The Grass Castle (30 page)

It’s a beautiful clear day in the mountains, early winter, with cerulean cloudless skies. Abby walks up the valley uplifted by the aura of peace. Out here, it’s easy to forget all the things that are troubling her. She notices there’s more grass than in the reserves near the city. If any rain has fallen at all, she supposes it has fallen in high alpine places like this where the clouds graze the ridges and shed their moisture involuntarily. Even so, it’s hardly grazing nirvana. There’s a subtle suggestion of green, but mostly the landscape is transitioning from brown to grey. The bite of frost has nipped away all colour.

She remembers walking here with Cameron when they first met, her anxiety about that silly interview. It was the beginning of all things between them—she hadn’t envisaged that at the time. Back then, she hadn’t even met Daphne, and now she and Daphne are friends. She supposes she has come a long way since then, but in other ways she hasn’t changed at all. This is the shape of her life, she thinks, and it’s not entirely unpleasant. She’d be better off if she could permanently discourage George, but on the whole she feels okay. Since she’s stopped seeing Cameron she’s been ringing Matt more often, and it’s been good to hear his news. Matt is doing better. He’s talking more, occasionally cracking jokes. Abby enjoys his attempts at casual banter; it has its roots in the casual comfort that comes with knowing someone all your life, growing up together. There’s no awkwardness in silences between them, and there’s a soothing sense of mutual support. If nothing else, their mother’s illness and death has bonded them in some strange, incomprehensible way. She and Matt are similar: both navigating their solitary paths, and prone to fleeting relationships which end as soon as a suggestion of commitment rears its ugly head. This is all they can manage, the two of them burdened with the past. Abby can progress quite merrily like this, and without too much pain—which is what survival is about, after all.

She works a full day collecting data: measuring pasture, locating her collared animals, following their movements around the valley. At dusk she packs up and drives home. She is nearing the parks office when her phone beeps and, expecting to hear from Cameron, she pulls over in the fading light to check her messages. There are three from him. Yes, he would like to meet her. Sure, he’d like to discuss his article with her. Please, could she ring back to make a time.

She sits for a while wondering what she should do, whether she should simply let this kangaroo thing pass. The day in the valley has been cleansing, and she realises now that it may not be healthy for her to see him; she regrets her impulse this morning to ring him immediately after the radio interview. Perhaps she should have waited till her blood had stopped stirring, then things would have been clearer, as they are now.

Somewhere off in the scrub, she hears a kookaburra calling into the darkening sky. It’s the laughter that does it—as if the bird is mocking her. She calls Cameron’s number and this time she gets through. He sounds pleased to hear from her, but busy. They arrange to meet at a pub that evening—eight o’clock so Abby has time to go home for a shower and something to eat. He’s thoughtful, she concedes, not caught up in his own needs like most men she’s met. George comes to mind, with his sleazy manners and insensitive pushiness.

Near home she stops at the supermarket to pick up a frozen meal for dinner and a newspaper so she can see Cameron’s article. In her bungalow, while the meal is whizzing round in the microwave, she sits on the couch among a scatter of scientific papers she’s been reading, and unfolds the newspaper.

There it is on the front page.

A government report released last night recommends a cull on public grasslands where kangaroos are apparently on the rise.
Scientists who have been monitoring the site claim there has been a decline in legless lizards and earless dragons due to overgrazing by kangaroos. These reptiles, which are listed as endangered, are dwindling across the region, and government intervention is required to safeguard against their extinction. For this reason, the cull is likely to go ahead despite community opposition. The report suggests that up to four hundred kangaroos are likely to be removed.

Animal rights activist Martin Tennant says government reports are exaggerated and politically motivated. He says kangaroos are not out of control, and culling is inhumane and unnecessary.
‘Our advanced society does not need to shoot animals,’ he says.
‘There are many options before resorting to murder.’

Mr Tennant has been involved in many previous campaigns against kangaroo culling and he says government rhetoric is easy
to recognise. ‘“Drought” and “starvation” are bureaucratic terms to soften the public prior to a slaughter,’ he says. ‘By definition, “cull” means shooting, and shooting is not humane. Animals suffer and joeys are clubbed to death. We must not accept this treatment of our national emblem.’

Efforts were made to contact the relevant government agency, but no-one was available to comment. ‘This is typical bureaucratic behaviour,’ Mr Tennant said. ‘They plant the seed then run and hide. But we’ ll dig them out and force them to examine this issue properly.’

Abby sets the paper on the coffee table and goes to fetch her meal. Then she sits down with a fork and hoes in. It’s not particularly inspiring—the taste of plastic permeates the meat, and the vegetables look limp and wilted. But she needs to eat, so she forces it down while reading Cameron’s article for a second time.

He has definitely sided with the activist, it seems, but government ceded the right of reply, so it’s hard to confirm his bias. She wonders where he’s planning to take this. It’s an emotive issue—she’s sure he’s aware of that—and it would be so easy for him to stir the pot, especially with activists like Martin Tennant waiting in the wings. But Cameron needs to be careful he isn’t used as a mouthpiece. Then again, he likes controversy, doesn’t he? And strategic pot-stirring may be just what the newspaper wants, to swell the issue and inflate readership.

After a shower she cycles into the city and D-locks her bike to a signpost outside the pub where smokers sit in tight clusters around gas heaters, pretending they are warm. She pushes through the filmy haze of smoke and through the swing-doors into the pub. Several sets of eyes lift to examine her with vague curiosity as she enters—humans are not so different from kangaroos.

The pub is busy. It’s public-service payday and everyone is out. Restaurants will be hectic too—it’s part of the culture of this town. Abby looks around but can’t see Cameron, so she goes to the bar and orders a drink. She watches the barman draw the beer, his practised hand pulling the tap then letting it go with a thud. He plonks the foaming beer-mug on the bar and she pays then goes in search of a table.

She finds two vacant bar stools at the bench along the side wall and settles herself in, claiming the second seat with her helmet. It’s fascinating to people-watch when you’re sitting in a pub, drinking alone. Patrons passing between the bar and other tables eye her warily, as if being solo defines her as a social leper. Most people don’t even notice her—they huddle in their insular groups, shouting and laughing and showing their teeth like hyenas.

Cameron is late. When he arrives Abby spots him through a sea of faces, standing at the door, scanning the room. When he finds her, his face lifts, and he makes his way across the room, parting groups of chatting people as he comes.

‘Hey, g’day.’ He grins down at her, eyes dancing with pleasure. She senses he would like to sidle close and kiss her, but she doesn’t encourage him, so he stands back with a degree of tension, hands in pockets. After a while, he shrugs off his coat and slings it over the bar stool she has reserved for him. He notices her beer is almost empty and goes to fetch more, returning with two brimming mugs. Then he sits down and smiles at her. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he says.

‘Yes, it’s been a while.’ She crinkles her eyes at him in a half-smile. She can’t deny she has missed him—her body tightens in his presence. Even in these few weeks, she has forgotten how tall he is, the way she is drawn to him.

‘I’ve been worried about you,’ he says. ‘You haven’t answered my calls.’

‘Preoccupation with work,’ she explains, off-hand, knowing this is an inadequate excuse.

‘How’s it going?’ He swigs his beer and sets it on the bench, his eyes resting on her face.

‘I’m doing okay. I’ve almost finished my fieldwork. Then the final analysis and writing begins. That won’t be much fun.’

‘Remember, I’m good at delivering cups of tea. And I can cook too. When you’re working hard, you have to eat properly.’

She flushes. He has homed straight in on her inadequacies: her frozen meal this evening was about as nutritious and appetising as the cardboard it was packaged in, but convenient.

‘How’s Daphne?’ he asks.

‘She’s good. I’ve been seeing her quite a bit. She likes to talk. She has lots of stories to tell.’

‘And your brother?’

‘Matt’s fine. He’s back working at the vineyard. That always helps. Keeps him busy. No more disappearing stunts. How are your folks?’ she asks.

‘They’re still alive. You know how it is.’

‘I saw your article,’ she says, cutting to the chase.

He looks at her expectantly, eyebrows raised.

‘I wondered what you were trying to do with it.’

His eyes darken a little. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Whether you were taking sides. Perhaps favouring the animal rights groups.’ She knows it’s a bit harsh of her to go for the jugular like this, but she wants to hear what his angle is going to be. If he’s heading on the wrong trajectory, maybe she can gently redirect him.

‘I wasn’t siding with anyone,’ he says quietly. ‘It was just a preliminary report. I thought it was good to present a controversial perspective. It was hard to explore the government line when they wouldn’t even speak to me.’

Abby has to agree with this. If the government hides from the media, it’s difficult to paint their point of view. ‘Don’t forget the science,’ she reminds him.

He shrugs. ‘Government will trot out the science. We don’t need to go through all that in the paper.’

‘Of course you have to,’ Abby insists. ‘You need to interview a few kangaroo experts, like my supervisor Quentin. He’s the guru of macropod management.’

Cameron grins with the pleasure of someone who finds themselves ahead of the game. ‘I’ve already rung him and he’s going to do an opinion piece.’

‘That’s a start,’ Abby concedes. She’s a little embarrassed. Perhaps she’s making this into something bigger than it is.

He chuckles as if enjoying some private joke. ‘This isn’t really about kangaroo management, is it?’ he says cryptically.

‘What do you mean?’ she asks, confused. What else could it be about?

‘Think about it.’ He smiles encouragingly. ‘Is there really a right or wrong in this? Some people think it’s wrong to degrade the environment and others think it’s wrong to kill kangaroos. It’s an argument about values, not management. The bottom line is that my editor’s excited. He’s expecting a rush of letters over the next few weeks, a good debate.’

‘Just make sure it isn’t one-sided,’ Abby says, projecting her concern. ‘These things are always complicated. Culling is a hard enough decision for governments in the first place. They don’t need journalists inflaming the issue and making it even more difficult.’

He looks at her seriously. ‘What do
you
think? Should they shoot these kangaroos?’

‘Yes, they have to be shot,’ she says. The scientist in her, the rationalist, knows this is true: the kangaroos must be shot to preserve habitat; there’s no question about that. But she detests guns, and she hates the whole concept of shooting, the idea of blowing away the brains of living things. It’s quick—at least it’s supposed to be, and she fiercely hopes this is right. But what if it’s not? Out of nowhere old visions begin to rise from the past like smoke from a smouldering fire. She tries to blank them out, to tuck away the feeling of nausea that swells suddenly in her stomach. She knows she must distract herself. It’s important to keep talking. ‘There’s no other real option,’ she says, almost choking on the words.

‘Some people say the kangaroos can be shifted,’ Cameron says, oblivious to her discomfort.

Abby contemplates him for a moment, slightly dazed. It’s the talk about guns and shooting—she doesn’t want to think about that. Her eyes are swimming, tiny black patches blotting the light. She has to bring herself back. What did Cameron say—something about moving kangaroos? She clings tenuously to the thread of conversation. ‘Where would you move them to?’ she asks, grasping a fragment of structured thought. ‘There’s no feed anywhere.’

‘Apparently there might be some vacant farms around.’

‘If farms are vacant, it’s because they’ve been destocked in the drought,’ she says.

‘So you think shooting’s the only solution?’

Back to shooting again—she feels a deep heaviness. ‘They use experienced marksmen,’ she says.

‘But if we don’t look at other options, there’s no pressure to move forward, is there? Shooting becomes the answer by default.’

‘Nobody likes shooting kangaroos, Cameron.’

He hesitates. ‘Farmers do.’

Abby’s nausea swells again, but she manages to hold it down. ‘If kangaroos are grazing on your paddocks every day, and you’re forever pulling carcasses off the road, then you’re not too bothered if the government says they’re going to shoot a few,’ she says. ‘Country people have a practical view when it comes to animals.’

‘You mean they don’t care?’

‘What I’m saying is that farmers see animals in the context of running a farm,’ she continues. ‘When kangaroos compete with stock, it boils down to dollars and cents. Farmers shoot kangaroos and there isn’t a murmur about it. But if the government wants to shoot kangaroos, there’s uproar.’

Cameron is shaking his head. ‘Kangaroos have to be safe somewhere.’

‘And so do other species,’ Abby protests. ‘Reserves have to be managed as ecosystems, not as safe havens for kangaroos.