Ten

  I wheeled around Aunty Veronica’s gatepost and sure enough, at the sound of the horse trotting up their drive all the kids came out.

  It would have been more dramatic to toss the parcel onto the verandah and canter off in a shower of gravel but I’d never hear the end of it from Mum. And anyway, Maggie’s chest was heaving and sweat was lathering her flanks. She could do with a rest and a drink.

  Aunty Veronica bustled out onto the verandah as my cousins fought with each other to see who could get a bucket of water the quickest. In the end I had to give them all a turn sitting in the saddle and my little three-year-old cousin’s eyes popped open like saucers when Maggie gave a huge snort into the bucket. She sounded like an angry dragon.

  ‘Oh, Marnie what a beautiful horse!’ said Aunty Veronica. ‘Stay there and I’ll get you a drink. You must be thirsty. Go around into the shade, love.’

  I led Maggie into the shade. I didn’t really want a drink but there was no stopping Aunty. I was about to sit on the verandah step when a voice startled me.

  ‘I seen that horse before.’

  I whipped my head around. I knew that voice. It was like a whistle from a leaky kettle — high pitched and moist. It was Uncle Binny’s. I relaxed. He was sitting on the verandah with a cup of tea in his hand.

  ‘Yeah, I know that horse. Belonged to the girl that died,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Uncle. Her mum gave it to me.’

  ‘Good horse,’ he whistled through his teeth.

  ‘You see that eye?’ He pointed at Maggie with a knuckle the shape of an old artichoke.

  ‘Maggie’s eye?’ I asked.

  ‘Mrs Whitlam that horse, she got a real name you know.’

  ‘I know, Uncle.’

  ‘Well, you see that eye? It’s a woman’s eye. And we all come from women.’

  I listened carefully, wondering what he would say next.

  ‘You know that owl?’

  ‘Which one, Uncle, there’s a few.’

  Uncle Binny was looking at me closely. I was holding my breath.

  ‘That little owl, the woman one.’

  ‘That nightjar, Uncle?’

  ‘Yueh, the little one. Same as that horse, look … woman eye.’

  I looked at Maggie’s eye and felt a quiver go through me.

  ‘She look after you, that horse, she got that woman eye.’

  ‘Um … she’s a good horse, Uncle.’

  ‘I know,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘Do you want another cup of tea, Uncle?’

  ‘Sick of tea. All tea here … you got anything else?’

  ‘Sorry, Uncle.’

  ‘Yeah, me too. Sick of tea. Be good, my girl, look after that horse, you know when she hungry or wanna drink … need a kiss. You look ’em that eye.’

  ‘Yes, Uncle.’

  ‘Woman eye. Him first eye.’

  I looked at him.

  ‘First eye, woman always first. That’s the lore.’

  ‘Uncle Binny,’ Aunty shouted from inside the house. ‘You want another cuppa?’

  ‘You tell her my girl, and don’t forget to mention that this Elder would appreciate another type of beverage every now and then.’

  ‘I heard that,’ Aunty said as she walked onto the verandah. ‘It’s eleven o’clock in the morning!’

  ‘No, it’s not, it’s the eleventh hour.’ The wizened and buckled little man winked at me.

  ‘Don’t worry about him, Marnie. He reads the paper every day and thinks he’s Einstein.’

  Uncle Binny’s shoulders were quivering like he was about to sneeze and that’s how his leaky-squeezebox laughs always started. Aunty started to huff but then broke into a giggle herself. She nudged Uncle Binny on the shoulder.

  ‘You old devil,’ she muttered and gave him his cup of tea. He looked at it as if it was cod-liver oil. They both laughed.

  One of my cousins came running around the corner with a bag of apples and it was hard to tell which one he was. They all had the same shirts, shorts, thongs and haircuts. When people asked Aunty Veronica about it, she’d just laugh and say, they knew who they were.

  ‘Thanks for the apples! Maggie’ll love them. Gotta go, Uncle, Aunty.’

  ‘Say goodbye to your uncle properly,’ Aunty Veronica said.

  ‘Sorry, Uncle. Goodbye.’

  ‘That all right, my girl, I enjoyed the yarn, took me mind off the tea.’ He winked at Aunty Veronica who hurrumphed at him. ‘You keep an eye on that horse and she’ll keep an eye on you.’

  Maggie leaned down and rubbed the sleeve of Uncle’s shirt with her floppy lips.

  ‘Best you get going,’ said Aunty. ‘Before there’s more nonsense coming from this old man.’

  Eleven

  I walked Maggie back down the river track and trotted her gently through the low beach scrub to where the river entered the sea. Maggie set her ears forward when she heard the surf and smelt the sea, and she looked even more magnificent than ever.

  I unsaddled her beneath a great banksia, which bowed down low into the bowl of a sand dune and made a perfect picnic grove. You could see the surf crashing through a gap in the bowl. Apart from a woman playing in the sand with her children, the beach was deserted.

  I rubbed down Maggie’s great barrel where sweat under the girth strap had matted the hair. She turned around and played with my ponytail with her rubbery lips.

  ‘That feel pretty good does it Maggie?’ I got out a towel and gave her a quick rub down to get the sweat off her hide. I took my helmet, shoes and socks off and led Maggie down to the surf. She wasn’t keen on all the crashing surf or the foam of the breakers but she allowed herself to be led in it up to her hocks.

  I splashed some water under Maggie’s belly and could tell that she wasn’t sure that this was sufficiently dignified. Gradually she relaxed and let me get on her bareback and urge her into deeper water.

  Maggie lifted her hooves up high and smacked them back through the surface of the water, making huge splashes. Soon we were both drenched. Lucky I was wearing my bathers.

  Where the river entered the sea, the water was quieter and I gently pressed Maggie into deeper water until she was swimming. What a sight we must have been, my magnificent horse plunging into the river with huge watery leaps until she found herself swimming, me astride the horse, revelling in the sensation of … of riding a whale. That’s what it felt like. Fantastic. Surreal.

  I slipped off her back into the water. Maggie even let me hang on to her tail while she swam around in circles towing me behind her. Nothing, absolutely nothing was better than this — and if the other girls were here they probably wouldn’t have been able to get their horses to swim and I wouldn’t have known the sensation of playing like this. Maggie wasn’t afraid of anything and neither was I.

  Back on the shore, Maggie rolled in the sand and then shook herself with a gigantic shiver that sent sand flying off her coat, mane and tail. She was enjoying herself, we both were.

  Twelve

  My mind decided my stomach was hungry. The thought of wood smoke and sizzling sausages made my stomach growl. Despite myself, I began wishing my brothers would arrive.

  I looked up the river track but could see no sign of them. Perhaps they’d stopped off at Aunty Veronica’s first. There were some surfers out near the reef but apart from the mother and the children playing in the sand, the beach was empty.

  The mother had one child by the hand and was walking towards the water’s edge. Suddenly she let out a wail which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  ‘My baby, my baby!’ she screamed and instinctively looked over to where I was standing with Maggie.

  I scanned the river but could see no sign of a child. The mother looked up and down the river and dashed to where her other child was standing by the water. She was frantic. I could see she just wanted to bolt into the water but couldn’t leave her other children.

  I looked out over the river again and along the bank hoping to see a little kid building a sandcastle or playing.

  Something caught my eye close to the far bank. It could have been a plastic bag and I willed it to be one. I was scared of what I would have to do if it wasn’t: knowing that the mother would look into my heart. Just a plastic bag, I muttered to myself but then I glimpsed a tiny hand rise above the surface.

  Recent rains had created a swift current in the river and I could just make out the baby being carried towards the sea.

  I let go of Maggie’s rope and plunged into the river. The current dragged at my clothes and I swam as fast as I could so that I wasn’t swept downstream. When I got within a few metres, I couldn’t believe it was a real child. It was like someone had thrown a doll into the water.

  The doll-child was floating on his back with his arms outstretched. His eyes stared blankly up at the sky and his skin … his skin was the colour of a pale stocking stuffed with cotton wool. Even as I reached out for his arm and pulled him towards me, he felt like a rag doll — completely lifeless.

  I didn’t have time to think and this was no doll. When I stopped to lift the baby, my body sank and I had to kick with all my strength to get going again. I was being dragged down by the current and I had to force my face out of the water to breathe.

  I struck out for the closest shore knowing I had no hope of getting back to the mother. I could feel myself tiring and my legs screamed for a rest. I towed the little boy, battling the current and lifting his face out of the water.

  I had this horrible feeling I was about to spew. I thought I was losing my grip and would have to let go to save myself.

  The river current was stronger closer to its entrance into the sea. I thought we’d be swept out and I couldn’t imagine being able to hold on for much longer. I wanted to cry and scream for Mum and Dad. It felt like I was being pulled under. I took another mouthful of water and coughed and choked.

  The water bucketed along as it crossed the sandbar into the sea and there was no hope of swimming anywhere. I knew I was going to have to let go of the baby and the thought of the mother’s eyes froze my heart. I was going under, pulled down by the turbulence, the dead weight of the baby and my own exhaustion when I felt something beside me.

  At first I thought it was the child’s mother but then I heard a muffled snort and realised it was Maggie. Exhausted, I grabbed her mane. She found her feet on the sand and lifted us clear of the water. Within seconds, Maggie was dragging us onto the bank.

  The mother was beside herself with panic. She was separated from her baby by the river, not knowing whether he was dead or alive.

  ‘Thank you, Maggie, thank you, girl,’ I gasped as I lay the boy down on his side. My chest was heaving. All I wanted to do was collapse and get some air but I cleared the baby’s mouth, making sure nothing was blocking his throat. The things you learnt at school!

  The resuscitation steps came back to me as I pressed down on his tiny chest. Water escaped from his mouth. I cupped his chin and breathed slowly into his mouth, willing him to take the air from my lungs. Nothing else mattered. I could hear the mother screaming, ‘Is he all right? Is he all right?’

  She had sunk to the ground, beseeching me, afraid by her son’s stillness. Her other children stared, terrified by their mother’s wailing. Her yells had attracted the attention of the surfers out near the reef. They had caught the next wave in and were bounding through the shallows.

  The blueness around the boy’s mouth was beginning to scare me, and the grey colour of his skin made me wonder if I was kissing a dead baby.

  ‘Hey Marnie, let me help you. We learnt lifesaving at surf club.’ I looked up to see George Costa standing over me. George was one of the popular boys at school and someone I would never dare to say hello to.

  ‘Have a rest,’ he said calmly as he kneeled down. ‘Just give his chest a pump every second breath I do ok? Gee, you did a great job. We could see you from our boards as we were coming in.’

  He breathed into the baby’s mouth. The baby blinked slowly. George breathed into the boy again and suddenly he spluttered and cried out.

  ‘This kid’s gonna live, Marnie!’ George cried.

  I pumped the baby’s chest one last time, surprised that George even knew my name.

  ‘Now get your horse because we’re going to have to get this kid across the river.’

  And that’s what happened. George swam beside us and I straddled Maggie’s back, tightly holding on to the baby. One of the other surfers swam ahead to tell the mother to get her car ready in case she had to take the baby to the hospital.

  In the meantime, my brothers had arrived and had ridden back to Aunty Veronica’s to ring for help. George helped the mother get the baby and her kids into the car and they raced off to meet the ambulance.

  I was left alone on the beach with Maggie. I sat down in the sand and burst into tears overwhelmed by the boy’s face in the water. I couldn’t believe I had saved him. Maggie nudged my face with her nose as if to say, ‘It’s all right, the little boy’s okay’.

  When my brothers came back, we all sat together on the sand. They raided my saddlebag and scoffed down the fruitcake and cold sausages.

  ‘Here, you better have some,’ said Ronnie, his mouth full. I didn’t feel like anything. I just wanted to cry in Mum’s arms.

  Thirteen

  They made a big fuss of me at home and at school. The mother brought the little boy around to our house to see me but I couldn’t bring myself to look at his baby face. The last two nights I’d been dreaming about his staring eyes. He was beautiful, fair skinned and blue eyed now, not like the lifeless baby I had seen drifting down the river.

  I was embarrassed when the school principal congratulated me in front of the whole school at assembly. I didn’t believe I’d done anything out of the ordinary. It would be more difficult not to jump into the river when you saw a drowning baby!

  And anyway, nobody thought to thank Maggie. Who knows how long it would have taken to get to the bank if Maggie hadn’t swum across to me. Every minute was precious.

  After that, every time I saw George Costa at school he gave me a big smile. He called me ‘kid’ even though he wasn’t that much older than me. He would wave at me when I rode down the street, and even down at the beach he’d wave if I rode Maggie through the shore break. I kept on hoping he’d stop and talk to me but he never did.

  ‘You thinkin’ about the Golden Boy again?’ Mr Marriner asked me one day as I brushed Maggie’s coppery-red coat.

  My face burnt with shame. Nothing much escaped Mr Marriner’s notice. Some people called George the ‘Golden Boy’ because everyone liked him. He was a good surfer, was good at school and well, he did have golden skin.

  ‘Don’t be stupid!’

  ‘How can I help it? He’s a good kid but well … just be patient, girl, don’t go growing up too fast! And don’t go mooning after some boy without the brains and guts to match your own!’

  If he was talking about George Costa he was sillier than he looked. I steadily ignored him.

  Mr Marriner smiled as he walked off to the stables to muck out the soiled straw.

  I brushed Maggie’s coat until it blazed like hot copper in the sun. Maggie relished each of the strokes and closed her eyes in bliss.

  One of the things that preyed on my mind after saving the little boy was the memory of Vicki. Mum had tried to talk to me but I didn’t want to talk about it with her.

  And of course, I was lucky. I had Mum and Dad, my brothers, cousins all over the place, close friends at school and a horse. Even some of the wealthier kids at school didn’t have a horse. Perhaps their mums freaked out at the risk of them riding or their dads grizzled about having to find a paddock. Some fathers were hopeless at practical things. Dad could shoe a horse in thirty minutes. Mr Marriner had whistled through his teeth when he saw him do it the first time. ‘One of the few jobs they let a blackfella have in the old days,’ Dad said, packing up his tools. ‘Pity they invented cars, man might still have a job.’

  Fourteen

  One afternoon, I was sitting on the beach watching Maggie roll in the sand after her swim in the breakers, and heard footsteps crunching behind me. I turned and blinked into the glare of the sun to see George Costa staring at me.

  ‘Hi, how are you going?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ I replied in the calmest voice I could manage. I was too shy and nervous to think of anything else to say.

  ‘I still feel strange about this part of the beach, you know. Don’t you?’ I simply stared at him. ‘I haven’t been able to forget that boy’s face when you pulled him out of the water.’

  ‘Yeah, me too. I can’t even look at him,’ I replied.

  ‘Yeah, I’m kind of embarrassed when I see him or his mum.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s kind of like it’s a different kid,’ I said, as I continued to stare at him. I was hoping he wouldn’t head off too quickly to surf with his mates. I could see them down near the river pulling on their wetsuits.

  ‘When you got him out of the water, did you … did you remember how to do the resuscitation stuff? I mean I’d never thought about it since we learnt it at surf club and you sort of did it, straight away.’

  ‘I thought about it while I was swimming. I was hoping I would get it right but mostly I was wishing it wouldn’t be too late.’

  ‘Yeah, I felt really strange until he started to cry,’ said George. ‘He looked funny, you know, like he wasn’t real, like it wasn’t happening.’

  And finally I felt as if I was able to talk about it. I hoped we could talk more and that he wouldn’t get too impatient. His mates were already paddling out to the waves.

  ‘I didn’t want to go out there, I just did it.’

  ‘That horse of yours was pretty brilliant too.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s a real good friend.’ What got me to say something as dopey as that to him? I felt myself go red in the face.

  ‘Hey, you know, is your family ... um, is your family Aboriginal?’

 

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