by Tony Black
Pranciskis came into view. He rode on his bicycle, the one which Kazimeras fashioned for him by removing one of the pedals and attaching a thick wooden block for his withered limb to rest upon.
He screamed down at us. “Wait, wait, Daina you must wait,” he roared from the pits of his lungs.
As he called out Mother’s name his face turned dark as a beet. “Wait, wait, Daina … Wait where you are!” he roared.
As the wheels upon his bicycle turned at great speed, he spat these words out again and again: “Wait, Daina, wait!” He seemed full of purpose as he descended on us, his coat-tails flying in the wind that met him as he gathered pace.
I watched Pranciskis’s face become darker. The wind forced creases on his brow and cut black folds into the hollows below his eyes; I noticed he waved a pistol in his hand.
“Wait where you are!” he roared.
He tried to steady his course as he pointed the pistol towards us, roaring all the while, “Wait, I say. Wait.”
I turned to Father but he did not acknowledge me. He merely continued to gaze at Pranciskis high on the hill, descending towards us at great speed.
I called out, “Father, Father,” but he remained motionless and then I felt a torrent of fear strike as a gunshot split the air.
“Father,” I yelled.
As I looked towards the hill, I saw Pranciskis falling from his bicycle. His arms flailed wildly as he met the road’s curve and then I watched him come to rest, and lie face down in a heap on the ground.
Not a twitch came from him as I heard his bicycle overturn on the dark, hard road. I looked away and saw the bicycle’s back wheel spinning violently; it continued in hasty revolution until it lost momentum and its turn slowed down to the slightest of ticks.
From beyond a stone wall stepped Karolis, the village smuggler. He wore a rifle slung on his back. My father held out his hand to him; “God blessed, be praised,” he said.
Karolis stepped forward but did not take Father’s hand. “You have something for me?” he said curtly.
Father unbuttoned his shirt and removed a paper package filled with money, which he handed over to Karolis. As he peered into the package Karolis’s eyes darted first on my father, and then all around us.
“I must count,” he said.
It took Karolis some time to count the money.
I knew Karolis was once a Knygnesys, a book smuggler. I remembered seeing him at our home once, before the soldiers took away our father, long before the others came.
“Hurry, get the cripple out of sight,” said Karolis.
My father raised Pranciskis and carried him on his back towards the roadside. After a few steps Father lowered the lifeless body over a stony wall at the edge of a field.
I followed the goings-on keenly. Where Pranciskis lay I stared down and saw his blood-splattered face and neck. His hair lay torn clean away on one side; his skull beneath looked as smooth as the head on an old coin.
“We have no time to spare,” said Karolis, “this hold up has robbed us of more time than we can afford. Come, we must move quickly.”
We left the road hurriedly, setting out upon the fields.
Karolis and my parents took large strides and my brother and I ran to keep up. I looked down to my brother and encouraged him to speed up. “Come on Jurgis, you are falling behind,” I said, but he did not respond to me. My brother’s head was bowed, his spindly legs moving quickly to keep up with the others.
The fields were wet. We brought great splashes up from the ground with every step and soon we were soaked through with mud.
I looked again at my brother, he seemed tired, his face white as he drew deep breaths with his every stride.
“Jurgis, we must try harder to stay together,” I said.
“It is as fast as I can go, Myko.”
I reached out to him, I had no choice but to drag him along. “Here, give me your hand.”
Soon we arrived by a railway track. The train halted for a few brief seconds and Karolis spoke quickly to my father. “The train stops before the border. You must follow the instructions carefully; only one Russian guard has been paid and he will leave his post for but a brief moment – you must be ready then, you will have little time. Is this clear?”
My father nodded. “It is clear.”
“Then good luck. And may God be with you,” said Karolis, as we left him behind and quickly ran to clamber on board the train.
In our damp carriage, my brother dropped to the floor and began to cry. I watched him shiver where he lay, face down in the scattering of dirty straw. We travelled in a cattle mover, horded with many beasts; we could taste the stench of their confinement.
“Son, do not cry,” my father told Jurgis, “there will be many new things for you to see. We will soon be in a far better place, where we can all start again. I promise it will be a better place, I promise you, my boy.”
As my father stroked at Jurgis’s head I moved to sit by his side. “Where, Papa?” I asked, “where is the better place?”
Father’s face opened into a wide smile and his voice boomed, “We are going to America, my boys,” he said, “what an adventure we will have there!”
I did not know the word. He said it again and I repeated it slowly; “AM-ER-ICA.”
“That is it,” said Father, “you see, you have it already.”
The noise from the carriage’s shudders disturbed the cattle and some of them released their water. My brother began to cry again, but Father raised himself to stand, peering over the stalls and above the backs of the cattle towards the landscape.
I knew my father took one last look at his homeland. I saw his face becoming grim and wan. His dark whiskers seemed to droop lower than before, as if they too worried, and burrowed further down his face. As I turned from him I saw my mother now faced the opposite way, staring blankly toward the cattle. I wondered what she thought of, but I knew better than to disturb her when she was this way.
After a long time in the carriage, two loud jolts threw us about, and then we heard the screeching noise of metal upon metal.
“That is the brakes,” said Father, “don’t worry about that noise … it means we have arrived.”
I looked out and saw our carriage come to a halt, but we stopped far from the station, and farther still from the border.
“Quick, we must get off here,” said Father.
I watched Mother – who had sat silently alone throughout the journey – rush to raise Jurgis to her, but suddenly, where she stood, she let her hands fall to her side. My mother let go of her handkerchief and the wind came in to take it away. I watched the little handkerchief carried high up in the air and then float away like a little yellow bird. But my mother did not seem to care.
“What is it?” said Father, crouching beside Mother and Jurgis.
“He has a fever.”
My father looked at Jurgis and then swiftly raised him aloft, holding him closely beneath the broad nap of his heavy coat. “We have a long way to go; come, we must move quickly.”
Chapter Thirty
“Myko,” said Father; his voice came calmly, his words carrying less weight than the air, “I will not kill the tiger, but I will not have it upon this land.”
I knew my father to be no liar. If he said he would spare my tiger then I accepted this as his word. My normal breath returned and I removed my eyes from him; I felt too much shame to face him now.
For the first time since I had been on top of the hill I was free to gaze upon my tiger, but, as I turned towards the corral my heart missed a beat – it was not him.
The tiger was a female, she looked small and very young. She held fewer stripes upon her back than my tiger and, from hunger, ribs poked beneath her fur.
“It’s a young slut,” said Father, “she has ranged far.” I felt his gaze sear into me. “Myko, did you know about this tiger on our land?”
“No, Father,” I said, “I have not seen this tiger before.” I knew I spoke not
one word of a lie.
The tiger sat motionless as a statue where my father trapped her in a rough cage made from fencing wood. She appeared to be most docile and offered little resistance; if it wasn’t for the presence of her cubs I believe the tiger may have expired from fright.
“What is wrong with her?” I asked my father, “why does she not fight?”
Father tested the latch upon the cage, it held fast.
“It is not a dog, Myko,” said Father, “this is the tiger’s way. A snared dog will fight his trappers, but not a tiger.”
I thought it natural for an animal to fight against a trapper, but with tigers, I saw it was different. My father ripped open a sack and threw it over the cage, the tiger seemed unmoved.
“The dog packs which roam the station fight so hard they choke to death,” I said.
“Their trappers should shoot them before that happens,” said Father.
I knew the tiger was smarter than any dog. “Maybe the tiger knows there is no point in struggling.”
My father stood up straight, and kicked at the tiger’s cage; “Maybe all tigers are cowards, Myko, did you ever think of that?” he said.
I knew this to be untrue. “No. They are not!”
Father walked before me and placed his hands on his hips, then spoke firmly; “I have seen tigers simply wilt and die in a snare; they just give up. Or, after placing a single hand on them, they collapse with fright … that is a fact, Myko.”
I knew the tiger to be a tender animal, but to trappers like my father this marked it as a coward. My father saw no value in such a sensitive creature, save the money he earned from its pelt. But I knew the truth. I had seen my own tiger’s brave fight.
“The tiger is no coward,” I said.
“I have gathered up tigers as easily as lambs, Myko. I know these animals.”
Father tore open another sack and placed it over the cage, the tiger stirred this time, but very little. I knew my father had not killed this female tiger or her cubs because they had become so rare, but because they held a higher price alive.
“What will you do with them?” I asked him.
“They will go to Hobart,” said Father.
“To the zoo?”
My father’s eyes wandered over the caged beasts and then he pitched himself forward and his mouth jerked into a grin. “They will pay twelve pounds for the tiger,” he said, “these useless creatures are worth more now alive than when they were a plague and we had the bounty!”
I saw he felt pleased with his haul.
“And the cubs?”
Father filled his cheeks and let out his breath slowly before he spoke again. “… And ten, yes, I think ten shillings for each pup.”
As my father secured the cage he looked up to the sky. “There is time left in the day,” he said.
“Time left for what?” I asked.
I watched for an answer and saw him crease his eyes to the sky once more. His skin grew weathered by the sun, it was tight-lined and deeply-rutted. Dark shadows sat under his eyes and in the hollows of his face as his pallor took on the colour of dead leaves.
“Time left for what?” I asked again.
Father lowered his gaze to me, “I have time to take the haul to the carter in Woolnorth, he will be leaving for Hobart today.”
I knew these tigers had taken their last breath of freedom.
“He will charge me, of course,” said Father, “but there will be plenty in the payment to come.”
As Father spoke I felt a deep desolation sink into my heart. I wanted to take the tiger and her cubs from him, but I could not see how.
The light picked up the purple hue above the hills and I moved away from my father to return to the pastures. As I went I did not alert him to my departure; I found it too hard to form the words to address him now, least not without shovelling hatred at him.
I took back on the woods; it fell dark beneath the trees. The few breaks in the canopy above looked like stars in the night sky. I travelled slowly, feeling for the roots and vines as I went, but I did not worry about becoming lost in the blackening forest, because my thoughts were far away.
The billabongs glistened like crystals as I pushed through the vaults of branches. My heels felt heavy as I went but no matter how hard I pressed my steps, or put distance between myself and my father, I could not escape the thoughts that came to me from out of the dark shadows.
I wandered far into the forest. Night fell and I wandered farther still. I followed only a sharp desire to rid myself of what I had seen, but I could not.
Soon I came upon the station at Woolnorth; I tried to pick out the billet’s window where Tilly slept beyond. I gathered up pebbles and gently cast them onto the window’s ledge. The pebbles clipped the ledge and bounced on the glass and the noise scraped and scratched like possums in the night. It did not take long to attract Tilly’s attention.
“Who is there?” she whispered into the darkness.
“It’s me – Myko.”
“Myko,” said Tilly, “what are you doing here?”
“Come out here, come out now. I have something to tell you.”
Tilly opened wide the window. The rusty clasp fastener screeched like a plough’s blade on a rock as she held the frame steadily for a moment. When the window was widened no more noise came and soon I heard only Tilly’s footsteps churning up the dry earth.
“Myko, where have you been? They have been looking for the grey mare.” “She is at my home. I took her to stop my father.”
Tilly lowered her head. “I didn’t want to tell you about the hunt, Myko.” She quickly lifted her eyes to my face. “I knew you would be angry.”
“Tilly, I am not angry,” I said, “not with you.”
Tilly smiled at me. “I am glad.”
We walked out into the night; away from the billet the air came sharp with the wood’s rich tang. At the water trough we sat on the ground and laid our backs against the cold, damp iron. I saw Tilly’s face clearly under the moon’s light.
“She had lost her mate,” I said.
“What – who has?”
“The tiger. The tiger my father trapped.”
“He caught a tiger?”
“Yes, he trapped her with a wallaby tied in a lure.”
Tilly raised up her hands and buried her face in her palms; as she spoke her words fell like whispers. “Did he kill the tiger?”
“No. It was a female with cubs … he will sell them in Hobart.”
Tilly drew back her hands and showed her face to me. “Then at least they are still alive, Myko. That is something, that he didn’t kill them.”
I said nothing, I thought of the tiger’s pitiful journey, and how it ended in such misery. I believed the tiger my father caught must have lost her mate; perhaps she followed my own tiger’s scent in the hope of winning his protection for her cubs.
“She had ranged a great distance and she was half-starved and very weak,” I said.
“She came to the wrong place,” said Tilly.
I knew the tiger’s senses taught her to seek out her own kind, and this was the distance she had had to cross to find another. “You are right,” I said, “this is the wrong place.”
“The wrong place for any tiger.”
I stood up quickly, I felt the blood suddenly come rushing in my head. “You are right, Tilly,” I said, “you are right!”
As I ran back towards the road, to the trees beyond, my mind was spinning; I had to find my tiger. I had to move him on, before my father found him.
“Myko, where are you going?” called Tilly as I went.
The road behind me was a blur as I called back to her, “I must go, Tilly. I have to go.”
“Myko, Myko … where are you going?”
I ran harder and stretched out my paces as I crossed the station tracks, and made the pasture quickly. Tilly and the billet fell into the distance as I ran on. She’s right, this is the wrong place for any tiger, I thought as I ran on.
The forest grew cold and gave over its silence to the hum of insects that flitted under the white flashes of moonlight that appeared like ghosts from above. My shirtsleeves grew wet and ragged as I forced my way through the thick undergrowth.
I felt exhausted, and lost. I slumped against a tree and my lungs began to rise and fall as I gasped for air. I dropped, defeated, to the ground, and then to my amazement, I heard a movement behind me. “Now will you let me help?” said a soft voice.
As I turned, I saw Tilly. “You – you followed me all the while.”
Chapter Thirty-One
A flock of lorikeets fled screaming for the skies as the creek cried over the rocks in the night-time. The white moon shone brightly when Tilly’s voice broke the forest’s silence, but my breathing became hard as I stared on at her. I could not believe my eyes.
“You followed me!” I said.
“I want to help you, Myko.”
I threw up my hands; “I don’t need your help … you shouldn’t have come here.”
“Myko, you are lost. It looks to me like you need my help.”
As I gazed about me, raindrops began to fall, driving tiny pin-pricks in my flesh. The air felt sharp and cold.
“I am not lost … I am not.”
“Myko, why won’t you let me help? What is it you are hiding?”
A hollow cry leapt within me; I knew that I couldn’t say what I was hiding.
“Myko, please let me help you. I am your friend.” As Tilly spoke I felt my pulse quicken. I turned and ran from her, straight into the dark woods.
The forest was a hive of activity, nocturnal animals let out hoots and calls. Hanging branches and stringybark scratched at my face and hands, and underfoot I trampled over cone bushes and sweet scented buttercups alike. I had no respect for the island, everything was in my way.
“Myko, come back,” I heard Tilly call.
I ran on, nearly crushing a blue-tongued skink beneath my foot. It hissed at me and brought me close to a fall, but I did not stop to offer a reply to the wag of its jaws.