The Songmaster (46 page)

Shareen shook hands, looking a little overwhelmed at the company and the setting. As Rowena also greeted the two academics, Beth led Shareen forward to where Ardjani and Digger were seated. There was a brief hesitation in the woman’s reaction to being confronted by the two old men, lost in the shadows, the firelight reflected in their dark, non-committal eyes.

Shareen shook hands briefly, murmured that she appreciated the opportunity to be there, and retreated.

‘Where will I be staying?’ she whispered to Rowena.

‘Hunter will set your gear up. Talk to Beth. She’s in charge.’ Rowena headed towards her room in the Barradja camp. Beth looked at the short dark woman, who appeared most uncomfortable. ‘This is a surprise. Didn’t know this area was part of your electorate-to-be.’

‘The electorate I stand for hasn’t been decided yet,’ she said, glaring at Beth. ‘It was suggested I come here to balance the story, so to speak.’

‘I didn’t mean out of your area in the physical sense,’ said Beth. ‘You’re not known for your support of Aboriginal issues. In fact, if anything, I’m told you are a bit against such things.’ Before Shareen could protest, Beth continued, ‘Which makes us especially pleased you’re here. Now, come and meet Billy. He and Hunter will get you set up in no time.’

‘I’m not a camper person, you understand . . .’

‘Shareen, don’t worry. You’re not alone in that.’ Beth led her over to where Billy, helped by Mick and Veronica, was preparing extra food in the cooking area now the intimate group had swollen to such interesting proportions.

Andrew slipped away, following the track the boy had taken towards the river. And in the moonlight, he saw him leading Susan back. He let out a shrill whistle and called, ‘Catch anything?’

Susan stopped, the whistle, so abhorred by city women, not even noticed. She shoved her fishing reel and tin of bait at young Luke and made a dash at Andrew, who swung her up in his arms. ‘Hey, there!’

‘Well, you might have told us when you were arriving. Look, dinner!’ She waved a fish at him. He took it and gave it to the grinning boy as he hugged her tightly once more.

‘So you’ve become a fisherwoman.’

‘I’ve learned a lot of things.’ She linked her arm through his and Andrew sensed a change from the girl he’d shown around Yandoo. There was a different confidence about her. He hadn’t imagined she’d be fishing in the dark along the banks of a river where crocodiles – even if freshies – swam. He leaned down and kissed her warmly.

Young Luke watched this with some concern. He was approaching the age when women and girls were taboo and this was an unfamiliar ritual to him. His face looked reassured as they broke apart and Susan took his hand, her other clasped in Andrew’s, and they headed for the highly active group about the campfire.

T
he smell of toast and campfire smoke drew the group from their tents for the first morning cup of tea from Billy’s vast iron kettle hanging over the fire. Beth tilted the kettle, pouring hot tea into a mug, and handed it to Shareen. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Off and on. I kept hearing small noises and wondering about animals and such. I’m used to road noises. The silence out here is a bit scary.’

‘Safer out here than anywhere else in the country, I reckon. Pull up a chair, it’s the blokes’ turn to do breakfast.’

Susan and Veronica joined them. Veronica took the lead. ‘So, tell us about yourself, Shareen. Do you have a family?’

‘Divorced. Two kids. But they’re starting to do their own thing, so I’m a free agent.’

‘So you have no commitments. Is that why you went into politics?’

Susan studied the would-be politician, noting her stiff body language, her constant formal manner, her careful answers as if anything she said would be quoted in the press the next day. She’d obviously been schooled in putting forward a professional front. Even the beehive hairdo was in place. Did she sleep with it like that, she wondered.

‘I was working in a small business, feeling very frustrated at the way the country is being run, how the politicians don’t listen to us ordinary people. And when that Pauline Hanson got herself elected saying just what I thought, too, I figured it’s time I stood up and tried to do something about making things better for the little people.’

‘So what, you cashed in the business? Must cost a bit to set up a campaign office and so on,’ said Susan.

‘Yeah, who’s bankrolling you?’ asked Beth, and Veronica and Susan could have kicked her, knowing Shareen wouldn’t respond to such bluntness.

‘I have the support of a lot of ordinary Australians.’

‘What’s that mean, though? So they give you a couple of dollars, what are you going to give them? I mean, how are you and others like you, if you get elected, going to change things? What do you think needs to be changed?’ persisted Beth.

Shareen gave a tight smile. ‘Well, for a start the country has to get out of debt, that’s the cause of all evil. You know the top people in governments round the world are all controlled by the money cartels, IMF, World Bank and the financial families. This new world order is going to bring us down.’

‘I don’t quarrel with debt being a political factor in the country’s economy,’ began Susan, ‘but you’re painting a pretty big picture. How would you go about changing these things?’

‘I want the farmers and rural workers onside. Control the food supply and you control the economy, get rid of free-market ideologies. Look at the grain cartels, they’re all part of the grand alliance to manipulate us.’

Beth and Susan exchanged a glance. ‘So you subscribe to a conspiracy theory then? Where do you lay the blame?’ asked Beth knowing what the answer would be.

‘The banks, the Fabians, the Jews, the FBI, the CIA, the communists, the environmentalists, they’re all partly to blame. We have to set a new agenda and listen to what ordinary Australians want.’

This speech rolled out of Shareen like a set piece she’d recited many times over. Realising she had a less than sympathetic audience, she closed the subject. ‘I don’t think this is the place to run through my manifesto. I do have people to back me up and I’m still forming my ideas, based on what I see and hear.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ said Beth. ‘Look and listen while you’re here with the Barradja. You might learn something.’

Alistair had drifted quietly into the group by the fire and stood warming his hands on his tea mug. ‘Good morning, ladies. Beth, I’m sure Shareen would be interested in joining us with the elders this morning to decide if we lawyers are going to become involved in helping the Barradja people.’

‘Now wait a minute, just what do you mean, you’re helping these people? That puts me in an awkward position.’ Shareen was defensive, felt trapped and wished Andrew was there. ‘I came here with an open mind. I had a very informative meeting with the pastoralists yesterday. I don’t want to appear to be taking any sides here.’

‘An open mind, Shareen, that’s all we ask.’ Beth stood up. ‘Let’s get breakfast. Mick, Alan and Hunter seem to have the grub ready.’

Rowena joined them and peered at the thick porridge with some distaste. ‘It looks like something you’d use to build a house with.’ She sat next to Shareen. ‘Listen, we have to get you to Bungarra to meet the artists. Their paintings are sold for thousands of dollars in galleries all over the world.’

‘Why would people pay so much for it? And if they earn so much, why do they need taxpayers’
money in welfare handouts? If I work hard and earn money, then I believe I’m entitled to keep that money and not hand it around to a lot of bludgers who will waste it, or gamble and drink it.’ Shareen’s lips settled into a thin line.

‘Bludgers? What’s that mean?’

While Shareen explained the Australian expression to Rowena, Beth took Alistair, Mick and Susan aside. ‘God help Australia if that woman ever gets into politics. She’s a sure bet for any right-wing front that wants a voice in parliament.’

Alistair nodded. ‘In the meantime, it’s time for our meeting with Ardjani.’

‘Are we fair dinkum going to find out what they really want?’ asked Mick.

Beth didn’t waver. ‘It’s true the Barradja elders have many plans. And their plans could be realised if you were prepared to help on a practical level with advice and guidance.’

‘We’d certainly like to hear what the elders have to say before making any commitment,’ said Alistair.

Susan gave Beth a good-natured nudge in the arm. ‘I swear, if I were a more cynical person than the sweet naive girl I am, I’d think that you and the old men got us all up here for just that reason.’

Beth threw up her hands in mock horror. ‘Who me? Never.’ But her light-heartedness was immediately replaced by a more serious tone, tinged with tiredness. ‘I’ve devoted twenty-plus
years to helping these people and I’ve never taken a penny for it. The leaders like Ardjani are in their seventies and they fear, unless things are settled quickly, they won’t see their culture secured before they die. And I want that for them. More than anything.’

It struck Susan that Beth’s devotion to the Barradja outweighed everything else in her life.

The meeting was set beneath a tree. Ardjani stuck the simple, carved law stick in the ground, setting the air of formality to the proceedings.

Lilian, Jennifer and Beth quietly directed the newcomers where to sit, so that protocol, seniority and law were observed. Some sat on small stools, upturned drums, canvas chairs or on the ground. Ardjani held a long cardboard tube in front of him. When everyone was settled and at a nod from Rusty, he began.

‘We are the Barradja people, we live in our law and this mob here, this Barradja mob,’ he pointed at Digger, Rusty, Lilian and Jennifer with her baby, ‘we just a little mob. Most of our people be away just now. But we speak for all our people.’

He took a rolled map from the paper tube. ‘Our land gives us our identity. We lived here when we were young fellas as our people always done. Then around fifty years ago, other people came here and these white families were given pastoral leases for cattle. Maybe twelve big places. Nobody asked us if that was okay. We
were just rubbish people under the authority of the Crown. Then we get moved to other places and we cannot come back.’

He spread the map on the ground and signalled to the outsiders of the circle to reach for small rocks to anchor its corners. He knelt down and pointed. ‘All this 200,000 square kilometres, this is Barradja country, since creation time.’ Susan and Alistair knelt beside him to study the map. ‘Since the 1950s, we been asking that our people can come back here.’

‘So how come you can stay here on this little piece of your land?’ asked Rowena.

‘When the Pastoral Award came in, saying the white bosses got to pay Aboriginal workers the same as white men, they can’t afford this so they had to let the black workers go.’

‘Which meant all their families had to go, too?’ Mick asked.

‘Yeah, they all drift into towns, get on the grog. Things no good when they go off the stations,’ agreed Ardjani. ‘So some people ask their pastoralists to give them just a little bit, an excision, maybe three square kilometres like this one, so they can camp there and not in town.’

‘Did they agree?’

‘Not all. But some station owners are good people. Then the government got into it and made the pastoralists responsible for roads and all that stuff, so most didn’t want to do it. People who owned Eagle Rock long time back agreed. So that’s how we got to stay here on
Marrenyikka. It just be a matchbox, eh?’ Ardjani gave a rueful smile.

‘With few legal rights obviously,’ said Mick.

Ardjani circled their immediate surroundings with his arm. ‘So we make a claim for just a small bit of our land, 50,000 square kilometres, so we can live here in our country.’

‘Excuse me, Ardjani, are there pastoral leases on this land you’re claiming?’ Susan spoke up, not shy of breaking the hypnotic spell Ardjani’s voice was weaving.

‘No. It Crown land.’

‘But we want to go to our sites and take our friends. They on whitefella leases,’ interjected Rusty.

‘So you’ve already lodged a Native Title claim for this Crown land? What’s happened?’ asked Alistair.

‘More better to say land rights. The Land Council don’t like that we represent ourselves. Lawyers from Aboriginal Legal Service don’t listen to us, so now we want to do things our way, and we ask for whitefella legal help.’