Mike Dixon

eaten by his dogs. He watched the old fellow unpack the
plastic bag she had prepared for him. It was like seeing a
child open a Christmas present.
„Noelene says you‟re to throw away the razor blades
when you‟ve used them. You‟re not to try to sharpen them.
She‟ll get you some new ones.‟
The old man nodded. „She‟s a nice young woman. Very
kind and considerate. I don‟t know how she puts up with
that husband of hers.‟
David told him about the incident with the gun and how
he‟d taken it from Daryl and shot the shark himself. That
was evidently something in his favor.
„How old are you?‟
David said he had just turned twenty-one.
„Hmm…‟ the old man nodded. „I was once your age.‟
He seemed about to say more but his mind wandered
and he went outside and shouted to his dogs. David was
keen to get him talking. He liked to hear old people reminisce.
It was like taking a trip back into the past. But it was-
n‟t just history that interested him. He wanted to learn more
about the homestead and the people who owned it. He had
no doubt there were things the Dutchman could tell him – if
he was prepared to talk.
He unpacked the meal and laid it out on a table made
from slabs of polished timber. There were iced beers and a
bottle of whisky. Noelene said he shouldn‟t produce the
whisky until after the old man had eaten. David returned it
to the bag and poured the beer. The sun set and it was suddenly
dark. He lit a candle and soon had some light on the
scene.
The old man picked at his food, eating very little. Most
was handed to his dogs who had an appetite for curried
egg, smoked ham and anchovies. David guessed the ani-