Castaway

by Joanne Van Os

  Tess came up with the idea of moving Kalila into her room. ‘She can’t stay up here all the time – it’s too uncomfortable, and it’s too hard to get her over to the loo without someone noticing. How about she stays in my room with me until we work out what to do? No one’s going to go in there, and that way we can get food to her and she can use the bathroom more easily. Jaz sleeps over in her cottage, and Old Jock’s in the single men’s quarters. Uncle Mungo’s out most of the day, and he wouldn’t come into my room anyway.’

  Sam looked very nervous at the idea, but agreed. It was definitely better than keeping her hidden in the loft. George went ahead to make sure that the coast was clear, and they hurried Kalila inside the house, and into Tess’s room. It had two single beds with horse patterned bedspreads, a large wardrobe, and a chest of drawers. There were pictures of horses all over the walls – Tess always stayed here when she came out to the station.

  Kalila stood in the centre of the room, tears rolling down her cheeks. She hugged the battered atlas to her chest, having retrieved it from where she had hidden it between two hay bales.

  ‘That explains why she cries so much,’ said George, shaking his head. ‘She’s a girl!’

  ‘Why do you reckon she hangs on to that atlas?’ asked Darcy. ‘It can’t be any good to her, it looks like it’s falling apart.’ He pointed at the atlas.

  Kalila took a step backwards and shook her head, her eyes wide and worried. ‘Belong father! Not take book! Belong father!’

  ‘There you go, Darce. It’s her dad’s book. No wonder she wants to keep it,’ Sam said.

  They explained as best they could to Kalila that she was to stay in the room, out of sight, and that they would bring her food and take her to the bathroom when it was safe. In the meantime they would try to figure out what to do.

  A door slammed, and the loud voice of Uncle Mungo boomed through the house. Kalila leapt up in alarm and dived under the bed.

  ‘Boy, this is not going to be easy,’ said Tess. She knelt on the floor and smiled at Kalila. ‘Wait here,’ she said, and patted the air with her hands. Kalila nodded, and shrank further under the bed.

  At dinner, Uncle Mungo announced that they would be moving the first paddock of buffaloes off the high country and down onto the flood plain in two days’ time. The plains had dried out enough for the animals to go back out there, and the grass was tall and ready to be grazed. ‘We’ll shoe some of the horses tomorrow, and then move the buffaloes the next day. We’ll shift the cows and calves first. You guys gunna give us a hand?’

  George, Tess and Darcy enthusiastically agreed, but Sam kept eating, his eyes fixed on his plate. Dad would be here doing this, he thought savagely, if it wasn’t for you …

  Uncle Mungo talked about his old station in the Kimberley. ‘Practically carved it outta the bush, we did. It was two days’ ride from the town until we put the road in, never saw a soul fer weeks on end. The house was just a lean-to, with a few sheets of tin fer the roof. Lucky we never had a cyclone – woulda blown the lot away in one go. Just yer dad ’n’ me, an’ a coupla blackfellers to help. He was just a kid, about fifteen, I think. Those were the days, livin’ rough, workin’ hard, and no choppers to do it for us. Horse-mustered everything, stayed out for months sleepin’ in swags on the ground …’ Old Jock nodded in approval, his eyes misty with nostalgia.

  Sam had been brooding on the other side of the table. He fixed his uncle with a cold stare and said, ‘Well, Dad won’t be riding any horses for a while, will he?’ and then he pushed his chair back from the table and stalked out of the room.

  Everyone else sat there a bit stunned, and Old Jock said, ‘Bin outta sorts since Mac went south, that boy. Guess he’s just real worried, eh?’

  But Uncle Mungo looked shattered, and he didn’t say any more. Later, after the dishes were done and everyone had gone to bed, there was a gentle knock on Sam’s door, and George, Tess and Darcy crowded in and sat on the spare bed. Darcy had Horrible draped around his neck, to give her an airing out of the pillowcase.

  ‘Are you okay, Sam?’ George asked. ‘You practically bit his head off out there. It’s not Uncle Mungo’s fault –’

  Sam interrupted his brother savagely. ‘It is so his fault. I told you, if it wasn’t for him, Dad would be okay.’

  ‘But, Sam, I thought he lifted the tree off your dad. It was an accident,’ said Tess.

  ‘No it wasn’t. Well, it was an accident that shouldn’t have happened. When we were at your house, the night before we came home I heard Uncle Mungo crying like a big sook and telling your mum that it was all his fault, that he said he could lift it off in one go, that if they’d cut it up like Dad wanted to, it wouldn’t have happened. He said himself it was his fault!’

  The others sat back in silence. Darcy stroked Horrible, and Tess and George looked helpless.

  Tess kicked the leg of the bed and said, by way of changing the subject, ‘Our dad’s left us, you know?’

  George stared at her open-mouthed, while Darcy just kept stroking the snake, letting it wind itself around his shoulders. Sam looked grim and nodded.

  ‘Mum thinks we don’t know. I think she’s too upset to tell us. But I heard them arguing one night last week, and then Dad was gone the next day. Mum says it’s just a business trip, but I heard him say he wasn’t coming back.’ She kept looking at the leg of the bed, and kept gently kicking it.

  ‘I know,’ said Sam. ‘I heard her tell Uncle Mungo that night we were at your place.’

  Tess looked up at Sam. ‘He’ll come back again,’ she said. ‘I know he will!’ Her eyes filled suddenly with bright tears and she gave the leg of the bed a savage kick.

  The next morning Sam woke up feeling groggy and tired because he hadn’t slept properly. He yawned his way into the kitchen, where Uncle Mungo was standing at the sink with a big pannikin of tea. He looked as if he hadn’t slept very well, either.

  ‘Mornin’, Sam,’ he said.

  Sam grunted at him, something that sounded a bit like ‘Good morning’ – if you used your imagination.

  ‘I think we need to have a yarn, you and me,’ said Uncle Mungo. Just then Old Jock stomped in, followed by Darcy and Tess, who had been out feeding the chooks with him. ‘Well, maybe later then,’ said Uncle Mungo, and busied himself getting some breakfast.

  Tess smuggled some food into her room for Kalila while the others went out and caught the horses they would ride the next day. Uncle Mungo and Old Jock would each drive a bull catcher while the others rode horses around the mob. The first buffaloes they were moving were quiet cows and calves, used to being handled. Uncle Mungo said they’d wait for Marty and his boys to come out before tackling the bulls and the less quiet buffaloes.

  Tess was waiting at the horse paddock fence as the boys walked up with four horses. George was leading Gidget, a little bay mare, and Tess’s mare Shona, a pretty buckskin with a black mane and tail. Darcy followed with Toby, a chestnut gelding with a broad white blaze, and Sam brought up the rear with Havelock, the skewbald gelding he would ride instead of his grey mare Holly, whose foal was still too young to be left on his own. Holly followed Sam, and her little foal trotted along beside his mother.

  ‘He’s so gorgeous!’ sighed Tess. ‘I can’t wait till he’s ready to start breaking in!’ She climbed into the paddock and stroked the handsome dark brown foal, who nickered and frisked around. ‘He’s the image of Saxon, isn’t he? He has the same white hooves and everything.’ Tess had waited impatiently for the foal’s birth, as everyone had agreed that this one would be hers.

  ‘What are you gunna call him?’ asked George.

  ‘I don’t know yet. I’m going to wait and see what his personality’s like first.’

  ‘I wish Sabre hadn’t hurt his leg,’ moaned Darcy. He looked back across the paddock at Saxon, who was grazing slowly up behind the other horses. ‘You don’t reckon …?’

  The others just laughed at him. ‘You’ve gotta be kidding, Darce. You on Saxon again?
Once was enough, wasn’t it?’ The last time Darcy had tried to ride the big brown stallion – when no one was looking – he’d ended up with a broken arm, and got them all grounded as well. Saxon was Sarah’s horse, and the only other person he allowed on his back was Sam.

  ‘Toby’ll be fine,’ Sam told him. ‘He’s smart enough around buffalo.’

  They led the horses through the gate and down to the hay shed, where Uncle Mungo and Jock were waiting with the shoeing gear. Uncle Mungo turned out to be a top class farrier, something Sam hated to admit. He rasped the horses’ hooves and tacked their shoes on quickly and efficiently and never once pricked a hoof. When the shoeing was finished, they took the horses to the yards so they would be easy to catch and saddle the next morning, and gave them some hay.

  Uncle Mungo came over to the yard, a halter in his hand. ‘Nice lot of horses you got here,’ he said. ‘Good and quiet to shoe as well.’ He rubbed his beard for a moment, and then said, ‘Ah, Sam, give us a hand with Sabre, will ya? I need ter check if his stitches are ready to come out.’ He turned to the others. ‘You lot go and tell Jaz we’ll be up fer smoko shortly, would ya?’

  Sam sullenly accompanied his uncle to the horse paddock. Sabre was close by, and Sam whistled him up easily enough, then slipped the halter over the gelding’s head.

  ‘Ya got a good way with horses, Sam. Now, let’s have a look at that leg …’ Uncle Mungo bent to examine the foreleg while Sam held Sabre’s head and soothed him quietly. ‘Needs a couple more days, I reckon,’ said Uncle Mungo. He straightened up and unbuckled the halter. They watched as the big gelding wandered off, head down in the grass.

  ‘Somethin’ ya want ter say to me, Sam?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘’Cause I get the feelin’ yer not happy with me bein’ ’ere. I know yer worried about yer dad, but we just have to manage things till he gets back. I’m not tryin’ ter take his place or nothin’. You tell me if I make mistakes or do things different t’ how Mac would do ’em, okay?’

  ‘Yep.’ Sam stared up the paddock at the horses. Uncle Mungo looked sideways at him for a second or two, then let out an exasperated sigh and said, ‘May as well get back for smoko then.’

  And they trudged back to the homestead in an uncomfortable silence.

  Later, Uncle Mungo and Old Jock went over to the machinery shed to get the bull catchers ready and have a last look around the fence line before they mustered the buffaloes into their new paddock the next day. Sam, George and Darcy sat at the dining table playing a game while Tess quietly took some lunch in to Kalila.

  Jaz put a pile of letters on the other end of the table, and sat down with a notebook and a small dictionary. ‘Hey, guys,’ she smiled at them. ‘Thought I’d have a change of scenery.’ She took a letter out of its envelope and opened a small book and placed it on the table beside her. ‘My grandmother writes to me every few months, but I need a dictionary to read what she says.’ She smoothed out a folded page of closely written squiggles, and put her glasses on.

  ‘Why – does she use really big words or something?’ said George. ‘You’re our teacher. Aren’t you supposed to know everything?’

  Jaz laughed at him. ‘You’re a ratbag, George. No, my grandmother is Iranian, and she writes to me in Persian. I can speak it, but I’m not that good at reading it. Look –’ and she held out the page for them to see. It was covered in a neat but completely strange set of markings that looked nothing like the letters of the English alphabet.

  ‘Wow, you can read this, Jazzy?’ Sam was amazed that the strange shapes made any sense at all. ‘I never knew you could speak Persian, or that you had an Iranian grandmother. Were you born there too?’

  ‘No,’ said Jaz. ‘My parents left Iran during the revolution. I was born in Melbourne. My name is actually Yasmin – I get Jaz for short. My dad was a doctor, but when he came to Australia, the only job he could get was being a cleaner. That’s why they wanted me to study medicine. They’re not very happy that I’ve taken time off to do something else for a while. I think my grandmother is writing to tell me to go back to school too.’ She bent her head over the letter, occasionally looking up a word in the dictionary.

  When she finished, she announced, ‘I think I’ll go into town after the muster. My grandmother asked me to send her something. I have to renew my driver’s licence too, so I might do a quick run in and out, seeing as we can’t do any schoolwork for a while.’

  As soon as Jaz had returned to her quarters, they went to Tess’s bedroom. Tess and Kalila were seated on the bed, and Kalila was brushing Tess’s long dark hair with a contented look on her face.

  ‘Kalila told me that her father cut her hair short and dressed her to look like a boy when they escaped,’ said Tess. ‘She used to have long hair like mine.’

  ‘Well, it sure worked,’ said George. ‘But he should have told her not to cry so much. Dead giveaway.’

  Aunty Lou had brought the last couple of days’ newspapers out with her when she dropped off Tess and Darcy, and now Sam carried them in to the bedroom. ‘We might be able to find the name of that lawyer you saw on tv, the one helping refugees.’ Kalila watched as they each searched through a newspaper.

  Sam found it first and read the article aloud:

  Mr Spiros O’Reilly, QC, acting on behalf of the refugees who landed in Darwin last week, argued that they be given political asylum until their refugee status is confirmed. ‘These people are escaping political persecution, and are exercising their rights under international humanitarian law,’ said Mr O’Reilly. ‘They should be treated with dignity and respect, and not like criminals.’

  A spokesman for the Department of Foreign Affairs said that according to Australian law all people who arrive illegally by boat are to be interned offshore while waiting for their cases to be dealt with. Until they can be transported to the detention centre at Nauru, the refugees are being held at Port Hedland detention centre.

  There was a photograph of people staring through a fence topped with rolls of barbed wire.

  Then Darcy read out a piece he’d found:

  Several experts have warned of the trauma of keeping children in detention camps for long periods of time. Professor Karen Swann said yesterday it was very likely that severe psychological damage was experienced by children who were detained for more than a few weeks. She said it was unspeakable that some children had been detained at Australian detention centres for over 18 months. They were already ex – exhib – exhibiting signs of severe mental stress, and would probably never fully recover from the effects.

  ‘Whoa! That’s scary.’

  Involuntarily, they all looked at Kalila, imagining her in a prison waiting to be sent back to where she’d come from. Kalila looked back at them gravely.

  ‘I think we have to talk to this lawyer,’ said Sam.

  ‘He’s not gunna listen to kids,’ said George.

  ‘Yeah, and lawyers cost heaps of money,’ Darcy added.

  ‘Not always,’ said Tess. ‘Sometimes they work for free. In special cases. This is a special case. Isn’t it?’ she added a little uncertainly.

  ‘Of course it is,’ said Sam. ‘Anyway, he’s already helping refugees, so he should be able to help another one.’

  Tess thought for a moment. ‘I guess we should give him as much information as we can, like, I dunno, Kalila’s parents’ names, how old she is, where she’s from, that sort of thing?’

  It wasn’t easy explaining to Kalila what they were going to do. At first she was worried about ‘the bad men’ finding her, but eventually she relaxed and decided to trust them. Her father’s name was Hasheem Tariq. She was from Kandahar in Afghanistan, and she was eleven years old.

  ‘Wow, she’s older than she looks!’ said George. ‘She’s so little I thought she was only about nine.’

  ‘What was that lawyer’s name again?’ Sam flipped through the paper till he found the article. ‘Spiros O’Reilly. Funny kind of name …’ He shrugged and went to the office to
look up the phone book. George and Darcy followed him.

  They found an entry for Spiros O’Reilly in the Yellow Pages under ‘Lawyers’. Spiros O’Reilly QC, Deakin Chambers, Smith Street, Darwin. There was a private address for him too.

  ‘You won’t get him on the weekend,’ said Darcy.

  ‘I might at his home number.’

  The phone seemed to ring forever. Just as Sam was about to hang up, a groggy voice answered: ‘Hello-o-o.’

  ‘Is that Spiros O’Reilly QC?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘Um, my name’s Sam McAllister, and I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, if you’re in trouble you need to speak to a lawyer first, not me. And it’s Sunday, by the way –’

  ‘No wait, please. I need to talk to you. It’s about the refugees.’

  ‘Are you from the newspaper? I’ve already spoken to you people.’

  ‘No I’m not. It’s just that, well, we found one.’

  ‘Found what? Look, can we not talk in riddles? I’ve had a long day. And I’m in court tomorrow. I really don’t have time for this.’

  ‘My brother and I found a refugee on the beach, and we need you to help her.’

  ‘You what? Look, who are you? Is this some kind of stupid joke?’

  ‘No, it’s not a joke, Mr O’Reilly. We saw you on tv the other night, and in the paper, and you’re helping the refugees. A boat washed up in the storm, and there was a little girl on the beach near our place. She doesn’t speak much English, and she says she’s from Afghanistan.’

  ‘How about you put me on to your father or mother.’

  ‘I can’t. Dad had an accident and he and Mum had to go to Adelaide so he could have an operation. There’s just our uncle here, and he thinks all refugees should be shot on sight. We don’t want her to get locked up like those kids on tv.’