Lucy listens
The hardest part
is listening to every sound,
waiting for him to appear from behind a tree
near the track,
wet and furious,
and both of us
miles from anywhere.
My step quickens.
I try to get into a rhythm –
‘My dad is an arsehole,
my dad is an arsehole’ –
but it doesn’t work.
All it does is bring him closer
in these lonely woods.
He lurks,
a scowl tattooed across his face,
and all I can do
to stop him becoming real
is keep my eyes down
and pick my way through
the overbearing bush.
He waits for me
around every corner.
Lucy: a presence
Suddenly,
I feel a presence.
My body tenses.
I’m being watched.
I search in the half-light
for a movement through the trees.
A silence creeps through the forest
and I grip the branch tighter.
I crouch, better to stay hidden,
and try to slow my breathing.
If he comes closer
I’ll have to decide whether to run
or face him,
here,
alone in the bush.
For a second I close my eyes
and see Jake, still asleep,
curled in the cave,
his head on my backpack.
He’s dreaming of the wolf
standing at the cave entrance.
I hope his dream comes true.
I can’t stay here much longer,
hiding.
Something is out there.
I have to stand and face it
or else I’ll never move.
I push the branch into the ground
and raise myself to the forest
and its presence.
Lucy: like a stray wolf
There!
Near the trees.
A movement.
Please don’t let him see me.
I can’t escape, or attack.
It’s an animal.
A dog, or a . . .
Moving slowly near the track,
he stops and smells my scent.
He looks straight at me.
A silhouette in the tall grass.
He’s not scared and neither am I.
We take a step towards each other,
inquisitive,
as if pulled by some timeless bond.
In that moment,
my fear falls away
and I’m lost in his eyes.
How long has he been out here,
searching?
We stand facing each other.
The wild dog and me.
Slowly, carefully, I kneel down
to be at his level.
‘Are you Shadow?
Or the wolf?’
The dog moves forward
in response to my voice,
his tongue out,
head down,
eyes never leaving me.
His fur is grizzled grey and black.
I reach my hand out,
beckoning.
‘Come closer.
Let me get a better look.’
The dog bounds sideways
into the bush and is gone.
I fall to my knees
and for a few minutes
I can’t possibly move.
I’ve seen him.
He’s out here,
like Jake said he was.
I don’t know what to do.
Go back to Jake and the cave
and tell him what I saw?
Or keep going, for help?
I can still picture him
standing there, looking at me,
without making a sound.
Like a ghost.
That’s why Jake’s dad tells his story,
over and over.
He saw the wolf
and telling his story keeps it real.
Gives him strength.
I stand straight,
every muscle tingling,
sure I can go on, ready for what I must do.
I follow the track away from the cave,
deeper into the woods.
Like the stray wolf,
I’m not alone.
Lucy: Grandma
‘Time only goes one way.’
That’s what Grandma
used to say.
Every time I’d sit with her
on the verandah
and tell her about school,
Peter and his annoying ways,
Mum not standing up for herself,
or Dad and his temper,
she’d just sit there and
point her walking stick
at the farmyard gate,
as if wishing it open.
I knew she wasn’t talking
about waiting to die.
She was telling me
to hold tight,
to wait,
that it’ll all pass.
I’d follow her eyes
to the gate
and I’d whisper,
‘Time only goes one way.’
When she died,
I wanted to put it
on her headstone,
up on the hill.
But no one listened to me,
except Grandma,
and she was gone.
Lucy: fractured sounds bad
The sky is early-morning blue
and you could get lost in it.
I see the vapour trail of a jet miles above
and for once
I don’t wish I was escaping on it.
I’m returning along the track
to Jake’s farm
to get help.
What will I say?
How much will I say?
Jake’s voice echoes,
‘Just tell them I’m all right,
I’ve hurt my ankle.
Don’t say anything is fractured.
That sounds bad.’
I wonder what he’s doing now?
I laugh out loud as I picture Jake
sitting at the cave entrance,
his eyes searching the valley below,
looking for the wolf.
I’ll tell him as soon as I get back.
The calm I felt when I saw the wolf;
the power he gave me.
Lucy: the plan
As I enter the swamp
I see a boot print
and I know it’s his –
the weight,
the markings.
He’s looking for me,
carrying a torch
and all that hatred.
The print is heading home
and I can imagine him now
sitting under the tree
ignoring Peter and Mum,
knowing I’ve got to come back
sooner or later;
waiting for his chance.
I don’t care what happens
when I get home.
I mean it.
Dad can hit me again.
He can try.
Only this time I won’t run.
I won’t put my hands up.
I’ll stand straight,
just out of his reach.
Even though my legs
will be shaking
and my insides churning,
I won’t move.
I’ll keep my eyes fixed on Mum
and see what she does.
I don’t care anymore.
What Jake and I got.
That can’t be touched;
it can’t be broken.
My father can bash me
all he likes,
but I know now,
he can’t touch me.
I’m unbreakable.
I’m strong.
Stronger than any fist.
Lucy: not alone
Maybe that’s my dad’s problem.
That’s why he’s always angry;
why he hits before he thinks.
Because he doesn’t believe.
Because he’s got nothing to hold onto,
deep down,
nothing that makes him a man.
What must it be like
to be so alone,
so unloved.
No,
I’m not feeling sorry for him.
I’m not that forgiving.
But I know that
I’ve got Jake
and the cave
and the wild dog –
the wolf –
whatever it is.
And my dad,
he’s got nothing.
Lucy: Jake’s dad
Jake’s dad!
He’s walking along the track
beside the creek,
leading a horse;
his head down,
looking for tracks.
He kneels
and touches the ground
like he’s trying to feel for his son.
I’m about to call his name
when he looks up.
His hand goes straight to his heart
as if to stop it leaping out of his chest.
I start running.
I don’t want to look worried,
or in a panic,
but I run so I reach him quickly
and when I get there
I see the suspicion on his face.
I’ve done something bad to his son;
I’m a Harding.
‘He’s okay, Mr Jackson,’ I say.
‘Just a sprained ankle.
We stayed in a cave last night.
I came to get help.’
He listens to the story
of Jake slipping on the rock
and how instead of walking home on the ankle
and making it worse,
we decided to find shelter
and get help in the morning.
He nods and asks,
‘How are you, Lucy?’
No one has ever asked about me.
I don’t know how to answer
or how to trust anyone’s questions.
I say,
‘Let’s go get Jake.’
Lucy: how happy
Jake’s dad doesn’t say much
as we head to Sheldon Mountain.
He asks me
if I’d like to ride the horse,
to rest,
but I say,
‘No, I don’t want to be a burden.’
He looks at me.
‘Burden?’
Then he seems to lose track
of what he wanted to say.
I’m relieved.
I just want to find Jake
and get this over with.
The sun is high
when we reach the bottom of the mountain.
Mr Jackson ties the horse’s reins
to an old gum tree
and loads his pack
with food and water
for the climb.
As we set off over the rocks
I think of Jake,
sitting, waiting,
and how happy he’ll be
when he sees his dad.
How happy he’ll be.
Peter
Mum, you gotta come,
quick.
Dad’s gone.
And so is the car.
Has he gone looking for Lucy?
But why would he take the car?
He won’t get far over the paddocks in that.
Why didn’t he take the bike?
Why didn’t he wait for me?
The dogs, Mum,
they’re still chained up.
They’ll find Lucy.
It don’t make sense, Mum.
And I checked too,
Dad’s gun is still there.
He don’t go anywhere without his gun.
I reckon it would be handy.
He could fire off a shot
and Lucy would hear it miles away,
don’t you reckon?
So why no gun?
And the car?
Where’s he gone, Mum?
I want to find Lucy.
I want to find Dad.
Lucy: hungry
We reach Jake
soon after midday.
Yes, he’s sitting on the rock,
his foot resting on the pack.
When he sees his dad
he scrambles to his feet
and stumbles into his father’s arms.
I hang back near the cave
and watch them
with their eyes closed,
hugging.
They stay like that for a long time
and it’s like they’re fixing something
that almost got broke.
You know what I mean?
They’re saying stuff without a word
and so I keep real quiet.
When they stop,
Jake limps over
and puts his arms around me.
He says ‘thanks’,
even though he doesn’t need to.
He kisses me
right there in front of his dad
and all Mr Jackson says is,
‘You must both be hungry.
Let’s eat.’
Lucy: ghosts
I finish my sandwich
and drink some water.
Jake and his dad are close together,
I can’t wait any longer.
‘I saw the wolf.’
His father slowly grins
and I’m sure he wants to say,
‘I knew it. I knew it.’
‘It was in the forest this morning.
He was right in front of me
and everything was quiet and still,
like a dream.
Can you believe it?
Just me and him!
I don’t know if it was a wolf
or a wild dog.
He was in the long grass,
but he was big.
When he moved away,
he was silent,
like a ghost.’
My voice trails off
as I look into the forest below
where the wolf lives,
and prowls.
I saw what I saw;
they can believe me
or not.
Jake’s dad rubs his forehead,
lost in thought.
Jake says,
‘He’s our wolf, Dad.’
Lucy: Jake’s Dad
Jake’s dad starts packing,
giving himself time to gather his thoughts.
‘I believe in the wolf, Lucy.
I have since that day
beside Wolli Creek.’
He scratches a stick into the ground.
‘But when Jake didn’t come home last night,
I knew deep in my bones
he was out here,
somewhere in the forest,
looking for the wolf.’
He draws a cross
with the stick,
over and over,
unaware he’s doing it.
‘I felt sick, Jake.
I’d put you at risk,
because of my obsession.’
He stands and tosses the stick
over the ledge.
‘Who cares if it’s a wolf,
a feral dog,
a dingo-cross,
a huge fox
or, yes, even a ghost!
Who cares?
The bloody thing eats my sheep
and howls at night.
That’s enough to know.
I’m sorry, Jake.
So sorry.
I didn’t mean for you
to go looking for my wolf.’
Jake: what matters
Maybe I came here to prove Dad wrong.
If all we found was a wild dog,
I could tell Dad he was mistaken.
If there really was a wolf,
well,
it would become my wolf.
Because I saw him,
I found him.
‘No, Dad. I had to come.
I wanted to find what was out here.’
I hold out my hand
for Lucy to help me up.
I’m just like Dad.
I want to be right,
all the time.
Lucy looks from me to Dad
and says,
‘What you believe in, Mr Jackson,
that‘s all there is.’
Dad nods, smiles
and reaches for my hand,
to help me down the track.
It’s time to leave
Sheldon Mountain.
Jake: Wolli Creek
On the slow walk to Wolli Creek,
Dad and Lucy swap stories,
going into every detail of their sightings,
and I realise that, from now on,
there is no escaping the wolf.
We sit beside the stream
in the late afternoon sunshine.
My ankle throbs
with the pain
of the scramble down
Sheldon Mountain
to Charlie.
We’re nearly home.
Lucy is holding a shiny rock
in her hands, turning it over and over,
and looking out across the creek
to her farmhouse.
‘You can come home with us, Lucy,’
I say.
‘If you want, I’ll go with you tomorrow,
to your place.’
Lucy tosses the rock
into the water,
watching the ripples
slowly spread.
‘Thanks, Jake.
I’ll be all right.
If I stay away too long,
Peter will have no one to annoy.’