Robyn Hogan

While City Boy languished we enjoyed being a twosome again. But that might have been an illusion.
          We were trotting along the bush boundary, a coil of tie-wire over Fox’s shoulder, fence stapler bounding in my hip pocket, when we felt, rather than saw, movement in the trees. Grounded movement flitting with us. And silent.
          ‘Not a ’roo,’ I said quietly. A kangaroo could be confused and dumb enough to hop towards us in daylight but the bush would crack, feet thump a warning. ‘Bet it’s the weird guy.’
          We kept walking, not turning or indicating we knew we were not alone. We came to the wombat scrape we had noted the day of the fire storm. And not before time. The ’roos were using it now, too, and their powerful shoulders had wrenched the netting above it open. Kangaroos have relatively small heads but, once pushed through a fence hole or weakness, they twist and turn their bodies, straining the wires until some give. What had been a shallow enough scrape one day was now a passageway for all manner of animals – including the sheep.
          We dropped to our haunches and began pulling on the sprung wires with our hands, manipulating them into place. Fox set the wire coil he had been carrying down and, drawing pliers from his belt, began to cut off some lengths. I loaded some staples and secured the better sections to the bottom strain wire.
          Heads down and close together we noted the shadow flickering along the tree line then over the parched ground towards us.
          ‘Hello there!’ Fox suddenly yelled and the shadow leapt. We both looked up, grinning. The poor guy was really startled.
          ‘Serves you right for sneaking up on us,’ Fox growled.
          ‘You’re a pair of sneaks, too,’ the man retorted.
          Today he had a grubby, once yellow, towelling hat pulled down hard on his head, an oversize blue shirt and jeans coming out at the knees. He remained standing on the other side of the fence, clear of the bush, and, placing his hands, palms in against his neck, he stroked them up the sides of his head, over his ears, twisting his hat brim, then stretched his arms to the sky. The same weird action we had seen before. He did it several times, staring straight ahead. Then, with a little jerk as if to break the pattern, he looked back down at us.
          ‘What happened to your fat fool friend?’
          ‘He’s a bit sick these days,’ Fox drawled.
          ‘Did he really get bitten by a wombat?’ His rich, clear tone sounded sceptical and we two, feeling a threat, rose slowly to our feet. ‘Leastways, that’s what the talk is up on the highway.’
          ‘Too right,’ Fox assured him, sounding wary.
          ‘Wombats have been known to kill dogs.’ I rushed, probably unnecessarily, to our defence adding, ‘dogs that invade burrows, that is.’
          ‘Just goes to show how dangerous the bush can be.’ I thought there was a smile in his voice but his face wore his usual long, saddish expression.
          Suddenly he turned and began walking back and forth between the trees and the fence line and, after watching him briefly, Fox and I turned back to our work. It took us a while to knit the hole then scrounge enough stones and dirt to fill the hollow. All the time the guy kept up his pacing until I was feeling quite giddy. As we collected our tools he stopped against the fence, towering over us. Automatically we wriggled backwards on our heels, allowing space between him and us even though the fence was a physical barrier, before we stood up.
          ‘Would you two like to come caving with me?’
          His invitation was as polite as it was unexpected. And tempting. We glanced at each other. We had never been caving.
          ‘Don’t you have to get permission? You know, from the Ranger? And learn some stuff first? Before you are allowed in Bungonia Caves?’ Fox spoke jerkily. The man had resumed his hand-head pressing actions.
          He dropped his hands to his sides. ‘I’m not talking about the official Bungonia Caves. I’m talking about my caves, where I live.’
          We looked from him to each other. We had discovered his creek bed tunnel; were there more? And bigger? The memory of the piles of smooth counting stones suddenly flashed through my head. And the red bucket.
          ‘Fox,’ I said excitedly, ‘that’s how he got in front of the fire.’ Fox crinkled his eyes in thought. ‘He has found a cave on that cliff-face plateau!’
          ‘I live in the cave.’ The man spoke in that precious way that pleases parents. Then ruined the effect by declaring, ‘I am the greatest cave discoverer of all time.’ He glared at us, took a step forward, right hand outstretched. ‘Meet Jacques Chabert.’
          ‘Crabs! He’s French.’ It was about my weakest subject but something must have rubbed off. I remember thinking that that explained his posh ways.
          Fox moved the roll of wire off his shoulder into his left hand and, stepping forward, shook Jacques’ hand above the top wire of the fence.
          ‘Hi! Name’s Fox and this here is Amy.’
          I followed up his action and shook hands too. The Frenchman’s fingers were long and surprisingly cool and my hand felt to me like a grubby little paw.
          ‘There’s nothing I don’t know about caving and I take all the precaution s for a safe explore. But, you see, the caves this side of the Gorge are unknown, unmapped. It is my intention to discover and record them.’ For a moment he reminded me of the type of boasts City Boy is prone to but then, I thought, if he’s a great explorer, he is only being honest.
          ‘We’re halfway there.’ I spoke under my breath but Fox heard. ‘We could take a quick look today.’ The sun was burning hot on the back of my neck and it seemed a great idea to fudge a few hours from chores. We would not be missed. The oldies knew we were working the far boundary.
          Fox flashed his quick grin. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.
          We stayed on our side of the fence until the corner strainers. There we dumped our gear to collect later and, crossing the fence, set off into the rougher country. Our friend had dodged ahead. I glanced back towards the west but the sky was a hurting blue and clear of any promise of cloud build up. Only as I checked the weather did I realise how much the storm and fire had scared me. The bus really was not the friend we believed we had tamed. Today, however, I felt confident again.
          We walked briskly, the bush breathless and silent except for the whirring of small dark cicadas. As before we paused, leaning on the boulder at the base of the final hill. Sweat soaked us both and my feet itched inside my boots. I made a mental note to change my socks.
          ‘No matter what, we stay together.’ Fox broke our silence. I shot him a nod of agreement and smiled. ‘And we don’t take any risks,’ he added. ‘It’s just like when we first came to the country. We take it slowly. Listen, look, learn, and we’ll be in control, not conflict.
          His words made perfect sense: we had become too casual in our environment. ‘always respect the bush’ had been our early motto and we seemed to have let that caution slide of late. A reappraisal was timely. I nodded again. We scrambled up the hillside and strode across to the clearing through the giant, yellow box eucalypts, enjoying the sound of the dried leaves and twigs crunching beneath our feet. Stretched out beyond was the fallen box tree, its leaves withering, wearing thin. And the burnt area was dappled with blackened pieces of wood.
          Jacques stood near his pebble pile. ‘The problem,’ he greeted us, his voice ringing in the stillness, ‘is there should be four of us for safety.’
          ‘Yaak!’ I made a disgust sound a bit like a cat half spitting, ‘he’s brought us here for nothing.’ We both stopped walking, several metres from Jacques, tension tightening our bodies.
          ‘You said you lived in a cave,’ Fox challenged.
          ‘I did. I do. I can show you the first shaft, from here to the cliff bottom. Give you a taste, explain a bit of technique. Then, next time, you can bring your fat friend and we’ll check out the rear caverns.’
          He sounded reasonable and relaxed. And convincing. Hooked, we walked towards him eagerly.
          Kicking a tangle of clothes aside he uncovered a backpack and, reaching in, brought out a torch.
          ‘The first bit, as I said, is easy. We don’t need lamps or ropes. Just follow me. We are quite safe while they don’t come after us.’
          ‘Who’s likely to come after us?’ we asked, looking at each other, puzzled. But Jacques had disappeared already, through a scoped out, dusty depression beneath the boulder.
          I lay down and slid in sideways, slipping alarmingly, my face buried in thick mulch soil, until I felt strong hands on my back, steadying me, guiding me. Lying at an angle, my feet swung out over nothingness. I kicked desperately.
          ‘Let go,’ he said, ‘you can stand now,’ and he guided my feet downwards to solid earth. With my body thus curved at rightangles I lifted my head slightly and opened my eyes. The torchlight showed me a narrow cavern with a firm floor and plenty of room to stand. It was cool and musty and Fox’s boots bashed me before I had the sense to move to give him room. Then he, too, was standing beside me. The torchlight flickered round us: we were in an earth space about a metre wide and over tow high, perhaps three or more long. A bright blue sleeping bag lay crumpled and stretching into the darkness beyond.
          By the torchlight we could see the slope we had rolled down. As Jacques moved the torch away a little eye-slit of daylight winked above us. He now shone the torch on rock face, fissured rock face. ‘See that. That’s a chimney and in this case it goes all the way down to base.’ He swished the light back so he could look at us. ‘It’s a simple climb down. You just keep pressure on either side with hands and feet. It’s narrow so you don’t have to strain. Just be methodical. There’s a ledge about half way down where you can take a breather.’
          ‘What if we fall?’ I whispered, regrets crowding into my mind.
          ‘You won’t,’ he answered curtly. He stepped into the fissure and began descending, the torch now strapped to his head. The light danced against the creases and bumps of the shaft and, as if in a dream, I entered the “chimney”, pressing my hands and feet hard against the rock sides so they would not tremble, and followed him down. At first I kept my eyes squeezed shut, probably for concentration, but, as I got the hang of it, I opened them. To total, but total, blackness. Above I could feel the pressure of Fox following me, hear the scrape of his boots,, smell his presence and, below, the sliding sounds of Jacques. Light suddenly pierced the blackness and his voice echoed and rolled round the shaft. Though I could not distinguish the words I felt sure he was indicating he had reached the ledge he had mentioned. At about that point I realised I was enjoying myself. The breathless heavy air, it seemed, encased me as firmly as the rock sides and I felt the excitement of challenge. To my annoyance, though, the light went out, and I had to adjust to the darkness again.
          I paused at the ledge in my descent, as Jacques had done, and indicated my position to Fox, before pushing on down. The lower part of the chimney was narrower. I knocked my elbows a couple of times before I grew used to the reduced width. My feet touched bottom and I felt and heard the rolling crunch of stacked pebbles as my boots sunk in.
          Jacques flashed the torch round briefly but long enough for me to see we were in a small, roundish cave and I stepped aside to allow Fox room to descent. But I was curious.
          ‘Can we have the light on again, please?’
          ‘No!’ Jacques snapped sharply, as if he was frightened.
          ‘Why not? There’s not much point in caving if we never see where we are.’ I was peeved and didn’t care if he knew it.
          ‘They can’t catch us in the dark.’
          ‘Who can’t?’ The reply he had given me was nonsense until another thought struck me. As gooseflesh prickled my arms I amended the question. ‘What can’t?’
          He did not answer but turned the light on again, shining it overhead. ‘See that flattener,’ the beam picked up a horizontal break in the rock wall, ‘it’s my guess there’s a complex of caves beyond.’
          Then we were in darkness again. I stamped my foot in anger and the pebbles rattled and squelched. Torchlight shone on the opposite side, low down, picking out the golds and creams amid the dark stones. And a horizontal break similar to the higher flattener. This time loose stones had been cleared back to expose it.
          ‘The way out,’ he said before darkness enveloped us again.
          ‘If we ever come again I’m bringing my own light,’ I muttered fiercely.
          ‘Me too,’ Fox replied.
          ‘We’ll go out now,’ Jacques announced. ‘Through that bottom slot. It’s tight but mercifully short.’
          We could hear him scrabbling round, grunting.
          ‘He’s taking the torch out. Stop him!’
          A panic sweat broke out all over me and I lunged towards the wall. Even as I moved though a slick of light danced on the stones. Filtered and goldish, I recognised it as sunshine. An hysterical laugh escaped me which Fox echoed with a coarse, quite vulgar, cheer.
          Dropping to my knees at the crack I flattened out and eased myself forward, blinking painfully as the full force of the sun hit my face. Once out I coo-eed back to Fox and stood up. Jacques was sitting on a log close by, hand-head pressing in his usual grotesque fashion. As Fox rolled out Jacques rose and pushed his timber seat close against the doline. He must have had to roll it aside to get out judging by the marks on the ground.