Hunting Elephants

by James Roy

  Flying to Cairns was an improvement on the situation, since everyone could listen to their own music on the plane. The funny thing was, even though Harry and Joel could pick any of the music channels, they both ended up watching the same program on their little screens. The Simpsons. Harry remembered that because there was a scene where Homer tried to jump over a ravine on Bart's skateboard, and missed. Joel laughed so hard that he started coughing and began to turn a slightly disturbing shade of grey. Mum wondered aloud whether he was actually well enough to be out of hospital, and Dad joked that if he needed oxygen, they could ask the pilot to make the little yellow masks fall out of the ceiling.

  Mum wasn't amused. Neither was Joel, after she made the boys change their channels to something serious, like sport. Nor was Harry – he really liked The Simpsons.

  In a way, it was their different tastes that led to the big problem later that week, when Mum and Dad were having their romantic seafood dinner. The movie Joel and Harry were watching in their half of the hotel suite was really boring. At least, Harry thought it was really boring, even though Joel claimed to be enjoying it. So when Harry suggested that they should change channels and watch something else, Joel said no. One was perfectly happy, the other was bored. A stalemate. That was why Harry went into Mum and Dad's half of the suite, closed the door between the rooms, and started watching a game of footy on their TV, mainly because there was no motor sport on any of the channels.

  It was a pretty slow game of footy, as it turned out. The rain was dumping down in Melbourne, turning it into one of those games with a lot of guys lying on top of the ball in the mud. It seemed that more time was spent handing the ball to the field umpire than actually playing footy.

  At the time, Harry wished it was a more interesting game. Later on, he wished so hard for that that it made him ache. If it hadn't been so boring, he wouldn't have fallen asleep on his parents' bed.

  Things might have been different then.

  Ghostly trees flickered by on either side, and from time to time bright spots would shine out of the darkness, as the headlights caught the eyes of creatures watching from the bush. Then, looming up out of nowhere, there was a sign. Welcome to Kalumorra, a tidy town. Someone had tagged it with a tangled symbol of black spray-paint.

  'We're here,' Dad announced. 'We are now, officially, in a tidy town.'

  'They're proud, David,' Mum said.

  'I know. Surprisingly, Sandy, I think it's a good thing.'

  Harry was starting to wish again that he was at Michael's place, with go-karting to look forward to, rather than three days of this.

  The gravel driveway was long. Dad stopped the car beside a hedge which ran along one wall of the old farmhouse. Up under the eaves, a light came on, just as they stopped. Turning off the engine, Dad opened his door. 'Oo, it's cold out here, guys. I think I just drove over a penguin. Hope you brought your skivvies.'

  'Can we get out?' Harry asked.

  'No, just wait there. I'll be back in a sec,' said Dad, closing his door.

  'Look, Mum, there's a beast out there,' Harry announced, as the dark shape of a large dog came over to Dad and started sniffing around him.

  'It seems like a friendly beast. Still, that's why we didn't bring Daisy.'

  Following a small, handpainted sign that pointed to reception, Dad went along the side of the house and around the corner, with the dog trotting along after him.

  'The beast is going to consume him once they're out of sight,' Mum said.

  They were silent for a while, or at least until the security light went out.

  'It must be on one of those timer things.' Sometimes Mum said pointless stuff like that when she was tired, or when there was nothing else to say.

  'Do you think that's our cabin over there?' Harry said, pointing at a building to their left.

  'It's hard to say in the dark,' Mum replied. 'But it looks a lot like the photo I saw on the web site.'

  'And how many cabins are there?'

  'Just one, as far as I know.'

  'OK. So ... if there's only one cabin, and that's it there, how come I can see people already in it while we're waiting in the car out here?'

  Mum was getting annoyed at this line of questioning. Perhaps it was making too much sense. 'How would I know, Harry?' she snapped. 'Maybe someone's cleaning it for us.' But she didn't sound very convincing. Or convinced.

  'So that must be the cleaner's car parked in the spot where it says "Guest Parking",' Harry remarked. 'With the bikes on the rack at the back. Oh, here's Dad now,' he added as the light under the eave came on again.

  Dad got into the car and closed the door firmly. There was something about the way he slumped into his seat that seemed less than promising.

  'What?' Mum asked cautiously.

  'Are there any motels in Kalumorra?'

  'I don't know. Why?' Mum asked, her voice low. It seemed that she knew what was coming. So did Harry, and he was glad he was in the back seat with an iPod for protection.

  'Are you sure you had a booking here, Sandy?'

  'Um, yes!'

  'Because they said they never received confirmation.'

  'What? No, that's not right,' Mum said, reaching up to turn on the ceiling light before starting to rifle through her handbag. 'I've got the email with me. Here, David, read this.'

  'Well, that's not really confirmation,' Dad replied, after he'd read the email.

  Then Mum reread it. 'Oh, for crying out loud,' she snarled when she'd finished. 'Come on, where are they?'

  'Sandy ...' Dad began, but Mum was already out of the car. 'Stay here, Harry,' he sighed, getting out to follow her.

  It was strange, being alone in the car, in the dark. It was strange because it was so quiet. Harry wound down his window, and felt the cold air wash over his face. A cricket chirruped, but there wasn't much else to hear. No traffic, no planes overhead, none of the hum that hangs around the suburbs of a city. No alpacas making alpaca noises, whatever that might sound like.

  And inside the car it was quiet, too. No Joel, wheezing with every breath. He'd always been either rattling or wheezing, sometimes both. It never annoyed Harry, unlike his habit of cracking his knuckles. Harry found it interesting, how he was able to shrug off Joel's wheezing and rattling and coughing, knowing that there was nothing his brother could do about it, while the knuckle-cracking drove him completely crazy.

  It had been partly that which had sent him into the next hotel room to watch the football. A boring movie he could've almost handled, but not a boring movie while his brother absent-mindedly worked through his fingers, one by one, right hand, then left, then both hands with fingers intertwined for a big group crack, then back to the right hand to start all over again.

  So he'd figured that for a good movie he could have put up with it, but not a crap movie that he was hating anyway. That was why he'd gone into Mum and Dad's side of the suite and closed the door.

  Now he picked up his phone and checked for a signal. Since that night in Cairns, he'd liked to know that there was phone reception. Not that he needed to call anyone at that precise moment, but he liked to know that he could get in touch if necessary. Or that others could get in touch with him, because it was hard to trust unreliable technology like mobile phones. So he checked, and saw a couple of bars of reception. Enough to text Michael the next day to wish him a happy birthday.

  Mum and Dad were back, with the big, snuffly dog pacing along behind like he'd adopted them as his family. 'Go on, fella, get lost now,' Dad said as he and Mum got into the car.

  'So ... I guess we're not staying here then,' Harry said, when Dad started the engine.

  'That is correct,' replied Dad.

  'Where are we going to stay? We're not going home, are we?'

  'Don't be absurd,' Mum muttered.

  'No, Harold, we're going to Frank's. We've called him, and he insisted.'

  'So we're staying there? At his farm?'

  'Yes, we're staying there. At his "farm", as y
ou put it.'

  'All weekend? Is that Trent kid going to be there?'

  'Trent, and one of Greta's girlfriends,' said Dad. 'What's her name again, Sandy?'

  But Mum was still in more of a muttering mood than a listening mood. 'I don't know how that happened. I was sure it was all set.'

  'Don't worry about it,' Dad said as the car rumbled over a cattle grid and they turned left onto the dark highway. 'It could have happened to anyone.'

  'Not someone who runs a business that uses email as its primary source of communication,' she replied. 'I just thought that after they sent that first email through, it'd all be fine. I never thought to check.' Mum sighed loudly. 'I'd rather we didn't talk about this any more.'

  'Done,' said Dad, who could be pretty good at not talking about things.

  Ten

  If Dad hadn't already been slowing for the flashing yellow lights and the construction warning signs, they might well have driven straight past the gate, situated as it was on the low side of a sweeping bend, twenty metres or so off the main road. But as they crested the hill, the sudden appearance of the signs and lights and the large orange backhoe parked to one side caused Dad to brake hard.

  'Oh, there we are,' he said, slowing even more, then pulling up at the gate. In the headlight beam, the small white sign nailed to the fencepost read F & M Duncan.

  'He hasn't even taken Margaret's initial off the sign yet,' Dad said. 'No wonder the last one went back to Hobart – she was haunted by her boyfriend's widow every time she came home.'

  'David, enough.'

  'What? I'm just saying ...'

  Dad stopped the car, and Mum got out to open the gate, unlatching the chain easily, swinging the gate wide and standing aside while they drove through. Then she closed up behind them, half hidden in a low cloud of red-tinted dust.

  'It's dry out here, Harold.'

  'How long since they've had rain?'

  'I'm not sure. Quite a while, I think.'

  The driveway was narrow and bucking, and Dad picked his way carefully up the hill, making concerned little noises with every scrape and bump under the car's chassis. Finally they stopped in front of the house, which was a long ranch-style place, with a wide front verandah running its full length. As Dad switched off the engine, the door of the house opened and a man stood there against the warm light, with a cobbled-together kind of dog standing beside him.

  'Oh, there he is!' Mum said.

  'Yes, there he is – the blushing groom,' Dad said. 'OK, fair enough,' he added, clearly sensing that he was about to be told off.

  Frank was a small, slightly built man, which made the depth of his voice something of a surprise. 'Hello, there!' he said, striding to the car and opening Mum's door, and she was out in a flash to hug him. While Frank was shaking Dad's hand, Harry climbed out and tried to shrug the cold air from around his neck. Feeling something against his leg, he looked down to see the dog sniffing at his trousers.

  'Siddown, Reg!' Frank snapped, and the dog whined and came back to him. 'Sorry about that.'

  'He can just smell Daisy on you, Harry,' said Mum.

  'That's right, he's just curious.' Frank stepped forward, hand outstretched. 'So you're Harry, then?' He had wiry arms, muscular, square hands, and a grip like a bear trap. 'You wouldn't remember me, I suppose.'

  'Hi, Uncle Frank. No, sorry, I don't.'

  'Please, just call me Frank. It's good to see you.'

  'You too,' Harry replied, noticing with a slight sense of revulsion that Frank's right pinky finger was missing. 'And congratulations on getting married ... again.' After he'd said it, he was suddenly aware of how that must have sounded, but by then it was out there.

  Luckily no one seemed to notice. Mum was busily thanking Frank for letting them stay at such short notice, and he was busily telling her not to be silly, that it was no trouble at all, that there was plenty of room.

  'We'll organise something else tomorrow,' Mum said.

  'Nonsense! You'll stay here. I thought about inviting you to stay here to begin with, but there were going to be all kinds of family feuds if we invited this lot and not that lot, so in the end we just decided to ask everyone to stay in town. But I'm actually kind of glad your accommodation fell through – now you have to stay here!'

  'Well, it's great to see you,' Mum said, hugging Frank again.

  'You too, love. We'll get your bags inside in just a minute – come in out of this cold and meet Greta,' Frank said, herding them towards the door, and the warmth of the house.

  Harry was surprised at the size of the place. The lounge room alone was almost as big as their entire living area back home, with tall windows that overlooked the front garden and whatever view the darkness hid beyond that. Two long, white leather couches faced one another across a glass coffee table, and between them, at the end of the room, was a plasma TV. Framed landscape prints decorated the walls, and in the corner stood a tall, well stocked bookcase.

  Greta came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea-towel. In person she was larger than she'd appeared in the photo, and seemed quite a bit older. Harry wondered if that was because of her hair, which was still curly, but now short and grey, and cut in a neat bob. She wore vivid red lipstick, and a bright purple silk scarf draped around her neck. As she grinned and came over to hug them, Harry noticed the tiniest smudge of vivid red lipstick on one of her front teeth.

  As friendly as he was, Frank didn't seem to smile as much as Greta, and for a moment, Harry found myself wondering if he'd have smiled more if he'd been wearing lipstick as well. Considering his thinning hair and lived-in face, it was a ridiculous thought, but it made Harry chuckle quietly to himself, and he immediately relaxed.

  'Have you eaten? Because I've made some soup,' Greta was saying.

  Mum shook her head. 'No, I'm fine thanks, Greta. I'll just have a coffee.'

  'You know, I could eat, but just a snack,' said Dad. 'How about you, Harold?'

  Harry nodded. 'Yeah, I could eat too.'

  'Excellent. Then come on in, and make yourselves at home. Oh, everyone, this is my friend Robyn,' Greta said, as a tall, thin woman with a beak-like nose, waves of blonde hair and impossibly long fingers entered the room. 'Robyn's my best friend in the world.' Greta lowered her voice as if the next thing she said was meant to be a secret. 'Robyn was my bridesmaid at my first wedding.'

  'Hi,' said Robyn, in a small voice that made Harry immediately think of baby birds in a nest.

  They all sat at the table while Dad and Harry ate, and Mum drank her coffee. The conversation was little more than chit-chat, and even so, Robyn barely said a word. Of course Mum wanted to know about the wedding plans, and pretty soon she'd managed to offer her assistance with everything from folding napkins to ironing shirts and arranging flowers, and Dad and Harry had somehow volunteered to help with the setting up of the marquee on the lawn. Then, when there was a small gap in the conversation, Harry asked Frank what their mobile phone signal was like out there in the bush.

  'Oh, it's not great, I'm afraid,' he replied. 'If you go up to the top of the hill in that direction – north, I suppose it is – you can sometimes get it. It's OK in town, but out here it's pretty lousy. Why's that? Got someone important to call?' He winked at Harry, who didn't have a problem with uncles winking. But in a strange way, it felt as if Frank thought he knew him better than he actually did, which was weirdly uncomfortable.

  'No, it's nothing like that,' Harry said. 'It's my friend Michael's birthday tomorrow. I just want to send him a text.'

  'Very good,' said Frank. 'Well, try that tomorrow. Go up the hill, and hope for a good phone day. Are you all right, Harry?' he asked as Harry felt something fussing at his leg and checked under the table.

  'Oh, is Reg under there?' Greta said. She stood up and opened the glass sliding door. 'Go on, Reg, out you go. He's very curious – sorry.'

  'What sort of dog is he?' Harry asked.

  Frank shrugged. 'He's a bitsa. Bitsa this, bitsa that.'

>   'Like Daisy,' Harry said. 'We think she's an Airedale, but we don't really know.'

  'Pound dog,' Dad explained. 'Apparently the owners surrendered her because they couldn't give her the care she needed.'

  'So, is Trent here?' Mum asked, pretty much out of nowhere.

  Harry's heart sank, just a little. Somehow he'd managed to forget about Trent, but it all came back to him when he saw Greta practically roll her eyes.

  'Oh, he's around somewhere,' she said, flashing a quick, rather insincere smile. 'In his room playing on his computer, I think.'

  Harry waited, knowing what was coming. The last thing he felt like doing was knocking on some stranger's room and asking if he could see what games he had. Luckily Dad was on his wavelength. 'That's OK – we'll meet him tomorrow, I guess,' he said.

  'Yes, of course,' Frank answered. 'Tomorrow will be fine. He's a good kid, really ...'

  The way his voice trailed off didn't fill Harry with confidence.

  Eleven

  Harry slept well, and when he woke it took a moment to remember where he was. Then, when he turned his head and saw the trees outside the foggy window, it all came back, like a gust of cold breeze. The huge ranch house; the Vietnam veteran with the missing finger who was supposed to be prickly, but who actually seemed very nice; the lady with the lipstick on her teeth, and her feather-like friend; and the mysteriously absent Trent.

  He sat up. Even inside the house, his breath emerged as fog, and the chilly air wrapped around his bare shoulders like a cape. As he quickly pulled his clothes on, he curled his toes away from the cold of the floor. Then it was jacket and beanie on, phone in pocket and out to the front door, ready for a dawn walk.

  Standing on the verandah, Harry breathed deeply. On the far side of the gravel turning circle with the small rockery garden in the middle was a low fence and hedge, about knee high, and a path leading out onto a large area of lawn, which was bordered by fruit trees. The lawn soon gave way to scrubby grass and bushland, which pretty much surrounded the house, except for a bare saddle between two hills, directly ahead and about four hundred metres away. A pair of wheel tracks led straight up the saddle, only meandering slightly to dodge a couple of big stumps. Then the tracks crested the hill and disappeared over it.