by Sue Orr
‘That’s going to be a problem,’ Nickie said. ‘People around here don’t like things to be different.’
‘And then, Nickie, what they will say is Goodness, I’ve just noticed that the girl has designed her outfit exactly to match her calf! Isn’t that a wonderful comprehensive concept!’
‘They won’t say comprehensive,’ Nickie said. ‘Probably they won’t say concept either.’
Gabrielle jumped back up on the railing. ‘Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter if they don’t say those words. That’s what they’ll be thinking, even if they don’t know how to express themselves. So, for example, you could choose a Jersey calf, and I’ll choose a black and white. I’ll sort out the matching clothes. We’ll be the only comprehensive entries.’
Mrs Janssen was taking her time with the calf milk. Gabrielle moved around, looking under all the calves. Finally, she stood up next to a scrawny little Jersey one. It looked as though he had something wrong with his neck. His head was down and he didn’t even join in with the other calves pushing their way around looking for more milk. He was the saddest calf Nickie had ever seen. And all his problems weren’t just at the head end — he had scours also.
‘I think this is a boy,’ Gabrielle said.
‘Are there any others?’ Nickie was completely in favour of the plan to save the bobby calves, but this one had no hope of winning anything on Calf Club Day. A name for him had already come into her head. Larry. Larry the Loser.
‘This is the one for you, Nickie,’ Gabrielle said. She stood up next to the sick calf, patting his back. She’d put her fingers in his mouth and he was half-pie sucking on them. ‘Don’t you see? You’ve got to choose him. He’s so weak, he’ll be on the next murder truck if you don’t.’
Nickie slid down off the fence. Up close, she could see he was shaking. It wasn’t shaking-with-excitement, it was more like shaking-with-the-effort-of-standing-up. She ran her hand down his back. Bones bones bones. Larry was a wreck. ‘Larry,’ Nickie said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He shivered some more.
‘Perfect name,’ said Gabrielle. She was grinning and held up her hand. There was calf shit on it, but Nickie high-fived her anyway. ‘Happy as Larry. But in front of the judges, I think his official name should be Laurence.’
Mrs Janssen finally brought out more calf milk. The calves stampeded the teats, head-butting each other out of the way until each had latched on. All of them, except for Larry, who stayed exactly where he’d been before, shaking, staring at nothing.
‘That one’s no good,’ Mrs Janssen said, looking at Larry, shaking her head. ‘He’s buggered. There’s that one, and a few others …’
She was looking around all the calves now, checking them over. Nickie glanced at Gabrielle. Herod, Gabrielle mouthed, then held her finger to her lips. Shush.
They watched as Mrs Janssen walked around the back of the feeding calves.
‘… That one,’ said Mrs Janssen, pointing to a black and white calf, just a bit bigger than Larry. ‘That one, and that one, and those two. For the truck.’
Nickie swallowed hard. Six calves. Two black and whites, and four Jerseys.
‘Not those ones,’ Nickie said, pointing vaguely to all the condemned animals. ‘Two of those ones are going to be our calf club pets. We’ve already chosen them.’
She put her hand proudly on Larry’s skinny shaky back. Larry took this as a signal to stop feeding and hang his head down again, staring at the concrete. The calf next to him straight away pushed Larry out of the way and finished Larry’s milk.
Gabrielle stepped forward and touched one of the smallest black and white calves. She scratched it under its ears. The calf didn’t look up at her, it was still feeding. At least it was hungry.
‘This one’s mine,’ said Gabrielle.
‘Oh girls,’ said Mrs Janssen. ‘Not those two. Those two are sick. You can see they are sick. You gotta get better ones than that.’
Mrs Janssen started pulling calves away from the feeder, looking at their faces and lifting their tails to check for scours. ‘Here’s a couple of nice calves for you. Look. Two very nice young ladies for two very nice young ladies …’
‘It’s too late Mrs Janssen,’ said Gabrielle. ‘We already chose names and everything. Larry and … Vincent. But thanks.’
Mrs Janssen shrugged her shoulders. ‘Your fathers and mothers won’t be happy, you know. They’ll make you choose some other ones. Some healthy ones.’
The calves had finished all the milk. Nickie and Gabrielle got their sticks and started pushing them away from the empty feeder. Mrs Janssen opened the gate to the calf paddock next door.
‘When’s the truck coming?’ Gabrielle said it so casually.
‘Monday,’ said Mrs Janssen. ‘We’ll put them in the pen Monday morning, after feeding.’
‘But not Larry and Vincent,’ said Gabrielle.
‘Larry and Vincent are no bloody good for pets,’ said Mrs Janssen. ‘I already told you that.’
They took their time walking back to the house. For once, Gabrielle was quiet. Nickie guessed they were thinking about the same thing — those calves being herded up the tanker track, wobbly and sad, come Monday morning. There might be four, or six, or even more if some of the others showed signs of weakness or maleness. Nickie had done the job herself many times, never thinking of where exactly they were going.
‘We’re saving those victims.’ Gabrielle’s words startled Nickie.
‘How?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I’m going to think of a plan. We’ve got two days to come up with something.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. I’m going to think it through.’
‘There’s no chance of changing their minds, Gabrielle.’
‘I am not appreciating your negativity, Nickie.’ She was grinning. ‘If Mary had given up and just handed Jesus over to the Romans, where would we be today?’
Good question. There’d be no religious instruction, no Father Brindle. This was appealing. But without religious instruction Nickie might never have won Gabrielle off Erin as a best friend.
Gabrielle got on her bike and pedalled away.
‘I’ll ring you up. Don’t go anywhere,’ she shouted. ‘Don’t leave home until I call.’
Gabrielle finally rang on Sunday afternoon. At about three o’clock, just an hour or so before Nickie was due to see her anyway for calf feeding.
‘It’s me,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
Nickie wasn’t expecting her to say anything else. They both knew that it wasn’t safe. A total of nine people could be listening, all the people on both their lines which came to eight, plus Mrs Shanks at the exchange. She was the biggest worry. You could never tell whether she was earwigging because there was no clicking sound of the telephone receiver lifting up or being put down. She just quietly, sneakily, stayed on the line.
‘See you at four,’ Gabrielle said.
Nickie was pleased, after all, that it had taken Gabrielle all weekend to think of something. If she’d rung any earlier, Nickie would have started imagining what the idea might be and worrying about it.
‘Hello, Mrs Walker.’
Nickie heard Gabrielle’s voice. Her mother was outside putting new plants and seeds in the vege garden. ‘What are you planting?’
‘Beans,’ said Joy. ‘Beans and peas, and silverbeet.’
‘Three of my favourites,’ Gabrielle said. ‘What sort of beans? Broad or string?’
‘Both,’ said Joy. ‘I try to get both going, but the broad beans don’t do so well here, for some reason.’
Nickie smiled, imagining the inner turmoil of her mother being forced to talk vegetables with Gabrielle Baxter the vegetarian. Her mother would be excited to have anyone interested in her vegetables — everyone in the house hated them, including Eugene — but she’d be annoyed that person was Gabrielle.
They set off down the road. As soon as they were far enough from the house for Joy not to hear,
Gabrielle stopped and hugged Nickie.
‘Oh. My. God. Nickie. It’s perfect, what I’ve done. It’s fucking perfect.’
Nickie was getting used to the swearing. Gabrielle was the only girl who said fuck and all the fuck words without even trying to be tough. Nickie asked her once how come she didn’t get told off for it at home. She said her father swore all the time and he’d once been to university and, according to him, fuck was just another word, just a collection of vowels and consonants, nothing to get worked up about. She also knew how to swear in French, and when she taught Nickie vas te faire enculer Nickie said it out loud without any worries. Nickie got her point.
‘You have to tell Mrs Janssen that you’ve got a message from your father,’ Gabrielle said. ‘You’ve got to say that the bobby calves have to go out to the road, to the pen, tonight. Not tomorrow morning, but after feeding tonight.’
‘Why would he say that?’
‘The message from your dad is that he’s had a call from the truck guy, and the truck’s going to come really early tomorrow morning. Maybe even before milking. So waiting for the morning milking to finish and the calves to be fed will be too late. The calves might miss the truck.’
‘Why do the calves need to go out tonight? Really?’
Gabrielle’s eyes opened wide. ‘Because you and I are going to rescue them.’
Nickie stopped walking. ‘Are you nuts?’ she managed finally.
‘I am not crazy.’ She laughed. ‘And you can say anything you want, Nickie. Actually, I want you to. I want you—’ she jabbed at Nickie in the chest with her bright red fingernail — ‘to try to think of ways that my plan won’t work. That way we’ll make sure we can’t get caught.’
Gabrielle was walking backwards, facing Nickie.
‘Go,’ she said. ‘We’ve already saved two of them. Larry and Vincent are safe. Tell me why we can’t save the others. Tell me why it can’t work. Start from the start.’
‘What if the Janssens ring up Dad tonight and check on my message?’
‘They won’t,’ said Gabrielle. ‘Why would they? Why would you make up a message like that?’
‘They still could.’
‘Okay, they could. Here’s what we do. After we finish the calves tonight, you go straight home. No matter what you do, stay near the phone. And if the phone rings, you answer it. It might be them. If it is, you say your dad’s out ’til late. Then you say you’ll check with your mum. Then you cover the mouthpiece and say nothing. Then you go back on the phone and say, yes, the message is correct.’
Nickie wobbled inside. So far the plan just seemed to be her telling lies to people. ‘Alright. So we put the calves into the pen at the end of feeding. Then what?’
‘The next bit is the best.’ Gabrielle was so excited, she grabbed Nickie’s arm, squeezing it hard. Her face was bursting with smiles and big eyes.
‘In the middle of the night — tonight — we sneak out of our houses, meet up, go to the pen, and take the calves out.’
‘What … just … set them free?’ She was nuts.
‘Of course not. We’re rescuing them. We’re going to hide them.’
‘Where? Under our beds?’
‘This is the best part of the best part,’ she said. She lowered her voice. They were getting close to the shed, Nickie could see Mrs Janssen walking around outside. Some days you could hear people talking miles away.
‘You know how Jack Gilbert’s fences are all broken down?’
‘Everyone knows about that. Mum says it’s a disgrace. She feels really sorry for your dad …’
‘Nickie, shut up and listen. With all those broken fences, Gilbert’s cows are all over the place, right? Escaping here, there and everywhere.’
‘Yep. He’s famous for it.’
‘So would it be right to say that no one is ever really sure how many cows Jack Gilbert has? And how many calves?’
‘Probably. Except Jack’s so stingy, he probably does know.’
‘So. We get the other calves out of the pen in the middle of the night. We walk them up the road … and we put them in Jack Gilbert’s paddocks. Our paddocks.’
‘You mean with Jack Gilbert’s calves? He’ll notice straight away, four extra calves at feeding time. Your dad will notice for sure.’
Gabrielle whispered the next words.
‘No,’ she said. ‘We put them in with the milking herd. The cows that have just had their babies. I’ve looked at the fences where the herd is, and there’re still some broken-down parts. Don’t you get it?’
Nickie shook her head.
‘It will look like some of the cows had twins, or even triplets, and some of the new calves wandered off. Dad or Gilbert will find the hole in the fence and think these new calves have found their way back to their mothers. They’re little and scrawny, so they look like they’re just born. And the cows will have milk so the calves will get a drink.’
‘And then what? They go on the bobby calf truck at your place?’
‘We’ll work that bit out later. Though I do already have a good idea.’
Too many thoughts raced around Nickie’s brain. There had to be one really good reason why this couldn’t work. Nickie just had to think of it.
‘I’ve thought about it really hard,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I’ve tried to see how we’d get caught. The only big risk is someone seeing us doing it.’
‘What about when the Janssens see the empty pen, when they come to milk?’
‘They’ll just think the truck did come early. Like your father said.’
‘And what about Jack Gilbert, when he starts getting extra calves?’
‘It’s Dad’s job to look after the Gilberts’ stock. Every day he says he finds animals he didn’t know about. He’s always going on about how he can’t keep track of them, thanks to the holes in the fences. And you know what, Nickie?’
They both waved out to Mrs Janssen. They were close to her now. They had to be really careful.
‘Going on what Dad says, if Jack Gilbert finds extra calves on his land, he won’t be going looking for their owners. He’d say they were his. Jack Gilbert would say he was right there when those calves were born.’
The calves were at the gate, ramming at it with their heads, waiting to be let in the feeding pen. Larry wasn’t at the front of the stampede. He wasn’t in the middle either. He was right at the back. He looked about the same as he did yesterday. Wobbly, lacking in motivation and determination, Mr Burgess would say. Vincent didn’t look much better.
‘Do it,’ Gabrielle whispered. ‘Give her the message from your dad.’
There’d been no rain for about two weeks. Nickie had listened to her mum and dad talking about the weather, saying it was a relief that the mud was finally drying out. Next thing, though, they’d started worrying about what would happen if no rain came, and there was a drought, and Jesus Christ did they not deserve one summer without dry conditions and losing sleep over peat fires and running out of feed? Nickie had the impression that the weather problems were the government’s fault. Eugene said things like Carter better be keeping an eye on this. Carter being the Minister of Agriculture.
The night of the rescue, Nickie lay in bed with her curtain open just enough to see the sky. She’d gone to bed at the usual time of nine. There was a full moon. It couldn’t have been a worse night for stealing calves.
She pushed her window open. Trucks hummed miles away on the highway. She wondered whether some of them might already be full of little sick calves, on their way to the works. Now and then a dog barked. Maybe at the moon, which was like a big white dinner plate with grubby finger marks smudged across it.
It wasn’t hot, but when she ran her hand over her skin, she found sweat everywhere.
The whole night sky lit up. A few seconds later, a rumble. A rumble, then a crack. Nickie leaned out the window, her elbows hanging right out into the night. There was another flash of light, another massive rumble, closer this time. The moon completely disappeare
d behind black clouds.
She felt the first drops of rain on her arms just as the wind blew the curtains against her face. She pushed the curtains around behind her.
Wind. Wind and rain, the noise of them together was crazy. She thought back to the story of Herod killing the baby boys. There’d been another baby, Moses. While Jesus was being smuggled to Egypt, Moses’ mother had hidden him in the bulrushes in a basket. She’d always wondered how Moses knew not to cry. Maybe it had been raining when the Romans went stomping around looking for babies to murder. Maybe it had been raining, and the wind had been blowing, and Moses had been cold and frightened and missing his mother, screaming his lungs out, but the weather had saved his life.
Nickie heard Joy and Eugene go to bed. The storm carried on through the night. She’d set her alarm clock for two a.m. and hid it under her pillow, but she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep. Every few minutes the dogs howled, then there’d be another lightning and thunder show.
Two o’clock came. The sky brightened in the lightning and there she was, a little dark blur just past the gateway. There was a big macrocarpa tree by the letterbox and Gabrielle was standing behind it. Every few seconds her head poked out, then disappeared again. Nickie knew she’d show up. She dragged her raincoat and farm clothes and gumboots out from under her bed, quickly changed, then jumped out the window.
She was about halfway down the driveway when the next lightning came. She lay flat on the ground, her hands over her head, gumboots beside her.
They held hands as they walked silently down the road to the cowshed. The storm kept on, the rain smacking at their faces. At first they dived into the grass for the lightning but it turned out to be a waste of time — the flash came so quickly that by the time they were on the ground, it was over.
As they got closer to the cowshed gateway, and the bobby calf pen, they heard the calves crying. Gabrielle grabbed Nickie’s arm.
‘You walk behind them,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll lead the way.’