by Julie Janson
‘You know, Herr Ferdinand, I was not always a humble minister in a far-off colony. Oh no, I have visited the pilgrimage sites of Europe and I hear that you met Napoleon. Now, was that before you deserted?’ ask Masters.
He continues, ‘No matter, I have seen the true Cross of Cong in Ireland and, today, I bring a new Bible. Will you swear on it that you will raise all these young ones out of the devil’s reach and into the light of God? Come on, everyone come and touch the good book and receive my blessings. Mercy tells me she has heard you all have many young ones needing teaching and Christening.’
He holds the book above his head, as though he is Jesus himself.
Masters’ pink hand is flapping and they are pushing each other away to touch the Bible and his red ruby ring. He sprinkles holy water and mumbles prayers. In a minute, he will recognise Mary. She will be shackled. She sees a police sergeant is there also.
This is what betrayal looks like. The old father of her child strolling up the path with nonchalance, and her old friend, elegantly dressed as a lady, carrying a picnic basket, as though at a party. Panic bursts out like vomit. Is she so worthless that Mercy can throw away her love to run to white fellas? Is Mercy someone’s wife? Whose? No, surely she is a mistress to Masters. Has Mercy been bribed to bring them here? She would like to kill them. Her teeth clench.
Her head aches and she recalls Henry as a young man. She feels a miserable urge to hold him. This unbearable heaviness in her head. She must face them.
One of the farm dogs comes to her and waits for a pat. Mary strokes him and she is calmer.
The wooden step is creaking, and Henry is in the next room of this poor wretched house, built of shingles, ironbark, mud and desperation. It is a simple dwelling with its earth floor and packing-case table. What once seemed like humble beauty is now in the visitor’s eyes a sad display of poverty and oyster shells. She sees Henry through a chink in the wall. He takes off his cloak and folds it ever so carefully before giving out boiled lollies to the children. She shivers when she sees that even her own boy is crunching a sweet.
Biddy is smiling, her face whitened with powder newly applied to hide her brown skin; visitors are very rare. She is wearing her best lace collar and reaches for the precious china tea set with yellow and pink flowers, and a glint of gold on the rim, from up high on a shelf. She places scones and lilly pilly jam on a plate and puts out a plate of shucked oysters. Masters sits heavily before this repast and squeezes a lemon and gorges on the oysters before she can offer him one stained and darned napkin. He burps and wipes his old chin with his hand.
Mercy stands nearby, apparently not wanting to belong to this untidy bunch. She brushes her dress and points her toes to show off her shiny red shoes. The children stare at her. Timmy recognises her and calls out as he giggles, and pushes up close to her. Mercy’s face melts and her hand touches his curls with love. She smiles down at him and winks before she strolls into the bedroom and finds Mary.
‘Don’t touch Timmy. You betrayed us,’ whispers Mary.
‘No, you’re wrong. Masters finds out himself; there’s lots of spies about. You’re my sister; I came to find you. I can kill that fat one for you. I can do anything for you and Timmy,’ replies Mercy.
Mary understands that her friend has made a mistake. There is no malice in her, just the desire to survive and to take whatever is offered. She is babbling explanations about how she thought it would be helpful for Timmy to have the white men’s protection, but Mary stops listening; she knows these men have hearts of stone. And she understands Mercy’s desperation.
Mary sees now that Mercy is weak while Mary is strong. She loves Mercy and forgives her.
‘Stay with me,’ says Mary.
Mercy nods and they embrace. Mercy motions for Mary to be quiet before returning to the main room.
Henry eats nothing and surveys the room with apparent distaste. He has aged and his grey hair sticks out at an angle from his head. His nose is bigger and more hooked. Masters tilts back his head and continues to tip the succulent oysters into his cavernous gob. Mary can see his purple tongue. His eyes are upon the children, as if they are dessert. He slurps his tea then stands and strides about the house and into the bedroom, where Mary is. Henry is behind Masters and she sees his startled face, contorted with recognition. He has come to find her but looks away with a rush of emotion. He blots his face with his handkerchief and helps himself to his flask of brandy from his pocket. Mary walks with dignity into the kitchen.
‘So, Mrs Lewis,’ says Masters, ignoring Mary’s entrance for now, ‘We have letters for you; we are your postman. Here, take them.’
He hands out the letters while his eyes rest on Mary’s face. He nods and looks quickly at Henry Smythe.
‘Thank you, Sir, we haven’t had a letter for six months,’ Biddy says. She cannot stop curtsying.
‘Yes, we are making the rounds with some letters from the old country,’ says Masters distractedly.
‘Not my old country, Sir. Prussia is very far away and no-one can find me now,’ Ferdinand says.
‘Perhaps for the best, seeing as you have been a convict. And I see you have another guest – a felon, no less,’ Masters says as he winks at Mary and sniggers.
‘No sir, there are no such felons here. We are honourable,’ says Ferdinand.
Masters points to Mary in the corner and says, ‘Miss Mary James of Freeman’s Reach, I wondered where you had got to. My dear, we are your friends and benefactors, are we not?’
She clenches her fists and holds his gaze. She will not be punished and mistreated again. Her eyes dart to the window and the bright blue sky and the call of magpies. Something has shifted. She thinks, without fear, of the policeman who stands guard outside.
Biddy is leaning slightly towards him while holding out her hand to Mary and says, ‘This is our dear cousin from Windsor town. She has been visiting us for a while.’
‘Careful what company you keep, Mrs Lewis. We know her! Your Mary is notorious,’ says Masters. ‘Tut-tut. But your husband knows many ex-felons, I imagine. Consorting with escapees or bolters who run away from indenture. You could be charged for harbouring such a person. Prison has not changed except we no longer employ thumbscrews,’ he continues.
‘I am not a felon; I am a free person,’ says Mary. ‘We are not just servants to your kind! Your stock whip and pistol don’t make us slaves. You’re not wanted here. This land belongs to my cousin, Biddy. She has deeds of sale!’
‘Calm yourself; it’s alright, Mary. We English have a privileged access to salvation. If we are unwanted, we will depart. Enough of the threatening talk, Reverend. Surely we come only on God’s duty. To Christen. Let us leave,’ says Henry.
‘Really, Henry, I wonder what possessed you to want to come to this God-forsaken place, anyway? They are all heathens!’ says Masters.
‘Get out of this house, or I will murder you,’ says Mary.
‘Mary, stop this! They are guests. She is not in her right mind!’ says Biddy.
‘It is alright, my dear. I am ashamed of the violence in white men’s hearts. This land is full of monsters of cruelty, violence and lust,’ says Smythe. ‘We are all wounded by sin. As we sailed here, I saw the earth burdened and laid waste by cutting down trees. But I came out of duty, Mary. I thought I might enquire about your daughter, Eleanor? All grown now. Is she with you?’
‘With me? She is gone; no-one knows where she is. I lost her a long time past,’ says Mary.
‘Oh, I see. A shame. I thought perhaps she might have a home here. I just wanted to know. I remember her, such a pretty child. It was foolish of me to ask; I did not think,’ he replies with sadness.
‘You don’t think? Reverend Henry Smythe. When you climbed on top of me all those nights. Did not think? Did not think when we had no money and no food?’ Mary spits out.
Everyone is very quiet. Ferdinand coughs and sweeps up crumbs with his hand and lights his clay pipe. He is mildly amused by the events.
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br /> ‘We’re not hiding in this place, Sir. This is my land. My grant. We enjoy Mary’s company. She’s wonderful with children, she’s teaching them to read,’ says Biddy.
‘She may well corrupt their morals. Take care of their Bible teachings, no other material, mind you. No heathen naked dancing,’ says Masters.
‘Oh, yes, we have a Bible. Husband, fetch it to show him,’ Biddy speaks eagerly.
‘Mary cannot be a worthy teacher. She has spawned several illegitimate brats,’ says Masters.
‘Oh no, sir, she is a good mother. Look at little Timmy,’ Biddy pushes Timmy forward.
‘Stop it, cousin,’ pleads Mary. ‘Say nothing, for heaven’s sake, nothing! All that comes out of your mouth condemns me.’
‘I do know this innocent child. But she has rejected the good book. She will burn. It is a shame. Pass the jam, my dear woman; is it local fruit?’ asks Masters. ‘Do you have more oysters ready? I am partial to a good meal of seafood, aren’t I, Mercy?’
‘Mary reads to us,’ says Biddy.
‘A Bible is defiled by her touching it. Put it away, Madam. She is not allowed to touch this book. Defilement. Please, where are my prawns and oysters?’
Mercy enters the room with a plate of oysters and places them amongst the guests in silence. She uses sign language to ask Mary what is going on.
Mary surveys the room. Biddy can’t speak for the shock and Henry hangs his head in shame.
Mary takes Timmy by the hand and starts to back out the door. But Masters grabs her arm in a wrenching grasp. The children’s huge eyes stare.
‘This, this wretch is an absconder! She has disgraced a member of the clergy. This temptress, this harlot!’ cries Masters as Biddy hustles the children out of the house.
Henry suddenly reaches forward and forces Masters to release her.
Mercy taps her fan on Masters’ head. ‘Leave her alone, Reverend, or I will smash your head in,’ she says with a smile.
Masters laughs and slaps his thigh.
‘Get out! They don’t want your stupid prayers,’ shouts Mercy. ‘I don’t want your tub of lard body on me. With your tiny windji. You disgusting old thing. Get out! You too Henry. You no good monster!’
Biddy places her hands on Mary’s shoulders and pulls her against her breast. The possum cloak is between them, soft and warm. Mercy, who has been banging her fan against her palm, quickly moves to lean her whole body against Mary as well. The women protect their sister. Mary is trembling and her legs shake – she is exultant.
‘You should not have sheltered her, Madam,’ continues Masters. ‘There are penalties.’
But Ferdinand has heard enough. He jumps up from the table and is so agitated that his wife fears he may have an apoplexy of the brain.
‘This is my home, sir, and my wife’s! Mary is our sister and our guest. You will stop now or I ask you to leave, unmittelbar!’ Ferdinand’s agitated hand cuts the air as he speaks. Mary can see that he is braver than all of them.
‘What is your full name again, sir? You are a Prussian, are you not? Ex-convict. You were assigned to old Chief Bungaree, am I correct? At his so-called farm?’ says Masters. ‘An interesting experiment in social welfare that the old Governor sought to undertake. Oh, the Russian expedition liked it enough. They also visited the Native School. They are everywhere, those Ruskies.’ Masters is picking his teeth and examining the toothpick. Ferdinand is silent.
Timmy runs in and strikes at Masters with a stick and twists himself around his mother’s legs. Masters’ face lights up, ignoring Ferdinand’s demands that they leave. He pulls Timmy forward, his little hand gripped in the white fist and the stick is removed.
‘I know this naughty fair child. Has he been Christened? Little man, you would like to accept the Lord as your saviour?’ Masters asks and Timmy’s face is upturned to the Reverend, his large brown eyes gazing.
Biddy stammers, ‘This is Timmy, Mary’s boy.’ Mary silently implores her to say nothing.
‘Yes, I recognise him. Mary’s bastard,’ says Masters and continues: ‘Who is the father? Come, let me sprinkle holy water on him. Let me examine him. You should have let me have him a while ago to train him up.’
‘Leave him alone,’ Mary hisses.
‘Perhaps she doesn’t know who the father might be, eh Ferdinand? Let me look at the child’s skin. Blue eyes. Ah, yes, it would be another white man, perhaps German?’ says Masters. ‘Well, Mary? Speak up, girl, are you a concubine again? Pay well, does it? Easy work I have always thought, just open your legs. Rumpity tumpity.’
Ferdinand takes Timmy from Masters’ arms, gives him a shove then deposits Timmy out the door.
‘Mind the child,’ says Ferdinand to Mary.
‘You can’t hide the truth from me. What is this place, anyway? A nest of illegitimate vipers?’ challenges Masters.
‘Are you making insults, Sir? Watch what you speak,’ says Ferdinand.
‘Timmy is my son and you will never get him,’ Mary says from the doorway. Steady and strong.
‘Who said I would take him? Oh, but now you mention it, he would make a good servant on my new estate. Like you were, Mary,’ says Masters. ‘Very docile, I think not! Do you remember your Tahitian dance with Mercy here, for the Governor? Oh dear, how can we forget? And Henry, surely you remember pretty Mary back then? Do you find her much changed?’
‘It was long ago,’ says Henry.
‘That estate of yours is near the South Creek. It’s my father’s country,’ says Mary.
‘Your country! You, a servant girl? Wake up, lass, we have a new world order. We have conquered you,’ says Masters. ‘You native people are dying out and we can soothe their pillow. Let’s make a deal. If you hand the child over, I will forget to tell the policeman outside that you are an escaped felon. The clergy is here to protect you. I am hoping to be elevated to the position of bishop; isn’t that so, Henry? I want to be remembered for having done something extraordinary for you pathetic impoverished people. We do not discriminate. One person may be black, another brown, another an ex-convict. All are the same in God’s eyes. But, oh dear, you’re all so filthy.’
‘Excuse me, Reverend, why do all your speeches sound so rehearsed and smell of such pride? This is not the place to lecture,’ Smythe asks.
‘We are here to save souls. To give Christening and saving lives from Satan’s grasp,’ says the deluded reverend.
‘You are denying their right to live as they wish. Mrs Lewis has her own land grant! And a respectable husband, if not by a marriage certificate, then in God’s eyes,’ says Smythe, and continues: ‘Perhaps God doesn’t need their souls. Mary is having a good influence here; she has redeemed herself. I do know her, so very well. And I am ashamed to have betrayed her.’
Mary is astounded at Henry’s confession.
‘She is kindness and gentleness and does not deserve more ill treatment. I will defy you, sir, if you attempt to take her child!’ says a red-faced Henry.
‘Oh, defy is it? You are my inferior, so mind your manners. You have no power here,’ says Masters. ‘I had heard about this secret valley on the Deerubbin. A nest of half-caste children hidden away from our colonial administration. But we have the authority to take the children, to place them in the orphan school, at our church’s expense. I care about them, I only want what is best for them!’ He surveys the children who have crept inside again. They tremble at the words ‘take the children’.
‘No. We care for them here. They learn to read. Tell them, Herr Lewis,’ says Mary. She stands in front of the children, a lioness.
The children scatter, jumping out windows and doors. Mary takes Timmy and they run into the bush. The policeman is trying to catch them and Ferdinand laughs as the little ones scatter and kick the boatman.
‘Go, children run! Schnell, schnell!’ Ferdinand cries out.
Masters and Henry hurry outside the hut. A spear thuds at their feet and out steps Chief Bowen, his grace and presence impressive. In one fist
he holds a bundle of war spears, his woomera is in the other, poised and raised above his head with a sharp hook spear in place. It shakes, begging to fly free into the air.
‘Leave them! We kill you! Whu karndi kurung! Run,’ shouts Bowen.
He stands erect and fearless, his breastplate gleaming over his military uniform. The older boys stand in motley dress behind him. They all have spears held high. Masters and Henry stand terrified. The policeman runs to hide in the boat.
‘Nea dullai bunggawurra … friend! Yuin, jumna yanna in bunnia, the sun, us together friendships! My good man, we are all friends here, we come to help. Put down the weapons, your karmai. Why, someone might get hurt,’ says Henry Smythe with a nervous shudder.
Bowen looks amused at Henry’s use of Darug language. Everyone is surprised that this curate knows these words.
‘Naiya not your good man. Naiya paialla, mujar paialla, harabundi not yella bi daialong. You don’t talk for us. We belong this place, not waibala.’ Bowen laughs as he speaks, then holds up his spear and carefully places it in the woomera. He aims it at Masters. It shakes and whirs.
Ferdinand is horrified at how things are turning out. Mary hides behind a wall, where she sees a chamber pot full of piss and shit.
‘Put down that spear, young fella. Easy now, we can work this out. You would like some trading goods? We are all friends here, aren’t we, Herr Ferdinand? Speak that language to ’em. Speak up, Henry!’ Masters says. He is shivering.
‘I am no friend of yours,’ Ferdinand hisses.
‘We callim Masters gorai jagara, fat flea,’ Bowen says.
The crowd begins to laugh.
‘Be warned, I shall return with a letter from the Governor about these children. The law shall win. It is written! We have English justice,’ says Masters.
Now Biddy finds her voice. ‘Get out of our home, yan yan you fiend! Haven’t we lost enough? Whu karndi?’
She comes at Masters with her hand raised, ready to strike. He ducks, but at that moment Mary, alive with rage, rushes up to Masters and empties the sloshing chamber pot over his head. Goona runs down his face. Shit clings to his hair.