Lunch with a Soldier

by Derek Hansen

  The pain in his legs almost caused Billy to pass out as he used the lower branches to pull himself to his feet. Once he’d steadied himself and sucked in a few deep breaths, he considered the problem of climbing the tree. Both forks of the trunk ran smooth and the lowest branch was a good metre off the ground and slanting sharply upwards. It was a typical pauper belah and hopeless for climbing. There was nothing he could stand on to support his weight as he hauled himself up. He groaned in despair. Everything was going wrong! Everything. But the commotion behind him left him little choice.

  He jammed his rifle between the fork of two branches, took a firm grip on the thickest branch and heaved. It was like pulling himself up a thick rope without the help of his legs and his arm muscles trembled under the strain. He kicked his legs upwards, ignoring the pain as they collided with the trunk and the underside of other branches, desperate to hook them over something so he could take some of the weight off his arms. He managed to haul his right buttock up over a branch and rest it there while he gulped in air. When he was able, he worked his bottom more firmly onto the branch and tried again to lift his legs. It took all his strength and courage but he finally managed to hook his right leg up over a branch and then his left. He lay there sprawled across the lower branches with his bottom taking most of his weight. Despite his efforts, his backside was still barely a metre off the ground. Any reasonable-sized pig could rise up on its hind legs and have a chomp at him. Billy sized up the branches above him and realised there was little to be gained by trying to pull himself higher. Pauper belahs were often called scrub she-oaks for good reason. The trees were poor specimens, tapering quickly into a spindly network of branchlets. There was little to climb up on even if he had two good legs to help him.

  Overhead the sky had faded to pale blue and was beginning to take on the translucency that precedes night. Billy unhooked his rifle and held it across his body. The sound of something moving through the scrub made him glance back the way he’d come. He was hoping to see Grasshopper but instead saw two pigs, snouts down, trotting towards him along the tracks he’d made in the soil. Their eagerness was sickening. Billy had never felt more frightened or vulnerable in his life.

  ‘Piss off!’ he screamed as loudly as he could.

  The pigs propped and retreated a few metres. They lifted their snouts and sniffed the air, trying to gauge the extent of the danger. They hesitated, torn between their natural caution and the smell of blood with its promise of a feed.

  ‘Piss off!’ Billy screamed again.

  The pigs retreated another ten metres before spinning around and holding their ground. Billy turned from them and whistled. Surely with it getting dark Grasshopper would take notice and come to him.

  ‘Get over here!’ he yelled. ‘Get over here!’

  The scrub cut his visibility to around one hundred metres but sometimes you could see movement further away. Billy strained his eyes but saw nothing. When he turned back to the pigs they’d come closer. And there were now four of them. Billy started sobbing. He couldn’t help himself. The pigs took that as a sign to come closer.

  Billy decided to lie still and let the pigs come to him. They were bolder now that there were four of them and they jostled for the lead. He slowly brought his rifle up to his shoulder and sighted along the barrel. He had only two bullets left, one in the chamber and the other in his pocket. One was for the pigs and he was too scared to even think about what he’d do with the other. But pig shooters all said the same thing. Always keep your last bullet in case something goes wrong.

  Billy closed his mind to all thought and lined up the leading pig. Missing or wounding was not an option. He let it edge closer and closer until it closed to within five metres. He waited till the pig raised its snout, exposing the target area, and squeezed the trigger.

  The sudden explosion sent birds screeching into the air. The three surviving pigs spun and bolted. The fourth dropped onto its side mortally wounded, its legs kicking uselessly in its death throes. Billy lowered his rifle. He had one bullet left. One bullet. He started to cry.

  The crows came first to investigate the kill in the last of the light. That was how it worked. Birds came first then the pigs, and the pigs left nothing but a few bones and a memory of what had been there. Billy couldn’t help wondering what would be left of him apart from his clothes and rifle. He could picture the search parties starting out at first light to scour the bush for him. But there was so much country to cover and he hadn’t told anyone where he was going. Where would they begin to look? What chance did they have of finding his remains? He tried to drag himself up higher into the tree but the truth was he had nowhere to go. The tree simply wasn’t big enough.

  Billy wiped his sleeve across his eyes to dry his tears. He tried to think what Neil would do. One thing was for sure: Neil would never give up. Billy stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled again for his horse. He stared hard in the direction of the clearing but nothing stirred.

  ‘Grasshopper!’ he yelled, in case his horse had responded but he hadn’t been able to spot it in the gathering gloom. ‘Get over here! Get over here, you stupid nag!’

  Billy glanced up at the sky through the foliage. It was now dark enough for Venus to show and in ten minutes it would be so dark he wouldn’t be able to see his hand in front of his face. A sob escaped from his throat. How would he deal with the pigs if he couldn’t see them?

  He reminded himself he was tough, and thought of all the times Neil had boasted about his courage when he’d made a tackle and especially the time when Blackie had nearly got him. Neil would expect him to put up a fight. Billy put his fingers in his mouth and sucked in his breath. This time Grasshopper had to hear him and come. It had to! He whistled louder and longer than he’d ever whistled before and strained his ears for a whinny or the soft sound of hooves on the heavy soil. For a moment there was nothing. Then he heard it.

  A faint echo.

  His whistle echoed?

  Had he whistled so loud it had echoed? His whistle sometimes echoed up around Rodney’s place, but it had never echoed before out on the plains. He filled his lungs and whistled again, held his breath in case he was imagining things. But back came the reply, faint and unmistakeable. Everyone had their own whistle and the whistle returning to him was no echo. No way! He knew exactly who’d made it: his dad. His dad was coming to get him! Billy stared in disbelief towards the clearing, hoping to catch sight of the light from his father’s torch, but his eyes blurred hopelessly with tears. His father was coming to get him! He tried whistling again but a sob choked it off in his throat. What would Neil do? Neil wouldn’t cry. His father whistled again, much clearer this time but still a long way off. Billy knew his dad would be waiting for him to respond. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, swallowed hard and whistled.

  ‘Coo-eee!’

  That was Neil.

  ‘Over here!’ shouted Billy. ‘Over here!’

  He started crying uncontrollably, out of relief and the certainty that the pigs wouldn’t get him. His father called to him every thirty seconds and each time Billy had to swallow hard and take a deep breath before responding. Darkness had fallen like a blanket before he saw the first flicker of lights through the scrub. There were three of them, spaced about ten metres apart.

  Billy knew they’d be walking their horses, making as little sound as possible so they could get an accurate fix on where he was. He wanted to rush over to meet them, crawl to them if necessary, but his legs had grown stiff and useless from being stuck in one position. It was all he could do to wipe his eyes so they wouldn’t see that he’d been crying.

  ‘Billy!’ called his father.

  ‘Over here!’

  Torch beams flickered over the ground all around him before one finally pinned him.

  ‘Got him!’ he heard Neil say. ‘He’s in the belah. Can you see?’

  Another beam came to rest on him.

  ‘Got him,’ said Braden.

  ‘You okay, Billy?’ I
t was his sister calling and he could hear the worry in her voice and sensed that she’d been crying. He’d thought his mother would’ve come after him but it didn’t matter. Kath would do fine. He was dimly aware of more lights flickering through the scrub, approaching from the east.

  ‘We got him, Doug,’ called Braden.

  Billy couldn’t see past the glare from the torches but guessed his father was talking to Doug Pridle, Pauline’s father. Billy hadn’t a clue how they’d known where to start looking but it didn’t matter. They’d found him. Somehow they’d found him and that was all that counted. For the first time since the pig had attacked he began to relax and was immediately overcome by the greatest weariness he’d ever known. It took all his strength to smile when he felt his father’s strong hands reach beneath him and gently lift him out of the tree.

  ‘You all right, son?’

  ‘Looks like a pig got his legs,’ said Pauline’s father. ‘Got him good.’

  Billy was surprised at how distant the voices sounded.

  ‘Yeah, I can see,’ said Braden. He turned his torch on the dead pig and the tracks Billy had left. ‘Reckon if you track back you’ll find the one that got him.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ said Billy. He tried hard but failed to keep the choke out of his voice. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘There’s time for that later, Billy. The main thing is you’re all right. Now, do you reckon you can ride home with me? Sit in front so I can hang onto you.’

  He was dimly aware of Neil taking the rifle off him and Doug Pridle helping him up on his father’s horse.

  ‘Thanks, Doug,’ said Braden. ‘And thank your boys for me. I’ll bring them over a dozen.’

  ‘No worries, mate. Glad the kid’s all right. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘How’d you find me, Dad?’ Even through his tiredness Billy had to know. ‘How’d you know where to look?’

  ‘You can thank Neil for that.’

  Thank Neil. Billy felt a surge of love for his brother. Neil never let him down, never! He settled back between his father’s arms and closed his eyes. Now that he was saved, the pain in his legs didn’t feel quite so bad any more. He was asleep before they’d hardly turned for home.

  The doctor drove out from Walgett to spare Billy the pain of the trip in. One phone call to the Pridles and word about the missing boy had spread all over the shire and all the way into town. No one was really surprised by the doctor’s gesture, although it was noted and appreciated. Under the circumstances, everyone automatically did what they could to help. He cleaned and stitched the gashes in Billy’s legs and, to everyone’s relief, found nothing to indicate that the bones were anything other than severely bruised. However, he qualified his diagnosis by recommending X-rays. Braden said he’d wait and see how Billy shaped up. The hospital over in Walgett had an X-ray machine but nobody went there unless they were pretty sure something was broken. It was a long way to go to prove bones were still in one piece.

  With the help of local anaesthetics and two sleeping pills, Billy slept through to lunch the following day. He woke up sore and sorry. His mother made him finish a bowl of soup before giving him two aspirins. He slept through to dinner. Only then, with the family sitting and standing around his bed, did he tell them what happened.

  ‘I reckon you’ve been punished enough,’ said Braden when Billy had finished. ‘I hope you realise now that rules are there for good reasons.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you kept your head and did the right thing. You gave us a chance to find you, although God only knows what would’ve happened if Neil hadn’t twigged to you.’

  Billy turned to Neil.

  ‘How did you know where I was?’

  ‘It wasn’t hard to figure out. I heard the first shot while I was at Pauline’s. We were doing homework out on her front veranda. It was pretty faint but it made us both look up. The key thing is, we both looked in the same direction. I had a suspicion that it was you though I honestly didn’t think you’d go hunting on your own. I lined up the sound of the shot with a veranda post and the edge of their cattle yards. I left about ten minutes later. I was more than halfway home when I heard the second shot. I still didn’t think it was you because I didn’t think you’d stay out so late. But just in case, I dismounted and scratched a big arrow in the ground pointing to where I thought the shot had come from. I stuck a stick through a couple of sheets of paper and wedged it into a bush in case I needed to find the arrow in the dark. Then I found Grasshopper trotting home on its own. That’s when I realised you were in trouble. I galloped home and got Dad.’

  Braden took over the story.

  ‘Neil rang the Pridles and gave them the bearing he’d taken and we set off with your sister. Mum stayed here in case you made it home on your own. We found Neil’s arrow and started looking, knowing Doug was working up from the east with a couple of his hands. I tell you what, though, we weren’t very hopeful once it started getting dark. But Neil’s directions were right on the ball. I reckon if we hadn’t found you, Doug would’ve. The fact remains though, Billy, you’d still be out there if Neil hadn’t been watching out for you and had the brains to take bearings. He’s the one who saved your skin.’

  Billy didn’t even try to suppress the smile that enveloped his face. It felt so good to have such a wonderful brother and he couldn’t think of anyone in the world he loved and admired more.

  ‘I’ll pay you back one day,’ said Billy, and he meant it with all his heart. ‘I’ll pay you back, I swear I will.’

  Nobody had the slightest inkling of the terrible price Billy would pay keeping his promise.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Linda woke with the feeling that she’d turned a major corner in her life. The day before, she’d returned from a trip to Dubbo where Al had confirmed everything her sister had told her. Grant was a certainty to get the Garuda job and she knew there’d be no turning back for him. A few more jobs and he’d have the apartment, the car and the lifestyle, and too much to lose by trying to settle old scores. However, while she was delighted at the prospect of being able to return to Sydney, she had mixed feelings about leaving Jindalee Downs. She’d become extremely attached to her little house between the ridges and the lack of stress. And then, of course, there was Billy. She couldn’t think about him without smiling, but their relationship did beg the question of what would happen if she returned to Sydney. Would he want to leave the farm for the city or would she divide her time between both places? Happily it was a question that didn’t require an immediate answer.

  She’d just sat down to begin working on another painting for which she’d done preliminary sketches when she heard Rodney’s call. She didn’t know whether to feel irritated by his arrival or pleased, because her garden was certainly in need of his attention. In the end she just shrugged. What did it matter whether she began her painting then or in half an hour? That was one of the attractions of living in the wilds. She rose and made her way towards the kitchen. At least Rodney was obeying her request to give her some warning when he was coming instead of just appearing at the back door.

  He wasted no time coming down from the ridge and strode angrily towards her. He stopped and propped his shotgun in the crook of his arm. Linda had learned how to tell when something was up because Rodney’s lower jaw hammered faster than normal and his eyes shone abnormally brightly. Something was definitely up.

  ‘I god sum-thing for you.’

  ‘Something for me?’ Linda tried to sound pleasantly surprised as Rodney started fishing around in the pocket of his trousers. Rodney’s trousers hadn’t improved since the day they’d met and she couldn’t imagine what his pockets might contain that she wouldn’t normally run from. She was no wiser when he pulled out a grubby matchbox.

  ‘Thid id for you.’ He shoved his gift at her as though defying her to refuse it. His eyes blazed.

  Linda had no choice but to take the matchbox from him. It felt so light that for a
moment she thought it was empty.

  ‘O-pen id.’

  Linda slid the matchbox open and discovered a bed of cotton wool. She looked at Rodney questioningly, the obvious eluding her.

  ‘Oh, give id to me!’ Rodney snatched the matchbox from her hands and lifted the first layer of cotton wool. A black opal the size of a little fingernail stared up at Linda, glowing with blue and red and flashing green as it diffracted and refracted light.

  ‘My God,’ said Linda.

  ‘I done id for you,’ said Rodney defiantly. ‘Go on. Take id.’

  Linda took the matchbox from Rodney’s hand and held it almost reverently.

  ‘Black deam o-pal. Id dol-lid bud a bid brid-dle. No good for a ring bud id make a nide brooch.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Linda. ‘Did you find it?’

  ‘Of course I found id! Down a-boud twelve metahs. I pol-lid id my-delf. I done id for you.’

  ‘For me? Oh, Rodney, you’re very sweet but I can’t accept it. You’ve worked too hard for it. Why are you giving it to me?’

  ‘Id a pred-dent.’

  ‘Why? We’ve had Christmas.’

  Her question appeared to have Rodney stumped for an answer. His jaw hammered furiously.

  ‘Be-caud I like you!’ he said, and began backing away as though his admission was something to be frightened of.

  ‘I know you do and I like you too. But you don’t have to give me a present to prove it.’

  ‘Keep id. I made id for you. I’m going to do the gar-den now.’ He strode angrily towards the garden shed. ‘I need your pade and mad-dock.’

  ‘I’ll make tea in a while and we can talk about this,’ said Linda.