Kenneth Cook - The Killer Koala: Humorous Australian Bush Stories

TheKiller Koala

ByKenneth Cook

HumorousAustralian bush stories

Dedication

ForStuart Littlemore, barrister-at-law nonpareil

THE KILLER KOALA

ByKenneth Cook

TortoiseshellPress

Firstpublished in 1986 by

TortoiseshellPress

Suite 221, Wingello House

1-12Angel Place, Sydney, NSW 2000

AUSTRALIA

Telephone(02) 221 1846

Reprinted1986

KennethCook 1986

Design/Artby Ken Gilroy

Photographyby Robbi Newman

Editedby Jacqueline Kent

Coverillustrations by Patrick Cook

Additionalillustrations by Ken Gilroy

Typographyby Dova Typesetting and Beagle Pty. Ltd.

Printedin Australia by Globe Press Pty. Ltd.

ISBN0 947 063 00 5

Allrights reserved. This book or parts thereof

cannotbe published without the express

permissionof the publisher.

Distributedby Gordon and Gotch

(Australia)Ltd., Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane,

Perth,Adelaide, Launceston.

Sincerethanks to the Koala Park Sanctuary

atWest Pennant Hills NSW

Contents:

Snakes and Alcohol

'There'stwo things that don't mix,' said Blackie slowly and pompously,'snakes and alcohol.'

Itwould never have occurred to me to mix them but I nodded solemnly.Nod solemnly is pretty well all you do when you're talking to a snakeman because they never actually converse theyjust tell you things about snakes.

Blackiewas a travelling snake man. He travelled in a huge pantechnicon whichhad wooden covers on the sides. Whenever he found a paying audience aschool or a tourist centre hewould drop the wooden covers and reveal a glass-walled box the sizeof a large room. This was his snake house, inhabited by a hundred orso snakes ranging from the deadly taipans and browns to the harmlesstree snakes.

Blackiewas like all the snake men I've ever met cadaverouslythin, very dirty, extremely shabby and he didn't have a second name.I think he was called Blackie because of his fondness for blacksnakes, or perhaps because his eyes were jet black hehad the only eyes I've seen that were black. He looked as though hisenormous pupils had supplanted his irises, but if you looked closelyyou could see the faint outline of the black pupils inside them. Itended to feel uncomfortable looking into those two round patches ofblack and the suffused and bloodshot eyes (all snake men havesuffused and bloodshot eyes Ithink it's because snakes bite them so often).

Imet Blackie just north of Mackay in Queensland where we were bothcamping on a little known beach named Macka's Mistake; I don't knowwhy it's named that.

Iwas trying to finish a novel and Blackie was doing somethingcomplicated with the airconditioning of his pantechnicon, so we werethrown together for about a fortnight and became firm friends.

Blackiewas so good and confident with snakes that he imbued me with much ofhis own attitude. I would often go into his snake house, sit on a logand talk to him while lethal reptiles regarded us torpidly withinstriking distance, or slid gracefully and slowly away from the smellof our tobacco smoke.

Nowand then a black, brown or green snake would slide softly past myfoot and Blackie would say, 'Just sit there and don't move. It won'tbite you if you don't move.' I wouldn't move and the snake wouldn'tbite me. So, after a time, I became more or less relaxed with thesnakes, provided Blackie was there.

Nothingwould have induced me to go into the snake cage without Blackie, butI was convinced he could actually talk to the things, or at any ratecommunicate with them in some way which both he and they understood.It seemed to me at times fancifully possible that Blackie might havesome drops of snake blood in his veins. Or perhaps the venom he hadabsorbed made him somehow simpatico with the creatures. Mind you, I didnotice that the snakes had black eyes too, and that made me wonder.

Therewas only one other camper at Macka's beach, Alan Roberts, a fat andfriendly little photographer who had set up a tent and was making astudy of seabirds. He, Blackie and I would usually meet in mycampervan for drinks in the evening.

Onlythe previous night, Blackie had been expounding to me and Alan thedangers of mixing alcohol and snakes. Of course, this took place overa bottle of whisky and I was considerably disconcerted when I calledon him in the morning to find him unconscious in his own snake house,two empty whisky bottles by his side and his body festooned withdeadly snakes.

Thesnakes were lying quite still, apparently enjoying the warmth ofBlackie's motionless body. I assumed he was alive because of thesnores that shook the glass windows of the snake house. But I had noidea whether he had been bitten and was in a coma, or had simplydrunk himself insensible, or both.

Thesnakes resting on Blackie were, as far as I could make out: onetaipan (absolutely deadly) two king browns (almost as deadly) a deathadder (very deadly) three black snakes (deadly) and one diamond snake(harmless).

Myfirst impulse was to run screaming for help, but there was nobody insight, and if Blackie jerked or turned in his drunken or moribundtorpor, at least seven deadly snakes would probably sink their fangsinto him simultaneously. Then, no doubt, the other eighty or ninetyvariably venomous snakes would stop lying peacefully round the snakehouse and join the fray. Blackie's chances of survival would beslight.

Iknew the snake house door did not lock. Normally when not in use itwas covered by a wooden shutter, so I knew I could get in. But did Iwant to?

Ididn't consider that in his present state Blackie would be able toprovide his normal protection against snakes. Going in with Blackielike this would be worse than going in alone. A treacherous voicewithin me whispered that it would be better to run away and letBlackie wake up naturally. The snakes were used to him and he wouldprobably instinctively act in the proper way with them.

Sadly,the treacherous voice wasn't convincing. Besides, I didn't knowwhether Blackie had already been bitten and needed medical helpurgently.

Ilooked around for a weapon. Under the pantechnicon I saw a rake thatBlackie used for clearing his snake house. I picked it up andcautiously and very slowly opened the door. There were several snakesbetween me and Blackie and I wasn't sure of their species. They alllooked lethal. I poked at them gently with the rake and all of them,except one, resentfully slithered off to the other side of the snakehouse with no apparent intention except of going back to sleep. Theone, a big king brown, raised itself on its coils and began hissing,throwing its head back to strike. I knew enough about snakes now toknow that as long as I stayed the length of the snake's body awayfrom its fangs, they couldn't touch me. Equally I knew that if Itried to pass this snake to get at Blackie, it could get to me.

Ipoked at it with the rake again and it struck, its fangs making atiny ringing sound against the iron prongs. Blackie had told me thatthis sort of thing was bad for a snake's fangs. I didn't care. Ipoked at it again and it sank to the ground, wriggled over toBlackie, worked its way onto his back, then coiled again and beganlooking at me threateningly. It seemed much more agitated thanbefore; no doubt its teeth hurt. The snakes already using Blackie asa mattress stirred fitfully, but didn't go anywhere.