The Bunyip Collection

Chapter 7

Bright is a small town near the snowfields in the high country of Eastern Victoria. It is busy in winter and beautiful in autumn. Fortunately for the Zumstein family, it was autumn now. Though they were unaccustomed to the chill, the four Queenslanders appreciated the vibrant colours of the season about them. Bright had many mature, introduced specimen trees, such as liquid amber, oak, claret ash, golden elm and birch. Hence, the place was alighted with fiery reds, warm oranges, honey goldens, and rich clarets. The foliage of the town was an invigorating contrast to the surrounding smoky evergreen of the eucalyptus forest that covered the mountains.

Hester Zumstein was never satisfied with her appearance. Her hair was short, blonde and stylish. Her blue eyes were compelling. However, Hester hated her body, because no amount of exercise would make her large behind go away. Yet, whatever lot nature had bestowed upon her, Hester was the best looking she could be. This principle dominated every aspect of her life. Her house on the Gold Coast of Queensland was large, white and polished both inside and out. The garden was wrought with fashionable palms, and granite boulders and a salt-water swimming pool. There was not a bare patch on the lawn, not a weed in the garden, not a leaf on the wide decking of the veranda. Inside, there was never a scuff on the carpet, a drop of water on the kitchen floor, or a picture crooked. At least, not for long. Order and cleanliness was Hester’s special religion – but in that regard, her two children were positively sacrilegious.

Hester cast a critical eye over her boys as they sat in the car.

Pyran, a red-haired boy Tristram’s age, had already lost a button on an expensive shirt. His bright green eyes squinted nervously under his mother’s fierce glare. His older brother Warrick, a dark-haired lad approaching fifteen, had rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and refused to tuck it into his costly jeans. He had an angular face with narrow blue eyes that gleamed with petulant defiance.

Hester sighed sharply and gave an exasperated roll of her eyes.

“Why must you two be such messy little shits!? God! I bought you these expensive clothes and you’ve already ruined them!”

God“Oh, come on, Mum, I’ve lost one button.” Pyran protested.

one“Don’t answer back! I told you not to go and get dirty, because I want you both to look nice for your grandparents. But no! As usual you have completely defied me; you bloody ungrateful pair of shits.”

“Get a grip, Mum, whadya expect? Were goin’ bush – were gonna get dirty anyway.” Warrick smirked.

“Warrick…don’t be cheeky. Tuck your shirt in and put a jumper on, it’s freezing.”

“No.”

“Do it now.”

“How about a please?”

“How about a bloody good hiding?!”

“Pfffff. Go on, then.”

Hester gasped and then, eyes ablaze, reached over and slapped Warrick on the shoulder.

Pyran winced but Warrick merely scoffed.

“Weak as piss, Mum.” He sneered.

Hester resorted to her back up measure.

“Karl!”

Hester’s husband Karl was a tall, muscular man with thick sandy hair and a moustache. His features were a pleasing mix of his Italian and German ancestry. Karl was an easy-going man but could find no peace when his wife was agitated. It was going to be a long car trip.

“What is it, Hezz?” He asked. His green eyes showed a tired impatience.

“Warrick is being disrespectful.” Hester answered vehemently.

Karl responded the only way he knew how. Warrick yelped as he received the mighty backhand, and Pyran screamed as he received a belt straight after his brother.

“Don’t disrespect your mother.” Karl growled.

Warrick sulked whilst Pyran tearfully protested.

“Dad! I didn’t say anything! Warrick said it!”

said“Shut up, weasel.” Warrick snapped.

Hester was sorry to see her children hurt, infuriating as they were. This was supposed to be a family holiday.

“Karl, Pyran didn’t really say anything worth a hiding.”

“See?!” Pyran bawled, vindicated.

“You still dirtied your clothes.” Muttered Karl.

“This isn’t fair!”

“Pyran – stop crying, or I will give you something to cry about. Now get in the car, both of you.”

Their vehicle was a brand-new topaz Farelane. The interior was stylish and comfortable, and air-conditioned – yet the four of them were restless and impatient as they zoomed along the highway.

“Can I listen to me Southern Sons tape, Mum?” Warrick asked with a trace of petulance.

“Why don’t you ask properly?”

“Please?”

“No-”

“Why not?!”

“Let me finish! No, that’s not asking properly.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Warrick!” Bellowed Karl, “Watch your language.”

“I was joking!”

“No, you weren’t.”

Hester resumed her lecture. “You don’t say ‘can I listen to me tape’ as if you’re a thick, uneducated country bumpkin.”

me“Alright! God! May I, darling Mum, please listen to my Southern Sons tape, please, Mum?” Warrick attempted with a sullen glare.

pleasemypleasePyran giggled and it broke the tension. Hester chuckled.

“Yes, Warrick, my polite, beloved son. You may listen to your tape.”

He handed the cassette over to her and peace was obtained temporarily.

“Mum,” Pyran asked, “Can me and Warrick have a drink?”

“Next service station, mate.”

“Where’s the next service station?”

Hester looked to Karl for the answer.

“We’ll stop at Omeo.” He said.

Twenty minutes later, the tiny township of Omeo finally appeared before them as they descended the surrounding high country, and it wasn’t long before Karl pulled over at the general store.

As he went inside to fetch refreshments, Hester used the opportunity to talk with the boys again.

“Remember what I said. You be polite to Holly and Russ. You do whatever Granddad says without question. And most important boys: be really nice to Tristram and Saffi and poor, dear little Jase. They have been very upset over Toby’s death.”

without questionPyran answered first. “We will, Mum.”

Hester then got out of the car to stretch her legs.

Warrick turned to Pyran and rolled his eyes.

“This is going to suck eggs.”

“I know.” Pyran groaned “Tristram is a bloody goody-goody, eh?”

“Yeah. And Saffi is going to cry and sook all the time. We’ll have to look after Jase everywhere we go. And Mum’s gonna rave on and on about how bad we are and how she wishes we were more like Holly’s kids.”

“It’ll be good to see Aunty Holly, though, eh? She’s always nice. She’ll probably give us lollies.”

“Whoa!” mocked Warrick, “Lollies! Whoopee-do, Pyran.”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up.”

“No, you shut up!”

you“Listen,” growled Warrick through gritted teeth. “You want Mum and Dad to hear us fighting? Just shut up or I’ll cork ya leg.”

“I’ll tell dad.”

“How does that help you in the immediate future?”

Pyran was persuaded by this argument.

The issue was forgotten as soon as they were on the road again, with a packet of chips each and a can of Coke.

As the Zumsteins were travelling south-east from Bright through the rugged beauty of the high country, the Joneses and the MacDougalls travelled in separate cars north through Swift’s Creek towards Omeo. Tristram, Saffi and Jase had chosen to ride with their grandparents.

The occupants of all three cars were in awe of the countryside around them. The landscape was miles of rolling, steep hills which were covered in twisted gum trees. While the Joneses and MacDougall’s were travelling along the valley besides the stony Tambo River, the Zumsteins were descending through winding, shadowed roads. Eventually, all three cars passed north through Benambra, (classified a town purely because it had a pub) and took a sandy gravel road that wound deep into alpine National park.

As the MacDougall’s drove deeper into the forest, a sense of forboding slithered into Tristram. The sky was ebullient, the scenery dense and soaring, it was a day for adventure – yet he felt suddenly cold every now and then. He understood that this was strange, given that the windows of the car were tightly wound up and that the car heater was going. He glanced down at the opal in his palm. A tiny, rust-red speck rolled into the centre and accosted his attention…the noise of the car vanished as Tristram became engulfed by the experience of another…

He was in dry, open eucalypt forest. Bright morning light bathed the clearing and he could feel the warmth of it on his skin. A rich mixture of scents seeped into him rapidly. The smell of the gum leaves first – then the smell of dogs – and then fresh blood.

After the scents came an intense feeling of savage triumph.

The scene came sharply into focus. Tristram sneered at an old Chinese man.

The man was bald and wrinkled, with a long white beard. His black, almond eyes emanated a deep sorrow and grief. His posture was straight and strong, and he wore the dusty grey garb of a gold-miner.

The old man did not seem to fear Tristram. Nor did he seem to fear the dingos and wild dogs that circled menacingly around them.

Tristram chuckled cruelly and waved the opal in the old c******n’s face. It was covered in blood. He closed his eyes, then ran his tongue over the opal and savoured the salty, metallic flavour of the blood. One of the dingos gave a plaintive whine – but he would not let them approach the bodies – not yet.

He then opened his eyes and held the Chinese man with a mocking look.

If only I could wither the old man with my eyes…

If only I could wither the old man with my eyesHowever, the old Chinese man had a dignity and power that unsettled him. What further outrage would provoke him into an attack?

What further outrage would provoke him into an attackTristram knelt down beside the corpse of a young, white woman. Her hair was dark chocolate, wet from sweat. She had not screamed when he had slit her lover’s throat. Nor did she beg for the life of her child. She had lunged at him like a wild animal. A mother’s instincts.

The old Chinese man did not move. He stood still and watched Tristram with intense contempt.

Tristram smiled viciously, then sat the corpse of the woman up for the old man’s inspection. Then he took out his knife and slit the front of her clothing. He roughly tore the blood-soaked material to expose her plump breasts. His brown calloused hands fondled them in a gruesome parody of foreplay. Her body was still warm.

Still, the old man did not move. His eyes speared into Tristram coldly.

Suddenly, Tristram heard sobbing. It was the little boy.

The sunlight gleamed in his golden curls. He was curled up beside the body of his father, who had stared at Tristram with dumb surprise and fear only a moment ago. The little boy crawled pathetically towards him and reached out his little hand to touch that of his mother’s.

Tristram felt a sharp pang of pity and he stopped fondling the dead woman’s breast.

He looked up at the old Chinese man, but he had disappeared. Warily Tristram scanned the surrounding gum trees.

Then he heard the pounding of hooves. Quickly he dropped the woman, jumped to his feet and grabbed the arm of the child. He yanked the boy roughly to his feet and dragged him away through the trees…

Tristram pulled his mind away from the memory, horror-stricken. He looked about the inside of the car. Saffi was looking dreamily out her window and Jase was reading a children’s book on dinosaurs. His grandparents had their mind on the road and the surrounding countryside. Tristram inhaled deeply and tried to shake off what he had just experienced, as though it were nothing more than an awful daydream. However, he could not shake the astringent guilt that pooled in the pit of his stomach. Toby was right to tell him not to look at the rusty red colours.

A few large hills away, Pyran was also having unsettling sensations. Perhaps this was not unusual – he was the smallest member of a family that was constantly on the brink of outrage. Yet, even so, at the fuzzy edge of his mind, he felt as though he was heading towards some unknown and terrible climax.

When the car had stopped at their camp site, and he opened the door, Tristram Jones was born again. He ejected himself from the warm, familiar womb of the car into the cold fresh air of the bush. A wall of eucalyptus aroma engulfed him. The high-pitched call of the currawongs and the mellifluous warble of magpies thrilled him. Ivory mountain ash tree trunks soared into the bright blue morning. Sunlight danced in their emerald clouds of long leaves.

Tristram decided that this very moment should be given to the opal. He took it out of his pocket and felt its magic at work immediately. Though it felt like an ice-cube in the palm of his hand, Tristram burned inside. Then, before his eyes the opal turned a menacing sapphire. The tiny colours wriggled like a shoal of panicked fish. In an instant the colours rushed into a swirling nucleus of rusty red in the centre of the opal and disappeared.

For a second, a shadow possessed the opal, before there was a silent supernova in the centre which sent a million fragments of colour to the surface. Finally, the colours settled, and a white almond fragment floated into the centre. Tristram saw in that fragment a mirror of the forest before him, before it shrank suddenly into a tiny speck, and rolled away into the centre. The opal then showed no further signs of animation.

“Watchya got there, Tris?”

With the sun behind him, Granddad Stewy’s knobby features made him look like a wooden idol. He was beaming at Tristram with proud joy, with his hands on his hips and a tobacco pipe in his mouth.

The smell of his sweet smoke had only just begun to mingle with the scent of the bush. Tristram found it pleasant.

“Granddad Toby’s opal.” Tristram answered, after some hesitation.

Stewart gave a thoughtful squint under the brim of his terry-towelling hat.

“Yeah?” he drawled amiably.

Before he could add anything else, a honeybee lazily buzzed between them and landed on Tristram’s jumper. With quick ease, Tristram had it in his hands.

“Is that a bee, Tris?”

“Yep.”

“You’d better let him go. He’ll sting ya.”

“No, he won’t.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

Tristram walked quietly up to his grandfather and held up the insect for his inspection. He had it pinned gently about the join between its abdomen and its thorax. Try as it might, the bee was unable to sting him.

“I’ve got him by the hip, see?” Tristram smiled gently.

“Well, how about that, eh?” Stewart chuckled.

Tristram let the bee fly away.

“You know, Tris…” Stewart began in a quiet, serious tone. “I was worried at first that you would lose that opal.”

He waited for a response, but the boy was suddenly quiet, embarrassed and expectant.

“But,” Stewart added, “I can see that you’re a sensible fella. I reckon that’s why ol’ Toby gave it to ya.”

“I won’t lose it, Granddad.”

“I hope not, Tris. There’s more than one person’s history associated with that thing.”

“It is the only thing of Granddad Toby’s that I have left.” Tristram said with a steady, serious look. Stewart sensed a rebuke. “I will not lose it.”

not“I believe ya, Tris.”

A silence passed between them before Tristram added with a trace of emotion “I miss him so much.”

Stewart sighed, and smiled kindly at the lad. He puffed contemplatively at his pipe and drank in the beauty of the sunbathed bush.

“You know, Tris,” he finally murmured, “Everything sorta has a way of just workin’ out. No matter what sorta rough patch yer have, you always end up havin’ another happy time sooner or later.”

As if on cue the Zumsteins arrived, followed closely by Tristram’s parents. The echo of car doors resounded about the tranquil forest and a raucous, jocular exchange erupted from the two families.

Stewart smiled broadly. “Yer see?”