For the first time I listened to what someone else had to say. Finally someone was makin sense.
The next week we packed up the car and he took me back to the red dirt. Back to family, country and culture.
We lived for the next coupla a years with my mob. We listened to the stories of our old people, learnt our language. I discovered my blackness. It wasn’t easy. Strangely enough, while I was feeling sorry for myself because of my sickness and enforced separation, turns out the rest of the kids thought I had lived a privileged life.
One night me, Antman, Ma, Dad and me brothers and sisters had a few beers and we all started to talk about that day when they picked me up from the hospital. Ma told me how it tore her heart out to hear me say she couldn’t be me mother. Dad told me how small he felt when I asked who lived in the cubby house that up until then had been their home. They told me how they suffered each time I went away. My brothers and sisters told me that they thought I lived a life of glamour; that I had it easy, that I had deserted them. They said they understood now that it was not my choice. Everyone told me how they wanted to protect me, wrap me in cotton wool, but they loved me enough not to.
Suddenly we were all crying. They were tears for what we had lost and tears for what we had gained. They were the warm salty tears of healing, and once again I lay my head on Ma’s breast. Once again her blouse was damp from our intermingled tears.
After that night, me and Antman reckoned it was time to go back to the city for a spell. Just before we were about to leave one of me sisters come by with a little bundle of pure white fluff. Lulla reckoned they couldn’t find im a home cos he had a gammy leg from birth. She reckoned we needed him and he needed us. Antman took im from her and give im a big cuddle and said,
‘Welcome home, ya little fleabag.’
And that was that. The next day he sat in the front seat between the two of us and he’s been ridin there ever since. He’s the greatest little mutt ever. He’s cheeky and smart and he don’t worry bout his gammy leg, just runs with the rest of the pack. All the blackfullas love im ta bits, specially the old fullas who fuss over im and tell us off if they reckon we aint lookin after im. Lulla was right, we sure did need that little fulla. Still do.
Fleabag’s our kid. Antman can’t have kids on account he had ta have chemotherapy when he was young and my sickness meant I couldn’t have any either. I suppose we three was just meant to hook up.
A few months after we got Flea, we was all lyin in bed. It was early mornin, just before the sun come up. Antman was asleep with his arm across my belly and Fleabag’s usin my leg for a pillow.
I suddenly felt all the loneliness leave me, finally makin room for all the good things in life, like family, laughin, travellin and, best of all, love.
Suddenly I felt all together. There was no more lonely soul, no more lonely skin.
Livin on the moon
One night me, Antman and Fleabag was havin a cuppa with Granny Edie and her oldest daughter Aunty Essie. Gran’s ninety years old and Aunty Essie is seventy. Anyway, we was sittin out the front of their camp, sippin on enamel mugs of sweet, milky tea, eatin biscuits and lookin up at the sky. It was covered with a big heap of stars and there was a great big, old yellow moon sittin right in the middle of em.
‘Ya know what, Mummy?’ Essie starts.
‘What, daught?’ says Gran, dunkin her scotch finger in her tea and handin half ta Fleabag.
‘Sometimes everything just gits ta me and I feel like gittin a great big ladder and climbin up and just livin on that moon.’
Granny finishes chewin on her half of the biscuit and looks up. ‘Yeh, daught. I’ll come with ya. I reckon it’d be nice up there.’
The drought breaks
Me little nephew Bunty was born in the middle of a long drought. There wasn’t a drop of rain that fell in his first three years of life. All he knew was sunshine, heat and red dust.
Anyway, a few days after he turned three, he was playin outside when the drought broke. First the rain started in big heavy drops and Bunty looks up and wonders where the water’s comin from. Then the rain starts comin down harder. Next thing ya know the sky’s wailin.
Bunty starts to panic, and then he starts screamin and runnin round like a decapitated chook while he tries to wipe the giant drops of rain from his arms and head. Me sister and brother-in-law run outside ta see what’s got into im.
Finally they realise the little fulla aint never seen rain before. He don’t know what the fuck is goin on.
To make matters worse, all the dogs start barkin and howlin and Bunty is in such a state he’s almost stopped breathin. Me sister and her husband start to panic as well. Then Ant goes runnin over, picks up Bunty, looks around and sees just what’s needed to sort the situation. He belts over to the only spot not touched by rain and rolls Bunty in the dust. He calms down right away.
Me sister was real grateful and wondered why she never thought of doin that. We all had ta sit down and tell the little fulla bout rain and that it wasn’t gunna hurt im.
We all prayed there was no thunder and lightin comin.
Aunty Tibby
One summer, after me, Antman and Fleabag finished a few weeks’ fruit pickin, we decided to head home the long way, through river country, then out home to see my mob. We had a pocket full of wulung to spend and was in no hurry to git back to the city.
Anyway, the second day, we wuz chillin out by the river. Ant and Flea was fuck arsin round in the river and I was makin damper to go with the yeller belly we caught. We had the fire right down to the ashes, just right for cookin, when a ute pulled up on the bank with a wiry little blackfulla with dreadlocks in it.
Ant and Flea saw im and come outta the river, Flea shakin himself as he walked out. I got up and we all walked over to the car and asked the fulla what he wanted and he says he heard there was a Wongaibon woman in town. I told im it was me.
So he gits out and says, ‘Pleased ta meet ya, sis. Me name’s Lennie Boy. Anyway, me Granny Tibby got wind you was in town and wants ya to come up to the hospital to meet her. She’s old and sick and she aint got long to go, but she reckons it’s real important she talks to ya.’
I asked im when visitin hours was and he reckoned anytime so I told im I’d go up in a coupla hours. Ant asked im if he wanted a feed or a cuppa but he reckoned no and told us to ask for Aunty Tibby at the hospital and he’d catch up with us later.
After our feed, we got cleaned up and headed to the hospital. It was a small hospital, really old and sittin on the banks of the river. Lots of big old trees and flowers and a few blackfullas sittin outside in the sun yarnin while they waited ta see the Flyin Doctor. Everyone nodded at us and one old fulla asked if we was the Wongaibon mob come to see Tibby. We reckoned yeh and asked if Flea could sit with em till we come back.
The old fulla reckoned Tibby had a room out the back on the garden and Flea could sit there. He told us he’d fetch im round in a coupla minutes. Flea had no problem with that. He likes old fullas.
Anyway, one of the nurses showed us where Tibby was and we go into her room and she’s sittin in the garden wrapped up in a pink blanket. She was real tiny and skinny with grey hair and really black, smooth skin with no wrinkles I could make out. She had a real round face with big cheekbones and these big brown eyes and the longest eyelashes you ever saw. She was lookin right at me and reached out her tiny hand and took mine.
‘I been waitin a long time for one of you mob to come through here,’ she said in a real soft voice. ‘By jeez, girl, you got that desert country look. Sit down with me. You aint in a hurry are ya?’
‘No, Aunt,’ I said, and introduced Antman just as the old fulla come round with Flea.
She looked at Flea, asked his name and called im over. He come straightaway. Like I said, he likes old fullas.
She picked up Flea and told us to take a load off and called for one of the nurses to bring us a cup of tea.
We got our tea and was makin a big racket stirrin the s
ugar in when we all looked at one other and busted out laughin.
‘You fullas notice how whitefullas stir their tea real soft and us blackfullas make the biggest noise?’ Aunt Tibby asked.
‘Yeh.’
‘When I was a kid,’ she started, ‘we used to have powdered milk cos you couldn’t have the fresh stuff out our way and you had to stir it real hard so it dissolved without any lumps. Even later when we all got the fresh stuff we still did it. All you young fullas copied us and now it’s a blackfulla thing. Don’t matter how flash the blackfulla is, give im a spoon and cuppa and he’s gunna make a racket.’
We reckoned she was right and started laughin again.
We sat there for a while waitin for Aunt to tell us what she wanted. It aint polite to pester old fullas. They tell ya when their good and ready anyway.
She was nursin Flea, pettin im and tellin im what a good lookin little fulla he was. He was lappin it up. Then she started to talk.
She told me that one of her mob had told her that they was talkin ta me and Ant down the pub the night before and when they found out my name and my country, they went straight up and told Aunty Tibby and she sent Lenny Boy to fetch us up to see her.
She asked me who my mob was and what part of Wongaibon country we come from and I told her.
She reckoned we was from the same tribe. Different families though. She said she aint been back to the red dirt country for a long, long time.
She started to cry and Ant passed her a tissue. She mopped up her tears and told us her story.
‘I got married when I was real young. Only sixteen. Me husband was a whitefulla called Lenny. That’s who young Lenny Boy’s named after. He was a bit older than me, a drover. He was a good fulla. Real good to me and the kids. We had six of em. All good kids too. All of em live in other towns now. Got kids of their own. Young grandson Lenny lives here though, with his wife and their two kids. They look after me real good.
‘Anyway, me and Lenny went drovin with the kids for years. All over the back country, Bourke, Tibooburra, Dubbo, all them places but we never went back to my country. Never. I used to beg him to take me home and he reckoned he would one day, but we never made it. We come here one time with a mob of cattle and Lenny got real sick and me and the kids had to finish the drive and come back here and settle and look after him. Somehow we never got back to my country. Me kids has never seen it and dunno what I’m goin on bout it for. Reckon this is where we call home. But it’ll never be home to me. There aint no claypans for a start.
‘Gawd we used to have some times with those old claypan dances. Your old grandmother Edie on the mouth organ, ya grandfather on the guitar, my old mother on the squeezebox. The ground was nice and smooth and ya didn’t kick up too much dust. We’d have plenty of johnny cakes, and roo and emu. We’d make up cakes with the emu eggs for the kids. You aint never tasted anything better in ya life.
‘I miss that red dirt. Specially the smell when rain or water fell on it. Even when Ma chucked the washin water over it. I crave that smell. And I miss the belah trees and the saltbush. And I miss the lingo. It’s good hearin ya talk, girl, and lookin at that face. It’s almost as good as bein home.’
I asked her how come she didn’t go now and she reckoned the doctors wouldn’t let her. It sure made me and Ant sad and Flea licked up a tear that fell on her soft old hand.
We yarned for a long time, told her about all the mob still livin out that way. She had a good laugh when I told her about Aunty Pearlie and Mrs G, and her eyes lit up when she heard bout Uncle Ronnie and how he got his sheep. She reckoned all the girls was mad on old Unc. I told her bout Ma and Dad and told her that a few of her mob still lived there. They was old but they sure would be glad to hear bout her. I told her everyone was always wonderin what happened to Old Lenny and Young Tibby. Last thing we told her bout was Cousin Moodle. Aunty Tibby reckoned Moodle was always mad on funerals. We could still hear her laughin when we walked outta the hospital later that night.
When we got back to the camp we made a big fire, had a feed and talked bout what we was gunna do for old Aunty Tibby.
The next mornin we got up early, packed up and drove all day to git back to my country. Everyone was real surprised to see us, but even more surprised when we told em about Aunt. They couldn’t believe she was still alive. We all went down the Land Council and told em the story and they said they could organise a bus for those fullas who didn’t have a motor car to go and see Aunty Tibby before she passed away.
You should have seen Aunt’s face when the mob arrived at the hospital. Everyone camped for a couple of days and took turns goin to see her so we wouldn’t tire her out too much. Lenny Boy reckoned he aint ever seen her that happy. He reckoned it was great to meet blackfullas with the same faces as him too.
She got real sad when we was leavin, but we all gave her photos and a biscuit tin full of red dirt from her country. We gave her saltbush and a branch from a belah tree. We may as well have given her a suitcase full of diamonds the way she carried on.
Aunty Tibby died not too long after. Lenny Boy reckoned she loved smellin the saltbush and was always pourin a little bit of water on the tin of dirt just so she could breathe in the smell.
Lenny Boy had a big blue with the rest of the family bout where she was gunna be buried. They reckoned her own country was too far away for em to visit her grave. They said he had no say. She was gunna be buried where she died.
Anyway, Lenny Boy got word to us and we all went to her funeral. One by one we all threw the red dirt, the saltbush and the leaves from the belah tree on her coffin. That night we played all the old songs in her memory. It rained the next day. We all hoped it would seep through the greyish-yellow clay and reach the red dirt so Aunty could smell it on her journey home.
Court day
Sometimes, when me, Antman and Fleabag are on the road, we call into one of the big towns on court day so we can catch up with Ant’s cousin, Andrew, and his dog, Harry. Cousin Andrew is another one of Antman’s lawyer cousins. Dunno what it is bout his mob, but they seem to turn out few of em. Got a coupla teachers and a copper as well.
Anyway, Andrew is a Koori Legal Aid lawyer, travels round the district courts representin all the blackfullas. He’s been doin it for a while now. He always takes his beagle, Harry. You can tell if Andrew’s doin a court, cos Harry sits out the front of the courthouse minglin with the mob. He’s got a little rug and food and water bowls. All us blackfullas think Harry’s just it. Harry don’t hang with the town mutts cos they’re always lookin for a blue and Harry is a lover, not a fighter. He gits on real well with Flea tho.
Antman likes lookin on at the court. He reckons when we finish ramblin, he might go to uni and learn how to be a lawyer too. He’s smart enough. Did real well at school.
Andrew used to be a hotshot lawyer in the city. He was married to a girl called Mai Britt from Sweden and they lived in a flash flat with harbour views. He was makin heaps of money and drivin flash cars and goin overseas all the time. Anyway, Mai Britt got homesick and they went to live in Sweden. This time Andrew got homesick. He pined for the rivers and the desert and the ocean and the sky of home. He reckoned the blue in Sweden was icy and pale, not deep and fiery like he remembered from home. He said there was no red in the earth and he was cold all the time.
He didn’t understand the people, they laughed at different things. Even tho he had Mai Britt, he was sick with loneliness. He just had to come home, but Mai Britt reckoned she was already home, so they parted.
When he got back, he went out home and got a job with the Aboriginal Legal Aid mob, One day he was travellin through a town and this old fulla was sittin out the front of the pub with a box with a puppy in it. It was Harry. Andrew took to im straightaway and the bloke reckoned he was lookin for a home for im. ‘Pure bred beagle,’ said the old fulla. ‘Got the papers to go with him too.’
He told Cousin Andrew he could have him for a carton of beer and smokes and Harry’s been travellin rou
nd with Andrew, takin care of fullas in trouble with the law ever since. Andrew reckons he still misses Mai Britt, but he’s happy cos he’s at peace in his country and with his mob.
Anyway, this one time we see Harry out the front of the courthouse so we go over and Andrew’s there talkin to clients. He’s real happy to see us. So is Harry. He tells us to come in and watch the proceedings in court and we’ll have a feed at lunch time. We leave Flea with Harry and go inside.
He gets a coupla offensive behaviours and drivin charges outta the way then he’s got Choo Choo to deal with. Choo Choo’s up on a possessin marihuana charge. He’s a bit too fond of the old yahndi, is young Choo Choo. It’s his first offence tho and Andrew’s got high hopes he’ll be let off with a fine and a warnin, maybe some drug counsellin. Anyway, Andrew’s goin on blah blah blah and handin the magistrate letters that say what a good fulla Choo Choo is and the old magistrate is readin em and he aint looked up from his bench so far.
When he finally does look up, there’s Choo Choo standin there, all dolled up in his new court clothes and hat and lookin real shame. The old Magistrate looks at im. ‘Young man, you will show respect in my courtroom and remove your hat immediately.’
Choo Choo looks at the magistrate and says, ‘I’m really sorry, Your Honour. I forgot I wuz wearin it.’
He reaches up and takes it off. When he does, the biggest bag a yahndi falls off his head and onto the ground in front of him. You could see the air rush outta Andrew. He shrivelled up to the size of a five year old.
Me and Ant along with a heap of fullas from the public gallery had to rush outta the court so we could have a good laugh.
After a bit Andrew comes out, reckons we should just shut up bout Choo Choo for the moment and go and git a feed. He reckons we should go in his car. Trouble is, when we git to where it’s supposed ta be parked, it aint there. We look down the road and see it goin real slow down the street. We run up after it and there’s one of his offensive behaviours behind the wheel. He’s drivin along as slow as an old slug on valium. We’re walkin alongside, and Andrew leans in and says, ‘Ya might wanna take the handbrake off, budda boy. That’s if ya wanna git anywhere in a hurry.’
Me, Antman & Fleabag Page 7