The Mystical Swagman. Gary Blinco
“How can you get so many different types of fruit from one tree?” he asked. “And surely this tree is much older than the whole colony, you could not possibly have planted it in your lifetime.”
“The tree is old an’ all,” Sly Joe replied. “I have grafted all sorts of fruit stock onto it as a host tree. The tree provides the nourishment, and then I can have all the fruit I need from the one strong trunk.” He laughed. “That’s another reason why they call me Sly and wise; I have all manner of little tricks up my sleeve.” He stood up as he finished speaking, rubbed his back, and stretched, removing his large Chinese-looking hat as he did so. His features were sharp like those of a ferret; his eyes were small and bright, but warm and alive. Brennan liked him immediately.
“I have to start the afternoon watering now,” said Sly Joe, picking up the empty tea mugs.
“Let me help you. I can spare another hour and still get home before dark.”
“I’d appreciate that. Not that there is too much work involved, now that I have set up my watering system. If you follow the wagon track on yer way ‘ome, it will take you to the city in good time. You came the long way over the mountain, but the road follows the valley along.”
Brennan followed Joe to a large earthen dam that had been dug into the ground on the slope near the head of the garden. A series of small hollow logs and long troughs made of tree bark disappeared down the rise among the various rows of vegetables and fruit. The man took up a large wooden bucket and began to bail water from the dam and pour it into the troughs. Brennan shook his head in wonder, watching the water glisten in the sunlight as it gurgled down the network of troughs and hollows to feed the thirsty crop below.
“Sly Joe is a cunning old villain, yer thinkin’ I’ll bet,” Joe said easily, watching the boy’s reaction. “A wind pump down near the creek brings the water up to the dam during the day. Then I let gravity feed the water down to the garden as I need it. Most days we get a breeze or two, but even if I get a few days without a wind, there is always enough water in the dam to tide me over. One day I’ll have proper metal pipes for the irrigation, but for now the Governor only allows me the short span of pipes to carry the water up to the dam from the wind pump. I made the windmill meself; I’m a deft hand with metal or wood alike.”
“You have it all well thought out,” Brennan said quietly. “And I’ll vow the bushrangers won’t bother you either, not with the troopers here regularly.”
“Just so; and now you know another reason why they call me Sly Joe.”
“What about the bush animals, and the birds? They must play havoc with the crops.”
“Not at all,” Joe said firmly. “Let’s just say we have an arrangement, me, the creatures and the Aborigines; we all get along very well.”
* * *
After a while Brennan took a turn with the bucket, while Joe squatted on the dam wall to catch his breath and smoke a pipe. While he worked, he risked another question; he did not think Joe was the type to be offended. “So what sly deeds did you commit to get you sent here as a convict?”
“Nothing too evil,” Joe said reflectively. “I kept the books for a man who had a large iron foundry; he was a mean piece of work an’ all that went with it.” He sat quietly for a moment, taking deep draws from the pipe, and Brennan began to regret asking the question. “A lot of people were poor and starving in the village where I lived, including me own family,” Joe continued after a while. “So I began to ‘borrow’ a few bob and share it around.
“The boss would never have known; he was not an educated man and did not understand the books. But alas, he took a new wife who was educated; she only wanted his money to begin with, and she did not like it when she discovered that I had been purloining a little of it. Me mum and dad died with the typhoid the year after I was shipped over here, and me the only child. So there is nothing back in grubby old England for me now.”
“You seem to be a learned man,” Brennan observed, “but you talk like an ordinary sailor, not like my Uncle Arthur, for instance. He says he’s from the upper-class.”
“Oh yes indeed, I am well-educated,” Joe agreed. “I was apprenticed to a farmer at one time to study all manner of things. He was a nobleman and he took a liken’ to me, sent me off on all kinds of study courses – that’s where I got me green thumb, as they say. But he went off to the wars and was killed. That’s when I went to work at the iron foundry and put a foot wrong.” He sighed, and then he smiled wistfully. “So I suppose you could say I got most of the learning and none of the class. It’s an ill wind that blows no good, lad. I’ve taken a few lashes and lived rough, but the world is not so bad if you meet it on its own terms. Now I look set for a good life for what’s left, and I’m not much past thirty. I’ll not fester and die with my heart in another land like so many of ‘em do.”
Brennan smiled, and then he looked up at the sky and saw that the sun was sinking low towards the horizon. “I had better head back to the city,” he said. “I’ll follow the wagon track as you suggested, but I want to leave a little extra time this first trip; after that I’ll know how long it takes me to get here.”
Joe laughed happily. “That means you plan to visit old Joe again! Good on ye, lad! The traps have some strict rules about who I can see and what I can do; but a bright boy who helps out now and then will not cause them any concern.”
The walk home turned out to take less than two hours. Brennan was surprised at how such an isolated, secret place could be so readily accessible when one knew where and how to go. It matched the man well, Sly Joe was indeed an educated and intelligent man who had travelled the world to enhance his knowledge; but somehow he had managed to retain the common touch. Brennan always felt comfortable in his company. He became a regular visitor to Joe’s farm, and they soon grew to be firm friends. He especially liked to work beside Joe in the big garden and listen to him talk on a multitude of subjects, his hungry young mind devouring the plethora of new knowledge and ideas.
Chapter
4
Mister Hill called at Ede’s cottage to talk to her about Brennan’s frequent absences from class. When Ede did not share the man’s concern, he became very angry and impatient. “Well, if you do not care about the boy’s education, madam, I wonder why I should even bother then.”
“But you said he was brilliant at school,” she said, wagging her finger in the man’s face.
“He is!” Hill shouted. “But how much better could he be if he attended all of the classes, instead of wandering about the city all day associating with criminals and layabouts? He has the makings of a genius, for God’s sake; but he must come to school.”
Brennan listened to the discussion idly. He did not want to go to school anymore; there was no longer any challenge there for him. He much preferred to visit the library, or to wander about the city studying people, or to visit Sly Joe. These options were providing him with much more learning than he could ever possibly get in a boring classroom that he had outgrown anyway.
In the end the teacher gave up in frustration. After that day Brennan did not return to the school, and he never saw Mister Hill again. Ede agreed with his decision; but she said he must henceforth work for his keep. She quickly found a job for him delivering newspapers for the editor of the local paper, who had been a friend of her deceased husband and knew their circumstances. The money Brennan earned for this work was to be given to Ede to help her make ends meet. The boy did not mind, just as long as Ede gave him a shilling now and again to buy a pie or a drink when he went wandering with Laura; he had no other use for money otherwise.
After a while, Brennan began to realise he actually liked delivering the papers; it gave some structured purpose to his wanderings, and working for the newspaper gave him access to so much more reading material. For the first time in his life he was allowed to read as much as he wanted. He even smuggled books and newspapers to Sly Joe whenever he could. By now he had learned that the Governor had some strict rules on what a ‘ticket-of-leave’ man could