A Waltz for Matilda (12 page)

‘I can dog paddle a bit. Aunt Ann showed me how. We’d go out in the early morning, when no one could see us.’ The starched tablecloth, the smell of polish, the egg waiting on the breakfast table in its tiny cosy. It all seemed impossibly far away.

‘Better make sure you practise. Not here — too much weed. Come a flood, you never know when you might need to swim for it.’

‘Here?’ She glanced around at the dry land, the sheets of bark, the crisp tussocks.

‘Don’t let the river fool you. See that grass up in the tree tops? A flood dropped that. Don’t even need to rain here, neither. Just a cloudburst upstream. You ever hear a rumble, you run for it. I’ve seen a wall of water twenty feet high crash down this river. Cows, fences, horses even, all tumbling with it. It always changes, this land.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘Don’t think tonight’s rain’ll be much though. A flash and some thunder, and that’ll be it.’

She looked up at the sky too. But it was still cloudless, an almost impossible blue.

Her father pulled down a green branch, snapped off its twigs and leaves, and poked it in through the fish’s head and out by its tail. The fish looked like it was snarling at them, its eyes wide and staring, its mouth open.

‘Dinner,’ said her father.

The sun was hovering on the horizon, sending slanted shadows through the trees, by the time they had eaten half the fish, toasted on two forked branches over the coals, and some ‘sinkers’ of dough, wrapped around yet another branch and held over the fire too. All at once light cracked open the sky. A noise shattered the air behind them.

Matilda gave a startled squeak.

‘Told you there’d be a storm.’ He scrambled to his feet and grabbed a hessian bag. ‘Best get the food back in the tucker bag before it rains. Stop the flies getting the fish too.’

Matilda looked up at the sky. A black cloud had slunk in behind them while they ate. Even as she spoke the first hard raindrops, cold as melted snow, stung her face. ‘How are we going to keep it dry?’

‘Like this.’ He’d gathered the swag into a bundle again. He placed it under the big gum, then used his knife to slit some giant flaps of the tree’s bark and pulled them swiftly off. He placed one on the swag, then sat on it, and gestured for her to come over to
him. She sat beside him, snuggling into his shirt as he pulled the other length of soft bark around them. He put his arms around her. ‘This’ll be over in ten minutes. Half an hour by the fire’ll dry us out.’

‘Won’t the storm put the fire out?’

‘Not with that log over it. Ah, that’s it, send her down, Hughie!’ he yelled at the sky.

‘Hughie?’

‘The rain, my darlin’. Hughie sends down the rain.’

‘You mean God?’ she asked, shocked. Aunt Ann was firm about not taking the Lord’s name in vain.

‘Nah. Hughie’s just … Hughie. What we really need is ten days’ rain, but this’ll green things up. Good pick for the roos. Travelling man’s friend, that’s the kangaroo. Never go hungry if there’s roos.’

The raindrops grew thicker. Another roar split the sky. The air smelled strange, a bit like hot tin, but fresh too. Her father held her closer as the fire snickered and spat.

Then as suddenly as it had come it was over. The fire still flickered, the coals dark red in the growing dusk.

Her father stood up. ‘Come on. Let’s warm up by the fire then get some shut-eye. Want to be off at first light, afore it gets too hot.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Don’t know.’ He saw her surprise. ‘We been heading southwest, following the river, to get off Drinkwater’s land. We can cross the river down at the ford from here, then travel north again, if you like. Or south. Best keep to the river though. We ain’t got no way to carry water, except in the billy, and that won’t see us more ‘n half a day. Besides, most towns are along the river, and the big stations too. What do you say? North or south?’

North would mean going back the way they’d come. ‘South.’

‘South it is then.’ He hugged her again, hard. It still wasn’t a practised hug — more like a squeeze and a shake. But it was good. ‘Look up there, Matilda.’

‘At what?’

‘The stars. See, there’s the Southern Cross. When we’re a new nation I reckon that’s what we’ll have on our flag. If you wake up in the night and wonder where you are, you just take a look at that cross. Back when I was working for Drinkwater, during the lambing, we men’d take it in turns to check the ewes, each of us on for half the night. Call me when the cross turns over, we’d say before we went to sleep.’

He looked at her seriously. ‘You get scared in the night, though, you call me. All right?’

‘Even if the cross hasn’t turned over?’

He met her smile. ‘Even then. I’ll be here for you. I’m always here for you now. Good night, me darlin’.’

It felt strange, sleeping among the trees. The breeze out here smelled like it had just had a bath. Young Mr Flanagan, three houses down from Aunt Ann’s, slept outdoors every night, but that was because he had the consumption and needed the fresh air. She supposed it was healthy for her and her father too.

It was better than at Mrs Dawkins’s, anyhow. The air still smelled of rain and of honey. Maybe from the gum-tree blossom, she thought drowsily. Do gum trees flower? She thought they did. Her father would know. He knew everything …

There was something hard under her back. A rock. She rolled over, wriggling deeper into the sand. Yes, that was better. She
could hear a soft snore from her father, a reassuring sound, and then a soft thud. She opened her eyes. It looked like a roo, but smaller. A wallaby, she thought. It twitched its nose at her then, when she didn’t move, bounced slowly down to the billabong. It bent its head and drank.

How many other animals would drink here tonight? Wombats, her father had said, and possums. If she could stay awake she could see them all …

But there were days and days to see them. Weeks and years, travelling with her father, building a nest egg for the farm back home.

Home. It was a good word.

Matilda slept.

Something was staring at her, two inches from her nose. Something with yellow teeth and a long nose.

She bit back a scream.

‘Baaa,’ it said.

She rolled over and stood up. The sheep looked at her expectantly. ‘Baa?’

It was big — bigger than she’d ever expected from the woolly lambs in the picture book or the distant rock-like animals she’d passed on her way to Moura. It was as high as her waist and as wide as a kitchen table, though she suspected a lot of the bulk was wool.

‘Baa?’ The sheep edged closer.

Matilda backed away. Did sheep bite? ‘Dad!’

‘Wrmmph?’ Her father opened his eyes, then pushed down his blanket and sat up.

‘It’s trying to eat me!’

He began to laugh. ‘Sheep eat grass.’

‘Then why’s it trying to bite me?’

‘Baa?’ said the sheep again, looking vaguely disappointed. It turned away from Matilda and began to nuzzle at the tucker bag.

‘Oh no you don’t.’ Her father sprang up and pulled the bag away.

‘I thought you said sheep eat grass!’

Her father held the tucker bag up high, out of range of the sheep’s questing mouth. ‘Most do. I reckon this one’s a poddy.’

‘What’s a poddy?’

‘Pet sheep. If the mum dies you can feed the lamb milk from a bottle, or fill up a leather glove and let it suck one of the fingers. The sheep grows up thinking you’re its mum. It’ll follow you for miles, given half a chance.’

‘Who does this one belong to?’

‘Us. See, there’s no earmark. We’re on what used to be Joe Matheson’s place, but he left here five, six years ago, when the drought began to bite.’ He looked at the sheep again. ‘This one’s not that old.’

‘How can you tell?’ She edged nearer, now she knew it was safe.

‘The teeth. Mutton chops for lunch?’

‘No!’

He laughed again. ‘You thought it was going to attack you a minute ago.’

‘Yes, but I know it won’t now.’ She reached out a tentative hand, and began to scratch the sheep behind its ear, just like she had scratched Bruiser back at the factory. The sheep shut its eyes in ecstasy. Its knees began to wobble, and then it collapsed at her feet, allowing her to pat it.

‘It’s sweet!’

‘You’re not going to let me cut its throat, are you?’ he asked resignedly.

‘No! Why was it going for the tucker bag?’

‘After the sinkers, I reckon.’ He handed her one. ‘Go on then. Feed the blasted thing. But we ain’t taking a sheep with us.’

‘Why not? We won’t even have to feed it,’ she said eagerly. ‘It could eat grass and —’

‘Because we walk faster than a sheep, that’s why. After the first mile it’ll be panting and puffing, then it’ll lie down and wait till it gets cooler. And I ain’t carryin’ a sheep as well as a swag.’

He watched as she held the sinker out to the delighted sheep, letting it nibble around her fingers. ‘You ain’t never had a pet, have you?’

She shook her head.

‘Make you a deal then. We leave the sheep here and next place where there are puppies you can have a dog.’

She looked up at him. ‘Really and truly?’

‘Really and truly. Besides, a dog can help hunt roos.’ He began to pile wood on the fire again. A thread of smoke twisted into the early morning air. ‘I usually have a dog of me own. Last one died, oh, a year ago now. Been too busy to get another.’

She wasn’t sure about having a pet that hunted kangaroos. She patted the sheep again. ‘Can I give it another sinker?’

‘Not if you want breakfast. It can eat grass. You can’t.’

She nodded, and then pushed the inquisitive face away. ‘Go on,’ she told the sheep. ‘The rest is ours.’

As though it understood her the sheep bent its head and pulled up a mouthful of tussock. It began to munch.

Matilda slipped back into the trees to go to the toilet. When she came back the sheep was still there, eating. It didn’t even look up as she approached.

‘They’ve only got brains enough to think of one thing at a time, sheep. But then if sheep had brains we’d never get them
shorn. Here.’ He handed her the two remaining sinkers and a hunk of cold fish. ‘Get that into you while I boil the billy.’

She’d rarely had black tea before — Aunt Ann always made her tea so it was mostly milk, with two big spoonfuls of sugar. But even though it wasn’t cold this morning she felt like drinking something warm.

They took it in turns to drink from the billy, holding it with bits of bark so it didn’t burn their hands. She sipped the last of the brew as her father kicked sand over their fire. ‘Time to go then. There’s a good spot to camp about twenty miles down the river. Big swimming hole too. You can practise that dog paddle of yours —’

Something moved behind them. She turned as a big brown horse cantered through the trees.

Riding it was Mr Drinkwater.

For a moment Mr Drinkwater looked surprised to see her there. Then he ignored her, as though she were a fly, and stared at her father. ‘Well, O’Halloran. Been setting any fires lately?’

Her father met his gaze. ‘Only the campfire to boil my billy. And we’re off your land.’

‘But you’ve got my sheep.’

‘Your what?’ Her father began to laugh. ‘You must be crazy. This is a poddy — it must have followed us down here.’

‘Poddies don’t roam as far as this.’

Her father shrugged, turning his back and beginning to fold their blankets. ‘Suit yourself. We’re off. Take the dashed sheep —’

‘And let a sheep thief go?’

Her father looked back, incredulous, as Mr Drinkwater pulled something from his belt. Matilda stared. It was a pistol. For a second she thought he was going to shoot her father. But instead he lifted it and fired into the air.

Her father gazed toward the trees. ‘What in flamin’ hell are you doing?’

Matilda could hear hoofbeats. Had Mr Drinkwater brought his sons too? But then she saw the horses, smaller, scrubbier beasts
than the boys rode: a piebald, a grey with big feet, like it was half draught horse, and a brown mare with a wild look in her eye. On their backs sat troopers, their blue uniforms grey with dust. They reined in their horses then, one by one, pulled out their pistols.

Her father shook his head. He sounded more bewildered than angry. ‘Look, I don’t know what this is about —’

‘It’s about the law,’ said Mr Drinkwater. ‘The penalty for stealing a sheep is about the same as burning a shearing shed.’

‘That’s three years … you can’t be serious! Three years in prison because a poddy turned up at my campsite!’

Mr Drinkwater said, too quietly, ‘Maybe it’s time you realised I
am
serious. There’ll be no union interfering in how I run Drinkwater.’ He gestured to the trooper on the piebald. ‘Arrest him.’

The trooper gave a grin. ‘My pleasure. Jim O’Halloran, I arrest you in the name of the Queen for sheep stealing. Looks like you’re waltzing Matilda with us this time.’

Matilda ran to her father’s arms. ‘Leave him alone, you … you old biscuit!’ she yelled.

Her father held her close for a moment. ‘You leave her out of it, all right?’

‘I have no quarrel with the girl. It’s you who needs a good cold rest in gaol to sort you out —’