The White Girl

by Birch, Tony;

  Odette continued to frown.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ Alma said. ‘While you’re in this bed you’re Betty Haines and you live with us. Anyone asks a question, you tell them you’re feeling poorly and don’t remember any more for now. We’ll sort the rest out as soon as we can get you out of here.’

  ‘Where will I be going?’ Odette asked.

  ‘You’ll be coming home,’ Alma said.

  Sissy was waiting for Odette outside the Haines’ house the morning she was released from the hospital. When the taxi pulled up and Odette got out, she was so happy to see her granddaughter she almost cried. Sissy hesitated for a moment before running to Odette and grabbing hold of her arm. ‘You’re here, Nan! You’re really here!’

  The Haines family kitchen was warm and smelled of lemons. A girl around the age of six or seven was sitting at the kitchen table drawing on a sheet of butcher’s paper with a black crayon. She looked up from her handiwork and smiled at Odette.

  ‘This is Lidia, our own granddaughter,’ Alma said. ‘Her mum, our daughter, Carol, is on afternoon shift at the tyre factory around the corner. She doesn’t get off work until eleven. Say hello to Odette, Lidia.’

  The girl chirped ‘hello’ and went back to her drawing.

  One wall of the kitchen was covered with photographs. Under each picture were names, dates and places. On a shelf above the kitchen stove Odette could see decorated spears and a carved wooden bowl, similar to objects she’d seen on the mission. When the mission closed its doors they were put on display at the Deane courthouse.

  Alma asked Sissy to take Lidia into the yard to play. The three adults sat around the table. The silence bothered Odette. She was worried that she and Sissy were an imposition on the family. ‘I don’t want to bring trouble, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking about the exemption rules you spoke of at the railway station that day, and how you’re not supposed to associate.’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself over rules, I’ll take care of that. And you’re no trouble to us, not at all,’ he said. ‘I grew up learning how to survive. We have to be careful, for sure. Whether you and the child are around or not, we’d be on our guard. That’s the way life is for us.’ Jack removed a small black and white photograph from the wall. It was a portrait of an Aboriginal woman sitting on a metal drum in front of a shanty, its walls and roof made from flattened kerosene tins. ‘This is my sister, Betty. It was taken about twenty years ago,’ Jack said.

  Odette studied the picture.

  ‘Betty was two years older than me, and always looked out for me,’ Jack said, looking across the table at Alma. ‘She was a beautiful woman, wasn’t she Love?’

  ‘Oh yes, she was,’ Alma agreed. ‘A beautiful woman with a beautiful heart.’

  ‘I made a choice about the exemption certificate when the cousin of a mate of mine came down to the plant – we were working in a foundry at the time – and told him that the Welfare were out at the Bend. That’s what we called it, where we lived at the time. It was a shanty town of our own, on the river. This fella said the Welfare had been around looking for my mate’s kids, a little boy and girl. Well, he took off. Ran all the way home, grabbed the family and was out of there.’

  Odette could hear the strain in Jack’s voice. ‘You don’t need to tell me this.’

  ‘I do,’ he said. ‘That’s when I made my mind up to apply for the exemption. Betty was living on the Bend too. She had no kids of her own, but she was a mighty auntie. I let her know what I was going to do, thinking she’d have a go at me, Betty being such a proud woman.’

  Jack looked at Alma and sat quiet for a moment. ‘Tell Odette what she said, Love. It sounds better coming from a woman.’

  ‘I remember that day well,’ Alma said. ‘I was washing Carol in the tub when you told her. Betty smiled and made a joke of it. “Well Jack,” she said. “If you want to get on your high horse and act up like you’re some sort of white man, I’ll need to be around to put your black bum in its place.” She got the exemption for herself as well.’

  ‘We’d decided we’d best get on the move,’ Jack said, ‘and Betty decided to come so she could be around the kids.’

  ‘Where is she now?’ Odette asked, dreading Jack’s response.

  ‘We worked our way south,’ Jack said. ‘It was during the war. It was horse and cart back then. Anything with a motor in it had been given over to the government to run the farms or for military work. We worked our way down through the basin, fruit-picking, shearing. Any work we could get, we took. One morning, Betty was sitting in the back of the cart, we were out west, maybe a hundred miles from where you hail from, and she died, right there in front of us. Heart, I reckon.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Odette said.

  Jack looked to Alma for support. ‘Go on, Jack,’ his wife said. ‘You can tell her. We know we can trust you,’ she explained to Odette.

  ‘There wasn’t a lot we could do,’ Jack said. ‘The cost of a decent funeral was out of the question. We had no money and nothing to trade. The Welfare Board has always offered to bury us blackfellas for free, of course. But a pauper’s burial in a shared grave? I wasn’t having it. The spot we stopped that night, it was where Alma’s people come from originally. Not mine and Betty’s people, but Alma’s. We talked it over. Everyone had their say, including the kids. I spent the next three hours digging my sister’s grave. I made sure it was nice and deep so no trouble would come to her. We covered her up, and then I scattered some rocks and brush about so no one would know the ground had been disturbed. She’s out there now, being looked after by Alma’s people.’ Jack slumped in his chair, his face drained.

  ‘We told no one,’ Alma said. ‘We didn’t know if we’d done something criminal, or if there’d be suspicion about how she passed.’ She lifted a tea-towel out of a straw basket in the middle of the table. Underneath was an envelope. She handed it to Odette. Inside was an exemption certificate in the name of Elizabeth May Haines. The photograph had faded badly. Elizabeth had been born the year before Odette. ‘You can live here for as long as you like,’ Alma said. ‘You’ll be safe here.’

  ‘I can’t live here,’ Odette said. ‘She’s your sister, Jack. It wouldn’t be right to take her name.’

  ‘It couldn’t be more right,’ Jack answered. ‘She was never happy about the exemption. She knew she had to do it, but she wasn’t happy. Betty would be relieved helping out a sister. She’d want that for you, and for your Sissy.’

  ‘I’m not comfortable with this,’ Odette said.

  Alma took hold of Odette’s hand. ‘You don’t have to be, not yet. You’ve been to Hell and back as it is. You have a good rest, take your time and think it over.’

  The family sat around the kitchen table that evening. Sissy did not leave Odette’s side. After dinner Odette emptied her suitcase and called Alma into the small room off the kitchen where she and Sissy would be sleeping, in the same bed as Lidia. She handed Alma a roll of ten-pound notes.

  ‘I can’t take this much money,’ Alma said.

  ‘You have to take it,’ Odette insisted.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because, first up, I saved it knowing that one day I would need to use it to help Sissy. And you and Jack are doing that. And second, I know what generosity is. Your heart is full of it. This money will help you spread it round a little more.’

  All night, Odette mulled over Jack’s plan, unable to rid herself of a concern that it was wrong to pass herself off as Jack’s sister. She felt it would be disrespectful to the memory of Betty’s own life, and that it would require Jack and Alma to carry on with a lie that could land them in trouble. More than that, Odette couldn’t conceive that she would spend the remaining years of her life pretending to be someone other than herself. She had her country to return to one day, and she would do so in her own name, alive or dead. The next morning, she explained her decision to Jac
k and Alma and what her alternative plan would be.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Jack asked.

  ‘I’m sure. I’ve never been more grateful than what I feel for you two. You saved my granddaughter. But I can’t be someone who I’m not, Jack. It would be no good for me or your family.’

  ‘What about Sissy?’ Alma asked. ‘What’s best for her?’

  ‘All I can do is hope this will work out for the pair of us.’

  Jack suggested a meeting with a lawyer to get advice.

  ‘What good can a lawyer do for Aboriginal people,’ Odette asked. ‘It’s the law that keeps us in our place. My father taught me that.’

  ‘She’s right, Jack,’ Alma said. ‘The law has never been there to help us.’

  ‘Well, you’re both right,’ Jack said. ‘But you need a lawyer who can explain how their law works, and the best way for you to tackle it.’

  ‘Do you know such a lawyer?’ Odette asked.

  ‘I do. And he’s a good man,’ Jack said. ‘He’s doing work on the citizenship business. I think he’s one of them communist fellas old Bob Menzies wanted to outlaw.’

  ‘A communist?’ Odette had heard the word back in Deane over the years, in less than complimentary ways. ‘A Red?’

  ‘Yep. A Red. I’ve found them to be decent people,’ Jack said. ‘And more to the point, they don’t charge for their services. I don’t mind what they’re called. I’ll take a Red ahead of a white man any day of the week. We should go and see him at his office as soon as you’re feeling up to it. It’ll take a bit of time to get things in order.’

  ‘In the meantime,’ Alma insisted, ‘this is your home, Odette, as much as it’s ours. And I won’t have you leaving here until I’m satisfied that you and the girl are safe.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lowe stepped from the Gatlin train, arriving in the capital in the black suit and tie he’d exchanged for his police uniform. He checked his watch. It was after five in the afternoon. The Aborigines Welfare Board’s office was closed for the day. He’d called ahead to report that Odette Brown had absconded from Deane without permission but the conversation had alarmed Lowe. The young clerk on the other end of the line seemed bemused that the police sergeant had reported the matter at all.

  ‘Has she committed a crime?’ the clerk asked.

  ‘You must know she has,’ Lowe answered. ‘As I have explained, she left my jurisdiction without permission. She is also travelling with the child after having been ordered that she could not do so. She expressly disobeyed me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ the clerk apologised, ‘but we tend to leave it to the guardians in the regions to sort these problems out for themselves. Give her time. I’m sure she’ll come back. Most of them do.’

  ‘We’re not talking about a runaway horse here,’ Lowe shouted down the line. ‘This is a woman determined to defy my authority.’

  ‘That may be,’ the clerk replied. ‘If you can provide me with the woman’s details, I’ll ensure that we put a note on her file and we will make enquiries.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘It is at the moment. The country’s going through a credit squeeze and we haven’t had any new staff through here in two years.’

  Lowe put the telephone down. Since arriving in Deane he’d documented the living arrangements and conditions of every Aboriginal family under his control, and kept a keen eye on each family. Cecily Brown was the only child left on the blackboard unaccounted for. Lowe could not allow the situation to stand. He had the address for Jack Haines, the man whose company Odette was likely to be keeping. If the Welfare Board were not prepared to do their job to the fullest, he would do it on their behalf.

  The hasty enquiry into Bill Shea’s death and the arrangements for his funeral had delayed the sergeant’s departure from Deane. He’d wasted precious time tidying up the mess Shea left behind. The boy who’d found the body hadn’t reported it until hours later, when he confessed to his parents that he’d skipped school for the day. When the boy’s father reported the grim discovery Lowe had asked Doctor Singer to accompany him to the riverbed.

  ‘I have no idea what state the body is in,’ he told the doctor. ‘Perhaps you could assist with an examination?’

  ‘If it’s of help,’ Doctor Singer said.

  By the time they arrived a small crowd had gathered beneath the bridge. Lowe ordered them to retreat further along the riverbank. Although the face of the body was unrecognisable, Lowe had known immediately who it was. He looked down at the service revolver balanced on Shea’s gut, then up at the crusted clots of blood on his neck and the hole in the side of his head. The flabby rolls of skin on his arms and legs were covered in insect bites. An army of bull-ants swarmed over Shea’s right foot and had burrowed into a wound on the tip of his big toe.

  Doctor Singer removed his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves and crouched over the body.

  Lowe casually turned to Doctor Singer. ‘It’s my man, Bill Shea.’

  Doctor Singer was surprised. ‘He was a colleague of yours, Sergeant? Did you know him well?’

  ‘I hardly knew him at all,’ Lowe said, circling the body. ‘I do not believe I will need a report from you after all, doctor. This is straightforward enough. I’m sorry to take you away from your office.’

  ‘There is no need to apologise. I can examine the body and forward a report if you like.’

  ‘No,’ Lowe answered, forcefully. ‘It will not be needed.’

  The boy who’d found the body was standing on the edge of the crowd with his father. Lowe ordered the boy to accompany him. ‘Hurry,’ he ordered. ‘I need to speak with you.’

  ‘I’ll come with him,’ the father said.

  Lowe ordered him to stand back. ‘I need to speak to the boy alone. Please remain here.’ He waved to the boy a second time. ‘Down here, immediately.’

  The boy refused to look at the body. He pinched his nose between a finger and thumb and gagged.

  ‘When you found him here, did you see anybody else around?’ Lowe asked.

  ‘Nup, I saw nobody,’ he answered.

  ‘What were you doing here?’ Lowe asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ the boy said.

  ‘Nothing? Don’t be stupid or take me for being so. You wouldn’t have been down here without a reason. What was it?’

  ‘I was having a smoke,’ the boy answered. ‘That’s all.’

  Lowe grabbed the boy by the arm. ‘Look at me, son. Did you see anyone down here when you were enjoying your cigarette?’

  The boy shook his head. ‘I saw nobody.’

  ‘I need you to look at the body,’ Lowe ordered.

  ‘But I don’t want to look.’

  ‘But you must. This is a crime scene,’ Lowe explained. ‘You are a witness to that crime. Now, do as I tell you and look at the body.’

  ‘No,’ the boy cried.

  ‘Surely, this is not necessary?’ Doctor Singer asked. ‘The poor child has been traumatised by what he has witnessed here. There is no need for this.’

  ‘Don’t tell me how to do my job, Doctor. I asked you here to observe the body and nothing more. I am the law in this town and I need this boy to look at the body.’

  Lowe wrapped his large hands around the young boy’s shoulders, lifted him from the ground and forced the boy to look directly at the corpse. ‘Is it in the same position that you found him? I need to know. You look and then you tell me.’

  The boy gagged and Lowe released him. The boy ran back to his father. The policeman took a handkerchief out of a pocket and wiped his hands. He could see that Doctor Singer was looking at him with disapproval. ‘Do you have a problem?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t think that was at all necessary,’ the doctor said.

  Lowe folded the handkerchief and returned it to his pocket. He was not about to be chastised by the man. ‘I ha
ve greater concerns than the boy’s delicate state.’ He retrieved the revolver from the body and examined the chamber. ‘I can’t leave the gun here, it’s loaded.’ He pointed the gun in the doctor’s general direction. ‘Seeing as you are here, could I ask you a question.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Odette Brown, I believe she is a patient of yours?’

  ‘Yes, she is my patient.’

  ‘Do you see her regularly?’

  ‘I have seen her more than once, but I wouldn’t call it regularly.’ Doctor Singer answered, annoyed by Lowe’s intrusiveness.

  ‘I need to know when you last saw her and what you are treating her for,’ the sergeant insisted.

  ‘Why is that?’ he asked. ‘Is the woman a suspect here? Surely not?’

  ‘Of course she’s not a suspect in this incident and I’m certain you know that, Doctor. I’m seeking information on another matter. What can you tell me about Odette Brown’s health?’

  Doctor Singer didn’t hesitate. ‘I can’t disclose such information. To do so would betray the privacy of my patient, which I am not permitted to do. By law.’

  Lowe stepped forward. ‘Does such a law apply to citizens and non-citizens equally? The woman is a native under the law. You do know that?’

  ‘Yes, I do. But Sergeant, this is a matter of confidentiality between a doctor and patient. Citizen or non-citizen, this is first and foremost a matter of trust between myself and my patient. I would never seek to betray that trust.’

  Lowe looked at the tattooed numbers on Doctor Singer’s arm. ‘You are new to this country. I believe you are a Jew.’

  ‘Yes, I am Jewish.’

  ‘The native people of this land are agitating for the rights of citizenship. I have actually heard one of their speakers claim that they have suffered as the Jewish people suffered during the war,’ Lowe said. ‘In my experience, both here and in Europe, it only does such people harm to dwell,’ he added.