Sing Fox to Me (25 page)

‘You can't force wildness out of an animal, or train it out either,' their dad had told them once. ‘You can try, but it'll end up escaping.'

They couldn't go back to how it was, Samson knew that, and they couldn't really go forward either. Jonah was gone, swallowed. His brother had made his choice to be different, and Samson had made his choice to stay the same.

He made the sign for
tiger
, and it was almost the same as
brother
, except the claws didn't point in towards each other, they pointed out and away.

I see you there, Tiger
, he signed.

… and the little ones chewed on the

bones-o, bones-o, bones-o,

and the little ones chewed on the bones.

T
HE
F
OX
C
AME
O
UT ON A
C
HILLY
N
IGHT

(TRADITIONAL FOLK SONG)

S
ometimes the tiger watched the other boy from the highest crest of the mountain. It watched him help the cripple up and down the steps. It watched the other family, the ones from the yurt, move their objects into the house.

Sometimes the tiger got closer. Sometimes it watched from the bush, near where the fence had been before the fire, concealed in the leaves and branches. It watched the girl come and go in her school uniform. It watched the new baby girl fumble on the lawn, like an infant bird fallen from a nest.

One day, many weeks after the fire, the tiger watched the man drive up and park his ute just outside the house.

‘Hooroo,' called Murray.

‘Say hello to Daddy,' said Tilda, and the baby, Georgie, frowned.

Murray smiled. ‘Where's Mattie?'

The back door opened, and Mattie came out onto the verandah holding two plates. She walked down the steps to the blanket and handed one to Samson. He smiled and thanked her, and took a huge bite of his sandwich. She laughed.

Murray stayed by the ute. ‘I have something for you,' he said, signing along with his voice. ‘All three of you.' He reached into the ute tray.

Mattie smiled, and Samson reached out towards the burly black and gold pup. Murray dropped it into his arms. Samson buried his face in its fur.

‘Thank you,' said Mattie, and she used her hands and her voice.

‘What's his name?' asked Tilda.

Murray lifted Georgie into the air. The baby gurgled. ‘He doesn't have one yet.'

Samson carried the squirming pup over to the verandah where Clancy was waiting in his wheelchair. His head was turned sideways, and his mouth and chin were wet, even though his lips were shut. Samson sat the pup in his granddad's lap. ‘What should we call him, Granddad?'

Clancy didn't answer.

‘What about King?' asked Samson.

Watching them, the tiger felt a pang, a long-forgotten yearning, tug at his gut.

‘Well, he's a pup,' said Murray, ‘so maybe we should call him “Prince”.'

Samson raised the dog over his head. It wriggled. ‘Prince,' he repeated, because there was no one to stop him.

‘Looks like we have a winner,' said Murray, and he cuddled his daughter.

Samson turned and stared up at the crest. He waved just once, like he did almost every day.

The tiger receded into the bush to where the boy was waiting. He never came with the tiger, not all the way to the house. The boy beckoned, and the tiger followed him into the bush. They might not come back to the house for many days, or weeks, but the tiger knew without checking that Samson always left the door open.

After the tiger was gone, and Samson Fox had wheeled his granddad back into the house, followed by Murray and his new wife and baby, the mountain found itself alone. It took a long, deep breath that might've lasted for minutes or hours or days, except the mountain had no use for time. It had always been and would always be.

The skin around the mountain heard the sigh from deep inside the rock and, for the first time since the birth of River Fox, everything felt calm. The trees relaxed and the leaves swayed, almost as if they could finally breathe. The creek rushed, not because it was chasing anything, but because it longed to feel the smooth and stable rocks beneath. The waterfall cascaded like soft summer rain into the still water.

It was wonderful for a moment, but the trees and waterfall, rocks and creek knew that it wouldn't last long, because the mountain had seen Mattie Kelly turn and walk to the charcoaled boundary around the house. The mountain saw her walk back and forth, back and forth, blackening the soles of her bare feet inside the boundary line of soot and soil. The mountain heard her song, clear and unending, join with the phantom voice of River Fox, and knew the song would never end.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you to all the staff of the Creative Writing and Literature Studies Faculty at QUT. Particularly Ari Van Luyn, Laura Elvery, Penny Holliday, Donna Hancox, Sarah Holland-Batt, Sharyn Pearce, Samuel Finegan and my very good friend Lee McGowan.

I would never have started writing this novel without the support of Riverbend Books and the staff who sailed within her, particularly Susy Wilson, Kerry Fawdray, Jason Reed, Kate Sunners, Bruce Paterson, Jen Boyle and the amazing Emily Philip.

Thank you to everyone at Affirm Press, including Martin Hughes, Fiona Henderson, Keiran Rogers, Grace Breen and Ruby Ashby-Orr, and my tireless, brilliant editors Kate Goldsworthy and Aviva Tuffield.

To Sam Eyles, Sarah Seminutin, Max Kanake, Jann Eyles, Buster Macaulay, Sadie Fox-Whitecoat, Steve Pree, Hayley-Jane Francis, Luke Arnold, Hannah Fry, Sarah-Vivienne Russell, Christopher Spathis, Bronwen Gray, Bessie Holland and Cara Shrimpton. Thank you for your many years of fun, friendship and support.

This novel owes special thanks to several very important influences in my life: my extraordinary teacher and friend, Lesley Hawkes; my partner and the love of my life, Jared Spurr; and my pa, fellow Lost Boy, Charlie Cooper. Without each of you, I would never have heard the song in the mountain or found the courage to follow it.

But mostly, this novel is for Bel Bel and The Boy. Thank you for sharing in all my stories. I'll see you both in Burrabingi soon.