grass.
‘Come here to me, boy!’
Ignoring my command, he darted sideways then retreated. Several feet away, I spied a long black body with a tinge of red along its belly. Hands shaking, I dragged open my dillybag and took out the revolver Aunt Ida had given me. Cracking open the frame, I fumbled six cartridges into the cylinder and snapped shut the breech. Pulling back the hammer, I took aim at the snake and cautiously approached. My pulse began to crash noisily in my ears. As I cleared the lomandra, the snake raised its head and hissed softly as it prepared to strike.
Holding my breath, I took aim and fired.
Harold yelped and dashed behind me, cowering and shaking his head. His ears would ring for days, and he would be gun-shy for a while, but he was alive.
Not so the snake.
Its head was gone, severed cleanly. Although it was dead, the nerves that wove along its lengthy backbone continued to function. The glossy body lashed and coiled on itself, the delicate tail looping and whipping the ground, slippery black in the sunlight.
Finally the sleek body stilled.
I emptied the unspent cartridges and stowed the weapon back in my dillybag, then grasped the snake’s tail and picked it up. Its skin was velvety smooth, its strong muscles now limp. Calling Harold to my side, I continued along the river towards the camp, my mood now even more sombre.
Mama used to say that all God’s creatures valued their lives as much as we valued ours. My memories of her were hazy, but I’d never forgotten her gentle manners and kind, calming voice. She had loved all living things, and in my mind’s eyeI imagined her shedding a tear for the creature whose life I had just ended.
My own eyes were dry as I made my way towards the camp, but I understood my mother’s viewpoint. Deadly as it had been, the red-belly black had possessed a fierce beauty, and I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret for its demise.
Jindera, on the other hand, would be delighted. It wasn’t every day someone arrived with breakfast.
Jindera was crouched at the river’s edge, collecting water in a bark dish. Her bony spine formed a ridge down the back of her yellow dress, and wisps of her hair lifted gently on the breeze. She was singing, her voice thin and eerie as it drifted in the still morning.
Further downstream a couple of boys were stalking the shady shallows, probably hunting turtles they would catch with their hands. Some girls were sitting along the banks weaving fishing nets from grass fibres. They looked over when they saw me, and one of them waved and called out to Jindera.
Jindera got to her feet and turned to greet me. When I lifted the snake for her to see, she smiled.
‘Where you get that long fella?’ she wanted to know.
‘I shot him.’
‘We hear gunfire. Boys go along track, see you. Why you shoot him?’
I pointed to Harold. ‘The fool of a dog nearly got himself bitten.’
Jindera took the snake from my hand, calling to the other women as she held her prize aloft. Meera, an older girl with a tiny baby strapped to her back, ran ahead of us to stoke the campfire coals. Meera, like most of the others, wore only a string around her hips from which hung a scrap of wallaby hide. There had been a time when the people’s nakedness had embarrassedme, but over the years I had stopped noticing. Jindera was the only one who wore European-style clothes, and I suspected that her choice had less to do with modesty, and more to do with the fact that her dress was a gift from my aunt.
As we headed back to the camp, Jindera was quiet. I knew she sensed my mood, and was waiting for me to speak, but it wasn’t until we arrived at the perimeter of huts that I raised the courage to tell her.
I stopped walking. ‘Jindera, I’m getting married.’
Her soft brown eyes held the question, but she remained silent.
‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ I told her. ‘I’ll be going away for some time.’
Still Jindera said nothing. I knew she
‘Come here to me, boy!’
Ignoring my command, he darted sideways then retreated. Several feet away, I spied a long black body with a tinge of red along its belly. Hands shaking, I dragged open my dillybag and took out the revolver Aunt Ida had given me. Cracking open the frame, I fumbled six cartridges into the cylinder and snapped shut the breech. Pulling back the hammer, I took aim at the snake and cautiously approached. My pulse began to crash noisily in my ears. As I cleared the lomandra, the snake raised its head and hissed softly as it prepared to strike.
Holding my breath, I took aim and fired.
Harold yelped and dashed behind me, cowering and shaking his head. His ears would ring for days, and he would be gun-shy for a while, but he was alive.
Not so the snake.
Its head was gone, severed cleanly. Although it was dead, the nerves that wove along its lengthy backbone continued to function. The glossy body lashed and coiled on itself, the delicate tail looping and whipping the ground, slippery black in the sunlight.
Finally the sleek body stilled.
I emptied the unspent cartridges and stowed the weapon back in my dillybag, then grasped the snake’s tail and picked it up. Its skin was velvety smooth, its strong muscles now limp. Calling Harold to my side, I continued along the river towards the camp, my mood now even more sombre.
Mama used to say that all God’s creatures valued their lives as much as we valued ours. My memories of her were hazy, but I’d never forgotten her gentle manners and kind, calming voice. She had loved all living things, and in my mind’s eyeI imagined her shedding a tear for the creature whose life I had just ended.
My own eyes were dry as I made my way towards the camp, but I understood my mother’s viewpoint. Deadly as it had been, the red-belly black had possessed a fierce beauty, and I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of regret for its demise.
Jindera, on the other hand, would be delighted. It wasn’t every day someone arrived with breakfast.
Jindera was crouched at the river’s edge, collecting water in a bark dish. Her bony spine formed a ridge down the back of her yellow dress, and wisps of her hair lifted gently on the breeze. She was singing, her voice thin and eerie as it drifted in the still morning.
Further downstream a couple of boys were stalking the shady shallows, probably hunting turtles they would catch with their hands. Some girls were sitting along the banks weaving fishing nets from grass fibres. They looked over when they saw me, and one of them waved and called out to Jindera.
Jindera got to her feet and turned to greet me. When I lifted the snake for her to see, she smiled.
‘Where you get that long fella?’ she wanted to know.
‘I shot him.’
‘We hear gunfire. Boys go along track, see you. Why you shoot him?’
I pointed to Harold. ‘The fool of a dog nearly got himself bitten.’
Jindera took the snake from my hand, calling to the other women as she held her prize aloft. Meera, an older girl with a tiny baby strapped to her back, ran ahead of us to stoke the campfire coals. Meera, like most of the others, wore only a string around her hips from which hung a scrap of wallaby hide. There had been a time when the people’s nakedness had embarrassedme, but over the years I had stopped noticing. Jindera was the only one who wore European-style clothes, and I suspected that her choice had less to do with modesty, and more to do with the fact that her dress was a gift from my aunt.
As we headed back to the camp, Jindera was quiet. I knew she sensed my mood, and was waiting for me to speak, but it wasn’t until we arrived at the perimeter of huts that I raised the courage to tell her.
I stopped walking. ‘Jindera, I’m getting married.’
Her soft brown eyes held the question, but she remained silent.
‘I’ve come to say goodbye,’ I told her. ‘I’ll be going away for some time.’
Still Jindera said nothing. I knew she
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