The White Girl

by Birch, Tony;

  ‘What will they be X-raying?’

  ‘Just my leg,’ Odette lied. ‘I have a sore leg.’

  ‘When did you hurt your leg?’

  ‘I never really hurt it. It’s just worn out over the years. The bones, the doctor thinks.’

  ‘Will it hurt you? The X-ray?’

  Odette rested a hand on Sissy’s shoulder. ‘Stay still, Love, I need some help getting out of this tub. And no, the X-ray won’t hurt. The machine takes a picture of the inside of your body. That’s all it does.’

  ‘And did he say what they will do at the hospital to fix your leg?’

  Odette tousled Sissy’s hair. ‘It’s always questions with you. Don’t worry yourself over me. Hey, it’s getting cold out. We’ll have an early tea tonight and listen to the radio.’

  Later that night, lying in bed, Sissy listened as Odette explained what her granddaughter was to do while she was away in Gatlin. ‘I don’t expect I’ll be back until late at night. You be sure to come straight back here after school, won’t you?’

  ‘I always do, Nan.’

  ‘And the spare key to the door. I’ll tie it with some string and leave it on the kitchen table for you. Before you leave for school you hang the key around your neck and leave it there for the day. You’ll be sure not to lose it.’

  Sissy couldn’t understand why her grandmother was fussing so much. ‘We never use the key for the door, Nan.’

  ‘Well, I want you to use it tomorrow. You lock the door when you leave the house for school and again when you come home.’

  ‘Why would I lock the door when I’m in the house?’ Sissy asked, suddenly a little anxious herself. She thought back to the Sunday morning she’d seen the shadowy figure out on the street, through the front window, and realised it could only have been the new policeman in town.

  ‘Because I’m telling you to,’ Odette said. ‘That’s why. Like I’ve just explained to you, I don’t expect to be back here until after dark.’ She took hold of Sissy’s hand. ‘There’s bread and cheese. Biscuits, too. If you want to make yourself something warm, there are tins of beans in the pantry.’

  Sissy squeezed her grandmother’s hand, attempting to reassure her that she would be fine. ‘I’ll wait for you for my teatime, Nan. I don’t want to eat until you get home.’

  ‘Please yourself then.’

  Sissy rested her head on the pillow and listened to her grandmother’s deep, slow breaths as she drifted off to sleep.

  Sissy woke in darkness. The feeling of being alone in the house that morning was different from how she felt when Odette went to the mission or into town. Although Gatlin was only forty miles away, it could just as well be another country. She pulled the blanket over her shoulders and tried to go back to sleep but soon gave up. She lit the fire in the woodstove and made her own breakfast, then washed and dressed. When she left the house, she locked the front door and hung the key around her neck, just as Odette had instructed her to do.

  Riding home from school that afternoon, Sissy followed her usual route. When she reached the riverbed track she stopped. She looked along the trail leading away from town. The afternoon sun was at her shoulder and the sky was big and blue. She put her foot to the pedal and rode on, enjoying the freedom as she pedalled past dilapidated farm sheds, empty silos and the occasional herd of scrawny cattle. The track narrowed, widened again and skirted the bends of the riverbed. Sissy steered the bike around a corner and saw a horse up ahead, leaning its head over a wire fence. She was fond of horses and had read many books about them. She lay the bike down on the track, pulled up a clump of dry grass and slowly approached the animal.

  ‘Hello, boy. I bet you’re hungry.’ She offered the horse the grass. He lifted his head in the air, showing no interest in either Sissy or the offering. ‘You want it? I know you want some grass.’ The horse slowly lowered his head. His neck brushed against the wire fence. He sniffed the grass and bit into the clump, displaying a set of yellowed teeth. ‘There you are. Good boy,’ Sissy whispered, gently petting the horse on the neck. She fed him another handful of grass and looked across to the field beyond, infested with thistle and blackberry weed and strewn with machinery. There was an old farmhouse in the distance. She looked over her shoulder. If Nan discovered that she’d trespassed on someone’s property, white property, she would be in trouble. But there was nobody around and Sissy could not resist the temptation to explore.

  She crossed the paddock and made her way along a pathway to the front veranda. The windows of the house were boarded up with sheets of corrugated iron and the front door hung limply from its hinges. Sissy hesitated before going inside. The ceiling in the hallway had collapsed and the floral wallpaper was peeling away from the walls. In one of the front rooms a sheet of plaster had fallen from the ceiling onto a bed. Dust covered every surface. The tracks of either a rat or possum were visible on a sideboard under the front window.

  Sissy opened the door of an ornately carved wardrobe. It was full of women’s dresses, scarves and coats. She reached out and touched the sleeve of a red velvet dress pitted with moth holes. The material fell apart in her hands. In the mirror in the centre of the wardrobe, Sissy could see the fireplace and mantle behind her. A large gilded portrait sat above the mantle. She walked across the room and stood in front of the frame. It was a photograph of a white family, standing in front of the house. The men in the photograph wore suits, the women dresses and straw hats. Children sat in front of the adults. The girls had beautiful long hair and wore white dresses. Sissy put a finger to the glass and imagined herself wearing such a fine dress. On the edge of the group, at a slight distance from the family, stood two Aboriginal women. The older woman had her arms crossed over her breasts and looked sternly into the camera. The younger woman refused the lens completely, looking off to one side.

  Sissy left the room and continued to explore, walking lightly and breathing quietly. In the kitchen at the rear of the house a long wooden table was set for dinner, the crockery and cutlery neatly arranged. She counted eight places. Each of the dinner plates was covered in a layer of dust and the tarnished cutlery had blackened. She heard the scurrying of feet, turned and saw the head of a large ginger bush cat pop up from a hole between the rotting floorboards. Sissy had seen wild cats before and wasn’t afraid of them, although she knew they could be dangerous.

  ‘Hey, puss,’ she whispered. ‘Is this your house?’

  The cat hissed violently and disappeared into the hole. Sissy felt a chill at her back and quickly left the house.

  Walking back to the track to collect her bike, Sissy puzzled over the family in the portrait. What would cause them to abandon their own home and leave all their clothes and furniture behind? She had no idea. She wondered about the two Aboriginal women. They would have been away from their own families, working for the white people. Although her grandmother never spoke to her about girls in the district who’d been taken away from their families, Sissy had heard stories at school about missing sisters, cousins and friends. In the schoolyard at lunchtime they would sometimes argue over who the Welfare Board went after, the dark or fair children. They would line up from the darkest to the lightest skinned. Sissy always found herself at the end of the line, not sure if she was the safest or if she might be the next child to be taken.

  It wasn’t long before the track veered and ended at a wooden bridge. On the other side of the bridge the track widened into a gravel road. Sissy absentmindedly pedalled on, listening as the gravel crackled beneath her. The sun was almost down before she realised how far she’d ridden. She was hungry and tired. The front wheel of her bike started wobbling from side to side. She hopped off the bike and felt the front tyre. It had a puncture in it. A dog howled in the distance. A little further on she saw a dull pair of eyes heading towards her. It was a truck, its engine grunting like an angry old man.

  The engine coughed and murmured as the truck p
ulled up alongside her. A teenage boy stuck his head out of the window, a cigarette resting lazily on his bottom lip. He didn’t speak. He looked down at Sissy, drew on his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the road.

  Sissy attempted to straddle the seat but knocked her leg against the back wheel of the bike and fell to the ground. The truck inched past and pulled up ahead of her.

  The driver jumped out of the cabin, springing to the ground like a cat. He stood in the middle of the road, resting his hands on his hips. ‘What are you doing all the way out here at night?’

  Sissy sat up, aware she may be in danger. She heard Odette’s voice in her ear, Stay strong. ‘I’ve been riding my bike,’ she said. ‘And I got a puncture.’

  ‘You’re a long way from home. Ours is the only place this far out of town. Where’d you come from?’

  She was unsure how she should answer. ‘I live at Quarrytown,’ she said.

  The driver stuck his head in the truck. ‘You hear that, George? The girl’s from Quarrytown.’ He leaned his back against the truck. ‘Shit. You’re some distance from Quarrytown,’ he said to Sissy. ‘How’d you end up out here?’

  While the boy appeared friendly, Sissy didn’t trust him. She got to her feet and picked up the bike. ‘Like I said, I rode the bike.’

  ‘You hear that, George?’ he called to the passenger. ‘This girl’s been doing some riding. Give me a look at that bike,’ he said, turning his attention back to Sissy. ‘It’s a strange looking machine. Where’d you get it?’

  ‘It was homemade for me. For my birthday.’

  ‘It looks homemade. By who?’

  ‘By Henry Lamb. He’s a friend of my nan’s.’

  The boy laughed. ‘Well, Henry Lamb, the retard from the junkyard.’ He walked over to Sissy and picked up the bicycle. ‘Looks like it was made by a retard.’

  ‘It’s my bike and I need it,’ Sissy said.

  ‘You’ll get it back.’ He inspected the bike. ‘Henry Lamb made this thing all by himself? Fuck me. George, take a look at this bike. It’s a miracle.’

  ‘Can I have it back, please?’ Sissy pleaded.

  George hopped out of the truck. ‘Give her the bike, Aaron.’

  Aaron was too interested in Sissy to bother with his young brother. ‘You say you’re from Quarrytown? We’ve always called it Abo-town because it used to be overrun with Abos. But you don’t look like an Abo to me. Does she look like an Abo to you, George?’

  ‘Leave her be,’ George said. ‘She’s just a kid.’

  ‘You’re right, George. She’s a kid. That’s why we can’t leave her out here all alone.’

  Sissy reached for the bike. ‘I don’t need your help. I can get home on my own.’

  Aaron lifted the bike in the air and hurled it into the scrub. ‘You won’t be riding that bike home tonight. You’re coming with us. Get in the truck.’

  Sissy didn’t know what to do. She listened for Odette’s voice but heard nothing.

  George stood between his brother and Sissy. ‘Don’t do this, Aaron.’

  ‘Let me apologise for my brother,’ Aaron said ‘He’d just as soon leave you in the dark by yourself. But not me. Get in the truck.’

  ‘No, Aaron,’ George repeated. ‘Leave her.’

  ‘Leave her? Fuck off, George. We can’t leave this girl out here. She could get herself in trouble. We can’t let that happen. We found her and we’re responsible for her.’ He winked at Sissy. ‘I apologise for my brother. He should have done a couple of years in the Boy Scouts and learned something about responsibility.’

  George walked into the scrub, retrieved the bicycle and handed it to Sissy. ‘The moon is out,’ he said, ‘if you stick to this road it will take you back to town. You can ride on a puncture, just as long as you keep the pedals moving.’

  Aaron pushed his brother in the chest. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, George? I said the bike stays here.’

  ‘No!’ George said. ‘Let her have her bike and let’s get out of here.’

  Aaron put his arm around his brother’s neck and whispered to him. ‘Take a good look at her, George. I want to have some fun, that’s all.’ He pushed his brother in the shoulder.

  George pushed his brother back, forcefully.

  Aaron punched George in the mouth. George fell to the ground. Aaron jumped on the front wheel of the bike, breaking the spokes and bending the rim out of shape.

  ‘Hey, look at this,’ Aaron laughed. ‘This bike’s no good to anyone now.’

  Sissy realised her only chance of escaping Aaron was to run. She willed herself to move but was too slow. Aaron grabbed her by the arm. ‘Get in the truck. You Abo girls don’t get to make choices. Our old man taught us that.’

  A second set of headlights loomed into view. The lights grew brighter, blinding Sissy. It was the Deane ambulance, which sometimes doubled as the police van.

  Bill Shea got out of the van and pulled on his policeman’s cap. He looked down at the broken bike and over at Aaron Kane. Shea had dealt with Aaron’s father, Joe, many times. They’d crossed paths well before Mrs Kane’s body had been found in the bottom of the dam on their farm. While the once prosperous Kanes were not the only family in the district to have lost their wealth, few had fallen as far. What he couldn’t make up legitimately Joe Kane chased illegally. It was rumoured that most of the cattle that went missing across the district were rustled by him, although Shea had only ever arrested him for public drunkenness and minor theft.

  Shea knew Joe Kane had treated his sons badly after their mother’s death. The headmaster at the school, Tony Wills, had turned up at the police station once when the boys were kids and reported that the older boy, Aaron, had been badly beaten by his father.

  ‘I’m sure that it’s happened more than once,’ Wills reported. ‘I’ve seen the boy in the schoolyard with belt marks over the back of his legs, a black eye another time, and this morning a bruised lip and even a clump of hair missing.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’ Shea asked, to the surprise and anger of the headmaster.

  ‘Isn’t that your job, Bill? To investigate these matters?’

  Maybe it was. But few police were willing to interfere with a family’s privacy, not a white family at least. The next time Bill saw Joe in town he’d asked after the boys, prodding Kane a little. Kane said the boys were in good health and the issue was left at that.

  ‘What’s happened here?’ Shea asked the boys.

  ‘Well,’ Aaron smirked, ‘there’s been an accident. We came across this girl and her broken bike. We’re just helping her out, Bill.’ Aaron Kane had inherited his father’s disregard for the law.

  ‘It’s Officer Shea to you, son. Keep your cheek in your mouth.’ Shea was surprised to see Sissy Brown on a lonely road in the dark. ‘Where’s your grandmother tonight?’

  ‘Nan is at the hospital in Gatlin. I just went for a ride after school, and I was coming along here and couldn’t see where I was going,’ she said. ‘I think I must have hit something.’

  It sounded like a far-fetched story to Shea. ‘I can’t see anything you might have run into.’

  ‘Me either,’ Sissy shrugged. ‘It was getting dark and I couldn’t see.’

  ‘Like I told you,’ Aaron interrupted, ‘it was an accident. Bill,’ he added purposefully.

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish to me!’ Shea shouted. ‘Get going or I’ll ticket this bomb and put it off the road. On your way.’

  ‘A ticket, Bill? I don’t reckon you could write one.’

  Shea drew his cosh out of his trouser belt and smacked Aaron across the face with it. He belted the boy a second time across the shoulder. Aaron screamed out in pain and fell to his knees. Shea kicked the boy in the chest with the heel of his boot and waved the cosh in George’s face, who was visibly shaken. ‘Get him in the truck and fuck off home,’ Shea growled. �
��Unless you want a taste of this yourself?’

  George dragged his moaning brother to his feet and into the passenger seat of the truck, then drove away.

  The policeman collected the bicycle and checked the front wheel. ‘You won’t be riding this in a hurry. I’ll throw the bike in the back of the van and drive you home.’

  Sissy was afraid to move. Although the policeman seemed to have calmed down as quickly as he’d exploded, his sudden turn of violence had frightened her.

  ‘You don’t have to come with me,’ Shea said, sensing her apprehension. ‘But if you decide to make your way home in the dark, you’re likely to run into more trouble. It will take a lot more than a whack on the skull to cure that Kane boy of his madness. I’ve known your grandmother for most of our lives,’ he added, attempting to reassure Sissy. ‘She’s a good woman, Odette Brown.’

  Sissy was not about to tell the policeman that Odette’s opinion of him was not nearly as generous. She heard the growl of Aaron Kane’s pick-up in the distance, walked over to the van and waited by the passenger door. The policeman opened the door for her and Sissy got in. On the drive back to Quarrytown, he lectured Sissy about being on the backroads outside Deane, which he said was no place for a teenage girl. ‘It’s not safe out here,’ was his final comment before dropping off Sissy and her bike at the footbridge.

  Sissy crossed the bridge, pulling her bike along the street in darkness. She was relieved to finally be home. At the house she rested the battered bike against the gate and reached for the door key hanging around her neck. It was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  Odette left for Gatlin well before first light. The sky was clear and a blanket of stars, stretching across the sky from east to west, greeted her as she set off to catch the bus. When she was a child, her father would sit her on his lap and tell stories about the connection between the stars and the surrounding country. Odette never forgot her father’s words: Them whitefellas, they can never touch the stars, no matter how clever they think they are.