A NAME FOR THE JOEY

The rough asphalt scraped against his skin as he skidded across the road, stripping flesh from his elbows and knees. His motorcycle, rotating through the air, crashed into the roadside trees as he finally came to a stop on the ground. He lay there for a minute or two, collecting his thoughts, trying to recover his senses.

‘Well, that was certainly interesting,’ he said to himself. ‘What you might call a near-death experience.’ He got up and limped painfully over to the twisted remains of his motorcycle. ‘What a disaster,’ he said. ‘There’s no way I’m riding that home. I guess I’ll just have to walk.’

But first he walked back over his path to the dead kangaroo lying by the side of the road. ‘Stupid roo,’ he said sadly. ‘Why did you have to cross the road just then, and in the dark so I couldn’t see you? You smashed my bike, nearly killed me, and got yourself killed just to get to the other side. Dumb animal.’

He bent over to look at the dead animal more closely. He saw the pouch. ‘Oh, shit. It’s a female.’ He had to force himself to open the pouch. ‘Jesus, there’s a joey inside. Oh, shit, that’s all I need. Is it alive?’ A movement within the pouch. ‘Hell. Yep. It’s alive. What do I do now? I can’t just leave it to die of exposure. I can be a bastard, but not that kind of bastard.’

He reached into the pouch and gently drew out the baby kangaroo. It struggled a bit, but his grip was firm and he pulled it free. ‘Poor little bastard,’ he said. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

He unzipped his jacket and put the tiny animal inside, against his chest. The jacket was fur-lined and warm. The joey nestled into the cavity.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said to the joey. ‘I’m your new mum. Settle in and get warm.’

‘I must be nuts,’ he thought. ‘But I can’t just leave the poor little bugger here to die slowly of cold. Maybe I can get someone to look after it. If I knew anybody who was that kind; if I had any real friends.’

He turned and started walking toward his destination, down the long lonely road, dark forest either side, stretching out for miles ahead. He had another fifty kilometres to go to get home and the road was not well-travelled. Maybe someone would stop for him, but he didn’t hold out much hope. And he was starting to get very sore – his knees and elbows stung and he ached where his leg had been wrenched during his desperate efforts to separate himself from the plunging bike. It was bad enough as it was – he couldn’t imagine how much worse it might have been if the bike had landed on him. Or in fact, yes he could, and that just made it worse.

And now his injured body was beginning to stiffen. ‘Damn! Need to get walking – that’s the only thing to stop me freezing up.’ And as for freezing, the holes in the elbows of his jacket and the knees of his jeans would be letting in the cold. He wished he could have afforded proper leathers – they would have survived the accident a lot better. But all he’d had the money for was synthetic crap, fake leather. No damn good at all. He’d already ditched his helmet. No point in keeping it. A helmet that had been in an accident was no good any more.

He’d gone maybe five kilometres - three miles – and he was beginning to think he was in real trouble. The pain and cold were beginning to get to him – he didn’t know how much further he could walk – when the roadside trees lit up - headlights coming up behind him! He put his thumb out, without much hope. But the car slowed, stopped a hundred yards ahead of him. He hurried as much as his painful body allowed him to – it would be a disaster if the driver thought he wasn’t really asking for a lift and drove off again.

As he reached the car the door swung open. Inside was a man in a suit, middle-aged, respectable looking. He looked at his own clothes, torn and ragged. The blood had mostly clotted, but he was pretty sure he was going to ruin this guy’s nice upholstery.

‘Jeez!’ said the man. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Hit a roo on my bike. It crossed the road – I didn’t see it till too late.’

‘You poor bastard. Get in.’

‘Oh, I dunno. I’ll probably bleed on your seats.’

‘Don’t be an idiot. You need help. Get in. The seats be buggered.’

‘Um, there’s another thing. The roo had a joey. It’s still alive. I’ve got it in my jacket.’

‘Oh, poor little bugger. Let’s have a look. But get in, first. You look like you need to sit down.’

‘You’re not wrong there. Thanks, mate.’

He got in, sat down and shut the door. The car was warm after the cold of the outside air. Nice car. He was sure he was ruining the upholstery, but the man had said not to worry about it, so what could he do?

‘Now let’s see the joey.’ He peered into the opening. ‘Jeez, he’s a small one, isn’t he? Cute as hell, though.’ He turned back to the wheel. ‘Now let’s get you home. Where do you live?’

‘Musk Vale.’

‘Oh, that’s not too bad, then. I'm headed for Ballarat. It’s on my way.’ He started the engine and the car accelerated smoothly and the dark landscape either side began to speed past.

‘Thanks very much, mister. I dunno what I’d have done if you hadn’t turned up. I was starting to get stiff and cold.’

‘No worries, mate. Glad to help.’

‘Nice car. You sure it’s ok for me to sit on your seats?’

‘Oh, yeah. It’s a company car. They’ll foot the cleaning bill.’

‘Glad to hear it. I was worried.’

‘Nah. It’s all good. What’s your name, by the way? I’m Glen.’

‘I’m Jacko.’

‘Nice to meet you. Do you want some music on?’

‘Oh, yeah. That’d be good.’

The music came through the speakers. Beatles, Rolling Stones, Dylan, Bowie. All sixties and seventies stuff. ‘Is this stuff okay? I could put the radio on instead, if you like.’

‘Nah. This is good.’

The next song he’d never heard. Pounding, rhythmic, compelling. ‘What’s this? I’ve never heard it before.’

‘The Loved Ones. An Aussie band. Very short-lived but amazing. They had three or four really big hits back in the day – The Loved One, Sad Dark Eyes, More than Love, Ever-Lovin’ Man. There’s a bunch of their songs on Youtube, if you’re interested. I saw them live once.’

‘You must be older than you look. I would have put you in your fifties.’

‘Well, that’s a compliment! I’m seventy-three. I’ll have to tell the missus. She’ll have a good laugh.’

The forest sped past. They reached more open country. Soon they’d be at Musk Vale.

‘You planning to keep the joey? Asked Glen.

‘I dunno. Maybe. I haven’t decided.’

‘If you do, you have to get a permit. It’s a native animal. Protected. But they’re pretty good about it. If you can show that you’ll be able to care for it properly you’ve got a good chance of keeping it.’

‘Yeah. I dunno. I’ll think about it.’

‘Do that. You got any pets? Dogs? Cats?’

‘Nah. All by myself.’

‘Big back yard? Fenced off?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘I’d think about it if I were you. Could be worth it.’

‘Yeah, maybe I will.’

‘Well, here we are. Musk Vale. I’ll take you to the door.’

‘Thanks, mate.’

‘No worries.’

‘Just down here. That’s it. My place. Thanks again, Glen.’

‘I’ll give you my card. Maybe you’d like to keep in touch.’

‘Thanks. I might just do that.’

He climbed out of the car, waved as Glen drove off. ‘Nice guy,’ he thought. Maybe I will keep in touch. Now, let’s get you inside, little mate. I’ll warm you up some milk. And maybe I’ll go for that permit. You could be company.’

'I'll have to bring the bike back as soon as I get a chance, see if I can fix it. One of my mates should be able to help. Dave the Septic* has a ute** - I'll ask him.'

*Septic - Australian rhyming slang. Septic tank = Yank

** Ute - a utility - front half like a sedan, back half like a farm truck.