Into That Forest - By Louis Nowra Page 0,40

and sat on the kitchen floor. One day Becky gave me that strange stare again - one where she looked down on me - and she mimicked the noises I made when I ate and the way I didn’t close my mouth when I chewed. I gave her a threat yawn but she only laughed. Mr Carsons, sitting at the table with Becky, told me to stop. I were angry so I spat meat on his boots. He cried out, Oh my God! I laughed at him cos it seemed he were too serious ’bout what I had done. It were so funny that I found meself mimicking him. The first time I were just making sounds and then something happened inside me head. I heard meself and realised that I hadn’t mimicked him properly so I said, clear as a bell, Oh my God . . . Oh my God . . . It struck me - I could talk! Oh, I’ll go bail if I didn’t drove those two mad for the rest of the day, just saying over and over, Oh my God . . . like some magic incantation. And it were magic cos I were speaking, even Becky were impressed.

Later in the evening I were watching Mr Carsons put a freshly shot joey in the meat safe that hung from the pepper tree when I heard the faint sound of a sheep bleat in the distance. Becky heard it too, cos she turned in the direction of the sound like I did. It bleated in terror. I heard Mr Carsons ask his daughter what she were listening to, but Becky didn’t answer. She knew what it were, like me. Me heart beat fast with happiness. We shared a look and both of us knew what we were hearing and we took off, not obeying Mr Carsons who were calling us back. His cries telling us to stop could barely be heard over the barking and yelping of the dogs.

We leapt over the front yard gate and ran through the long grass towards where we heard the sheep being killed. I coughed and keened like a tiger but there were no answer. We found Mr Carsons’s prize ram, bright scarlet in the moonlight, its skull crushed and its brain eaten. It were tigers all right. But were they Corinna and Dave? I peered real hard into the darkness and seen two fire-bright eyes staring back at us ’bout a hundred yards away. It were a tiger and it stanked of male. Becky and I coughed and keened then we seen the silhouette of a tiger turn and come towards us. We jumped in fright when we heard a shot whistling past us. It were Mr Carsons shooting at the tiger. The bullet missed and the tiger hightailed it back into the dark bush. Becky’s father gave a large sigh when he seen the dead ram. It were the sigh of a disappointed man. I caught a glimpse of the tiger racing over the hill and made a howl of distress. Mr Carsons slapped me across the leg, telling me to stop. He grabbed Becky’s arm. He were in a desperate, angry mood and asked her if it were a girl or boy tiger. She told the truth - it were a boy.

Next morning Mr Carsons were up very early. He spent nearly the whole day digging a trench in the paddocks. I had no idea why he were doing it, nor did I care. I lied in the sun on the verandah catching up with me sleep while Becky played the piano over and over, the music sounding less . . . less jangled and nervous, more soft and gentle, and it had - if I had known the word then - melody.

When we had finished our tea, Mr Carsons tied us up to the verandah railings again. Why? Becky kept asking when he bounded her to one of the posts. He didn’t reply and put a gag round her mouth. He were very serious and had a great purpose in mind - that were easy to tell. What were Mr Carsons doing? I thought to meself. He gagged me, but instead of tying me to a verandah post he pulled me across the paddock to the trench, and after tying me wrists together, lifted me down into it. Only if I stood on me tiptoes could I see over it. Then he covered the top