by David Laing
‘Welcome aboard young lady. Do you have your seat allocation?’ a flight attendant, who was checking each passenger’s details, asked. Jars showed her. The flight attendant, who wore a perky hat and sleek blue uniform, inspected her clipboard. ‘Ah, yes, Jacinta Kelly. Going through to Burnie I see. Well, don’t worry, we’ll look after you.’ She directed Jars to her seat, then turned to the next passenger.
Jars found herself sitting next to an elderly man, feather haired and dressed in a business suit. ‘Hi,’ he began, ‘name’s Lucky. In the selling game, I am. What’s yours – your name, I mean?’ Without waiting for an answer, he continued. ‘Might as well get to know each other, eh? Long trip and all that.’ He thrust out a hand.
She forced a smile and shook his hand. ‘They call me Jars.’
‘Great. Pleased to meetcha. Hey, you can have the window seat. View out there’s better than the one in here.’ He unbuckled his seatbelt, waiting for Jars to shuffle into the aisle. He then rose, making way for her to take the new seat.
Lucky continued to talk, but Jars barely heard him as she gazed out the window, watching as people in the viewing area waved their last goodbyes. And then she realised: this would be her final view of the Northern Territory. Her throat constricted and turned wood-chip dry. She had never felt so lonely.
She rested her head on the back of the seat, half listening to Lucky, as well as the whispering drones and occasional laughter of the other passengers. ‘Hey, Jars.’ She felt her shoulder shake. It was Lucky. ‘You were miles away. You had better do your seatbelt up. We’re about to take off.’
How can this be happening, she asked herself as she fastened her belt? In a plane? Flying … to a place … to people she didn’t know? Her thoughts turned to her parents and brother. With a guilty feeling of dismay, she found that already their images were starting to fade in her mind. Even Mr & Mrs H. and Tom seemed distant memories now that she had left them behind. She bit her lip. For some reason she no longer liked who she was.
After a short time, the flight attendant, who had shown Jars where to sit, appeared with a steel trolley laden with cardboard containers. ‘Food,’ she said with a sunny smile. She leant over, and in one motion released the tray from the back of the front seat and placed the meal in front of her. ‘Next stop is Tullamarine Airport, Melbourne. That’s where you change planes for the Burnie flight. There’ll be a short wait in Melbourne, but don’t worry, we’ll make sure you don’t get lost.’
Jars toyed with her food, which, as far as she could make out, was a concoction of tomato, egg and something green. Finally, she pushed it away.
‘Not hungry?’ she heard Lucky say.
She swiveIled her head towards him. ‘No. Can’t eat it.’
Lucky nodded, as though understanding. ‘And did I hear right? The attendant mentioned something about Burnie. You going on to Tasmania?’
Barely whispering, Jars explained. ‘I’m going to a place called Cray Bay, to live with my uncle and his family.’
‘Is that so? Mmm, I know of it. It’s a little fishing viIlage on the west coast, not far from the high country. Very interesting. Going to Tassie myself as a matter of fact. Close to where you’ll be living. I’ve got some business to do there. Might even get to Cray Bay.’ He chuckled. ‘You never know, our paths might even cross again.’
Jars didn’t reply. Hoping that Lucky would take the hint, she leant back once again and closed her eyes.
‘What’s up?’ Lucky asked. ‘Somethin’ bothering you? Yep, I can tell. Your face tells me you’re a bit worried about something or other. I know ’cause I’ve been trained in that sorta thing, readin’ body language and all that. Part and parcel of my job.’
‘It’s … it’s …’ Jars opened her eyes and sat forward, then suddenly, without knowing why, she found herself telling Lucky what had happened to her. ‘I miss them,’ she concluded.
‘Miss them? You mean your family?’
‘My animals too. Who’s going to look after them now that I’m gone? I was the only one who really knew them – understood what they needed. I was the only one … the only one to – to …’ Her throat constricted and the words refused to come. She quickly turned away, resting her head on the window. She closed her eyes, hiding the sudden mistiness that had clouded over them. As she did so, Lucky placed a blanket over her legs. Soon, she slept.
The rest of the journey was completed in a smoky kind of haze, as though she were half awake and half dreaming. The charging buffalo, the crash and the piercing screams, the blood and the calls of the cockatoos; all clumped together attacking her mind. The old man in the cave was there too – the ghostly figure with the strange words.
‘Boy, you can sure sleep,’ Lucky said when she opened her eyes. ‘You’re awake just in time, too. We’re about to land.’
Jars rubbed her eyes. ‘Do you mean we’re in Melbourne already?’
‘That’s right. When we get there one of the flight attendants will take you to the Burnie departure area. I’d take you there myself except I’ve got to meet with somebody as soon as we touch down.’
In the bustling airport, the world was a blur. With the help of the attendant, Jars found a seat in the waiting area. She sat and looked around. The clock on the wall told her it was 6.05 pm, and the lounge began to fill with other travellers. An overhead television was broadcasting today’s news.
An hour later, the flight to Burnie was announced. Lucky appeared from nowhere. He helped her to her feet, then guided her towards the departure gate. He followed as she boarded the plane.
At 7.35 pm, the plane touched down in Tasmania. She undid her seatbelt, rose and got into a line behind the other passengers ready to disembark. She wondered where Lucky was.
‘Wynyard at last,’ she heard a man say, and her stomach fluttered. Wynyard? How could that be? She was supposed to land in Burnie. Had she caught the wrong plane? Was she at the right airport? Her eyes darted from side to side; then she saw the sign through a window:
BURNIE AIRPORT
Relieved, she shrugged and eventually exited the plane. She took a deep breath. She had arrived.
Jars shivered. The evening air was cold. Blowing on her hands for warmth, she made her way towards the airport buildings, a mixture of fear and excitement wrestling in her belly.
‘Jacinta, over here.’ The voice, a woman’s, came from a group of people standing near a doorway marked arrivals.
Then she saw them, two adults whom she presumed were her aunt and uncle. They held a single sheet of cardboard in front of them, each grasping an edge:
JARS KELLY.
WLCOME TO TASSIE!
As she entered the arrivals section where her aunt and uncle were waiting, she caught a glimpse of Lucky, who must have been one of the first to leave the plane. He was hurrying from the building with two men, one on each side. Both were dressed in grey suits and dark sunglasses. Through the glass exit doors, she could see that they were heading towards a clearly marked car. She frowned. Strange. Why would Lucky be leaving the airport with two police officers?
Jars opened her eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed, at the same time taking in her new surroundings. A brown dressing table sat in one corner of the bedroom. Alongside that was a clothes cupboard. Above her bed, a painting of pink, white and orange flowers hung, and to her left, on a bedside table, a clock told her that it was 7.30 am.
Faint voices and clattering sounds came from what she assumed was the kitchen. She stood, then padded across the green linoleum floor. Clothes. Where did she leave them?
She couldn’t remember.
Last night had been trying.
The trip from the airport, arriving at her new home in the semi-darkness, walking over the mossy front lawn, past a rusting 44-gallon drum; then up the steps onto the front veranda where an old battered car seat stood.
Once inside, they had gone into the kitchen where she had met her cousin, Snook. ‘G’day,’ he said, grinning widely, eyeing her up an
d down. ‘So, you’re my cousin. How come you’re different?’
Mrs Kelly interrupted. ‘Snook, don’t be rude.’
‘It’s okay, Mrs Kelly, I don’t mind.’ Jars turned to Snook. ‘I’m Aboriginal, like my mother was. My father was from Scotland.’
‘Yeah? That’s awesome.’ Then, signalling that the subject was closed, Snook jerked his thumb in the direction of the kitchen stove. ‘I kept the stew hot, like I was told to. Can we have it now? I’m starving.’
Mrs Kelly walked over to the stove, opened the oven door and took out a large pot, which she placed on a bench next to the sink. ‘You can all sit down while I dish up. And Jars …’
‘Yes, Mrs Kelly?’
‘I don’t think I like being called Mrs Kelly. Aunt or Auntie would be better.’
Jars puIled out a chair and sat down at the table. Mr KeIly and Snook joined her. ‘That goes for me too, Jars. I’m your Uncle Jim, so you might as well call me that.’
Mrs Kelly dished out the stew and carried the plates to the table. She served Jars first. ‘Good, that’s settled. Now, Jars, you eat up, you must be starving after your long trip.’
Smelling the rich aroma of the steaming meal in front of her and not having eaten properly since breakfast, Jars realised that she was indeed hungry. She waited till the others were served and began to eat, listening to the general chitchat of her new family, answering any questions that were asked of her with a nod or a simple yes or no. After the meal, Jars helped to clear the table. She was then shown to her room. Sleep came quickly.
Sometime during the night, she found herself in the cave. Once again, she saw the ghostly presence, his carving, his dancing, his dying, and the words that continued to hold no meaning …‘The rocks are weeping. Kodkuna yultan.’
Now, Jars pushed the memory of the cave to the back of her mind, found her clothes, which were on the floor at the foot of the bed, and dressed quickly. She ran her hands through her hair and yawned. Then feeling neither tired nor rested, she made her way towards the morning sounds.
Snook and his dad were sitting at the kitchen table, and her aunt was buttering toast on the long bench below the window, which overlooked the backyard. Her aunt turned when she entered.
‘Good,’ she said, placing the toast on the table. ‘Just in time. Sit down and tuck in. I’ll have some eggs for you in a jiffy.’
Jars crinkled her lips in an attempt to smile and sat down. ‘Thank you,’ she managed.
‘Oh, so you talk, eh?’ Snook said. ‘I was beginning to wonder. You were quiet as anything last night.’
‘S-Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to be rude.’
Snook took a bite of toast. ‘Like a zombie you were. In a daze. You all right now, or what?’
Snook’s father, who had been sitting quietly listening, took a sip of coffee, then turned to Snook. ‘That’s enough. Your cousin was just tired after her trip. And don’t speak with your mouth fuIl.’ He turned to Jars. ‘Feeling better now, are you? Feel up to a morning’s shopping? Your Aunt Irene reckons we should get you some things in Queenstown. School uniform and the like. So, what do you say, ready to be dragged around the shops?’
‘Not me!’ Snook blurted.
‘Oh, I know you won’t want to tag along. That goes without saying.’ Snook’s dad pushed his plate aside. ‘So, while we’re away, you can clean up in here.’ He waved his hand about the kitchen. ‘And then, when we come home, there’s something else you can do.’
Snook groaned. ‘What’s that?’
‘Go and see the Quigleys.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. For some reason, and don’t ask me why, Mr Quigley has given me a week off.’
Snook raised his eyebrows. ‘But it’s the middle of the cray season. Why would he do that?’
His dad shook his head. ‘I told you not to ask me why. The bottom line is I don’t know what his reasoning is. Something about him needing to use the boat. Anyway, seeing that I’ve got a few days to spare, I thought we could go camping.’
‘Yeah?’
Jim Kelly nodded, then turned to Jars. ‘What do you say? You, Snook, Quenton Quigley and me. We’ll have a great time.’
Snook’s head jerked up. ‘What, Quigley? That dork? He’s gonna come? You gotta be joking.’
Jim waved a finger at his son. ‘Don’t talk about Quenton like that. It’s offensive. And no, I’m not joking. I’m serious. That’s why I want you to go to the Quigley place this afternoon. You can tell them where we’re going. I mentioned the camping thing to his father yesterday. Because he’ll be away for a few days and because Mrs Quigley’s going to visit her sister in Burnie, he’d like Quenton to stay with us … as a favour.’
Mrs Kelly set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Jars. ‘Thanks,’ she said, then added, ‘Won’t you be coming camping too?’
Wiping her hands on a tea towel, Jars’ aunt chuckled. ‘Goodness no, lying on a hard bed and fighting off flies and the like isn’t my idea of fun. No, I’ll leave the camping up to you lot.’
Snook pushed his plate aside. He turned to his dad, eyebrows raised. ‘So, where are we going? Where are we gonna take the great Quigley?’
‘Now, Snook,’ his mother said, as she wiped her hands once again, ‘it won’t hurt you to be nice to Quenton. His father’s thinking of selling the cray boat and, well, your dad would like to buy it. Taking Quenton would be doing his father a favour and it wouldn’t hurt your dad’s chances of buying the boat either.’
‘Now, Irene,’ her husband interrupted, ‘it’s not a question of sucking up to old man Quigley. We’ll be doing him a good turn, that’s all. So, when we get back from the shops, Snook and Jars can take themselves round to the Quigleys and tell them we’re going to Timber Creek. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘Timber Creek?’ Snook wrinkled his forehead, his eyes narrowing as though deep in thought. ‘Where’s that?’
‘In the mountains. There’s a terrific lake there. We’ll be able to do a spot of trout fishing.’
‘How come you know about that place?’ Snook asked. ‘We hardly ever go into the mountains.’
‘Oh, I’ve got a good mate there. I’ve known him for years. He’s the ranger for the area. I rang him first thing this morning. He reckons he can put us onto a good camping spot.’
‘Far out,’ Snook said. ‘That’s great. It’s just a pity that dork Quigley’s tagging along.’
Jim Kelly glared at his son. ‘Snook, for the thousandth time, watch that tongue of yours.’ He threw his arms into the air, then stood and walked towards the kitchen doorway. He turned to his wife. ‘Coming Irene? We’d better get ready for this shopping expedition. And Snook, just make sure you tidy up in here,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘then you can start loading the trailer with the camping gear.’
Jars watched her aunt and uncle leave the kitchen. ‘He’s a lot like my dad was,’ she thought. ‘The no nonsense type’. Although even at this early stage, she could see he was going to have a hard time taming Snook.
Her uncle was the outdoor type too.
His brown, weathered face, his sun-bleached brown hair, even the clothes that he wore – denim trousers, green work shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows – told her that.
Snook interrupted her thoughts. ‘Oh well, I suppose I’d better get on with it.’
Jars pushed her chair back. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’
‘Nah, you’d better go and get ready for Queenstown. You’ll be leaving soon.’
‘Okay, I suppose you’re right. But Snook …?’
‘What?’
‘How come you don’t like this Quenton Quigley kid?’
Snook began to stack the dishes in the sink. ‘Oh, that. Look, his old man spoils him rotten. Whatever he wants, he gets. He thinks he’s better than all of us other kids too. But I got the better of him once.’
A satisfied look spread over his face.
‘How did you do that?’ Jars asked.
&n
bsp; ‘Flattened him after he shot me with his slingshot. Believe it or not, ever since then he’s hung around me like a bad smell.’
She liked Snook. He reminded her of the cheeky warblers that liked to annoy the bigger birds around Jacana Station. Like them, he had a carefree but likeable style. His uncombed fair hair, freckly face and lopsided, almost permanent grin, added to her first impressions. Yes, she decided, life with her new cousin was not going to be boring.
Her aunt poked her head through the doorway. ‘Jars, are you ready to leave? If we go now we should be back about lunchtime.’
‘Yes,’ Jars said, ‘I’m ready.’
‘And Snook,’ his mother added, ‘make sure you clean up in here like you were told.’
Snook turned the hot water tap on. ‘That’s what I’m doing now. Workin’ my fingers to the bone I am.’ Fat Arse Quigley, Snook couldn’t help thinking as he washed the dishes. How was he going to put up with that waste of space? It’ll be a nightmare.
Jars walked into her bedroom. She gathered the money she had been given by Mr Henderson and put it in the back pocket of her jeans, at the same time hoping and praying that the dramas in her life had at last gone. Deep down she knew they had not. Her vision, she had come to realise, was meant to be a sort of message. What that message was she didn’t know, but her innermost feelings told her that the man, the cave and the camping trip were connected.
Jars didn’t understand how or why she was able to sense such things. But her parents had recognised it. ‘It’s the gift,’ her father had said. ‘You have the feyness of the highlands, lass.’ Then her mother would chime in. ‘No, Alec, it’s the “doowi” in her. She has the dream spirit in her blood.’
That’s how it had always ended. No real explanation. Just a vague reference to the highlands of Scotland and some sort of dream spirit.
Now, whatever it was had come to her once again. A general uneasiness, an unwanted invader of her bones and nerves, a feeling that she knew was very real.