Scatter the Stars, page 15
‘What’s that mean?’ he asked the first time.
She gave a shy smile. ‘It’s my ancestor spirit. She watches over me. I was just letting her know I was back safely.’
‘You’re a fascinating mixture, Talia. You seem to have come to terms with two cultures.’ He’d seen her sketching in the garden and hadn’t wanted to intrude, but his own love of art made him curious. It was such an English trait for a young lady to indulge in delicate watercolours, while on the other hand she paid homage to a carved idol of an ancestor. She’d blended origin and heritage, environment and circumstance.
‘I’m lucky I have so much to choose from.’ She gave an impish grin. ‘I only take from each what interests me and what I believe in.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I like visiting other countries in books, I like painting. I learned that from a book.’
‘What do you paint? Can I see?’ He didn’t say he painted also, but he felt strangely pleased that she shared the same interest.
When he saw her work he felt an immediate resonance. They sat at the kitchen table while he studied each painting, occasionally reaching out to touch her shoulder. ‘Bloody fantastic. Amazing. Now what’s the story here? What are these?’
‘They’re masalai, from the spirit world. These are deities responsible for the creation of the cosmos, totems of animals, birds and plants. The spirits of our ancestors who are here in the everyday world. They’re with me all the time.’ She spread an arm taking in the room, the house and the world outside the window.
‘What do they do? What do you do? If you paint them, do you see them?’ He looked down at the mysterious sprites, shapes and shadows that swirled in a vivid mix of animal, plant and human form.
‘They give me advice. Tell me what to do.’
‘You hear voices?’
‘No. They show me in dreams.’
‘In dreams. That’s like Australian Aborigines. And I spent time in India as a child where I learned about their ancestor spirits. Different though. Do these fellows show you your future?’
She was thoughtful for a moment and spoke carefully. ‘They give me signs. I make the choice to follow or not. It’s different for me. My father doesn’t follow our old ways so we do things a bit differently.’
‘But you like your own religion? Your own culture? What about white ways? How do you keep both?’ He wanted to delve deeper. To compare it with the experiences of his childhood that seemed to be coming back in waves since he’d met Mac and Talia.
She laughed at him. ‘So many questions. You make life sound hard. Sometimes I do what my people’s ways say. Other times I choose white ways.’ Her smile faded. ‘But that’s not always possible. So I find my own way.’
Sailing the Sorcerer on his last day off, Richie was in high spirits. ‘Let’s go to the yacht club for dinner!’
Talia gathered up her things. ‘That’s a nice idea. You enjoy yourself, Pa.’ She kissed him on the cheek.
Richie caught her arm. ‘No. The three of us.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll be at the house.’
‘Nice thought, old bean. The Papuan Yacht Club, and the hotel and the other clubs, no go. Whites only,’ said Mac.
‘Bugger that. I’d like to see them throw me out!’
‘Simmer down, Richie. There’s no way. They won’t throw you out, or me. They’d throw Talia out. Don’t subject her to that. It won’t change anything.’
‘It’s all right. Really. Please take my father,’ she said calmly.
Richie was ready to make another outburst, but her gentle manner stopped him. ‘Things will change. Mark my words. Occasionally you have to force the issue. Make a stand.’
‘Not tonight, Richie. Next time I’ll be right beside you at the barricades. Just leave my daughter out of it.’
‘If I want to make a stand I will do so. When I feel the time is right,’ she said. And Richie saw for the first time that Talia had another side to her. Beneath the sweet facade was a firmness, a strength in her own belief of who she was.
‘Good for you. I’m glad to see some Aussie spirit manifesting itself,’ said Richie. ‘You certainly are a bit of a Miss Jekyll and Hyde. I never know when you’re being a New Guinean or Australian.’
‘Oh, yes you do,’ grinned Mac. ‘She’s got her mother’s strength and my stubbornness. Pretty deadly combination to budge once she’s made up her mind.’
‘Thank you, anyway. I’m pleased to be here with my father.’
Richie realised that for Talia, Port Moresby was the bright lights. She went out alone during the day and no-one took any notice of her. At night in Richie’s rented house, it was cosy sitting in the shadows of the lamps, talking quietly. The film people wondered why Richie wasn’t joining their evening drinking sessions and assumed his new interest in sailing was taking all his time. He wasn’t due back on the set for another day.
Richie was trying to fathom this new lifestyle that he found so pleasant. He watched Talia move around the house like a discreet shadow. Often they exchanged smiles as she went about her tasks, and Richie felt comfortable knowing she was there. Some nights he and Mac played cards and she hovered, watching over his shoulder, topping up their drinks and bringing food.
One night they played poker into the early hours, betting wildly with imaginary stakes represented by matches. Richie was tempted to play him for the Sorcerer, but Mac shook his head. ‘Pissed I may be, but I won’t lose my woman to you.’
‘What about Talia?’ The words fell lightly from Richie’s mouth.
‘I could think of worse fates for me girl. No. She’s too sweet for the likes of you, my boy.’
They played anyway and Mac lost. He threw up his hands. ‘On paper you have my land, my house, my child. Name your price.’
‘Let Talia choose. She can stay with me here. Longer if she wishes. No strings attached.’
Drunk as they were, they stared into each other’s unfocused eyes. Mac leaned forward, shaking a finger at Richie’s blurred face, his words slurred. ‘You ever harm that girl, treat her like a native, I’ll have your balls for breakfast.’ He hiccupped, his elbow slipped and his face fell on the table as he started to snore.
Talia moved to his side and together she and Richie helped him to bed and left him snoring, his mouth open.
Richie was also quite drunk. He fell into a chair, stretched out his legs and mumbled.
Talia didn’t understand the incoherent words. She went into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of water and a towel and knelt by him. She slipped off his shoes and socks, pushed his pants above his knees and gently washed his feet, massaging the soles, then the ankles and calves. He leaned back, apparently asleep, a contented expression on his face. When she’d finished and patted his skin dry, she led him to his bed. He made a feeble attempt to reach for her and muttered a few words, before sinking into his pillow. She sat beside him, lightly massaging his scalp, rubbing his head and temples until he was sound asleep. Richie was a light sleeper, drunk or sober, but this night he slept very deeply, peacefully.
The following day, Richie took Mac aside. ‘Look, I have to go back to work tomorrow. And they’re long working days. I like having Talia around. She makes me relaxed. I think she likes me well enough, can we come to some arrangement . . . ?’
Mac watched him and said nothing.
‘I mean it, mate. It’s nice having a non-threatening, non-demanding woman round the place. She’s a girl by western standards, a woman here, right? She can be my meri, my housemaid, whatever she wants, as far as the outside world knows. I don’t want to harm her reputation, you know, in the marriage stakes, whatever. It’s just a job.’
‘I understand. It’s how I felt about her mother.’
‘Look, this isn’t a case of history repeating itself.’
‘But it does, my boy.’
‘No, listen. I’ll be finished the film in two weeks. I plan to stay around for a month or so while they do the editing and all that stuff back in Hollywood. If it’s any good I’ll go over for the unveiling. But I’m not kidding myself that what they’re saying about it making my fortune overnight is true.’
‘You think being here will do that?’
‘It’s a gamble. Isn’t life a gamble? If you don’t take risks, you’ll never know.’ Richie gave a cheerful grin, disarming the protective father.
‘You still need some coaching in handling a stiff breeze. A few more lessons and you might pass as a sailor. Then I can teach you all I know about running a copra plantation.’
‘Well, that won’t take long, I imagine,’ kidded Richie.
He took them both to visit the film set, and Talia’s presence caused a ripple of whispers. Biff took Richie to one side.
‘I’m impressed. I’d heard something about what was going on with you via the jungle drums. She’s pretty exotic, I’ll give you that. But do you know what you’re doing? It’s not the done thing here . . . in public anyway. Very taboo, I understand.’
‘Biff, since when did you become an expert on racial relations in New Guinea? And it’s not what you think. She’s an innocent virgin. Her father likes me. I like having Talia around. You have no idea what a sweet gentle creature she is. Spoils me rotten.’ He rolled out the platitudes but it made him realise that there was more to his friendship with Talia. He regarded her as an equal. She interested him, challenged him. Made him laugh. But made no demands.
‘Lucky you. Tread carefully, pal. Remember we’re outta here in a couple of weeks.’
Richie articulated what had been a vague idea, but now he saw it as a definite plan. ‘I’m thinking of staying on. I mean I can be there for the premiere, anything you want. But I figure I can make a bit of a killing out here. There are a lot of drifters making small fortunes one way and another.’
‘Are you nuts? You’re an actor. You’re going to be huge. This movie’ll make you a star!’ Biff looked deeply concerned. ‘Listen, the sooner we get you back to civilisation the better. You’re gonna love Hollywood. We’ll treat you like a king. Have a holiday, fool around with your boat, your island maiden and when the movie is ready, you’re on the first plane outta here. You’ve gotta contract too, remember.’ He shoved his dead cigar in Richie’s chest and moved away.
Richie was back at work. He told Talia that he was preparing for his final scene so not to be offended if he ignored her. Talia spent hours each day going to out of the way places in Moresby to make sketches for her watercolour paintings. Rather than ignore her presence, Richie found himself looking out for her, wanting to see who and what she had sketched. When she was pottering about the house, he relaxed and found he could more easily memorise his lines, and think about the scenes to come.
He picked up the pages of the synopsis that described his final moments in the film.
Robinson sits at his desk through the night, feverishly writing a long document which gives his version of the events on board the Merrie England and at Goaribari. First light begins to streak the sky and the silhouettes of the tall palm trees change from dark to silver. He rises and leaves the room. He bathes and dresses carefully in formal uniform, buttoning the brass buttons to his high collar. He polishes his shoes, combs his hair. Fully dressed, he checks his reflection in the oval mirror stand, and goes to his desk. He finishes writing a letter in his neat handwriting, seals it and places it with another he’s obviously just written. He puts his pistol in its leather holster, adjusts his officer’s hat and walks from the office into the gardens of Government House, Port Moresby.
In the pale light of dawn, on the twentieth day of June, 1904, Robinson goes to the flagpole and raises the Union Jack. The flag flutters in the breeze and Christopher Stansfield Robinson, youngest judge and administrator of New Guinea, blows his brains out.
‘Cut!’ called Biff, shattering the silence as the camera hovered over the crumpled figure of Richie, lying exactly in the spot where the event actually occurred. ‘Well done, Richie.’
The crew politely applauded as their star got to his feet, brushing down his uniform. ‘And there endeth the lesson. May Robinson rest in peace. Poor bastard. Too much responsibility too soon, I guess.’ Richie’s apparent offhand remark covered the emotion he was feeling. It had taken two long days to film this scene and it had affected him deeply.
Ammo had come to watch the scene being filmed. ‘Interesting story. Typical government and bureaucratic bungling. I often wonder what’s changed. The Goaribaris are still wild, the whites still rule, everyone goes to church on Sunday, and it starts all over again on Monday morning. Still, you got to be in it to win it, eh?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Life, mate. Grab it by the throat or it’s got away before you know it. You’re still young. Make the most of it.’
‘Don’t tell me you feel you’ve missed the boat?’
‘Me? No bloody fear. That’s why I like it up here. Do what you want most of the time. If that doesn’t work, try something else.’ He nudged Richie. ‘You just have to play by the rules. Our rules.’
Richie wondered if this was some sort of warning. Before he could pursue it, Biff wrapped up the day’s shooting and broke out drinks all round to mark the wrap of Richie’s scenes.
Richie sensed that Ammo had some advice for him and it wasn’t long in coming. Ammo waited for a moment and cornered Richie on his own. ‘How’s the foot?’
‘Basically fine. Can walk without limping, still a bit infected. Talia bathes it. With salt and some native herbs.’
‘Er, can I offer a word of advice. I won’t ask what the relationship is with the girl, but keep it quiet. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last, however it’s looked on pretty harshly here. The men might keep their meris out the back in the boys’ house, where house staff belong, and invite them into the bedroom as required, but they are never seen with them in public. You could do yourself a lot of damage.’
‘Hell, why does everyone think I’m sleeping with her!’
‘You’re not?’ Ammo gave an amused leer.
‘She’s only seventeen.’
‘That’s a very mature woman here. They’re married off at puberty more often than not. If she hangs around Moresby, she’ll get knocked up quick smart.’
‘I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. No-one’s buying her for a couple of pigs.’ Richie surprised himself at the vehemence of his reply.
‘I’m not getting in a blue with you. I know the local scene. If you want to hang about here, you’ll make life a lot easier for yourself if you keep her in the background. Or send her back to daddy. You’re a handsome movie star, plenty of white girls’ pants you can get into.’
‘Thanks for the advice,’ said Richie stiffly. He just wanted to change the subject. He went to Ivy who was talking to Howard and dropped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Bearing up, kid?’
‘Just. Can’t say we’ve all adapted as well as you have.’ She gave him a playful nudge. Their brief fling had been enjoyable and when Richie had disappeared with Talia, Ivy had weighed up the options and made a play for Howard’s young American camera assistant.
The cameraman, as always, had turned a blind eye to the on-set affairs. They rarely lasted past the final wrap party. ‘You’re looking good, Rich,’ he said as Hollywood’s newest actor strode over to where he’d been talking to the director. ‘For someone who hasn’t worked much in front of a camera, you’re a natural. Hit those marks every time.’
‘First thing I was ever told about the movie business, Howard,’ grinned Richie.
‘Big future, I tell you, buddy. You’re going to be a star.’ Biff slapped him on the shoulder and took a drag on his cigar, alight for the occasion.
‘You’re sounding like a movie director, Biff. Well, guys, I’ll be checking out. Let me know about the wrap party.’
Biff and Ammo stared at him in astonishment. ‘You’re leaving? The booze hasn’t run out.’
Richie shrugged. ‘It’s been a heavy day. Shooting myself and all.’ He blew a kiss to the continuity girl and with a wave left the production office.
‘He’s in a rush to get home to what’s-her name. She is a dish, if you like them exotic.’
‘Says he isn’t sleeping with her. She’s a virgin.’
‘Maybe tonight’s the night.’
The men laughed.
Richie was tired. The realisation his acting job was over had hit him with a sense of emptiness that he originally thought was relief. He’d gone into this with a smile and a whistle – she’ll be right, piece of cake, lucky break. The weeks had dragged on, filmed sequences were short and disconnected. It had been hard to keep focused and remember he was giving a performance. Maybe he’d treated this too lightly, too flippantly. Still, he had given it his best shot. What the hell. He had a new life to look forward to. And tied in with this dream hovered the vision of Talia.
She was young. She was a product of a unique upbringing. Yet to Richie she seemed so strong, so firm in her beliefs and so accepting of her lot in life, asking little of the future.
He came into the house and saw a fresh hibiscus flower on the dining table and another resting on his pillow. Food was cooking and cold beers were in the fridge. He sank into his favourite chair. He wasn’t tired but he felt empty. He had no more scenes to do. No more reason to interact with his film family. He was overcome with a sense of loneliness. He might not have contact with any of these people again save for a passing smile and a wave at a premiere party. Yet they had shared so much. This time in New Guinea had been important to him. Of all the places he’d been he thought of this as a chosen place. The rest of the film crew and cast couldn’t wait to leave. Later they would recount anecdotes of the wild conditions, but none would want to return. Why did he feel such a pull to stay? And why had he felt it from when he first arrived?
