One lunchtime, I saw old Dot Lutin in the street, a neighbour from my childhood. She screamed and hugged me, and made everything about the past seem instantly solid and graspable. We had a good old chinwag over a cuppa. It calmed me right down. For the first time since we’d arrived, I felt like I belonged.
That afternoon I stayed at work until the corridors were silent, and I made my way to the dark, chill room where the valuable specimens were kept. It was not the only specimen, I knew, but it was the best. I opened the jar, removed the thylacine, insured recently for two million dollars, wrapped it in a newly bought baby blanket, and took it to the forest, where I buried it under the canopy of a vast tree. Jack made a strange face at me that evening as we were watching the news, as if he knew exactly what I had done. I just smiled back at him.
~~~
JEN WHITE is an Australian author of speculative fiction who has had short stories published in various anthologies and journals. Her short story “An Ordinary Boy” appeared in the anthology The Tangled Bank: Love, Wonder and Evolution. She also has stories in the anthologies Bewere the Night and Dead Red Heart.
Keeping a baby dinosaur safe and secret from prying TV people and scientists is no easy task for a kid. But when your family have been keeping their sacred traditions secret from those same people for generations, it might make things just a little easier.
MY OWN SECRET DINOSAUR
by Jo Antareau
“The sore is from when Addy scratched me. He’s only a little dinosaur. Didn’t mean to hurt me. He’s just bored from hiding in my room all the time. He’s a plantivore, so he’s not gonna eat me.”
Em stares at me as if listening will make her brain explode. “Get a band-aid on it and shut up. I’m Skyping.” She turns back to the screen. “Yeah, I’m stuck home babysitting the Piglet.”
I get on with caring for my toe. The sore isn’t deep, but Addy — and his claws — are getting bigger. He doesn’t look like nothing I’ve ever seen, except in a picture. His legs don’t stick out to the side like a gecko’s. Got big back legs and short front legs, like a T-Rex. First, I thought he was one of those chicken-sized dinosaurs, but now I reckon he might grow taller than the house. Already bigger than the cat. I’ve tried to teach him to catch a Frisbee in his mouth, but he’s as keen about that as the cat was.
He still needs his breakfast. He’s woke up properly now that the day’s getting warm, but I hardly let him out in the backyard no more. Plants starting to look sick coz Addy’s been chewing them.
“Hide, boy,” I tell him, stomping my feet. I chuck a dandelion under the bed, and he has to wriggle to get under. Soon be too big to fit. I hear him snap his mouth, then he sticks his head out again, looking hopeful. I’m still stomping. “No, boy, stay hidden till the footsteps have stopped.” We do it again and again till I’ve run out of dandelions, and he sticks his snout in my hand for more.
I been getting his food from the park. Fallen twigs and bits of grass aren’t a good feed no more. Now I gotta take a hacksaw and drag some branches home, and get rid of them once he’s eaten the green bits. People give me funny looks.
I tell Addy he won’t need to wait long, he’ll get food soon — yummy leaves. When Em’s on Skype, which is most of the time, she wouldn’t hear a bomb. So she won’t notice if I go out and come home with half a forest on my back. Addy tries to follow me, but I shut the door just in time. He’s getting faster.
Em calls out, saying she’s off to the beach soon. She’s meeting her friends, and I’d better hurry and get my gear if I know what’s good for me. I ignore her. She’d be dead meat if Dad finds out she’s left me alone. Dad’s paying her to stay home with me, which is a pain, coz I haven’t had a seizure for ages. So I tell her I’ll be ready in my own good time, and sprint to the park. It doesn’t take long to get some thin, new branches. I sling them on each shoulder.
On the way back, Len calls out “Hi.” He’s an old guy with grizzled white hair and beard. He says something about Birnam Wood going to Dunsinane, which makes no sense, but I figure it’s about the branches.
“To feed my dinosaur,” I tell him, and he chuckles.
“Just like yer Grandfather, you are. ‘E always liked a good laugh.”
Len knows that Dad and me like hearing stories about Dad’s dad, coz we never knew him. But I really gotta hurry; Em might hear Addy scratching. Len starts telling me about how the Blackfellas use these branches. The smoke’s sweet and good to heat rocks and cook fish, but already I’m walking away.
“Ah,” Len calls out after me, disappointed. “This one won’t never make a Blackfella. Likes ‘is food from a supermarket.”
I tell him I wanna hear about how Blackfellas live, but later. When I get to my room, Addy gets all excited. I figure he’s a type of Iguanadon, coz he’s got a spiky sort of thumb that sticks up. Been googling when Em’s not hogging the computer. Not sure what type of Iguanadon, coz there’s heaps of them. He grips his branch with his spike when he sits on his back legs and tears the leaves and green bits. Leaves the tough bits behind. His huge mouth works hard, like a person with a heap of gum. Gets a dreamy look to him when he’s eating.
But he shat when I was out, so I get to work quick on the mess. When Addy shits, he don’t muck around. Lots of runny green stuff, sorta like a cow pat. Heaps for a little guy, but I’m used to it. So I scrub with an old towel. Once used Em’s towel by mistake. So funny when she found it; wanted to know who spilt the spinach curry over it.
Em’s stomping down the hall, asking if I want her to kill me. So I tell Addy to hide, and shove him in the wardrobe with his breakfast. Just in time, coz Em sticks her nose in. I’m leaning on the wardrobe door. If she saw what was in there, she’d upload pictures on Facebook and YouTube fast as you could blink, then tweet everyone about it.
“What’s with the leaves?” she says, scowling at the bits left on the floor. “You making a pretty flower arrangement?”
“To feed my dinosaur.”
“They’ve got a special ward for people like you.”
“Your friends are so boring,” I tell her. “Why bother with the beach? You know it’s crap with tourists who think they can surf and hog the waves.”
“Better than being stuck at home with you, even if we have to put up with bloody tourists.”
Tourists are one thing that Em and I agree on, but that’s no big deal. It’s like the whole town’s programmed to roll its eyes and say that tourists whine about how cold the water is. If they want bath water, they shoulda gone to Queensland. They have no idea.
We’ve made a deal. For a cut of her pay, I’ll keep my mouth shut about her leaving me home alone. But she’s gotta take me when she goes to the beach, coz you can see halfway down the coast from Dad’s pub. It’s on the beachfront with a huge veranda. People sit on their asses all day and Dad brings ‘em drinks, and chats. He’d see in two seconds flat if Em was at the beach without me.
Over the cold months, we do heaps of surfing. Dad goes early in the morning before work and takes us along. Em’s embarrassed to be seen with an oldie on a long-board, and whines about how dumb I look surfing in a life-jacket. But with the waves and wind so loud, it’s easy to ignore her. We hardly go over summer, coz Dad works heaps of shifts — about twelve hours a day. That’s why he hasn’t found he’s got a baby dinosaur in his house. Or noticed that our shrubs have lost half their leaves.
If we hadn’t gone surfing few months ago, I wouldn’t have found Addy. His egg, I mean. It was a cloudy, windy day, so Dad says go sit on the beach. It was OK by me, coz the swell looked so scary, I woulda been kissing the rocks. So I hung out on the sand, kicking a ball around. Then I spotted it. It was just a small rock, colourful. Colder than the water, like it had been frozen and not properly thawed out. Took it to school, then home.
I kept it in my wardrobe. Took me a few weeks to figure it was a hatching egg, and a few more days to remember about a ship from Antarctica. It was on the news — sank off the coast. Fancy scie
ntific equipment and ice samples, now fish food. I figured his egg had been frozen, so it was still good after millions of years. That made Addy the oldest living thing ever. Pretty cool, eh? My own secret dinosaur.
Addy’s been hatched for three weeks. His scales are brown and green. Got busy eyes, always looking for food. Once he chewed some coloured pencils and spat the middle. Tried nibbling the curtains. He makes little chipping sounds when he wants to go out, which is most of the time. I take him out back, let him run round when nobody’s home, but not near as often as he’d like. Dunno what’ll happen in two weeks when I go back to school. I could sneak back home during the day. Or pretend I’m sick again. No, stupid plan; I’d be back in hospital. Then who’d care for Addy?
Em makes a big deal of saying “Hi” to Dad when we go past the pub. He’s having a ciggy out back, so I stop. Em goes, hoping she won’t see me for the rest of the day.
When Dad goes on about life’s-too-short, I know that something’s about to happen. Maybe he’ll blow his cash on something really cool, like a motorbike. Or just take off in the Kombi with Em and me. A few years ago, he chucked in his job in the city to work here in the pub after whining about life’s-too-short. I always thought 42 years was a pretty long life, but I don’t tell him so. Just wonder what his next plan will be, and hope it means we get more time to surf.
Len shows up. He doesn’t seem mad with me.
“Hey, Lance!” He waves at my Dad. “How’s it goin’, cuz?”
He’s so skinny his pants are bunched up around his waist, tied with string. Dad asks him where he’s sleeping tonight, and he says he don’t know, so Dad says, “Our house, Len.”
Then Len says to me, “Blackfellas are lucky buggers. We can just go to any town in Australia — any town at all — and if you know where Blackfellas meet, you know you’ll find a cuz or a bro. You know you’ll get a bed or a porch to sleep on, or maybe they’ll share their place under the bridge with ya. That’s why you always hear Blackfellas yapping on about who was yer mum or yer dad or aunty. Whitefellas broke up families; tried to kill our culture. So just knowin’ who your people are is like a big ‘Up Yours’ to the Whitefella.”
“They reckon Blackfella culture’s extinct,” Dad adds, his accent changing like it does when he’s with Blackfellas. “But it’s not. Just not obvious, unless you know where to look.”
Makes me think of Addy, coz he’s not extinct either. Just not obvious. Like it’s not obvious that me and Dad are Blackfellas by looking at us, coz our faces go bright red in five minutes flat without sunscreen. We didn’t know we were Blackfellas till Dad’s mum told before she died. She said it like it was something bad.
“Well, Len.” Dad clears his throat. “I reckon I’d like to be a proper Blackfella soon, if yer’ll still have me. You asked if I wanted to be initiated — well, yeah, Len. Yes I do.”
Len shrugs and tells Dad he’s known all along. That was his own dad’s mob, why wouldn’t he want to? So why not do it next weekend? Dad’s rapt! That’s his next life’s-too-short move.
“How do you get initiated?” I ask, coz I’m thinking I’ll have a go in a few years.
“Gotta show how brave you are, and how well you can do traditional things. Spiritual things. We’ll go to Jamorjah Island, stay for a few nights. You and Emily can camp with the women and kids. Then when your Dad come back, he’ll be a real Jamorjah man.”
“A few nights?” I say, trying to look happy. But all I’m thinking of is how Addy’ll cope if I’m not there. How’ll he get fed?
Len grins and tells me I’ll have a great time. I’ll learn to spear fish and hunt goannas, like a proper Blackfella kid. “Them lizards are good eating — easy to catch if you sneak up behind them, before they’ve warmed up proper. Just grab their tail and whack, hit their head on a tree before they can do anything about it.” I think of Addy and feel sick, but I just smile.
That night, I find Addy’s been scratching the door with his thumb claw. If he keeps going, it’ll be sawdust. And he makes a noise that means he’s hungry, so I gotta get him more food. Getting sick of that park, but what can I do? Dad and Len have a laugh when I go past with a stack of branches. “Got plenty of them on Jamorjah,” Len calls out. This time I don’t say nothing about my dinosaur. I’m starting to worry they might believe in him for real.
If I leave a stack of branches in my room, he might have enough to last him when I’m on Jamorjah. I’ll come back to a huge pile of shit, but that’s ok. Then I hear Em telling Dad she don’t wanna go to Jamorjah Island for his initiation. Wants time to herself, no babysitting. Bugger! I can’t leave Addy home with her; she’d find him.
Addy curls up on my pillow and drops off quick. I lie awake, thinking how I can keep him safe if I go. If I can’t keep him secret now, what’s gonna happen when he gets bigger? He don’t deserve getting hassled by TV people and cut up by scientists.
Jamorjah Island’s got no tourists. No houses or shops either, just bush and hills and beaches. No toilets — you gotta dig a hole. Not much water, just one bore left from the days someone tried to farm there, so no bath! Blackfellas come when they want to do traditional stuff, and go when they’re sick of it. Sometimes heaps of families camp there, sometimes nobody at all. Some rich Whitefella gave it back to the traditional owners years ago. No Whitefellas allowed to stick their noses in no more.
We heard stories about Blackfellas telling Whitefellas about sacred rock art or burial sites, and the Whitefellas promising that, no, they wouldn’t never disturb it. Next thing you know, a bunch of arche-whatevers come dig it up and reckon it belongs in a museum. Like it’s not important to today’s Blackfellas. So Blackfellas know to keep their mouths shut.
Len’s taken Dad and me to the island a few times, to learn the dances and stories, the sorts of things Dad’s dad woulda taught us. Plenty stories and secrets we don’t know. Dad reckons we don’t even know a tenth of them. He won’t hear ‘em all till he’s a proper Jamorjah man either.
Jamorjah would be perfect for Addy. It’s empty a lot of the time. It’s rocky and hilly, so there’s plenty shelter. I can keep training him till he knows to hide from footsteps. But the grownups would probably say no to a dinosaur living there, even if they know to keep him secret. So I gotta sneak him there. Best of all, I’ll get to visit.
And then I get an idea about how to get him there without nobody knowing.
We set off real early Friday morning. Dad, me, Len and some others who are part of the initiation.
I nearly stop breathing when Dad takes my huge backpack to load it on the boat. Addy’s hidden in there, sitting on loads of cold soft-drink cans to keep him cool. My clothes are packed all around to keep the cold in, and to keep his head up near the opening, so’s he can breathe.
“You got rocks in there?” Dad groans.
“Nah, packed lots to drink, like you said.” Then I had a thought: “Why do people bring water in summer; don’t they try to live traditional?”
Len answers for him. “They was nomads, went to shore in the dry season when the water’s dried out. We do some traditional things, just to keep the culture going. But some things we do modern like. Culture’s gotta change so it don’t go completely extinct.”
We’re in an ancient runabout, and the guy driving meets the waves to make the boat jump. Smack — water sprays everywhere. Funny the first time, but I soon reckon my breakfast won’t stay in. The backpack’s sitting on the floor, and I hug it. Lean my head on top. The others on the boat are talking and laughing. Too busy to notice that I undo the zip a crack to let air in. Can see his face, eyes shut. Haven’t felt him wriggle, so I hope he’s ok. I feel too yuk to do anything, and shut my eyes. This trip is the worst ever.
When we get to Jamorjah, my legs are shaky and I’m sticky. Addy woulda had a worse time than me, squashed in the backpack, so I stop feeling sorry for myself. I tell everyone I wanna have a walk by myself, and head into the bush with my huge pack on. Once nobody can see me, I check on him. St
ill breathing. All sleepy with cold, he looks worse than I feel. I take the cans out, have a drink. Dump my stuff and carry him against my chest.
I go along the dry riverbed. The bush is real thick, easy to get lost if you don’t know where the track is. I just keep saying, “Don’t stop, nearly there,” till I get to the waterhole. It’s a muddy puddle right now, but in a hidden valley. With all the training I done, he’ll probably hide when somebody comes. I finally lie down on a flat rock with him next to me.
He lifts his head before I do and scrambles to the nearest plant. He stands up and nibbles the leaves that hang down. Yay, Addy! He knew what to do. He’s gonna be alright.
So when he’s busy munching, I sneak back to camp. He don’t follow. Dad and the blokes had set off ages ago. The others at the camp say “Hi,” the kids happy to have another kid around.
People look worried when I tell them all I want is to lie down, play later. I get worse, feeling hot and sweaty, and things start to look blurry. They put me in a bark hut with lots of blankets, give me something to drink. I can’t stop thinking about goannas getting their heads banged.
It’s hard to sleep, even knowing Addy will be safe. I tell myself over and over that he’s much bigger than a goanna. The Blackfellas will leave him alone. Even if they find him, they don’t want no nosy scientists on their island. Addy’ll be safe, gonna keep on teaching him to hide when he hears footsteps. Nobody’s gonna bang his head. I can sleep now. Sleep, please!
The night goes by in a kinda haze. The day too. I’m still in bed and the night’s deep dark when Dad and the men come back. I hear them, whooping and shouting. “Yes, yes!” and “He done real great!”
Extinct Doesn't Mean Forever Page 6