Red
dust kicked up around Billy’s scuffed boots as he trudged down the long track
that led from the family homestead to the main road. The orange glow of the new
dawn hung on the horizon and the cloudless sky promised another day of
incessant dry heat. A murder of crows pecking
at the corpse of a rabbit laid out on barren soil took flight as Billy
approached – cawing loudly as their wings flapped slowly and lazily.
A
murder of crows Billy thought to himself. A siege of cranes, a band of coyotes,
and a gaggle of geese. He had learned these and other collectives in the
boarding school that he now attended in Adelaide – ten gruelling hours drive
away from the farm that had been in his family for more than 100 years.
Billy
looked at the withered sticks and stubble of the trees that he had helped his father
plant along the length of the track – or the driveway as his mother liked to
refer to it. The trees were all long dead after the absence of rain. He
remembered the backbreaking days six years ago planting the saplings with his
dad. He was just eight at the time and he wore his grandpa’s battered Akubra
hat – way too big for his little head - and he remembered his mother laughing
at his stubborn refusal to take a rest from his labours. He remembers too her excitement
and delight in the promise that the trees would provide shade all away along
the track - right up to the house. Their
grand promenade she called it. Billy remembered how his mum used to laugh all
the time and how bright and beautiful and bubbly she was back then. He racked
his brain trying to recall when he had heard his mother laugh since.
A
loose corrugated sheet on the metal drum that constituted their letterbox
rattled a little as it flapped in the rising hot morning breeze. Tumbleweed
danced across the black asphalt as Billy lifted the back flap and let it bang
close when he saw that there was no mail. He stepped onto the road that ran
north to south and scanned the flat desolate vista in both directions for a
sign of any vehicles. Even through his thick boots be could feel the warmth of
the road rising - still incalescent from the previous day’s sun. A heat haze
was already misting on the horizon making the short scrubby saltbush shimmer. The
gnarled white bleached trunks and dirty brown foliage of the stunted vegetation
offered a stark contrast to the burnt ochre soil.
Billy
sighed and walked to the sun bleached rock that was semi buried next to the
letterbox and he sat himself down. He could barely make out the name “Kealey”
painted on its flat face. Billy remembered carefully painting over the letters
– when was it only a couple of summers back? He made a mental note to add the re-painting
of it to his already lengthy list of holiday chores. As he hunched over to
watch an orderly trail of bull ants march tirelessly across the desert sand the
flies appeared and he absently swatted them from his face. Beads of
perspiration gathered on his forehead and his eyes stung from the salt.
After
only ten minutes or so Billy heard the sound of a distant engine approaching
above the angry buzz of the flies and he stood up and saw a dark dot way off
down the road. The putt putting of an engine grew louder as the shape took the form
of a battered four-wheel drive. The vehicle rattled to a halt at the Kealey
driveway and with the engine still idling the smeared driver window wound down and
a ruddy-faced red-nosed man stuck his head out. Billy took a couple of steps
forward and the cool blast of the air conditioning from the vehicle sprayed his
face. The acrid smell of stale tobacco smoke wafted out.
“Gidday
young Billy mate youse are home for the holidays then are you?”
“Gidday
Mr. Carson yeah I got in on Saturday”
“’Hows
your Mum and Dad then?”
“They are all right thanks. Mum
sent me down to check the mail. Said she is expectin’ a parcel”
“Only this from the Bank mate.
Suspect it is not good news and all. Never is with those fuckers”
Billy
accepted the official looking envelope that was handed to him and eyes downcast
he shuffled his feet and kicked at the loose gravel on the side of the road.
There
was an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds and Billy heard the crackle on
the car radio and the depressingly cheerful tone of the announcer saying ‘Yes
it’s going to be another hot one today folks with the mercury already hitting
thirty two degrees and the Woomera recording a record 2000th
straight day with no rain. Stay cool folks and stay strong all you farmers out
there. Here’s a little Slim Dusty classic to brighten up your days’
Mr
Carson reached over and turned down the volume.
“Yep its gonna be another hot
one today Billy. Hope youse aren’t too uncomfortable comin’ from your big fancy
city school an’ all that”
“She’ll be right Mr Carson, any
chance of some rain you think?”
The
postman laughed.
“Geez mate we haven’t had any
rain ‘ere for nearly six years. I deliver mail not fuckin’ miracles. Little
Gemma Shaw over at the Kipling property ‘asn’t seen rain in ‘er life time son.
Dunno ‘ow your old man and the other farmers around these parts make a livin’
anymore. Better get youse a fancy degree and talk to those buggers down in
Canberra. Politicians fuckin’ up the world with global warming and climate
change and shit. There’s no future in farmin’ anymore son. None at all”
Billy shuffled his feet
again and kicked at the dirt - not really knowing what to say.
“I
remember when your old man was a little nipper Billy. All the dams was full an’
the rains came in like clockwork every season. Things are really fucked up now.
Won’t stop rainin’ in some parts of the world and won’t start rainin’ here and
other places.”
“Thanks
Mr Carson. I better go and take this back to Dad”
Billy waved the envelope
and stepped back from the road.
“Tell
your Mum an’ Dad gidday from me”
The postman wound up his
window and the jeep drove away. Billy watched it disappear up the road and he waited
until it once again became a blurred shape in the distance before he turned and
started the long trudge back down the driveway. The sun had risen higher now
and it was getting hot. Really hot.
………….
Kejjo’s
back ached and his hands were chaffed and red as he held yet another hessian
sack open while his uncle shovelled more sand into it. When it was three
quarters full his father quickly folded over the end, stitched it up and
dragged it to the levy that was being constructed – this one another hundred
meters inland from the remnants of last barrier that had been built. No trace
remained of the village that Kejjo had been born in. The sea had reclaimed it.
“Has God forsaken us papa?” Kejjo
asked.
His
father glared in response and thrust another empty sack at him then turned away
to gaze at out to the sea. Kejjo saw his father’s broad shoulders slump and he
thought that he could hear the semblance of a sob. That couldn’t be right. In
all of Kejjo’s thirteen years he had never once seen his father cry. He was
always the strong one in the village – a great man who told wonderful stories
about the warrior ancestors of his lineage.
Kejjo’s
father had seen and survived the great mushroom clouds in his youth when the
Americans had tested their big bombs. Many of his uncles and cousins had died
of the sicknesses that came afterwards as had some of the elders too. Kejjo’s
father was there too when the Islands had finally become an independent nation.
Surely a man who had seen and experienced so much could somehow find a way to
save the atoll. If anyone could do it his father could.
“Here open the sack Kejjo”
uncle Fu’lau demanded impatiently – his shovel full.
“When will the waters stop
uncle?”
“When it is God’s will,”
his uncle replied.
“The great snows at the ends of
the world are melting boy” he added
“Will we all drown?”
“We will if we don’t finish building this
levy” Fu’lua said.
“Hey turn up the radio Kejjo”
one of his cousins who was working two pairs down from Kejjo yelled out
“They are talking about us”
Kejjo
looked to his uncle who nodded his approval and he quickly scampered over to
the ancient and battered Bakelite unit. He twisted the volume dial to full and
there was a crackle of resistance but the noise amplified. The digging and
bagging stopped and all the men and boys clustered and paused and listened. A
man with a clipped and impassive British accent announced:
‘In further developing news, a
state of emergency has now been declared on the Marshall islands where rising
sea levels are reported to be reclaiming the atolls at a rate that by far
exceeds predictions made by oceanographers. ABC reporter Claudia Alexander is
in the Marshall Islands. Claudia what can you tell us about the situation over
there?’
“What’s an oceanographer uncle?”
Kejjo asked
A
collective and loud “shhh” came from the men on the beach.
‘Thanks David, yes the
situation here is getting rather bad with an estimated three and a half
thousand Marshall Islanders having already been displaced by oceans that have
risen alarmingly over the past two years. It is predicted that up to another
ten thousand islanders will be required to re-located in the next two years.
Climate change experts report that these rising sea levels are as a direct
result of global warming’
“Enough”
Kejjo’s father declared as he reached down to turn the radio off.
“Everyone back to work now”
Kejjo
scampered back to his uncle’s side who gave him a rough but playful ruffling of
his head
“Ain’t no rising water ever
gonna get over this mighty wall is it little man?” said
Fu’Lau as he started shoveling again.
When
they locked eyes Kejjo noticed a disconcerting flash of uncertainty from his uncle
and, not for the first time in recent weeks, Kejjo experienced a black shadow
of fear cross his heart.
…………
His
parents were arguing again. Despite their attempts to restrain their raised
voices and the foam pillow that he clutched tightly over his head, Billy still could
make out the odd word and get the gist of their conversation. “Bank” was
uttered several times and he thought he heard the words “school” and “tractor” and
“mortgage” as well. The hissed whispers were like angry snakes Billy thought.
Poisonous adders. Terrible asps.
Billy
then heard the front screen door slam loudly and he felt the thud of his dad’s
work boots stomp across the veranda. As the roar of the engine of his father’s
ute dissipated in the distance he thought that he heard his mother crying. He
knew that he should get out of his own bed and go in and say something and maybe
tell her that everything would turn out all OK but he was frozen in fear. Despite
the heat he felt all cold and shivery and some part of him knew that everything
would not be alight. It would never be alright. So he held the pillow as hard
as he could over his head until the solace of sleep came and eventually took
him. It was a restless and disturbed slumber full of dust and despair.
At
breakfast in the vast homestead kitchen Billy’s mum had laid out the table with
plates of toast spread thick with vegemite and the aroma of the steeping black
pot of tea was delicious.
“No eggs for breakfast I’m
afraid today Billy” apologised his mum
“The chooks aren’t laying what
they used to anymore and we have had to eat some over the past couple of weeks”
“Where’s Dad Mum?”
“He went to town to see the Bank
Manager. He won’t be long.”
“I don’t have to go back to
boarding school Mum. It would save you and Dad heaps and I could stay here and
help out around the place”
“Don’t be silly Billy. Your Dad
and me want you to finish your schooling and go onto university. Make something
of yourself”
“But I want to work on the
farm”
“Just finish your schooling
first love. No eat up the rest of that toast and off with you. Those jobs won’t
do themselves”
……….
Lightning
streaked the sky and illuminated the rain that was teeming down in sheets. The
clap of thunder boomed loud. The storms came every day now – each one seemingly
stronger than the last. This was once the dry season. Kejjo shivered and hugged
his knees tighter. The smell of ozone hung in the air. The single globe in the
hut flickered and sputtered and then extinguished altogether. Above the howl of
the gale he heard men yelling. The words were indistinguishable but Kejjo heard
urgency and panic in the tone. He was frightened.
……….
Billy
woke with a start and he sat up in bed. Icy dread clutched his heart as the
realisation struck him that the wailing that he heard and that he thought was a
part of his dream – his nightmare in fact - was real. He slipped on his jeans
and pulled on a t-shirt and shoeless he ran down the hall and out the front
door. He stopped at the sight of his mother kneeling in the dirt out front of
the barn door - her whole body shaking with her sobbing.
He
walked slowly towards her.
“Mum?”
“Nooooo”
He
looked past her and through the open door of the barn Billy saw the lifeless
body of his father swinging from the rafters – his face all purple and bruised.
In
a daze of disbelief – then grief - Billy staggered to his mother and then he
dropped to his knees as well. His mother reached for him and they clutched each
other tightly. The tears mingled as they fell to the ground and each droplet
kicked-up red puffs of sand. The moisture evaporated immediately.
………
Kejjo
sat alone in the rear of the boat amongst the piles of boxes. Chickens clucked
loudly from old apple crates and two goats were tethered to the railing. They
were all the livestock that were left. His uncle walked unsteadily towards him
as the vessel pitched in the swell of the ocean. Barely visible now in the
distance Kejjo could just make out the shape of their island – or what was left
of it. It was the only home that he had never known.
“Will the melting snow at the
ends of the world swallow up all of the land uncle?”
“I don’t know Kejjo”
Waves
slapped at the side of the boat as the island disappeared on the horizon. The
rains started again and they mingled with the tears that streaked down Kejjo’s
face.
“Come join the others Kejjo. It
is cold out here and the little ones are scared. Read them a story”
“My father is the one who reads
the stories to the children”
“Your father and your other
Uncles stayed behind on the island Kejjo. You know that”
“Will they save it Uncle?”
“No Kejjo. They will salvage
what they can and will meet us at Majuro”
Fu’Lau
held out an arm and Kejjo’s hand was engulfed in his uncle’s giant fist. He was
effortlessly pulled to his feet. Together they bent into the sleeting rain and
they made their way slowly and warily to the front of the boat and to the deck
door that led down inside. Downstairs thirty frightened little children huddled
together amongst even more crates and boxes as well as fishing nets and poles.
Some of the children were sobbing quietly and a few were noticeably sea-sick.
The fear was palpable.
“Read to them Kejjo”
“What story shall I read them
Uncle?”
“This one”
Fu’Lau
opened a book with a black battered cover and he flicked through the pages to
where a corner had been carefully folded. He handed the book to Kejjo and he
then ushered the children around.
“From here Kejjo”
he said as he pointed.
Kejjo
read.
“For forty days the
flood kept coming on the earth, and as the waters increased they lifted the ark
high above the earth. The waters rose and increased greatly on the
earth, and the ark floated on the surface of the water. They rose
greatly on the earth, and all the high mountains under the entire heavens were
covered. The waters rose and covered the mountains to a depth of
more than fifteen cubits. Every living thing that moved on land
perished—birds, livestock, wild animals, all the creatures that swarm over the
earth, and all mankind. Everything on dry land that had the breath
of life in its nostrils died. Every living thing on the face of the
earth was wiped out; people and animals and the creatures that move along the
ground and the birds were wiped from the earth. Only Noah was left, and those
with him in the ark.”
“The waters flooded
the earth for a hundred and fifty days.
But God remembered
Noah and all the wild animals and the livestock that were with him in the ark,
and he sent a wind over the earth, and the waters receded. Now the springs of
the deep and the floodgates of the heavens had been closed, and the rain had
stopped falling from the sky. The water receded steadily from the earth.”
“We are like Noah
and the Ark” Kejjo told the children.
“We are all saved”
……….
Billy shifted uncomfortably in the car seat. He pulled
at the collar of his shirt and his feet hurt. Both his suit and his shoes were
a size too small for his fast growing body. His ‘good’ clothes his Mum called
them. Beside him his mother sat impassively in her black dress – her face as
bleak as the landscape. On the car radio the announcers voice was sickeningly
cheerful.
“If you hadn’t
noticed it’s hot, hot, hot again folks with the mercury already sitting on
thirty six degrees and still rising. We are expecting a top temperature of
fourty two degrees with no respite in sight. The shire is has announced even
tighter water restrictions with both the upper and lower dams nearly empty. In
world news fierce tropical storms continue to batter the south pacific with
three of the atolls of the Marshall Islands now nearly completely engulfed by
rising sea levels. United Nations scientists released a statement claiming that
there has been a ten-fold increase in natural disasters and that these are a
direct result of global warming. They claim that there is mounting and now
indisputable evidence that the global warming is man-made.
What we wouldn’t do
to get a little of that rain over here. Here’s a little country and western
classic to cheer you up and get you through your day”
Tears welled up in Billy’s eyes and he turned to face
away from his mother and gazed out of the car window. Through blurred and
stinging eyes the barren red landscape flashed by.
It was arid and cracked and broken.