the dark next to his mother’s body, and can hardly bear it.
‘Has the tea cooled down?’ Luke asks.
Maya swallows her emotions and checks the bottle in the fridge. ‘Not yet.’
They both contemplate the esky, but nothing moves. In the silent space, Maya becomes more aware of Luke’s presence as he sits on her bed. ‘You have blood on you,’ she says, noticing a few streaks on his neck.
‘Yeah, and check this out.’ He pulls open his jacket and his shirt, and she is shocked to see there are long streaks of dried blood against his dark chest.
‘Do you want to borrow a towel and have a wash? You can use the communal showers, over there.’ She points out the window into the darkness.
He looks out. ‘Nah …’
‘You do remember that kangaroos are covered in ticks?’
He frowns. ‘Well, okay then, I guess.’
‘Here,’ she throws him a towel. ‘I won’t give him a drink until you get back.’
While Luke is gone, Maya lies on the bed, staring at the box. What kind of cognition does a joey have – can he have any idea that his mother, the whole source of his protection, is gone forever? Does he feel the unending fear of her absence in each moment? Is there anything more frightening than to be so small and helpless and alone, reliant on the goodwill of others to make it through the night? It was chance that this one was found by Luke, that the joey isn’t still lying there, waiting, while hungry creatures catch the scent of blood and circle closer in the darkness. That is the cruel cycle of life, after all. A battle in every moment; death in one place extending life in another. Isn’t railing against it in the way she and Luke are doing, by rescuing one animal out of millions, a futile, endless quest? And doesn’t it make her just like her mother?
Maya is grateful that Luke comes back and stops these thoughts, though his presence replaces them with another set no less troubling. He has put his jeans on, but carries the rest of his clothes in his hands. She knows this is not the time to be drawn to put her hands against his smooth chest but, God, she wants to.
‘Are you cold?’ she asks. ‘I might have something you can borrow.’
‘It’s all right.’ Luke goes over to the esky and gently lifts out the joey, still wrapped in the pillowcase and blankets. ‘Hey there, little fella,’ he whispers, ‘let’s see if you’ll have something to drink.’
He looks expectantly at Maya and she gets the bottle. She shakes it up and squirts some onto her hand, checking it is tepid. Then she kneels in front of Luke.
‘He won’t be able to suck it – I have to drop it into his mouth,’ she says. She tries to ease the joey’s small lips back, and accidently touches his nose with the bottle. The little creature jumps in shock and begins to wriggle again.
‘It might help if you cover his eyes,’ Maya says. ‘They’re used to the darkness of the pouch. It makes them feel safe.’
She grimaces at her words. Why does everything she utters tonight ring in her ears as an echo of Desi’s voice?
Luke puts one hand over the kangaroo’s eyes, and pulls the little body tight into his lap. This time Maya manages to open his mouth, and carefully releases a droplet of tea through a minuscule gap between his teeth. By repeating the process they manage to get a little of the liquid into him, but it becomes harder and harder to pry the joey’s mouth open. ‘Should we let him rest?’ Luke asks. ‘I’ll find something better as soon as it’s light and the shops open. I can go and ask the vet if he has anything.’
‘Hang on,’ Maya says, as he moves to put the kangaroo back in the esky. She snatches up some tissues, wets them with the water from the warm kettle. ‘We have to toilet him,’ she says, pulling the pillowcase down a little. ‘You need to sit him on your lap for a moment.’
She arranges the joey so that Luke is holding it close, its legs up and its tail hanging down, then gently dabs between the joey’s legs. A trickle of urine emerges, followed by a small amount of tar-like faeces. ‘They don’t go on their own. His mother would normally do this by stimulating the cloaca.’
As soon as she has finished, they pull