She smiled, her peasant’s face beamed and her great round cheeks shone like bright red apples before us.
Kazimeras grinned back, showing his teeth to be rotten in his head; like little greying fossils these stumps stood proud of their black gums. How I longed to hammer them down, flatten them from our sight, just as he had done with Father’s flock.
“Myko, eat your bread,” my mother told me. But I could not, I felt my temper stretched as tightly as a tarpaulin.
“I won’t eat this bread with them!” I roared, as I ran from the table.
I could not watch them in our home, or be near them anymore. My mother followed at my heels, I heard her cries trail quickly behind me, “Myko, Myko,” she called out to me, “what is the matter?”
I rushed up the stairs, and howled: “There!” I pointed to our supper table and let out a roar, “It is not their home … it is ours!”
My mother continued to move quickly towards me; as she did so she snatched a glance at Kazimeras and Ruta where they sat watching.
“Myko, come here,” called my mother. Her hands were outstretched as she latched onto my ankles and brought me down.
“No. No. No.” I lashed out, trying to free myself from her grasp.
Where I fell upon the stairs Mother swept me towards her, clasping me tightly in her arms, and ran towards her room. As we went I felt her place a hand over my mouth. All the while I watched her taking little furtive glances through the balustrades towards Kazimeras and Ruta, who stared back with their mouths wide in disbelief.
“That is enough now, Myko. You must be quiet.” Mother’s face was held tightly, her brows pinched on her eyes, as she lowered me down and closed fast the door of her room.
“Can’t you see that it must be this way, Myko?” my mother scolded me. She trembled as she spoke. Her hands still held me tightly but their movement did not subside.
“It must be this way, Myko,” said Mother loudly as she shook me to my senses, “it must be this way … can’t you understand that?”
I knew not to question her further. I sensed the fear my mother held within herself.