Jack had paid O’Hanlin for the clothes and the rucksack from a dwindling supply of coins he pulled from a pocket in his drover’s coat. Albert tried to broach the subject of how he could pay Jack for the clothes on the walk to the camp, but Jack dismissed Albert’s concern by telling him not to worry about the money and that they could work it all out later.
Everything Albert had he had gotten from Jack, with one exception. He still had the soft drink bottle he had brought from Adelaide. When Albert had taken it out of the pocket of his borrowed coat to put in the rucksack, O’Hanlin had noticed the bottle and expressed an interest in it.
It seemed that O’Hanlin, being in the spirits business, was fond of bottles and had a collection of them. He had never seen a bottle like the one Albert had and offered to buy it. Albert had refused to sell the bottle because of its association with his old reality.
However, while he was making camp, Albert began to think about O’Hanlin’s offer. Whatever the old reality was, it was gone and a new one had taken its place. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that the less association he had with Adelaide, the happier he might be. At that point, Albert decided he would sell the bottle to O’Hanlin and give the money to Jack. The money might not be enough to pay Jack what he owed him, but it was a start.
The noise coming from O’Hanlin’s place broke Albert’s train of thought. He could hear yelling and singing well before they even saw the lights of the building.
The Ponsby Station Mercantile was a much different place at night than it had been that afternoon. Light was streaming through the front windows and the open door. Wallabies and bandicoots congregated in separate groups on the verandah. Some were sitting on the benches talking with one another and occasionally using the spittoon. Others sat on the edge of the porch sharing half-pint bottles of gin or whiskey. The shouting and singing came from inside the building, and every so often a bandicoot or a wallaby would come flying through the open door to land face-first on the verandah. One or two just lay there, more drunk than hurt, and the rest would dust themselves off and rush back inside.
Jack stopped about fifty yards from the front of the building. “Albert, try and keep close to me. Watch my lead, and if trouble starts, get out as quickly as you can. Meet me back at camp, but take a roundabout way back so no one can follow you.”
Albert started to get concerned. “What do you think is going to happen?”
“Probably nothing, but you never can tell.”
Jack proceeded onto the verandah, followed closely by Albert. He stepped over the fallen and walked through the front door.
The inside of the mercantile was full of smoke and noise. Miners were two-deep at the bar, and O’Hanlin and two assistants were pushing beer and whiskey across the bar as fast as they could. A crowd was gathered over at the arena watching a drunken wallaby throw two coins in the air with a stick. Every time the coins landed, there was much yelling, screaming, and exchanging of money. Every other patron in the bar had a cigar or a pipe in his mouth, and the tobacco smoke hung in heavy layers in the light of the paraffin lamps that lined the walls.
Before they were three feet inside the door, they were stopped by a rough-looking gray kangaroo sitting on a stool by the bar. The kangaroo was heavyset, wearing a bowler hat with a rip in the crown and checked pants with a blackjack hanging out of the back pocket.
“You can go in,” the kangaroo said to Jack, “but he’s not welcome.” He pointed to Albert.
“Why not?” asked Jack.
“Because I say so, and because it’s the house rules.” The kangaroo stood up and put a paw on the blackjack in his pocket.
“You’d better take that up with your boss,” said Jack, pointing to O’Hanlin behind the bar. “Albert here is an exception to the rule.”
The bouncer waved his paw toward the bar and caught O’Hanlin’s eye. He pointed at Albert, and O’Hanlin motioned for Jack and Albert to come in.
The gray kangaroo sat back down on the stool. “I guess it’s all right, but no trouble, you understand? I got my eye on both of you.”
“We’re no trouble, mate, we’re no trouble at all.”
Jack pushed on into the crowd. After a few minutes, Jack was able to elbow himself and Albert a place at the bar.
O’Hanlin put a pint of beer in front of Jack and another in front of Albert. “Good evening, Jack. You, too, Albert.”
Jack put a couple of coins on the bar and raised his glass. “Good evening, Mr. O’Hanlin. It looks like you’re doing a good trade tonight.”
O’Hanlin shrugged. “It’ll slow down to a trickle over the next two days. Then nothing until they get paid again in two weeks.”
“Mining is a hard life, O’Hanlin; that’s why I’d rather find it than dig it up.”
“You a prospector?”
Jack nodded and took a sip of beer.
O’Hanlin continued: “Ever make a strike?”
Jack immediately began looking around the room in a nervous manner and put his paw on the bulge in his coat pocket. “What have you heard?”
“I haven’t heard anything.”
Jack leaned over the bar toward O’Hanlin. “Did you hear that Albert and I have made a big strike?”
“No.”
Jack’s paw shook as he took another drink of beer. “We’ll, it’s not true. We haven’t found anything, have we, Albert?”
Albert looked quizzically at Jack. “No, Jack, we haven’t found anything.”
“See, I told you so, O’Hanlin.”
O’Hanlin looked suspiciously at Jack for a moment, then broke into a Cheshire cat smile. “Sorry to hear that. Maybe next time.”
Jack nodded. “Maybe next time.”
O’Hanlin took a bottle of gin off the back bar, poured three shots, and set the brimming shot glasses in front of Jack and Albert. “A drink to Luck, gentlemen, compliments of the house.”
Jack, Albert, and O’Hanlin lifted their glasses.
“To Luck,” said O’Hanlin.
“To Luck,” said Jack, and threw back the shot.
“To Luck,” said Albert, and swallowed his drink. It took only a second before he thought he might have poisoned himself. His throat started burning and he felt like choking. Albert immediately grabbed his beer and took a large swallow.
“Gin goes better with a chaser, doesn’t it, Albert?” O’Hanlin said, returning the bottle to the back bar.
Albert nodded and took another swallow of beer to wash the taste of juniper berries out of his mouth.
O’Hanlin finished his drink and said, “Take care of yourself, Jack, and don’t leave without letting me buy you another drink.” He moved down the bar to serve other customers. Jack watched him go and then turned to Albert.
“When a publican like O’Hanlin starts buying you free drinks, you can be sure your luck is going to change, and not for the better, either.”
“Why is he doing it, then?” Albert asked.
“Because he’s taking the bait, that’s why. All you have to do is look guilty and deny everything. It works every time.” Jack turned his back to the bar and started watching the game in the arena. Albert turned to watch with him.
“That’s a two-up game, Albert. Ever seen one?”
“No.”
“See that circle scratched in the dirt?”
“I see it.”
“That wallaby with the broken ear over there is acting as the ‘boxer.’ He’s sort of the referee; he makes sure the coins fall in the circle and calls ‘heads,’ ‘tails,’ or ‘odds.’ ”
“What’s odds?” asked Albert.
“One tail and one head—it doesn’t count, and the ‘spinner,’ the one throwing the coins, has to throw again. If they both come up heads or both tails, then whoever bet heads or tails wins. There is a little more to it, dealing with how many odds the spinner throws before he gets his called coins three times in a row, but that is basically the game.”
“It doesn’t sound very difficult.
”
“It was a game invented by alcoholics to amuse drunks; they couldn’t afford to make it too complicated,” Jack said as he finished his beer. He took a few coins out of his pocket and gave them to Albert. “Stay at the bar for a while, Albert. Buy yourself another drink if you need to. I’m going to wander around the place a little and see if I can find a back door… just in case.” Jack winked at Albert and pushed his way back through the crowd.
Jack’s place was immediately taken by a large wallaby still covered in grime from his shift in the mine. The wallaby pounded the bar and yelled for beer, until one of O’Hanlin’s assistant bartenders slammed a full glass of beer down in front of him. The wallaby threw a coin in the direction of the bartender and took a big drink. The bartender made a signal to the bouncer at the door.
The wallaby took another drink and looked Albert up and down. “What in the hell are you?”
At the zoo, Albert had been an object of curiosity and ridicule. In Old Australia he found himself an object of hate and mistrust. Albert wasn’t quite sure how to deal with it, but he was becoming convinced that he had to handle the problem himself rather than passively sitting by and letting Jack stand up for him. “Why do you care?”
“Because, I don’t like standing next to some sort of freak.”
“Then move away. I was here first.”
The wallaby slowly put down his beer. “I’ll show you who’s going to move!”
Albert made a fist and hoped he really did have a good right hook. Before he could take a swing, he heard a voice saying, “He’s a platypus—what’s it to you?”
Albert looked down, and there were Roger and Alvin.
“You stay out of this,” snarled the wallaby.
“We’re not stayin’ out of nothin’. Albert here is our mate, isn’t he, Roger?” said Alvin.
“He sure is,” agreed Roger. “He hit me fair and square this afternoon, and that makes us mates.”
“And any mate of Roger’s is a mate of mine,” said Alvin emphatically.
“You two runts better piss off before you get hurt,” said the wallaby.
“Did you hear that, Roger? He told you to piss off,” said Alvin.
“But he called you a runt,” said Roger.
“You’re right, Roger. I’ll hit him first.”
Just then the bouncer walked up behind the wallaby and hit him in the back of the head with his billy club. The wallaby collapsed on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Alvin immediately stepped over to the wallaby’s body and began going through his pockets. He found some change and tossed most of it to the bouncer. “Thanks, mate. You can keep the rest.”
The kangaroo caught the change in the air, pocketed his club, and started dragging the wallaby toward the front door.
“Never met a wallaby that wasn’t a wanker,” said Roger, watching the wallaby being thrown through the front door.
“Too right, Roger.”
Alvin counted the change he had kept and then ordered three shots of gin from the bartender. “Be a mate, Albert, and hand us that beer off the bar.”
Albert took the wallaby’s beer and handed it down to Roger and Alvin, who managed to drink all of it before the gin arrived.
Albert was dizzy from the one beer and the shot of gin O’Hanlin had given him, but he couldn’t refuse a drink from the bandicoots, not after they had come to his defense. He drank as quickly as he could, but the bad taste lingered. The bandicoots drank their gin almost immediately and started looking in each other’s pockets for more money. They couldn’t find any.
“Say, Albert, you wouldn’t have any quid, would you?” asked Roger hopefully.
Albert took the coins Jack had given him off the bar. He held them down to Roger.
“He’s only got three bob,” said Roger after counting the coins carefully.
“Not enough,” agreed Alvin.
“Not enough for what?” asked Albert.
“Not enough for a proper drunk, of course,” said Roger, looking very depressed. “Think of something, Alvin.”
Alvin and Roger started thinking. The noise from the two-up game started bothering Albert. The gin was giving him a headache. A lot of shouting came from the arena as the latest spinner made a losing throw. It began to seem like a good idea to Albert to go over and tell the crowd to be quiet. Albert left the bar and walked unsteadily toward the game. Alvin and Roger scampered after him.
Albert got to the center of the little arena just as the broken-eared wallaby started yelling for a new spinner.
“You are making quite a bit of noise,” Albert said solemnly.
“Either take the kip or get out of the circle,” said the broken-eared wallaby. He held out a wooden paddle and two pennies to Albert.
The crowd had started murmuring the minute Albert walked into the circle. He looked into their faces. “What’s the matter, haven’t you ever seen a platypus before?”
The crowd started to quiet. Roger and Alvin stepped into the circle beside Albert.
“Well, now you have seen a platypus, and your life is complete. Albert’s the name. I’m from Adelaide and I don’t give a damn whether you like me or not.”
The crowd grew silent. Albert reached over and took the paddle and put the two pennies in the holes in the paddle.
He handed the wallaby his three shillings, and said “Tails” in a loud voice. The wallaby waited, but the crowd said nothing; no one made a side bet. Finally, the wallaby yelled, “No more bets,” and nodded to Albert to toss the coins. Albert flipped the coins over his head with the kip. The coins hit the floor inside the circle and rolled to a stop. The wallaby bent over and looked at them.
“Tails.”
The wallaby took the coins back to Albert. He put them in the kip and threw them over his head again. Again they both landed tails. The members of the crowd began to make side bets. The wallaby yelled, “No more bets,” and Albert threw the coins again. The crowd was quiet until the wallaby examined the coins and yelled, “Tails.” As the crowd began yelling, the wallaby took the kip from Albert and gave him two handfuls of coins in return. “You’re a winner, mate.”
Albert handed Roger and Alvin some of the coins and put the rest in his pocket. Someone in the crowd handed Albert a shot glass full of gin. Albert held the drink up to the crowd. “A platypus is the luckiest animal in the world”—he tossed down the drink and took the kip back from the wallaby—“so you had better bet with me because I am not finished yet.”
Albert flung the pennies once again into the air and yelled, “Tails.”
The copper coins rose in the smoke-filled air and hung suspended in the flickering light of the paraffin lamps for a fragment of a second before they began their fall back toward the earth.
6
About the Night Before
Albert felt the weight on his chest wiggle a little. He opened his eyes slowly and saw blue sky in a rectangle of rusted steel. The heat surrounding him was oppressive, and he smelled smoke. Albert tried to move his feet, but he couldn’t.
He closed his eyes again. He remembered throwing the pennies in the air, the taste of juniper berries, the crowd yelling and pushing, the smell of smoke, and then nothing. Maybe it was a dream—but if it was, why could he still smell the smoke?
Then he heard a voice whispering, “Albert… Albert, wake up. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Albert opened his eyes again. The head of Jack the Wombat had appeared in the blue rectangle. Albert looked around. He was lying on his back in what looked like a rusted metal box with no lid. Albert reached out and put a paw on the side of the box. It was warm to the touch. He looked down at his chest. Alvin, or perhaps it was Roger, was lying on his chest, snoring loudly. The other bandicoot was lying on Albert’s feet. Shilling coins were scattered all over the bandicoots and the bottom of the box.
“Albert… get up!” Jack insisted. Before Albert could reply, Jack reached down and grabbed Albert by the collar, hauling him out of the box, and
shaking off the bandicoots in the process. The bandicoots didn’t even wake up. They fell into a pile in the corner of the box and continued snoring.
Jack pulled Albert clear of the box, put him on the ground, and crawled back in where the bandicoots were sleeping. Albert looked around and realized that he had been sleeping in the bottom of an abandoned ore cart on one of the tailing dumps above Ponsby Station. It was almost midday, and heat waves were starting to rise from the dumps and the ore cart. Albert couldn’t see Ponsby Station, only a column of smoke rising from where the mercantile had been.
Jack climbed back out of the ore cart with two fistfuls of coins. He put the money in his coat pockets. He took a canteen off his shoulder, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to Albert. “It’s just water. Take a drink and let’s get moving.”
Albert took the canteen and started drinking. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was, and just drinking the water began to ease his headache. After drinking most of the contents of the canteen, Albert handed it back to Jack.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I burned down the store. I’ll tell you about it later.” Jack screwed the cap back on the canteen. “Right now you and I have to put some distance between us and Ponsby Station.”
He turned and began sliding down the tailing dump to the desert below. Albert scrambled after him, kicking up plumes of yellow dust in his wake.
At the bottom of the dump, Jack started walking at a rapid pace. “We’d better move east for a while and then circle back to the camp and pick up our gear.”
“What about Roger and Alvin?” Albert asked when he caught up with Jack.
“I wouldn’t worry about those bandicoots, if I were you. I’m sure they’ve slept off a hangover in worse places. Besides, I left enough coins in the bottom of that ore cart to keep both of them drunk for a month… assuming they can find a place to drink.”
Albert of Adelaide Page 4