Small wonder, then, that a man like Jeremy should be so preoccupied when that reunion call rang out the first time as to look northward instead of eastward, away into the flat country, instead of up to the cliff-top. But he got it the second time — Ku-uuuuu!
There were the trio, standing out distinctly against a sky as blue as the Flag that was flying as when they had helped him hoist it for the first time. Since they were well away from easy descent, they must have been reconnoitring. Certainly they took him by surprise, as betrayed by the long moment of his staring before shouting back and waving to them to come down.
When at length they reached him he first stared hard at them, doubtless astonished at their appearance. Gaunt and ragged, but for their lighter colouring they might have been taken for mendicant blacks. There was astonishment in his greeting: ‘For God’s sake . . . where’ve you sprung from?’
Rifkah answered with a squeal of happy laughter, rushing to fling herself into his arms. Savitra came on her bare heels, to share one of the arms and laid her tangled black head on it and weep a little. Prindy, the complete blackfellow with a handful of spears and a womera, leaned on the latter and smiled happily at his grandfather.
The girls began to babble explanation. Jeremy listened for a moment, then silenced them: ‘Now, wait a minute . . . what about sitting down and starting at the beginning . . . but you’ll want something to eat . . . bone-buggers! Come on . . . sit down in civilised style at the table. I’ve just made a damper. Wait till I get butter and canned stuff. Prindy, boy . . . stir up the fire and put the billy on.’
It was gobbling rather than gabbling after that. The talk was left to Jeremy, while the trio ate enough to feed a mustering camp for a day. The new damper, scarcely cool, vanished. They finished off with cracker biscuits and jam.
Jeremy told them how he had heard from blacks about their having been seized and transported by Cootes and McCusky, but had been unable to place the date, hence had not thought of their having become involved in the Port Palmeston débâcle. He said that although he had an idea that Prindy might turn up someday, never had he dreamt it likely that he should see them all there. He knew of the air-raid, both from the ABC and Radio Japan. He said he gave more credence to the report of the latter, because it gave very precise details, whereas the ABC had cried down as a mere nothing what, by the very fact of its being the first attack on Terra Australis since the kuttabah came, was an enormity. But he knew nothing of the Great Bolt, till told now. He stared as if incredulous as, light-heartedly, they told him of it, his only comment a whisper: ‘My God!’
His informants believed that the country must long ago have fallen to the Japanese. Jeremy easily disabused them: ‘No . . . the Americans beat them to it. They patrol the coast every day in planes.’ He glanced up at the Sun. ‘They’ll be passing in an hour or so . . . and you’ll be able to see them with the glasses.’ He knew who they were, he explained, because a couple of times they had come close enough for him to distinguish their markings. The blacks had told him that they had been shooting up buffaloes in the maritime swamps, apparently for target practice. ‘I wish they’d shoot up the bloomin’ pigs, too,’ he said. Asked if they might not land on that strip of Fergus’s nearby, he replied that he reckoned the planes were much too big for that.
The talk didn’t last much longer than the great meal, because the travellers were soon heavy with sleep, and being excused by Jeremy, in the manner to which lately they had become accustomed, sought soft shady places in the crimson sand. Jeremy watched them from his deck-chair, mostly Rifkah, lying curled, head on arm, mouth pressed open like a sleeping child’s, but looking so unchildlike in her gauntness, even unrecognisable now as the lovely creature he had known, except for that gleaming copper spilled on the sand.
They slept for about an hour. Rifkah woke first, came yawning to sit on the ground beside Jeremy. The first thing she asked him was what day it was. He said Friday. She cried out, ‘It vill be Shabbos . . . oh, I haf been vonting to come on Shabbos and fry fish.’ She rose, asking excitedly, ‘You haf oil still?’
‘Have everything . . . even candles . . .’
She leapt up and kissed him. ‘Fish?’
‘Bream in the billabong.’
‘Eggs?’
‘Preserved goose-eggs.’
She swung on Prindy, who was awake but still lying down. ‘You vill get fish?’
He jumped up at that, and came to get his fish-spear. Then he grabbed up a gunny-sack and set out. Savitra went on his heels. Rifkah called, ‘Don’t be long. I haf not mooch time.’ She looked at the Sun.
Jeremy chuckled: ‘You go living like a blackfellow for weeks and even tell the time like one . . . but still think of your fish-fry.’
She looked at him. ‘You do not vont me to mek Shabbos?’
‘Of course . . . I’ll love it.’
‘Zen ve vill mek ze moost loffly Shabbos ever vos!’ She kissed him, then whirled away quickly. ‘Moost mek ’nother-one damper . . . for chalah. Vere is flour? Vere is baking-powder? Oh, vot sort of Kashrut can I expect, ven I don’t know vere anyzing is in my kitchen?’
She looked so truly troubled that Jeremy, who looked as if about to make a jesting remark, obviously desisted and went off up to his store in the cave to get what she would be wanting.
Those two angels supposed to check every Jewess’s Sabbath Making to see if it conforms to Kashrut would have been mean indeed not to have passed this one. Perhaps they were amongst the gang of butcher birds that came at sundown to sing for their supper over a sight and a savour such as to add to the liquidity of their fluting with salivation.
Jeremy had foreseen such an occasion. Hence there was a gleaming white cloth to cover the bush-table topped with kerosene case timber and a napkin for that bushman’s chalah and brass sticks for the candles standing ready to be imbued with the Spirit of Light which is the Breath of the Lord, as soon as those Two Stars appeared. There was the fried fish, spread on a tin baking dish instead of the best china, but looking and smelling no less like an Offering to the Lord. The pfannküchen made a golden pyramid on an enamal plate. The beetroot and fruit, out of cans, were in enamel, too. But surely the Kashrut Angels sang in the voices of the butcher birds the Psalm for Inauguration of the Sabbath: The Eternal Reigneth, Let the Earth be glad!
It happened that Igulgul, making his first appearance for the month, got into the act: as he had every right to do, meaning so much to Jews, whose Calendar he keeps, that the Faithful must ask a special blessing on his resurrection. Prindy, watching for the Two Stars, spotted him peeping through the western trees, ran to tell Rifkah. She and he and Savitra joined hands:
Blessed art Thou, the Eternal, Our God, King of the Universe.
Bless us especially on this Night of New Moon.
Igulgul hung peeping to see the candles lit, to see the maker of the magic draw it to her breast with ceremonial movement of the hands, to bend her head so that the magic was struck from it in flashes of fire:
Blessed art Thou, Who commandest us to sanctify Thy Sabbath with Light.
It had been decided to follow the meal with a sing-song and Prindy’s playing a bamboo flute he had made. However, with washing-up done and everything stowed, as proper in the bush where proper observance of the Sabbath would mean capitulation to the ants, the newcomers, filled with food again and used to going to bed like pythons after a feed, were yawning their heads off. Jeremy saw them into swags made up in the cave, then came back to the fireplace, to sit and watch the candles burn away.
Next morning began with talk of going on to the Mission as soon as the travellers were well rested and fattened up a bit. Rifkah said Stephen Glascock would surely be concerned about what had happened to them. She gave no hint of the reason why there should be this mutual concern. Apparently Jeremy knew nothing about her relations with the priest. Perhaps the blacks who had reported to him had their information so much at second-hand as not to know themselves, or knowing, saw it as no business
of theirs or his. Anyway, Jeremy suggested that they complete the journey to the coast on horseback, since even if it took time to muster the horses, that much would be saved in foot-walk, and they wouldn’t lose again the condition he hoped to put back on them. Chuckling, he was to Rifkah, ‘You don’t want even a priest to see you looking Bone-bugger, do you?’ He didn’t seem to notice the blush under her deep tan.
Jeremy said he was not certain where the horses were, not having seen them since the rains set in or having heard anything definite from the blacks. His own assumption was that the Lily Lagoons beasts had split up with brumby mobs and dispersed. According to the blacks, the brumbies favoured two distinct regions of hilly country during the Wet: one eastward of here, the other westward. He wanted to muster the horses to look them over after their unaccustomed spell of running wild. All would need attention, he reckoned, if only to their hoofs. Besides, he would like to have some about him again. During the talk he said he must go soon and get Elektron, who would be fretting for him. When he said this, Prindy and Rifkah exchanged a covert glance.
There were blacks in the locality now, said Jeremy. He’d had a visit from them the other day and made tentative arrangements for a horse-hunt with their assistance. Tomorrow, say, he would put up a smoke to tell them he wanted them.
Later in the morning, Rifkah, after looking over Jeremy’s kitchen garden down below the spring, declared that she would like to do a tasty roast for tomorrow’s dinner, and asked Prindy were there ducks or geese to be got from the billabong. He said there was nothing, that evidently the blacks had taken their toll recently and the rest had flown. He had come on a brace of beinook that were very scary, but reckoned he could get one or both for her. Prindy then asked Jeremy for a Turkey naga. Jeremy winked at Rifkah as he went to his store to get the piece of stuff.
Turkey twill, the native’s choice in material for use as a loin-cloth, was supposed to be imbued with hunting magic, especially in respect to the beinook, or bustard, the supposition being based on misunderstanding of the word Turkey, which of course means here the bright red colour, because the kuttabah, the maker of the magic, mostly calls the bird Plain Turkey. There could be some logic to it, too, since the bustard, otherwise a wary bird, is easily lured by bright objects, especially red. Savitra was another little bird whose eye was caught by the magic as Jeremy cut from the bolt of cloth a piece to make the conventional male naga, which merely slips between the loins and knots on the hips. She came and felt and sniffed the cloth, then asked if she could have a piece large enough to make a sari. Jeremy gave her the scissors to help herself.
Attired and accoutred for his expedition, carrying a gunny-sack in which were a knife for dealing with his victims to meet the demand of kashrut, a packet of fried fish and pfannküchen, and his flute, Prindy set out, farewelled by only Rifkah and Jeremy. Savitra was fitting her sari. Then just as her man vanished beyond rocks and trees, there she was, a vision in black and red, dashing after him. The others only stared. In a little while raised voices could be heard. Evidently Prindy did not want company. However, there was no return of the spectacular vision. Jeremy, turning with Rifkah to the deckchairs, remarked, ‘The trials and tribulations of matrimony!’
Jeremy went on to discuss the pair, this being his first chance to do so, asking Rifkah how things had gone with them over the months. She replied that they hadn’t changed a bit in their attitude to each other, adding in a tone that suggested she believed this explained it all, ‘It Charada business, you know.’
Jeremy shot her a keen glance, which she met with one of innocent inquiry. Then he remarked, ‘Charada’s usually only a temporary state. When it lasts it always leads to trouble. As I told you before, the blacks won’t like it . . . if they’re going to mix with them. How’ve they got on with blacks so far?’
‘Vell, zey haf not mix.’
‘How did Bobwirridirridi take it?’
‘I do not know. He vos vit’ us only few hour . . . and he does not talk to voman.’
Jeremy was silent for a while, then said, ‘Charada is woman’s business, of course. A man’s victim of a woman’s magic. Women supposed to possess power in it usually make trouble through the wilfulness it stirs up in them. Aboriginal women aren’t so well treated that they won’t take advantage of anything they can. I’ve noticed she rather clings to him and tries interfering in what he does and says.’
‘Yes, she like to boss him. Ve haf bit trouble over zat vile ve are coming here . . . vot mek us slow coming.’
‘How was that?’
She explained that when they reached the rough country below the southern edge of the Plateau, Savitra refused to go on, saying that her feet were sore and that she was sick of the bush and wanted to join her people. Of course she wanted Prindy to go with her. Rifkah herself was agreeable, confident of reaching Jeremy by following the Gorge route, and really wishing to be rid of Savitra and certain that Prindy would rejoin her eventually. But despite his obvious infatuation, Prindy could be stubbornly and even brutally resistant at times. He told Savitra they would be glad to be rid of her. In a pique she departed. Convinced that she would be back within a few hours, but doubting her ability to follow them if they went on, Prindy said they should wait for her. Rain was threatening, but not in that quarter. However, when it fell, it swept right across the path the girl had taken. Prindy decided then that she would be utterly lost and that he must look for her. In fact, so badly lost was she that it took days to find her. She had got away into the swamps to eastward of the Beatrice, close to the Rainbow Pool. They found her quite ill, not simply from exhaustion, privation, fright, but from having been stung by some poisonous creature. She had a large swelling in her groin and fever. Prindy rather brutally declared that he had sung her sick to punish her for giving them so much trouble. Nevertheless, he had gone to Lily Lagoons in the hope of getting some of Jeremy’s fever mixture to physic her.
‘Did he get any?’ asked Jeremy. When she shook her head, avoiding his eyes, he added, ‘There was a great stock of it in the annexe . . . ready bottled for the blacks. Couldn’t he get at it?’
The copperhead drooped. She murmured to the ground, ‘Vos no annexe.’
‘Eh?’
She looked at him quickly. ‘Burn’ down.’
He only blinked, reddened slightly, took a moment to speak: ‘What about the rest of the place?’
‘Full of soldier, Prindy say . . . and ever’vere barb’ wire . . .’ She faltered so obviously that Jeremy stared hard at her. She dropped her face to her hands.
He asked, a trifle harshly, ‘What else?’
The brown fingers spread across her eyes. She muttered, ‘Elektron.’
He waited a moment: ‘What about Elektron?’
She quivered, looked up, now with eyes swimming, muttered, ‘Dead . . . ve do not wont to tell you . . . but . . . but you say you are going looking.’ She drooped her head again.
Now his voice was really harsh: ‘How’d it happen?’
‘Joost terrible accident vit’ barb wire, I zink. Poor dear moost try come back home and get tangle up and bad hurt . . . and soldier shoot.’
The broad ruddy face contracted with pain. Then Jeremy sighed: ‘Poor old fellow . . . he was always in trouble with barbed wire. Another casualty. We’ve got to expect things like that now, I suppose.’
She rolled her lovely eyes, murmuring, ‘Kayn aynhorah!’
Meanwhile, Prindy and his bride were making their way southeastward. It hardly could be said that they were together, so great was the distance between them, he slipping along like a hunter, all eyes and ears and as these organs demanded treading his way, while she, despite the brilliant vision she made, dragged along sullenly, not wanted or considered, but determined to hang on. A couple of times she hissed her annoyance — ‘Bloody blackfeller!’ — but without getting even a glance back from him — ‘Bloody bastard!’
They were approaching what must be a creek, judging by the uneven line of taller trees bey
ond the generally stunted scrub. Suddenly he stopped, raised his hand. She obeyed on the instant. But now he wasn’t looking or listening, the way his fair head was lifted and his beautifully moulded nostrils dilating. Savitra also sniffed. He turned and signed to her to come. She came quickly, only to be handed the gunny-sack. Taking it with a grimace, she muttered, ‘What’s matter?’
‘Smoke. Must be blackfeller camp.’ He turned from her, now with spears held horizontally, warrior-fashion, instead of at an angle like the hunter, the womera in his right hand.
She snapped after him, ‘Where you go?’
‘See blackfeller.’
‘Wha’ you want see blackfeller for?’
‘’Bout horse.’
‘I don’t want see blackfeller. I tired. I want camp and have dinner.’
Ignoring her, he went on. ‘Black bastard!’ she hissed, and followed.
They were heading for the tallest timber of the creek, where there would be a waterhole. A few minutes of walking. Then the squeal of a lubra’s laughter. Prindy slowed his pace, raised his face, called, ‘Ku!’ A man’s strong call.
The answer was the yap of a dog, evidently stifled with a slap.
After a moment he called again, ‘Ku!’
Another minute of walking; and there through the green scrub was the brown of humpies of dead branches. To the right of the direct track the scrub was thinner. He veered to it. Then there was the camp in almost full view. He stopped. There were half a dozen humpies, and just as many blacks, all adult males, grouped together by a fireplace, two standing, four squatting, all staring. Prindy leaned his spears against a tea-tree, stood with the womera, and while the men still stared in silence, did the proper thing for a stranger, lowered the womera to lean on it, raising the right foot to rest against the inner left thigh. In that stance you can’t pick up a spear from the ground with your toes.
Poor Fellow My Country Page 237