A Different Land

by Paul Jennings

  Also by Paul Jennings

  A Different Dog

  A Different Boy

  The Unforgettable What’s His Name

  illustrated by Craig Smith

  Don’t Look Now series

  illustrated by Andrew Weldon

  Unreal! The Ultimate Collection

  The Nest

  The Cabbage Patch Fibs

  illustrated by Craig Smith

  Paul Jennings’ Spookiest Stories

  and many more!

  First published by Allen & Unwin in 2019

  Copyright © Text, Lockley Lodge Pty Ltd 2019

  Copyright © Illustrations, Geoff Kelly 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  ISBN 9781760528720

  eISBN 9781760872052

  For teaching resources, explore

  www.allenandunwin.com/resources/for-teachers

  Illustrations created with pen on paper and digital media

  Cover and text design by Sandra Nobes

  Cover illustration by Geoff Kelly

  Set by Sandra Nobes

  To Mary-Anne

  with much love, Paul

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  One

  The three travellers stared around nervously. They were alone. And lonely. There had not been one other passenger on the last fifty miles of their journey in the little steam train.

  The railway station, if you could call it that, was no more than a rotting platform struggling to compete with the encroaching vines and scrub.

  The woman stared at the rusting hulk of a dead car that sat nearby in a tangle of creepers and ferns. Grass sprouted on its roof like damp hair. The surrounding rainforest was dark and steamy.

  The only sign of life was a conductor unloading heavy sacks, tea chests and other goods out of the boxcar. He struggled to lift an iron anchor and dropped it with a clang.

  A little beyond the platform, two forty-four-gallon drums marked the side of a dirt track that disappeared into the threatening mouth of the forest.

  This was obviously the last stop. The railway tracks continued on for a short distance and then petered out, strangled by weeds and scrub. The taller of the two boys, the one with no hair, stared at them gloomily.

  ‘I wonder where the tracks once ended,’ he said.

  ‘The end of the world,’ answered the other boy.

  ‘No, that’s this place,’ said his brother.

  ‘Now, now, Christopher,’ said the woman. ‘Give it a chance.’

  Christopher sighed. ‘I thought someone was going to meet us,’ he said. ‘There’s no sign of anyone.’

  They all sat down on their cases and waited. Flies buzzed in the clammy heat.

  Christopher rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a sausage wrapped in grease-proof paper. He waved it in front of his brother.

  ‘Look what I’ve got, Anton,’ he said cheekily. He smacked his lips and took a bite.

  Anton suddenly grabbed it from Christopher’s hand and held it over his head.

  The boys began to fight for the sausage, laughing and jostling.

  ‘Give it back, Anton,’ said the woman.

  ‘Okay, Pat,’ he said.

  Anton handed the sausage to their mother and she broke it into three. She gave them a section each and kept one for herself. She and Anton immediately began to chew, but Christopher wrapped his bit carefully.

  The sausage brought back memories of a harder time. Images flashed through his mind. He remembered a land ravaged by war. A place of hunger and fear. He put his piece of sausage back in his pocket. Just in case. He looked at his mother and saw that she knew what he was thinking.

  ‘It’s all covered in fluff,’ he said, trying to cover his thoughts. ‘I’ll keep it for emergencies.’

  Anton looked around. ‘There’s not even a ticket office here,’ he said.

  ‘Or a toilet,’ said Christopher. ‘I need to pee.’

  ‘In this country, you do it in the bushes,’ said Anton. ‘It’s not like home.’

  Christopher stepped down from the platform and walked over to the rusty car. He climbed on the bonnet, did a little tap dance and bowed. Then he jumped down out of sight behind the vehicle.

  Pat watched nervously. A minute passed. And then another.

  ‘Snake, snake,’ yelled Anton.

  Christopher shot out from behind the car, trying to run and do up the buttons on his short trousers at the same time. He scrambled back onto the platform.

  ‘Where?’ he yelled. ‘Where?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Anton mockingly. ‘My mistake. It’s only a stick. Sorry.’

  ‘You ratbag,’ said Christopher.

  They began pushing each other again in a friendly joust.

  ‘Boys,’ said Pat. ‘This is not the time—’

  A loud blast from the train’s horn drowned her voice.

  The small steam engine shunted its way to the other end of the single carriage. It contacted the boxcar with a clang. The train was preparing to leave. No one spoke. Soon they would be alone.

  At that moment a tiny dog trotted up the steps and looked up at them sadly.

  The locomotive let out a burst of steam. The dog, startled, ran quickly to the edge of the platform and disappeared under the boxcar.

  ‘Did you see that?’ yelled Christopher.

  He bent over and peered into the gap between the platform and the train but could see nothing but black stones.

  ‘The train is going,’ said Anton.

  ‘We have to get it out,’ shouted Christopher.

  The conductor disappeared into the train and the noise from the steam engine grew shrill. Christopher began to run towards the back of the carriage.

  ‘Come back,’ yelled Pat. ‘Come back. You can’t risk your life for a dog.’

  Christopher ignored her.

  He screamed at the invisible driver, ‘Don’t go, don’t go.’ But even as the words left his mouth, he knew that there was no way he would be heard over the sound of the panting engine.

  Steam hissed between the front wheels. The desperate boy paused and then jumped onto the tracks behind the carriage.

  ‘No,’ yelled Pat.

  She was too late. Christopher was already squatting down and peering along the dark tunnel between the wheels. At the far end, underneath the boxcar, he could just make out the little dog framed against a small rectangle of light.

  He began sprinting along the side of the train. The empty windows flashed by above his head. There was no one to help.

  ‘Don’t go, don’t go,’ he yelled again.

  The locomotive’s horn shrieked back angrily.

  Panting, Christopher threw himself onto the ground next to the boxcar. It was dark under there. He blinked and then saw the dog curl
ed up between the wheels. He couldn’t believe it. It was sleeping.

  ‘Here, boy,’ he said.

  The dog opened one lazy eye but didn’t move. Christopher patted his knee.

  ‘Here, boy, here, boy,’ he said again.

  The dog looked at him in a relaxed way.

  ‘Come on, come on, fellah,’ he said urgently.

  Still the dog did not move. Christopher shouted every word he could think of.

  ‘Run.’

  ‘Quick.’

  ‘Walk.’

  ‘Heel.’

  Still the dog lay curled up.

  A whistle sounded. The wheels began to tremble.

  Christopher was desperate. He only had seconds. Even less. He couldn’t crawl under there. Could he? Was there time? He remembered the bombing during the war and the broken buildings and bodies. No, he couldn’t do it.

  But there was a chance. Quick, quick, quick.

  Yes, throw something. He looked around for a stick but there was nothing nearby.

  Think. Think. Think. Oh, yes. He hastily reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of greasy sausage.

  The wheels of the train began to turn.

  Christopher broke some off and waved it in front of the dog.

  ‘Yum, yum,’ he said. He pitched the sausage towards the forest. The dog shot out from the train and ran after it.

  The hungry animal gulped the sausage down and then ran back, looking up for more.

  ‘Sorry boy, that’s all for now,’ said Christopher. He grabbed the dog by the collar.

  ‘Gotcha,’ he said.

  He picked up the dog and waited as the train passed and disappeared along the tracks. He climbed back onto the platform and saw a sack labelled MAIL hanging from a nail on a post.

  ‘This is for your own good,’ he said. ‘We can’t have you running off again.’ The dog began to lick his face.

  Christopher chuckled and put the dog inside the sack. He reached into his pocket, hesitated and then tossed in the last of the sausage.

  ‘You’re all alone,’ he said to the shape in the sack. ‘Abandoned. Like us.’

  His mother smiled sadly.

  ‘Don’t be such a misery guts,’ she said. ‘This is the land where dreams come true. We are out of the migrant camp. Anything could happen.’

  ‘That’s what I’m worried about,’ said Christopher.

  The last sounds of the train faded away. All was still. Christopher peered around. The gloomy trees offered nothing but an uncaring silence.

  The three of them sat down on their suitcases and waited. And waited. They brushed away the flies that crawled around their eyes. Sweat ran down their faces.

  Anton stared at the dirt road that led into the forest.

  ‘We could start walking,’ he said.

  His new mother shook her head. ‘Too dangerous,’ she said.

  The dog began to whimper inside the sack.

  ‘He’s thirsty,’ said Christopher.

  ‘So am I,’ said Anton.

  They looked at each other helplessly as their situation dawned on them. No water. No food. And no shelter. They were all aware of the stack of supplies that had been left at the end of the platform, but none of them suggested what was on their minds.

  Time passed. An hour. And then another. Christopher lifted the dog from the sack and cradled it in his arms.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Help will come. Then we will be at the hotel. I can just see it in my mind.’

  He closed his eyes.

  ‘It’s built out of stone. Cool inside. Leadlight windows, a bellboy in a red uniform to take our cases. A dining room with white tablecloths and waitresses with lacy caps. Roast beef for dinner.’

  ‘With gravy,’ said Anton. ‘And mashed potato with butter.’

  Christopher nodded enthusiastically. ‘All followed by apple pie with ice cream and custard. And chilled lemonade.’

  ‘Don’t forget the soft beds and crisp sheets,’ said Anton.

  ‘You’ve both been spending too much time dreaming,’ laughed their mother. ‘It might not be quite as posh as that.’

  The visions vanished. They licked their dry lips and stared at the crumbling excuse for a railway station. Christopher put the dog back in the sack.

  Anton looked around. ‘Where is he?’ he said.

  No one answered.

  ‘Jeez,’ said Christopher. ‘This place is creepy. ‘Maybe we’ve made a mistake. Maybe we should go back home.’

  ‘Twelve thousand miles?’ said Anton.

  ‘Give it a chance,’ said Pat. ‘We can make a home here if we try.’

  The light began to fade in the sky. Strange squawks erupted from the forest. And then there was another sound.

  They all fell silent and listened.

  ‘A motor,’ yelled Anton.

  The sound grew louder.

  ‘He’s here,’ said Pat. ‘Thank goodness.’

  Two

  A mud-spattered, rusting truck lumbered out of the trees. It had a cabin with four doors and a canvas-covered tray on the back. It pulled to a stop and a middle-aged man stepped out. He was wearing grubby shorts, a sweaty blue singlet and a wide-brimmed, battered hat. He stepped onto the platform and surveyed the travellers.

  ‘G’day,’ he said.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Pat.

  The man looked along the railway track.

  ‘Anyone else get off?’ he said.

  She shook her head.

  ‘I was expecting someone. I’m picking him up.’

  ‘We’re expecting someone too,’ she said. She opened her handbag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She handed it to the man and said, ‘Do you know where this is?’

  He took the piece of paper. His eyes widened as he read.

  THE LAST COACH

  Hotel and General Store

  HELP WANTED

  Applicants must be good with customers.

  Able to fillet fish, pull a beer and take a joke.

  FREE BOARD AND LODGINGS AND £50 PW.

  Apply in writing to PO Box 7

  Booly Bool West

  He stared at her, not able to take it in.

  ‘You?’ he said. ‘You’re Pat? You’re the new bloke?’

  ‘Patricia,’ she said firmly.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘Patrick. It’s a man’s job.’ He glanced at the boys. ‘And I don’t want any …’

  He stopped speaking but Christopher finished the sentence for him.

  ‘Kids?’ he said.

  Pat’s face fell. ‘We’ve come all this way. You offered me the job.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love, but you didn’t say you were a woman. It’s not the place for a … well-spoken lady like you. You’ll have to get the next train back.’

  They stared straight into each other’s eyes. She spoke in a low voice, trying to control herself.

  ‘We came twelve thousand miles to get to this country. And another fifteen hundred to get here by bus and rail. You made a mistake. You advertised for a person to fill a job. I am a person. You didn’t say it had to be a man. You owe us. Are you just going to abandon us here?’

  He shook his head in confusion.

  ‘When is the next train?’ she asked.

  He looked at his boots.

  ‘Mundy,’ he said slowly.

  ‘Today is Monday.’

  He nodded. ‘Next Mundy. It only runs once a week.’

  ‘And where are we going to sleep for seven days?’ she said. She pointed down at the ground beneath the platform. ‘Under here? With the snakes?’

  The man looked confused.

  ‘Eastern browns,’ he said. ‘Deadly poisonous. You wouldn’t kip under there.’

  She raised a scornful eyebrow. ‘I don’t scare that easily.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That was a stupid thing to say. Give me time to think.’

  Christopher was aware of his mother’s distressed face. His heart went out to her. She had suffered so much
. He bent down and picked up his suitcase. Then he jumped onto the track.

  ‘Where are you going, mate?’ said the man.

  ‘Back to the migrant hostel,’ he said. ‘And then home.’ He began to walk along the railway track.

  ‘There’s tigers too,’ said the man.

  ‘Tigers?’ yelped Anton.

  ‘Tiger snakes. Deadly,’ the man growled. ‘And copperheads. One bite and you’re gone. And crocs. And mosquitoes. And …’ His voice trailed away.

  Anton picked up his case. And then his mother’s. He put them on the side of the platform and jumped onto the rails with his brother.

  He looked at the man.

  ‘We don’t care about snakes,’ he said. ‘We’ve faced worse. We survived the bombing. And the war. We can handle this. If you’ve got a bad deal, get out of it. Come on, Pat. We’ll walk.’

  ‘Don’t,’ said the man. He gestured at the rutted road. ‘You’re right. I owe you one. You can all stay at The Last Coach until the next train.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Pat.

  ‘Mum,’ said Christopher under his breath. ‘We can’t. He doesn’t really want us. And it’s a whole week.’

  The man heard.

  Pat ignored Christopher and held out her hand to the man. He took it, perhaps a little shyly, and shook with a soft grasp.

  ‘You already know my name,’ she said. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Crayfish,’ he said.

  She laughed. And he did too. Maybe he was relieved that he had shed some of his guilt.

  ‘Crayfish?’ she said. ‘What sort of name is that?’

  ‘It’s a nickname,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You only give nicknames to people you like. It’s a compliment.’

  Christopher scowled and scratched his hairless head. He had memories of unkind nicknames being applied to him. Baldy was one among many.

  At that moment there was a squeal from the sack.

  ‘Lonely,’ cried the man. ‘There you are.’

  He ran over to the mailbag and took out the dog, who began to lick his face. He smiled and scratched the dog behind the ears.

  ‘You little devil,’ he said. He turned to the three travellers.

  ‘I stopped on the way here to take a … take a break. And little Lonely disappeared into the bush. That’s why I was late. I’ve been searching everywhere for him. I thought I’d lost him. He’s everything to me.’