Free Eucalyptus by Murray Bail Page A

chances of any one man succeeding, were discussed in staffrooms throughout the country. When a year passed, then almost another, and with still no winner, the difficulty of the test itself rather than the prize became more and more the attraction. These specialists in botany and forestry were like those great champions in the Olympics who preserve their strength and exert psychological pressure on their rivals by waiting until the bar has been raised to an extreme height before even bothering to compete.
    Ellen watched as her father in his shabby coat greeted them. Aside from tree-worshippers and the red-haired tree-surgeon from Brisbane there were the watertable specialists, national-tree zealots, the eucalyptus oil patent-penders, and a world authority on barks who had visited the property before, leading a delegation.
    â€˜You wouldn’t want one of them,’ her father conceded. ‘All the experts I know have their heads in the sand, one way or another. They’ve worked themselves into a corner. And look at you! You’re a princess, too good for most men, at least the ones I’ve come across. There’s got to be one somewhere who fits the bill. Nobody’s perfect, I know that. But you seem to have lost interest. What’s your opinion? This is taking up a lot more time than I thought. Is there anyone you’ve met who’s caught your eye, even for a split second? I can see I’m going to go to the grave without being any the wiser.’
    Ellen had gone pleasantly distant. One arm went gradually cold.
    Really, what sort of man could go and name all the trees? Her father, of course; he, though, was different. The sheer number of names shifting about in English and Latin would occupy vital space in a person, space that could be used for other, more natural things, the way an unsuccessful dealer in farm machinery allows the accumulation of rusty trade-ins to encroach on the front, side and backyards of his weatherboard house.
    â€˜Our man is going to come from one of the cities,’ her father predicted. ‘That’s my gut feeling.’
    Listening to her father and more or less daydreaming Ellen was unable to picture such an all-knowing person, let alone whether anything about him would interest her. And isolated in the bluestone homestead, surrounded by the trees in question, she felt anyway the answer all seemed faraway. The problem was always over the next hill. It encouraged the casual, fatalistic manner.

    Holland received a letter.
    â€˜Hello, it says here Mister Roy Cave is throwing his hat into the ring. He’s got his secretary to type it. I’ve heard about him. He’s got quite a name in the eucalyptus world. He’s from Adelaide,’ he told Ellen. ‘People used to joke he had personally inspected every single eucalypt in the state of South Australia. Adelaide, the city of eucalypts. So they say. He grew up with the gum trees. Are you listening? Says here he’s taking his annual holidays. Would it be convenient, etc? He’s booked into the pub. He means business! We’re going to have him breathing down our necks for weeks.’
    The father moved to the window and with hands clasped behind his back adopted a father’s pose of gazing over his park-like property, which represented his daughter’s prospects. It included delicate curves, pale brown grasses, liquid flow and heat.
    â€˜Are you getting tired of this?’ he suddenly turned. ‘God knows what’s going to happen. With your mother and me the unexpected took over completely. It was an awkward business at the time, the whole thing was very awkward. On the bright side we came through; I’m still here; and with you.’

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Maculata
    THE BEAUTY of this tree…lies in the smooth, clean-looking bark. This is shed in irregular patches, leaving small dimples—hence Spotted Gum—and as the bark surface ages it changes colour from cream to