Mister Cassowary (3 page)

‘How's that?

‘We're running a working bee on Sunday, at the rehab centre. We're—'

‘The rehab centre?' I asked, resting my hand on the door handle. Perfect. I could definitely do some snooping to find out more about Grandad if we went there. ‘Can we go, Dad?'

‘We're a bit late this year,' continued Walter, ‘but it's our annual clean-up before the cyclone season. They're predicting the first cyclone as early as next week, so we're keen to get it sorted. Why don't you bring Flynn along? We could do with a couple of extra hands.'

‘Dad! We could go, couldn't we? We'll have heaps of the farm fixed up by Sunday.'

But Dad didn't say anything.

I turned to Walter. ‘Will we be allowed to see the cassowaries?'

Dad shook his head. ‘No way, Flynn.'

Abby pulled a face. ‘Couldn't Flynn just come?' she asked. ‘We could pick him up, couldn't we, Pop?'

‘Yeah, Dad,' I said. ‘Couldn't I just go for a little while?'

‘No, I don't think so,' Dad said. ‘Reckon we've got our hands full here. Especially if there's a cyclone coming. Thanks for the invite anyway.'

After Walter and Abby left, Dad and I put away the groceries, and I helped him make ham-and-cheese sandwiches for lunch. When we'd finished, Dad said it was time to start cleaning up the farm. ‘I'll tackle the shed first, I think,' he said. ‘You can bring your books if you like.'

‘Why can't I help?' I said. ‘I help Mum all the time when you're away. I could clean up inside.'

I didn't want to go to the shed. I wanted to find out more about Grandad Barney. I was certain something in the house would tell me what had happened. What about that diary Dad had been so quick to hide?

Dad was pulling on his boots at the back door when he stopped, stooped over, one boot on, one boot off.

‘Or I could, you know, sweep the verandas?' I said. ‘They're pretty dirty.'

Dad straightened, boot in hand. ‘Sweep?'

‘Yeah. Like at home?'

‘You sweep?'

I nodded. It wasn't exactly hard. ‘Yeah, and other stuff. For my allowance.'

Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay, you can sweep. There should be a broom here somewhere. But listen, don't venture off, okay? I'm in the shed if you need me, and I'll organise dinner when I get back.'

Once Dad had gone, I found a broom in the hallway cupboard. I'd just sweep for a few minutes, then I'd go back inside and find the diary. Either that, or snoop around in Grandad Barney's room. Surely something would give me a hint?

I started by pushing gecko droppings off the windowsills and sweeping the leaves off the veranda. I wondered if any of the crocodiles from the croc farm were still on the loose. What would I do if I saw one? There were plenty of tall trees around Grandad's garden. Maybe I'd climb the nearest tree. Crocodiles couldn't climb, could they?

I stopped sweeping to wipe away the sweat dripping down my face. Who knew it would be so hot at Mission Beach? I was about to start sweeping again when I heard a sound.

‘Peep. Peep. Peep.'

What was that?

I stood and listened, shooing mozzies from my face.

There it was again.

‘Peep. Peep. Peep.' It was coming from somewhere in the front yard.

I leant the broom against the bricks, and crept across the lawn towards the sound. I checked behind me, hoping Dad wasn't watching. He was clunking around in the shed so I turned back to the trees. Fingers of light filtered down through the circular palm fronds above me, making a kaleidoscope of brightness and shadows.

The next ‘peep' was close. I stood still as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Suddenly, two feathery bodies raced out from behind a tree. The strange critters were no taller than my knees, and had yellowy heads and orange legs, like ducklings. Their bodies were striped with brown and yellow, and their long fluffy necks stuck out in front of them as they ran, making them look like Road Runner. I watched as they disappeared behind some bushes.

Weird!

I ran after them, pushing through the long grass, and found myself standing before a swampy creek. Murky water surrounded the bases of gnarled paperbark trees. It stank like the muddy mangroves near my house.

I turned, my heart thumping, as the critters ­reappeared. It was like they were playing hide-and-seek, whizzing past and splashing water as they went.

What were they? Their feathers were fluffy like a baby bird's, but they didn't appear to have wings. And even though they were about the size of an adult chicken, they were lean and elegant, not short and fat like a chook. And they definitely weren't ducks. Their beaks were too pointy.

The chick closest to me skidded to a stop. It cocked its head and looked up, its brown eye blinking in surprise.

‘Hey,' I whispered. ‘What you doing, mister? Having fun?'

The baby tipped its head the other way, looked at me a second longer, then darted off to find its friend. Suddenly, the second chick appeared, stepping out from behind a low hanging branch. They banged straight into each other making the second chick drop the bright red berry it was holding in its beak. I laughed as he picked it back up again, his beak stretched wide. The berry was too big for him to swallow. He looked at me, like he wasn't sure what to do.

‘That's too big for you, silly,' I said. ‘Here. You have to peck at it. Like this.' I crouched down and, with my finger, made tapping motions on the ground.

Both chicks raced to my side and started pecking at the ground next to me. Leaves were flung left and right. When they found nothing, they looked up at me expectantly.

‘But I haven't got anything,' I said, splaying my empty hands.

I stood up and looked across the swamp. Where were their parents?

Thinking of parents, the light was growing dim. Dad would be back from the shed any minute to cook dinner. I'd better get back.

‘See you, chicks. Maybe tomorrow?'

I turned to walk away, and the chicks skidded off into the swamp. The sound of their splashes and peeps echoed back to the veranda.

I hoped Dad hadn't discovered that I was missing. I was relieved when I found him working on a chainsaw in the shed. He looked up when I walked in and then bent to give the chord a tug. Nothing happened. He straightened and scratched the stubbly black hair dotting his chin.

‘Maybe it's out of petrol?' I suggested.

‘Thanks, Einstein,' he grunted, trying the chord once more. Still nothing.

‘Mower fuel can go off sometimes.'

‘Oh, yes?' said Dad absently.

‘Yeah, when I mow at home—'

‘You help with the mowing? Flynnie! Sweeping, mowing, what else don't I know about?'

‘Dad, I'm nearly ten. I can do stuff now. And you can't keep calling me Flynnie.'

‘I know, I know. Sorry. It just seems like yesterday that I was changing your nappies.'

‘Ew! Gross.'

Dad bent down over the chainsaw again.

‘Hey, Dad?'

‘Yeah, mate?'

‘There's …' I wanted to ask him about the chicks. ‘I
was wondering …' But I couldn't tell him. If he knew I'd wandered off, he'd never let me out of his sight again. So I scanned the shed for something else to ask about and noticed an ancient tractor near the far wall. ‘Was that the tractor Grandad Barney used to collect bananas? Could you teach me to drive it?'

Dad stood up and stretched. ‘Nah, mate. That one's too big for you. Even if you are nearly ten. Tell you
what, why don't you ride up front with me when I
start clearing tomorrow? You can be the navigator and
I'll do the driving.'

My heart sank. I didn't want to ride with Dad. I wanted to see the hide-and-seek chicks again. ‘Well …'

‘Come on, you must be starving,' Dad said. ‘I know I am. Let's go make something to eat.'

With the smiley frog watching, Dad cooked us ‘hash', a dish he made when he was away on the mines. He mixed instant mashed potato with Grandad's old cans of Spam and baked beans, and squirted in a generous helping of tomato sauce. I didn't mind it. It sure beat eating vegies.

Even the smiley frog approved. He croaked happily from the windowsill as he feasted on the insects attracted to the light from the kitchen.

After I'd helped Dad clean up, I made an excuse that I was tired, and headed to Grandad Barney's room.

I was itching to find out more about the chicks.
Tugging a bird book from Grandad Barney's bookshelf, I hopped into bed and thumbed through it, looking for baby birds with brown and yellow stripes. I found them on a dog-eared page titled
Casurius casuarius
or
s
outhern cassowary
.

My hands suddenly grew damp and my fingers stuck to the page. Cassowary chicks? But they couldn't be. The babies I'd seen looked nothing like the cassowary we hit, or the statue in town.

The southern cassowary is Australia's heaviest flightless bird,
said the text.
Dangerous if cornered, this important rainforest gardener swallows seeds that no other animal can. While the females lay the eggs, the male incubates them and cares for the newly hatched chicks. The chicks are dependent on their father to teach them foraging skills and will stay close to him until they are about nine months old.

So where was the dad of my hide-and-seek chicks? He should have been there, teaching them which seeds were too big for them to eat.

I scanned the book again.
Male cassowaries can become very aggressive while protecting their chicks, and may—

When I turned the page to read more, a folded piece of paper fell out. It was a crayon drawing of an Easter egg with scrawly writing across the bottom.
Hoppy Easter Grandad, Love Flynn xoxox

I'd sent Grandad Barney an Easter drawing? I didn't remember that. Dad always made out that he wanted nothing to do with Grandad Barney. I wondered if he'd written back?

‘Flynn, what are you still doing up? It's been a big day, mate.'

I quickly shut the book and tucked it under the covers. Dad's eyes travelled around the bookshelves, like he was seeing them for the first time. He blinked and his lips quivered.

‘Night, mate,' he said, his voice catching. ‘See you in the morning.' He turned out the light.

‘Night, Dad.'

I lay in the dark, listening to the chorus of frogs croaking outside my window. I could understand why Grandad had raised a cassowary chick. They were so cute. Like my hide-and-seek chicks. But why had Abby mentioned Big Blue when telling me about Grandad's accident? Cassowaries wouldn't hurt anyone, would they? Not when they were as cute as my chicks. How did Big Blue fit into the story?

I grew sleepy, wondering where my chicks' dad was. The book said cassowary dads stayed close to their chicks. Tomorrow I'd make an excuse not to go out on the tractor, and I'd take the chicks something to eat. They'd seemed so hungry.

I closed my eyes and was nearly asleep when Dad's tyres squealing echoed in my head. The image of the hurt cassowary flashed into my mind. I squeezed my eyes more tightly. But the cassowary was still there, behind my eyelids, flailing on the side of the road.

My eyes snapped open.

What if the cassowary we hit was my chicks' dad?

I needn't have worried about going out with Dad the next morning. No one was going anywhere. The only thing louder than the frogs was the heavy rain drumming on the roof. I swung my legs out of bed and reached to pull my socks off.

‘Aaah!' I yelped. A fat black slug was stuck to my ankle. Its body was long and slimy and its mouth was sucking at my skin. ‘Get off!' I yelled, shaking my foot.

Dad came racing to my door. ‘What's up, Flynnie? You okay?'

I stuck my foot back under the sheets.

‘Oh, yes, sorry. I'm fine. Something weird landed on my head. I think it was a frog.'

Dad laughed. ‘Yeah, you'll get that out here. Cheeky critters. Anyone would think they owned the joint.'

I stared. Dad had laughed! For the first time in ages. I'd forgotten how deep and rumbly it was. And how much I liked it.

‘What?' he asked.

‘Nothing.'

‘Why are you looking at me like that?'

‘
Just …' My hands fidgeted under the covers. ‘I miss you, Dad. You know, when you're away? I wish you didn't have to work all the time.'

Dad stepped in closer and ruffled my hair. ‘Me too, mate,' he said softly. ‘Me too. Now, come on. You hungry?'

I pulled my socks back on to hide the slug and, once dressed, I joined Dad in the kitchen.

I sat at the table while Dad cooked us boiled eggs. ‘Dad, what did that ranger say when you rang? Did she promise to let you know when they found the cassowary we hit? Do you think it was a male or a female? Is there any way to tell?'

‘Flynn, mate. It's seven o'clock in the morning.' He
pushed my egg into an eggcup and slid it across the table to me. ‘What's with all the questions?'

I dipped my spoon into the yellow yolk. My throat tightened at the thought of that poor cassowary. What if my theory was right and the chicks
were
his babies?

Rain cascaded down the kitchen window as the smiley green frog snatched his tongue at a flying ant.

‘Dad? Was Grandad Barney a ranger? Is that why he helped cassowaries?'

Dad's spoon clinked against his eggcup. ‘No, he wasn't a ranger. He was a banana farmer, remember?'

‘Then how come there's a picture of you and Grandad and a cassowary? I saw it beside his bed.'

‘Sorry, mate. Probably gave you nightmares, did it? We can chuck it if you like. Ugly dinosaurs.'

‘They're not ugly, Dad!' I said more loudly than I intended. ‘They're beautiful.' I chewed my bottom lip. ‘Is that Big Blue in the picture?'

‘Big Blue? Where'd you hear that name?'

‘Abby said Grandad looked after a cassowary called Big Blue. She—'

‘Look, let's just say your grandad was obsessed with those ridiculous birds.' Dad stood up and grabbed his plate off the table even though he'd only eaten one of his two eggs. ‘He wanted to make the farm into some sort of cassowary reserve, for goodness sake. I mean, how would a paddock full of cassowaries pay the bills? I kept telling him, “We're banana farmers, not greenies!”'

I stared at Dad. His face was red and his voice was low and hard. There was no laughter now.

‘Anyway, that was a long time ago, and Grandad's gone now, so it doesn't make any difference.' He looked down at his phone. ‘You should call your mum,' he muttered, changing the subject, as usual. ‘She'll be finished her night shift by now.'

He passed me his mobile before heading down the hallway. ‘I'm going to take a shower,' he called back. ‘Give me a shout when you're done.'

‘Hey, Mum.'

‘Flynn! Perfect timing. I just got home. How are you, honey?'

I placed my eggcup and glass on the kitchen sink and walked down to Grandad Barney's room. ‘Good,' I said, sitting on the bed. The picture of Grandad, Dad and the cassowary looked at me. ‘Mum, why did they call Grandad Barney “Mister Cassowary”?'

‘Who told you that?'

I stood up and walked to the doorway, listening for the shower. It was still running. ‘There's a certificate in Grandad's room for Mister Cassowary,' I said, keeping my voice hushed. ‘And I found a picture I drew for Grandad. An Easter picture.'

‘Oh, honey, what are you asking about that for? How's your dad today? Have the two of you got a big day planned?'

I scratched my ankle. Mum was worse at avoiding questions than Dad. ‘Not much,' I muttered. ‘It's raining.' It wasn't just raining. The gutters outside
Grandad's room sounded like waterfalls they were over
flowing so much.

‘Oh well. Dad says the house could do with a clean-up, so maybe you could help him with that?'

I checked again. The shower was still running. ‘Hey, Mum?'

‘Yes, honey?'

‘What's a cassowary reserve?'

‘That's another funny question.'

‘Grandad Barney wanted to make the farm a casso
wary reserve, didn't he?' I glanced over the books in the bookshelf.

‘Did Dad tell you that?'

The rain stopped. So did the shower. I lowered my voice even more. ‘Kind of. Walter said Grandad Barney wanted to plant a rainforest instead of banana trees. Dad seems pretty mad about it.'

‘Poor Dad. It's tough for him being back at the farm, Flynn.'

‘I know, Mum, you already told me.'

‘So is he okay? He seem to be coping and everything?'

I huddled in against the bookshelves, keeping my back to the door. ‘No, not really. Was it a cassowary that killed Grandad?' I whispered.

‘Sorry, Flynn. What did you say? You're breaking up. I think my battery is about to die. Can you tell Dad I'll call later? I love you, honey.'

‘Love you, too, Mum. Bye.'

I hung up feeling more confused than ever.

*

‘I might keep sorting the shed till the ground dries off a bit,' said Dad, coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

‘Mum ran out of battery,' I said, passing him the phone.

‘No worries, she'll call me later.' He disappeared into his room. ‘Want to come help me in the shed?' he called through the wall.

‘Mum said I could help by cleaning Grandad Barney's room.' I sat down on Grandad's bed and picked up the cassowary photo. I was sure it was Big Blue. Why wouldn't Dad just tell me what had happened?

Dad appeared dressed in shorts and a long-sleeved work shirt. ‘Mmm. I'm not sure if that's a good idea. There's lots that you won't know what to do with. Now that it's stopped raining, you could start on the garden. Do you know how to pull weeds?'

I rolled my eyes.

‘Right,' said Dad. ‘I forgot. You're the man of the house while I'm away. Good at sweeping, mowing
and
weeding. Quite the catch, aren't you?' He gave my arm a punch. ‘Come on, there's some old gloves and gardening tools in the shed. We'll get you kitted up.'

I opened my mouth to argue, but then quickly shut it again. Pulling weeds was perfect! The chicks might come looking for food in the garden after all that rain. I tried not to appear too keen.

Once Dad had shown me where the tools were and reminded me to be careful, he slid under the tractor. I gathered what I needed, and quickly dropped back by the kitchen to pick up two apples and a box of sultanas. Then I set up the tools in the front garden to make it look like I was busy pulling weeds and, after peering over to the shed to make sure that Dad was busy, I sat down on a rock and crunched on one of the apples. I pulled a piece out of my mouth and threw it onto the grass.

The sun peeped out from behind the clouds. I strained my ears, trying to block out the frogs croaking and a kookaburra cackling, but I couldn't hear any peeps.

‘Chicks' I called softly, throwing another piece of apple. ‘Hide-and-seek chicks? It's me, Flynn. Are you there?'

The cicadas began to buzz, as if they were trying to answer and a dragonfly skimmed over a puddle, its wings glistening in the sun.

But there was no trace of the chicks.

I blew out an exasperated sigh. I couldn't wait any more. If Dad came to check on me, he'd expect to see some progress in my weeding.

Crouching down in the soggy soil, I tugged at the thick grass choking the plants. Normally I liked gardening, but today my heart wasn't in it. My arms and legs felt like cement in the sticky, after-rain heat, and my head was muddled with confusion. Why did Dad get so mad when I asked about Grandad Barney? What had happened on Grandad's very last day?

And if those questions weren't enough, my mind was flipping out over the cassowary we had hit. Was he dead? Were my hide-and-seek chicks really his? And if they were, where were they now? Would they manage without their dad?

I gave up gardening and sat cross-legged on my rock. I distracted myself by opening the box of sultanas. It seemed so unfair that no one would give me answers. It wasn't like I was too young to handle the truth. If Grandad had been killed in a
terrible
accident, why didn't Dad just tell me? And if the cassowary had died on the side of the road, why wasn't Dad just honest about it?

Feeling like I might explode, I tossed a sultana. It landed with a soft plop on the grass. I tossed another. And then another until I couldn't stop.

My arm was mid-fling when I heard a peep. I lowered my arm and listened.

‘Peep. Peep. Peep.' There it was again!

A yellow beak appeared from behind a palm tree near the driveway, and slowly one of the baby cassowaries crept out. All of a sudden, it ran over to the sultana and jabbed at it desperately trying to pick it up, but the sultana kept flipping up like a bouncy grasshopper.

Poor thing. It looked so hungry. I flicked another sultana onto the grass. The chick dived at it, flipped into a somersault and landed on its back. Abby would have been proud. I laughed. ‘You're a nutcase. A little pea-nutty nutcase.'

‘Peep. Peep. Peep,' the chick replied, as if it understood.

‘Peanut,' I said. ‘It suits you.'

Peanut tipped his head from side to side, then angled his yellow beak down. Finally he hooked the sultana. As he swallowed, he cocked his head at me.

‘Nice work,' I crooned as the second yellow-and-brown chick burst from the bushes and ran onto the garden bed. Its legs were all a-jumble.

‘Jumble,' I whispered. Jumble was slightly smaller than Peanut and, when he looked at me, he opened his beak wide, making a shrill cheeping sound.

‘Here, have some apple,' I whispered. I bit into it and threw small pieces onto the ground around me.

Peanut dived forwards and pecked greedily, making apple juice spurt in the air. Jumble watched for a minute, then started pecking, too. Before long they'd eaten all the sultanas and all the apple, and then they pecked at my laces looking for more.

‘Who'd be scared of you hey, Peanut?' I asked as Peanut ran over my leg to chase a march fly. His claws left red scratches, but I didn't care. ‘You can't even catch a fly.'

Jumble started digging in the soil where I'd just pulled out the weeds. He found a worm and tossed it into his beak. ‘That's it, eat up,' I encouraged, digging around looking for another. ‘Maybe I could help you find some proper food? The sort you'd eat if your real dad was here to show you how?'

I found another worm and threw it out for Peanut. He gobbled it up, the end disappearing just as Jumble ran over to share. Jumble turned back, looking at me hungrily.

‘I know. I'm sorry. It must be horrible without your dad. At least I have my mum when my dad's not around. And I'm old enough to look after myself these days.' I dug my fingers into the soil. ‘You guys are only babies. You need your dad to show you what to do.'

Peanut was in the middle of scratching his neck when suddenly he stopped and cocked his head. Two seconds later, he and Jumble darted across the lawn and disappeared under the side fence.

‘Don't go!' I shouted. I sighed and stared at my half-finished weeding. The sun was fully out now and, even though I was sitting in the shade, the temperature had quickly risen. Sweat prickled my forehead, and my left foot started to itch. I took off my shoes and gasped. Blood soaked my sock. I reached down to peel it off.

‘What are you doing?' said a voice.