Earth, page 3
‘I wan’ my baby.’
‘You’ll have your baby very soon. May I? If I just have a look . . . yes, Betty, very soon . . . now, please Betty, don’t cry.’
‘I wan’ my baby. Doan take him, missus.’
‘Betty, Mrs Campbell’s right, you’re very young. How can you look after a baby, now? No water out at the camp. No doctor. And do . . . do you know who the father . . .?’
‘Moorabool, he the daddy. He look after – ’
‘But he’s an old man. Betty, he doesn’t even live near here.’
‘He the daddy. Moorabool look after.’
‘Betty.’
‘Please, missus, doan take baby – ’
‘Alright, Betty, alright. Look, I’ll see what I can do but really you must try and rest now because your baby is coming very soon.’
‘Doan take baby.’
‘Betty, please rest, dear, please don’t upset yourself.’
‘I wan’ my mother.’
‘Your mother?’
‘That her outside, missus. That lady wouldn’ let her in here.’
‘Well, perhaps.’
‘Please, missus.’
‘Alright, please rest Betty, see, the baby’s coming . . . Are you Betty’s mother?’
‘Yueh.’
‘Betty would like to see you.’
‘Thankum, missus.’
‘Betty, here’s your mother . . . now please lie back because . . . hold on to the rails, darlin’ because . . . look, now . . . here . . . ’
‘Bobam bye an’ bye . . . yueh, yueh, bobam, here now Betty, look him, look now, boron, boron, dedabul boron . . . heh, heh, hah, dedabul boron.’
‘A boy, Betty, you’ve got a boy, a big boy.’
‘Dedabul boron.’
‘Please, missus, give me boron.’
‘Steady now, Betty, steady now, don’t grab at him. There you are, now . . . what’s your mother’s name, Betty?’
‘Mundering.’
‘Mrs Mundering, would you mind cleaning the baby, such a big boy.’
‘Dedabul boron.’
‘That’s the way, clean him up with this . . . what’s that you’ve got? Don’t – ’
‘Morran, missus, clean him up morran, missus. Good one, good one.’
‘Alright, Mrs Mundering, just help Betty, while I cut this here. Mrs Mundering!’
‘Koren dir, missus, koren dir . . . look now . . . ’
‘Very sharp shell, Mrs Mundering, very nicely done.’
‘Mrs Palmer, Mrs Palmer, what’s this woman doing in here?’
‘Mrs Pakington, she, she’s helping her daughter.’
‘I thought you were the famous midwife, Mrs Palmer.’
‘Betty was upset, Mrs Pakington, I thought it best – ’
‘You thought it best? Well, we’ll do the thinking about what is best in our hospital. Now get that woman out of here: look at the state of her hands! And you shouldn’t have let the girl see the baby. This is most unsatisfactory, Mrs Palmer.’
‘Mrs Pakington, the girl’s mother was very helpful and it was the only thing to calm Betty down.’
‘I’m sure, but there are more important things to worry about, such as this poor bairn’s future. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Mrs Palmer, I think we can handle it from here.’
*
‘You Mundering?’
‘Yueh.’
‘I your Aunty Kneebone.’
‘Yueh.’
‘What you speak?’
‘Kolignon, Kirrae Wurrung.’
‘Our mob Yorta Yorta an’ Wemba Wemba. You speak that?’
‘Nyah.’
‘Alright we speak mission talk. That Betty be havin’ baby?’
‘Yueh?’
‘What you doin’ out under this tree then?’
‘Preacher lady say no good me longa bobup. Say dirty hand.’
‘You seen baby?’
‘Yueh.’
‘Got hair.’
‘Yueh.’
‘Alright, we see baby, we tell whether eagle or crow.’
‘He be eagle, Aunty.’
‘You sure, my sister?’
‘He be eagle, I bin feelim hair, he be eagle, we bin call that one Woorer Woorer, sky fella.’
‘That be right way, my sister.’
‘Our mob hear bout this baby, his daddy be that Moorabool, that right?’
‘Yueh.’
‘Alright we sit here for while now, then we see baby.’
‘Doan know bout that. Look, there that preacher lady, she plenny big boss that one.’
‘She be tellin’ Aunty Kneebone ‘bout baby business?’
‘Too right, she tell everyone. Look out, she be headin’ over here.’
‘She not be tellin’ Aunty Knee – ’
‘Mrs Mundering, I thought I expressly told you not to stay in the hospital grounds, it’s most unacceptable. Now, off you go and take this old lady with you, she hasn’t even got a dress.’
‘Missus we wan – ’
‘Mrs Mundering please explain to the poor old thing that it’s quite unacceptable for her to be seen in the hospital grounds in that dreadful shirt. It’s nice to see two old ladies having a little natter, but not here you understand, Mrs Mundering? Now, off with you both.’
‘What she say ‘bout shirt?’
‘She say no good that one. She say we gotta go.’
‘Who she tellin’ us what – ’
‘Doan tell me Aunty, you tell that one. But come on Aunty, ‘fore she comes back and boss us proper. We wait down by creek, that Mary, cousin mine, she be doin’ washin’ for hospital, I tell her bring bobup hair to us so you can see him youself.’
‘That lady got no right tellin’ – ’
‘True way, Aunty, but you tell that her. Come on we sit down longa yallock.’
*
‘I’m sure it’s for the best, Frank, really. The girl can’t be more than thirteen and the state of that camp is said to be disgraceful.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘Think of the hygiene and education and the spiritual upbringing of the child, Frank.’
‘Mmmm.’
‘You must agree it’s for the best?’
‘Mmmm.’
‘She says the father is that old Moorabool and he lives over near Winchelsea. How’s he going – ’
‘Moorabool is a big man to the people.’
‘Well, perhaps, but he’s so old, how can he possibly care for the girl when he doesn’t even live near her? And her mother, Mrs Mundering, she’s as old as the hills, too, it would be too much for the old lady to take on.’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, Frank, you should have heard the girl scream when they took the baby. I ran out of the hospital, I can tell you, grabbed my things and ran, and then that Mrs Mundering was sitting on the steps and gave me such a look as if . . . as if it was my fault. As if I could have done anything.’
‘Now, Claudie, don’t get upset, darlin’, when Mrs Pakington has made up her mind, no one can do anything about it. She’s got the Lord’s will behind her as old Pakington is so keen on saying, just like his mate, Campbell. Imagine how Mundering feels, and Betty and Moorabool. If you’re powerless to stop it, imagine how they feel?’
‘It’s for the best, Frank, surely to God.’
2
Holes in the head
‘God, yueh, yueh, that God. In God’s name – name of father, name of son, name of ‘oly ghost. Alright, we hear that plenny time, too right we do. God, God.
‘Tell God to that Betty, tell God to her liddle Woorer Woorer, tell it ol’ Moorabool, ol’ Mundering, tell it any us people, oh I tell you we get belly full a’ God and shit him out other side – too much God for us fellas . . . and anyway now look, we got trouble again.
‘Oh, alright us to say not kill sheepy, what us spirit people need mutton in our guts? But look out now, there’s that Moorabool, Parnum and Mariwun. Look at ‘em down there, little smoke, smoke from fire . . . an’ all them sheepy bones all about . . . oh, trouble sure, an’ listen to ol’ parwung up in tree rollin’ out his morning song . . . Come on get up you mob, come on, trooper be for ya, policeman, magistrate, all of ‘em chasin’ after black mens with full belly. Go parwung sing that song get them blackfellas out a’ dam dam, trouble sure sleepin’ with sun up. Oh, you bin bad boys alright, parwung tell ya, look where he is up there, right up high on dead stick, look about now. Oh, he say, amerjee, look out now. Fly off that parwung, callin’ out wake up, wake up. But no, them bad boys sleep with their guts all stuck out with sheepy – an’ look there, bottle, one, two, bad boys sleep too much alright.
‘An’ here they come now, creepin’, creepin’, ‘ow many you see there, five, six, yueh, six amerjee, six amerjee with brung brung.
‘One go this way, one to that, this other one, look, he crossin’ river by liddle rocks. Beautiful mornin’ for men to be creepin’ about, too pretty, see the sun sparklin’ on the water, come on you fellas sit down now, watch liddle yourn-it swimmin’ across the sandbanks there, hey why not catch some, cook ‘im up on fire there, see, still smoke smoke . . .
‘Other two amerjee other side of camp, oh, look out here it comes now brung, brung, brung, brung . . . oh, our men not wake up now, oh goodbye you Moorabool, goodbye you Parnum, an’ goodbye you little Mariwun, our spear thrower, oh, goodbye you bangondedook, goodbye you Wurrundjerri fulla, goodbye you Wathaurong fulla, no more, no more, amerjee love them sheepy too much, an’ he reckon three bangondedook not worth one night’s tucker.
‘An’ now ol’ Da he lick up blood of our brave men, see it leakin’ away there from ol’ Moorabool, an’ Parnum an’ Mariwun, an’ Da pick up the blood, pick it up like all time before, all times before amerjee and brung brung, but now plenny blood, Da been lickin’ up blood now ever since we seen that amerjee, ol’ Da sick o’ that taste now, got a gut full o’ bangondedook blood, too much alright, we people’s goin’ too soon, an’ look now, policeman tie bodies of our men on horse any ol’ how, and him Moorabool, treated like poor ol’ Poort Poort Burrun, oh an’ look we can see where they goin’, down main street, show off dead black men to town, show what the brave amerjee with brung brung did to our great warriors . . . oh, it’s shame, shame on men, but we tell Mr Campbell that, we tell Mr Pakington that, an’ they shake their head an’ talk us about way o’ the Lord.
‘God, yueh, yueh, that God, we got belly full a’ that God.
‘Ooh but hang on little bit, maybe Moorabool open eye. Clever ol’ fox that one.’
*
‘Officer McCallum, take the baby off her. Now, Betty, give the baby to . . . there was no need to strike her, McCallum.’
‘She kicked me, sir,’
‘With a girl’s bare foot, Officer. Must have damn near killed you. Betty, this is for the best, you’ll see that one day. And I’m afraid you’ll have to come too. This is the second time you’ve run away and now on the magistrate’s . . . ’
‘Baby.’
‘No, Betty, baby Augustus is going back to Berry Street and you have to go to the mission at . . .
‘Woorer Woorer!’
‘Take hold of her McCallum and see if you can do it without either of you getting injured.’
‘Baby.’
‘She bit me, sir.’
‘She’s probably hungry.’
‘Baby.’
‘She’s kickin’ like the devil . . . ’
‘Restrain her, McCallum . . . and please put a hand over her mouth . . . that scream is – McCallum!’
‘It’s alright for you sittin’ up there, sir, but she’s a fair dervish. She’s bit me twice, kicked me, knocked me hat off.’
‘No respect for the law.’
‘I’ve a fair mind to – ’
‘You don’t have a fair mind, McCallum, and if that girl doesn’t get back to the mission without interference you won’t have a hat to wear. Give me the child. Now, see that you do your duty.’
‘Yes, sir . . . nigger lover.’
‘Baby.’
‘Shut up boong slut or I’ll blow ya brains out, cunt first.’
‘Baby. Woorer Woorer.’
‘I warned ya . . . there now . . . what a nasty kick ya got from me horse . . . ya understand that, slut . . . the horse got ya, now shut up or there’ll be a bloody tragic firearms accident as well.’
*
‘Ar, no, Frank, you can’t ask me to do that. Apart from the fact that the child is pitch black, we’ve still got Alf to look after.’
‘Gertie’ll come and get Alf again soon.’
‘And how can she do that now Angus has gone? Working dawn to dark, how can she look after him?’
‘He’s going ta school.’
‘And for the rest of the time? No, Frank, we’ll be looking after Alf . . . there’ll be no room for another.’
‘They’ve locked the child’s mother away.’
‘The mission is not a gaol, Frank. There is fresh water and blankets and all the food – ’
‘And bars on the windows – ’
‘Frank, please, we are doing all we can for Alf, we can’t offer a home to every child in need. It’s because of who he is that upsets you, isn’t it?’
‘I feel responsible, Claudie.’
‘You are not responsible, Frank. If they did a better job of looking after their babies there’d be no need for us to take them on.’
‘How can they look after their babies when the church takes them away.’
‘The church is not taking them away, it’s providing a home that otherwise they’d – ’
‘Oh, don’t go on about it, Claudie, even you don’t believe that rubbish. How can a baby be better off away from it’s mother? And what about the mother? Who is there to care how she feels?’
‘She will come to see – ’
‘She will never come to see anything. Imagine her pain, Claudie, for the love of God, think about the girl.’
‘Exactly, Frank, she’s a girl, what right has she – ’
‘That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been. Even my own mother – ’
‘What do you know about your own mother? She died giving birth. You never saw her. It’s only gossip says she was black and anyway what good will come of it?’
‘She was only a girl too.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘They told me. They sent old Matthew to tell me after Billy’s funeral. And she didn’t die in childbirth. She was shot by Foster Fyans’ shepherd. They say he was my father.’
‘Frank, you take all this on your shoulders and it will lead you to one place only, the riverbank. You’ll be back there with all the superstitions, all the poverty, all the grog, all the mumbo jumbo.’
‘It’s not mumbo jumbo.’
‘What is it then? Idolatry?’
‘It says who we are.’
‘I thought you were my husband.’
‘I am.’
‘Well I’m not living under two bits of tin down by the river.’
‘I would never ask you to do that. Do you think that’s what I want? But I must respect my people.’
‘Your people? What am I? What relation am I to you, Frank?’
‘You’re my wife and will always be, but I will not deny –’
‘Will you deny God?’
‘God can look after ‘imself. But if he chooses officers like Pakington and Campbell then I don’t have much faith in – ’
‘There is nothing without faith.’
‘Yes there is.’
‘Not in this house.’
‘I built this house, remember.’
‘With my money.’
‘If that’s how ya like ta put it.’
‘Frank, we agreed, didn’t we, that we’d bring up our daughter as a Christian and – ’
‘And we have.’
‘And live in the way of Christ.’
‘Well there were things I didn’t know then.’
‘So, you’re telling me you’re turning your back on this house, on the Lord, on our marriage?’
‘Oh, fa goodness sake, Claudie, ya gettin’ bloody hysterical. Who said anythin’ about turnin’ me back on this house? An’ you? How could I ever do that? An’ as for the bloody Lord, well we said we’d live as Christians, raise Gertie as a Christian, but I never promised nothin’ about the church an’ as far as I’m concerned I’m never goin’ near one again.’
‘Well isn’t that turnin’ ya back – ’
‘Grandma?’
‘Alf. What’s wrong? Can’t you sleep, darlin’?’
‘I heard –’
‘It’s alright, lovey, Grandpa an’ me were just havin’ a talk about things.’
‘About mum.’
‘No, not about your mum. We were talking about . . . about when we built the house, about the old days when times were hard. Now don’t you worry about that, darlin’, you go off to sleep again now.’
‘Grandma?’
‘Yes, Alfie.’
‘Don’t growl at Grandpa, he can’t help who his mother was.’
‘No, darlin’ that’s right, but you can help where and how you live. And that’s what we’re talking about. How to scrape enough together to put a roof over our heads and food on the table.’
‘Grandpa built the roof, Grandma, and he killed the rooster we had for tea.’
‘Yes, darlin’, it’s true, he’s a good man, he’s always been a good provider.’
‘The only thing he won’t do is put money in the plate to hear Pakington talk like a pom.’
‘Don’t listen too much to what Grandpa says, Alf, it’s the shearer in him that’s talkin’ like that. Now off to bed you go. That’s the boy, sweet dreams . . . And as for you, Francis Palmer – ’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry I got all het up. I just want a good home, Frank, enough food, a bit of respect.’
‘Listen, Claudie, you’ve got a good home, I’ll always make sure there’s enough food but I can’t promise you’ll always get respect. The milk a’ human kindness might be in the bible, but that doesn’t mean you’ll find it in a Christian heart. Half the Geelong church stood around gawkin’ when ol’ Billy got killed, and when Moorabool took one sheep from his land six of God’s flock come an’ shot him down in cold blood. Is that the work of the Lord, Claudie?’
