Earth, page 2
‘“I’m King Billy, King Billy tha’s me,” he’s shoutin’ in the bar and well, all the whitefellas laugh and kick him out into the street. “An’ don’ come back till yer ready to muck out the stables, yer black bastard.”
‘And he’s still yellin’ out King Billy, King Billy. Oh, it’s shame. But that man just lost, now. Who’s he got, poor thing? No peoples left. Some mission people, some of that other mob, some old people’s along the river, back in the bush, but this one he’s all gone on the grog. He was a good one. But his pride, you know, he lost his pride.
‘And then that carriage came along, with that Mrs Fyans drivin’ it flat out like she owned the place. Well she did in a way. Most of the shops an’ such. But she had no right drivin’ like that an’ maybe she didn’t see that Poort Poort first time, but she must have heard the bump an’ then we saw her look down an’ she seen his legs, you could tell jus’ by the way she turned her head away she’d seen ‘im, but how he got caught up under the carriage, well that was jus’ accident, jus’ bad luck for Poort Poort Burrun.’
*
‘What is it, Frank?’
‘You gotta help, Claudie, quick.’
‘What’s wrong with you? Is it the boy? What happened to him?’
‘It’s not the boy, he’s alright, but ya gotta help me.’
‘Come on, Frank, what’s wrong?’
‘There’s been an accident.’
‘Who?’
‘It’s old Billy Wurrun. Now don’t look like that, Claudie, for the love of God. He’s hurt real bad and everyone’s just standin’ around.’
‘What happened?’
‘That Mrs Fyans ran him down in her gig. When they dragged Billy out from under it she just drove off . . . ’
‘That sniffy bitch.’
‘An’ now they’re all just standin’ around an’ . . . ’
‘Well come on, then . . . what will I need?’
‘Everythin’, he’s hurt bad . . . oh it’s terrible, Claudie, he’s –’
‘Now come on, Frank, look at me, that old man is trouble, so just get a grip of yourself, now. Here, carry the bag.’
‘I think you’ll need the book.’
‘What? I’m not readin’ bibles over a heathen.’
‘Please, Claudie, just somethin’. Ya can’t let – ’
‘Come on then, where is he? Oh, Jesus, I can see him already. Bring the book, Frank. That Mrs Fyans, reckons she owns the whole world.’
‘She just drove off an’ left him.’
‘She would.’
‘Uncle? We’re gunna look – ’
‘Shut up, Frank. Just shut up. Mr Wurrun? I’m gunna just . . . will you people move outa the way. What good are ya, standin’ there when a man’s . . . Couldn’t just one of ya have wiped his face? Go home if ya can’t help a . . . Mr Wurrun.’
‘That’s no Mr, that’s old silly Billy.’
‘Well you think I can’t recognise your voice, Eric Pearson. I can and you’re a shame to the church you take your children to. Where’s the mercy in you? Where’s the mercy in any of you? Where’s the Christian goodness of one man to another? Go home, get out of the way. Mr Wurrun?’
‘Mirrouk.’
‘Mr Wurrun.’
‘Morom gnul gnulla gen.’
‘Mr Wurrun!’
‘Claudie, he’s sayin’ he’s goin’ to the spirits.’
‘Well, he’s right. Did you see his face? She must have dragged him along for a hundred yards. She’s scrubbed off half his. . . the heartless bitch.’
‘Bunjil Kari gnalabil . . . mmm . . . morom . . .’
‘He’s talking to the creator.’
‘His creator, not the creator.’
‘Claudie, he’s dying. Let him – ’
‘Alright, Frank. Here, Mr Wurrun I’m going to – ’
‘Mula . . . mula . . . mula morrom.’
‘Somethin’ about the shadow – ’
‘Frank, stop that, now, get a hold of yourself. Mr Wurrun, a little drink here now to take that pain away.’
‘Mirrouk . . . Mrs Palmer . . . ol’ Billy . . . Poort Poort Burrun . . . bye an’ bye now . . . tongna wort-na . . . bye an’ bye . . . mirrouk Frank . . . mirrouk warnagi . . . Parwung . . . ’
‘Frank, stop that, what did he say to you?’
‘He said . . . goodbye . . . ’
‘Frank.’
‘. . . goodbye little brother . . . ’
‘When he grabbed your hand?’
‘He said my name was . . . ’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know . . . I didn’t understand . . . ’
‘Mirrouk . . . parwung . . . cordolrooklu . . .
‘He did that bird call, Frank.’
‘That’s me . . . he says I’m magpie . . . black and white . . . ’
‘Mr Wurrun . . . I’m just wipin’ ya face now, I want you to rest . . . ’
‘Bye an’ bye . . . ’
‘That pain will go and. . . ’
‘Bye an’ bye . . . ’
‘And you can rest while we . . . ’
‘Mula bye an’ bye . . . ’
‘I’m just going to . . . Mr Wurrun . . . there’s no pulse, Frank . . . that’s it. Now, Frank, we’ve got to clean him up before Campbell gets here, but before that you’ve got to put all that stuff out of ya head. What good did it do him? All the spirits, what did they do –’
‘I want to bury him.’
‘No, Frank, it’s not your job to – ’
‘I want to bury him.
‘Well you can’t, darlin’. Can’t you see the trouble . . . ’
‘Let the black bury the black, Mrs Palmer, for all the good it . . . ’
‘Shut up and shame on you, Mr Sears . . . Frank, come here, kneel down here, listen, can’t you see what trouble it will bring? Think of the boy . . . and his mother . . . you know what these fools will be spreadin’ around . . . look, Frank, just let me fix it up with Campbell and do it all nice and clean . . . ’
‘Will you read the book?’
‘Campbell can do that, Frank, that’s his line of work . . . ’
‘Read it, Claudie, please . . . just a little bit . . . here, I’ll open it . . . here.’
‘Frank . . . alright . . . “Now . . . Now when the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin heard that the children of the captivity builded the temple unto the Lord God of Israel; then they came to Zerubbabel and to the chief of the fathers and said unto them, Let us build with you; for we seek your God as you do.” May your soul rest in peace for ever and ever, amen.’
‘Thank you, Claudie.’
‘Here’s Mr Campbell . . . ’
‘Reading from the good book, Mrs Palmer? Very kind I’m sure . . . wasted perhaps on . . . ’
‘Sometimes, Mr Campbell it’s easier for a poor man –’
‘A poor, God fearing man, Mrs Palmer, not a heathen, not a man who refused the blessing at every offering.’
‘Will you bury him, Mr Campbell? Even a heathen deserves . . . ’
‘We will look after old Billy, don’t concern yourself about that . . . I’ll have Mr Craddock see to it . . . thank you for your help, Mrs Palmer . . . very Christian of you . . . and you, Frank, very Christian.’
*
‘Oh, well, we saw them put that Poort Poort Burrun in the ground. Piece of rough old ground down near that shed. Si Craddock diggin’ a ‘ole with the bangik of ol’ Poort Poort lying there right beside him . . . not even a bit of cloth. Should been paperbark an’ smoke, but no ol’ Craddock jus’ dug an’ dug an’ then got out a’ the ‘ole an’ jus’ rolled poor old Poort Poort in like he was dog or somethin’. You could hear him hit the clay like . . . terrible it was . . . no paperbark to hold him . . . no smoke to send away spirit . . . he’s still aroun’ now . . . sneakin’ about lookin’ for his bangik again . . . no rest for that ol’ Poort Poort . . . no rest for that one either, that ol’ Frank, that ol’ Parwung . . . see him over there under those ol’ cypress pines . . . look at him now . . . pullin’ the coat aroun’ ‘imself . . . shakin’ like a bloody leaf he is . . . listenin’ to the clay goin’ thut . . . thut . . . landin’ on ol’ Poort Poort . . . whackin’ him in the back . . . clods bouncin’ off him like he was a dead dog or somethin’ . . . they should’na done that . . . even amerjee shoulda know better than that . . . but they don’t care ‘bout us peoples. See silly ol’ Craddock hasn’t even seen that Parwung in the trees, hasn’t seen the way the clouds are stretchin’ out hard against the sky, colour of a new shovel it is . . . hard, cold sky . . . an’ the wind strippin’ out the clouds like a wool comb . . . a wind that gets into ya . . . stings ya face with ya own shirt collar, slams doors, chucks bits a’ stuff all about . . . he doan know anythin’ about that moon moon meet or why it’s come today . . . or why it’s tryin’ to chase every one back in their house . . . poor ol’ Frank, look at ‘im, he knows ol’ Poort Poort’s still about . . . an’ ta think that Claudie wouldn’t let him do it properly . . . but what would she know? She read her words over the old man to please ol’ Frank, but she’s scared, she’s scared o’ Frank goin’ back, cornin’ up Parwung, becomin’ a real man . . . that’s right ya know, she’s scared she’ll lose him to all of us ol’ people, scared he’ll take off like the ol’ magpie he is an’ sing at her window every moonlit night . . . cordolrooklu, cordolrooklu, searin’ her half to death . . . an’ if we said to her, eh Mrs Claudie, magpie never hurt no one, good bird that one, look out for us peoples, if we said that she’d jam ‘er ol’ fruit hat on her head an’ walk away . . . we’d be gettin’ in between her an’ her ol’ God . . . she’s a good woman, that one . . . well she’d ‘ave to be wouldn’ she, muckin’ about with that baby spirit all the time, but she can’t help bein’ amerjee jus’ as we can’t help bein’ bangondedook. Ya can only be what ya are . . . an’ that poor Frank don’t know it yet . . . but look at him . . . he’s scared it’s the truth . . . yer a black man, Frank, bangondedook, bangondedook, Parwung, Wurrundjerri, Wurrundjerri. An’ we your ancestor Frank, me Weerat Kuyuut, plenny other mob too, an’ we here so you mob not forget spirit people, not forget look after country . . . Yer a black man Frank, who else can we tell our story too?’
‘Thas right Prank, what Weerat Kuyuut said, an’ I’m yer Uncle Cococoine an’ that ol’ Kuyuut he right ‘bout Parwung. You know why we call you that? Coz we seen you liddle brother, we seen you talkin’ yaself, not jus’ liddle Alpie doin that, it you, you chewin’ rag over who you are an’ what you gotta do, an’ that is Parwung, you know, on hot day he sit in shade a’ tree, catchin’ breeze, you know, an’ he sing quiet himself, tellin’ stories ‘bout how his family might go, where to find worm an’ so forth, on nights when there big moon he see the bush all painted over silver, big slab a’ grass painted white, side a’ tree, lake shinin’ like a’ tin plate, an’ ol’ Parwung he tell moon story, you know, ‘bout night an’ things what get done by night, good an’ bad, Parwung he see it, an’ he tell that story to yern . . . that what you doin’ Frank, you our Parwung, we need ol’ magpie bird. That bird, all bird, he have ‘is blackfella name in ‘is beak, he not forget blackfella, you listen, he talk it. Remember when blackfella longa all this country. He remember ‘is blackfella name, you listen that one, he be big fella friend all us peoples. You listen ‘im Parwung.’
*
‘That old Billy died, Grandpa.’
er ough, er ough, er ough, er ough.
‘Jimmy James told me.’
‘Push in a bit more of that clay, would ya? Thanks.’
er ough er ough er ough er ough.
‘Said he got run over by Mrs Fyans.’
‘Just a bit more around this side.’
er ough er ough er ough er ough.
‘Had most of his face torn off.’
‘Alf, he got run over, yes, an’ he died.’
‘An’ you buried him.’
‘No, who told you that? No, no, I never buried him. Claudie read the book over ‘im and then that parsley-faced Campbell buried him . . . in the cemetery.’
‘Jimmy James reckons he saw you walkin’ back from –’
‘Listen, Alf, put a cork in it will ya? He was buried in the cemetery, that old Craddock dug the hole, an’ that’s that. Come on, let’s get on to the next post. Don’t forget those pliers.’
Chut chut chut chut chut.
‘Grandpa, was he my uncle?’
Chut chut chut chut chut.
‘Don’t kick clay back in, now. Here give us that. You can’t lift them posts on yer own. Damn good try, but. Thanks. See if you can grab that lump of clay back out will ya?’
‘Ya won’t let that post drop on me arm, Grandpa?’
‘I wouldn’t be doin’ that to ya, Alf, or I wouldn’t have asked ya to get the clay. Now, out of the way, now, here she goes.’
‘Was he?’
Er ough er ough er ough er ough er ough er ough.
‘Was he what?’
‘My uncle?’
‘Sort of.’
‘How did –?’
‘Listen, Alf, remember the jam spoon. I’m serious now, you gotta remember that for the sake of a happy home.’
‘Grandma?’
‘Yes, Grandma. Now I love that old sheila, Alf, and a great blessin’ it is too for a man to love a good woman, an’ I tell ya, all she’s ever wanted is what’s best for us, not for her, us. So if she wants a little thing back in return, well I’ll give her that.’
‘What’s the little thing?’
‘Jesus, Alf, I’m tellin’ ya, this uncle bloody business. She doesn’t want you runnin’ aroun’ like a blackfella with the arse out of ya pants an’ a bloody bottle in ya bloody hand, that’s what. Not much to ask.’
‘But you went to his funeral, Grandpa.’
‘He didn’t have a bloody funeral, Alf. They chucked him in the hole like he was a cow goin’ off to the knackers, that’s not a bloody funeral, Alf, that’s bloody chuckin’ clay at a dead man.’
‘I’m sorry, Grandpa.’
‘Listen, little mate, I know you want to know, but it . . . it won’t get you anywhere, see. Look at that ol’ Billy, jus’ look at ‘im, drunk every day and then run over by a horse and cart, an’ no one to say . . . no one . . . ’
‘You were there, Grandpa.’
‘Shh, please Alf, shut up about that will ya? I’m tryin’ to do what’s best all round, right. Now in a roundabout, messed up bloody hopeless kind of way, he is . . . he was your uncle and he was my bloody uncle, too. Don’t ask me how or why, he just was and now for the sake of peace in the house just shut up about it. Look, I know you’ll lie in bed worryin’ it aroun’ in ya head but it won’t do ya much good. In the early days things got messed up an’ people got related to people they should never a’ got related to. An’ that’s all there is to it. But it’s over now, the war is over, and we’ve gotta get on with our lives . . . I know what you’re like, I know how ya mind goes, but just leave it, when yer a big fella, eighteen or such, maybe ya can try an’ sort it out. Maybe Claudie won’t mind so much when yer finished ya school and ya got a good job in a shop or somethin’ . . . maybe we’ll be bloody dead by then, but in the meantime, until then, that’s all there is to it. I’m sorry, Alf, but that’s how it is. Now push some bloody clay in that hole for Christ’s sake!’
*
‘Yueh, yueh, now look at that. The two a’ them workin’ the wornolu outa their strides diggin’ ‘oles an’ fillin’ em up again, an’ buildin’ a bloody wall a’ wire from here ta Werribee. Jus’ look at ‘em now, workin’, workin’, tryin’ to build up a fence between them an’ us. It’s not gunna work ya know, Frank, that little Golkawil, he’s gunna wait until he’s a man, then he’s gunna come to us old ones, an’ he’ll say to us, “Hey, woorer woorer, what am I?” an’ we’ll say, “Hey, you the little hawk man, you Golkawil, you stand up in the sky and see everythin’ that moves, you one of us.” So dig ya ol’ fence now, Parwung, but it doan keep no one out – even you know that, ol’ magpie bird.’
*
‘Another baby desperate to try its luck, Mrs Palmer?’
‘Yes, Mrs Pakington, another one on the way.’
‘Not that it will do this one much good.’
‘And how is that, Mrs Pakington?’
‘You’ll see for yourself, Mrs Palmer. This is another one of those half-caste kids. Mother lives in those shanties on the river. We had to boil her dress, as if it was worth washing in the first place.’
‘Probably a bit short of things down there, Mrs Pakington.’
‘Well, of course, your Frank seems to get on all right with the abos – isn’t he related to –?’
‘No, Mrs Pakington, he’s worked with some of the men on the fences, and he gives them the Christian right of kindness but as you can see he’s not black.’
‘Of course, Mrs Palmer, sorry to cause – ’
‘That’s alright. Now, I’d like to see the mother if I could.’
‘The Methodist minister’s wife is with her at the moment but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Look, they’re just through here. We didn’t put her in with the other mothers, you understand.’
‘Of course.’
‘Betty, this is Mrs Palmer, she’s come to help you with the birth, dear. You’re a very lucky little girl. Mrs Palmer’s famous around these parts – brought most of Footscray into the world and half of Geelong as well.’
‘Hello Betty, Mrs Campbell.’
‘Hello, Mrs Palmer. I was just trying to explain to Betty that she’s perhaps a bit young to look after the babe on her own, out at the camp you understand. We were trying to explain the merits of a good home for the child, clothing, schooling, Christian upbringing.’
‘Of course.’
‘What was that, Betty? Speak up, dear. No one will bite your head off.’
‘She said her mother will help.’
‘Out at the camp, Betty? No running water? No doctor? No school? I don’t think so, dear. Now I’m going to see some other ladies and while I’m gone I’m sure Mrs Palmer will explain the importance of our plan. Bye for now.’
