When Jonno had subsided, the young bloke made a cuppa and we sat, saying nothing. Then they stood up and started walking to the river. I followed, standing on the bank. Knowing something big was up. When they got deep enough, I could tell Jonno was wanting to leg it, get out of there. But the pup said, “This is how it needs to be, John.” Just stared him down. Then Jonno dunks him. I don’t know what happened then. I mean, I saw it and I remember it but … I don’t know what it was. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky all day, but it was like the sun came up again and broke through thick rainclouds, just enough so this beam of light smashed straight into the river where they were. Like God was going spotlighting and they were a pair of ’roos. Then this bloody great cockatoo rips in out of nowhere and lands on the kid’s shoulder. And the noise. Thunder’s got nothing on that noise. So loud it drew every other sound into it and sucked the breeze dry. And we’ve argued about it ever since, those of us who were there. But I know what I heard. It was a voice. Not a human voice and not using words I know but using words I understood. It said, “This is my child, who I love. I’m so pleased with him.” The words every kid ever born wants to hear from their dad. The words most of us never do. As loud as a waterfall and as soft as a kiss. Just booming across the sky but also whispering in your ear. And we were all bawling like babies and dropping to our knees and then … it’s gone. It’s just gone, and the cicadas start up again. There’s just Jonno and the young lad in the water, holding each other like long-lost brothers. Then Jonno holds out his hand to me and I walk in too. And when I got there, I knew what was going to happen. But it’s not Jonno who does it. 17
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