Give me the cat, I say when I get to my feet.
Mightnt be a good idea. He doesnt seem to like you.
I grab the cat from him and he goes back
to his feral self, scratching and writhing in my hands, but Im not letting go.
Hannahwho lives hereshe wouldnt want you hanging around her place or stealing her cat, I say.
Hes still looking at me. Its unnerving and although I dont want to have my back to him, I turn and walk away, clutching the cat.
The strange thing is this. In crazy dreams when I relive that moment when Jonah Griggs and I were sitting in the postmans van in that township two hours away from Sydney, ready to set off on the final leg of our journey, I remember the Brigadier. I remember the look on his face when he pulled up in front of the postmans van and got out of his car and walked towards us in that measured way he has. That look was directed at me and a thought has stuck in my head for all these years: that maybe the Brigadier did not come looking for a Cadet that day.
That maybe, in some way, it was me he was hunting down.
The next day, Raffaela, Ben, and I decide to do an inventory of every piece of property the Townies and Cadets own on our land. We split the page in three and list them, beginning with the most valuable: the Club House. There are bike trails, walking trails, bridges, and sheds. Finally there is the Prayer Tree, which Raffaela believes should be on the top of the list. We discuss and argue about the importance of each item. The access path for trail bikes owned by the Cadets. The falling-down shed owned by the Townies. The more we discuss, the more I am convinced of the stupidity of my past leaders. The access for trail bikes, for example, would be our quickest way to town. During the Cadet season our means of transport is limited and our journey to town is twice as long. The shed once housed a car for us, which the leaders would sneak out in during the night, especially if a band was playing in one of the larger towns. But Raffaela always comes back to the Prayer Tree.
Whats so important about it? I ask Raffaela on one of our morning checks around the river. Apart from the fact that all three of us feel somewhat guilty that it was handed over because of us.
Spiritually or pragmatically? she asks.
What do you think?
I swear to God, if you go out there it will change your perspective on the world.
Dont believe in God. Love the world just the way it is.
Okay, then come and look at it from a pragmatic point of view.
Townie territory, Ben says. If its booby trapped
Its seven oclock in the morning, she reassures us. Theyll never be up this early.
The Prayer Tree is located smack in the middle of the property within easy distance of the Jellicoe Road. Its the area I am the least familiar with because its closer to the township and there are no proper tracks to reach it from where we are. In actual fact it is a chore getting to it and in the future Ben advises that we should hit the Jellicoe Road and access it from there.
By the time we reach the clearing we have grazes from flying branches and our bodies itch from insect bites. The clearing is small and the tree takes up most of it. I look up and am shocked at just how massive it is. Its almost like Jacks beanstalk and probably one of the highest trees Ive ever seen on this property. Right at the very top, lodged amongst the branches, is a small house, cleverly camouflaged by a creative paint job. But its the trunk that fascinates me the most. There are carvings and symbols and messages and history.
So much romance and so much ugliness. A girl named Bronnie, her name in love hearts with almost every boy around; a boy named Jason who hates wogs, Asians, coons, and towel heads. And poofters, too. The patience it would have taken him to carve out so much hate.
The messages are everything rolled into one. Wise and uncool. Profound and repugnant.
We circle the tree over and over again, trying to decipher all the messages.
Do you remember nothing stopped us on the field in our day?
I stare at the words, tracing my fingers in the grooves created by the carving.
Your hands are shaking, Ben says.
Because Ive heard these words so many times before.
Check this one out, Ben says to me.
Kenny Rogers Rules.
Who? I ask, still wanting to return to my dream lyrics.
You dont know who Kenny Rogers is? Ben asks like he cant believe it. Coward of the County? Dont Fall in Love with a Dreamer? Islands in the Stream? The Gambler?
Its like hes speaking another language and he shakes his head with great disappointment.
You need to get in touch with the seventies and eighties, my friend.
I find myself reaching up and touching
words engraved right in the middle of the tree. Its bigger writing than the rest. MATTHEW 10:26.
Maybe its one of those God is Love quotes, Raffaela says, coming up behind me. I think of Hannahs manuscript until I realise that Ben and Raffaela are staring.
So wheres the pragmatism you promised me? I ask.
She points up. We have to go up for me to show you that.