Billy comes out of the lounge room, leans down and hooks his arm under her shoulder.
‘May, wherev you been?’ Aunty sobs. ‘Oh girl, I’m gone, movin’ out, they kicking me out.’
Billy holds out a bucket of his arms for her wet face. He looks up at me. He’s back, all eyes and face. I can tell he’s clean. My brother smiles.
Aunty is crying. I cannot stop her crying.
The house, even through wall plaster that crumbles with the absence, is still home. I sit at the kitchen table. It feels good; it feels right for the first time in a long time to be home. The table still parades its paradise years; I flick my thumb through the changes, tablecloth over tablecloth. I count a dozen or so, some stuck to each other, some rotting. Soft felt, crumpled mouldy lace, linen and sticky stiff plastic. I remember coming to visit with Mum on the times when Aunty’d bought a new tablecloth. It was almost exciting, just watching her pull it out of the shopping bag, unwrap its packaging, shaking it out in the kitchen, the smell of raw plastic. Flowers. Fish. Stars. And still, a country paddock of everlastings print the tabletop, wine and fallen ashtray stains. The same as when I’d left.
‘Let’s go buy a new tablecloth, Aunty!’
Billy shifts his eyes from my hand as he speaks. Aunty looks at him, a bundle of pickled skin in his arms, she looks at me. Smiles.
‘Yeah? A nice new one, eh?’
‘Yeah, Aunty, an orange one,’ I add.
‘A bright fuckin orange one!’ she yells and slaps her palm against the floor, laughing.
‘That’ll show em lovies, Aunty ain’t goin anywhere! Not with a tablecloth to wear in!’
She laughs excitedly, but it is too much. The water rises and cries.
I look out the window, toward the gulls diving between the air currents. They dance. The clouds give way to the sky, the wind has changed its course and from here the ocean is clear, waves peel across the glass, clean and hollow, spray dances off their paring lips. Falling silver rains on the afternoon bluegum sheet. The water rises and cries.
Specks of black wet-suited bodies paddle, gliding toward the next set. They always go for the second wave, the second wave of the set, swarming for that ride, to stand for as long as possible.
An excavator starts its smothering engine over the torrent of each barrel. Over the sun. Over the blue. And I wonder, if we stand here, if we stay, if they stop digging up Aunty’s backyard, stop digging up a mother’s memory, stop digging up our people, maybe then, we’ll all stop crying.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Sue Abbey, a wonderful editor and a beautiful friend; Madonna Duffy and UQP for being more than just publishers; Janet Hutchinson for pulling everything together; Peter Bishop and Varuna – The Writers House.
Much respect to Frank Moorhouse, Steve Kinnane, Fiona Doyle, Sam Wagan Watson, Nick Earls, John Harms, Dan Kelly, Larissa Behrendt, Judy Atkinson and Mick Martin for inspiring wisdom and encouragement.
Thanks to Reon and the Fisher family, Jenny, Nick, Michele, Cristen, Melody, Trent, Mark and Sam and Tina, Eliza, Simon Mumme, Luke Beasley, Dave Lavercombe, Patty, Owen, Courtney, Shannon blakboy, Shane and Jeremy for giving constant time, love, patience and laughter.
And thank you to my family, Mum, Dad, Tania, Billy and Andrew, Brenda and Mick, Nana and Pop.
Other Black Australian Writing from UQP
HER SISTER’S EYE
Vivienne Cleven
‘...always remember where you’re from...’
To the Aboriginal families of Mundra this saying brings either comfort or pain. To Nana Vida it is what binds the generations. To the unwilling savant Archie Corella it portends a fate too cruel to name. For Sophie Salte, whose woman’s body and child’s mind make her easy prey, nothing matters while her sister Murilla is there to watch over her.
For Murilla, fierce protector and unlikely friend to Caroline Drysdale, wife of the town patriarch, what matters is survival. In a town with a history of vigilante raids, missing persons and unsolved murders, survival can be all that matters.
The stories – of the camp, the boy and his snake, the shooting – told and passed on, offer a release from the horrors of our past. As Nana Vida says, ‘That’s the story. I let it go now.’
‘This is a brilliant literary novel that leaves you with a resonance of sadness long after you finish reading.’
Australian Bookseller & Publisher
HOME
Larissa Behrendt
Winner of the 2002 David Unaipon Award for Indigenous Writers
Home is a powerful novel from an author who understands both the capacity of language to suppress and the restorative potency of stories that bridge the past and present. Young lawyer Candice sets out on her first visit to her ancestral homeland. When she arrives at the place where her grandmother was abducted in 1918, her family’s story begins to unfold and Candice discovers the consequences of dark skin and the relentless pull of home.
‘A stunning first novel. Behrendt creates vivid characters whose convincing inner lives bring this story of loss and survival powerfully to life.’
Kate Grenville
‘This novel’s greatest strength is its insight into the pain and inherited shame of being a racist society.’
Sydney Morning Herald
‘Behrendt brilliantly explores the subtleties of race and identity in a palpable way. It is like getting under another’s skin.’
The Age
‘Cloud Busting’ was published in Best Australian Stories 2005.
First published 2006 by University of Queensland Press
PO Box 6042, St Lucia, Queensland, 4067, Australia
Reprinted 2007, 2008, 2010
www.uqp.com.au
© Tara June Winch 2006
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.
Typeset in 11.5/15pt Bembo by Post Pre-press Group, Brisbane
Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group
Sponsored by the Queensland Office of Arts and Cultural Development.
This project has been assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
Cataloguing in Publication Data
National Library of Australia
Winch, Tara June.
Swallow the air.
ISBN 978 0 7022 3521 4 (pbk)
978 0 7022 5055 2 (pdf)
978 0 7022 5056 9 (epub)
978 0 7022 5057 6 (kindle)
I. Title.
A823.4
Swallow the Air Page 9