Free Blacky Blasts Back by Barry Jonsberg Page A

pop in to say hello. But time and the Tassie tiger waits for no man. Onwards and upwards. Tally-ho and all that.’
    â€˜Good luck,’ said Phil.
    We watched as the mounds swayed noisily across the clearing and disappeared into the forest. I might have worried they’d get to the tiger before us, but it occurred to me that sneaking up on a wild animal stood a better chance of success if you didn’t sound like a military brass band tuning up.
    â€˜Paira mad rocket mental numpties,’ snarled Jimmy.
    We made stew for dinner. Us kids peeled vegetables and Jimmy and Phil diced lumps of beef. We put the whole lot into a couple of huge pots and suspended them over the camp fire. Jimmy had kept some of the vegies separate and he put them into another pot with tofu chunks. Dinner wouldn’t be ready for a couple of hours, but we were in no hurry. Once more, I felt bone-weary, but it was a good weariness.
    As darkness drew in, we gathered round the fire. No one said much. We watched the flames and smelt the rich aroma of camp stew. I can’t tell you how good it was.
    Jimmy sat next to me. I glanced at him as he stared into the fire. Boy, was he hairy! My dad once put a roll of insulation into our roof space and it wasn’t as thick as the mat on Jimmy’s arms. An eagle could nest in it.
    â€˜Jimmy?’ I said.
    He turned his eyes towards me.
    â€˜Aye, lad.’
    â€˜Do you live out here?’
    â€˜I wish, laddie. I wish. Nay. Ye cannae live oot here. This is a state forest, so it is. Protected. If it wasnae, ev’ry Tom, Dick and bumhole wud be oot here, sticking up their wee hooses and cuttin’ doon the trees to make room. And then there’d be TV towers and roods and Mc-freakin’-Donalds. And ye know whit, laddie?’
    I shook my head. He leaned in closer.
    â€˜Then all of this wud be gone,’ he whispered. ‘Everything. An’ that . . . that wud be a crime, so it wud.’
    â€˜You love this place, don’t you?’
    â€˜Aye. I do that.’
    â€˜So it is protected, at least.’
    Jimmy sighed.
    â€˜In theory, laddie. In theory.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Huv a butchers aroond ye, lad. What do ya see?’
    â€˜Butchers?’
    â€˜A look. What d’ye see all aroond us?’
    â€˜Trees.’
    â€˜Aye, lad. Trees. Living things. Magnificent. Ancient. But if, God forbid, we had a business peerson here, do ye know what they’d see? They’d see money, lad. Money. Profit. More bucks i’the bank, so they could buy another car or build another hoose. ’Cause there’s money in timber, son. There’s awfay money in timber.’
    He scratched his nose.
    â€˜Course, we have politicians to run things.’ He spat into the fire. It hissed. ‘Trouble is, a politician loves a businessman, so he does. Thick as thieves. So when a businessman wants tae cut doon trees there’s plenty o’ pollies who willnae get i’the way. We need tae be vigilant, son. You need tae be vigilant.’
    â€˜Me?’
    â€˜Aye, you. Us auld uns huv hud oor time and a right pig’s ear we’ve made of it. It’s you weans that huv to look oot fithe world noo. If it’s not already too late.’
    I watched the fire and thought. Tasmania was freezing cold and where we were you couldn’t get reception on your mobile phone. But it was so beautiful.
    And like many beautiful things, so fragile.
    â€˜G ET UP ! N OW !’
    I shook my head. Was I never going to be allowed to sleep? I struggled up in bed and glanced at the luminous dials of my watch. Three-thirty in the morning. What was going on?
    â€˜You need to get dressed, tosh. Wake Dylan. It’s time.’
    I rubbed at my eyes.
    â€˜Blacky,’ I said. ‘Are you some kind of mad rocket numpty?’ I was beginning to pick up Jimmy’s way of talking. They say it’s easier to learn a foreign language when you’re