Arthur Upfield - Man of Two Tribes

For Maddoch first the legal jail and then detention in the caverns had provided protection from the raw world he had feared. Although he would never admit it, even to himself, the period spent in jail had been the happiest of his life, and that spent in the Nullarbor caverns had given much in compensation for the unnecessary crudities. The craving for protection afforded by the known caverns had reached its peak when gazing upon the tiny houses of the jerboa rats.

Inspector Bonaparte wouldn’t turn back, so he decided he must slip away and seek the warm comfort and safety of those caverns where there were no flies, no glaring sun, no torturing left, right, left, right.

Gradually he edged himself out of the line; slowly he fell back, the last two men passing without lifting their heads. For a moment he stood watching them. Then he realised that at any moment the leader might see him standing there like a fool. Down he went to sprawl amid the saltbush, to lie still.

Then he was running. The run became a trot, the trot a hurried walk. He glanced backward. The party had vanished. He was free to walk on and on to where Dr. Havant waited. Dr. Havant would be so pleased to see him, so happy to hear that Clifford Maddoch couldn’t bear to think of the doctor being so alone, and had come back to keep him company.

Presently he was conscious that the sun had disappeared. H’m! Must have come a long way. Can’t be much farther to go. He tripped and fell hard on his chest, scrambled up and gazed about with bovine curiosity for what had snared his foot.

However, it wasn’t so important, and he had yet to find Dr. Havant. The evening brought the horizon closer, and it was so quiet that he could hear the soft swish when a foot brushed a bush. Then it was suddenly moonlight, and he knew he must be close to the caverns for he had crawled from the caverns into the moonlight.

Following this thought a sound far away came rushing upon him, engulfing him within a voice that screamed. He didn’t recognise the cry of the brolga.

He was lying on the ground. He could feel the cool touch of saltbush under his face. He was running; he knew he was running; knew he was crawling on hands and knees, was certain he was drawing nearer and nearer to the little hole down which he would crawl to Dr. Havant. That little hole! Maddoch shrieked with mirth. His wife would never be able to crawl into that little hole. She was too big, too damn big, the screamingbitch.

The moon was up there, too. For a long time he gazed at her, but the moon persisted in moving so that he had to turn his head when it was painful to do so. Blast the moon! He closed his eyes and the moon was gone, and it was daylight. He was looking along his arm. He could see his hand resting on the ground, palm upward. And beyond his hand stood a kangaroo, cleaning its face with a paw, like a cat.

A kangaroo! Perhaps Dr. Havant would know how to kill it and they could eat its tail. Kangaroo soup was a luxury for sure. Once he had tasted some at a dinner somewhere. The kangaroo took no notice of him, didn’t see him. That’s funny! The kangaroo came and sniffed at his finger-tips. Well, now! How extraordinary! The kangaroo actually jumped up and now sat right on his hand.

It was perfect from nose to tail. The colour of its coat was fawn and there was a tiny streak of white down its soft warm belly. Maddoch, with strange violence, closed his hand and imprisoned the kangaroo.

Sitting up without opening hishand, and this was done with spasmodic effort, Maddoch gazed at the tail of the prisoner and chuckled gleefully at the prize he would present to the lonely Havant. He tried to stand, failed, and tried again, continuing to hold the kangaroo in his closed hand. A foot appeared in front of him, and he looked up to see his wife. He opened his mouth to scream, and the woman became Inspector Bonaparte, who said:

“A pair of giant compasses would not have drawn a better circle for me to follow than you did with your feet, Clifford. Come along, now. Get up, and we’ll find the camp where there’ll be coffee waiting, and something to eat.”

An arm lifted him. He knew his burning feet were dragging.

“Where were you when Mitski was killed, Clifford?” the persuasive voice asked, and only after many attempts to speak did he say:

“Coming from the Jeweller’s Shop, Inspector. I saw him near the boulder.”

“You didn’t kill him, did you?”

“No. How could I? I wasn’t…”

“Of course not, Clifford. Now lift your feet and help a little. We haven’t far to go. Out on the Nullarbor Plain so bright, we’re so happy we could be tight. I’ll help you and you’ll help me, and we’ll go forward with hearts of glee. Didn’t know I am a poet, did you?”

“I… I want to find the caverns and the doctor, Inspector.”

“Not now, Clifford. We’re on the Nullarbor. Not in, but on Australia, the real Australia known by the aborigines, the old time sundowners, the stockmen and waifs like us. For people in cars who follow the roads, for politicians who come inland only when winter coolness is here, Australia puts on a disguise. You and I see Australia without anydisguise, see Australia as it really is. You have a great deal to be joyful about.

“Come on, lift your feet. That’s better. You will come to love Australia, as I do. You have to get down on your stomach, press your face into the sand and against the hot gibbers, smell the land and feel through your empty belly its closeness toyou, woo it with a voice clogged by the lack of saliva. And then, Clifford, as with many men, this naked fair Australia will become the great love of your life.”

How far! What was that the Inspectorsaid. What?

“What have you in your hand, Clifford? Show me.”

A blessedhalt, and Maddoch opened his hand.

“See, you have already captured the veritable Australia. Don’t you know that scientists, writers and photographers travel around Australia in trucks and caravans, and never ever see, let alone hold in their hands, a kangaroomouse. You lucky, lucky man.”

AgainThe Plain Attacks

THEYtrudged in line abreast to prevent delay like that occasioned by Maddoch. At the beginning of the trek it had been essential to follow-my-leader to minimise risk of injury. Then it became necessary for the leader to set a pace to outwit possible pursuit, and, when that menace lessened, speed remained an important factor, as the food and water supplies were so limited.

Maddoch’s condition compelled them to camp for one day in the shallow depression where, fortunately, Lucy had found water. After the day’s rest, Maddoch was well enough to proceed, and the new order ofmarch, although slower, was conducive to the maintenance of morale.

Bony persuaded them to sing, and when they tired of this, he induced Brennan to act the sergeant-major by calling the steps. This suited Brennan. Riddell grumbled incessantly. Jenks now and then hopped over a bush instead of ploughing through it, and his nimbleness prompted Bony to ask if he had done any tap-dancing.

“Not the real thing,” replied Jenks. “Me old manusta think I’d make a fighter good enough to keep him in whisky, and he paid gym fees and lost his dough and drank himself to death ’fore I could get into real class. Still, I learned how to take care ofmeself against the Liverpool Irish, and they’re the boys what make a man step lively. Whatd’youreckon, Joe?”

“Youain’t so bad, Ted. T’hellwith these flies.”

In the afternoon of the next day, Bony was relieved of anxiety by a faint blue knob of high land, far to the west, and he was confident that his general line of progress was accurate. At sun-down, when they had to camp on the open Plain, the knob was banished by the glare, but after the sun had gone, it stood in bold relief and was identical with the mental picture retained of its shape.