Earth, page 8
‘An’ that old one, Parwung, cordolrooklu, cordolrooklu.’
‘Yeah, ol’ parwung in the tree tellin’ stories about how one man got enough, another one got too much an’ some like ya mother, Woorer Woorer, got nothin’ at all.’
‘This red lead gets everywhere Grandpa. It’s a bit boggy too, but I’ve nearly finished this side. Won’t it be good when we can go out on the bay? Can we take little Woorer Woorer too, Grandpa? Grandpa? Gone to sleep both of them. When this old boat is finished I’m gunna learn to sail it myself so I can go out and catch plenty of fish so Grandma doesn’t have to worry about money all the time. We can eat some and sell some we can . . . who are you?’
‘Shh. Doan wakem.’
‘You’re Betty, aren’t you? Woorer Woorer’s mother?’
‘Shh. Doan wakem. Come to look. Doan wakem, liddle boy, oh liddle bopup, liddle Woorer Woorer, I can hold ‘em eh, jus’ quiet now, jus’ quiet.’
‘That’s my Grandpa.’
‘Shh, doan wakem, I know that ol’ Frank. Good fella, look after bopup. Jus’ hoi’ my burron, my liddle mamam, jus’ liddle bit.’
‘Grandpa might get worried if – ’
‘Not take ‘im, jus’ look, just hol’ my mamam, jus’ liddle minute, look ‘im now still kumba, here liddle burron, I’m your mumma. See, he know his mumma . . . wanna drink, eh?’
‘Grandpa might worry if – ’
‘S’alright, not takem liddle burron, liddle Woorer Woorer.’
‘I’ve gotta paint the boat, I’ve gotta get it ready.’
‘Yueh, paint boat. I sit here, you tellem if people come, eh. Not see Betty. Jus’ sit liddle bit, holdem mamam. See ‘e still kumba, no trouble. Betty go bye an’ bye. Paint boat.’
‘We’ve gotta get it ready, so’s we can go an’ catch fish, so we can feed Woorer Woorer an’ the new baby when it comes. Grandma’s havin’ a new baby.’
‘Good lady, good to Betty in hospital.’
‘Grandma says we’ve gotta feed five mouths now. Hard enough when there was three. Gotta get the boat painted so’s we can get out on the bay.’
‘Yueh, paint boat.’
‘We’re gunna get a lotta fish so’s we can sell some to Mr Snodgrass at the – ’
‘That Snodgrass.’
‘He’s gunna buy all we can catch an’ then we can finish the new room for Woorer Woorer an’ Grandma’s new baby. That’s why we’ve come down ‘ere to finish the boat as quick as we can so we – ’
‘Yueh, paint boat.’
‘We’re gunna go right out to Mud Island and catch the giant flatties out there – ’
‘Yueh.’
‘Gunna catch big snapper, too, an’ crays out on the reef an’ . . . Betty? Betty?’
‘She’s gone, Claudie’s comin’ down.’
‘Betty was right here, Grandpa, holdin’ Woorer Woorer, gave him tit an’ everythin’.’
‘Don’t let Grandma hear you say that.’
‘What, tit?’
‘No, about Betty bein’ here.’
‘Did you see her, Grandpa?’
‘I saw her.’
‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘She held her baby an’ I had a rest. That was just a tiny bit of justice, Alf, an’ you were a good boy not to make a fuss about it. Now quiet ‘cause here comes Claudie, it’d only upset her.’
‘Where’s that poor bairn. What’s that old man thinking of Augustus, leaving you to sleep on his old coat. Honestly, Frank. What’ve you been feeding him, he’s got milk on his lips.’
‘No, he’s just been blowin’ bubbles.’
‘Looks like milk, Frank.’
‘No, Claudie, he’s been sound asleep like a top. Just had a tiny crust of bread. Blowin’ bready bubbles he is.’
‘Bready bubbles! Frank, you’ll say anything. Give me that baby, poor little Augustus. What’s this he’s got. A hair. A long black hair, Frank, what – ’
‘We passed that old horse in the baker’s paddock. No harm in showin’ a baby an old mare, is there?’
‘That boat’s looking pretty good, Alf. Pity your grandfather couldn’t be a bit more help to you.’
‘I’ve been slaving away looking after Augustus.’
‘You’ve been asleep.’
‘Only with one eye.’
‘You’re always one-eyed. Stay there now, Frank, you can be my backrest for a bit. I’m feeling a bit weary myself.’
‘Entitled to be, old mother.’
‘Old mother, is it?’
‘Old lover, then.’
‘Frank, the boy.’
‘He’s too busy paintin’ the boat to listen to two old lover’s shootin’ the breeze, aren’t ya, Alfie?’
‘Yes, Grandpa, but she’s not as old as you.’
‘There you are, Frank. He’s always been a sensible boy.’
‘Very diplomatic, Alf. You’ll never go hungry.’
‘Not when we get this boat on the water, I won’t. That’s the red lead nearly finished.’
‘Alright. Paint the hull, Tuesdy. Paint above the water line Fridy. Paint the inside Saturdy. Paint gunwales and seats Sundy. Sail away the next weekend. Off to the high seas where a man can be free, leavin’ the women weepin’ on the pier.’
‘I won’t be weeping for you unless you come back with no fish.’
‘The Tuppeny Bark will never leave the shore without returning with fish.’
‘How do you know, Grandpa?’
‘Because you’re in it, the old korraiyn kid himself.’
‘What’s that mumbo jumbo, Frank?’
‘It’s not mumbo jumbo, Claudie, it’s language.’
‘Don’t listen to him, Alf. You’ll be turning his head with all that business, Frank.’
‘No one will turn that boy’s head but himself and it will never turn from the righteous path and he’ll never need a pulpit parrot to point the way neither. He’s his own man. Already he’s his own man. And a good one, Claudie, you mark my words. He’s kind, you can’t say better than that.’
‘Thank you, Grandpa.’
‘Don’t thank me, my boy, thank your own head and heart and your . . . mother. Your goodness comes from your heritage.’
‘You know what I mean, Frank. Don’t try and fox me. No good can come from . . . siding with your people. We’ve had nothing but trouble since you started that business.’
‘He’ll follow the righteous path, Claudie, and if God’s watching, and you reckon he watches us all, he’ll not be missing the deeds of a boy with a good heart.’
‘Bit of a pulpit parrot yourself, old man.’
‘Well, polly sure put a potion in your belly, old woman.’
‘Frank.’
‘Don’t Frank me, come here, let me feel my daughter. Here. Old enough to squirm about, eh?’
‘Daughter, eh?’
‘Daughter of the sun. Keep paintin’ that boat boy, your grandparent’s are gunna snooze in the sun with ya little aunty.’
‘You old prophet.’
‘Old testicle prophet.’
‘Frank, you’ve never known the righteous path.’
‘That’s right, I only ever knew your garden path and daughter it will be. Sun’s shining on her already and you too, old lady, old sleeping lady.’
‘I can hear you, Frank.’
‘And I can see you, Claudie an’ that’s the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen.’
‘Frank.’
‘Alfie, you ever see anyone half as beautiful as your grandmother you marry her, whatever colour she is. Must be asleep, didn’t rise to the bait.’
‘I heard you old man, I’m just keeping the peace for a change.’
‘And you deserve it, my lovely. Peace in the sun. Peace on the soil. Good will on earth. Sleep, my beauty, I love you. And you, Alfie, quiet now, an’ if you ever marry that beautiful woman, tell her so, even when she’s got tiny little lines on her face, fine as a shrimp net. Tell her. And Alfie.’
‘Yes, Grandpa?’
‘Thank you, my boy, thank you for not telling Grandma about the old mare in the baker’s yard. You’re a wise boy and a good boy and now I’m goin’ to sleep with this old lady, my woman, my great old heart. My milk of kindness. And Alf.’
‘Yes, Grandpa.’
‘There’s a shillin’ here. Slip down to the Star later an’ get us a billy a’ beer and some lollies, eh. We’ll have a little picnic. Just us mob.’
‘And count the change from Snodgrass.’
‘Yes, Grandma.’
‘He’s a rogue like all men.’
*
‘My name is Wordel Liangal and I’m jealous of people down there. I want to feel sun on face like that old man, I want to feel woman, taste salt, sleep by sea . . . ’
‘Yes, my spirit brother.’
‘We live near this place, down there, see right down where rock go into sea, that one of our places. See, you can see the huts we had there. Until them amerjee burnt ‘em down. It was a day like this. Oh, we’d seen their boats alright. Up an’ down the bay. Seen ‘em plenny times. But this was a day just like today, people layin’ down by the huts. Old fellas mendin’ some nets, women makin’ baskets for the fish. Oh the oysters we used to get down there. Big, fat mud oysters, mussels, oh the taste of them, oh if I could just taste them mussels again.’
‘Yes, my brother.’
‘We saw their boat go by. We were just tryin’ to ignore ‘em by then. Keep out the way. They had them fences up all ‘round Barwon country, all up along Werribee, so we kept out the way. We heard the stories of what they did to people near their houses. So we let ‘em go past, didn’t even look at ‘em, but they musta landed around the point an’ come back this way. Heard the guns, brung, brung – ’
‘Yes, my brother, we’ve heard the guns. Tell your story, let it live in us, my brother.’
‘My uncle, my tandop, Pompabil, big man to us peoples, stood up, faced them, stood in front an’ they just shot ‘im, one, two, three, ran past ‘im as if was dog, had no respect for that great warrior, ran past, grabbed women, brung, brung, shoot men, shoot liddle burron, grab my liddle girl, not eight years old that liddle girl. We heard the stories, we knew what they like. I can’t bear to see that in my head, that liddle girl, my yarran gook, with those savages, I scream out “Bitjarra, bitjarra,” but all our good men shot, no respect, magic men with guts hangin’ out, left like dogs. I chasem roun’ point, and they push all them women, smashem with rocks an’ rifle sticks, my bagurrk, my own Nyulam, blood all over face, fall down, can’t see, they kick her with them boots, I call out “Bitjarra” an’ she turns and one man kick her face with boot an’ I heard the noise of her bones, my lovely Nyulam, that why I jealous that ol’ man down there. Me an’ my bagurrk, we sleep in sun like that. I look at her face, her body, hold her hand like that, my woman, my kanamo, she real true to me, you know . . . ’
‘Yes, my brother, we know.’
‘She go to sleep with hand on my neck, she hold my ear in her thumb an’ finger, funny thing that, you reckon, every night she do that, what she sayin’ with her fingers, eh? I wait for her to do that an’ then I sleep. If she was away up country with her sisters, woman’s business, you know, baby business an’ so forth, I’d hang on to my own ear, jus’ to go to sleep. Funny thing, you reckon?’
‘Oh no, my brother, we’re dreamin’ too, you know. Them women smells, them arms aroun’ us. Fingers on ear, breath on neck, guli to bud, oh, we’re dreamin’, my brother, we’re dreamin’ with you. Tell your story, our warrior.’
‘They picked her up an’ threw her, I hear her bones hit the wood at bottom of boat, terrible sound, you know, an’ then my liddle tiny girl, dragged by her hair, I’ll never forget her eyes, I’ll . . . when . . . ’
‘Oh yes, our warrior, oh yes, tell the story now, tell it to our ol’ Billy Wurrun an’ Kaarwirn Kunawarn, we’ve all got our stories, but we must tell ‘em or they’re lost, my brother.’
‘I can’t say that about my liddle . . . ’
‘Alright, my brother, we see her eyes, we see that look, my good brother.’
‘They push her in boat, row away out between rocks an’ I swim. What I swim for? What I do, eh? I swim, I swim, cut ‘em off easy, no good in boats them fellas. What I do? Tip up boat? That’s all I can think, so I swim and grab the side an’ pull down an’ then I feel fire, my hand, my mana, they chop ‘im, alright I keep pullin’ down, water go in boat, good, but then fire again, other hand, chop, they row away, I watchem, take my Nyulam, take my Mooran, take old aunty, oh, thinkin’ of them savages with our women . . . I swim back to rocks good as I can, find grasses, reeds, bind up arms, stop blood, that’s why I’m Wordel Liangal now. Crab with clubs. Don’t go back to that camp. One liddle boy, one ol’ man an’ me, that’s all out of all our people. Twenty-five they shoot or steal. The three of us, where we go now? Chased roun’ in bush for few years. What tucker we eat now? Sheepies? Axe head? Can’t sleep now, not like before. Can’t hold ear. Funny thing that, you reckon. Oh, I liked that woman’s hand on my neck. Camp up aroun’ Werribee with that Woiwurring an’ Bunurong mob, but no good country now. Oh, my people. I’m jealous of that ol’ man . . . least ways we survived, eh, my spirit warriors, that ol’ man down there sleepin’ with his woman is cousin to that last liddle boy of our mob, liddle boy was Wirrmal, an’ now that ol’ man’s grandson is Golkawil, an’ little one there Woorer Woorer. We survived, my brothers, but oh, I wish to feel that sun on me again, wish to sleep one more time with my woman, feel her fingers on my ear, oh I jealous that ol’ Parwung.’
‘Story must be told, my brother, story must be told.’
*
‘Very well, my currency lads, drink up, it’s on me. Snodgrass, a celebratory drink all round to toast justice in our fair land.’
‘Certainly, Mr Angliss.’
‘And hurry up there, Snodgrass.’
‘You’ll not miss out, Pearson, you never have before.’
‘Gentlemen of Australia, I would like you to prepare to toast the acquittal of Officer McCallum from the odious charges levelled against him.’
‘Good on you, McCallum.’
‘And furthermore, we honour him in his dedication to the duty of protecting our herds and homes from the depredations of the blacks.’
‘Death to the heathen hordes. Kill the bloody boongs.’
‘Shut up, Pearson.’
‘Only sayin’ what you all say when it suits you.’
‘We will rely on the rule of British justice and the . . . er . . . vigilance of our constabulary and military officers. Sometimes it’s wise to nip trouble in the bud and that’s how our court has seen fit to rule in this instance.’
‘Here, here, Mr Angliss.’
‘Another round, Mr Snodgrass, for all these good Australians.’
‘Good on yer, Mr Angliss.’
‘Not at all, my good fellow. A toast to British law.’
‘British law.’
‘And the future of our fine colony.’
‘Australia Fair.’
‘Mr Snodgrass, just a word if you wouldn’t mind. Here’s fifteen pound.’
‘That’s far too much for the drinks, sir.’
‘Use the rest to form an association which pledges the oath every Friday night. You should find plenty of volunteers to drink a toast to the empire. I hear in New South Wales they have started up an Empire League –’
‘And Sons of the Southern Cross.’
‘Exactly, a simple regular assembly of men to honour the empire and protect our values, the rights of ordinary men to have free use of their property protected by the superiority of British justice. Control of the blacks, low taxes – ’
‘No more Chinese, no more lepers and opium.’
‘Exactly, an Association to protect all the values we hold dear.’
‘I’ll put up ten pound myself, Mr Angliss.’
‘Good, man.’
‘No use chucking the baby out with the bath water, is there. We need our own government and laws but there’s no point in cutting ourselves completely free of our history. We’re white people after all.’
*
‘Hot towels, Frank.’
‘Yes, Claudie.’
‘Have you got them?’
‘I’m . . . I’m getting them.’
‘Frank.’
‘Yes, Claudie, yes, I’ve got the towels . . . ’
‘Hurry, Frank.’
‘Yes, dear, hot towels.’
‘Frank.’
‘Yes, yes, getting them . . . ’
‘Frank.’
‘Yes, yes, here we go . . . oh.’
‘Frank. On the good quilt, Frank.’
‘Yes, yes, I can see that. Never mind, now, here we go.’
‘Frank.’
‘Yes, darlin’, it won’t be long. Blimey.’
‘What . . .?’
‘Won’t be long now. Just let me . . . ’
‘Is it. . . Christ.’
‘Yes, dear, there we are now. Ah, hmm, bit of a mess, now, here we go . . . a girl all right, like I said . . . here she is, little Cecily . . . now you just hang on here an’ I’ll get some warm water.’
‘Ohh.’
‘Yes, dear Claudie, now . . . basin, bit of hot, bit of cold, sponge, here we go . . . now, Claudie. Asleep? Sound asleep. Look at ‘em, eh, what a picture. Now little Cecily, let go a’ that for a tick. Not bad, eh, bit of tucker first up. Hey, my little girl baby, eh. Now, here y’ar, bit of a wash, strewth, clean up that stuff, wipe ya poor little face, me darlin’ Cecily, tidy up ya bottom a bit. Not bad, Frank, good as new. Back on the tit, eh Cecily. I can recommend that. God, yer got a thirst for a little skinny thing like y’ar. Hmm, what are you supposed to do about the tether thing. Claudie’d be able ta tell me, if she was awake. She is asleep, ain’t she? Pulse? Good girl. Thank Christ for that. Just leave it, ya reckon. Can’t do much harm for a little bit. May as well have a bit of a rest meself. Up half the night. Gawd, a man’s tired. Little girl, eh. How about that. Another little mouth. Another little nature. Hmmm.’
‘Frank, Frank, what are you doing?’
‘Nothing, dear.’
‘You were, you were asleep.’
‘Jest restin’ the eyes, Claudie.’
‘What if something had gone wrong?’
