Into That Forest - By Louis Nowra Page 0,2

fingers. Me mother sticked lavender up her nose when he had tea with us so she didn’t have to breathe his pong, but as the tiger man said, he had to smell like his prey so they wouldn’t take flight when he came along. He told us how he caught two tiger pups and put them in a hessian bag and, knowing their mother were watching what he was doing from where she were hidden in the tall grass and ferns, he threw the bag into the lake and then walked off like he were leaving, but really he hid himself behind a tree and waited for the mother to rush down to the lake to rescue her pups. And when she did, he shot her. He showed no grief in telling us the story - he were skiting, actually - cos the tigers killed sheep, so many that the farmers cried poor. After he killed the mother he yanked the two pups from the bag and strangled them. When I said I felt sorry for the mother and pups the hunter said yes it were terrible, but either humans starved or the tigers did.

The closest people to us lived three hours away. Mr Carsons were a widower and a sheep farmer. His property were by itself between tarn country and wild bush. The tiger hunter stayed with him a lot and he killed dozens of tigers that ate Mr Carsons’ sheep. Mr Carsons had a daughter called Rebecca, though she liked to be called Becky. She were a year and a half older than me. She had no mother. Her mother got sick one day and the next day she were covered in purple sores. While Becky’s father were getting the buggy ready to take her to Hobart hospital, Becky found her mother near the shearing shed, naked as the day she were born, scratching at her sores, foaming at the mouth and crying out to Jesus to help the pain stop. Becky called out to her father but when he came the poor woman were gone to God.

I did not see Becky much, maybe ten times in two years, but we were the only girls in me whole world and so when we met we were close cos she were lonely too. She were like her father. He had this air ’bout him, he always seemed to be thinking deep thoughts or were glum like an undertaker. When they visited us they always wore their Sunday best. He’d be wearing a black suit and she’d have a lovely blue or pink dress. Oh yes, do not let me forget this - she always wore a cameo of a beautiful woman, who Becky told me were her mother.

One day when I were ’bout six years old - me dates are fuzzy but you will understand why later - me father, who was back from a long voyage, told us that Becky were coming to stay for two days cos Mr Carsons were going into Blackwood to buy a new buggy. She had only stayed overnight once - and that was the year before - so me father’s news made me shiver with pleasure. I were beside meself on the morning of her coming. I couldn’t sit still. I were running through the house, sitting on the verandah chair waiting for them, then, quick as a flash, I’d be down to the track to see if they were coming. I run into me parents’ bedroom to ask them again ’bout when Becky were coming and I seen me father tying up me mother in a corset. She never wore them when he were whaling but when he was back home she were never without one. It made her look so beautiful. She walked differently, not walked but glided like she were floating a foot above the ground. I knew it were to please me father and in pleasing him she were always in a daze of happiness.

Then Becky arrived in an old buggy with her father. I were so excited to clap eyes on her. I tingle now, thinking about it. You see, I were an alone kid most of me time with just me mother and maybe me father and Sam, me pig. Becky looked gorgeous in her Sunday best with her long golden hair falling down her back. Oh, how I were jealous of that hair cos I had a basin cut and me hair were black like