Earth, page 11
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Here, tip ya glass a bit while I pour this in.’
‘It’s a beautiful drop, Arnie.’
‘Isn’t it just.’
‘I appreciate it.’
‘I know ya do, man. Not every day men like us can drink a whole billy full . . . but it’s an occasion, Frank. You know, your file, an’ the stick, it’s your tarekabil, straight as a spear, Moorabool said.’
‘What’s all this business on it?’
‘I don’t know an’ don’t stick it under my nose because I’m no more supposed to see it than Vera. Put it back in the paperbark. They’ll tell ya bye and bye I expect. Billy Wurrun gave you your true name too, didn’t he, ‘fore he died?’
‘Yeah, Par . . . ’
‘Shut up, Frank, I’m not supposed to hear that either. Just so long as it means Magpie, you’ll be alright.’
‘How do you know all this stuff, Arnie?’
‘Me an’ Moorabool worked the stock for that old man Dawson when we were young bucks. I know less about my family than you know about yours, Frank. First real memory I’ve got is old man Dawson lettin’ me sit on ‘is horse . . . an’ Moorabool’s mother lookin’ after me. She was like me mother . . . Moorabool an’ me were like brothers . . . an’ even though I was years an’ years younger than ‘im he let me follow ‘im around in the bush. Taught me all about how the country goes. But I’m still not supposed to see them tarekabil an’ so forth.’
‘It’s nice beer, this, Arnie.’
‘Too right it is, even if Snodgrass poured it.’
‘You know, Arnie, I’m sick of sneakin’ around by the back door all the time.’
‘Well that’s how it is, Frank. I’m doin’ plenty of it meself. You can imagine how careful I have to be out at Angliss’s. One false move an’ you’re out on ya ear. An’ you too, Frank, they’re on to you alright. I’d lie as low as you can for a while. They’re lookin’ for scapegoats ya know. Vera’s heard the talk down at the baker. All them women blabbin’ about their men in the Loyalist Society an’ so forth. An’ they’re crooked on you that’s for sure. Lookin’ after Betty’s little boy, buryin’ Billy Wurrun – ’
‘I never buried – ’
‘You were there, Frank, an’ people have seen you at the grave, an’ when your boat was the only one on the water when Moorabool got away it didn’t look good. They’re addin’ two an’ two together. Yer been pretty cunning, Frank, but one more lucky accident an’ I reckon you’ll be set up for a number of crimes. They’re nervous, Frank, they can’t afford do-gooders gettin’ about an’ upsettin’ all the cosy little arrangements, see. So just keep ya head down for a while an’ thank ya lucky stars no one found Moorabool with your file. There’d be about five carpenters files in this town an’ they’d be able to account for four of them. Be careful, Frank, too many people depend on your back and arms.’
‘Real good beer. Real good. I enjoyed that, Arnie, an’ I thank you for your generosity.’
‘It’ll cost you a cray when that boy catches one next Sunday.’
‘That’ll be no problem, Arnie, he never misses.’
‘That’s because he thinks fish an’ he thinks about the country. Billy Wurrun did one good thing, he taught that boy to speak the name of the fish an’ the name of the country, taught him to call the fish to him.’
‘Well, that’s true, that’s what it’s like, the fish come to him. How did you know about Billy Wurrun an’ Alfie?’
‘Vera useta wash his clothes, feed him, buck him up when he had a sore head an’ the like. He didn’t mean to waste his life, you know, Frank, he just felt left out, you know. Most of his family gone, kicked out of his country, a terrible thirst to replace it . . . an’ . . . an’ well that’s how the trouble starts.’
‘Good woman, that Vera.’
‘My oath, Frank, what would we know about civilisation and common decency without ‘em?’
‘That’s true.’
‘An’ it’s true that this billy is as dry as the north wind, so I’m off, Frank. Keep ya head down now, Frank. No backchattin’ anyone who might take it into his mind to dob you in. My safety net is to act dumb. They’re more than happy to expect it from an Irishman. Lie low’s my advice, Frank.’
‘I appreciate it, Arnie.’
‘Good-o then, Frank. See you in the soup.’
*
‘What’s happened to my happy-go-lucky man, Frank. Thought you were the one who never let it get you down.’
‘I’ve been splittin’ red gum all day for Snodgrass, how do you expect me to feel, Claudie?’
‘You know what I mean, Frank, you look like a man brooding.’
‘Brooding is it, I’m just concentratin’ on keepin’ the tucker up to the house.’
‘I saw Vera today. She said Arnie was coming around to see you. Trouble about the timber and iron?’
‘No, not that in particular, he just said to keep my head low.’
‘They’re down on us, Frank?’
‘I’m sorry my darling.’
‘It’s alright, Frank. We’ve been through hard times before, and nothing we’re doing is wrong in the eyes of God.’
‘That’s the way I see it.’
‘But it’s not God and us we have to worry about, is it? We’ll just try and be invisible for a while. Perhaps a Sunday morning on a church pew wouldn’t hurt, Frank . . . if your principles could stand it.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Not perhaps, Frank, for certain. They’d see it as you –’
‘Tryin’ to be a white fella . . . ’
‘Well, not tryin’ to be a blackfella anyway. So don’t get down in the dumps about it. You’re not lying, Frank, just trying to make it a bit easier for the kids. We could do without any more trouble for a while, we could do without another visit to the court . . . There are rumours about this Society, Frank, that men who won’t swear an oath of allegiance will have to – ’
‘I’m not going to swear an – ’
‘And you won’t have to Frank, unless you come to their attention again, unless they see you as a troublemaker. They’re sayin’ that Moorabool got some help. Understand, Frank? And they’re scared stiff that the House of Lords will put restrictions on the sale of new land. Vera was saying that’s all Miss Stevens can talk about . . . she’s . . . ar . . . she’s been a guest at Lockington since Mrs Angliss returned to England.’
‘A guest is it?’
‘Now, Frank.’
‘I don’t care what Angliss gets up to, Claudie, but he’ll sure as hell not do it like an honest man.’
‘Anyway, Miss Stevens says Judge Barry and the like are worried that Sydney and London will stop all new land sales in Victoria . . . so it seems they’re out to paint the worst possible picture of all Aboriginal people and show what dangerous troublemakers they are. There’s talk of taking all mixed race kids in to orphanages and –’
‘Alright, Claudie, I get the picture. Once a month, then. And for the other Sundays you can say I’m out cutting wood.’
‘On the Sabbath?’
‘Well tell ‘em I’ve got piles, then.’
‘Just one Sunday a month, Frank, it will distract the cat from the sparrows.’
‘Nothing stops a stalking cat, Claudie.’
‘Don’t say that, Frank, I’m sure if we just keep – ’
‘Alright, Claudie, I know it’s for the best. I clean my boots, button my shirt an’ sit up like a good Christian.’
‘For the children.’
‘Yes, yes, for the children and for the peace of mind of the woman I love.’
‘And who’s that, Frank?’
‘Oh, some wanton woman. I couldn’t begin to tell you the sin of her bedding . . . an’ take that smirk off your face, my girl, my back’s not half so sore as it was a few minutes ago.’
*
‘Grandpa?’
‘What?’
‘The owl.’
‘What about him, Alf?’
‘He’s sittin’ in the lemon tree.’
‘In the lemon tree?’
‘I’ve never seen an owl there before. I think he’s come to talk to you.’
‘Nonsense, Alf, you go on with fancy at times.’
‘It’s Wong on gul, Grandpa, he’s come to talk – ’
‘Oh, Alf, if Grandma heard all your – ’
‘Listen, Grandpa, listen to ‘im, he’s warnin’ you, he’s come to warn you.’
‘Oh, you don’t know that.’
‘Moorabool told me. He said – ’
‘Moorabool, when did you see Moorabool?’
‘Out at Angliss’s. He was down by the river.’
‘In the blacks’ camp?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve been warnin’ you, Alf, to keep away – ’
‘I didn’t mean to see him, Grandpa. I was just out on Angliss’s dam catchin’ some yabbies for Mr Angliss’s friend and Snodgrass. That’s where the fourpence come from that I gave Grandma.’
‘I know, I know, but if you’re seen with Moorabool it will mean trouble for us, Alfie, I explained that.’
‘I know, Grandpa, but you wouldn’t recognise Moorabool now, no one would. But he said to tell you about the bird. He was worried about it. He saw Wong on gul last night an’ he knew he was flyin’ to you. He’s come to warn us, Grandpa.’
‘What’s the world coming to, Alf, when a twelve-year-old boy is advisin’ his grandfather?’
‘I just had to tell you, Grandpa, I’m not tryin’ to upset Grandma or be cheeky, I just – ’
‘I know, Alf, I know, you’ve never been any of those things. But every day we seem to get in deeper, do you see? First some timber, then a baby, then a boat, and now – ’
‘Listen, Grandpa he’s lookin’ in the window.’
‘I can see that, Alf, but what’s he tryin’ to tell me? I know nothin’, Alf, I’m a poor white man and a poorer black one, and I haven’t got the foggiest idea what to do about it.’
*
Dear Mrs Angliss,
Please forgive my writing to you in this abrupt fashion and most especially forgive me for broaching an issue of such delicacy.
My name is Captain Hindsmith and I saw you three months ago in the court where my own officers were being tried for the murder of Moorabool, Parnum and Mariwun. I couldn’t help notice at the time how closely you followed the case and how different was your reaction to the events described. It seemed to me that you and I were the only ones of those present who realised what this case represented for the colony.
I have thought of you often since that time. Please forgive, once again, this intrusion into your privacy. You’re probably aware they sent me off to Sydney on the ridiculous pretext of relieving the Captain of the Garrison who in fact had just returned from leave at home. I have spent a worthless six months wondering what good I am doing in this place at all.
I became aware of your return to London and dare I say it, some of the circumstances surrounding it. (The Garrison Chaplain, Victor Benjamin secretly receives communications from the Anti-Slavery Movement.) I have since become aware of your active support of the movement in London and would dearly love to discuss those issues with you in respect of their relevance to the atrocities occurring in this country on a daily basis, as the trial we both attended illuminated in such vivid detail.
If you do not reply I would understand that my impertinence had caused you offence and I would not try and communicate with you again, but as I am restricted so severely by the moral and intellectual climate of the colony and have so few people to whom I may communicate my concerns I would dearly love to have the benefit of the reflections of a refined mind on the matters that continue to trouble my heart and mind.
Yours most humbly, Captain Reginald Hindsmith
P. S. You may or may not be aware that the body of Moorabool disappeared from the police lockup and was considered to have been removed for burial by his people. Subsequently, however, he was captured in the act of sheep stealing, or so the authorities claim, but escaped. This has left the local authorities in the highest of dudgeon and they blame him for every piece of petty theft and mischief in the district. I’m sure he will hang if they get their hands on him.
6
Da
‘Well, I’m the Earth and it’s my turn to have a say. Normally I wouldn’t. Blackfella, whitefella, what’s the difference? Rich man, poor man, man, woman, who cares? I’m too busy givin’ to them bloody trees. Pushing up minerals an’ water, makin’ gold and clay, oil an’ swamps. You reckon I’ve got time to argue the toss about people. But let me just say this. People are up themselves. If I ever find the bloke who gave them free will, I’ll feed him vinegar on a stick or give ‘im six arms or something. All these good men, all these saints, who do they think they are? All of ‘em reckon they can talk for everyone and is there one of them who has? Doesn’t matter whose idea it is, there’s always someone gets killed because of it. Buddhists, bullshit. Listen, there’s no one way and the sooner they realise it the better. Mind your own business. Get a job. Feed ya kids, fuck ya wife, fuck ya man, do what yer gotta do, but do it quiet, will ya. And you, stop scratchin’. I’m only goin’ to say this once. Ya won’t get me goin’ on an’ on like them blackfella spirits. I’ve heard what they’re sayin’. An’ I don’t care if you have to ring your daughter, an’ you, the cat’s not doin’ any harm on the couch, just sit down an’ shut up for a change. Bankcard be buggered. Sit still and listen because in a few bloody sunrises I’m gettin’ back to fixin’ up your bloody excrement and plastic bags. Who invented the plastic bag? One of them men, I bet. Man or woman, neither here nor there to me. If I could have sex would I make another one of me just to give you bastards a chance to stuff me up twice? Sit down you, it’s not time for a cup of tea and stop reading that crime shit, I thought you said you were intelligent. Spend ya life whingeing about break an’ enters, security doors, security cameras, bloody cars that become Luna Park as soon as you go near them, an’ then ya spend three hours a night readin’ about it or watchin’ it on ya picture box. It makes ya look like a bloody idiot. And don’t sulk. I haven’t got time to be nice. There goes the bloody sun. Can’t ya see I’m in a hurry too – and I’ve got more to do than you. So you’re working on amendments to the GST, native title, same sex superannuation, school milk, artificial aortas – do you think that’s important? Try perfecting a bloody bee mate, little stingy pricks, imagine if some donkey’d given them free will. Vinegar on a stick to all you bloody independent geniuses. Alright, alright, have a piss, make a cup of tea, eat the last of the chocolate, do whatever will make your damn humanity comfortable, but come straight back and be prepared to listen.
‘Alright, are you going to tell him you ate the last of the Old Jamaica? And you there, you didn’t make her a cup of tea, I notice. Of course you knew she’d want one. You stopped asking three years ago. Don’t bullshit me, it’s bad enough when you do it to yourself.
‘Now, it wasn’t my idea to hold a bloody lounge room conference and as for you on the beach do you think that hat really suits you? Try making sand if you think you’re so bloody smart. And don’t you try that psychobabble on me, you there with the subdued lighting and the Japanese water garden. Of course I’m cranky, of course I’m abrasive, that’s how you make sand, idiot. I’m cranky because of all your piss-farting around, not because I was smacked as a child or had to wear pink. And don’t start turnin’ the pages lookin’ for a statement from God, because which one of ‘em would make it, an’ how many wars would it take before there was only one left? Earl Grey tea, I suppose you think that makes you a bit clever does it? Sit down an’ shut up and don’t push that cat around, she’s got as much right as you to the best seat. Drink ya bloody witches brew an’ listen.
‘There’s only one earth. Don’t quibble, you rocket scientists. One earth that’s all. Gas, you say Water, you say. Other galaxies, you say. Think I don’t know that, Test Tube Tony? One Earth! Got it, an’ all you bastards are on it an’ not one of you is any better than that bloody possum tryin’ to get into the pouch of that other possum. And when your bones are on the ground they’ll be no more important than any other bones. Cover ‘em with marble, cover ‘em with paperbark, build a blood city of gold on top of ‘em, doesn’t matter, just bones to me and I made ‘em, an’ I’ll make ‘em into something else’s bones when I choose. It’s just clay and water.
‘That’s it, now piss off.’
*
‘Stop wavin’ ya arms aroun’, Billy Wurrun. Ya still dryin’ out, man. Ya not in the boxin’ tent now. Show some respect. That’s Da. Got a right to talk like that. Always talks like that. Da’s right, but we’ve still got the problem, eh. What we do ‘ere? Did we start the fight? We were tryin’ to protect the land, but like Da says it always ends up with someone gettin’ hurt. But once it’s started how do you stop it? That’s what we’ve gotta work out. Does givin’ in solve it? Well, waddya think? What we do now? That’s the one we gotta get around. Stop moonin’ and dreamin’ about cups a’ tea an’ lyin’ down with bagurrk an’ try an’ work out what we gunna do. What that Moorabool said, is that right? Just stayin’ alive, jus’ hangin’ on? Is that right way? How many people get killed that way? How much of our culture go down the drain that way? We let it go or ask our people to hang on? Alright, alright, ‘course we hang on, but how we do that one, Kaarwirn Kuna warn? Did your way work? I know, I know, worked for little bit, but brother how come you’re up ‘ere at your age. We gotta think an’ we gotta watch out for our people, try an’ think up way our people last an’ same time show respect to Da. That hard one I reckon. An’ now, see that Frank down there, out by the wood heap, that’s what he’s wonderin’. Which way to go, what to do, how to protect family. Same old thing, same old puzzle an’ jus’ little brain to work with. Better get comfortable, I reckon, an’ have bloody big think.’
*
‘Woori, don’t cry now baby, please. I told Grandma I’d look after you. An’ don’t pull my hair neither Woorer Woorer, that bloody hurts. Here, look at all them parrots by the creek there. See how pretty they are? You know to look when I point, don’t ya? Do you know what I’m sayin? Well, if ya do, listen to this. We’re not supposed to be down here. Grandma’d hit the roof if she knew, so don’t learn to talk all of a sudden, alright? But we’ve come here to see your father, right? He told me to bring you down here. He’s gotta lie low for a while, so he wants ta see ya first. Tell ya the truth he doesn’t look so good ta me. They shot him ya know. You’ll see when we get there, big scar on ‘is chest –’
