Territory

by Judy Nunn

  ‘I would be delighted,’ Foong Lee replied. He had heard Terence’s comment upon their arrival and he had appreciated Henrietta’s defence, but Foong Lee always put racial discrimination down to ignorance and, as he secretly felt superior to ignorant people, he wasn’t in the least bothered. Besides, it was to his advantage to return the following day, he was very much looking forward to the races, and the big betting opportunities they promised.

  The feast continued well into the night. People gorged themselves on the beef, children held chunks of bread under the dripping carcasses to catch the fat, ignoring the fruits and salads their mothers had prepared. Finally, everyone having sated themselves, youngsters were put to bed and adults gravitated to each other. Someone in one bunch had a banjo, someone in another a mouth organ and they joined forces, others gathering to sing along or clap in time to the music. The man on the mouth organ struck up a polka and a circle was formed, spontaneously creating a dusty dance floor in the dying light of the fires and the many kerosene lamps which hung from nearby trees and tents. Men boisterously grabbed women and whirled them about as the crowd clapped along to the rhythm.

  Henrietta had been disappointed when Paul and Aggie had left. She hadn’t realised how much she’d come to depend on their company, they really were her only friends, she thought. She’d visited the tent to check on Malcolm, wondering whether she might use the baby as an excuse to bow out of the evening altogether but, upon Terence’s instruction, Nellie and Pearl were taking turns to look after him so it was hardly a valid excuse, and she knew he wanted her to mingle.

  Now, as she was whirled off her feet, she didn’t have time to miss Paul and Aggie. She was the queen of the bush polka, the men all eager to dance with the boss’s wife who was such a good sport.

  ‘I told you you’d be the belle of the ball,’ Terence said, joining her by the track railings. She’d begged off the next polka and had left the crowd in order to catch her breath.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked. He’d seemed so involved with the bunch of men gathered around the fire, drinking and regaling each other with stories, that she hadn’t been aware of him watching her. Henrietta sensed a strangeness in his mood and, following the afternoon’s episode, she felt she was walking on eggshells, unsure what he expected of her.

  ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ he replied just a little too brusquely.

  ‘I won’t dance with them if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Henrietta,’ he snapped, ‘don’t be servile, it doesn’t suit you.’ Terence was also confused. He wasn’t sure what it was that he wanted. He had been proud of her this afternoon, certainly, what man wouldn’t be proud of a wife like Henrietta? When she’d won her race and the crowd had bellowed its approval, he had derived great pleasure from the knowledge that she was his. And tonight, although he hadn’t enjoyed watching her in the arms of other men, he’d been proud to see them all queuing up for a dance. Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t dance with the boss’s wife, no matter how good looking she was, they’d be too inhibited. They were relaxed in her company because she’d shown herself to be a ‘good sport’, several of the men had said as much to his face. Terence was in a quandary. He didn’t wish to break her spirit, but she trod a fine line. How much leeway should he give her?

  Henrietta herself was in a state of utter bewilderment. Earlier in the day she’d been too outspoken, now she was too servile. What did he want? He was a mercurial man and she had learned to accept his mood swings but if only, just now and then, he could talk to her, offer some reason. It was as if he was toying with her, playing a game. If they could only talk openly, she thought, and for once she decided to confront him.

  ‘Terence …’ She hesitated momentarily as she looked at him in the dim glow from the nearby lamp which hung on the railing. Then, what the hell, she thought and she blurted it out. ‘I wish you wouldn’t play games.’ She tried desperately to read the reaction in his eyes as she said it.

  ‘What games?’ There seemed to be no reaction whatsoever.

  ‘The gymkhana event this afternoon,’ she said, ‘why did you …’ But he didn’t give her a chance.

  ‘I don’t play games, Henrietta, you should know that by now.’ Still no reaction, and he was not angry, his eyes were not dead. But they were very serious. ‘I never play games,’ he said, and perhaps there was just the touch of a warning in his voice.

  ‘Then if you’re displeased about something, why can’t we talk about it,’ she continued desperately, ‘why can’t we talk instead of …’

  ‘But we do talk, my darling!’ He smiled as he imitated her emphasis, ‘we are talking! And as I said before, and I’ll say again now, I was very proud of you this afternoon!’ He kissed her lightly on the lips, still smiling. ‘And I’m very proud of you tonight. Now,’ he continued, changing the subject completely, ‘have another dance if you like, but I want you to go to the tent in the next half hour or so, the men have a lot of grog in them and things can get a bit rough.’ He took her by the arm and started walking slowly back towards the crowd. ‘I’ll get my kit from the tent now so I don’t disturb you, I’ll be sleeping under the stars tonight.’

  She looked at him uncertainly. Another game? Some sort of lesson? Was she to sleep alone as a form of punishment? But there was humour in his smile as he added, ‘I’m expected to get a bit drunk with the boys, the boss can’t be seen to sleep in a tent.’

  ‘Of course.’ There was to be no talk, she realised. ‘I’ll go to bed now, I’m tired,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to dance anymore.’ Henrietta knew that no further mention would ever be made of today’s gymkhana event.

  The Bullalalla Races were in full swing and Terence was in his element. It was a rough, tough day, a men’s day, as horses thundered down the track, big money changed hands and the odd fight ensued over placings. Buff Nelson had to break up one heavy dispute and, as the boss of Bullalalla, Terence was called upon to be judge, referee and linesman all in one. He called the race a draw and the matter was settled, but not before the protagonists had laid into each other and scored a couple of heavy punches apiece, much to the crowd’s enjoyment.

  Foong Lee and Albert were cleaning up in the betting stakes. Foong Lee had a good eye for horseflesh and was down at the track, keenly inspecting both horse and rider before each race, and placing his bet at the very last minute.

  Paul Trewinnard was betting very little. He enjoyed a gamble as much as the next man, but he enjoyed Henrietta’s company more, so he remained seated beside her in the grandstand. He noted that, although her husband was revelling in the day, the gaiety seemed to have gone from Henrietta.

  ‘It’s a tiring business, the Bullalalla Races,’ she smiled by way of explanation.

  Henrietta was annoyed and frustrated. She’d thought long and hard as she’d tossed and turned in the tent last night, comfortably enough bedded but unable to sleep as she’d listened to the men’s drunken guffaws grow louder. She was annoyed with herself for not having forced her confrontation further, and frustrated because she knew, if she had, it would have led nowhere. Terence would always close her out, a fact which she found depressing.

  Now, for Paul’s sake, she tried to shake herself out of her mood, not wishing to be poor company.

  ‘Will you place a bet for me, Paul?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘The race after this. Jackie’s riding Florian.’ She gave him a grin. ‘I suggest you put money on it too, it’s a surefire combination.’

  As Paul went down to the track to place the bets, he recalled Aggie’s words. She had not accompanied them today, but when he’d dropped her at her house the previous night, he’d mentioned Henrietta and the gymkhana episode, not by way of gossip, he’d wanted a female point of view. Aggie had been very positive in her opinion.

  ‘They weren’t playing a game,’ she’d said. ‘Terence is a tyrant, and he’ll wear Henrietta down if he can.’ It was the voice of experience, Aggie knew
only too well what it was like to live with a tyrant. ‘She needs us, Paul. She needs her friends.’

  ‘Come on Florian! Come on Jackie!’ Henrietta and Paul waved their hats in the air and screamed at the tops of their lungs. It wasn’t necessary, Florian led from the moment the field took off, and he crossed the finish line a full body length ahead of his nearest contender. Henrietta and Paul collapsed in each other’s embrace as happy and excited as school children.

  Jackie cantered by the grandstand. Standing in the stirrups, he saluted Henrietta who jumped up and down as she waved back. Paul poured two cold beers and they toasted their win, he once more delighting in her exuberance. A woman like Henrietta should never be unhappy, he thought.

  Aware that this evening promised to be a far more raucous affair than the previous night, Henrietta was grateful when Terence suggested she take Malcolm home.

  ‘It’s just like the old days,’ he said happily. ‘They’re drunk already, and there’ll be fights before long, it’s no place for you and the baby.’ Terence was delighted, the races had been a phenomenal success.

  Henrietta readily agreed. Most of the families with young children were packing to go home, to leave the final evening to the men and those bent on a night of rowdy dissipation.

  Nellie helped her settle Malcolm into the Landrover. She and Pearl were camping out for the night, and Terence was already drinking with the men around the spit.

  ‘You want me to come with you, missus?’ Nellie asked.

  ‘No, of course not, Nellie,’ she said, ‘you stay and have a good time, you’ve earned it.’

  Then she said goodbye to Paul. He was about to head back to town and she wondered whether she should ask him to the homestead for a drink, she would have liked to talk to him. She wasn’t sure why, perhaps just to wind down, it had been a hectic two days. But it would be a good hour and a half out of his way and it was already dark.

  ‘Goodnight, Paul,’ she said, ‘thank you for coming.’ She kissed his cheek warmly, wishing she could tell him how grateful she was for his company, the day would have been miserable without him.

  ‘Thank you for asking me,’ he said. ‘Are you all right to get back to the homestead? It’s over an hour’s drive and it’s getting dark.’

  ‘I think so,’ she laughed. ‘I drove trucks in the war, you know.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I knew that.’ She didn’t need him at all, but he wished she would ask him home for a drink. Just a drink and a bit of a talk. He so wanted to be in her company.

  ‘Thanks, Paul,’ she said, ‘for everything.’ And she climbed into the driver’s seat, wishing he was coming with her.

  ‘Henrietta …’ he said through the open window.

  ‘Yes?’ She’d already started the car.

  Paul wondered whether he was feeling the effects of the beers he’d been drinking throughout the day. He was a heavy drinker, Scotch mainly, and he rarely felt the effects of alcohol. Beer to him was a soft drink, ‘mother’s milk’ he’d say, but today, for some reason, he felt light-headed. He decided to speak his mind.

  ‘You know I’m your friend, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He was leaning down, his elbow resting in the open window, his face quite close to hers, grey hair flopping over his brow, and he seemed concerned. Gone was the cynical twist to his mouth and the sardonic twinkle in his eyes. Why is he so serious, she wondered.

  ‘If you’re ever in need, I’m here, you know.’

  ‘Thank you, Paul.’ It occurred to her suddenly that he might be drunk. She’d never seen Paul drunk before, although he invariably had a glass in his hand.

  ‘If you’re ever in need,’ he repeated, ‘I hope you’ll call on me for help.’

  How very formal he sounded. ‘Yes, of course I will.’ She patted his elbow.

  ‘You must never be unhappy, Henrietta.’ He took her hand in his.

  She smiled. ‘I’ll try not to be.’ He was most certainly drunk. Who would have thought it? Sentimentality from the hardened, cynical, heavy-drinking Paul Trewinnard. She squeezed his hand. ‘Drive carefully.’ And he stood back as she put the car into gear. ‘Bye,’ she called.

  ‘Bye.’ She thought he was drunk, he realised as he waved at the car and she waved back through the window. Perhaps it was just as well. And perhaps he was drunk, why otherwise would he have made his little speech? But he knew full well why he had.

  At some point during the afternoon, Paul had realised that he was hopelessly in love with Henrietta. Not that he intended to do anything about it, any attempt would be futile. But then his entire life had been futile, hadn’t it. He would simply be her friend, it was all he had to offer. And as Aggie said, Henrietta needed friends.

  ‘Happy birthday, dear Malcolm, happy birthday to you.’ The four adults sang in unison and the little boy delightedly clapped his hands. It was Malcolm’s second birthday and Nellie had baked him a special cake, she and Pearl presenting it to him while Henrietta and Terence applauded loudly.

  They all sat around the kitchen table, Malcolm in his highchair, and as Henrietta cut up the cake she wondered how she would broach the subject of the children’s party in Darwin next week. Terence had been very moody of late. She understood why, he was under a good deal of pressure. His comment to his brothers at the races last year had been prophetic, the departure of the army had strongly affected the beef market and business was not good. Henrietta had curtailed her trips into town, he seemed to find them irritating now.

  ‘You could be a little more supportive, Henrietta,’ he’d say, although she couldn’t think how. He was gone most of the day, the station’s books were in order, stocks and supplies were up to date, and each Friday she personally distributed the rations from the store shed to the native stockmen’s families who’d recently arrived for the forthcoming muster. The homestead was running smoothly. If simply being by his side would help, then she was only too happy to oblige, but once again Henrietta felt she was walking on eggshells. When he came home of an evening, sullen and irritable, she did her best to cajole him, and when it appeared she was an annoyance she would leave him alone, but then that would annoy him further and he’d demand her presence again. It seemed she could do nothing right. Nellie and seventeen-year-old Pearl kept well out of the boss’s way and Henrietta only wished she could do the same.

  She longed to accept Aggie’s invitation to the children’s party in Darwin. She needed to be free of the claustrophobia of Bullalalla, she told herself, if only for a day. She didn’t wish to admit, even to herself, that it wasn’t Bullalalla she wished to escape from at all, it was the oppressive company of her husband.

  ‘We haven’t seen you for nearly a month,’ Aggie had said the last time they’d met, and that was a whole two months ago now.

  ‘Business is not good, Terence needs my support.’ Henrietta had decided to be honest.

  Aggie wanted to say ‘you need some support too’, but she didn’t. The man was wearing Henrietta down, she could tell. There was the same anxiousness, the same wariness in Henrietta as there had been when Aggie had first met her, and Aggie knew all the signs. She wanted to say ‘leave him, get away’, but of course she couldn’t. The woman didn’t recognise the depth of her problem and, besides, she had a young child. Aggie briefly considered telling Henrietta her own story, but she knew it would do no good.

  ‘There’s to be a party for the children at the end of May,’ she’d said instead. ‘It’s really a part of my consolidation campaign but we’re calling it a children’s party.’

  When the school had reopened, Aggie had once again taken up her teaching post but, far more, she had taken up her ‘consolidation campaign’. It entailed regular meetings between families, both parents and children. ‘We must keep establishing our bonds,’ she insisted. ‘Government assistance and labour are not enough, bricks and mortar might rebuild the town, but it is the people who will rebuild the spirit of Darwin.’ And true to form Aggie had taken on th
e rebuilding of Darwin as her personal crusade.

  She had then plonked another ashtray on the papers which threatened to be blown away by the silly little fan on the corner of her desk and said, ‘I think you should bring Malcolm in to town to meet the other children.’

  Henrietta laughed, Aggie was a breath of fresh air. ‘He’s hardly old enough for school,’ she’d said.

  ‘He’s never too young to meet other children,’ Aggie responded, austere and insistent.

  ‘He’s barely two years old, he’s a baby.’

  ‘What better time to meet others?’ Aggie knew she was being bossy, but she hoped Henrietta would accept the invitation, for her own sake far more than her son’s. ‘It’s a very isolated life for a child, even of that age. He should be given the opportunity to meet other children, you owe it to him, Henrietta. And you must stay the night here,’ she’d said emphatically, ‘with me.’

  It was an attractive offer and Henrietta had been thinking about it for the past two months. She decided that this afternoon’s birthday party was the ideal time to broach the subject; Terence seemed in an approachable mood.

  ‘Of course you must go,’ he replied, when she came downstairs having put Malcolm in his cot; the excitement had exhausted the child.

  Henrietta wondered whether he’d heard her, he seemed distracted. ‘Aggie wants me to stay the night.’

  ‘Why not?’ he said with a complete lack of interest. He’d poured himself a whisky, she noticed, and it was barely five o’clock. Terence seemed to be drinking more than usual lately.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind me going?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ he snapped, and she decided to leave it at that. But, several minutes later, it was Terence who pursued the subject, obviously having given it some thought. ‘It’s probably a good idea for you to go into Darwin,’ he said, ‘you could do with the break, why don’t you stay a couple of nights?’ He sounded amicable enough and Henrietta couldn’t believe her luck. But she hoped he wouldn’t change his mind at the last minute, it was quite possible he would.