by Birch, Tony;
‘Please, I want you to go,’ George repeated.
The boy’s gentleness could not be more of a contrast to the violence of his father and older brother. He looked so fragile, Odette was certain he was in danger. ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t have any place to go,’ he said.
‘You can’t stay here with him,’ she said, gesturing to the old man.
‘But I have to. He’s always been mean, even before my mother died. After she went he was worse. I know Aaron is a lot of trouble, but you don’t understand what happened to him.’
‘What do you mean?’
Joe Kane spluttered and shook his chair from side to side in protest. ‘He was cruel to Aaron,’ George said. ‘He did terrible things to him. Now go. Please.’
Odette stumbled back along the dry riverbed, holding the necklace in one hand, thinking about Lila and the crime Joe Kane had committed against her. She now understood the fear and shame that had driven Lila away.
She thought about Sissy’s bloodline to the Kane family, consumed with anguish and a rising fear that the revelation would damage her love for her granddaughter. Putting the thought out of her mind would be difficult.
As she walked on Odette started to feel stronger, as if she was being carried along by a current of water. She could hear water flowing beneath her and remembered the story her father had once told her, that water is never lost from rivers, not even when they appeared dead. Water could always return. The water is always with you, he’d said. It had made little sense to her at the time, but Odette could now hear the old people, guiding her home. They were listening to her as she anguished over what to do.
When she arrived at Millie Khan’s door, Odette took her aside and showed her the necklace. Although Millie had made many necklaces over the years, she had no doubt that the one in Odette’s hand was the same one she’d given to Lila years earlier.
‘Where’d you find it?’ she asked.
‘Out at Joe Kane’s farm. I just come from there.’
Millie took the necklace from Odette and massaged the seed pods between her fingers, contemplating the meaning of the find. She turned and looked over at Sissy, quietly sitting next to Yusuf, who was reading from a decoratively bound book.
The women sat together out the front of the house. Odette talked about Lila, Sissy and her trouble with the oldest Kane boy. She didn’t mention her visit to Doctor Singer, or her need for an operation. ‘I’ve had enough,’ she sighed. ‘Something has to be done.’
‘And what’s that?’ Millie asked, knowing that the choices available to an Aboriginal woman were limited.
‘Let me worry about that, not you. I’ll think of something.’
Yusuf walked out of the house carrying his prayer mat. He laid it on the ground, knelt and prayed. The women sat quietly. When he’d finished, Yusuf collected the mat and walked back into the house.
‘Yusuf dealt with Joe Kane one time,’ Millie said. ‘The man came by here wanting to buy a horse from us.’
‘Did you sell it to him?’
‘I would have. Joe was cashed up at the time. Must have stolen some cattle and sold them on, I reckon. Yusuf stepped in and said no. Joe cursed him and left here in a rage. I asked Yusie why he wouldn’t do business with Joe, and he said it would be a sin to sell a horse to such a man. He said he was sure that the animal would be badly treated and he couldn’t let that happen. We found the same horse dead a week later in the corral, here behind the house.’
Chapter Nine
Odette prepared Sissy’s favourite meal, lamb chops and mashed potato. She ate quietly, thoughtfully, as though she was rehearsing a conversation. Odette instructed Sissy as they washed and cleaned the dishes together. ‘I have to go out shortly, just for a bit. I need you to lock the door after me.’
Sissy slung the tea-towel over her shoulder, surprised. ‘Going out? It’s late, Nan. Where are you going?’
‘There’s something more I need to talk to Millie about.’
Sissy listened as a strong wind rattled the iron roof above them. ‘Maybe you could talk to Auntie Millie tomorrow? I think it’s going to rain soon.’
‘I have to do this tonight.’
Odette put her coat on, kissed Sissy on the cheek and left the house. Sissy stood at the window and watched Odette walk down the path. She was sure that her grandmother was up to something secretive but couldn’t work out what it might be, except that it had something to do with Aaron Kane. She opened the door, stepped out onto the veranda and watched Odette cross the footbridge. Auntie Millie’s house was to the right of the footbridge. Her grandmother turned left.
Odette paced the footpath in front of the police station, took a deep breath and walked through the heavy wooden doors into a room of polished floors and wood-panelled walls. The national flag hung from the ceiling between a pair of photographic portraits. One of the Queen, resplendent in a velvet gown and tiara, the other of the Australian prime minister, Robert Menzies, looking adoringly towards the young Elizabeth. Standing at the counter, Odette could see her own reflection in a mirror above the door. Sergeant Lowe had ordered its installation on his first day at the station. The positioning of the mirror allowed him to view anyone who came into the office, without them knowing that they were being watched.
Odette rang the bell. Bill Shea came to the counter. He ran a nervous hand through his thinning hair.
‘How can I help you, Odette?’
‘I’m here to see your boss, Sergeant Lowe.’
Shea rested both hands on the counter. ‘What is it? The matter you need to see him about? I’ll need to explain to him why you’re here.’
Odette pursed her lips. ‘The matter is private, Bill. It will take some telling and I need to talk with him directly.’
‘You might want to take a seat then,’ Shea said, and pointed to a padded bench seat on the other side of the room. ‘He’s busy, and doesn’t like to be disturbed unannounced.’
Odette sat listening to the ticking clock on the wall. She’d never been inside the police station before. The local police had total control over the lives of Aboriginal people, and very few of them walked through the station door of their own accord. She’d heard plenty of stories over the years about what went on in the cells out the back; a stone building with narrow steel doors and a small iron-barred window. During mission times, any Aboriginal person found within the town boundary without permission was given a warning. A second offence resulted in a night or two in the cells. Any habitual absconder who refused to comply with the law was likely to be sent away to prison.
After some time Shea reappeared and asked Odette to follow him. Lowe was seated at a desk in the next room, stiff-backed, reading from a thick file. Shea placed a chair on the other side of Lowe’s desk and asked Odette to sit down before returning to his own desk on the other side of the room.
Lowe continued reading from the file and didn’t look up. It was Odette’s file, containing information on her, including an amateurish family tree created by an early squatter and photographs of her taken by government officials who visited the mission to measure, weigh and test for intelligence. The file also contained a copy of a letter written by Odette’s father, Ruben, demanding he not be separated from his child on the mission; a plea that was ignored. Odette was only saved from a life of institutionalisation when Ruben was given a job at the mine and accommodation at Quarrytown. The file also included Odette’s school reports, her employment record as a domestic servant, and a strident letter written by a member of the mining board. After Odette complained about the deaths of her father and husband in the quarry accident, she was described as an overly headstrong native woman who appears to have forgotten her place in society.
She glanced across to a blackboard on the wall behind Bill’s desk. She was unnerved to see a column on the left side of the
blackboard documenting the names of each known Aboriginal child of any admixture of blood within the jurisdiction. The second column listed the age and birth date of each child. The third column listed a parent. The final column, beneath the title caste, listed descriptions such as half-caste, quarter-caste and octoroon. Odette ran an eye down the board and counted sixteen names. Towards the bottom of the list was the name of her granddaughter, Cecily Brown. Alongside it were the words, near white – caste unknown. She closed her eyes and willed herself to contain her growing anger.
Eventually, Lowe closed the file, placed a notepad on the desk and picked up a fountain pen, carefully checking both the nib and ink.
‘What can I do for you?’ he finally asked.
‘Well,’ Odette said, clearing her throat, ‘I’m here to apply for a permit. I need to go on a trip for a week or so. I’ll be travelling.’
A muscle in Lowe’s left cheek twitched slightly. ‘Travelling?’
‘Yes. I have a relative, a cousin of mine. She’s in the city and I’ve had word that she’s unwell. Very unwell. I need to visit her. It’s an emergency.’
Odette looked over to Bill Shea, who was eavesdropping on the exchange. Shea looked away.
‘In order to travel to Gatlin, Mrs Brown, you do not need either my permission or a permit, as long as you have no desire to reside there on a permanent basis.’
‘It wouldn’t be to Gatlin. My cousin lives in the state capital,’ Odette explained. ‘It’s where I need to go.’
Lowe smiled slightly, seemingly amused. ‘The capital? And what about the girl? Your granddaughter, Cecily?’ he asked. ‘Whose care will your granddaughter be in while you’re travelling, as you call it?’
It was the moment Odette had prepared for.
‘She will need to come with me. It’s important for her to pay her respects to her auntie. I also want her to attend the cathedral in the capital. We are a religious family, Sergeant Lowe. I would be grateful if you would allow this to happen. I believe it would be important for Cecily.’
Lowe brought his hands together. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Brown, but that will not be possible. Not at all.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Odette asked, although she’d clearly heard what he’d said.
‘The girl is only thirteen years of age. I’ve been reading her file. Cecily is classified as an Aborigine.’ He raised a finger and pointed to the blackboard, as a teacher might instruct a wayward student. ‘By definition, of both the government and the Aborigines Welfare Board, we are responsible for Cecily’s ongoing welfare. I’m sure you would be aware, Mrs Brown, that the state government is the legal guardian of the child until she reaches the age of eighteen.’ Lowe straightened his back. ‘As the representative of the state, and as there is no longer a Justice of the Peace serving this district, all Aboriginal children come under my direct care. I am their guardian. It would be negligent of me to allow the child to travel outside the district.’ He leaned across the desk. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the ongoing welfare of the child. In fact, I will be speaking with all remaining coloured people under my control.’ Lowe glanced across at Bill Shea. ‘The whole business of native welfare has been neglected in this district for many years. I will not allow it to continue. Your people need certainty, just as we do, as officers of the Crown. None of this is helped, of course, by those troublemakers arguing for citizenship on behalf of your people.’
‘What about my travel?’ Odette asked, ignoring the policeman’s speech. ‘My visit to see my cousin?’
‘I cannot allow that to occur either,’ he answered.
Odette looked closely at Lowe, searching for any sense of understanding. There was none.
‘But my cousin is likely to pass away soon,’ she persisted.
‘That is not my concern. I will not provide you with a travel permit. We must leave it there, Mrs Brown. I have other matters to attend to.’
Odette stood to leave.
‘Wait, Mrs Brown,’ Lowe ordered. ‘There is another issue I need to speak to you about. Your visit here will save me a trip to Quarrytown. Please sit back down.’
Odette watched as Lowe reached for a second folder on his desk.
‘You also have a daughter?’ he asked casually, disarming Odette. ‘This is the station’s copy of her Welfare file. Lila Brown, born 29 March 1932. Can you tell me where your daughter is currently residing, Mrs Brown?’ Lowe drummed the fingers of one hand on the desk as he waited for Odette to respond.
No answer was forthcoming. Odette had been caught off-guard and didn’t know what to say.
‘Mrs Brown, can you explain the whereabouts of your daughter?’ Lowe demanded.
‘My daughter passed away,’ Odette finally said, as calmly as possible.
‘She’s dead?’ Lowe looked surprised. He rifled through the file. ‘There’s no death certificate attached to her file. That cannot be so.’
Odette’s mind was racing ahead. ‘She died a short time after Cecily was born. She had trouble with her health because of the birth. She went into the Gatlin hospital but she never came out.’
‘Did you know about this?’ Lowe snapped at Bill Shea.
Odette looked across at Bill, fearful of his response. ‘Not specifically,’ he answered, nervously.
Odette grimaced, her heart sinking with each laboured beat. Bill was well aware that Lila had run away, and had never bothered enquiring about what happened to her. Admitting to the lapse now would also implicate him.
‘But,’ Shea added, standing up, literally thinking on his feet, ‘any death in Gatlin would be handled by our boys there. They’d have looked after it, the death certificate and any direct contact with the Welfare Board. That would be within their jurisdiction.’
Lowe was clearly annoyed. ‘Regardless, we should have a copy of any death certificate in this file. I need you to ring the hospital. They will have their own records.’
‘Okay. I’ll call on Monday morning.’
‘Now. Do it now!’ Lowe shouted.
‘There’s no point in calling them now,’ Shea explained. ‘The hospital administration doesn’t operate on weekends.’
Lowe threw his pen on the desk. He closed Lila’s file, picked up a second file and read through it, ignoring Odette. She noticed traces of saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth. She sat and waited for his permission to leave the office. When it wasn’t forthcoming, she stood up and quietly left the room, bursting through the main door and into the street, gasping for air like a drowning woman.
Sissy was sitting on the front steps of the police station.
‘Sissy!’ Odette said. ‘What are you doing out here in the dark?’
Sissy got to her feet and scowled at her grandmother. ‘What were you doing in there with the police?’
‘What was I doing? There’s no need for you to question me. Let’s get home.’ Odette reached for her hand but Sissy backed away.
‘You said you were going to see Auntie Millie, but you never. I followed you from home and you came straight here. You lied, Nan.’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course I didn’t lie.’
‘You did, Nan. You went in there. I bet you told them to take me away.’
Sissy’s accusation shocked Odette. ‘Do you really believe that, girl?’ she asked.
Sissy refused to answer her grandmother. She stood on the edge of the footpath looking into the gutter.
‘Sis, I need to know if you really believe that your nan would turn you out? I’m not wild with you, but I need to know if these people have put so much fear in your heart that you would think that. Please, tell your nan so I can fix it for you. So you can know that would never be true.’
Sissy threw herself at her grandmother, almost knocking both of them to the ground. Odette patted the back of Sissy’s head as the child sobbed.
‘I reckon you�
��ve tired yourself out today, Sis. If I was younger and fitter I’d carry you home from here. But I’m a bit broken down, so you’ll need to walk. Or maybe you can carry me,’ she laughed.
Sissy wiped her face on Odette’s coat. ‘I’m sorry, Nan, but I’m frightened about what is happening to us. That boy …’
‘Save your apologies for when you do something really bad, like ride all over the countryside at night on your own. And you leave the worry to your nan. I’ll sort this out.’
Later that night Odette sat at the kitchen table, reassured by the rain beating on the roof. It was a sound that had always calmed her. She’d hardly expected hospitality from Sergeant Lowe, but in desperation she’d deluded herself that he might grant her some pity and award her the travel permit. Although having faith in white people could be a futile exercise, Odette had never quite given up on them, a belief she’d inherited from her father, who liked to express the view that there was some good in all people. If there was good in men such as Lowe and Joe Kane, it was deeply buried, Odette thought. She understood that Lowe would never allow her to travel; he was a man incapable of understanding what was in the heart of an Aboriginal woman.
She walked into the bedroom and looked down at Sissy, asleep with an open book resting on her chest. Odette closed the book and sat it on the cupboard next to the bed. She kissed her granddaughter on both cheeks. While Sissy’s irrational outburst had hurt Odette, there was something in Sissy’s anger that also comforted her. The girl was growing up and she’d need to be strong, even wilful, if she was to survive. Particularly if Odette was not there to guide her. She brushed a wisp of hair from Sissy’s forehead. Having recognised her granddaughter in the face of the young Kane boy, she couldn’t get the image out of her mind.