by Ali Lewis
We had a little walk round the dam. The Pommie asked more questions about my family – stuff about how old Dad was when he took over the station from Granddad and if I was going to take it over one day. I said I reckoned I would. That’s when she asked what would have happened if Jonny was still alive. I shrugged and said I didn’t know. He’d probably have taken it over, but I reckon we’d have run it together. There was enough work for two fellas, easily.
When we came to a bloated carcass at the edge of the dam, covered in flies and stinking, the Pommie gasped, like she’d found a dead person. She wanted to know what had happened. I shrugged – cattle died, just like people. We hadn’t had much rain, so maybe that cow had got dehydrated. She took a photo of the carcass and we kept walking. That was when she asked me about the muster. She didn’t even know what a muster was, so I had to start right from the beginning. I said how it was the best thing about being a stockman, and how it only happened once a year. It was when we rounded all the cattle up at each of the dams and waterholes on the station, castrated some, branded them and decided which ones to send to slaughter and which ones to keep. It was real important because it meant we made some money from the ones we sold.
On a station the size of Timber Creek, the muster took about a month. I told her how it was going to be my last one before I went to boarding school, and because I was thirteen, I’d get to camp out with the fellas, like Jonny did. I told her how I’d probably get to miss a bit of school because Dad would need me to help him and the fellas. It was real hard work – long hours and at the end everyone would be bushed. But it was exciting too – there was nothing better than chasing a big mob of cattle through the desert and taking them into the yards. She hadn’t a clue what I was talking about, so I told her how we used the utes and motorbikes to chase the cattle out of the desert, round them up and herd them together. That’s when she said, ‘And this will be the first muster without Jonny?’ No one had ever come out and said it, even though we all must have thought it. I felt sick as I nodded, then she said, ‘So it’s your chance?’ I didn’t know what to say. I nodded and looked at the sky. I said it was too hot. She agreed and we turned round and went back to the Old Rover.
The Pommie turned the key in the ignition and found first gear straight away. She smiled at me and I could tell she was real pleased with herself. I smiled back and said she was getting better and that made her laugh. She said, ‘Driving lessons from a thirteen-year-old!’
I shrugged. It wasn’t my fault she couldn’t drive properly.
We were nearly back to the road that went from Timber Creek to Warlawurru when the radio buzzed and Dad’s voice came through. He wanted us to go out to Jaben Point to collect a new poddy calf. While the Pommie drove I picked up the little black receiver and spoke into it. I told him we were on our way. Instead of turning towards the station, I told the Pommie to keep heading south. She smiled and said, ‘This is exciting.’
When we got to where the fellas were working, they had the calf penned into one corner of the yard. Lloyd tipped his hat back when he saw me and the Pommie in the Old Rover. He said to Elliot, ‘Looks like the Pommie’s got herself an admirer.’ Lloyd was OK normally, but sometimes I wished he’d rack off. I didn’t know what to say, but Liz did. She smiled and said she couldn’t find a better guide in the whole of the Northern Territory. I felt kind of tall then.
Anyway, we soon forgot about Lloyd when we saw the little calf. It was tottering around all lost and alone. Its mother was nearby but she was dead, we didn’t know what had killed her. Maybe having the calf was too much for her. The calf was weak and wobbly, just a few steps away from death, so it was easy to catch. It fell down, like sticks – as though it wanted to be caught. I reckoned it would probably die. Liz helped me lift the calf into the back of the Old Rover. She couldn’t believe how light he was. She said it was like lifting a polystyrene model, not a real calf. I knew what she meant. It was like he had nothing inside. I guess he didn’t. He was hours, rather than days old and he’d already been attacked by dingoes. They’d got at him from behind. He had wounds all over his rump. I told the Pommie to drive us back to the station while I stayed in the back of the Old Rover with the calf.
When we got to the station, we laid the calf on the ground, inside the pen. He was all frothy around his mouth, and his eyes were really wide. His tongue lolled out in the dirt, like he didn’t have the energy to be scared. Seeing him next to the others reminded me how little the newborns are – thin and weak like wet paper. The others towered over him like giants. They didn’t come too close, though, I reckoned they could smell death on him. Emily, Bobbie and Sissy had come out of the house to see the new poddy. I sent Emily to mix up a bottle of calf milk and then asked Liz if she wanted to name the new calf – just to piss Emily off. I knew she’d already have a name picked out, something stupid like Adrian, probably. I didn’t expect the Pommie to come up with much better, but she said we should call him Dingo. I thought that was an OK name, for a Pommie.
Bobbie laughed when we told her he was called Dingo, she said the poor thing would never be able to forget his past. But I liked it because he’d survived the dingo attack – just. Emily got back with the milk, and Dingo just lay there in the dirt, his empty, brown body moving up and down as he breathed.
I showed Liz how you teach a calf to feed. I put a bit of milk on my fingers and then poked them into his mouth. I didn’t think she’d want to try, but she had a go. Once her fingers were in his mouth I told her that when he started to suck them, she should swap them for the bottle. Nothing happened the first time. I thought he might be too far gone to care any more about milk. She tried again, her fingers sticky with calf spit and milk. He just lay there, his mouth slightly open. I told her to wiggle her fingers a bit, just to remind him they were there. She kept saying, ‘Come on, Dingo,’ like that’d make him live. She tried for a third time and I knew he’d worked it out when she yelped. They nip a bit when they latch on. She said it felt like he was biting her, so I quickly stuck the bottle into his mouth. And he drank.
I told Liz to build a shady area in one corner of the pen for him. We needed to leave him alone for a bit, to let him rest. I helped her find some bits of corrugated metal from one of the barns before taking Buzz for a run.
The Pommie and Emily wanted to stay with Dingo, so it was just me and Buzz – just how we liked it. No sheilas. It was a hot one, so we didn’t run too far together. I didn’t fancy having an asthma attack, so we slowed to a jog and then a walk. Buzz was real good, just going at my pace. When we came to a nice clear little spot by a dead, old tree I decided to sit down in the dirt. Buzz was just a couple of yards away from me, out of reach, chewing.
I picked at the dirt and felt the gritty ground crawl under my fingernails as I thought about the muster and how I was going to impress Dad and the other fellas. It reminded me of how it felt when we all had to pick up the dirt and throw it onto Jonny’s coffin. I looked up at the sky then and wondered if he could see me. I told him not to worry about us. I was going to make sure the muster was the best one ever. That was when Buzz folded down into the dirt with me. He sat by my side. Chewing. I felt so happy I wished the Pommie had been there with her camera, just so someone else knew about Buzz and me. There was a crow sat high above us in one of the dead tree’s empty branches. I looked up at it and hoped Jonny had seen us as I threw my arms round Buzz’s neck and breathed in his smell. He head-butted me twice, and the second time it really hurt, but it didn’t matter. I got up and shouted, ‘Come on, Buzz, this way!’ as I ran out further into the desert with him by my side. I decided it was time we did some serious training.
I dunno what it’s like to land an aeroplane, or how it feels when you dive with sharks, but I reckon it’s probably a bit like the feeling you get when you teach a camel something new.
Being out in the open desert with Buzz felt good. As I ran with him, it was like my asthma had been a bad dream that I’d just woken up from – I could run for e
ver. Buzz cantered along, like he always did, as though it was the easiest thing in the world. After a while I decided I’d better stop. As I walked around a bit, just thinking about what to do first with Buzz, he chewed some spinifex and sniffed around. I noticed him keeping an eye on me and so I wondered if he’d understand if I used my hands to tell him what to do. At first Buzz totally ignored me. I waved at him and tried beckoning him to come towards me with my arms, but he carried on chewing and when he’d finished, he dropped his neck so he could get another mouthful of grass.
When he looked up again at me I showed him the palm of my hand. Then I slowly bent down to the ground and placed my hand on the dirt. I dunno why I thought he’d understand that that meant he should kneel down, but I did. Buzz didn’t get it. He kept eating grass. I stood up again and this time I said, ‘Buzz, kneel down.’ And repeated the movement. As soon as he heard his name, Buzz put his ears back. He knew I wanted him to do something, he just wasn’t sure what. So, I waited a minute or two and then did the same thing again. ‘Buzz. Kneel down.’ I said the words in a way I hoped sounded serious. Buzz walked towards me then. I reckoned he thought that if he came a bit nearer, he might be able to work out what I wanted him to do.
I did it a few more times until he was standing right in front of me. I touched his nose and repeated the words, ‘Kneel down,’ as I bent my knees. He flopped down into the dirt like a clumsy, broken old deckchair. He’d done it. Buzz had done it. I was so happy I threw my arms around his neck and shouted, ‘Yeah, Buzz! Yeah!’ so loud in his ear he got spooked.
As he ran off I was a bit worried. I wasn’t sure if he was playing because he thought it was a game, or if he was really scared of me. I ran after him, like we did when we sometimes played tag. I didn’t want him to think kneeling down was a bad thing. The sun was in my eyes as I saw Buzz’s dark shape ahead of me. He threw his head back and kicked his legs, like he was the happiest he’d ever been. I called his name again, just to get him to slow down and I couldn’t believe it when his legs eased off and he turned round to look at me. I knew he was saying something because then he blew a raspberry at me. I guess we both wanted to tell each other things, we just didn’t know how.
I told Buzz to kneel down a few more times and I reckon three times out of four he did as he was told, which was good enough for me. After all, I didn’t always do what I was told to. I lay down on the ground with Buzz next to me and stared at the sky.
That night, when Mum got back from work, she went out with Liz to see Dingo and give him a shot of antibiotics. Mum didn’t like using the medicine; it was expensive. Liz must have persuaded her. Mum said the Pommie had really taken to the calf. After dinner she went back to check on Dingo again and to give him some more milk, like she knew what she was doing. I never thought she’d be bothered – Emily never was. Mum said she hoped Liz wouldn’t be too disappointed if Dingo was dead by the time she got up in the morning.
Twelve
It wasn’t long before the muster would start, so Dad said we needed to stock up. That meant we had to go and get a killer. It was great. I got to miss some school. During smoko, Dad came over to the house and said, ‘Danny, get your gun, I want you to come and help me get a killer.’ I looked at Bobbie, and she nodded her baseball cap at me, so I knew it was OK. As I ran inside to the gun cupboard I heard Bobbie explaining to the Pommie that a killer was when we shot a cow, brought it back to the station and butchered it.
I took out Jonny’s gun from the cupboard. When I was thirteen, Dad said I could start using it. He said it was inheritance. I rubbed the barrel with my shirt sleeve and took a box of bullets from the top shelf of the cupboard. I had a quick look down the barrel though I knew it was clean – I took good care of it. I stopped at the piano to touch Jonny’s picture. I’d already done it once that morning, but it seemed wrong not to do it again, as I was about to use his gun. Outside Dad was waiting for me in the ute.
I’d been practising my shooting quite a lot and, as Dad had shot the last killer we’d got, I asked if I could have a go. He looked at me and narrowed his eyes a bit, like he was thinking about it. Then he nodded.
Out there on our own in the ute, listening to Willie Nelson, felt good. As we bounced down the track, dust smoking behind us, Dad said it was essential that I took my time and made a clean kill. ‘No suffering,’ he said. That was the most important rule. I reckoned Dad was a good stockman. Greg said so too. Dad believed in doing things right and got mad if anyone left a gate open or a tap switched on because it caused serious problems, which were entirely avoidable.
We drove out to Jaben Point so Dad could check the borehole. It had been pretty dry, so he wanted to make sure it looked OK before we started mustering. When the cattle were all herded together during the muster, it was important that there was enough water for them. He said the water situation looked about as good as he’d expected, so we turned back towards the station. As we drove, Dad seemed a bit fidgety, like he had ants in his pants. I was going to ask him about it, when he said to me, ‘Listen, Danny, I was wondering, has Sissy said anything to you about this baby?’ I shrugged, and said no. She never spoke to me about anything any more. That’s when Dad said, ‘You sure? She never mentioned anything to you about having a boyfriend at school – or anything? Anything at all?’ I shook my head. We drove on in silence for a bit before I asked if him and Mum were speaking to Sissy. Dad asked me what made me think they weren’t speaking to her.
I shrugged and said it was because Sissy only ever came out of her room for meals – and even then the only thing she ever said to anyone was when she wanted something passing, like the salt or ketchup, or whatever. Dad nodded and scratched his neck. That’s when he said, ‘Listen, Danny, Sissy doesn’t seem to want to tell us who the father is, and that’s the only thing I’m interested in finding out right now.’ I asked him if he thought we’d ever find out who the father of Sissy’s baby was. Dad shrugged and said, ‘You can’t have a kid not knowing who its father is. It’s just not right. No grandchild of mine is going to grow up like that – no way.’ We drove back to the station in silence. I racked my brain trying to think if Sissy had ever mentioned any boys, but the only person I could think of her talking about was her mate Natasha.
The cattle didn’t know this, but the ones that wandered around near Timber Creek were the ones that became killers. Dad liked to pick a big, juicy one near the house, so it wasn’t far to carry it back with the loader.
We stopped at this little rise and walked a few hundred yards through the scrub into the desert to this place called Sail Rock. It was a rock that sort of stuck out of the trees like a boat sail. It was a good spot for two reasons: you could climb the rock and get a better view to see where the cattle were, or you could hide behind it. That meant the cattle didn’t know we were there, so they didn’t get spooked. When you pick a killer, you want it to be nice and still, that way it’s easier to get a clean kill.
Dad squatted down, so I followed. He jabbed his finger in the air towards my left. He’d spotted our killer – a big Hereford cow. We had two breeds of cattle, Hereford and Brahman. Hereford were good beef cattle and we had Brahman cattle because they could cope with living in the desert real well. Dad reckoned they were born survivors. As I looked at that Hereford cow, Dad gave me a nod. I carefully loaded the gun and turned round to face her. The sun was behind us – it felt hot on the back of my neck. I kneeled down in the dirt and tipped my hat up a bit, then raised the smooth butt to my shoulder. I could hear my heart pumping like mad as I stared for a good while down the barrel, making sure I had her head in the sight. I flicked the safety catch and held my breath. As I squeezed the trigger, the gun fired and then recoiled into my shoulder, like one of Jonny’s punches. The desert screamed for a second, as birds and insects flew away from the smoky gunpowder smell. I lowered the gun and put the catch back on. Dad held his hand out to shake mine, then helped me to my feet.
We walked towards the cow. She was a big one. Dad said she�
��d provide plenty of good meat. One side of her face was wet with blood. I felt proud. Dad said, ‘It was a clean kill. Well done.’ I looked at Jonny’s gun and wondered if he’d been watching me from heaven. That’s when I asked Dad about Jonny’s first killer. I wanted to know if he’d got it in one shot too. If he’d made a clean kill. I guess Dad didn’t want to talk about it because he said he didn’t know, reckoned he couldn’t remember. I rubbed the barrel of the gun with my shirt sleeve and wished it could speak, like one of those genie-in-a-lamp things, so I could ask about Jonny’s first killer. I guess that’s just dumb though. Everyone knows that’s just made up for little kids.
We went back for the ute and drove through the witchetty bushes and spinifex to where she lay. Dad took out his big knife and the saw to take off her head. When it came off it didn’t seem real. It was more like one of Sissy’s art projects. We let the carcass bleed into the desert, and that was when the fat black flies began to swarm. They were the same as the ones that hung around Buzz like a cloud.
Dad got a chain around the cow’s front legs and with the ute dragged her out to the track. We drove home to get the loader and within half an hour we were carrying her into the yards, ready to butcher.
We left the hide, like a bloody rug, outside the cool room. Dad sawed the bottom of her legs off and even though there was a leg for each of our four farm dogs, they always seemed to find something to fight about.
Once that was done, Dad started butchering. There’s a lot to learn. His dad taught him how to do it, and now he was teaching me. It was real interesting seeing the inside of a cow. Dad didn’t waste any of it. That night we had the skirt and the other bits that didn’t keep so well. The sides got hung up in the cool room. Dad chose some bigger cuts for salt meat; then there were ribs for the freezer, as well as the mince and sausages he made. Pure beef.