by Julie Janson
‘Where you been?’ asks Mercy
‘I’m here a little while, but mostly hungry. The last year has been no good.’
Mary tells Mercy how she survives on the river by growing corn and bartering fish, and hundreds of oysters and prawns down river in the township of Spencer. Mercy nods and holds her hand. The friendship between them is of like sisters and they must care for each other and not separate.
‘Masters is not bad, he’s like old man now. Not much nguttatha anymore. Doesn’t want my pretty gumerri. Just ask me to help him dress and look after him. He got no wife. She go to England and never come back. He keep me for a long time, lot to eat, good warm place for sleep. I like it quiet now, not run here, run there,’ says Mercy.
‘But he bosses you all the time; maybe now you want a soft life?’ asks Mary.
‘A soft life not bad. Better than hard life. I got nice things now. But I had little ones.’
‘What, gurng babies?’ asks Mary.
‘Gone now,’ says Mercy sadly. ‘When you go away after you help that chief, I have to leave Masters’ place too. I live in Parramatta and I find nice husband. One of my mob. We happy – so happy, but then it’s a real cold winter. Not much food so we live in a bark shed. Not warm. Have babies. My babies gone now. That strangling disease, diphtheria. Two girls. Twins, Mary and Mercy. They got real sick. Can’t breathe, the throat swelling and swelling. They turn blue and cold and gone. Just close their eyes and sleep forever. I scream and howl and try to hang myself. My husband make smoking song for me. After that he’s gone. Not coming back.’
Mary hugs her and they hold tight to each other.
…
One morning the women take Timmy for a swim in a billabong nearby. It is murky and full of turtles and eels. They catch a turtle and cook it on a fire.
‘That Reverend Smythe told me once about a pretty place in England for a swim. He called it “the blue hole”,’ says Mary.
‘Well, I reckon this is a brown hole,’ laughs Mercy.
Gentleman’s Halt is a huge sandstone building. It is only half-built, as though the grand design was too much for her farmer friend. But the kitchen is dark and warm with a wood fuel stove. Mud and newspaper line the walls that are then painted with a white wash. In a shed, they find a bag of seed corn and they find other vegetable seeds in tins stacked on a shelf in the earth cellar; the women plan a bigger garden.
Mary and Mercy dig the earth to extend the garden of corn but it’s a battle with the large grey kangaroos who try to get to the sweet young corn. The women build a higher fence of branches to stop the huge male animals and every morning check it for damage.
Mercy washes clothes in a tin tub by the fire after she has bathed Timmy. He seems to grow in love with her and, as days pass, Mary sees the closeness growing between them. She cannot help but be suspicious. She cannot relax. What if Mercy takes him away when Mary is sleeping? She sees Mercy’s eyes on him like a greedy spirit. Mercy enjoys his love and ignores Mary. What if she let him drown or burn? Mary stays awake half the night with Timmy warm against her.
…
Months pass and the three of them eat well as the corn and cabbages ripen and they drink from the small fresh spring-fed well with straight stone walls near the back of the house. Timmy scoops tadpoles into a tin cup and his little hands grab at the tiny animals. He holds one with legs and laughs as it tickles his palm. Despite the frog spawn that floats in the ferns, the water tastes sweet and fresh. They use a leather bucket to carry it to the house.
It is soon winter. Timmy has developed a swollen belly and there is no flour left and nothing to eat but lomandra seed damper and wild fruit, like lilly pilly, wombat berries, wild grape that is hard as stones and sweet yellow geebung. The oyster stews are beginning to make Timmy sick and Mercy makes a medicine of sarsaparilla leaves to feed him with a spoon. One day, they walk to the billabong and swim in its fresh water. They dive for the waterlily stems that they peel and eat while floating. Mary notes that the flowers of these waterlilies will soon turn into edible seed pods, rich in nutty oil. They will return in the right season.
It is a cold drought and small game like possum or goanna are hard to find. Each evening Timmy cries with hunger and Mary is frightened that he will sicken and die. Mercy catches an echidna with a snare made of devil’s guts twine and roasts it on the fire. The women give their portions to the child, they lick the drips of juice – it tastes wonderful. They are hungry too, and suck the bones greedily. The echidna quills are used to make a necklace for Mercy.
One morning, they row their boats to the township of Spencer near Mangrove Creek to barter for food. Mercy has a stolen silver watch, which she holds high to catch the light. She asks for flour and milk, but the shopkeeper is silent and sneering as he reaches for the old bags of flour full of weevils. The women stand their ground until he passes them a large bag of clean flour, salt meat, fat, tea and some sugar.
They take off down the swift river towards their house and the feeling of going home is luscious for Mary. She imagines herself tucked up with a cup of tea in front of her fire. An arrogant shopkeeper cannot hurt them.
Mary ties up her canoe, but the tide is out and she struggles to get to the shore through deep mud while carrying Timmy. She climbs up on the tree trunk jetty near their house. She usually balances along the tree trunk with nimble skill, but not tonight. Mary has Timmy in her arms as she slips and falls into the deep grey stinking mud and sharp oyster shells. The child screams.
Mary howls out for her friend who comes and lifts the child from the mud. Mary tells her to take him up to the house and to not worry about her. She feels her nose and it seems to be broken. Blood fills the oyster cuts as she crawls up the bank and along the track to the house.
Inside the house, Mercy has lit a fire in the stove and Mary staggers into the kitchen to wipe the mud from her face and body. She is dripping brown ooze.
‘You look like you covered in goona, shit all over you,’ laughs Mercy.
‘No worry about me. I was thinking I was in the circus and I can balance then, bang, into the stink,’ says Mary.
‘You just pick up Timmy and run on that pole like a possum – but you’re not a possum, you’re head over tit,’ laughs Mercy.
Mercy winks at Mary with good humour and produces a parcel of tea. Mary moans in pleasure because they have been stewing the same old tea leaves for weeks and the native sarsaparilla is not as good to taste. Mercy boils water in the billy and they undress Timmy and wipe him down. He snuggles against them. Timmy begs for a spoonful of sugar to suck, then dips his fingers into the white crystals. Without this child, Mary thinks, there would be no point in living.
‘He’s like my child too. My little ones all gone. I would die for him,’ says Mercy.
‘He loves you, Aunty,’ says Mary.
Timmy traces his fingers around Mercy’s face and kisses her but then leaps into his mother’s arms and falls asleep. Mercy washes the deep cuts on Mary’s knees and hands and carefully picks out bits of oyster shell. She steeps Eucalyptus paniculate, grey iron bark, muggargru, in water for disinfectant. Mercy takes red sap from their collection of bush medicine and presses the cuts closed.
‘You’re a good nurse. I’m glad you’ve come,’ says Mary as she sits with Mercy in the firelight.
‘Ngaia yunga for wungar, you still know that talk?’ Mercy looks at her and strokes her hair.
‘Yuin, yes a little bit,’ says Mary.
‘One bossman hit me when I spoke lingo. I just speak English all the time now,’ says Mercy.
‘True, aye? You know, I think I am a big coward. I leave all the people who need me, before this. But now I will never leave my son,’ says Mary.
Mary has an idea to barter with the families down river at Marra Marra Creek off the Deerubbin. She tells Mercy she has heard about her cousins living there on a small farm. They have orchards of oranges and peaches and a white German father, Ferdinand, who protects his native wife and
children by going alone to town for drygoods. His family is safely hidden back behind the mangroves. It is a secret valley of plenty. She will row along the river again to safety and the quiet haven of Marra Marra Creek. She will find her cousin Biddy’s farm.
But Mercy has had enough; she longs for the comfort of Masters’ estate. She looks at the thin stew of cabbage in the billy pot and stirs it with her fork. Mary watches her. It is greasy and watery.
‘I can’t eat this goona. We’re starving here. See my ribs here! We need karndo. You can go down river, chase a stupid dream place. But watch out your boy doesn’t die! I’ll paddle back up to the town to see what I can get from that old Masters man,’ says Mercy. She has a strange look on her face.
‘Come with us to Marra Marra Creek. We can be safe together,’ pleads Mary.
‘No, you all the time run, run, like a rabbit. You ever want what waibala have got? Lots of food, lots of warm places. I want to go Windsor town. I need tobacco and maybe work a bit for him,’ says Mercy. ‘I can ask that Masters again. He likes me. He’s got a lot of money. You come or maybe Timmy might die.’
‘What? My boy will get strong. That Masters, he likes you? You bimung garai, he’s not mittigar friend. He beat me, he beat you! He spits on us. You can’t work for him.’ says Mary.
‘I’m going. I’m getting skinny. Straight away like that. You coming? You going to stay watch that baby get really sick?’ asks Mercy as she packs a small basket and walks towards the door.
‘No. You’ve got to stay here with us where it’s safe. I can protect you always. You make lots of mistakes. All the time you chase the wrong fellas,’ says Mary.
Mercy howls with laughter and says, ‘Look at you! Talk about choosing wrong fella, ha! And now you’re starving, your boy is starving!’
She walks to the water’s edge, steps into her small boat and is off.
‘Don’t go!’ Mary screams.
‘You got to follow me, you’re my sister!’ Mercy screams back.
She paddles in the opposite direction to where Mary wants to go – she is going a day’s paddling back upriver towards Masters’ estate. Her bowed head in a pink scarf becomes a blur in the river’s mist. Mary stands by the canoe with Timmy, torn between staying or following. Eventually, Mary packs her canoe with Timmy and some food and reluctantly follows Mercy towards Windsor town, and Reverend Masters. She seems to have no will against Mercy’s insistent power.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
1835: MASTERS' HOUSE AGAIN
Dear Sir,
Thank you for your kind hospitality on our recent visit to your splendid estate at South Creek. We much appreciated the religious interviews with yourself and your servants.
On our departure, we ventured to the other side of the creek, to see Black natives, who resort thither. In comparison to other tribes, the South Creek natives may be considered to be remarkably half domesticated and they often are employed in the agricultural operations of the estate. The wife of our guide can read, she is a half-caste, educated in the Native School at Parramatta. It is to be regretted that this school was abandoned, for though many who were educated in it returned to the woods, yet an impression was made upon them, favourable to their future progress in civilisation.
Yours sincerely,
James Brownly, Missionary
…
Masters’ house is leaning against a stony hill, and in the few years since Mary worked there, it has undergone major improvements with an extra floor having been added and the white colonnade has been enhanced with extra pillars. The thatch roof has been replaced by sturdy orange tiles from the convict brickworks. The building sits majestically against the grey sky while currawongs sing all around. It has many sandstone chimneys, and smoke drifts in white clouds over the oak trees. A sumptuous garden is rambling over the land around the house. English flowers are in bloom – marigolds, purple fuchsias and white daisies are all in rows. Orange, lemon and peach trees grow in straight lines and a glasshouse is full of plants bearing ripe tomatoes.
Mary, Timmy and Mercy stroll down the grand pathway and stroke the carved statues of several stone lions that guard the way on either side.
An Aboriginal gardener is planting seedlings in the kitchen garden and Reverend Masters clips his red roses while balancing his wine glass on a nearby stool. Bees buzz around the flowers and the perfume is heady and sweet. His old friend, Captain Woodrow, reclines on a chaise lounge on the verandah sipping Andalusian sherry. Bees perch on the flowers and the perfume of countless daisies and lavender bushes wafts over the lazy scene. Mary, Mercy and Timmy stand as yet unseen.
Captain Woodrow holds up a newspaper, the Sydney Gazette.
‘Have you read this, Reverend? This proclamation seems surprising from an Irishman. It says, “The Proclamation of Terra Nullius tenth October 1835 by Governor Sir Richard Bourke as issued by the British Colonial Office. It reinforces the notion that the Territory of New South Wales belongs to no-one prior to the British Crown taking control. The Aboriginal people have no rights and no-one can acquire it, other than by permission of the Crown or they will be considered trespassers …” Oh look, here are some dark-skinned trespassers now!’ He waves his wine glass at Mary and Mercy.
‘I grow so weary of these topics. Can’t we all live in harmony? Imbibing Andalusian wines or the sweet wine of Malaga,’ Masters replies.
He drinks another glass of wine.
‘I rather like the idea of some kind of Utopian vision. All brotherhood together in peace, etcetera, and a nice drop of yellow this,’ says Masters as he holds his glass to the light.
‘When I was with the garrison on the sub-continent, I was instructed in Buddhism by a brown-skinned monk but I had a persistent ague. He recommended that I cure myself by drinking his fresh urine. Cheers!’ says Woodrow while finishing his glass.
Woodrow puts down his empty glass, waves and jumps on his horse. He trots down the path away from the house and towards the town. He has errands.
As she approaches the door, Mary hides Timmy under her dress. Suddenly she notices that Mercy has gone, run off without a word. This is so much like her – pushing Mary into trouble, then doing a flit. Timmy’s thin little hands grip her legs.
Rodney – she knows from her last time at the house – he holds the door ajar and whispers for Mary to go around to the kitchen. She takes Timmy out and walks along the outside path and looks through a window to see a fireplace and glasses of yellow wine. The room shimmers with a foreign allure. It is a dark interior of blood-red walls and velvet curtains. She is shocked to see Mercy already in a servant dress preening herself before a looking glass. Rodney walks towards her smiling and smoothing his crinkled hair. They whisper and canoodle and then Mercy has her legged crooked over his breeches in a scandalous embrace, followed quickly by sounds of sighing and humping by the butler.
Mary is furious. Mercy has led her to a place she does want to be. She has been duped. She inhales deep breaths to quieten her heart.
Mary is ushered into the room and there, in front of her, is Masters’ huge back as he shrugs on a green satin smoking jacket and lights his long Dutch pipe. His head tilts towards a vase of flowers and he inhales the scent. Mary has an overwhelming desire to steal something. She sees a small carved ivory skull with emerald eyes. Her fingers touch it and straight away Masters’ voice booms, ‘Don’t touch the antiquarian objects!’
Timmy bursts out crying, and already she wants to escape the Reverend’s presence. Masters swivels in his big wooden chair and his grey eyes, like beacons, alight upon Timmy. The child shivers and tightly holds his mother’s hand.
‘A child! You have brought me a magnificent blond child! Wonderful!’ says Masters.
Mary looks at him closely. He is a weaker man now, with a florid face, and he seems to have trouble breathing. Masters reaches a plump hand out for Timmy and the child recoils. Mary pushes Timmy behind her.
‘No, Sir, I want work, like Mercy. We are hungry,’ she says.
>
‘I remember you. You helped a felon escape! You want to return to my house?’ he says as she nods and her hands tremble. She is fuming inside – it is like eating poison – but her son’s survival may depend on this odious man.
Masters twists a gold signet ring around his pinkie finger as he licks his lips and leans forward. His breath is fetid.
‘I do have compassion for you all. Especially lovely Mercy, that naughty wench. But otherwise one needs to “Smooth the dying pillow”, etcetera. Firstly, you must give a creditable demonstration of your skills. Go to the kitchen and make some tea. Use the fine Indian tea leaf. Mercy will help you. Off you go. And leave the boy so he can be warmed by my fire.’
He leans forward and wiggles his fingers at Timmy.
‘Don’t be afraid, little boy. Would you like a boiled lolly? Or an apple?’ he asks as he bites into an apple.
‘He must come with me,’ she replies.
‘If you must. But, if this is a true capitulation, you will crawl on your hands and knees and beg for this opportunity. Show me,’ says Masters.
‘I cannot, Sir.’ Her head sinks down, but she will not crawl.
‘Lower … Like the potentates of India, they learnt to submit. Hmm, it will do for now,’ he says. ‘I am sorry for your recent hardship. You do look a little famished. Need a bit of fattening, eh? Chin up, little boy – all will be well. Did I give you an apple? Oops, I ate it. Jesus teaches forgiveness. I might even find your mother a suitable “ticket-of-leaver” to marry. How’s that?’
‘Kind of you,’ she says.
‘Here, have a red sweet grape. I grow them on the estate.’ Masters hands Mary some grapes. Timmy grabs the fruit and stuffs them in his mouth.
She watches Masters and fears him, knowing that starvation is not the worst thing. Worse would be if she had not known the love and protection of her father or teachers. If she had been raped or tortured. But she had endured one beating by this man’s hand, and she has managed to keep this boy. He matters more than life itself. She would do anything to protect him, to see him eat well and thrive.