Eco Warrior by Philip Roy Read Free Book Online Page B

narrowed to dry riverbeds, where the pipes of the city’s water system didn’t reach, and trees didn’t grow. I was keen to see all of that, but not on this first walk, of course. For now I was just happy we could stretch our legs for a few hours.
    After the first three hours, Hollie was resting in the tool bag, panting like a little motor on my back, and I was walking in the shade as much as I possibly could. By the late afternoon we had reached the centre of town, where I found something I was anxiously seeking—a real Italian pizzeria. It looked like a little piece of Italy in Australia, although it was air-conditioned inside, and that made it feel as though we had walked into the Arctic. I chose a booth by the window, let Hollie out of the tool bag, and peeled the sweaty t-shirt away from my back. Hollie sat so quietly beside me no one noticed him. And when the waitress came, she just smiled at him. I ordered a large pizza, two tall glasses of pop, a special plate of toppings for Hollie, and a large bowl of water. It was hard to wait because we were so hungry. Then, when our meal finally came, and I took my first bite, I immediately thought of Margaret. It bothered me that I had never thought to ask her whether she had enough food. Why didn’t I do that? Then I couldn’t help smiling a little, because I knew she wouldn’t approve of me worrying about her at all. Not one little bit.
    Before I finished eating, I heard noises outside. Hollie was flat on his side now in deep sleep, and didn’t hear anything. Outside, a parade was going by. I waited until it passed by the window, then stood up and watched. Hundreds of people were marching up the street, carrying poles with slogans on them. It wasn’t a parade; it was a protest. I had never seen a real protest before, so I paid for our meal, put the rest of the pizza into a box, slid Hollie into the tool bag, and went out to follow the marchers.
    They went up one street and down another, shouting, “NO MORE MINING! SAVE OUR PLANET! NO MORE MINING! SAVE OUR PLANET!” It was an environmental protest! I had surely come to the right place.
    The protestors marched to the front of a large government building, and stopped. There were police on horseback there, but they didn’t look surprised or angry. The protestors didn’t look angry either. Everything was well organized and orderly, as if it were something they did every week. A handful of protestors took turns speaking from a megaphone. They had strong Australian accents, and it was a little hard for me to understand. Mostly they seemed to be demanding that the government stop giving tax breaks to mining companies, and put more money into saving the environment. They wanted big oil companies to pay for their oil spills, and they wanted more money spent on saving whales, sharks, and turtles. I couldn’t have agreed more. Then I heard one person say to another, “Ahh, they just say the same things. They never change anything.” “Yeah, but just wait till Brass-knuckles Bennett has a turn,” said another. “They’ll get an earful then.” “Who’s Brass-knuckles Bennett?” asked the first. “A big-shot barrister from Sydney. Goes to bat for the whales.”
    I moved closer as a large man stepped up to a podium and took hold of a microphone. TV cameras closed in on him as he spoke. I strained to hear every word.
    He was a big man but had a soft voice. There was something very compelling about it, so that I think I would have listened carefully even if he were selling farm machinery. He looked like someone who might sell farm machinery, too, not practise law. Basically, he said the same things that Margaret had said: that too much damage had been done to the environment already, and that it was too late to stop global warming. All we can do now, he said, is buy time and try to save the things we can, but we can only buy time if we stop opening new coal mines and refineries, and close down the old ones. If we don’t