White kangaroo

This crazy idea came to the Chilean comrade – Miguel. He ran a half marathon in Hobart, and someone told him about it.

About the mysterious Bruny Island, where you can encounter a white kangaroo.

They bought tickets and took a bus, then sailed on a boat. Ilya and Miguel peered for a long time through the impenetrable fog but could not see beyond the nose of the passenger vessel. As they approached the island, it was almost invisible until they touched the dock with the port side.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have five hours to explore the area, and you should be lucky," said the man who introduced himself as the guide. "Bruny is memorable precisely because every guest finds something overly amazing here."

In fact, the tourists had only one goal – to see the white kangaroo featured on the cover of the guidebook. They cast curious glances around in the hope that the exotic animal was eager for a chance to appear in their video and photo cameras.

Ilya and Miguel immediately decided to leave the group and find their own way. They stepped onto the shore with unsteady steps; through the haze, the face of the island could be seen. It did not look welcoming: unfamiliar trees with thin trunks and tall canopies, bushes without leaves, grass without greenery. It did not seem that any life existed here.

They glanced at each other. Where to go? Catholic sensuality and Orthodox contemplation embraced against the background of this entire Martian chronicle.

The island's guests were given five hours. Each must find the white kangaroo. Ilya and Miguel met each other’s brown eyes. For now, they are thinking. For now, they are capable of adequately perceiving what is happening.

The forest only seems dead. Its life is entirely different, distinct from earthly tenderness. In the grayness, traces of other existences can be seen and heard. Mysterious squeals, cracks, and rustles…

"Ilya, do you hear it, or is it just me?" Miguel took his friend by the hand. He could feel his heart beating.

"It was your idea to come here. Who should protect whom?"

"Russian, it’s important for us to be together. I didn’t expect it to be so gloomy."

"Look for giant mushrooms and dinosaurs, since we ended up here!" Ilya nudged Miguel in the shoulder. "That’s why we’re here, not in a museum. Right now someone might grab you in the soft spot."

"My bony ass?" Miguel slapped his jeans with his hand and shrugged.

"Like chicken wings with beer," Ilya laughed. "The drier, the better."

Sometimes it seemed that Miguel only had eyes. Huge and black, like anthracite. Very expressive. They reflect the main quality of the Chilean friend – curiosity. That’s exactly why he decided to come to Australia. Where else in the world can you satisfy an insatiable thirst for knowledge? Where else can what you see exceed all expectations? Australia is a planet on a planet, in its jungles ancient reptiles hide.

Ilya and Miguel know what they have to do. Keep moving forward and look for the white kangaroo. They looked around hoping to see a good sign that would show them where to go. The damn fog shrouded everything around. Because of it, the cursed unfamiliar terrain took on ominous outlines. Any moment now, some Herbert Wells would come out from behind a tree and say: "Hey, you two, get the hell out of here!"

"You wanted the white kangaroo to sit on a leash and greet you on the shore? The guide told us that we would have to work hard, and it was far from certain that we would be lucky enough to encounter this marvel of nature."

"I paid money, Ilya. And I must see the albino with my own eyes."

"You bought the trip to Bruny. You can sit in a seaside cafe, sip a beer, and wait for the white kangaroo to come up to you and ask for a light."

So, moving a little away from the pier, they froze in indecision. In front of them were three paths. One led to the left along the rocky shore, another straight up the mountain, the third dove into the thick fog at the foot of the mountain. The friends chose the middle path and headed upward to survey the area from above and act according to the situation.

"We have a map and a compass," Miguel reported cheerfully. "We won't get lost – that's for sure."

"If anything, we'll ask others for directions. After all, we are not alone on the island," Ilya replied optimistically.

Someone has to be a leader. Even among leaders. Ilya stepped first into the gloomy mystery of the Tasmanian forest. Initially, it seemed that this land was so gray because of the fire. It felt as if it had entered a black-and-white movie.

"Maybe we should have gone with a group?" Miguel whined from behind, shivering from the drafts.

Ilya turned around. He already knew his friend quite well. The Chilean guy often said things that were quite different from what he actually thought. Miguel wanted to go his own way. He was happy that he and the Russian ended up in this surrealism; there was no better path for him.

Suddenly, Miguel whispered 'tshhh' and put his index finger to his lips. Then he shifted his gaze to a bush by the very tall eucalyptus, which resembled a giant dandelion. There sat a gray wallaby, calmly devouring its breakfast – green leaves.

Sometimes it's funny to watch people eat. By the way they do it, you can see how animal passions overwhelm a person. Sometimes it resembles a ritual, like that of the Indians. A simple meal turns into a sacred act. Ah yes, don't forget the greens, they are fashionable now. And so, on the table are finely chopped cucumbers and tomatoes, avocado, and sweet pepper.

Let's take a look in the oven. There is a trout steak with rosy cheeks. It excites and amazes. Eyes, lips, and nose converge to a single point, crossing the boundaries of desire and emotion. You are my sweetness! Then a photo of the table decorated with dishes can be posted online, emphasizing the well-being and happiness brought by fresh vegetables and baked fish.

And what is all this for? Likes, liKES, LIKES! They sit in the subconscious, making one give up their own tastes and habits for fashion and trends. Fear not what comes from the mouth, but what enters it. Learn to be and live like the best of us. If there are any questions left, look for answers on the internet.

Ilya and Miguel glanced at each other, then stared at the kangaroo again. It was in its own world. It sat on a light beige leather sofa, watching TV and devouring smoked pork ribs. Its powerful hind legs were crossed on the wooden coffee table. Its entire demeanor radiated complete serenity.

The languid gaze of the kangaroo paused on the pair of friends for a few seconds. There was a sense of superiority, like that of a social lion, the star of this entire mysterious forest. Only the ears, which rotated like radar sensors, occasionally gave away some restlessness.

The red-gray wallabies (a species from the kangaroo family – Macropus rufogriseus) really do feel like masters on Bruny Island, where a small population of them exists. They have a lot of fur and denser skin than their mainland relatives because Tasmania and its surroundings are closer to the cold waters of Antarctica than the Australian continent.

On Bruny Island, opium poppies are grown for the production of painkillers. According to local farmers, wallabies get high from poppy seeds and run circles across the fields, just lying on the ground. They cause significant damage to the producers. "Isn’t this what explains the appearance of white kangaroos? " Miguel laughed. "It seems their moms and dads do it precisely in an opium haze."

"Here’s something else about wallabies," Ilya flipped a page on his smartphone. "Kangaroos are preparing to advance on Europe. More than a hundred of these animals live on Lambay Island, near Ireland. The Baring banking family, whose private estate has included Lambay for over a hundred years, tried to settle Australian emus, mouflons, and South American kinkajou raccoons here. In the end, only wallabies thrived. The article says that at one time, hares and squirrels in Ireland also seemed exotic."

"You and I are journalists and we know perfectly well what yellow press is. You can make up anything. I wouldn't be surprised if there was news about scientists finding a living mammoth in the vicinity of Tasmania."

Ilya and Miguel decided to throw their phones to hell and enjoy the local landscape. This entire alien world is the native home for kangaroos. Planet Earth, continent Australia, Bruny Island. Ilya and Miguel here are uninvited guests. However, so are all those who once arrived here. The indigenous people initially saw in the colonizers the revived spirits of their ancestors, and then they got acquainted with muskets and pistols. Spears and arrows proved powerless against firearms. And so, colonizers settled in the fertile meadows and by quiet waters, having driven the locals from their native settlements into hated camps.

This exotic corner remained hidden for a long time from enlightened human civilization. On Bruny Island, only aborigines lived, and a tiny fraction of their descendants are still here. The name in the native language is Lunawanna-Alona, after the two halves of the island. And a narrow strip of land, which the locals called the 'neck,' connects these halves.

Dutch traveler Abel Tasman tried to land on the shore near Bruny in November 1642. At the beginning of 1777, the famous James Cook visited the island and even left his initials on one of the trees, which was destroyed by a forest fire in 1905. The island was named by Joseph-Antoine de Bruni d’Entrecasteaux – a French navigator who visited it twice. Moreover, Bruni is the paternal surname of the fearless explorer who died of scurvy near Papua New Guinea.

Europeans began settling on Bruny Island in 1803. They completely displaced the indigenous people from the most habitable areas. According to an Australian government program, which recognized its guilt toward the natives only in the mid-20th century, a handful of indigenous residents were returned to Bruny Island and provided with all the necessary living conditions.

"Miguel, wouldn't you want to stay on this land forever and live like in a fairy tale? You'd find yourself a beautiful native girl, start a family…"

"Stop it with your jokes! Although, I admit, I'm open to different experiments in life. In places like this, you start feeling like a child again – curious and naive."

"Uh-huh. What did you dream about as a child?"

"You won't believe it, I used to be small and fat. They laughed at me at school. I endured all kinds of bullying. But one day, a girl from my class, who I really liked, compared me to her pregnant older sister. And it was kind, without any malice. It was so humiliating that I couldn't bear it anymore."

"Buddy, you're so skinny now, I can’t even imagine you with a belly. Look, your hair on your arms and legs grows right out of the bones!"

Ilya and Miguel were ascending a narrow trail that wound among the tall eucalyptus trees and became increasingly rocky. Here and there, cheeky wallabies were encountered, they accompanied tourists with haughty looks: 'City people…'

"At first, I didn’t know what to do with myself. My father owned a small sports store in our hometown of Kuriko. One day, he gave me a colorful magazine dedicated to the 100th anniversary of the Boston Marathon. There was a lot of interesting stuff in it. But what touched me most was the story about an American, Clarence DeMar, who won in Boston a record seven times. The most amazing thing was that doctors discovered heart problems in him and prohibited physical activity while he was still young. But Clarence didn’t give up and became a legend. He won his last marathon at the age of 41. After his story, I put the magazine aside, put on my sneakers, and ran. I remember barely moving my legs and dreaming about running the Boston Marathon, how girls were yelling at me from the posters: 'Kiss me for speed!' 'I won’t tell your wife.'

"What is this again?"

"There is a section of the highway at the 21st kilometer where on both sides stand wall-like local college students, who, luckily, kiss the runners – the Wellesley Scream Tunnel. Boston remains my dream. I still train every day."

Step by step, carefully examining everything around, the friends reached the edge of the forest and stopped at the top of a steep cliff, where lazy waves of the Tasman Sea broke against its chin. Before their admiring eyes stretched endless kilometers of water, the majestic Pacific Ocean.

"I can’t live without the sea, I feel suffocated, as if there’s not enough oxygen," Ilya quietly said. "For many years I lived on the coast – first the Black Sea, then the Pacific Ocean. Now, having ended up in Moscow by destiny, I terribly miss inspired walks along the shore, foamy breakers, the gentle whisper of the surf."

The friends sat on the very edge of the cliff, where the salty breeze filled their lungs with a sense of freedom and joy. Irresistibly drawn to the distance, they wanted to sing, read poetry, or pray. In this tearful corner of the universe, one wanted to make a heartfelt wish, ask God for forgiveness and for something truly important.

Ilya and Miguel were separated by 10 years of life, 10 kilograms of weight, and 15 thousand kilometers from Moscow to Santiago, until they found themselves together between the sky and the ocean on the edge of a vertical cliff. They were united by adventurousness and a thirst for knowledge – the faithful companions of every traveler.

The Russian and the Chilean turned their gaze to the depths of the horizon, where it was no longer possible to distinguish the thin line separating the water and sky. They whispered the most important words – each in their own language. In a single impulse.

"We absolutely must find him, Ilya!"

"Otherwise why are we here, Miguel?"

They stood up, and there was no longer any doubt about where to go next. The friends headed downward to descend to the sandy shore that opened up to them in the d’Antrcasto strait from the top of the cliff. The sun appeared in the sky, a light breeze dispersed the fog at the foot of the mountain.

"And what about your cherished dream, Ilya?"

"Oh, I don't want you to think I'm crazy."

"How so?"

"In my school years, I was an active and diligent boy, a Pioneer and a Komsomolets – that's what we called ourselves in Russian."

"What is a 'Cosmopolets'?"

"I was for the Communist Party and for Lenin. For the Soviet Union."

"C-C-C-P?"

"What?"

Miguel took a stick and wrote in the sand – 'CCCP.'

"Yes, that's right. I dreamed of heroism, of becoming a hero. My great-grandfather was the famous Soviet writer Nikolai Ostrovsky. He was a man full of energy. He dedicated his short life to his Motherland, to the practical realization of communist ideas in life. I always wanted to be like him, and I really regretted that fate did not give even a single chance for heroism. I regretted not being born during the war with Germany. I would have proven myself there! Can you imagine?"

"Hardly. The most valuable thing a person has is life. Each of us has only one. And the Motherland is a relative concept. I also love my country with all my heart. However, Pinochet's Chile and Chile today are completely different things. You cannot love a homeland where they can knock you on the head with a rubber baton or put you in prison. It's some kind of masochism."

"I only partly agree with you. Let's say scoundrels came to power in your land. So what now, run abroad? Or fight against evil?"

"You need to clearly understand what exactly you are fighting for. So as not to trade a lesser evil for a greater one. How many times has this happened in human history? The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

"Again, you are right, Miguel. In the bright rays of Soviet propaganda, we grew up as loyal followers of the great teachings of Lenin, swearing to continue his work, to dedicate not only our own lives but also the lives of our descendants to the construction of communism."

"Like in North Korea?"

"Approximately. Then the ideals collapsed, hearts went cold, souls became orphaned. My generation ended up in the very meat grinder, when dreaming became foolish, because all the glorious past was declared a stinking swamp. The fraternal union of the peoples of the USSR was destroyed; we no longer had a Motherland where we were born. We plunged into the most terrible thing we were warned about in childhood – capitalism, where man is a wolf to man. We did not know what to do. But the dream of becoming a hero remained."

"Can you give your life to save another person?"

"Yes, probably. I doubt it, because I don’t know for sure whether I would have enough courage, first of all. Secondly, a treacherous thought gnaws at me: will your sacrifice be worthy?"

"I don’t know exactly how God judges, but it seems to me that a sincere impulse will certainly be counted."

"You see, Miguel, after the atheistic paradise, where everything is more or less clear, where there is black and white, another dimension arises – God."

"Ilya, don’t you think that our life resembles a search for a white kangaroo? We look for God first in this world, hoping for a miracle. We don’t find him, and what then? We believe that we will meet him after death. Captain Ahab chased Moby Dick across all seas and oceans because his faith had transformed and concentrated on just one desire – to seize the hated white whale. For him, the encounter with the whale was a touch of God."

"From your words, it seems that God is waiting for you somewhere on the Boston Marathon route?"

"Why not? We Catholics believe in His presence everywhere and always. Meeting God is an indescribable joy. Only we cannot know for certain when it might happen, and what exactly we should do to make it happen. So what should we do now, where should we look for the albino kangaroo? Look at the time; there is less than an hour left before our boat departs."

"I think it's already useless to look for it,"with these words, Ilya began taking off his sneakers.

"What are you doing?" Miguel asked warily.

"I'm going to swim in the Tasman Sea. When will such happiness happen again? Are you ready?"

"No, I'm not crazy. The water is so cold…"

The Russian waved his hand, stripped down to his underwear, and entered the calm waters of the d'Antrcasto Strait. He dived headfirst, then floated a little on his back.

"Miguel, don’t get lost and join in!"

But the Chilean waved his hands emphatically.

"Weakling! Spiritless fool!" Ilya teased him.

After refreshing himself, the Russian headed for the shore and suddenly stopped, staring past Miguel standing on the bank.

"There he is!"

"Who?"

"The white kangaroo!"

The Chilean's face changed and stretched like a cat's muzzle that has spotted a mouse in the grass. He turned around and also saw the delightful scene. About a hundred meters from the shore, the white kangaroo was busily gnawing on an acacia branch with its sharp teeth, sitting on its hind legs.

Ilya quickly got out of the water and started dressing as he followed Miguel, who had already turned on the camera, sneaking up on the animal like a predator. For now, the albino wallaby showed no interest in the approaching people. He was watching them, smirking. That little rascal! First it played hide and seek, now, apparently, it decided to play tag.

"Don’t scare him, please!" Miguel threw a pleading look in Ilya’s direction.

With each step, they were getting closer and closer to the angelic creature. Now, they could already look directly into the kangaroo’s red eyes. 30-25-20-15 meters… Only 10 meters left! Selfies and videos were pouring in. 5 meters!!! And at the moment when the albino looked like a little white cat that could be easily petted, he suddenly jumped to the side, his white rear and long tail disappearing into the depths of the forest…

The friends froze in astonishment. Then they threw themselves into each other’s arms, like tennis players winning Wimbledon in doubles.

"Yes-yes-yes! We did it!!!"

In just ten minutes, the boat carried them farther and farther from Bruny Island – happy and exhilarated, having become true friends.