Skins

by Sarah Hay

  Dorothea nodded slightly. She knew what he meant. It wasn’t that the trees were any bigger or anything like that. It was just that the distances were greater and there was so much less in between. There was a feeling of weightlessness, of not being anchored anywhere. And in England people lived in towns and villages or on farms. They didn’t live surrounded by forest unable to see what might emerge from it. It was that hemmed-in feeling she hated, and not knowing what lay in the bush that drove her to the beach.

  Church looked at her again. She knew he was trying to think of something to say so she asked where he was from.

  ‘Northamptonshire. My father was the squire at Brackley.’

  ‘Our grandfather was a farmer near Elstead in Surrey.’

  He nodded for her to continue. She shrugged.

  ‘He lost all his land after the war.’

  Mary threw away the twig she was using to scrape the sides of the pot. She got up and disappeared around the side of the hut. Church crossed his legs and uncrossed them. Dorothea rearranged her skirts. Surf rumbled in the distance. He sighed.

  ‘I have never seen more barbarous-looking fellows.’

  Dorothea smiled thinly.

  He continued: ‘Pray tell, what is a swell’s son run out?’

  ‘A gentleman’s son who has spent his fortune.’

  ‘I see.’

  Dorothea pulled at a thread that was fraying the edge of her skirt. She wondered why he wore a black dress suit for travelling.

  ‘I bought land on the Swan River. The men who said it was farming land were … were thieves. I brought seeds and plants from home. It would grow nothing. I’m sorry, you must excuse me.’

  He blew his nose hard into his handkerchief. He had a long narrow face and pale eyes that protruded.

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘I decided to go to Van Diemen’s Land. They tell me it is just like England. And I have an uncle there. Farming.’

  He took a mouthful of tea.

  The day being overcast made the hut look shabby, and the paperbark, which covered it, a dirty grey. Smoke rose from the granite stone chimney and drifted towards the clouds that bumped together above the sand ridge. She took off her shawl, feeling the weight of the air around her. Ants were crawling over her boots and when she looked closely the ground was moving. She stamped her feet and stood up. She looked for Mary as she reappeared from the well, wiping her hands on her gown.

  ‘I’m going to the beach.’

  Mary frowned.

  ‘I want to,’ she said irritably, and then seeing the look on her sister’s face she added: ‘Come on then.’

  From the top of the granite they could see the outline of the mainland even though it seemed to be shrouded in rain, or was it smoke? She sat on a boulder and realised she had needed to remind herself that there was a mainland. Her sister carefully climbed up beside her. Sometimes Dorothea despaired of her. She wondered what Mary would do if it weren’t for her. Perhaps she would just wait for someone else to tell her what to do. But it hadn’t always been like that. There were seven children in their family, they were the oldest, only a year apart. The next was Jem who was four years younger. Dorothea and Mary had shared all their experiences, so when they were bad they were easier to bear. After they left England, Mary had been ill. They were all seasick but she was the worst, and even after she had recovered it was as though with all that heaving and retching she had vomited a part of herself into the sea. Their mother too seemed to have lost what life she had had in her. They had reacted to their new land like plants brought from England with root systems too weak to penetrate the hard soil. In the beginning it was Dorothea who had worked alongside Jem and their father to clear a small area of land so they could erect a tent.

  When Matthew wanted Mary for his wife, Dorothea had been disturbed by her sister’s lack of interest in what was happening to her. Looking back, though, she realised that their father probably wouldn’t have allowed Mary to refuse him anyway. Dorothea hadn’t wanted her sister to marry. She had watched Matthew one day when he came to visit. He couldn’t see her because she was hanging the washing on the line that ran from the corner of the hut to the bush. He came upon her brother William who was kneeling at the front door step. The boy had carefully spread out his rock collection, lining up the small smooth oval ones and placing the colours together. As Matthew stepped he looked down and with one quick action kicked all the rocks off into the dirt. Dorothea knew too that something had happened between Jem and Matthew. Jem was only sixteen but he was solid and strong. Whatever it was, Matthew was quiet when he was around Jem.

  Dorothea looked sideways at Mary and saw her own fear reflected in her eyes. As the sky darkened, the colours in the bay grew more intense and the smell of smoke and eucalyptus grew stronger. But the air was moist and suddenly there was no wind. Orange and yellow clouds edged the shadowy sky and brought with them thunder that rumbled through her and heightened her feeling of nervous anticipation. Then there were flashes of light, and foam and rumpled water as wind gusts tore across the bay. It was black as night as the ash sucked up by the storm wiped out the light. Then it rained. Black rain. Mary ran before her and they were running through spray that rose from the rock.

  Church lit a lamp. They were sticky with moisture and fine dirt but at least they were sheltered. Church looked at them strangely for their bodies were outlined by wet hair and clothes. They couldn’t find anything to wipe themselves with, so when Church left the room they lifted their skirts and wiped their faces with their undergarments. The fire threw out a golden glow and softened the edge of their fear.

  Dorothea swept the floor with a branch she found by the door. It was hard to see into the corners and she startled a long black lizard with white markings. She gasped and Mary, who had been resting her head on her arms, jumped and lifted her feet off the ground as it shot into the other room. Dorothea stared after it and then continued to sweep, making patterns in the dirt. She reached the back wall and a ledge that ran about a foot below the ceiling where there were large cone and conch shells covered in dust and spiders’ webs. Just inside the lip of the largest one was etched the figure of a naked woman. When she looked more closely she realised it was half woman, half seal.

  Heavy footsteps crunched on the other side of the wall. The women looked at each other. Lighter footsteps followed. Men’s voices murmured. Matthew and the boy burst into the hut. Like a dog, the boy shook his black curls.

  ‘Brrr,’ he growled.

  ‘Christ! Wouldn’t want to be at sea,’ said Matthew.

  Dorothea looked up. She thought it was so like him that somehow he wasn’t with the rest of them.

  ‘You were lucky I didn’t tell them where you were.’

  He ignored her and held out a canvas bundle in front of him. The boy, in a kangaroo-skin jacket, pushed beside him and laid his bundle on the table.

  ‘Muttonbirds.’

  ‘Muttonbird chicks. We got them in burrows on the other side of the island,’ added Matthew.

  He laid his bundle beside the boy’s and untied the twine to reveal a mound of grey fluff. Dorothea reached across. Soft silky down covered the chick’s still-warm body. When she turned it over, its broken neck flopped sideways. Dorothea looked up at the boy. He was standing at the end of the table. He nodded and grinned. She thought he was around the same age as their middle brother Charlie who was fourteen. She liked his eyes for they were direct and unusually coloured, tawny like a cat’s. Matthew turned towards the door.

  He spoke over his shoulder. ‘Any sign of the sealers?’

  Dorothea shook her head but asked whether there was anyone else who had been left behind on the island.

  ‘Only him.’ He nodded towards Church, who they could see through the doorway, sitting just under the verandah.

  After they had plucked and gutted the birds they put them in a blackened pot with potatoes and turnips they had found in a barrel in the storeroom and hung it from a hook above the fire
. As it simmered an oily sheen appeared and a strong fishy smell filled the hut and seemed to stick to their skin.

  When she had something to do Dorothea was able to push the panic down. But as soon as she stopped and sat by the fire the sound of the waves seemed louder and stronger and the fear was harder to force down. She knew if she gave in to it, nothing would change. Suddenly the waves seemed much louder and she looked around and met Mary’s startled gaze. But it was only thunder and the rain began again. First it was just heavy drops that plopped and tingged, but then a rush of water descended on the roof, leaking onto the table and floor.

  The others returned to the kitchen. Matthew standing with his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind him, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels. Church found a chair against the wall. The boy flopped down in front of the fire, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. The rain roared. Yellow light of the fire lit their faces. Dorothea felt suspended in time and place. She found it impossible to imagine that outside their walls and over the sea were people. People living normal lives. Buying food at the store or grog at the inn.

  Jem and Manning were the first to return. Dorothea had gone around to the back of the hut to bring in a pile of firewood which was now wet. She saw them through the trees. The rain had eased a bit and the sky had lightened, but still a hazy veil surrounded them. She noticed that drops had made patterns in the sand and when her boots sunk into it, they broke through the crust to the dry powdery stuff beneath. Manning was leading the way. He pushed back the branches and when he let go she could see the raindrops spray from the leaves. But the two lads didn’t seem to notice. They sprang ahead, their feet scarcely touching the ground, stepping over the gullies of water that swept down from the rock.

  ‘I ain’t never heard of a shark breachin’ like a whale,’ called out Jem. ‘Christ, it was a bigun.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘See how it took that seal. I thought we was gone.’

  ‘You thought you were gone, what about me?’

  They disappeared around the other side of the hut. The cloud lifted and the hut shimmered through the gap in the trees. Leaves sparkled and Dorothea smelt the rich earth and the wet granite.

  She looked into her brother’s face and it was almost a stranger’s. He didn’t notice her either even though he was beside her in front of the fire. The sealers weren’t far behind. Their voices filtered through the cracks in the wall and when they entered it seemed there wasn’t the space to hold them. The rain paused. But the wind had picked up and it rustled the treetops.

  The seal-oil lamp glowed dully in the smoky haze. Heat from the fire and damp unwashed bodies mingled with the stench of seal and cooked muttonbirds spread out on the table. They reached for bits of flesh-covered bone, their hands and faces shiny with grease. Dorothea’s eyes watered and she almost choked on the rich odours but she ate like everyone else.

  The door of the hut was pushed open and cool air freshened her face like a wet cloth. The black women, wearing skin cloaks over their shoulders, entered and placed seal flippers between sticks then held them over the flames, squatting at the feet of the men.

  She caught words and snatches of sentences occasionally but most of the time the voices rumbled over and around her. Matthew held Mary close to him, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She couldn’t see her sister’s face for it was obscured by the hair that escaped from her comb.

  ‘Bring in the Big Pup.’

  The door to the storeroom opened and a keg of blackstrap rum was rolled in and hacked open at the top. Mugs were dipped into the dark oily liquid. Everyone drank, even the black women and the boy. Someone sang a song. And someone fell over a chair at the back of the room. There was a scuffle. Voices got louder and the air more dense.

  She was standing at the fire with Jem, swallowing the rich rum, her cheeks flushed and her eyes heavy.

  ‘Did you get any seals, then?’

  ‘What?’ He couldn’t hear her over the din.

  ‘Seals!’ she shouted. ‘Did you get any?’

  He nodded towards Manning.

  ‘He did. Just about lost our whaleboat when we was trying to get off the island. Got pushed sideways and she almost went over. And there was this shark. It was longer than this room.’

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  He was almost daring her to contradict him. She recognised the defensive tone in his voice for she had heard it often enough after he had come home for good. In England he had lived with a wheelwright’s family instead of his own. She knew he resented the fact that she and Mary had been able to stay home while he was sent away to work for someone else in another town. She wanted to say that she didn’t disbelieve him, she was just surprised, but he had already turned away.

  She stretched her hands towards the fire. Someone grabbed her arse. She swung around and looked down into Jansen’s flushed face.

  ‘Get off,’ she said.

  ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten, my lovely.’

  The men with Jansen watched with lascivious grins.

  ‘Go on, if you ain’t going to have her, I will.’

  Words fell over other words and she could make no sense of them. Their faces came through the haze. There were many eyes, red-rimmed and glittering. She glanced over at Jem. He had his back to her and was speaking to Manning against the wall. Anderson and Isaac looked up from their cards. Another man, closer, reached for her skirts. It was one of Jansen’s crew but she couldn’t remember his name. She smoothed her gown and backed away towards the black women who watched curiously from the fire. Dulled by drink, she couldn’t think. Where was Mary? With Matthew but now men stood between her and her sister. Her bodice felt tight across her chest and she found it difficult to breathe. She moved to the fireplace and shivered despite the heat. She could feel their eyes on her; it was like being poked in the back with a fire stick. Then something happened. She didn’t know whether it was looking into the faces of the women by the fire or just being full of grog that did it. But she was angry. Seething, boiling, spewing with rage. She grabbed the poker that hung by the fireplace and faced them.

  ‘Get away from me you dirty sons of bitches!’ she screeched. She realised then it was easier to be angry than frightened. She shook her head as she waved the poker. Her hair loosened and fell in strands around her face. She was red and ugly. She glared at Jansen then at the others around the room. No one spoke. Between two men she caught a glimpse of Mary’s head leaning on Matthew. Then someone started to laugh.

  ‘You show them lass,’ shouted a voice from the back.

  ‘Aye.’

  She froze then, uncertain what to do next. Waiting for one of them to lunge towards her. Slowly Anderson stood up. There was silence again. She let the poker drop to the ground. She watched the smirk slip off Jansen’s face and he sunk towards the wall. Anderson pushed past the men in the doorway and opened the door. The rain had stopped but the air was brittle. He looked at her sideways and told her there was a pile of skins in the storeroom if she was cold.

  From her nest of stinking fur she could see the line of light beneath the door. They were still drinking for she heard laughter. She tried not to think about the lizard that also lived there. The room was dry and warm but thick with dust. And things crawled beneath her.

  January 1886

  It was strange. Last night I had a dream about England. You were there beside Grandmother, playing with the ties of her bonnet, sucking your thumb and running the silky ribbon across the top of your lip. I am leaning against her shoulder and she is telling us a story about a prince and a princess. She smells of rosewater. We sit still on an old wooden chair even though we know there is no one to scold us for Grandfather is dead.

  Then I leave Grandmother and I am older, walking the lane, which is edged on one side by a low stone wall, from her house to the town. It winds past the village hall where our mother had dancing lessons when she was a child. Then I
reach the outskirts of town where they have built the big house for the poor. I see Grandmother’s pale face in one of its mean little windows. Mother didn’t want us to know. It is where Grandmother is to live after Father sells her house so we can sail to our new home.

  Middle Island 1835, Dorothea Newell

  The pool of clear water reflected the sun’s progress as it rose from the other side of the island. The pool was a natural depression in the rock which had been deepened by the sealers. After they had lit a fire on the granite and the heat had split the rock, the men had dug out the fragments and built a wall at the lower end so that when it rained it would fill to a depth of about two or three feet. But that had been done before Dorothea arrived on the island. The rain over the past three weeks had filled it to capacity. She was sitting beside it, as she did most mornings. She squinted as the light brightened, for she was on the edge of the pool, facing it directly. The feathery pink dawn faded from its reflection.

  The rock in front of her sloped down to the bush. To the left was the track to the camp but ahead was another track through the dense wattle to an inland lake she could glimpse over the treetops. Although salty it wasn’t connected to the sea. The black women collected its salt for curing the skins. It was one of the main reasons the sealers made the island their base. As the sun moved further overhead the lake deepened in colour from a pale pink to a dusky rose. When she and her sister first discovered it, they were sure that it was a trick of the light. But when they stood on its spongy banks, the water rippled pinkly in front of them. Crystals lay below its surface and small shrimp flurried in its shallows. They held the water and it burnt the scratches on their hands.

  Dorothea peered over the edge of the rock pool and stared hard at her reflection. Her eyes saw the outline of her head against the sky but then the image faded as her eyes focused beyond it to the strange translucent creatures that floated along the filmy bottom. Sometimes she wished she could disappear like her reflection. She felt like an animal that was being hunted but not in a way that was obvious. The hunter remained just beyond her vision. She sensed he was there and sometimes there was more than one. And the circles were getting smaller. She envied her sister for even though she didn’t like Matthew, he at least shielded her from the eyes of the others.