by Lisa Fuller
‘Tace, didja tell ya sister all about your adventures?’
I look to Laney who answers for me.
‘She’s not speaking, A … Aunty?’
‘It’s not a question girl, it’s a fact, now that me and your sister have been and healed up old wounds between our mobs.’
I cock an eyebrow.
‘And you can cut out that sarcasm, Miss Muffet. Me and your grandfather will heal it together.’
I lower my eyebrow. I did have hope, just not a lot of confidence.
‘Not talkin ay?’ She eyes me closely. ‘And why not?’
I refuse to look at her, choosing instead to stare at my sister for help.
‘It’s what happened in the cave—’
I elbow her in the side, forcing her to stop.
‘Should I ask Sam to leave?’ May asks.
I hesitate but shake my head.
‘But we can’t talk about it.’
I nod.
‘Well, this is a really friggin annoyin way to talk!’
‘Tell me about it,’ Laney mutters.
I glare at her.
‘Ya not still worried by them things, ay bub?’ Aunty May asks, her hand coming up in the familiar claw clenching move.
I’m glad she doesn’t name them, even in broad daylight I can’t shake the feeling they are close.
‘It’s done now, girl. Finished.’ Her hand flicks out and across. ‘They got what they wanted. If we stay away, don’t break another rule, we should be just fine.’
It’s the ‘should’ that keeps me awake at night. No one knows anyone who’s escaped them so there is no real way of being sure. Pop and Mum had a big fight about it. She insisted he smoke out the house and he did it. But he grumbled the whole time about useless gestures.
Laney lies back on her pillows and falls into an ‘I’m sick and frail’ pose that is so obvious it’s see-through.
‘Sis, could ya get me a drink of water? I’m still so thirsty.’
I glare harder at her, but her dehydration worries me so I grab her water jug and go out into the hallway to fill it with the good cold filtered stuff. It doesn’t take long. As I turn, carefully balancing the water, I almost run straight into a broad chest. My eyes flick up and Sam and I stand there for a while, just looking.
He reaches out and brushes my still-healing lip, making me wince.
‘Sorry. Did Dan do this?’
I can’t look at him, or answer. And I can’t tell him to move. I am stuck between a Miller and a water fountain.
‘So yes. Did he hurt anything else?’
The fear in his voice forces me to look up. I shake my head, making sure I hold his eyes. A rush of breath leaves him and fans over my face. It smells like mints.
‘Whatever happened, Tace, it’s not your fault.’
‘Course it’s her fault,’ May’s voice comes from behind him.
‘Aunty!’ Sam is so shocked he takes a step back so me and the old girl are looking right at each other.
‘It’s your fault he got taken cos ya put that necklace on im, didn’t ya?’
I flinch, and May steps closer.
‘It’s your fault cos ya chose to save ya sister and yaself.’
Flinch. Step.
‘It’s your fault cos he followed ya into that place.’
Flinch. Step.
‘It’s your fault cos he was gonna hurt you and instead e got hurt. And part of you is glad it was im and not you.’
Tears flow down my face and it feels like she’s flogging into me with each accusation. Everything I’ve told myself comes out of her mouth.
‘It’s your fault ya didn’t die there, too,’ she whispers into my face.
I start to sob uncontrollably and she bundles me in close, holding tight till the storm is over. When I’m calm she pulls back, smoothing her calloused hands down from my forehead to my chin, brushing tears away as she goes. She cups my jaw and looks deep into my eyes. Only Nan has ever done that.
‘Ya gotta stop torturin yaself. He made is choices and you made yours. Some ya can blame yaself for, but others are all on him. And, bub, I’m so glad you’re here.’
Her sincerity touches me deep, in that infected place where I hold Dan’s cries for help and the sounds of his horrifying death. They’ll never find him inside that cave, and racist or not, no one deserves to die like that. Or to be left wondering what happened to their son.
The entire time May watches me, following all the thoughts that cross my face. She seems satisfied by whatever she sees because she kisses me softly on the cheek and lets go of my jaw.
‘Good girl. I gotta get goin. When your sister is out you come see me and we’ll ave a nice cuppa and a yarn.’
I smile for the first time in days.
Order given, May struts down the hall towards the exit. Sam stops beside me for a moment and smiles.
‘See you soon, Tace,’ he promises before following his aunt.
People will still call her Mad May. That’ll probably always stick. Makes me wonder who the mad ones are in this town. I have a feeling they’re all in for a shock. The thought makes me chuckle.
I wake screaming in the middle of the night, sure there is something in the room with me. Certain that something has me.
Mum comes running, wrapping me tight in her arms while I sob on her shoulder. After the storm turns into sniffles, she bundles me into bed with her, making sure to keep the lights blazing. It’s the only way I can relax now. I refuse to talk, to tell her about my dream, even when she begs. I know she’ll take all the blame for herself because that’s what she does. I don’t want her to feel the way I do.
Neither of us sleep. I’m too scared and I think Mum might be afraid to in case I have another nightmare. We stay awake, hugging each other.
Into that sad, desperate place the faintest trace of a scent comes wafting. A familiar one that grows stronger and stronger.
Imperial Leather soap, White Ox tobacco and talcum powder, with hints of fire smoke.
Mum gives a weird combination of a sob and a laugh.
I’m crying again but for far better reasons. The unconditional love enveloping me loosens my throat.
‘Night Mum, night Nan. Love you,’ I whisper.
Mum’s arms tighten hard around me and I feel her shuddering breaths on my neck. I know she’s fighting tears, because of the way she’s holding her breath. She’s so focused on not crying that she doesn’t hear the soft thrumming call that draws my eyes to the window sill. The ghost bird sits staring at us, before turning and flying into the night. Gone as quietly as it came.
For the first time since this all started, I feel safe. I fall asleep with Mum’s arms and Nan’s presence surrounding me.
Author’s Note
This book grew out of my Masters, where I had the opportunity to sit down with some of my aunties and talk about the history of our town. I asked for and received their permission to write about our community, culture and spiritual beliefs, as long as there were no real people, families or historical events. It breaks my heart to say we’ve lost all but one of those aunties since then. I owe them everything.
As the project has evolved, so too have my characters, and while I have strived to meet my aunties’ expectations, my family has pointed out to me that I have inadvertently written about some family members. Thank you to my mother and sister for being okay with that. Having just lost my own grandfather, I was unable to write the grandfather in this story any other way. I have received permission from most of his children to write him into this work.
The creatures in this story are ones we believe exist and are not named for two very specific reasons: I don’t want them to be misappropriated, and I have deliberately fictionalised some of their characteristics so my representation of them is no longer accurate. People in my c
ommunity will understand what I have stayed true to and what I have fictionalised.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank the Queensland Literary Awards, the State Library of Queensland, and the Copyright Agency Ltd for this entire experience. It has been a true adventure. And particularly to the judges of the David Unaipon, Melissa Lucashenko and Jared Thomas, who gave such valuable feedback. I would like to thank the Anne Edgeworth Trust and the ACT Writers Centre for helping me travel home to sit down with my elders. And thanks to Varuna the National Writers’ House and all the amazing staff there – the space and time to write that you provide is invaluable. I was only able to attend Varuna with the support of an artsACT grant. Thank you all so much!
I have a passion for feedback and there have been many people who’ve given generously of their time and offered their valuable thoughts. Thank you to Kerry Reed-Gilbert, Kim Johnston, Samantha Faulkner, Ross Hamilton, Donna Hanson and Carol Major. Also to Rhonda Black for her brilliant advice, and Grace Lucas-Pennington and Megan McGrath – if I hadn’t seen you ladies speak I wouldn’t have sent my manuscript in to the David Unaipon.
A special thank you to my supervisor, Tony Eaton. I have learnt so much about writing from you. Thank you so much for everything you do.
I wrote the first draft of this book at Capital Pancakes in Canberra. Thank you to the patient staff for letting me sit there for hours on end and fuelling me with delicious food and coffee.
I’m beyond grateful to the entire team at UQP for their time, patience and energy, especially Kristina Schulz, Vanessa Pellatt and Madonna Duffy. Thanks to Jody Lee and Margaret McDonell for editing and proofreading.
Thank you, Aunty Rosie, and all the other aunties who gave of their time, knowledge and energy. I wish you were all here to see this.
To my partner Ben, none of this would be possible without your love, encouragement and patience. To Garry and Trish County, your support and enthusiasm is contagious. To my Uncle Billy and Aunty Linda for the help when I came begging for a place to write out of the heat. To my sisters, Lyndsey and Brooke, and all my nieces and nephews – you are my inspiration. To my amazing mother, Odette, you are my hero.
First published 2019 by University of Queensland Press
PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland 4067 Australia
uqp.com.au
[email protected]
Copyright © Lisa Fuller 2019
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
This book is copyright. Except for private study, research, criticism or reviews, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission. Enquiries should be made to the publisher.
Cover design by Jo Hunt
Typeset in 11/15 pt Bembo Std by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane
The University of Queensland Press is assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia
ISBN 978 0 7022 6023 0 (pbk)
ISBN 978 0 7022 6163 3 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7022 6164 0 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7022 6165 7 (kindle)