Tears of the Moon (20 page)

‘And the Malays?’ asked Olivia,

‘Like all the East India men, not too bad, but a bit
easy going. Can run amok at times with their bloody ugly knives. Have cut up a few captains over the years. And hung for it.’

‘Ahmed seems very attached to his knife … kris,’ she said, correcting herself.

‘Ah, don’t you worry about him,’ said Tyndall reassuringly, ‘Ahmed is different.’

A breeze blew up from a new direction and Olivia recoiled as a vile odour washed over her with a near physical blow. Seeing her grimace, Ahmed and Tyndall laughed.

‘Poogie tub,’ explained Tyndall. ‘Come on, you have to experience it all.’

He handed her a clean white handkerchief and she followed them along the shore holding the hanky to her nose.

Two wooden casks sat in the hot sun, and one of the men gave a cask a stir with a stick, raising putrid fumes. Each tub was filled with small shells and sea water, which fermented and decayed in the heat, and as the shellfish rotted away the pearls dropped to the bottom to be retrieved later.

‘Smelly but effective,’ said Tyndall. ‘The big shells are opened on the lugger and ashore.’

Late in the day Olivia, barefoot and grateful she’d made her pants ‘half mast’ below her knees, helped drag the shell–filled baskets to the dinghy which the Koepangers then rowed to the lugger. She enjoyed the physical labour and despite the straw bonnet tied on her head, her cheeks glowed from sun and wind.

Later as they sat around the campfire the Aborigines sang traditional songs, chanting and
swaying, clicking and tapping the rhythm on carved music sticks and boomerangs. It was hypnotic and Olivia felt her head drooping with drowsiness. Tyndall leaned over and whispered to Ahmed, who quietly rose and led Olivia down to the dinghy. As they rowed out to the lugger, Olivia sleepily listened to the rhythmic splish-splash of the oars. The faint moonlight outlined the fat shape of the
Bulan
and it crossed her mind it looked like a ghostly moon ship. Behind, on the shore, the bright blaze of the campfire flickered over the dark shapes of the figures huddled around it. The haunting music drifted across the water. ‘What are they singing about, Ahmed?’ ‘Their people song. They always sing about their people and this place. They bin here long time, mem.’

Olivia slipped into her bunk and fell asleep, feeling very at home in the strange cramped womb of the lugger.

In the morning there was much activity as the
Bulan
prepared to get under way. Olivia realised they were not going ashore again and was disappointed she was not able to farewell her Aboriginal friends. Standing at the rail as they were about to raise the anchor, she saw two dugout canoes paddle towards them. Ahmed and Tyndall went to the starboard side and hailed the approaching canoes.

Joining them, Olivia asked, ‘What do they want?’

‘Just saying goodbye, we won’t see them for who knows how long,’ replied Tyndall, lifting his cap to salute them.

The men in the first canoe called and waved. The other craft held an elder and the two women Olivia regarded as her friends and benefactors. They signalled that they wished to come in close and, bumping gently against the
Bulan’s
beam, threw a small package onto the deck and shouted a message.

Tyndall picked up the parcel wrapped in woven grass cloth. ‘They say it’s a gift for you. For good luck.’

‘Oh my, I wish I could give them something in return. Tell them that, and thank you,’ she said in a rush, overcome by the gesture.

Tyndall called down to them and they shouted back in return. He turned to Olivia. ‘The women would like your hat. Are you willing to part with it?’

‘Of course,’ laughed Olivia.

Tyndall tilted her chin and swiftly undid the ribbon. Lifting the straw bonnet from her hair he threw it down to them. Both women reached for it, but the one who grabbed it promptly tied it over her unruly bush of hair.

Olivia was delighted at the sight of the near-naked woman in a straw hat.

Well pleased with themselves they turned and paddled back towards the shore. As the small dugout faded in the distance, the anchor of the
Bulan
rattled over the bow and the mainsail slid up the mast. Olivia stood gazing in the direction of the shore until it became a thin black line on the horizon.

When they were safely at sea Olivia unrolled the parcel. Inside was a bangle with a dark brown and green pattern woven into pale plaited grass. She slipped it on her wrist but it was too large.

‘It’s an amulet, a symbol of their family line,’ explained Tyndall. ‘It’s supposed to bring good luck.’

‘How lovely.’ Olivia slipped it over her muslin sleeve. ‘I’ll keep it close to me.’

The affinity she felt for these women was strengthened. She knew they wished her well and in their own way were helping her, and the knowledge gave her a sense of well–being and security. Their friendship was very special to her and she resolved to see them again.

A stiff breeze sent the heavily loaded lugger barrelling along, but a rising swell made the deck sloppy with wash so Olivia went below. Soon a bank of clouds appeared on the northern horizon and Tyndall tapped the barometer. ‘It’s dropping,’ he said in Malay, then added quietly, ‘I don’t like the look of this, friend. If it gets lower we’ll have to make a run for shelter.’

‘A long way till a break in the coast, tuan.’

‘Get me the chart.’

The Malay opened the hatch and dropped down the steps beside the bunk on which Olivia was resting. He smiled, found the map and bounced back on deck.

Shortly afterwards she felt the boat change course and begin to roll dramatically. She stumbled up the steps. ‘Whatever is happening?’

‘We’re heading out to sea.’ Tyndall gestured to the fast-moving clouds to the north. ‘There’s a bit of a blow coming up. I’m running for shelter at an island I know. Just a precaution,’ he said calmly, but at that moment a wave of green water came over the port
gunwale, swirled deeply across the deck and caused the boat to roll violently.

Olivia screamed.

‘Now, don’t panic, woman. We’re not sinking, but we’ll have to ditch some of the deck cargo.’ He shouted to the crew and they leapt at the lashings, slashed them with their knives and quickly dumped the bags over the side. ‘Right men, the sails,’ he shouted as soon as they were finished. ‘Olivia, on deck,’ he commanded. ‘I’m going to put her nose into the wind. Take the helm and hold her there while we take in the sheets.’

She clambered out of the hatch, lurched to the stern and stood by Tyndall as he swung the Bulan into the wind and the waves until the sails were flapping wildly. She took the wheel, panic rising, but remembered how Tyndall had shown her how to point into the wind when they had dropped anchor at the beach. She held the boat steady for the few minutes the crew needed to expertly reef in the main and mizzen.

Tyndall then dashed back to her, swung the wheel and instantly the smaller sails filled and the lugger surged west, handling noticeably better.

He turned and smiled at her. ‘Thanks. You look lovely when you’re wet.’

She was suddenly aware that she was drenched with spray, her hair plastered, clothes clinging to her body. Then, choosing to ignore her appearance and his remark, she asked, ‘How serious is it?’

‘A willy willy on the way, I’d say. We’re coming into the monsoon season so it’s not that much of a
surprise. It could peter out or blow like the devil. I’m not taking any chances. There’s an island a couple of hours away where we can shelter safely. You’d better get below.’

He spoke lightly and calmly but Olivia could sense a tenseness. However, his air of being in control of any situation reassured her and she stumbled back across the heaving deck to the cabin.

For several hours she sat on the bunk listening to the crash of the water and the howling wind, and became worried when the night began to set in and they were still at sea. It was a huge relief when Tyndall shouted triumphantly, ‘Land ho’.

The island was not much more than a dark smudge rising and falling behind the waves but the entrance to the sheltering lagoon was clearly marked by the white wash of the pounding surf on the rocks. They went in at speed with the wind astern and immediately found themselves among a fleet of luggers at anchor.

They anchored well clear of the other boats and paid out a lot of line for a secure hold on the bottom. The Koepangers and Ahmed scurried to the fo’c’sle for shelter and Tyndall climbed into the cabin and secured the hatch.

It was stuffy and muggy and Olivia felt uncomfortable patches of perspiration well from her body. ‘It sounds like it should be cold, not hot,’ she said, as the wind howled around them.

‘It’s going to get worse. We’ll be down here for some time I’m afraid,’ said Tyndall. ‘Have some water. When the eye comes, it’ll be calm for a bit, then
comes the other side of the storm and we have to sit that out. But at least you know it’s almost over,’ he added with a grin.

During their seemingly endless wait, Olivia asked Tyndall about his early years in Ireland, but he brushed that aside and regaled her instead with outrageous tales of adventure from his sailing days on whalers.

Olivia sat and listened, her eyes wide, her laugh often disbelieving. ‘It all sounds like something out of an adventure book. What wild places you’ve been to, Captain Tyndall. Are you ever going to settle down to a normal life?’

‘What’s normal?’ he asked, but before she could compose a reply Olivia became aware of a lull in the storm.

The silence and stillness of the eye of the storm was eerie, and they sat in silence. Then as if someone had opened a door, the wind returned.

The stuffiness and pitching of the boat made Olivia feel queasy and she began to doubt the wisdom of going on this trip. She lay back and closed her eyes, trying to think of anything but where she was.

Just as she thought she could bear it no longer, it was over. They went on deck for fresh air and to see if there was any damage. All was intact. Ahmed and Tyndall exchanged a satisfied look, both pleased the
Bulan
had come through this test.

They all spent a restless night as insects and mosquitoes swarmed over the lugger from the nearby mangroves and thick cover of trees.

In the morning Ahmed made a breakfast of sweet rice and dried fruit which they ate on the deck.

‘All seems quiet on the other boats. They must have stayed ashore,’ commented Olivia.

‘We’ll go see what’s going on after we’ve checked the boat,’ said Tyndall.

While the men worked the deck, checked the hold and then the rigging, Olivia straightened the little galley, marvelling at how Ahmed turned out meals on a small kerosene spirit stove in such a cramped space. She washed herself in a bucket of water and put on her second pyjama outfit and bound her hair up on her head where it felt cooler. She took a small jar of rose–scented face cream from her small bag and rubbed it into her face to protect her skin, which was growing darker by the day.

At mid–morning Tyndall and Ahmed lowered the dinghy, waited for Olivia to expertly clamber into it and they rowed ashore. They followed a sandy path through the scrubby bush when suddenly they heard voices, laughter and shouts. Tyndall and Ahmed arrived first at the break in the trees and they stopped in shock at the sight that met their eyes.

Before Olivia could see what was going on in the clearing ahead, Tyndall pulled off his battered skipper’s hat and handed it to her. ‘Put this on, pull it down low. Don’t talk to anyone and stay well back,’ he commanded urgently.

At the tone of his voice she didn’t argue and peered past the two men standing in the shadows of the trees, their presence as yet unnoticed.

Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth at the scene before her.

In the centre of the clearing, a small wooden platform had been erected and standing along it were six miserable naked women, roped together. Varying in age, four were Aborigines, one was of mixed Chinese and Aboriginal blood, while the other, the youngest of them, was an exotic mix of races and stunningly beautiful. Her wide, frightened dark eyes, and lithe tall body made Olivia think of a forest deer.

‘What is going on?’ she whispered in shock.

‘It’s a
barracoon
… slave market. Didn’t think it was still going on.’

Olivia was too stunned to answer.