The Songmaster (50 page)

‘That’s an invitation I won’t refuse.’ He settled himself and Susan cuddled close, resting her head on his chest. ‘So why have you been awake?’

‘Just thinking,’ she murmured. ‘So much happened yesterday. As it seems to every day out here. I feel like my life is running at fast forward.’

Andrew stroked her hair. ‘Is that good or bad? You’re certainly cramming a lot into this outback experience, eh?’

‘Andrew, it’s more than that.’ She paused; this was the one person she wanted to describe
her spinning feelings to, and yet she wondered if he would really understand.

‘Go on.’ He sensed the hesitation in her.

‘I don’t know what I was thinking. It was just an impetuous decision to come here. Now I’m wondering if I want to be the best lawyer in Sydney. I’ve listened to Alistair and Mick, seen how they’re questioning their lives.’

‘So what would you do instead?’

‘I don’t want to give up the law, but I feel something changing in me. Maybe I could use my legal training to help people like the Barradja . . .’

His arms tightened around her. ‘It’s natural you’d feel that way when you’re here, so far removed from your normal life. And the Barradja have obviously made a huge impact. You need to go back to the city first and then reassess.’

As she snuggled against him, he began to think that there could possibly be a life for someone like Susan up here, that she could find a niche for herself. The idea warmed him and stirred deeper feelings.

He kissed the top of her head, wondering whether she had become too infatuated with this whole Barradja experience. Selfishly, he hoped the Kimberley had instilled in her an attachment to the land that he’d always loved. He hoped this might mean there was a future for their relationship. Andrew held her, and she was comforted by the security of his arms.

The closeness of her body, the sweet smell of her skin and hair, aroused his desire. He began kissing her throat and lips, moving his hands around her breasts. Susan responded to his gently insistent foreplay and in minutes they were pressed together, naked, beneath the cover of the feather-light sleeping bag. They made love, whispering together, their bodies warming each other as dew trickled down the skin of the tent and in the bush nearby, small night creatures began returning to their shelters, knowing that day was due.

Susan was first up, leaving Andrew asleep. Streamers of early morning mist floated between the tents. It was a mournful light, reflecting the pall of sadness that clung to the little camp from the memories of the previous day and the night’s discussion of the stolen art that had lasted until the fire burned out.

Alistair had phoned Len Steele from the Oka and described the theft, saying that he’d already informed the Kununurra police. Len had been shocked this could happen on his property, and he admitted to Alistair that he’d had no idea this rock art could be so valuable that it would attract professional art thieves.

But while the white Australians had been outraged by the theft, they knew their feelings counted little compared to the devastation it had wrought on the Barradja.

Seeing a thin plume of smoke rising from the Barradja camp, Susan wandered over carrying her mug and a tea bag, hoping the billy had boiled.

She was relieved to see the Barradja going about their morning routine. Rusty, Digger and Barwon had been on an early morning hunt – a gutted, fat goanna sizzled over hot coals. Ardjani sat on the other side of the fire, cross-legged, facing his two sons.

Rusty and Digger made room for Susan, pouring hot water into her mug and offering the tin of condensed milk.

Ardjani had tried to explain to the boys the loss of the guyon guyon, the effect it would have on their lives, their children’s lives, and their descendants. The boys listened intently, then the three sat in silence for a little while before Ardjani announced it was time to continue the morning’s business.

It was wudu time and the lesson today was tracking. Using his knuckles and the heel of his right palm, Ardjani deftly created paw prints in the soft earth and talked of how the Barradja men knew when animals had been through their country by grass crushed, small pebbles over-turned, droppings left in different sizes and smells. Ardjani stood, pressed his foot in the soft dirt, and bid Luke and Joshua do the same. Then he showed them how to examine the multitude of clues contained in a footprint.

Susan watched, fascinated, recalling tales of
legendary blacktrackers who could ‘read’ a footprint and describe the physical appearance of the person who’d made it, know when they’d made it, and even tell their mental or emotional state from it.

If anyone had noticed Andrew’s exit from Susan’s tent, no one gave any indication as she walked back from the Barradja camp. There was a huddled group around the fire eating breakfast. The art theft and Rowena’s part in it, now revealed, was the only subject of discussion.

Mick poured milk on his cereal. ‘Ardjani will have to get the talking stick out today, that’s for sure. Rowena’s been holding something back all along, I reckon. She came out here to exploit their culture and now she’s looking to them for help.’

‘Ardjani is very wise in these matters, he’s the best one to help her,’ said Beth. ‘When Rowena tried to tell him about some European count behind the theft last night, she was too hysterical to talk properly. Ardjani got Jennifer to put her to bed and said he’d listen to her story today when she was calmer. Now she’s gone from her room. Nobody’s seen her anywhere this morning.’

Shareen turned away tight lipped. She couldn’t imagine how these white people could air their problems before a bunch of elderly Aborigines, thinking that talking to Ardjani
could solve everything. Still, it was nothing to do with her. She’d always battled on her own – before her miserable marriage, and after her divorce. No one had helped her, she reminded her two sons every time they’d asked for money.

‘You look far away, what are you thinking about?’ asked Susan.

‘I was just thinking about my kids,’ said Shareen.

‘Miss them?’

‘Not really. I mean, yes . . . that’s why I was thinking about them . . .’ Her face twisted and Susan dropped the subject.

By mid-morning there was still no sign of Rowena. Susan and Andrew had been roped into a game with the youngsters, racing to the river bank and back, with Rusty acting as starter and judge.

Billy set out the plates and cutlery as the rest of the group and the elders gathered for lunch. Andrew and Susan joined them, making room for Luke and Joshua to sit beside them. Shareen hung back, waiting to find a place at the table that suited her, as she always did. She caught Luke gazing at her with wide, serious eyes. She gave him a brief smile, then, seeing scars on his legs, asked conversationally, ‘What happened to your legs?’

‘Gadia fellas set their dogs on me goin’ t’school. I was just a little kid.’

Shareen recoiled, wishing she hadn’t asked. Beth, overhearing the exchange, said quietly. ‘Yeah, four white blokes set their dogs onto the kids, to “show the black bastards” was how they put it. Pretty pathetic to sool big mongrel dogs onto a couple of small kiddies on their way to school. For no reason other than racial hatred. The whites were drunk, but that’s no excuse.’

‘Drink brings out the worst in people,’ said Shareen lamely. ‘My father drank.’

Lilian surprised Shareen with her sympathetic response. ‘I know how it be. Grog send the men crazy.’ She tapped Shareen on the shoulder. ‘That why we don’ allow no grog in here.’ The two women’s eyes met. For a rare second, they shared an experience. Then Shareen stood and formally excused herself, saying she had to fetch something from her tent.

Barwon and Rusty walked over and Digger, carrying the rifle, followed them.

‘What’s with the gun?’ asked Veronica.

‘Going huntin’, need tucker,’ he explained. He patted the old but well-cared-for .22.

‘Where’d you learn to handle a gun?’ asked Billy.

‘In the army. That’s where I get me name – Digger.’

‘You enlisted?’ asked Alistair.

‘You bet. Big mob of us sign up, do army
training and go to New Guinea. Not good place.’ He grinned. ‘Better here. But we win the war, eh?’

As the men walked off towards their truck, Susan caught sight of Jennifer heading towards the river.

‘What’s with the dilly bag? You going food gathering?’ she called out.

Jennifer adjusted the string bag on her shoulder. ‘No. I’m worried about Rowena. She hasn’t come back from her walk. I’m going after her. This is my clever bag, my medicine bag. Just in case.’

‘Can I come with you?’

The two young women walked through the bush, comfortable in each other’s company, as if they’d been friends for years, until Susan said, ‘I’m going to miss this . . . being able to walk out in the bush, it’s so peaceful. It’s solitary, but you don’t feel alone. I thought I’d be scared being out here in the middle of nowhere. I’ve never felt so safe, as I do here.’

Jennifer laughed softly. ‘I don’t like the city. Darwin’s all right, but I feel strange in Perth and Adelaide, so big and busy.’

‘You don’t miss that side of your job? The nursing? Medicine? Will you go back to work in a big hospital?’

Jennifer looked at her in surprise. ‘No, not at all. This is my job now, learning our medicine,
our healing. With my white medicine and the old ways, I feel I can help my people. It’s great to have the Flying Doctor as a back-up, but unless we train our people, we won’t ever improve the Aboriginal health problem. It’s a big problem. You know how bad it is. Our life expectancy is half that of white people, too many of our babies die, and illnesses like diabetes and glaucoma are out of control in some areas.’

Susan gave her a shrewd look. ‘You ever thought of going into politics, Jennifer?’

She gave a half smile. ‘This is politics. I have to gently introduce outside ideas – like hygiene practices – that don’t conflict with the laws, and that don’t step on the old men’s toes. I talk to the senior women and when appropriate, they quietly tell the elders. Then the elders bring it up and it gets discussed and they don’t lose face.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Aboriginal women wield a lot of power, but softly softly.’

They walked on for a few minutes then Susan asked, ‘My friend Veronica . . . she told me about the baby spirit pond. Will she . . . do you think . . . will she get pregnant?’ Susan rushed on, ‘I get the feeling she is setting so much hope by the whole thing . . . I just worry for her. She’s been disappointed so many times. And she had this dream the other night . . .’

Jennifer stopped and turned to Susan. ‘What dream?’

‘Maybe I shouldn’t tell you, she should. But she keeps thinking she’s drowning, she sinks
down in the lily pond and all the waterlilies are flowering under the water. It’s bothering her.’

Jennifer touched her arm. ‘No, this is wonderful. This is the lily dream, it means the totem has entered her egg and when she goes back her husband will give her the baby spirit from the lily pond. The baby spirit is waiting for her.’

Susan was about to argue that this didn’t sit comfortably with modern medical knowledge, but she caught herself. ‘So the baby’s totem is a waterlily?’

‘Yes. She is going to come back here.’ Jennifer clapped her hands. ‘In one year, you and Veronica, everyone, will come back and we will smoke Veronica’s baby girl. Yes, we’ll have a good ceremony, then.’

Susan laughed it off. ‘Oh, it’s a girl. She’d better call her Lily, eh?’ But she decided not to mention the conversation to Veronica. Just in case nothing happened.

They’d walked for about twenty minutes. ‘Where do you think Rowena went? She could be anywhere.’

Jennifer pointed at the ground. ‘I’m following her tracks. She isn’t far away.’

Susan thought back to the young boys and their tracking lesson with Ardjani around the fire that morning. ‘Are girls taught how to track?’

‘Not normally. But when I was young and
we all played together, I used to watch the boys tracking animals. We girls were shown symbols and what they mean. My mother and aunties drew images in the sand to teach me. And they taught me about love rituals and things like that.’

‘Sounds like more fun than playing with dolls!’

‘We were never brought up to think, like white women have been, that all we women have to contribute is to be mothers and have babies. Much of the mothering work is shared, so we can learn other things – art and spiritual knowledge, for example. That’s important for us, too.’

‘Look!’ interrupted Susan.

They saw Rowena in the distance. She sat hunched against a large rock. Her body was now so thin she looked like a shadow puppet, thought Susan.

‘Rowena!’

Even from a distance her body language was fearful. Susan had the feeling that even if they’d been beside her when she shouted, Rowena would have been oblivious to their presence.

Jennifer held her clever bag to her side and hurried forward, Susan in her wake. Rowena stirred and rose shakily to her feet, looking vaguely around her. She started walking away from them. Susan was about to call out again
when Jennifer stopped in front of her, holding out an arm to halt their progress. ‘What? What is it?’ asked Susan in a low voice, sensing the warning in Jennifer’s gesture.