by Birch, Tony;
‘Why is that?’ Doctor Singer asked. ‘You do not believe people suffered, Sergeant Lowe?’
‘Only as much as we all suffer through life,’ Lowe said, looking directly at the doctor. ‘There’s nothing particularly noble in casting oneself as a victim. I firmly believe there is courage in silence.’
Lowe booked into a city hotel and ordered dinner in his room. After he’d eaten he walked across a bridge and down to the port. Although he had visited some of the largest centres in Europe, he’d spent little time in the big cities of his own country. He walked along the foreshore. The lights of the city reflected off the water. Lowe felt almost at peace with himself. He noticed the brief glow of a cigarette in the shadows. He slowed and saw a homeless man resting against a pylon.
‘Do you have a shilling there,’ the man asked, ‘for an old soldier?’
Lowe looked down at the man. ‘You’re a returned serviceman?’ he asked.
‘I am. Can you help me out with a deaner?’
‘Oh, I have a shilling,’ Lowe said. He took a leather wallet from his pocket and took out a pound note. ‘I have more than a shilling. I have this,’ he smiled.
The homeless man held out a hand.
‘But I will not be giving it to you,’ Lowe explained. ‘Or a shilling. Giving you a penny won’t help you.’
‘But I need a feed.’
‘Then, work for it.’ Lowe ignored the curses following him. When he reached a concrete jetty he noticed several cars were parked at a strategic distance from each other. The windows of the cars had misted. He wandered slowly past the first car and heard music playing on the radio. In the next car, he heard muffled voices. At the end of the jetty was a wooden shed. Lowe noticed the silhouette of a couple leaning up against the door, a man pressing into a woman. He stood and watched for several minutes before walking back to the hotel.
Back in the room, Lowe opened his briefcase. He took out Cecily Brown’s file. He also had Lila Brown’s file with him. He was no longer convinced the young Aboriginal woman was dead. Before getting into bed he opened the curtains, ensuring he would rise with the sun. He lay on top of his bed, without a blanket, and slept.
Early the next morning Lowe walked to the station and boarded a suburban train. Looking out of the window, he watched as the wide thoroughfares of the central city gave way to narrow winding streets and houses jammed against each other. He got off a few stations later and studied the address in his notebook, provided by the officer who had questioned Jack Haines at the railway station. A few minutes later he stood across the street from a nondescript terrace house. Lowe was about to cross the street and knock at the door when it opened. Odette Brown and her granddaughter appeared. They were followed from the house by an Aboriginal man, who spoke briefly to Odette, smiled at the girl and waved at the pair. Lowe followed them along the street, keeping his distance. They arrived at the station just as the train arrived. Lowe could see the child, Cecily, holding her grandmother’s hand.
‘Where are we going?’ Sissy asked Odette as the train pulled into the station.
‘Oh, we have to go to an important meeting this morning.’
‘Who are we meeting with?’
Odette needed to gather her thoughts. ‘I’ll tell you once we’re on the train. Is that okay?’
‘Yes, Nan.’ Sissy could feel the morning sun on her face. ‘It’s a nice day, Nan.’
‘It is.’
‘Are you feeling better, Nan, since the operation?’
‘I’m feeling good, and I’ll feel a whole lot better if you just give me a little time to myself so I can sort out my thinking.’
‘Okay, Nan,’ Sissy said, already eager to hear what Odette was thinking about. As they were about to board the train, Sissy turned her head and looked at the man in the dark suit entering the next carriage. She sat close to Odette, desperate to tell her grandmother that she was sure she’d seen the policeman from Deane. She could see by the look on her face that her grandmother was still doing her thinking, and thought it best not to bother her. It wasn’t until they arrived at the central station that Sissy tugged at Odette’s arm. ‘I saw him,’ she said.
Odette couldn’t hear Sissy above the noise of the crowd. ‘Pardon?’ she shouted.
‘The policeman, I saw him.’
Odette frowned. ‘Which policeman?’
‘The one from home. The one we’re running away from.’
‘Don’t be silly. You couldn’t have seen him, that’s just your imagination running wild. We have to get a move on.’
Sissy wouldn’t budge. ‘I did see him, Nan.’
Odette searched the crowd of faces hurrying by. Sissy saw a look of unease cross her grandmother’s face. As they made their way out of the station and along the street, Odette stopped occasionally and looked up at the street signs. Each time she did so, Sissy also looked anxiously over her shoulder.
‘We’re here,’ Odette said. ‘This is where our meeting is.’ Sissy looked up at the Coat of Arms above the building. She read the name on the brass plate out the front. Aborigines Welfare Board.
‘What is this place, Nan?’
‘Like I told you, this is where our meeting is.’
‘And who are we meeting?’ Sissy asked.
‘Well, if we’re lucky,’ Odette smiled, ‘somebody who can help us out of our mess.’
Chapter Eighteen
Along with every public building Odette had entered, the foyer of the Aborigines Welfare Board was dominated by the national flag, alongside the Union Jack of the Empire and a portrait of the young Queen Elizabeth. Odette introduced herself to the woman at the front desk and told her she had an appointment. She was asked to take a seat and wait.
‘Can you please tell me what we’re doing here, Nan?’ Sissy persisted.
‘Well, it’s not all that easy to tell,’ Odette admitted. ‘I want us to be able to stay here in the city, and to do that I need to have some documents approved.’
Sissy looked at the neatly dressed blonde woman behind the counter. ‘White people, they don’t need documents, do they, Nan?’
‘No, they don’t.’
Odette’s name was called. ‘Sissy, I need you to stay here while I have this meeting. You’re not to move from this seat.’
Odette was ushered into a small office by a young man wearing a suit and tie and bookish tortoise-shell eye glasses. The clerk introduced himself as Michael and shook her hand, surprising Odette.
‘Please take a seat,’ he said. ‘I will be assessing your application today, Mrs Brown. I understand you have come to apply for a certificate exempting you from the Aborigines Protection Act?’
‘Yes. For myself and my granddaughter, Cecily Brown.’ While Odette didn’t feel comfortable about yet another white man assessing her, on this occasion she had little choice but to comply.
The clerk looked down at the sheet of paper in front of him. Odette glanced at it, but could not make sense of the writing.
‘Your granddaughter, Cecily, she is thirteen years of age, I believe?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Technically,’ he said, ‘your grandchild cannot be granted an exemption as she is under the age of eighteen. But,’ he added, ‘if your application is successful, you will be granted guardianship of the child. Therefore, she would also be exempt from the Act, provided that certain criteria are met and maintained, such as her regular attendance at school and general health and welfare.’
It annoyed Odette that her care for Sissy should be questioned at all. She held her tongue, remembering Jack Haines’ warning that some people who worked at the Welfare Board had started their careers as reserve managers and were resistant to relinquishing control of Aboriginal people. ‘Some of them old-timers are set in their ways and they don’t like us being exempted from anything,’ Jack had said. ‘You need to be thinking abo
ut young Sissy the whole time you’re in there and not speak out of place.’
Looking across the desk at the face of the youthful clerk, Odette could not imagine he was old enough to know anything about the predicament of her people.
‘Do you have the relevant documents we require from you, Mrs Brown?’ the clerk asked.
Odette handed him the testimonials. Both documents remained sealed, as required. She had no idea of their contents. The first letter was from the woman who ran the gift shop in Gatlin. The clerk silently read the statement. It outlined the longstanding business arrangement the shop-owner had with Mrs Brown, a reliable woman of independent means. Attached to the letter were carbon copies of invoices, indicating a regular income for the previous three years. I am happy for this business arrangement to continue, the letter concluded. The second letter, written by Doctor Singer, offered ongoing sponsorship to Odette and attested to her trustworthy character, a comment that would have come as a surprise to Odette, seeing as she’d only met the doctor twice. She’d only written to him for support as she knew of no other white person who might vouch for her.
The clerk put the letters to one side without comment. He picked up another document and held it in his hand. ‘This is a copy of your granddaughter’s birth certificate. It states: Father Unknown. Have attempts been made to ascertain who the father of the child is?’
‘Well,’ she hesitated. ‘The father took off before the child was born.’
‘Do you know if the father was a native? Or white?’
Odette thought of Joe Kane, and how much she despised him. ‘He was a white man is all I know, but not his name or any more.’
The clerk himself hesitated for a moment. Odette was sure she detected a glimpse of something more than efficiency on his face. ‘Your daughter—’
‘I haven’t seen my daughter in over ten years,’ she answered. ‘I’ve looked everywhere for her.’
‘You would most likely be unaware then, that your daughter, Lila May Brown, successfully applied for an exemption certificate eighteen months ago. In her application, she stated that she had no living relatives or dependants.’
The revelation shocked Odette. ‘Eighteen months ago?’
‘Yes. At the time, she made no mention of the child, Cecily.’
‘What does that mean for us?’
‘Well, essentially, your guardianship of the child is strengthened, as there is no other claim on her. Do you have your own birth certificate?’ The clerk patted a hefty file sitting on the desk. ‘We were not able to locate one in your file.’
‘Is that my file?’ Odette asked, shocked at its bulk.
‘It is.’
‘What’s in there?’ she asked
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Brown, but all information regarding your history remains confidential. It’s the property of the Aborigines Welfare Board.’
My history, Odette lamented.
‘We do have an additional item flagged here,’ the clerk said, removing his glasses. ‘An issue I need to question you about.’
‘A flag? What is that?’
‘A matter of concern.’ The clerk held his glasses in one hand and used them to animate his conversation. ‘The local police sergeant in Deane states that you left the district without permission, immediately after he had instructed you not to. He also states that he explicitly instructed that the child was not to leave the district under any circumstances.’
Odette felt trapped. She didn’t know what to say.
‘However,’ Michael said, picking up the support letter written by Doctor Singer, ‘this letter appears to provide an explanation addressing the sergeant’s complaint.’
Odette did her best to show no surprise. ‘It does?’
When Odette had written to Doctor Singer, she’d been honest in providing her reasons for leaving Deane. I believe I was left with only one choice, to protect my own flesh and blood. Before writing to the Welfare Board about Odette’s character, Doctor Singer had reflected on the conversation he’d had with Sergeant Lowe the day he discovered Bill Shea’s body.
The clerk read aloud to Odette from Doctor Singer’s letter:
‘Mrs Brown’s medical situation was urgent and it was vital for her to attend hospital. I saw it as my duty to contact the relevant authorities, but failed to do so. Any negligence, in not notifying Sergeant Lowe, of Mrs Brown’s necessary absence was my fault alone. Therefore, I take full responsibility.’
‘I believe the doctor is stating that it was he who had planned to notify the police on your behalf,’ the clerk offered. ‘Is that so, Mrs Brown?’ The clerk smiled.
Odette detected warmth in his face.
‘I would presume, Mrs Brown, that as you were quite ill, you would not have been able to contact Sergeant Lowe yourself due to your medical condition. And therefore, the task would have rested with Doctor Singer, as he clearly indicates here?’
‘Yes,’ she answered tentatively. ‘I believe he was going to do that on my behalf.’
The clerk bundled the papers together and closed the file. ‘Thank you, Mrs Brown. If you could wait in the front office, I will come and see you as soon as a decision has been made.’
Odette returned to the waiting room. Sissy had behaved herself and not moved from her seat.
‘Did you get the document?’ she asked Odette.
‘Not yet, Sweet. But it shouldn’t be too long now.’
When her name was called a second time Odette once again took a seat across from the young clerk. He handed Odette the documents she’d provided, including the testimonials and Sissy’s birth certificate. ‘You will need to retain these in your possession. They could be of help to you in the future.’ He then handed Odette two additional documents. ‘Here is the certificate granting you exemption from the Aborigines Act. And this is an additional document granting you provisional guardianship of your granddaughter, Cecily Brown. You will need to attend the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages to formalise the second arrangement. It is a straightforward matter that should take no time at all.’
Odette picked up the exemption certificate and read the order that she was not to associate with any person of Aboriginal extraction. Her sense of shame was relieved by the content of the second document, informing her that Sissy could legally remain in her care.
‘That’s it?’ was all she could say, somewhat bewildered.
‘That’s it. Congratulations, Mrs Brown.’
He offered his hand. Although Odette felt that there was nothing at all to be congratulatory about, she continued the pretence, as Jack Haines had coached her.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Please let me show you out,’ the clerk offered. As he opened the door Odette was horrified to see Sergeant Lowe sitting on the bench next to Sissy, a hand resting firmly on her thigh. The policeman looked up at Odette, his usual stony expression replaced by a self-satisfied grin. ‘Well, here you are, Mrs Brown.’
‘Sissy, come to me!’ Odette called. ‘Come to your nanna.’
Sissy jumped up and ran to Odette’s side. Lowe stood and straightened his tie.
‘Mrs Brown,’ he said. ‘It’s pleasing to find you here. I was about to enquire after you when I saw young Cecily sitting here alone.’
‘She’s not alone,’ Odette said. ‘My granddaughter is with me.’ She looked nervously at the clerk.
Lowe brought his hands together. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but she will not be with you much longer. You left the district of Deane without my permission. What’s more, you have illegally transported a State ward without authorisation. You’ve broken the law, Mrs Brown. And the officers of the Welfare Board in this very building have been notified.’
‘Sissy is no ward, she’s my grandchild.’
‘In fact, she’s both,’ Lowe smirked. ‘But legally, she remains a child of the State, and I am the l
ocal representative of the State. I’m here to arrange for Cecily to be taken into care.’
‘Can I have your documentation, please?’ the clerk asked Odette.
‘You’re not taking it from me?’ Odette responded, mistaking his intentions.
‘Please, Mrs Brown,’ he insisted.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’ the clerk said to Lowe.
‘I have not provided my name. I am the head of the Deane district police. Mrs Brown is a native living under the legislative protection of the Act. She has abused that protection, which I have previously notified this office about.’
‘Are you suggesting that Mrs Brown has broken the law?’ the clerk asked.
‘I am suggesting no such thing!’ Lowe shouted, angered by the young man’s tone. ‘Odette Brown has no rights in this matter. The law is clear.’
‘But she does have rights. Mrs Brown left your jurisdiction under the authority of Officer Shea, who at the time was an authorised guardian. She has since successfully applied for an exemption certificate for herself, excluding her from the Aborigines Protection Act. She has also been granted legal guardianship of her grandchild. She is free to leave here with her granddaughter today.’
‘That cannot be possible!’
‘But it is. The matter has been assessed by this office and resolved in Mrs Brown’s favour. Unless it can be found that the child is suffering neglect, she cannot be removed from her grandmother’s care. At present, there is no case for her to answer under the Act we administer.’
‘You administer nothing!’ Lowe screamed. ‘The police out there, all over this country, we have kept these people in their place. Without us, do you know how many half-caste children there would be roaming around?’
The clerk stood his ground. ‘As I have said, Mrs Brown has complied with the Act, and she and her granddaughter are free to go.’