Shallow Breath

16

Maya




Maya wakes to the insistent buzz of her phone, its small screen flashing on and off in the dark. She pulls it towards her, sees Luke’s name, and is immediately alert.

His voice has a tremor to it. ‘I’m coming over, Maya. I’ve got an injured joey.’ Then he hangs up.

Maya is left with the phone pressed to her ear, listening to nothing. It has been almost a week since they last went out together, and she hasn’t heard from him since. She has been hoping that Hayden has been staying home, and Luke hasn’t had reason to call. She is worried her emotions betrayed her last time and made him doubt whether she could cope. Whereas, with every day that passes she becomes more determined to stop Hayden and his friends.

She climbs from her bed and peers out of the window. The caravan park is deathly still. A car at this time is surely going to attract people’s attention, and she baulks at the thought of Charlie striding rapidly across in the dark. She rings Luke back, but he doesn’t pick up. She pulls her hair into a band, and tries to remember all she knows about caring for injured joeys. She has only ever seen others do it, and is nervous of this new weight of responsibility. She can already envisage Luke’s dark eyes on her, taking in every move she makes without a word. She briefly wishes she could call her mother and ask her advice. She imagines Desi’s soothing voice volunteering to jump in the car and come up to help, pictures her mother striding into the caravan and taking over, and finds she is clenching her fists. She switches on her laptop and tries to check the internet for useful information. There’s plenty of it, but while the words reach her eyes the content doesn’t register, and her mind swirls with random snatches of information. She grabs her esky and lines it with a jumper, as she’s seen her mother do before, grabs a pillowcase, prepares more blankets, and then waits.

Eventually she hears the car creeping along the track, cringes as she sees the glow of lights passing over numerous tents. She opens the door before Luke has a chance to knock. He is clutching his jacket, his hands so close together that Maya can’t make out much of a bulge against his chest. When he comes in, he sits down on the edge of the bed, and pulls his lapels a little wider so Maya has a chance to look.

‘They’ve only been drinking lately. I almost thought they’d given up the idea. But tonight they shot three. I watched them kill a joey as well, but they didn’t see this one. He must have been flung out when his mother fell. He was just lying there. I don’t think he’s big enough to be hopping in and out of the pouch yet.’

Two terrified black eyes meet Maya’s. Moving instinctively to quell the infant’s fear, she puts her hand in and touches the tip of his head. He wriggles and bucks frantically in panic, and Luke quickly closes his jacket and holds him tight.



‘I nearly didn’t see him,’ Luke continues in a whisper. ‘They won’t have been there long. The mum was still warm. There’s blood all over him, but I’m hoping it’s the mother’s – I haven’t seen any signs of damage, not that I’ve had much chance to look.’

Maya thinks about all she knows, and tries to take charge. ‘We need to check for dehydration.’

As Luke holds on tight to his cargo, Maya puts her hand inside his jacket again, becoming aware that her fingers are shaking. The joey has the beginnings of downy hair cover, and is velvety soft. She takes hold of the skin gently, pinching it between her fingers, and notes the small delay before it settles back into place. The little animal is already dehydrated. She pulls the edges of Luke’s jacket together and sighs. ‘Let’s try to give him a drink.’

She searches around her in despair. ‘I guess I could make some weak black tea – we’ll try that.’

‘Black tea?’ Luke looks sceptical. ‘Haven’t you got any milk?’

‘You can’t give him normal milk, it’s really bad for him – he’ll end up with diarrhoea, which will make things a lot worse. You need special formula for joeys,’ she says, already filling the kettle. ‘Black tea isn’t ideal, but I think it’ll work for now.’ She doesn’t tell him that she’s seen her mother do this before. ‘But I don’t know what to use as a bottle. They need special teats to suck on, too, or they can damage their mouths.’

Luke blows out a frustrated breath and glances around the cabin. His eyes fall on bottles by her bed. ‘What’s that?’

‘Saline solution.’

‘Could you tip that out and use it?’

‘I guess we could try. You have to drop the liquid in carefully, but this lid is designed for that – it might just work.’

Maya pours the saline solution into a jug and then does her best to sterilise the bottle. Then she fills it with weak black tea, and they put it in the fridge to cool it down. Luke opens up his jacket a little and the roo peeps out but makes no attempt to move.

‘He’s gone quiet,’ Maya says. ‘Do you think that’s a good thing or not?’

‘Not sure.’ Luke glances at the downy creature. ‘Perhaps I should move him. Let’s sort out the esky.’

‘Hang on.’ Maya fills a hot-water bottle, and adds it to the set-up, laying another blanket on top of it. She grabs the pillowcase. ‘Put him in this – the shape of it helps re-create the pouch, stops him moving too much.’

Luke takes the joey out of his shirt, and the tiny creature begins to squirm again. Quickly, Luke places the joey in the pillowcase, pops the bundle into the esky, and Maya rearranges the blankets. ‘Jeez,’ Luke says, stretching. ‘That got uncomfortable.’

It is hard to resist checking the joey, but Maya doesn’t want to keep frightening him. She imagines what he might have experienced tonight, pictures him lying on the ground in the dark next to his mother’s body, and can hardly bear it.

‘Has the tea cooled down?’ Luke asks.

Maya swallows her emotions and checks the bottle in the fridge. ‘Not yet.’

They both contemplate the esky, but nothing moves. In the silent space, Maya becomes more aware of Luke’s presence as he sits on her bed. ‘You have blood on you,’ she says, noticing a few streaks on his neck.

‘Yeah, and check this out.’ He pulls open his jacket and his shirt, and she is shocked to see there are long streaks of dried blood against his dark chest.

‘Do you want to borrow a towel and have a wash? You can use the communal showers, over there.’ She points out the window into the darkness.



He looks out. ‘Nah …’

‘You do remember that kangaroos are covered in ticks?’

He frowns. ‘Well, okay then, I guess.’

‘Here,’ she throws him a towel. ‘I won’t give him a drink until you get back.’

While Luke is gone, Maya lies on the bed, staring at the box. What kind of cognition does a joey have – can he have any idea that his mother, the whole source of his protection, is gone forever? Does he feel the unending fear of her absence in each moment? Is there anything more frightening than to be so small and helpless and alone, reliant on the goodwill of others to make it through the night? It was chance that this one was found by Luke, that the joey isn’t still lying there, waiting, while hungry creatures catch the scent of blood and circle closer in the darkness. That is the cruel cycle of life, after all. A battle in every moment; death in one place extending life in another. Isn’t railing against it in the way she and Luke are doing, by rescuing one animal out of millions, a futile, endless quest? And doesn’t it make her just like her mother?

Maya is grateful that Luke comes back and stops these thoughts, though his presence replaces them with another set no less troubling. He has put his jeans on, but carries the rest of his clothes in his hands. She knows this is not the time to be drawn to put her hands against his smooth chest but, God, she wants to.

‘Are you cold?’ she asks. ‘I might have something you can borrow.’

‘It’s all right.’ Luke goes over to the esky and gently lifts out the joey, still wrapped in the pillowcase and blankets. ‘Hey there, little fella,’ he whispers, ‘let’s see if you’ll have something to drink.’

He looks expectantly at Maya and she gets the bottle. She shakes it up and squirts some onto her hand, checking it is tepid. Then she kneels in front of Luke.

‘He won’t be able to suck it – I have to drop it into his mouth,’ she says. She tries to ease the joey’s small lips back, and accidently touches his nose with the bottle. The little creature jumps in shock and begins to wriggle again.

‘It might help if you cover his eyes,’ Maya says. ‘They’re used to the darkness of the pouch. It makes them feel safe.’

She grimaces at her words. Why does everything she utters tonight ring in her ears as an echo of Desi’s voice?

Luke puts one hand over the kangaroo’s eyes, and pulls the little body tight into his lap. This time Maya manages to open his mouth, and carefully releases a droplet of tea through a minuscule gap between his teeth. By repeating the process they manage to get a little of the liquid into him, but it becomes harder and harder to pry the joey’s mouth open. ‘Should we let him rest?’ Luke asks. ‘I’ll find something better as soon as it’s light and the shops open. I can go and ask the vet if he has anything.’

‘Hang on,’ Maya says, as he moves to put the kangaroo back in the esky. She snatches up some tissues, wets them with the water from the warm kettle. ‘We have to toilet him,’ she says, pulling the pillowcase down a little. ‘You need to sit him on your lap for a moment.’

She arranges the joey so that Luke is holding it close, its legs up and its tail hanging down, then gently dabs between the joey’s legs. A trickle of urine emerges, followed by a small amount of tar-like faeces. ‘They don’t go on their own. His mother would normally do this by stimulating the cloaca.’

As soon as she has finished, they pull the pillowcase over the joey, and settle him back into the esky. Luke stands up, stretching.



‘You can stay if you like,’ Maya says, trying to make the offer sound casual.

Luke shakes his head. ‘I’ll go and find some supplies – I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep in touch by phone, yeah?’

He grabs his clothes and goes to the door. Maya follows, unable to help noticing the ripples of well-defined muscles in his back. He turns around as though he’s about to say something, but then shrugs. ‘See ya later then.’ And he is gone, leaving Maya to a restless night full of longing and fretfulness, her ears constantly attuned to the small box at the end of her bed.




As light begins its cautious glow through her window, Maya drifts into a delirium, coming to and floating away again so often that she cannot tell where sleep begins or ends.

She is semi-aware of some soft noises, like barking coughs. They are small and wretched – she can hear the desperate call for his mother in them, and her heart breaks for him. Not knowing what else to do, she eventually gets up and rearranges the blankets, topping up the hot-water bottle, grateful when the sound stops. Back in bed, she sleeps a little longer, but then becomes disturbed by how quiet it is. She climbs to the edge of her bed, and gently pulls the covers up.

Something is wrong. At first, she cannot pinpoint what it is, since there is no outward sign of injury or distress. The joey has his eyes closed, appears to be asleep. She picks him up, and he is floppy in her hands. He is warm, but doesn’t move when she gently pinches his skin again, and she is alarmed at how long it takes to settle back in place.

Panicked, she calls Luke’s number. ‘There’s something wrong – I mean, really wrong.’



He sounds groggy. ‘Shit. I can’t get any supplies yet. It’s too early.’

‘I don’t think there’s time for that.’ Maya looks down at the little creature and makes her decision. ‘It’s okay, I’ll go and get help.’

‘Maya –’ Luke says, but she ends the call before he has a chance to object.

She puts the joey in his makeshift bed and covers him well with the blankets. She throws a T-shirt on over her singlet, but doesn’t bother to change her pyjama bottoms. She pushes her feet into her thongs, and then grabs the esky and rushes out to her car. She wedges the esky between the seat and dashboard on the passenger-seat side, pulling the seat forward to hold it tight. Then she climbs in and sets off down the track as fast as she dares, cursing every bump, glancing anxiously at the mound of blankets in the small box, and having to remind herself to keep her eyes on the track. She slows slightly at the turning to the local vet’s, but it is too early for anyone to be there. She makes her decision and presses the accelerator down hard.

Now that she is on sealed road, the low bushland flies by and before long she sees the gate. There is a hand-painted sign on one of the slats: ‘Hoppers Rest’. Perhaps this is a terrible idea, but she has no choice. She climbs out to open the gate, drives through and then gets out to shut it behind her again. Then she steers the car carefully along the track to the low-lying, single-storey house. A couple of kangaroos move slowly away, shifting their weight idly between their front paws and tail, no urgency to their movements. A third lolls under a tree, surveying her as she passes.

There are people on the front verandah before she has even stopped the car. The man is rubbing his eyes as though he’s been woken. The woman is squinting in the early light. Perhaps she cannot see who it is yet, or maybe she cannot believe it.

Maya gets out of the car and goes quickly to the passenger side, grabbing the esky. Her heart is thundering. She marches towards the steps that lead up to the house. ‘We need your help,’ she says, holding out the box. Then she sets it down in front of her, a barrier between them. The man kneels down and peeks under the blankets. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs. He looks at Maya but doesn’t say anything, just picks up the esky and hurries inside. As he passes his wife, he says, ‘It’s furred, but unresponsive. We’ll see.’

She nods, but remains watching Maya. They both hear the screen door slam.

‘It’s good to see you, Maya,’ Rebecca says softly. ‘It’s been too long. Would you like to come in?’