Crow Country

by Kate Constable

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ said Ellie. ‘Will you paint me?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Walter, struggling to hide his dismay. Ellie laughed.

  ‘She’s only teasing,’ said Sadie. She leaned forward, peering at a detail in Walter’s painting. An electric shock fizzed through her. In the background, perched on a fence, Walter had painted a black bird.

  Sadie pointed. ‘Is that – is that a crow?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s Auntie Lily’s totem.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sadie wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was too shy to ask.

  Ellie wasn’t shy. ‘What’s that, Walter? What’s your totem? What’s yours, David? Can you choose your own?’

  Walter said, ‘Auntie Lily doesn’t like me talking about that stuff too much.’

  David shook his head. ‘You spend too much time with Auntie Lily.’

  Walter opened his mouth to argue, but just then a voice rang out across the hall.

  ‘Dave! Davo!’

  Craig Mortlock waved as he strode toward them. Amanda was nowhere in sight. Craig grinned and slapped David on the shoulder.

  ‘Great session last night! You certainly showed those boys a trick or two. Very impressive, Davo. No promises, obviously, but if the boys pick up the way they did last night, and the season improves . . . well, you might be looking at a permanent position.’

  ‘I’m only there to give Vic a hand,’ said David. ‘I’m not trying to put anyone out of a job.’ He saw Lachie standing behind his father. ‘Sorry you missed out on the team this time, mate. Maybe next week.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Lachie.

  ‘Hi, Lachie,’ said Sadie breathlessly.

  ‘Hi, Sadie.’ Lachie threw her a half-smile.

  Sadie beamed back foolishly, and couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  ‘That is so exciting about the coaching!’ said Ellie, as they gathered round the table in David’s kitchen, helping themselves to reheated Chinese takeaway. ‘Did you hear what Craig said? A permanent position! That means they’ll sack Vic, for sure. Craig’s the president; what he says goes, and if he wants you, you’ve got the job.’

  ‘Hold on, who says I want the job?’ David was half-laughing, half-cross. ‘I don’t mind going down the oval once in a while to help them with their handballing, but I’ve got no plans to be the Boort football coach.’

  ‘Oh, David, why not?’

  ‘I told you, I’ve got better things to do.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Like spending time with you, for instance.’

  Walter and Sadie rolled their eyes.

  ‘I’m prepared to make the sacrifice,’ said Ellie.

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘Because – I want us to fit in. As a couple. I want us to be a part of the community.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure if I do.’ David released Ellie’s hand and dug his chopsticks into the lemon chicken.

  ‘David—’

  ‘Let’s talk about it later.’

  Ellie leaned across the table. ‘So, Walter, what about these totems, then?’

  ‘Maybe David should explain it.’

  David shrugged. ‘You know more about it than me, mate. You’re the one who spends hours talking to Auntie Lily when you should be doing your homework.’

  ‘It’s important,’ said Walter.

  ‘Of course it is!’ said Ellie. ‘Walter needs to know about his culture.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said David. ‘But there’s no point knowing about your culture if you can’t get a job.’

  ‘You can do both, surely,’ said Ellie. ‘Tell me, Walter, I’m interested.’

  ‘Well . . .’ said Walter slowly. ‘Some of the stuff Auntie Lily tells me, it’s secret, okay? But you’ve heard of the Dreaming, right?’

  Ellie nodded. Walter’s dark gaze sought out Sadie, and she nodded too.

  ‘For our people, the land was created long ago, in the time of the Dreaming, when the ancestral spirits moved across the country. They made the hills and the rivers, the swamps and the waterholes. That’s why our spirit ancestors are so important. They make the land, and the land belongs to them, and they make us, too.’

  Sadie’s heart was thumping. ‘Who – who are they?’

  ‘Well, round this country, everything belongs to Bunjil the Eaglehawk, or Waa the Crow.’

  Walter was gazing levelly at Sadie. Sadie stared back at him. Neither of them moved.

  ‘The crow’s name is Waa?’ Ellie was saying. ‘I love it! Just like the noise they make!’

  ‘You all right there, Sadie?’ said David.

  Sadie looked down, and took a deep breath. ‘I guess – there are lots of crows round here.’

  ‘Sure are.’ David balanced a dumpling on his chopsticks. ‘I heard one of the creeks round here used to be called Crow Creek. But they call it Cross Creek now.’

  ‘Why did they change it?’ said Sadie.

  Walter said, ‘Some whitefellas think crows are unlucky.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’ snorted Ellie.

  Sadie said, ‘Why?’

  ‘Crows are supposed to foretell death in lots of European cultures. In North America, too, I think,’ said David.

  ‘Not for us. For our people, that’s owls or curlews,’ said Walter.

  ‘There’s a church next to Cross Creek, isn’t there? Maybe they changed the name when they built it,’ said Ellie. ‘When they laid down their religion on top of yours, they changed the crow to a cross. Fascinating.’

  ‘And now there’s more people at the footy on a Saturday afternoon than go to church on a Sunday morning,’ said David. ‘We should be talking about how Boort’s going to whip Birchip Watchem tomorrow.’

  ‘Better get your protein up, Mr Assistant Coach,’ said Ellie. ‘Here, try the beef.’

  Walter was still watching Sadie. He said in a low voice, ‘Our people lived in this country for forty thousand years, maybe more. No other culture in the history of the world’s lasted that long. The Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans – they all destroyed themselves. Not us. Because we knew how to live with the land, not fight it. So we survived.’

  Ellie said, ‘Till the whitefellas came.’

  Walter looked at her. ‘We’re still surviving.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Flustered, Ellie dropped a piece of chicken. ‘Of course you are . . .’

  ‘Don’t know about Bunjil and Waa, though,’ said David. ‘Don’t reckon they made it.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ cried Sadie. ‘They did! I know they did!’

  Ellie and David burst out laughing. ‘All right, darling.’ Ellie patted her hand. ‘I’m sure Bungee and Waa appreciate you believing in them, even if no one else does.’

  Sadie stared down into her bowl. She didn’t dare glance at Walter. But she could feel his dark eyes burning into her, not blinking, not looking away.

  To everyone’s amazement, Boort did defeat Birchip Watchem the next day. The big for- ward, Muz, kicked a goal after the final siren to snatch victory for the Magpies, and the black-and-white spectators round the Birchip oval erupted into cheers of delirious joy. Sadie clapped until her hands hurt. Ellie grabbed David in a wild hug.

  ‘It was the handballs – it’s all about the handballs!’ she shouted gleefully.

  ‘Well—’ David ducked his head and grinned. ‘There’s more to it than handballing.’

  The players were spilling off the ground. Many of them paused to thump David on the back. Ellie whooped and applauded; Walter stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

  ‘Go, Magpies!’ shouted Sadie.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a crow hop to the rim of an overflowing rubbish bin. No offence, she said hastily, silently, in its direction. It bowed gravely, fixed one gleaming eye on her, and winked.

  ‘Thanks for the help, mate.’

  ‘Good on ya, mate.’

  ‘No worries,’ said David, shaking hands with one player after another.

  Walter murmured to Sadie, ‘You’d think they’d won the final.’

 
‘Anything’s possible!’ roared Craig Mortlock behind them. ‘What a game, eh? If we keep playing like that, who knows?’ He flung his arm round David. ‘Glad I caught you, mate. Something I want to ask your advice about.’

  ‘Yeah, what’s that?’ said David, distracted.

  Craig leaned into David’s face and lowered his voice. ‘Found something very interesting on my land. Aboriginal artefacts. Wondered if you could tell me what they’d be worth.’

  Sadie’s heart stood still. Walter hadn’t heard. He touched Sadie’s sleeve. ‘Is that Mr Harris from school over there?’

  ‘Ssh!’ said Sadie frantically.

  David was saying, ‘What kind of artefacts?’

  ‘Artwork, Aboriginal artwork.’

  ‘You mean rock paintings?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  David frowned. ‘Well, I don’t know much about that stuff. But if it’s rock art, I don’t see how you could sell it. If it’s in a cave—’

  ‘Not in a cave.’

  ‘So where is it?’

  ‘On my land,’ said Craig, clearly reluctant to give away any more details. He chewed his lip. ‘So you reckon it’d be worth checking out a museum, a university, somewhere like that? There are people who collect this stuff, right? Must be worth something. And I’ve got some other bits and pieces lying around, reckon I should dig them out too?’

  Someone was trying to give David a can of beer; he waved it away. ‘Listen, mate, it’s a difficult area. If it’s a cultural site, it’ll be protected. You can’t just hack out bits of rock art and sell them off; it’s against the law.’

  ‘Sacred site, you reckon? Everything’s a bloody sacred site these days. Every time a farmer wants to cut down a tree or build a dam or make a bit of money, there’s some bloody government official stand- ing in his way with a piece of paper saying no!’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Ellie. ‘Be fair, Craig; that’s not true.’

  ‘Whole bloody country’s a sacred site, according to some of his lot,’ growled Craig.

  Ellie began to protest, but Walter cut in. ‘That’s right. Whole country is sacred. Needs respect.’

  Craig shot him a scornful look. ‘You want to watch what you say, son. Doesn’t bother me if you shoot your mouth off, but I’m just telling you there are some people round here who don’t appreciate that kind of talk—’

  ‘And there’s plenty more who’d agree with him,’ said David calmly. ‘We got to protect our heritage.’

  ‘No point protecting it if no one ever sees it, is there? Put it in the museum, everyone gets the benefit, right?’

  ‘You can’t move stuff from where it belongs,’ said Walter. ‘That’s not right.’

  Someone yelled from a car window, ‘See you at the pub, Morty? See you at the pub, Davo?’

  Both men raised an arm in salute, and Ellie yelled back, ‘See you there!’

  David turned back to Craig. ‘How about you let me look at whatever it is you’ve found, then we can talk about what to do next?’

  Craig chortled. ‘Oh, no, no, no, mate, you’re not getting me like that! No, this stays in the family; know what I mean?’

  David shrugged. ‘Up to you, mate. Let me know if you change your mind.’

  ‘Will do, mate, will do. Great work with the boys; did I say that? See you at the pub, Ellie?’ Craig winked at them all and barged off through the crowd.

  ‘What was all that about?’ said Ellie.

  But Sadie was already racing to the pavilion, bur- rowing between backs, hardly aware of Walter at her heels. Lachie was standing by his trail bike with the rest of the gang around him. Sadie stormed up.

  ‘You told your dad!’

  ‘What?’ Lachie frowned down at her.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about!’ Hot tears stung behind Sadie’s eyes. ‘That was our secret!’

  Jules drew back on a cigarette. ‘Bit young for you, isn’t she, Lock?’

  ‘Oo-ooh!’ sang Hammer. ‘Lachie’s got a girl- friend!’

  Lachie scowled. ‘Shut your face.’

  ‘You promised it would be our secret!’

  Lachie put his face close to Sadie’s. ‘How could it be a secret? It’s on our land.’

  ‘But I found it!’ said Sadie.

  ‘But it’s not yours,’ said Lachie.

  ‘It’s not yours either.’

  Lachie laughed, more puzzled than angry. ‘If it’s not mine, I don’t know whose it is. My family’s owned that lake and the valley and all the land around it for a hundred and fifty years.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing. Now be a good kid and get lost, will you? You’re making a goose of yourself.’ He surveyed Sadie’s hot, angry face, and gave her shoulder a little shake. ‘See you back at the pub, yeah? I’ll give you a game of pool,’ he said, not unkindly, then turned his back, dismissing her.

  Walter touched Sadie’s arm. ‘Come on. Your mum’s calling.’

  Sadie smudged the tears from her face before Ellie or David could see. Walter glanced at her as she stumbled toward the car, but he didn’t say anything.

  Behind the toilet block, Sadie stopped. ‘Why did you say that to Craig, about the whole country being sacred? That’s not true, is it?’

  ‘Kind of. Like Auntie Lily says. The whole land is made by the ancestors, so it’s all sacred. But some places are more special than others.’

  He gave her a quick look, and for a moment Sadie was tempted to tell him everything. Didn’t Walter deserve to know about the stones, more than Craig Mortlock did? But there wasn’t time: Ellie was scanning the crowd, hands on hips, her face screwed up in exasperation.

  A crow cried from the roof of the toilet block. Waah . . . waah . . . Be careful, girl . . .

  Sadie gave her eyes a final swipe. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

  'Damn!’ muttered Ellie, her head in the fridge. ‘I thought we had bacon. Sadie, could you run over to the supermarket? There’s just time before it shuts.’

  Reluctantly, because it was growing dark outside, Sadie shrugged on her parka and grabbed Ellie’s wallet from the kitchen bench. ‘Just bacon?’

  ‘Pick up some milk while you’re there – oh, and a potato . . . And if you feel like some chocolate after dinner . . .’

  Sadie sighed heavily and turned back for a shopping bag.

  ‘Thank you!’ called Ellie.

  ‘That’s okay!’ Sadie yelled from the door. Wow, she thought, when did we start being so nice to each other?

  The chilly twilight air slapped her awake. Clouds scudded across the sky as she hurried along the road. She had five minutes till the store closed.

  The automatic doors slid open, and she darted inside. Behind the register, a pinch-faced woman with sandy hair glanced up from her magazine. She was Fox’s mum, Sadie knew. Fox himself lounged across the checkout, waiting for his mother to finish work, picking at his fingernails. Mrs Fox nodded briefly at Sadie, then returned her attention to the celebrity gossip.

  Sadie found milk, chocolate and bacon, but there were no potatoes in the vegetable section. She hesitated, but she knew that Ellie would say, just ask!

  Sadie stepped toward the checkout and cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me . . .’

  Without warning, the supermarket whirled about her. Sadie clutched at the chip rack, and found herself grabbing at empty air. The checkouts dis- solved, the fridge and the shelves of tins faded to shadows. A long counter formed itself along one wall, shelves banked up behind it, barrels and boxes crowded around Sadie’s legs. Instead of the sharp face of Mrs Fox, Sadie saw her mother, Jean – fore- head creased, lips moving silently as she counted out pennies from the till. The modern supermarket was gone; she as standing in the old shop across the road, the Hazzards’ shop.

  ‘You can lock up now, love,’ said her mother, sweeping the pennies into her hand, and Sadie flipped the sign on the door to closed and pulled down the blind. She had her hand on the bolt when the door was pushed violently open, almo
st knocking her down.

  Mr Mortlock staggered in, panting, wild-eyed. He was covered in blood.

  ‘Jean!’ he gasped. ‘Jean—’

  The colour drained from her mother’s face. ‘What’s happened?’ she cried.

  Gerald Mortlock shook his head. ‘I’m not hurt – I—’ He staggered forward and Sadie thought he would fall.

  Her mother said fiercely, ‘Bolt the door, Sadie!’

  Sadie sprang to shoot the bolt across. Blood dripped onto the worn floorboards, small bright splatters of crimson.

  ‘What have you done?’ whispered Jean. ‘God help you, what have you done?’

  Mr Mortlock reached out a hand to steady him- self, and Sadie recoiled as his blood-stained fingers touched the shelves. We’ll have to clean it; who’s going to clean up all this mess? she thought.

  ‘Clarry—’ he began.

  ‘You’ve not hurt Clarry!’ cried Jean, her eyes like holes burned in a white cloth. ‘Oh, dear God, no!’

  ‘No! Not Clarry,’ said Mr Mortlock thickly. ‘But I need him – need his help – need . . .’ He lurched and slid down the counter to the floor.

  ‘Sadie, fetch your dad,’ said Jean. ‘Quickly!’

  Sadie froze, and then she was stumbling behind the counter, through the door into the house, pushing the little ones aside. ‘Where’s Mum? I hurt my finger,’ whined Betty. Philip was howling somewhere.

  ‘Stay here!’ hissed Sadie urgently. ‘And be quiet!’

  Betty began a wail of protest.

  ‘Oh, shut up, do!’ cried Sadie. ‘Go and find John – Where’s Dad?’

  Betty pointed outside, sobbing; and then, merci- fully, Clarry appeared in the doorway in his shirt- sleeves and braces, folding the newspaper with his square capable hands. Sadie threw herself at him.

  ‘Come quick!’

  She dragged him through the house into the shop and slammed the connecting door in Betty’s outraged face.

  Mr Mortlock was slumped on the floor, a scarecrow without stuffing. Mum knelt beside him, holding a tin mug of water; but he batted it aside without looking. Mum scrambled up as Dad came in.

  ‘He won’t tell me. Oh, Clarry—’

  ‘Get back to the kids,’ said Dad. ‘Don’t frighten them. I’ll take care of this.’