Arcadia

by Di Morrissey

  ‘In what way?’ asked Sally, fascinated.

  ‘Well, you can make a fabric from mushrooms, and there’s a particular mushroom that the first peoples used to carry the embers of a fire in as they moved around. The firekeeper was an important guy. You can’t do much if the fire goes out.’

  ‘What can’t you do with mushrooms?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘Not much, it seems,’ said Dan. ‘I know one researcher who’s experimenting with making flameproof clothing from mushrooms.’

  ‘Someone’s going to make a fortune,’ Sally said.

  ‘Hence the race?’ said Jessica.

  ‘Yep, patents have been taken out by people all over the place for specific products. But Sean, the guy I’m working with, decided the best and fairest thing to do was to release the details into the market as free commons, so they can be used by the poorest nations, and whoever wants to can develop, produce and sell them.’

  ‘It all sounds so . . . unreal,’ said Sally. ‘Have you seen these ideas actually working?’

  Dan nodded. ‘Sean puts them out on the internet and there’ve been all kinds of formal tests and trials by reputable outfits. I went up to observe some experiments in outback Queensland where contaminated from soil oil and gas fracking was putrid, salty, killing everything around where it leached out of the ground. Not only was it cleaned up by the mushroom “compost”, but the people there grew a whole crop of nutritious food on it after the first crop of mushrooms had sprouted.’

  ‘Sounds like trailblazing work,’ agreed Jessica.

  ‘Do you think my grandmother had any idea about this?’ wondered Sally.

  ‘If she did, she wasn’t much of an entrepreneur,’ said Jessica, laughing.

  ‘Who knows?’ said Dan. ‘But she certainly had an eye for nature. And it seems that some rare species could be living in the forest on your place. I’d like to investigate what’s still growing there, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Of course. Toby, my husband, will be very interested in all of this.’

  ‘What about you, Jessica? What do you do?’ asked Dan.

  ‘I used to work in a pharmacology laboratory in Sydney, so I never went outdoors. It got me down,’ confessed Jessica. She paused, bowing her head, and didn’t seem to want to say anything more.

  ‘Where are you based, Dan? Are you a Tassie guy?’ said Sally, sensing her friend’s shift in mood and wanting to move the conversation away from her.

  ‘I’m originally from regional New South Wales but home now is a small flat in Sydney. I travel a lot – you could say I have a portable profession.’

  ‘So why are you here on the island?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘Well, I always enjoy catching up with Carmen, and this time I’ve come over to follow up investigations into the degradation of the ancient rock carvings, and examine the soil and plants around them. The debate over whether they were done by first inhabitants or are a result of weathering and age is still a hot potato in some circles. They’re fascinating; some scientists say they go back to when Lone Island first broke away from the main island. Not much Aboriginal history has been documented in Tasmania as the colonists tried to wipe out the local people. Introduced diseases were killing whole tribes, and the Black War decimated them, of course.’

  ‘But not quite,’ said Sally. ‘The Black War . . . how come we never learned about it at school?’

  ‘It was a war for country and the survival of a race, which was almost erased here in every way. We all know when the so-called “last Tasmanian”, Truganini, died, but there is so much history we don’t know,’ said Dan, frowning. ‘Tragically, the Indigenous people were seen as a disposable species by the colonisers.’

  ‘Yes, it was shocking and terrible,’ said Jessica.

  ‘The colonisers had no respect for people, animals or nature. Think of the thylacine, the Tassie Tiger,’ said Sally. ‘Poor thing, the last of the species died in Hobart Zoo in the 1930s. It makes me so sad to think about it.’

  ‘Yes, me too. And they saw it coming. Well, John Gould, the naturalist, did. I’ve got a reproduction of his thylacine painting on my office wall. I memorised the caption . . .’ said Dan.

  ‘Go on then,’ Jessica prompted.

  ‘Okay . . . “Numbers of this singular animal will speedily diminish, extermination will have its full sway, and it will then, like the wolf in England and Scotland, be recorded as an animal of the past . . . John Gould, 1851.”’

  Jessica smiled sadly. ‘I’d love them to come back. They’re sort of like dingoes on the mainland . . . a wolf dog.’

  ‘Scientists are trying to clone one,’ said Dan. ‘They’ve found fully formed foetuses of the thylacine preserved and sent abroad to collectors a century ago. Who knows . . .’

  ‘Are there records from old Aboriginal cave paintings?’ asked Sally. ‘Paintings of the Tassie Tiger?’

  ‘The early French and Dutch explorers did drawings and made observations, and some of the early settler artists recorded colonial life in their work. But it’s only been in relatively recent times that we’ve become aware of what was here first and what’s been lost,’ said Dan with a sigh. ‘The rock art in the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area is up there with the rock art on the mainland in terms of antiquity and cultural significance.’

  ‘Is the rock art protected?’ asked Jessica as they started to pack away their lunch things.

  ‘Not well enough,’ said Dan. ‘Despite national heritage protection, the place is threatened by unauthorised off-road recreation vehicles and bikes driving along the beaches and sand dunes, and the bush, and running over the middens and petroglyphs, sacred places. Often people destroy them without even knowing they’re there.’

  ‘Or, if they do, they don’t care,’ said Jessica.

  ‘So are the mushrooms or this sort of thing with the plants around Indigenous artefacts your main field of study?’ asked Sally.

  ‘Both, in a way, as it’s all tied up with nature conservation. Looking at how we can save our planet.’ He smiled.

  ‘Oh, just the regular stuff,’ added Jessica, chuckling. ‘Nothing too challenging.’

  They laughed and Dan stood up. ‘Shall we get going?’

  ‘Thanks for the oysters, by the way,’ said Sally.

  Dan reached out his hand and helped pull Jessica to her feet, then turned to Sally.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ She smiled and picked up her small backpack.

  They made slow progress, stopping regularly as Dan showed them bird rookeries, small nests and animal habitats, unusual plants, strange rock formations, and a spectacular outlook where, on the windswept crest of a craggy hillside, he parted the button grass to reveal intricately carved ancient rocks.

  They all fell silent, staring at the dramatic expanse of sky and sea.

  ‘It’s like a great art gallery,’ said Jessica finally.

  ‘Or a church,’ murmured Sally.

  ‘Definitely a hand-picked site, not a random scattering. I always feel this,’ agreed Dan. ‘The art and landscape are as one, in a way.’

  It didn’t strike Jessica, or Sally, until much later, that they hadn’t felt the need to document such a special place by taking photographs, selfies, or sharing it on social media. ‘Being there was enough,’ Sally concluded when they talked about it.

  Dan took them cross country past windswept trees standing like sculptures, down to the old forest and sheltered cove where Carmen’s farm was nestled.

  ‘This is my sort of territory,’ he said as they walked single file through the weathered ancient trees, treading gently on the spongy moss underfoot. ‘It’s like something out of Lord of the Rings,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘It’s like the Far Forest,’ said Sally quietly.

  Jessica paused. ‘So it is.’

  Dan, in the lead, turned around and stared at them. �
�Your home, Sally? It’s like this? Then I’d really like to visit it sometime.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Sally simply.

  Jessica was staring at the good-looking, easygoing man in front of them. Then she turned and strode ahead.

  They reached their cabin and said goodbye to Dan.

  ‘See you up at Carmen’s place,’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘Yes, see you there,’ said Sally.

  Inside, she pulled off her shoes and flopped in a chair. ‘Wow, what a day, I’m whacked. Are you okay?’ She noticed that Jessica was looking pale.

  ‘Bit tired.’ Jessica sighed.

  ‘Me too. I’m not sure I want to go to Carmen’s place. She can be hard work, bit of a rough diamond.’ She yawned and went on, ‘Dan sure knows a lot. But, I mean, what he was saying about mushrooms sounds a bit out there. Do you think it’s feasible?’ she asked.

  ‘Who really knows? The studies and tests must be legit if they’ve been peer reviewed, I s’pose. And if people are taking out patents that means they smell big bucks.’

  ‘The mushroom man from Canada sounds really interesting. And the fact they want to make this all available to the world is good news,’ said Sally.

  ‘Yes, very altruistic. But I bet big corporations will try to muscle in,’ said Jessica.

  ‘Or stop them,’ added Sally.

  Jessica looked thoughtful. ‘Greed. Secret money, secret deals. Sign of the times. Everyone is selling something; pitching something for money.’ She bent down and took off her shoes too.

  ‘So, what’s rattled you?’ asked Sally, watching her friend.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just now. Come on, I know you, Jess. I saw you go white as a ghost when we were saying goodbye to Dan earlier, and then you rushed off.’

  ‘It’s nothing. Well, you know me, I just get these flashes, these strong feelings. Something about Dan intrigued me.’

  ‘Really?’ Sally left the question hanging, waiting for more.

  ‘I was just surprised to feel like that, I guess. After all, I don’t even know the guy apart from the walk today.’ Jessica shrugged.

  ‘His job sounds pretty interesting,’ said Sally. ‘C’mon, let’s bite the bullet and go and have one drink at Carmen’s place. We don’t have to stay, there’s some food here and we can ask Victor for more.’

  ‘Well, we don’t have to dress up for dinner, that’s for sure!’ said Jessica. ‘I’ll just have a shower.’

  *

  They walked through the trees in the dusk, smelling woodsmoke before they saw the glow of lights from Carmen’s cottage. As they drew closer they both stopped. The sound of music drifted towards them. ‘Chopin?’ Jessica tilted her head.

  ‘I don’t know. Surely it’s not Carmen playing? Must be a CD.’ Sally hurried forward. The door was ajar, and they knocked and waited.

  The playing ceased as Carmen called out, ‘Yo, come on in.’

  Sally looked at Jessica and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Hey, how was your day? Come on in to the fire.’ Carmen met them with a smile and ushered them inside.

  ‘You play the piano?’ said Jessica. ‘It was lovely.’

  ‘Piano needs a tune, don’t think it likes the sea breeze.’

  ‘How did you get it over here?’ asked Sally as Carmen led them into the main room.

  ‘Well, that was an exercise and a half. Wish I had a video of that day. Here we are. Now, what can I get you? I have very nice wine from a friend’s vineyard on the east coast.’

  ‘Thank you, that would be perfect,’ said Sally.

  ‘I love this room,’ said Jessica, looking around. ‘Indeed your cottage is . . . well, wonderful. You have eclectic taste.’ She glanced at Sally, who gave her a wide-eyed look behind Carmen’s back as she poured their wine. Jessica knew they were both thinking the same thing, How did we misjudge Carmen so badly?

  The small house was filled with Carmen’s life and interests – music, books, a spinning wheel, a painting easel, a kitchen crammed with copper saucepans hanging on a rack, bunches of herbs, baskets of fruit and vege­tables, and a delicious smell of something cooking. In the living room, the piano was in a corner by the windows that faced the sea. A violin case rested on sheets of music on top of it.

  ‘How on earth do you find time for all . . . this?’ exclaimed Jessica, waving an arm at the spinning wheel, where a basket of fleece was half spun.

  ‘I’m thinking of getting some alpacas. As well as the goats, there’re some old sheep here – the original farmers had dear old Romney ewes they crossed with Polwarth rams and they did well with them. I like keeping a few sheep about the place. Spinning wool is very calming.’

  Sally picked up a soft creamy throw rug from the edge of the sofa. ‘Did you make this from your wool?’

  Carmen handed her a glass of wine. ‘I did. Amazing what you can get through with no TV!’

  Jessica sipped the crisp sauvignon blanc, putting it down to carefully lift a book from the top of a stack on a small table. ‘These books are very impressive, and this is a first edition, too,’ she said as she gently turned the pages.

  ‘I come from a family of readers and musicians. Lucky I like my own company, eh? Ah, I hear another arrival.’

  As Carmen left the room, Jessica opened her mouth in mock surprise and Sally shook her head in wonder at how they had underestimated the talented intellectual within the down-to-earth Carmen.

  ‘G’day, Vic. Come on in and warm up. How’re things out there?’ said Carmen as Victor appeared in a clean faded shirt, shrugging out of his jacket.

  ‘All checked and animals done. Say, how’d your day go, eh, girls?’

  ‘Amazing. We ran into Dan, so he showed us around,’ said Sally.

  ‘Bright fella, that one. Did ya hear how the treasure hunter went?’

  ‘He’s still being cagey about what he’s really looking for. Asked for a decent spade, said he was digging up mussels,’ Carmen said, and rolled her eyes.

  Dan tapped at the door and came inside. ‘Hi, sorry, am I holding up the party?’

  ‘Not a party. Just a quiet get-together, to appreciate the day,’ said Carmen, handing him a glass of wine.

  ‘Thanks for showing us around today,’ said Sally.

  ‘Glad you enjoyed it. It’s a special place.’ He glanced at Jessica. ‘What did you enjoy most?’

  ‘Many things. I couldn’t live here, though.’

  ‘Too quiet?’

  ‘No. It’s peaceful and beautiful.’

  ‘Too wild?’

  ‘Not at all. I grew up in the south-east, so I’m used to wild.’

  ‘Because it’s an island?’ Dan stared at her.

  ‘Exactly.’ She gave him a brief smile. ‘You get that?’

  ‘That’s the very reason I like living here,’ said Carmen. ‘Breathing space. No one unexpected is going to knock at your door.’

  ‘Unless they’re shipwrecked,’ said Victor.

  ‘True. But islands can be little time capsules, hopefully delaying the onslaught of being loved to ruin,’ Carmen said, and sighed.

  ‘Tourism, you mean?’ said Sally.

  ‘And development and greed, and ignorance,’ said Dan. ‘Sorry to be a party pooper.’

  ‘It’s your job,’ said Carmen.

  There was a bang at the door and the girls jumped.

  ‘Ship ahoy,’ said Victor. ‘I’ll go.’

  They heard Victor talking and Carmen, who’d turned on music that played discreetly in the background, joined him. Victor returned and told them, ‘It’s Laurie, the cray fisherman I told you about. He’s found an injured penguin.’

  ‘Oh really, is it badly hurt?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘Not serious. Carmen knows what to do.’

  Jessica and Sally jumped up and hurried after
Carmen.

  In the glow of a dim light bulb on a table on her side verandah, Carmen expertly examined the penguin’s foot, murmuring quietly to it as Jessica held its wings still, and Sally helped Carmen with tweezers, disinfectant and a small bandage.

  ‘Cut himself on something sharp. There wasn’t broken glass, or a tin can or something anywhere, was there?’ she asked Laurie, who told them he’d been fishing down on the shore in the shelter of the boulders. ‘Sometimes inconsiderate visitors dump stuff.’

  Sally thought Laurie looked the perfect image of an old salt – weather-tanned, stubble covering his chin, seafarer’s knit jersey, untamed salt-and-pepper hair under a mashed sea captain’s cap.

  He gave a shy smile. ‘No, not that I noticed. I saw he was limping and I just scooped him up. Didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘Well, you did the right thing. I’ll put him in a cage I have for wounded wildlife. Vic, could you please take Laurie inside and give him a drink?’

  They went into the living room and the girls sat down on a small settee as Victor handed Laurie a beer. Dan smiled at Sally and Jessica. ‘Carmen is a surprise, isn’t she? Multi-talented, you could say.’

  ‘Yes, she certainly is. You seem to wear several hats, too,’ said Jessica.

  ‘Not really. As I said earlier, everything comes from, and goes back to nature.’ He paused. ‘Are you living in Tassie, Jessica?’

  ‘I’m kind of between lives. I’m not sure where I want to be at the moment. I grew up here. Sally is my oldest friend.’

  ‘Ah. I understand. This is a good place to be then.’ He paused, glancing at Jessica. ‘I’m going to help Carmen with the food, want to join me?’ he asked them both.

  Carmen served a hearty moussaka, a green salad, home-grown tomatoes and basil, and fresh-baked bread. They all helped themselves, then gathered informally around the table.

  Victor and Laurie were deep in conversation, Sally was talking to Dan about truffles, so Carmen turned to Jessica. ‘Did you enjoy today?’

  ‘I did. So much to explore. History seems embedded here. There are so many things I know only vaguely or simply have no knowledge about. Talking with Dan and Sally today made me realise I hardly know anything about the lives of the Indigenous people here in Tassie, before the English came,’ she said.