Tanner Buckley

fiction

KANGAROO COURT

An Albert Kay Reading

1

Uninvited Guests

It was from over two hundred metres away that Albert Kay first noticed a man standing on his veranda. It was by no means the fanciest of verandas, a patchwork of boards he had repurposed from an old shed, but still, even from that distance, he could not stop from swelling with a sense of pride in his own craftsmanship. The shed in question had long since ceased to possess any functional benefit; it did not have a roof, and one of its four sides was all but completely rotted through. For a long time it had therefore been Kay’s intention to salvage what he could from it for the fashioning of a ‘grand veranda’, which he had taken to calling it in the romantic reaches of his imagination. Periodically, he would take inventory of the shed, surveying the strength and integrity of its boards, taking casual measurements with outstretched arms, piecing together in his mind the veranda he was going to build someday. Over time, as more of the boards rotted and fell apart, his imagined veranda gradually diminished in grandness, physically speaking, though it never lost an inch in spiritual grandeur. After years of stewing on it, one day Kay finally started in on the task of deconstructing the dilapidated structure, and after only a single afternoon he was surprised to find the work finished. He wondered why it had taken him yonks to finally get around to doing it, but marvelled at the heap of boards he now had at his disposal for his ‘grand veranda’.

More time would then pass, with more inventorying, surveying and measuring, as more boards slowly rotted away and his dreamed-up veranda gradually diminished further. After a few more years, though, Kay finally started in on the task of turning that pile of wood into a proper veranda, and he was surprised to find that after only two afternoons, work on the project was completed, again wondering why it had taken him yonks to find the time to finally do it. It would then be another span of years, during which that ‘grand veranda’ of his was used and enjoyed on a nearly daily basis, before Kay finally got around to building an awning for it. At first, he used branches and twigs, and in time he incorporated animal skins into the covering too. It was a few years into this, however, in the midst of a random childhood reminiscence, that a novel idea struck him. He was remembering the house he had grown up in, affectionately referred to by his father as the ‘grand manor’, though it was scarcely bigger than the shack he was currently living in. What Kay had loved most about the house, small though it was, was its metal roof and the thundering drumming it had made every time it rained. Although it did not rain much out where he was in the never-never now, it occurred to him that it might be nice to hear that drumming again on the rare occasions when it did, and so on a whim that past December he had travelled to a small ranch about halfway to the Alice, where he had traded three moderately sized bush turkeys for two sheets of corrugated metal.

It was not until Kay was within a hundred metres of the shack that he was able to say with any certainty that the young man standing on his veranda, in the shade of the metal awning, was unknown to him, by all reckoning a complete stranger. He watched as the man stood at the edge of the veranda, his hands in his pockets, and then turned and walked through the front door, which Kay for the first time noticed had been wide open the whole time. There was a quick feeling of anger, of having had his personal space violated, but it soon passed, as Kay reminded himself that he could hardly go berko on someone for breaking into a dwelling that he himself had no legal right to either. His flurry of shirtiness was replaced by a sense of curiosity, hospitality even, as he reminded himself that, though he had surely improved upon the place, the ‘grand veranda’ in particular, none of it belonged to him in actuality and this stranger had as much claim to the shack as he did, perhaps more. It occurred to him that this man might even be the legal owner of the property, in which case it was he, if any, who had a reason to be upset considering the circumstances, and not the other way around. But Kay was reassured by the firm belief that he would have to do naught but draw the man’s attention to the ‘grand veranda’ he had bestowed upon the meagre dwelling to quell any and all accusations of trespass or improper interference. Perhaps he would have to shoot through, leave the property and find new quarters to house him and his few belongings, but he couldn’t imagine it going much further beyond that.

When the young man came back out onto the veranda, Kay was close enough now to be spotted almost immediately, but there was something in the look of surprise on his face that assuaged any fears Kay may have had and led him to presume that this man was nothing more than an interloper like himself. When a second man then came out of the shack, however, and Kay caught a glimpse of his shifty eyes and venomous grin, he quickly found himself face to face with the possibility that he might be dealing with bushrangers here, outlaws who would not give slitting his throat to cover their tracks a second thought. He saw this second man’s malevolent countenance and wished he had brought his rifle with him that morning rather than leaving it in the shack. He took note of the fact that neither man was holding his rifle, which was certainly better than the alternative, but he knew it did not necessarily mean they had failed to find it, for it was not hidden so to speak, just slid under the bed, and he understood that for him to get to it, assuming it hadn’t been discovered, he still had to somehow get past the two men and get inside without them bailing him up.

It was the first of the two men who greeted him, “G’day mate. How are you?” while the second man continued grinning away. “G’day,” replied Kay, “can I help you mates out?” “Is this your place?” the first man asked. “I live here,” replied Kay. “But is it your place?” the man asked again, “do you own it?” “I do not,” replied Kay. “Do you know who does?” the man asked. “No, I don’t.” At which point the second man finally spoke. “What are you, a bloody dero, a swagman, eh?” he said to Kay, “figure you can go bush and hide out, eh?” The first man gave the second a slight disapproving look. “What’s your name?” he asked Kay. “Albert Kay,” replied Kay, “and might I have the pleasure of knowing who I’m conversing with?” “You bloody well can’t,” the second man howled. “What you can have the pleasure of is my fist busting through them teeth of yours if you don’t do as you’re bloody told.”

2

The Arrest

“Never mind him,” the first man said to Kay. “My name is John Coburn and my mate here is Billy Tilden.” “Tell him your name, sure!” the second man howled, “but why you got to go and tell him mine?” But the first man just ignored him. “Mind if we ask you a few questions?” he asked Kay. “By all means,” replied Kay, “I’ll do my best to answer them.” “You better hope you do,” the second man told him, jumped-up and in a somewhat threatening manner. “I will,” replied Kay, taking the man’s retort as a slight to his honour, “I have nothing to hide.” “We’ll see about that,” the man grinned. “What’s that stick you got there?” the first man asked him. “It’s a flute,” said Kay, and then he put it to his lips and played a few notes. “And what’s in the bag?” the man asked. “Just a bush turkey and a few eggs,” Kay told him. “Let’s have a Captain Cook,” the second man demanded, “hand it over!” But Kay had no intention of doing any such thing. It had taken a bit of hard yakka to get that bird, which was a large enough specimen to feed him for a week, and it was going to take more than a rude command from some hoon to get him to give it up. Instead he just stared at the young man, who was still grinning but had now repositioned himself into what Kay took to be a rather awkward stance. His weight was on his back foot, with his hip sort of crooked back, which caused the front of his opened coat to dangle out away from his body a bit. It was as Kay was scrutinizing the man’s affected posture that he noticed the butt of a gun sticking out of his waistband, just behind the dangling coat. His eyes darted up to the man’s face, whose wicked grin spread even wider, confirming that this was no accident, and Kay was thus forced to take this as nothing less than an outright threat to his personal safety. It was with a sneer on his face, which only served to spread the man’s grin even further, that Kay finally handed him the bag.

As the man was then fossicking through it, one of the eggs tumbled out, and Kay had to bite his tongue as he watched 33 per cent of his egg haul fall to the ground, and then bite it even harder as he realised just where it was going to land. He watched the egg fall, his teeth clenched, then watched it crack open on impact and leak a thick goo onto one of the boards of his veranda. Breaking the egg was one thing, he fumed, but did this devil have to soil the ‘grand veranda’ as well! The man had clearly dropped the egg by accident, but he saw that Kay was getting shirty nonetheless and consequently took it upon himself to provide Kay with some honest justification. He proceeded to lift a second egg from the bag and let it fall to the veranda next to the first, and then he did the same with the third, as though that were his intention all along. He then shoved the bag at Kay. “Take your bloody bird back!” he said, narked, as though the bag had been forced upon him, and for a reason he couldn’t fathom. With both arms wrapped tight around the bag, Kay felt it was high time he made his move. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he said, addressing neither man in particular, “I’m just going to set this inside and then we he can continue our conversation.” “I’m afraid not,” the first man said, taking a small step to the side, blocking Kay’s path. “He’s going for the bloody rifle!” the second man howled, “I told you we had a live one on our hands here.” A look of guilt spread across Kay’s face, a sneer of fierce anger too. He was ropeable, but there was no hiding that that was exactly what his plan had been, to get that rifle and give the hoon’s pistol a run for its money from the cover of the shack. “I’m sure Billy here is overreacting,” the first man interposed, “I know a fine bloke such as yourself would never try a thing like that. And I apologise about the eggs; Billy here can be a bit of a drongo.” Though it never occurred to him to apologise about the veranda. “I assure you,” the man continued, “we mean you no harm, my mate here’s spirited yahooing notwithstanding.” The second man was clearly becoming agitated, and at this point let out a little growl, unable to keep that spirit of his in check. “Like I said before,” the first man continued, “we just want to ask you a few questions.” “Let’s see your roo precum pass!” the second man demanded, almost interrupting his mate. “I was getting to that,” the first man said to the second, before turning back to Kay. “Do you have a current roo precum pass?” he asked him. Kay just stared at him blankly. “A bloody roo precum pass!” the other man yelled. “Do you have an up-to-date roo precum pass?” the first man asked, and it was only after he repeated his question again, “an up-to-date roo precum pass…” interrupted by his friend — “A bloody roo precum pass!” — “…do you have one?” that Kay finally responded: “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

“Playing dumb, eh?” the second man said to him, “looks like he’s hiding something to me. Either show us your roo precum pass or admit you don’t have one.” “A kangaroo precum pass,” the first man said. “We’re with the Kangaroo Preservation Commission,” he explained, taking a badge out of his pocket and showing it to Kay, “and we’re just here to find out if you’ve afforded yourself of your right to purchase a ’Roo Pre-Com Pass for the current year.” “Ohhh,” said Kay, finally realizing that this was all just a big misunderstanding, “you’re from the Kangaroo Preservation Commission.” “We are,” the first man said, followed quickly by the second: “That’s what we bloody said, ain’t it!” “So, it had to be two weeks ago now, I suppose,” Kay began, “twelve days? Thirteen? No, twelve? It was on a Thursday. What day is it today? Tuesday? It was on a Thursday…I think. So, that’s…twelve days? Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday—” “What’s he yabbering about?” the second man asked the first, interrupting Kay’s count, “Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Bloody Thursday. We’re not talking about a bloody calendar here.” “Yeah, what are you talking about?” the first man asked Kay. “You’re from the Kangaroo Preservation Commission?” Kay asked him. “Yes, we are.” “And you’re here about the kangaroo I saw,” said Kay, which sent the second man into hysterics. “And he’s a bloody loony to boot!” he howled. “’Roos are extinct, mate,” the first man told Kay, “have been so for twenty years now. No one’s seen a macropod bigger than about knee-high in two decades. And even the little ones are usually only in zoos now.” “No, mate,” said Kay, getting excited, “I saw one, fair dinkum. A red buck. I swear on my life. The boomer was about as tall as me. I got as close as about ten metres before he skirted off. I’d say it was about two weeks ago. Thursday. Friday. Saturday—”

“Again with the bloody calendar!” the second man howled, “we didn’t come all the way out here to the back of beyond to hear about your bloody kangaroo dreaming. We’re here about a ’Roo Pre-Com Pass, plain and simple.” “My mate here’s right,” the first man said, “whether you actually saw a live ’roo or not, it’s not our department. We’re just here to find out if you exercised your right this year to purchase a Kangaroo Preservation Commission Pass.” Kay was silent again, and for good reason: he had no idea what the two men were talking about. “Is it safe to assume you did not exercise that right for the current year?” the first man asked. “Admit it!” the second man yelled. “I admit it,” replied Kay, “I don’t have this pass you’re talking about.” “I knew it!” the second man squealed. “You really should have purchased that pass,” the first man told him, “it’s your right, you know.” “Well, if it’s my right to purchase whatever this pass is you keep yabbering on about,” responded Kay, swelling with self-importance, “then it’s certainly my right to not purchase it too.” “It is,” the first man conceded. “It certainly is!” the second man exclaimed. “But you really should have gotten it,” the first man maintained. “Oh should I?” asked Kay impertinently, which caused the second man let out an excited yip, “and why’s that?” “Things get a lot harder…for you,” the first man told him, “when you don’t take advantage of your right to purchase that pass. They have a lot of options in determining your ‘fair share’, and I’ll be honest with you, it’s usually not all that fair.” “My ‘fair share’?” asked Kay, derogatorily. “They can use your age,” the second man howled, to which Kay proudly replied, “Sixty-two.” “Where you were born,” the second man continued. “Winton.” “Where your parents were born.” “Hughenden. Barcaldine.” “How many years delinquent you are, since you bought your last pass, or how many total years delinquency you’ve ever had.” “Sixty-two, sixty-two,” said Kay, defiantly, “since I don’t know what this bloody pass is and I’ve surely never had one” “And you probably shouldn’t be volunteering all this oil about yourself,” the first man told Kay, “at least not without consulting with an Advocate first.” “Like I said before,” Kay told him passionately, “I have nothing to hide.” “You say that now, but you might change your mind at your trial,” the first man said. “Am I to assume I’m under arrest then?” demanded Kay. “Oh, most certainly!” the second man howled. “That’s correct,” the first man confirmed, “you’re under arrest.” “Most certainly!”

…