by Birch, Tony;
‘Have you got everything you need here?’
‘More or less. There’s a lady who comes from Gatlin a few times a week. She brings food and cleans up. Gives me a wash and all. She’s a church lady. One of them Quaker people. Friends, they call themselves. I’ve never seen her face, but I know she’s a white lady. And a good one.’
‘I need to tell you something,’ Sissy said.
‘You don’t need to tell me at all.’
‘No?’
‘The night your grandmother passed I was inside there, in my bed, having the best sleep in a long time. It was the middle of the night and I sprung up like a young girl. I could hear the wind, coming from the east, which is rare out here. I said to her, “Why are you waking me, Odette Brown, when I’m sleeping so well?” I knew then that my best friend was gone. Did she die in pain, your nan?’
‘No,’ Sissy said. ‘She died in peace. We were happy together in the city. She’s out there, in the car. Nanna’s ashes.’
‘What are you going to do with them?’
‘What she asked me to do. Take her home to the graveyard so that she can be with the old people. Would you like to come with me, Auntie? We can go in the car and I’ll drop you back at home.’
‘Oh, I would love that. But before we go, tell me about your own mum. Did Odette find Lila after you both took off?’
‘Odette never found her. But I did. Three years ago. I’d always wanted to look for her, but not while Nanna was alive. She’d been through enough. I found out, from this group, Link Up, that my mum was living on the other side of the country, in Western Australia. I drove all the way across the desert to see her.’
‘And did you find her?’
‘I did. She was living in a house in Fremantle, run by the government. She had a room there. She knew I was going to see her, and when I turned up she was lying on her bed smoking a cigarette. She didn’t get up the whole time I was there.’
‘What did you talk about with your mum?’
‘Nothing really. Not anything that made sense. She knew who I was, and remembered Nanna and this place. It wasn’t like she was old. She just didn’t have much to say. I went back the next day and took her out to lunch. She never said a word while we ate, just stared out the window at the sea. It was only when we stood up to leave that I saw she had tears in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong. And she just said, over and over, “He came back for me, he came back after me.” Does that mean anything to you, Auntie Millie?’
Although she suspected what Lila would have been speaking about, Millie thought it best to say nothing. ‘Did you ask her?’ she replied.
‘I did, but she stopped talking as quick as she started. She hardly said another word. I took her back to her place. I offered to arrange for her to come over and visit me, but she wasn’t interested.’
‘Have you seen her since?’
‘No. I called her once but couldn’t get a word out of her. Meeting me upset her, I think. I don’t want to put her through that again.’
‘I can understand that,’ Millie said. ‘Once your heart has been cut open it doesn’t stop bleeding.’
Sissy helped Millie into the car and they drove along Deane’s Line, heading to the graveyard. Henry Lamb’s yard was gone. Sissy stopped the car. ‘What happened to the old junkyard?’ she asked Millie, who was cradling Odette’s ashes in her arms.
‘Oh, he went years back. Not too long after you and your Nanna left. Henry blew himself up.’
‘Blew himself up! How?’
‘Nobody was ever sure about what happened. Not exactly. Henry took them Kane boys with him. They were over at the yard with their truck at the time. All three of them were killed. Me and Yusuf, we heard it from our place. The rattling of the windows reminded me of all them times they let off explosives at the mine. They said it was an accident, but Yusie, he didn’t think so. He said Henry would have been on top of everything that happened.’
‘What? That he killed the Kane brothers on purpose?’
‘Well, maybe I wouldn’t say it so directly. Yusie always believed that Henry was a genius disguised as an idiot. But then, he also insisted his camels could talk. I felt sorry for Henry when I heard the news. He was such a gentle soul. But that Kane boy, the older one, he was like his father. Both of them were no good.’
Sissy was struck by an unexplainable sense of sadness. ‘The younger brother, George, he was different from the other one, wasn’t he? I remember him a little. He tried to help me once.’
‘Well, it didn’t help him, not in the end,’ Millie said. ‘That boy paid for the sins of the family. That’s how it is sometimes.’
The mission church and cemetery had been well maintained. A plaque was attached to the front door of the church, stating it was a ‘heritage site’ protected by government legislation. Sissy took Odette’s ashes from Millie and led her by the hand along the narrow path to her great-grandparents grave. She removed the urn from the brown paper and unscrewed the lid.
‘Nan asked me to spread her ashes here,’ Sissy explained.
‘Give me some of her?’ Millie asked.
She cupped her hands together and Sissy placed a small portion of the ashes into Millie’s hands. Millie pressed her hands to her cheeks and rubbed the ashes into her skin. Sissy sprinkled the remaining ashes over the graves. She closed her eyes and saw Odette’s face before her own. She reached out and kissed her lips.
After she’d driven Millie home, Sissy helped her into her house and hugged her. She had a final question for Millie before saying goodbye. ‘Hey, Auntie, do you remember the policeman who was here when we left town?’
‘I do. He was only here a little while, but I remember him. He was a bad one, that old boy.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Well, not long after you and your Nan took off, so did he. We never saw him again. The bugger vanished.’
‘You mean he never came back to town?’
‘That’s right.’ Millie turned her milky eyes to the mountain range. ‘But he’s out there.’
‘Out there, Auntie? That’s almost twenty years ago.’
‘Don’t matter. He’s wandering around some place. I feel him sometimes. Them bad ones, they never leave you be.’
Although Millie’s remarks made little sense, Sissy felt a chill pass through her body.
‘From here I’m driving all the way to the centre of the country, Auntie Millie. I’m starting a job in a school out there. I’ll call in on the way back and see you, before Christmas.’
‘You do that. Maybe I’ll still be here. Who knows? I could be gone by then.’
Sissy kissed the old woman. ‘Don’t say that.’
Millie dismissed her with a wave of her hand. ‘Now, you go. Don’t be fussing with me.’
Sissy drove a little further along the track and noticed the remains of the old footbridge. It had collapsed into the dry, weed-infested riverbed. She stopped the car and walked across to the single street of Quarrytown. Few of the old huts remained standing. Those that were had been strangled beneath the tendrils and hushed blue flowers of the voracious weed that plagued the area. Little was left of the one-bedroom hut Sissy had lived in with her grandmother, although the old wood stove and chimney stood defiantly in the ruins. Sissy could almost smell a rich brew of tea steaming in an iron kettle, conjuring memories of a much happier time.
She was about to return to the car when she noticed a familiar shape. She walked across the yard and stood at the foot of the old bathtub, overflowing with rubbish. She found a rusted metal bar and used it to clear the tub of weeds, soil, bird feathers and chips of stone. She sat on the edge of the bath, removed her boots and then stepped into the tub. She lay down and closed her eyes. Sissy could hear the birds of old, the birds that spoke to her grandmother. She rested the back of her head against the edge of the bath and felt t
he warm water caress her young skin. She could feel Odette’s fingertips massaging the back of her neck.
Odette and Sissy Brown had come home together.
Author’s Note
The White Girl is a fictional work set in a fictional town somewhere in Australia. The story of Odette Brown and her granddaughter, Sissy, is reminiscent of the experiences of many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people throughout the twentieth century; people of remarkable courage. I would not presume to tell the story of any child removed from family and community, or that of the people left behind to deal with loss and the resultant trauma. What I do hope for with this novel, is that the love and bravery conveyed by Odette and Sissy provides some understanding of the tenacity and love within the hearts of those who suffered the theft of their own blood. I dedicate The White Girl to both those who found their way home, and tragically, to the many who did not.
Acknowledgements
I want to thank my editor, Jacqueline Blanchard, who likes both a tidy sentence and a clean floor. I also want to thank all the team at UQP, people who have been great supporters of my writing for many years.
My kids – Erin, Siobhan, Drew, Grace and Nina – you are the champions of the world (to quote Freddie Mercury). To my grandkids, Isabel – tougher than the rest – and Archie – beautiful boy, I love you with a big heart. Sara, you are, as always, the rock I roll with.
I also want to thank the deadly three – Kim, Paola and Karen. And finally, Kes, we welcome your tenderness around the house, as we remember Ella with the love she left us with.
First published 2019 by University of Queensland Press
PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia
uqp.com.au
[email protected]
Copyright © Tony Birch 2019
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
This book is copyright. Except for private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
Cover design by Josh Durham (Design by Committee)
Cover photograph by ToscaWhi / Getty Images
Typeset in 12/17 pt Bembo Std by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane
The University of Queensland Press is assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia
ISBN 978 0 7022 6038 4 (pbk)
ISBN 978 0 7022 6204 3 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7022 6205 0 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7022 6206 7 (kindle)