by Alison Booth
‘How can lack of hygiene come from exploitation? Anyway, I’ve never exploited anyone in my life.’
‘Don’t take it personally. We can’t generalise from one case – you!’
Jim held his breath, waiting for an explosion from his mother, but there was only silence.
‘We’ve taken their land from them, Eileen. Their livelihood and their self-respect. And what have we given them in return? Nothing but disease and alienation. We’ve got a lot to apologise for. Not you personally, but all of us.’ There was a pause. ‘But I must go now. I mustn’t hold you up anymore and I’ve got some more errands to run. I have enjoyed talking to you. It’s sharpened up my ideas.’
‘Like a sounding board.’
The Talivaldis laughed. ‘You make me see flaws in my arguments and that leads me to make improvements.’
‘Always improvements,’ his mother said. ‘You’re like Jim. But sometimes in this world you just have to make do with second best.’
At the sound of teacups being placed on a tray, Jim dumped all the library books but one on his bed, before swiftly heading into the back garden. He made straight for that favourite spot: the little hollow under the figtree where he couldn’t be seen from the house. Despite opening the library book, he didn’t read it. He was puzzled by his mother’s comment about making do with second best. What could she mean? Was it Jingera? She’d always seemed reasonably content with her life here, apart from the shopping, or lack of it. Somehow he doubted it was him or Andy. While she favoured Andy more than him, she would not view either as second best. Surely she couldn’t mean Dad. He would do just about anything for her. And he was a good man, straightforward and honest. She just didn’t appreciate him enough.
While a seed of doubt had been planted in his fertile mind, he didn’t pay any more heed to it for there were other more pressing things to dwell on. Not his library book, certainly, although it was the one about the Copernican revolution that he’d been waiting so eagerly to read. Instead he began to think again of Sally Hargreaves, and her dark-lashed eyes that were the colour of the sky at midday.
Chapter 14
Ilona sat in the car and sorted through the mail. Ten Christmas cards, mostly from Peter’s old friends, and three were from people to whom they hadn’t sent anything. There was a postcard too; a brightly coloured postcard, a cartoon picture of a small child in a stroller. Running across the top of the card was the message in yellow letters, Be Good To Your Mother. Turning it over, she saw the Gudgiegalah postmark, and a few words scrawled in block letters in what had to be Lorna’s hand:
IT’S STILL ON. HURRAH FOR ST ANDREWS SUNDAY SCHOOL!
And hurrah for this part of the Jervis Bay trip being sorted out, Ilona thought, smiling. It was such a clever card for Lorna to pick. Being good to your mother was the last thing the people at the Gudgiegalah Girls’ Home would want. Forgetting your mother was their goal.
Only now did she remember that she should have asked Mrs Blunkett if she knew where the Hunters were. She’d thought of that on the drive into town and had somehow forgotten it during her various conversations and errands, to the butcher, the mechanic and the post office. That would have to wait until the next time she came into Jingera; the post office had just shut for lunch.
Once Mrs Blunket knew she was looking for the Hunters, it wouldn’t be long before the whole town would know. Soon after that there would surely be news of their whereabouts.
Yet there were fewer than six weeks to go before the Jervis Bay trip and so far she’d made no progress whatsoever in finding Lorna’s family. No one had seen them. No one had heard of where they might be.
As Jim and Andy came out of their front gate, Jim heard his name being called, and saw Zidra running down the hill towards them. He felt his spirits lift; seeing Zidra always had that effect. Now he’d be able to give her the present that he’d hidden in his sock drawer so Andy wouldn’t comment.
‘Glad I’ve caught you,’ Zidra said, puffing slightly. She was holding a basket awkwardly behind her, and Jim knew better than to ask why. ‘I’ve only got a few minutes,’ she added. ‘Mama’s going to be in a terrible hurry to get home once the pump spare part arrives at Kirby’s Service Depot. She said she’s leaving then with or without me.’
Andy grinned and winked at Jim before making himself scarce. This winking whenever Jim spoke to a girl was one of the few things about Andy that really irritated Jim. His brother just couldn’t seem to comprehend that you could have girls as friends, rather than girlfriends. It was especially annoying when Andy knew that Zidra was like a sister to Jim. Or a brother: Zidra, the honorary boy. Although maybe she no longer wanted to be thought of as a tomboy – that would explain the pink pearlescent polish on her toenails.
‘What are you grinning about?’ Zidra said.
‘Just thinking how glad I am you turned up. I’ve got your Christmas present inside. Give me two seconds.’
It had become a tradition that Jim and Zidra exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve. When he returned with the small parcel, she’d removed her hand from behind her back and was holding out a package, wrapped in red-and-yellow-striped paper.
‘Let’s swap,’ she said, smiling. ‘What’s in yours?’
‘You can open it now and find out.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, if you’d like to. I want to see your face.’ That was the only way to make sure it was what she wanted. Her emotions were transparent to him, he thought. He’d known her for so long he could tell right away if she was displeased or delighted, regardless of what words she might use.
With difficulty she tore off the wrapping paper. ‘Too much sellotape,’ she said. ‘I won’t be able to use this paper again next Christmas.’ She held up the box inside. ‘Chocolates,’ she said, and he could tell she was surprised. ‘How lovely.’
‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘Open the box. It’s just for protection.’
She lifted the chocolate box lid. Inside was another box, narrow and long. He watched her face light up. ‘It’s a fountain pen, a Sheaffer! Oh Jim, how did you guess this is exactly what I wanted!’ With trembling fingers she pulled out the navy blue pen with its gold lid and her name engraved in copperplate lettering on the side. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, taking off the cap. ‘Thank you. What a lovely design for the nib. The top bit runs right up the shaft, so the nib looks diamond-shaped.’
‘For your writing,’ he said, embarrassed now by her enthusiasm.
She laughed. ‘Of course. What else for? Not for stirring my tea, is that what you’re telling me? I’ll write to you with it, and use it for my essays. Now it’s your turn.’
His parcel was a little larger. It also seemed to be a box of some description, and when he turned it over it rattled loudly.
‘You’ll never guess what it is.’
Though tempted to suggest it was a box, after glancing at her eager face and glowing dark eyes he refrained from doing so. Quickly he removed the wrapping paper, to reveal a black lacquered container with five brightly coloured figures painted on the top. A regal figure sat on a raised platform and appeared to be sniffing a rose, while four courtiers looked on. ‘What a beaut present!’ he said. ‘Where’s it from?’
‘The opportunity shop in Burford. I saw it there the other day and thought it would be just right for you. Mama thinks it’s either Chinese or Middle Eastern. The box looks Chinese but the figure on the dais looks a bit like a Turkish sultan.’
‘It’s perfect.’ And it was, so much so that he felt almost moved to tears. It was a lovely exotic thing, unlike any gift he’d ever received before.
‘Open it.’
He lifted the lid of the box and laughed when he glimpsed what was inside: the largest gumnut he’d ever seen, it must have been at least an inch across. ‘Where did this come from?’
‘Dad’s
stock and station agent friend brought some back from Western Australia. I kept one for myself, and this one’s for you.’
‘It’s magnificent. What lovely presents, Zidra. Thank you so much.’ He lifted the box to inspect the frieze around its base. A few hares and deer were shown lolloping between trees, and behind them reared a range of mountains.
‘You can store pencils inside it.’
‘Yes.’ But he wouldn’t, he’d keep letters in it. It was just the right size for envelopes. He’d put Zidra’s letters in it, and the letters from his parents and Andy, and maybe in the future there’d even be a postcard from Sally. At that moment he glanced up the road and caught sight of The Talivaldis waving frantically from the square.
‘Better go,’ Zidra said at the sight of her mother.
She turned and ran up the hill, fast and graceful. Holding his box in the empty street, Jim stared after her. At the top of the street, she turned and waved, and Jim raised a hand in farewell. Why he should abruptly feel sad puzzled him.
An image sprang into his mind of Zidra going into the Burford opportunity shop. Maybe her attention had been caught by the beautiful black lacquered box in the window; or perhaps she’d discovered it in the back of the shop, tucked behind junk or under a pile of used clothing. How like her to have found something out of the ordinary, even in Burford. He wondered how the box had got there. It looked quite old. Maybe its owners had brought it back from China, or from Turkey years ago, perhaps after a business trip selling or buying maize or wheat or whatever. They’d loved the box and kept their treasures in it, and when they’d died their relatives had passed it on, finding no worth in it. And it had sat for years in the back of the op shop until Zidra had wandered in and seen right away that it was right for Jim.
Though he’d given a lot of thought to the present he’d bought her, a fountain pen certainly wasn’t exotic. Even the very special one he’d chosen after learning of Zidra’s ambition to be a journalist. Of course reporters used typewriters rather than fountain pens, but his gift was more of a symbol. And also, he had to admit, an encouragement for her to keep writing letters to him. He’d given her something to write essays and letters with, and she’d given him a box in which to keep letters. There was something nicely complementary about that.
Chapter 15
Christmas Eve at the Vincent household would be the way Zidra had always known it, and as it had been at the Talivaldis household before. Late dinner, and then reading and listening to Christmas music on the radio or gramophone. Zidra predicted that her mother would play Mozart’s Requiem tonight. A new recording had arrived and would be decreed suitable for the occasion in spite of its more sombre purpose.
Someone had already switched on the lights of the Christmas tree in the living room. There were no presents laid out there for her to inspect or feel though. After returning from Jingera that afternoon, she’d rewrapped the fountain pen that Jim had given her and she now lay this under the tree. It was one of the best things she’d ever received. That and Jim’s reaction to her gift; you couldn’t fail to see how touched he’d been by the black lacquered box with its enigmatic illustrations.
The clock struck seven. She was starting to feel cooped up in the house. Dinner wouldn’t be for ages yet. Just a few minutes earlier she’d checked in the kitchen; her parents were sitting at the table discussing the vagaries of water pumps, as far as she could tell, and the leg of lamb was still sitting in the baking tray waiting to go into the oven.
Unnoticed, she collected a carrot from the vegetable drawer and went outside onto the back verandah. The dogs appeared without her needing to whistle for them, and she sauntered across the home paddock to give Star his Christmas Eve treat. ‘Too late for another ride, old boy,’ she said, patting his well-groomed glossy coat. ‘Tomorrow instead.’ Afterwards she strolled on towards the dam. Peter had got the pump working again and she could hear its reassuring humming. A white bird with spindly legs and a black curved beak cocked its head as the dogs approached, before taking to the air with an effortless flapping of its wings, as if that had been its intention all along. Zidra found a stick and tossed it to the dogs. Rusty was uninterested but Spotless Spot would never tire of retrieving it.
Daylight was fading fast, and a scattering of stars had become faintly visible. As she threw the stick again and again, she thought of Lorna. Of course she would be in Gudgiegalah for Christmas. Those ‘boarders’ there would never go home from that place that was like a prison. Perhaps Lorna was locked in the boxroom even now.
Ha ha, she’d written defiantly in her letter. Yet being shut up could never be fun even if you could climb onto the roof. Maybe she was sitting above the roof light now and watching the same sky that was arching over Zidra. A deep longing to see her old friend again might have overwhelmed her if she hadn’t thought of Lorna’s trip to Jervis Bay. There were only six weeks to go.
Spotless Spot nuzzled her hand, and she threw the stick again, as far as she possibly could. Up into the air it rose, higher and higher; she could never have tossed it so far if she’d deliberately tried. Following its progress became difficult. Darkness was falling and the earlier sprinkling of stars had metamorphosed into a white swathe across the indigo sky.
If she were a bird she would take to the air now. She imagined herself rising up to meet the Milky Way, rising above the paddocks of Ferndale. Airborne she would look down on this beautiful land, at its undulating green hills and its rivers snaking from the escarpment to the ocean. She would swoop through the sky and effortlessly travel those many miles to the west, beyond the Great Dividing Range and onwards to the small township of Gudgiegalah.
At this moment she remembered what Lorna had told her years ago about the Milky Way and how it had formed. Once the sky had been dark, darker than anything you could imagine. Dark until two ancestors had sailed up the river and into the sky, and transformed themselves into stars to shine down on their people. And from that time the spirits of the earth mob after death went up into the sky, and made a river of shining stars. A big mob stars.
She smiled at this thought. Tonight she and Lorna were both looking at the big mob stars, she felt sure of it. One at Ferndale and the other at Gudgiegalah, they were friends yet, linked by this river of stars across the indigo sky.
Chapter 16
Christmas morning, and what could be better than lying in for an extra half hour or so, George thought. Listening to Eileen’s steady breathing and savouring the fact that he didn’t have to get up and go to the shop. Didn’t have to do anything apart from go to Church then afterwards open some presents and watch Eileen unwrap hers. He couldn’t wait to see her expression when she opened what he’d bought for her, the crystal water jug and six glasses that she’d admired when they’d been shopping in Burford a few months back. Later he’d gone back alone to buy the set. It turned out to be rather more expensive than it looked but he’d wanted to be sure of purchasing something that pleased her. Wrapped in red paper with holly leaves printed on it, the package now lay under the Christmas tree in the lounge room.
Glancing at his watch, George saw that he’d been lying awake for only ten minutes and yet it seemed like an hour. Funny how he wanted to get up now, even though it was a holiday. He was a creature of habit, that was his problem, or perhaps it was his strength. He was a bit tired, though. Christmas Eve had been even busier than usual. It was well after five o’clock before he and The Boy – the assistant was still known by this name even though approaching middle-age – had been able to clean the shop and lock up for the evening. The feeling of great exhaustion that had almost overwhelmed him last night was now replaced by expectation. Christmas Day with his family and a week off work, now what could be better than that?
He rolled over to look at Eileen, who was still slumbering beside him. Her floral nightgown had slipped off one shoulder and exposed her breast. Gently he pushed at the fabric, so the night
gown slipped further down, revealing the rosebud of her nipple. He was tempted to stroke it; he loved to see it spring erect at the lightest touch. But as Eileen stirred, he thought better of it. There was a time and a season for everything, and he knew that Christmas morning was not Saturday night. For a moment, he watched her peaceful face to see if she was about to wake up. Her eyelids fluttered once but didn’t open, and her breathing continued slow and regular. Emboldened by this, he lightly touched her nipple.
‘Don’t, George,’ she said at once, rolling over with her back to him. ‘Go back to sleep.’
Happy Christmas to you too, he thought. As always he would make her a cup of tea to drink in bed and that would buy her forgiveness. After shrugging on his dressing-gown, he padded out to the kitchen and put on the kettle. On the table all the vegetables for Christmas lunch were laid out in readiness, and in the refrigerator was the chicken he’d brought home the day before.
While he was pouring tea into Eileen’s cup, he heard the boys’ voices coming from the passage beside the house. Perhaps they were going for that early morning swim they’d spoken about the night before. He waited for a moment to see what they were up to. Hearing no more, he took two cups of tea into the bedroom. Normally he let Eileen drink hers alone while he supped his at the kitchen table, but it was Christmas Day after all, and he had as much right to a cup of tea in bed on the first day of his holidays as she did.
She was sitting up in bed waiting. All the pillows, including his own, were arranged behind her. She took a cup and saucer from him and smiled. ‘Happy Christmas, George.’
‘Happy Christmas, Eileen.’
After putting his own cup of tea on the bedside table, he kissed her. She let him press his lips to hers but there was no answering pressure. For a moment he waited by the bedside in the hope that she might relinquish a pillow but she didn’t even think to make the offer.