The Bunyip Collection

Chapter 13

Magpies warbled, yellow dawn filtered into the tent, and bacon and eggs sizzled into the cool air. Such were the sensations that enticed Tristram and Pyran from their dreamless sleep into a new day.

Pyran rubbed his eyes. “Boy, what a night.”

The night’s anxieties melted away as they slipped out of their tent into a clear, crisp morning, and wandered across the dew-soaked grass to the fire.

“Good morning, boys!” Beamed Stewart in his deep nasal drawl, as he turned the bacon and eggs over in the pan. “The only thing better for breakfast than porridge with honey and cream, is good ol’ bacon ‘n’ eggs. You fellas look all rustled up; did yer have a tumble with some night horses?”

“Night horses?” Scoffed Pyran.

“No? Well, yer must’ve been fightin’ with somethin’. Look at the pair of yer! You’re not like me. Yer don’t wake up already scrubbed up ‘n’ handsome, the way I do.”

“Maybe you didn’t have the night we had.” Tristram smiled.

“Hmm? Oh no, I have a rough night every night, Tris. Your grandmother is forever beltin’ me up through the night – but you get used to it after forty years of marriage or so.”

The boys chuckled.

“Grandma is far too nice to do that.” Pyran grinned.

“Oh don’t be fooled, Pyran. Your grandmother might look all timid and polite and everything, but she’s got a terrible temper. She’s not a gentle soul like me.”

“How come she’s still in bed, then, eh?” Said Pyran suspiciously, “I reckon you beat her up.”

youher“Good heavens, what a terrible thing to say to yer poor ol’ granddad! The only reason Jack’s not up yet is she is exhausted from beltin’ me up all night…Yeah. It’s true. You gotta believe me, boys. I declare meself non-guilty.”

YeahtrueSaffi approached the fire, fresh faced from a good night’s sleep.

“Good morning, Saffi!” Stewart bellowed.

She grinned. “Good morning, Granddad.”

“Has it made your day to see me?” He beamed.

Saffi smiled shyly at the happy old man.

“Well?” Boomed Stewart charismatically. “I think it has. It makes most people’s day to see me. I’m a delightful character…” He patted his round belly.” But yer can see that I’m unloved and neglected. Look at the condition I’m in, eh? Oh! Look out! Here comes Jase – good morning, Jase!”

Little Jase giggled, the sunlight golden in his curls. “Mornin’, Granddad.”

“Breakfast ready yet, Granddad?” Pyran asked.

“You bet it is – my timing is perfect. Grab a plate, boys. You too Saffi – gosh you look pretty this mornin’. You’ve got my good looks, I reckon. I wish people would say pleasant things about my appearance, Saff. You know what me mother used to say to me? She said I had a good build, but a cheap head. A cheap head! That isn’t very complimentary, is it? Eh?”

my“I think you’re handsome, Granddad.” Smiled Saffi.

Stewart chuckled. “Yes, but you’re one of the few women that think so. But they can’t all have your good taste, eh? No… Hey Tris, why don’t you go and wake ol’ Warrick up? He’ll want to start a row if we don’t take him with us.”

“OK…where are we going?”

Stewart’s eyes twinkled.

“I thought us kids might sneak away an’ do some fishin’ before the day gets too bright. What do you fellas reckon about that?”

“Radical!” Exclaimed Pyran.

With that, he and Tristram eagerly went to stir Warrick.

After a hearty, savoury and oily breakfast, Stewart and his grandchildren were tramping through the bush towards the stream in an opposite direction to the one they had travelled yesterday.

“You were up early, Granddad.” Remarked Tristram, as they walked.

“Well, Tris, yer gotta get up early to go fishin’ in these parts. Yer see, the early bird gets the worm, but we want that worm for fishin’ bait – so we’ve gotta get up even earlier than the early bird.”

“But Granddad, I saw you get these worms from our garden before we left.” Laughed Saffi.

“Struth, I’ve been caught out. I should’ve known you wouldn’t miss a trick, Saff. I wish I was as clever at villainy as your grandmother. She’s always got an exterior motive! And I never see it until it’s too late.”

exteriorSoon they had found a promising stretch of the stream. A shallow run poured into a deep groove around a slight bend, over which a young wattle had fallen into the water, creating some snags. The forest was tall, fresh and vibrant about them.

“You fellas know how to go about trout?” Asked Stewart. He was unusually quiet.

“We usually fish for bream and mangrove jack up our way.” Retorted Warrick.

“Well, listen up then.” Drawled Stewart. “Trout are finicky things, so for a start, yer gotta be quiet. So, don’t go shoutin’ an’ hollerin’ all over everywhere and everything. Keep quiet. Agreed?”

“Yes, Granddad.” They answered in unison.

“Next: yer see how that fast water comes off that shallow area an’ then into this deep hole? Well, I reckon there’ll be a fish or two in the slower movin’ water of that eddy. Yer see, they’re lazy like most people, and don’t want to waste energy tryin’ to stay put in the fast current. So, they haul up in the slower water and rush out an’ grab beetles ‘n’ frogs ‘n’ things as they go past. Understand?”

“I reckon.” Said Warrick eagerly as he took a rod and some worms.

“Righto then, Warrick. Catch a big one. Me, Tris, Saffi ‘n’ Pyran will have a red hot go for Big Scale, eh?”

“What about me?” Jase asked anxiously.

“O’ course we’re gonna need you, Jase! We’re gonna use you for bait if Big Scale comes along.”

youSaffi caught the first two fish, much to the chagrin of Pyran and Tristram. They were two pan-sized rainbow trout, and while Stewart had cast and baited the hook for her, Saffi had managed to hook and land the fish all by herself. Stewart killed them for her and described how he would cook them in butter for her lunch. It was one of the best mornings of her childhood, and she positively beamed in the glow of Stewart’s exuberant praise.

Pyran caught a small blackfish, a curious little fish with a blunt face and olive body. Jase managed three small brown trout with a lot of help from Stewart, but they threw them back to fight another day.

They heard the odd report from Warrick as he appeared for more worms – apparently a couple of big fish took his bait but didn’t stay hooked.

It was nearly two hours before Tristram got his fish. It was a large brown trout. He got a lot of fuss and praise from the others, but he knew that they were merely relieved that he was now no longer the only one in the group without a fish. As Tristram removed the hook from its mouth, he noted that it was a male on account of the large jaw. The slime on its body, and the sheen of its scales and spots were radiant in the sunlight. It gaped helplessly at him and rolled its bright, golden eyes.

A thought pierced Tristram as he held the animal. This creature is at the point of death. I can kill it, and the beautiful colour will fade, the eyes will dull, and the scales will fall off. Or I can let it live, and never see it again. Either way, I can’t look at it forever…

This creature is at the point of death. I can kill it, and the beautiful colour will fade, the eyes will dull, and the scales will fall off. Or I can let it live, and never see it again. Either way, I can’t look at it forever“What’s it gonna be, Tris? You wanna eat him? He’ll be good tucker.”

Stewart observed Tristram closely, well aware that the boy was in deep reflection. To his surprise, Tristram suddenly smiled at him, and reaching into his pocket, pulled out the opal. He stared at the fish and Stewart saw the opal glow briefly in his hand. Delighted, Tristram then placed the trout gently into the water, and let it swim away.

“Saffi will let me have a little taste of her fish, won’t you, Saffi?”

She nodded at her brother.

Stewart grinned. “Lucky he wasn’t my fish, Tris.”

“You’re bloody mad!” Cried Warrick as he neared the group.

Tristram responded with a tranquil grin.

Warrick smiled and shook his head at the others.

“You’re a strange one, cousin. Ah well, I reckon it’s nearing lunch-time.”

“Getting hungry already, Warrick?” Asked Stewart. “It’s only ten thirty.”

“I don’t want to fish anymore. I reckon they’re off the bite.”

“But Tristram just got a fish!” Cried Pyran.

Warrick shrugged with a slight grin. “Yeah, but that’ll be the last one.”

Stewart chuckled. “I reckon you’re old enough now to head back by yourself if you want to, Warrick. Just keep an eye out for snakes. You kids can go with him if yer like, I’m gonna stay for another forty minutes or so.”

“OK.” Rejoined Warrick, “Who’s comin? I’ll need help getting the barbie goin’. Are any of yous good at making’ a salad?”

“I am.” Said Saffi.

“Righto. Pyran? Jase? Tristram?”

“Yeah, we’re comin’.” Said Pyran.

“Actually, I’ll stay with Granddad.” Rejoined Tristram.

“Fair enough, let’s go.” Ordered Warrick, and with that had most of the rods and was on his way.

Saffi lead Jase along, even though his instinct was to stay with his brother.

Pyran struggled internally about whether he preferred food or more interesting company.

“Fine, I’m stayin’ with you.” He sighed finally. “But if I get too hungry, I’m off.”

When the others were out of ear shot, Stewart looked coolly at the boys.

“So, fellas…what were the pair of you all excited about last night?”

youThe boys exchanged guilty looks.

“What do you mean?” Pyran asked levelly.

“Oh…last night I thought I heard a bit of excitement by the fire…”

Tristram gave Pyran a look which said, ‘leave the talking to me’.

“We heard noises last night too…a kind of roaring from the bush.”

“That’s right.” Concurred Pyran eagerly. “We did. It woke us up.”

“Yeah?” Drawled Stewart as he eyed the boys thoughtfully.

“Yeah.” They both answered.

“Huh…well I reckon I’ve got a theory about that…” Stewart murmured as he filled his pipe with tobacco. He lit it and put it languidly to his lips.

“Well? What was it, Granddad?” Tristram asked quietly, as Stewart puffed contemplatively.

“The roarin’ you heard last night is quite understandable. Bit surprisin’ how loud it turned out to be, considerin’ how far away it was – but grief has a way of sorta magnifyin’ everythin’.” He turned and looked Tristram right in the eye. “It was your father, Tristram.”

“Dad made those sounds?”

Dad made those sounds“Yep…he was just doin’ what a man has to do sometimes. Did the same thing when me own father died. Just went out onto the farm and let all the anger and grief out in the isolated paddocks. Can’t lock it up forever.”

The three were thoughtful for a moment, as the stream continued babbling. Tristram could hardly believe that those awful cries came from his own father. His wonder turned melancholy as he realised that he would one day have to do what Russell did himself.

Soon Stewart broke the silence again.

“Well, that explains the roarin’…but we’re still in the dark about the excitement I heard about the fire.” He said it without looking directly at either of them.

Tristram finally decided to confess.

“Me and Pyran were looking at the opal.”

He watched Stewart’s face and wondered anxiously where this was going to lead. Stewart did not change his serious, ponderous expression.

Finally, he said. “A lot of disturbing memories in that opal, aren’t there, boys?”

They were startled by his knowledge.

“How did you know?” Tristram asked in awe.

“Yer remember, Tris, how I said that more than one person’s history is associated with that opal? Well…one of those histories is my own. Why don’t the pair of yer sit down on that log there an’ I’ll fill yer in on a couple of things.”

The boys did as they were told and sat in eager anticipation as Stewart began his tale.

“The opal was given to me nearly thirty years ago when I was on a fishin’ trip up at the Murray. It was an odd sort of an affair, boys. I’ll never forget it for as long as I live…

I was up there by meself – which was unusual for a start. Usually I went with a bunch of fellas I’d known since high school. But anyway, I was up there fishin’ away an’ I met this ol’ fella who was amblin’ along the river. Well, I’m a sociable sorta fella an’ we got talkin’ an’ he decided to sit down and join me. I remember he had a well-brought up sort of English accent which was nice to listen to. He seemed a bit lost or distracted or something, but at the same time I reckon he was glad of my company.

Anyway, the fish were bitin’ well – we had a lot o’ yellow belly and redfin…but the prize catch o’ course is the ol’ Murray cod. By the end o’ the day we hadn’t caught a single one – at the time, that was very unusual. I know it’s the norm these days, but then… well, it was very mysterious…

Later that evening, me an’ this ol’ fella – Gerald was his name – were sittin’ about the fire on the bank, wonderin’ why we hadn’t caught a cod. It was a beautiful, warm night an’ we were enjoyin’ the conversation.”

A tenderness suddenly softened Stewart’s hard features – a rare sight.

“Yer know…there was a sorta kindness and a deep sadness about this ol’ fella that really got to me. I reckoned at the time, listenin’ carefully to his silences, that he had a strange story in him. I woulda tried to draw it out of him, but I noticed he was sick lookin’ and sorta breathless and haunted. I began to worry that he wasn’t gonna last long. I was about to offer to take him to the nearest town when all of sudden he gets this wild look and takes off into the trees like a scolded cat…

Well, I thought, he’s an old fella, maybe he needed to suddenly take off and have a wee or somethin’. I sat there and waited, and after a few moments I hear the snap of leaves and twigs an’ things, an’ I thought to meself ‘poor ol’ fella, here he is, back again’ – but no…it was another strange ol’ fella…and he was black.”

black“The witch doctor…” The boys breathed.

“He was sorta half hunched over in this big, dark green trench coat, and he had a green floppy hat. He wore big long leather boots that came up over his trousers to his knees. The strangest thing about him though, was his walk. He sort of bowed at every second step, so that he sorta seemed ta strut like a cocky does. Anyway, over he comes an’ looks out at me from under the brim of his hat. He had these angry, inky black eyes an’ he says, “Have you seen an old man by the name of MacDougall?”

And I sat there startled, ‘cause I was a MacDougall. Not only that, he didn’t sound at all the way I expected him to. He spoke with a perfect, clear voice like a sophisticated Englishman or something.

“Well?” He asked in a threatening way.

Well, I puffed meself up an’ I looked him in the eye an’ said “I’m a MacDougall.”

WellI’mHe stared at me and I stared right back at him. I was younger then, yer see, an’ never backed down to anybody, especially not to a grizzled old character like this.

Anyway, he suddenly smiles an’ says “You’re not da MacDougall I’m lookin’ for’ in a nasal sorta aboriginal accent. I began to wonder if I was goin’ mad.

aboriginal“So, brother,” He says in his aboriginal accent again, “Caught anythin’?”

“A few.” I said.

“No cod, though, eh?”

“No” I said surprised. “How’d you know that?”

He just sorta smiled again, and as he did, I thought I saw the fire reflected in his eyes, the way it does in a dog’s eyes.

“Dey don’t bite when da season’s like dis.” He said.

And I said, “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“No flood for a while, mate.” He said, “No flood, no spawnin’. No spawnin’, no feedin’ up.”

He let me ponder that for a moment an’ then he said. “There is one sure fire way to get big cod, no matter what’s goin’ on, mate.”

And I said, “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

And he gave me this cold, cruel look and a smile that made me shiver all over, an’ he said “snakes heart.”

snakes heartI just sorta laughed at him, an’ said that I didn’t have a snake handy – and then! The ol’ bugger reached into his pocket and pulled out this bloody tiger snake!

“What’s the matter, kordah? It’s only a little fella…sleepy, too.” He says.

“It might only be little, but it’s still just as poisonous.” I said, sorta glarin’ at him an’ feelin’ around for me fishin’ knife.

“Hmm. That’s very wise…” He says with this funny sorta thoughtful look, an’ then he added “…and I reckon ya got more nerve than most white fellas…and I can see by ya eyes dat ya spend a lotta time in da bush. Hmm. Tell ya what, white fella. I’ll do ya dis one favour, eh?”

And right before me eyes he cracks this snake like a whip and the head snapped clean off and flew hissin’ into the fire. Then with his bare hands, he tore the snake from the neck down, blood spurtin’ everywhere, and ripped the heart out. Then he looked at me with this mad smile, threw the body of the snake into the fire and held the heart up in front o’ me. I could see it was still beatin’ – I’ll never forget it for as long as I live.

ripped the heart out“Give us ya hook, mate.” He says.

Without thinkin’ I handed me line an’ hook to him and he threaded this beatin’ snake’s heart onto the hook an’ said “Put ‘er in close to da bank, kordah.”

Well, curiosity had the better of me, so I did as he said and sure enough, within about a minute I had a fairly decent sort of a cod.

“Well, I’ll be buggered.” I said. “I had me doubts, mate, but you’ve proven something. Thank you.”

“No worries.” He smiled. And then he turned to hobble off, but then stopped and turned his head over his shoulder to look at me. I had a sort of sick feelin’ when he did that, because his neck turned just a little bit further than it shoulda been able to. Not only that, his black eyes shrank in the fire light – an’ I realised then that the black was his pupils, not his eye colour, ‘cause he had these sorta orange eyes, like an emu.

“One good turn deserves another, brother.” He said. “Ya see an old MacDougall, ya give us a coo-ee, eh?”

And with that he hobbled off into the shadows of the trees.

Well, for a few minutes I sat there sorta unsettled an’ thinkin’. I had the cod there, still alive…but I just couldn’t bring meself to eat it, knowin’ that I caught it on snake’s heart. So, I threw it back and was kinda relieved to see it gone. I could smell the burnin’ snake flesh – it actually smelled quite tasty – an’ I watched all the flesh burn away from the skeleton in the coals… I reckon I sat there for about an hour.

Suddenly I hear twigs snappin’ again and out of the scrub comes this ol’ fella, Gerald.

“You handled that well, my friend!”

He was all energetic an’ enthusiastic an’ I didn’t know what to make of it.”

Here Stewart paused awhile, grinning to himself and taking an extra long puff of his pipe.

“You know, boys, life is a funny old thing. People say it’s a small world an’ all that – but some coincidences really rock yer boat. Now I got a question for you two. Yer see, the opal that yer holdin’ there in yer hot little hand, Tristram, tends to throw up two old memories more than any other that are found in it. By the noise I heard you makin’ last night, I reckon you saw that poor ol’ kangaroo bein’ tortured by this ol’ witch doctor. Am I right?”

“Yes.” The boys were astounded.

“It was the most awful, scary thing I’ve ever seen.” Pyran murmured.

“Yeah…I haven’t seen much that would top it.” Conceded Stewart. “But the second memory…well, I dunno that you boys would understand all of it.” He searched their eyes in turn.

“You mean the memory with Valeria MacAllister, don’t you?” Asked Tristram finally.

Stewart sighed. “Yep, that’s the one. I tried not look at it again after the first time I saw it, and I suggest you boys do the same.”

“Why?” Frowned Pyran. “It wasn’t scary. It was…” Pyran suddenly blushed. “It was odd, that’s all. Weird… In a nice sort of way.”

Stewart gave a gentle laugh. “One day you fellas will understand this better, but the sensations in that memory are really only for grown men and women. You’ll feel them again one day with someone special – but that memory is sorta private. I reckon it was meant only for Michael and Valeria – and we should respect that. Having said that, Michael tells a bit of a story in that memory that has some bearing on our own story. Yer see, this ol’ fella Gerald…was the only son of Michael and Valeria.”

He watched their faces and grinned slightly when the penny dropped.

“Whoa!” Exclaimed Pyran. “So, he woulda had the opal…and given it to you. Wow.”

“That’s the bottom line, Pyran, but there are a few more details to clear up. Yer see, stories in real life are never clean-cut sort of affairs, yer know? In real life, there’s a sorta tangling of history and mystery and falsehood. There are credible bits in the story that just aren’t true – as well as incredible things that no one in their right mind would believe – but really happened. Now listen up, fellas. I dunno what’s true or false in this story exactly, so I’m just gonna relate it to you as Gerald told it to me.

For a start, Gerald explained to me that he was not really a MacDougall – he was a Dubrelle, after his father, Michael Dubrelle. He was travelling under a false name, and he chose the name of MacDougall, after my very own great grandfather, Dougal MacDougall.”

“Dougal MacDougall?” Snorted Pyran incredulously.

Dougal MacDougall“They were a proud clan, the MacDougall’s.”

“Why did Gerald choose the name MacDougall?” Asked Tristram.

“I’ll get round to that in a moment. For now, you must know that both Michael and Valeria were killed by the witch doctor just after Gerald turned ten years old.”

“Shit.” Pyran said, and then remembered his company. “I mean, um…that’s horrible.”

Tristram recalled the sorrowful face of the ancient Chinese man, as with cruel triumph, he waved the blood covered opal in the old man’s face…with fresh horror, he realised that the dead woman was Valeria MacAllister.

Tristram recalled the sorrowful face of the ancient Chinese man, as with cruel triumph, he waved the blood covered opal in the old man’s face…with fresh horror, he realised that the dead woman was Valeria MacAllister.“The witch doctor slit Michael and Valeria’s throat right in front of their little boy.” Stewart continued. “An’ he told poor young Gerald that his name was ‘Dinewan’ – an aboriginal word meanin’ ‘emu’…anyway, he took the opal from Valeria, and he took the boy with him into the bush.”

“Wait a minute!” Tristram interrupted, “How old is this witch doctor if he was around when your great grandfather was alive and yet, he met you thirty years ago?”

great grandfatherStewart stared hard into the boys. “You’ve both seen the opal’s magic. Yet you find it incredible that a witch doctor, wrought with magic, can’t also live an incredibly long life?”

“Sorry.” Murmured Tristram. “Please continue, Granddad.”

“Now Valeria had a cousin, Cameron MacAllister. And Cameron had a best friend, none other than our own ancestor, Dougal MacDougall. Both of these fellas were employees on Michael’s father’s farm. When they heard about the death of Cameron’s cousin and her husband, they were absolutely wild. But when they heard about the kidnappin’ of Gerald – well! They left the farm an’ were off into the bush after the old witch doctor. Michael’s father and their employer, Melvin Dubrelle, went off with them. This much I learned from Gerald, but he was babblin’ an’ excitable an’ getting sicker by the minute.”

Here Stewart paused again to refill his pipe. His face was anguished. He puffed a couple of times and then sighed.

“He died that night, boys, without tellin’ me everythin’. Obviously, my ancestor Dougal, Cameron and Michael’s father Melvin were successful in retrievin’ Gerald and the opal. But the actual story Gerald never got a chance to tell me. What he did say was this: Dougal MacDougall had protected him and remained true to his word. After that, Gerald went all pale an’ incoherent– I heard word of bush-rangers an’ somethin’ about a monster.”

“A monster? What kind of monster?” Tristram asked.

“Well, yer see, that’s sorta the frustratin’ thing about this story – he didn’t get a chance to tell it all properly. He mentioned this monster and bush rangers an’ it was all garbled and incoherent an’ everything. I kept askin’ him, but he just went pale and repeated ‘don’t talk about the monster’ – an’ I dunno whether he meant the witch doctor or some other creature. The answers are written down in an account done by Melvin Dubrelle soon after the adventure – but it was stolen by Cameron’s son, Andrew MacAllister, an’ it remains an heirloom in the MacAllister family. Hmpf…Gerald said many times to be wary of the MacAllisters because they think the opal is rightfully theirs. There was some treachery apparently.

Anyway, finally, with his dyin’ breath, Gerald told me that the opal will find its way back to the right family line, and that MacDougall blood would see it through…yeah…” Stewart ruminated. “Those were his last words exactly in fact. He said, “beware of Dinewan, beware of MacAllister…and MacDougall blood will see it through.”

MacDougall bloodyeahStewart let the story hang in the fragrant air of the bush and tobacco smoke. A sudden breeze animated the eucalypt canopy above them.

“I reckon we should head back, fellas.” Stewart murmured quietly.

As they walked solemnly back through the forest to camp, Tristram asked.

“So how did Granddad Toby get the opal?”

“Well, Tris, I gave it to him because he reminded me of Gerald. Yer see, I dunno whether the opal is rightfully a MacDougall heirloom, or whether we’re just custodians of it, yer know? Me sense of honour says that we’re just lookin’ after it until its rightful owner show’s up. I never had a word of trouble from any MacAllister – an’ only once or twice was I ever worried about that ol’ witch doctor. Sometimes I thought I saw him lurkin’ about the various farms I been on – the last time in Queensland, about ten years ago – but I never had a confrontation.

Then, eleven years ago, I met yer granddad Toby – a nice, quiet Englishman, whose son was to marry me youngest daughter. He said that one of the things he always wanted from Australia was one of her opals. Well, as I got to know him, and I saw that he was a thoroughly decent fella, I decided to give him the opal. Then lo and behold, it comes back to not just his family line, but mine.”

He looked triumphantly down at Tristram as they walked.

“What makes me the rightful owner of it, Granddad?” Tristram asked quietly.

“It was given to you, so it is yours, Tris. Be grateful, look after it, and then one day you can pass it on.” Stewart answered.

They maintained a reflective silence for the rest of the walk back to their camp.