Castaway (9 page)

Sam stared at his uncle, fury mounting in him like a volcano. ‘You’re a great big
hypocrite
! Your own mum was a refugee! Would you put her in a detention centre? Would you let someone lock her up for years?’

Uncle Mungo opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. He sat down heavily, with his head in his hands.

Jaz spoke up. ‘Mungo, why don’t I give the boys some dinner and get them off to bed. Let’s sort this out tomorrow, hey? When we’ve had some time to think about it?’

Uncle Mungo looked up and nodded. ‘Okay, thanks, Jaz, that’s a good idea. Lord, what am I gunna say to Sarah?’ and he got up and went out of the house with Jock.

Sam and George followed Jaz into the kitchen. Sam thought with a sinking heart about his mother. He hadn’t thought, in all of the rush to get Kalila to the cave, that now his parents would find out what was going on, especially once the media got involved.

Jaz turned to face them. ‘Wow, guys, you’ve certainly got yourselves in a situation here.’ She began taking food out of the fridge, and clattering pots and pans around. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about it? Did you think I agreed with Mungo about refugees?’

Sam and George looked at each other, and their mouths fell open.
How could we be so dumb
? thought Sam.

‘We – we just never thought of it, Jaz, honestly,’ said George, feeling really stupid.

Sam agreed. ‘We didn’t know about your parents or anything till the day before yesterday, and then everything happened so fast, we didn’t think of it. Sorry, Jaz.’

‘Will you help Kalila?’ said George. ‘I mean, you don’t think she should go to a jail, do you?’

‘No, I don’t. Of course I’ll help her. I hate what happens. It’s wrong!’ She banged a saucepan on top of the stove and lit the gas. ‘My parents had to escape from their own country, and if they hadn’t, they would have died. And they didn’t get treated like criminals when they got to a safe place, either.’

While they ate their dinner, they told Jaz about Kalila, everything she had told them.

‘So, she’s from Afghanistan, but she speaks a little English?’ said Jaz when they had finished. ‘Hmm, she
probably speaks Persian. I might be able to talk to her in her own language.’

‘You could speak to Kalila?’ said Sam. ‘Wow, that’s awesome! I didn’t know she spoke Persian!’

‘Well, I’m guessing, but if she’s educated enough to speak some English, then she probably speaks fluent Persian as well. I think it’s the official language in Afghanistan, like Iran. I’m not great at it, but my parents speak Persian to me at home. I can probably translate for her, when they interview her.’

‘Jaz, there’s something else,’ said Sam hesitantly. He told her about the man in the barrister’s office, Mr Mahsoud.

Jaz frowned a little. ‘He could be anyone. He’s probably trying to help get the refugees settled. Why do you think he’s a bad man? He’s from their government, isn’t he?’

Sam shrugged. He didn’t know why, exactly. He just got these very strong feelings about people sometimes, and this was one of those times.

The next morning, Sam woke very early, with a knotted-up feeling in his stomach, as if there were a million large worms all trying to escape from it.

What are you doing?
he asked his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Who do you think you are, standing up to Uncle Mungo, and the government, and a whole lot of other people? What do you know about anything? What makes you think you know what’s best for Kalila, more than all the adults?

He gazed bleakly at his reflection, thinking that he
had made a huge mistake, a huge fool of himself, but a familiar little voice sneaked into his head and said,
You know what’s fair, you know what you would want to happen if it was YOU!

And he squinted at the mirror, and set his mouth in a grim line. Time to face Uncle Mungo …

But Uncle Mungo wasn’t in the kitchen.

‘Cuppa tea, young feller?’ Old Jock asked, raising the teapot.

‘Yeah, thanks, Jock.’ Sam sat down across the table from him.

They sipped their tea in silence for a minute or two, and then Jock said, ‘Been a bit hard on yer uncle lately, ain’t ya?’

Sam looked up at Jock, and then dropped his eyes to his mug again. ‘Well, he’s said some horrible things about what should happen to refugees and stuff …’

‘A man’s got a right to his own opinions, Sam, no matter if you agree with ’em or not. But that’s not what I’m talkin’ about. Yer mad with him about somethin’ else, ain’t ya? Have bin ever since yer dad went to hospital.’

Sam gripped his mug of tea with both hands. ‘It’s Uncle Mungo’s fault that Dad got hurt, Jock. If it wasn’t for him, Dad wouldn’t be in Adelaide right now!’

‘Whoa, laddie, where’d y’ git that idea?’

‘I heard him tell Aunty Lou when we stayed at her place. He said it was his idea to lift the tree off in one piece, and that Dad wanted to cut it up first. If he hadn’t made Dad do it his way, then Dad wouldn’t have got hurt.’

‘Well now, it weren’t quite like that, an’ I was there. Sure, yer dad suggested they cut the tree up, but they both decided it was safe to pull it off with the tractor. An’ it wouldn’t’ve made no difference either way. The problem was the caravan tipped and the tree fell too soon, and it pulled the tractor around sudden like. It coulda happened just cuttin’ the tree up too. Sam, it was an accident. It weren’t yer uncle’s fault.’

‘But I heard him –’

‘Well, his brother got hurt, and he feels responsible for him. Just like you would, if you ’n’ George were doin’ a job t’gether, ’n’ George got hurt. You’d blame yerself too. S’natural.’

Sam was quiet for a minute, and then he looked up at the old man. ‘I’ve been pretty stupid, haven’t I, Jock?’

‘No more’n usual, laddie!’ he chuckled. ‘
Dinna fash yersel’
, as me ol’ mam woulda said. You’re upset about yer dad too, and people make mistakes. But y’ should give people the benefit o’ the doubt sometimes.’

They both drank some more tea, and then Jock said, ‘So what are y’ gunna say t’ them tv fellers?’

Sam felt a bit sick. He hadn’t really thought about what he would actually say. ‘Jock, do you think I’m being stupid about this too? Do you think I should just give Kalila to the police or the government or whatever, and let them take her away?’

‘Well, a man can only do what he feels is right, inside him like, and I reckon that’s what yer doin’, Sam. Course it’s never easy doin’ what y’ think is right, when it’s different from what everyone else thinks. Much easier to trot along with the herd and make no trouble, eh? I reckon y’ should stick to yer guns, young feller.’

‘Uncle Mungo doesn’t think so. He says I should just let the police take her.’

‘Well, Mungo McAllister’s got his own story, and it ain’t my place t’ be tellin’ his stories. He says what he thinks, and you think different. Don’t mean neither of you is right, but y’ both gotta foller yer own tracks.’ He sipped his tea again.

Sam was about to ask Jock what he meant by
Mungo McAllister’s got his own story
, but just then Uncle Mungo came into the kitchen.

‘Well, time I fed the blessed chooks. Mornin’, Mungo,’ and with that Jock got up, rinsed his mug at the sink, and went out.

Uncle Mungo poured himself some tea while Sam fiddled with the sugar bowl. As his uncle sat down at
the table, Sam said, ‘Uncle Mungo, I’m sorry that I’ve been acting so mean to you. I was blaming you for Dad’s accident. I heard you talking to Aunty Lou in town, and I was really angry with you, but now I know it wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry I said what I did.’

Uncle Mungo looked at Sam in surprise and, to Sam’s astonishment, he saw tears well up in his uncle’s eyes. Sam quickly looked away and pretended to be interested in the canisters on the shelf.

Uncle Mungo cleared his throat. ‘I kinda figured as much, Sam. I do blame meself fer what happened, just the same. I shoulda been more careful about it, not rushed in like we did, tryin’ to get everything fixed at once. I’ll never f’give meself if anythin’ happens to me brother …’

He slurped some tea, and coughed a bit. ‘But thanks, Sam, fer sayin’ that. Takes a big man to admit he’s wrong. Appreciate it.’ He slurped a bit more tea, and said, ‘And about last night, an’ all this refugee business –’

The sound of an engine came from outside, and both Sam and Uncle Mungo got up from the table and went out onto the verandah. It was a bright red Land Cruiser, covered in dust and mud, with a colourful logo on the doors proclaiming it to be from the local television station.

‘Cripes, they don’t mess about, do they?’ muttered
Uncle Mungo, and he went downstairs to meet the arrivals.

Sam stood nervously on the verandah, wondering just what the heck he was going to say to these people.

George appeared beside him. ‘Hey, bro, you’re up early. But, man, these guys were
really
up early.’

He and Sam watched as three people climbed out of the vehicle. Two of them began unloading gear from the back while the third one spoke to Uncle Mungo, who had just begun to respond when the sound of a second vehicle was heard, and shortly a flashy, silver four-wheel drive pulled up alongside the first car. Two people got out of this one, which had the name of the local newspaper emblazoned across its bonnet and doors, and joined Uncle Mungo and the other man.

Uncle Mungo was beginning to look agitated, but before he could do or say anything, a third vehicle approached. This was a white four-wheel drive, and a serious-looking logo revealed it to be from the Department of Immigration. Three people jumped out of this vehicle, two wearing dark blue coveralls with the word ‘CUSTOMS’ in large white letters across their backs, and one dressed in trousers and a white shirt. The man in the white shirt reached into the car and withdrew a big white hat and a briefcase. He put the hat on before approaching the group of people surrounding Uncle Mungo.

‘Hey!’ whispered George excitedly to Sam. ‘D’you see who got out of that last car?’

Sam squinted – the sun was a bit higher now and shining straight into his eyes.

‘It’s Charles!’ said George. ‘Look – that tall bloke with the ponytail in the blue overalls. I thought I recognised him!’

As if he’d heard them, Charles looked up towards the verandah, and waved at the two of them. He walked away from the group, who were all talking at once to Uncle Mungo, and climbed up the stairs to where Sam and George stood on the verandah.

‘Good morning, Sam, George. How’s your dad?’

‘Hi, Charles. He’s a bit better. Mum said it looks like the operation went really well, but they still don’t know for sure. Might take a week, they said. But he’s okay other than that,’ Sam replied. He was really relieved to see Charles. At least there might be
one
official on their side.

Charles nodded. ‘Your mother rang me a few days ago, and said as much. You’ll just have to hang in there for a bit longer, eh?’ He rubbed a hand over his face and yawned. ‘My word, you have to get up early to get out here by dawn, don’t you? So, what’s this I hear about you chaps finding a child washed up on the beach?’

Before Sam could say anything, the man in the white
shirt rushed over to the stairs, followed by the rest of the visitors, who by now had their cameras on their shoulders and tape recorders in their hands. Uncle Mungo trailed along behind, looking very annoyed.

‘Right,’ said the white-shirted man. ‘Which one of you is Sam McAllister?’

Sam put his hand up.

‘I’m Brett Atkins from Immigration, and I have a warrant here to collect the Suspected Unlawful Non-Citizen and convey her to protective custody in Darwin immediately. Where is she?’ he said curtly.

Sam and George blinked and looked at each other.

‘Suspected unlawful what?’ whispered George, looking like he was about to laugh.

‘I guess he means Kalila,’ Sam muttered back.

Brett Atkins frowned and said, ‘You’re harbouring a suspected illegal immigrant, and I have orders to collect and detain this individual.’

The cameraman jostled into position and aimed his camera right at Sam. Brett Atkins tried to wave him away.

‘She’s not going to go into custody and be put into a jail. We want people to know about what happens to little kids when they come here. It’s not right. It’s not fair!’ said Sam.

‘I’m afraid that doesn’t concern me. I have my orders
to collect this person. You are in breach of several sections of the
Migration Act
right now, and you will be in breach of several others if you do not cooperate –’

‘Now just a minute!’ Uncle Mungo pushed his way through the reporters and stood beside Sam. ‘Don’t you go threatenin’ this boy in his own home!’ Sam looked up at his uncle in surprise.

‘Are you his father?’ said the officer.

‘I’m his uncle. I’m lookin’ after the boys while their dad’s in hospital.’

‘Then as his legal guardian, you are responsible for his actions, and you, sir, are in breach of the law. I can arrest you right now.’

‘Well go ahead and arrest me then, but you’re not bullyin’ me nephew like that!’

‘That goes for me too!’ called Old Jock.

‘And me!’ added Jaz. She and Old Jock had come out of the house and were standing on the other side of Sam and George, looking very defiant.

‘Please, may I say something?’ Charles was standing a little to one side. ‘Brett, how about we ask Sam to tell us exactly what happened? Why don’t we go inside? I’m sure we can work this out in a civilised manner.’

A few minutes later they were seated at the dining room table. The tv crew had set up their lights and
camera on the verandah outside, and the newspaper reporters were waiting beside them. Charles had managed to talk the Immigration officer into hearing Sam’s story away from the press first, and then deciding what was to be done.

When Sam had finished, Brett Atkins said, ‘Well, nothing changes the situation. The child must be taken into protective custody, and the proper processes followed.’

Sam, George and Uncle Mungo stared at the officer.

‘I demand that you produce this child, or I will have to order a search of the premises.’

‘Search all y’ like,’ said Uncle Mungo, his arms folded stoutly across his broad chest. ‘But I don’t even know where she is meself!’

Charles watched them from across the table, and Sam was relieved to see him hide a smile. He winked very slightly at Sam, and got to his feet.

‘Brett, I suggest that we go back out to the car and contact headquarters and ask for instructions. This is turning out to be an unusual case.’

The officer stomped out of the room. The other blue-suited Customs agent, a woman, followed him.

Before he left to go with them, Charles said quietly, ‘Sam, I’d do that interview now, if I were you,’ and gave him a grin.

A few hours later, Tess called Sam up on the radio. They had arranged to keep in contact through the two-way in Old Vincent’s Land Cruiser, which he’d left at the bottom of the escarpment below the cave.

‘Everything’s fine here, Sam,’ Tess’s voice crackled through the radio in the office. ‘Vincent kept a fire going all night, and Kalila wasn’t scared a bit. What’s happening? Was Uncle Mungo really mad?’

Sam briefly described what had occurred since they’d left the little group at the cave, and finished by saying, ‘There’s gunna be a big press conference the day after tomorrow. But you guys’ll have to stay put till we know what the Immigration people are gunna do. I’ll talk to you again at six o’clock, okay?’