Cedric bites me

On my hitchhiking trip to Darwin for supplies, I told a driver who gave me a ride that a neighboring goanna had visited my campsite and showed some interest in me. The man proceeded to tell me that a goanna’s bite will leave a festering wound which, even after it has healed, will continue to break open at the same time annually for seven years. I was dubious but did not say so.

Today Cedric gave me the opportunity to test the driver’s theory. Or, to put it more bluntly, the bastard bit me.

It happened in mid-afternoon. He had been at my camp for an hour or so and nothing much had happened between us. Then, while cleaning up, I threw him a few tidbits of fish that I had chopped up for bait but no longer needed. Soon, he was enthusiastically cavorting about my feet, poking out his tongue and sometimes stepping on my toes. Thinking he was showing gratitude for my generosity in the best way he could, I bent down and stroked him under the neck. He did not pull away. On the contrary, he drew closer to my open hand and touched it a few times with his tongue. I found this to be quite endearing. Then, to my shock and without a hint of warning, his narrow reptilian head shot forward and grabbed my right thumb. Almost as fast as he had struck, I tore the bleeding thumb from his mouth before he had a firm hold on it.

Immediately I was more furious with Cedric than concerned about what he had just done. It took great restraint on my part not to strike him with my fist. He watched intently as I washed the wounded thumb in the pond. Finally, unable to contain my anger any longer, as I stood up, I delivered a sharp kick which shunted Cedric’s plump body into the water. Upon landing with a substantial splash, he quickly oriented himself and swam off with impressive speed.

Three days later

This morning, three days after biting me and getting kicked into the pool, Cedric made an appearance at my camp but kept a dozen or more feet from me. Normally he comes almost every day and is not shy about getting quite close.

It is my assumption, therefore, that he understands biting me was a serious transgression and that I am mightily displeased. In case he has any doubts about the matter, today I intentionally ignored him and did not give him any fish. He left after an hour or so, having kept his distance from me.

My thumb, meanwhile, is not doing too badly. After the attack, I applied mercurochrome to the wound and bandaged it carefully, thinking, as I did, that the damage could have been a lot worse. Cedric’s fine, razor-sharp teeth came down more on the nail of my thumb which they succeeded in cracking, than on the more vulnerable flesh. In other words, the thumbnail took the brunt of his strike.

That, at least, is a good thing. At present, I’m experiencing only a mild throb which makes writing awkward. Certainly, I need to be careful not to jar or bang the thumb for several days while the flesh wound is healing. Also, I’ll have to forgo swimming.

Healing thumb

I’m glad to say the injured thumb is healing quite well. I’ve changed the dressing twice and allowed the wound occasional exposure to fresh air and, while doing this, trimmed off the broken piece of thumb nail. But the bite incident does introduce a new and unsettling dimension to my relationship with Cedric.

The other day, for instance, after yoga and stretching exercises, with the midday sun overhead, I was standing in the water to cool off. Cedric, who had been watching me from the pool’s edge, dived to the bottom, circled me a few times then came right up to me and touched my feet with his tongue. At the time I took it to be a friendly gesture, but, in retrospect, I’ve begun to wonder. And that I was standing in four feet of water in total nakedness makes me all the more uneasy about it.

Decades before New Zealand-born Keith Stewart landed on his 88-acre farm in Orange County, NY, where he would grow organic vegetables and herbs for 34 years and teach up-and-coming farmers, his personal pilgrimage included a Thoreauvian stretch living solo in the sparsely populated Australian outback. Now retired from farming, Stewart turned his focus to cleaning up a roughly scribbled journal he kept during that formative stretch in 1972. Meanwhile, his wife, artist Flavia Bacarella, worked on woodcuts to accompany the journal. The resulting book, ‘THE ALONE TRIP – in the Wild Down Under,’ should be out in October. They have invited ‘Dirt’ to publish excerpts serially. This is the seventh part.

Sidebar:

FLAVIA BACARELLA: THE ALONE TRIP WOODCUTS
October 6–31
Reception: Thursday, Oct. 8, 5-8pm

AUTHOR SIGNING & READING WITH KEITH STEWART
Saturday, Oct. 24, 3pm

Prince Street Gallery
547 West 27 St., Suite 504
New York, NY