Every Secret Thing

by Marie Munkara

  Mabel’s first project was to teach the women the age-old practice of sewing and so treadle sewing machines were purchased with mission funds and set up in a new purpose-built classroom. But finding ten eager sewing recruits was not as easy as Mabel had been led to believe. The list that Sister Clavier had given her of the most ‘likely’ women wasn’t much help either as her polite enquiries were all met with mumbled excuses and averted eyes. It was bad manners to refuse what was asked of one, but nobody wanted to learn this strange thing called sewing. As far as they were concerned it wasn’t a threat to their existence not to know how to do it, so why bother in the first place? And it wasn’t like they were walking around butt naked like they used to. They had the cast-offs to wear now, so what was wrong with the silly woman?

  A visit a few days later brought no results either as the women, on seeing the approaching Mabel in the distance, fled into the nearest houses and stayed there until she departed empty handed once again.

  ‘I know you’re in there,’ she had yelled to the shuffling feet and stifled coughs as the women who hadn’t been quick enough to escape by the back doors squeezed en masse into toilets and hid behind doors. ‘Come out!’

  But they stayed right where they were until the disgruntled Mabel had stomped off, leaving the women to emerge from their hiding places shamefaced and giggling at such ludicrous behaviour.

  If only the stupid women would understand that I’m trying to help them, Mabel would think as she tossed and turned in her bed at night while Andrew dreamt of generators and spare parts. But the women weren’t stupid at all. They understood perfectly well what was going on and they didn’t want a bar of it.

  And if any of the mission mob had bothered to ask they would have found out for themselves that the bush mob were settling quite well into their new way of life where nobody went hunting or fishing much anymore. You got your rations once a week in return for working a few hours for the mission. And the kids were kept occupied all day at school so there was nothing to do when you finished your chores except to sit around at each other’s places and gossip or sleep. Not like in the old days when you were constantly on the go looking for food and chasing after kids. This leisurely lifestyle had been handed to them on a platter and there was no way they’d be giving that up in a hurry.

  But persistence always pays off, or so they say, and Mabel’s third visit brought results. She had caught them unawares this day as they sat on the beach mourning the death of old Agnes, but Mabel didn’t care as she strode through the grieving bush mob looking for her targets while everyone looked on in shock at her disgraceful behaviour. It was only silly mumbo jumbo anyway and something that they needed to forget about now they believed in God. And so in order to appease this rude and insensitive woman so the mourning could continue in peace, some women who were not so closely related to Agnes stood up and, like sacrificial lambs, were led off to the sewing room by Mabel to do her bidding.

  And did this display of bad manners breed resentment? Oh yes, it surely did. But the women didn’t want another flu epidemic to strike again so they sat there in front of their sewing machines as helpless rage welled up inside their hearts. And was Mabel in her glory? Oh yes, she was. She had brought these noble but rather hopeless savages another step closer to civilisation and God. And did she feel a huge sense of power? Oh yes, she did. Mabel was in heaven and she hadn’t even died yet. She showed the women how to sew a straight seam and then she showed them how to pick up their scissors and cut another tenuous thread that held them to the past.

  Andrew hadn’t fared much better as he attempted to reveal the mysterious workings of the internal combustion engine to some of the more ‘likely’ men. The threat of having their flour ration stopped had been a deciding factor in their presence that first lesson and it was with some resentment on their part that they stood around the open bonnet of the old Dodge truck, looking at the muddle of wires and oddly shaped things that protruded from the big thing that took up most of the space in there.

  ‘And after you’ve lowered the cylinder head and camshaft into position,’ Andrew droned on, ‘you turn the camshaft until its hole lines up with the locating pin.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ they all nodded, as they stared at the place that Andrew was indicating with his greasy finger.

  The art of truck maintenance was something they had always wanted to learn, wasn’t it? But as their eyes glazed over and uncomprehending brains were switched onto ‘energy save’ mode, a glimmer of understanding began to awaken in the brain of Seth, the son of Noah.

  Now it had always been expected that Seth would follow in his father’s footsteps and become a gardener as well, but Seth had an unfortunate way with anything that was green and leafy, so his latest task of helping Brother Michael with the livestock had come as a great relief to all, especially Brother Michael who had always had a certain fondness for Seth. Brother Michael taught Seth the ways of animals with an enthusiasm that took Seth’s breath away. And Seth, who was a most willing and able student, took it all in, every five and a quarter inches of it, and was never too shy to ask for more as they reinspected the animal feed shed while Methuselah and Augustine were sent off to feed the pigs again.

  And so it was Seth’s understanding of the inner workings of animals that allowed him to grasp the concept of the truck engine that was before him. The fuel tank (stomach) does this and this and this, and the spark plugs (kidneys, where the kidney fat and life force are stored) do that and that and that. But if you take out the battery (the heart) and try to turn the ignition over (brain) nothing will work. But what about the fuel that goes in (grass) and the exhaust emissions (farts) that come out? Well, it was enough to confuse the likes of Einstein but Seth had it all worked out. And blow me down he was getting quite skilled with Andrew’s favourite tool, the ‘ring’ spanner, a fact not lost on the excited Andrew who took it upon himself to give Seth extra tuition when the men went home after classes.

  But the extra time spent with Andrew in the garage with their big strong tools was keeping Seth from his animal husbandry duties and Brother Michael started to become quite upset by this new arrangement. When Seth didn’t turn up at the animal feed shed one lunch time as he was supposed to, Brother Michael saw red and marched down to the garage to confront Andrew. But isn’t that a funny coincidence because Andrew wasn’t happy either. It appeared Seth hadn’t turned up for class for the first time ever and there had been reports from the other men that he’d been sighted down at the barge landing that morning with some seamen.

  Mabel, oblivious to the heart-rending pain that Brother Michael and Andrew were experiencing over Seth, could only shake her head and wonder where young Seth was going to end up. It was quite obvious by their drawn expressions and sad eyes that both men were in quite a state over Seth’s wayward behaviour. In fact had she known how much energy and sweat that both men had poured into Seth she would have been quite shocked. But she didn’t and she never would.

  As for the men, they were in a quandary. After all, what could Brother Michael, a devout man of the cloth, say to Andrew about Seth? And what could Andrew, a devout Catholic and a married man, say back to Brother Michael? All they could do was put it all behind them and accept the cup of tea and biscuit that the thoughtful Mabel had offered them and keep their mouths shut and their thoughts locked away, unaware as the three sat on Mabel and Andrew’s front verandah drinking tea and chewing on their biscuits, that Seth the new cabin boy was busily earning his keep on the barge as it set sail on the afternoon tide for the Big Joint.

  The next project for Mabel was to teach the women how to cook in an oven like a muruntani. By bribing them with food, she had managed to get the women together once a week now for informal discussions under the mango trees. Mabel was proving to be a fast learner. As for the women, the prospect of having one less meal to think about, plus the fascination of what this weird woman was going to com
e up with next, drew them like bees to a honey pot.

  And it was at one of these meetings that Mabel revealed her latest plan. But what was wrong with how they already cooked, they muttered to each other. And what on earth was a cake? This idea was as crazy as when she had tried to teach them to knit. But Mabel, oblivious to their thoughts, happily blathered on while the women grew more and more alarmed at the prospect of learning to cook muruntani style. So far they’d only used the ovens that had been installed in their new houses as storage receptacles and although the mission mob heartily disapproved, they’d continued to cook on open fires behind their houses. This is what they’d always done and no-one had starved yet.

  ‘But we like that fire,’ Rebecca had dared to protest when the suggestion to use the oven had been made. ‘We don’t know that other thing.’

  ‘Well it’s high time you learnt,’ Mabel had declared.

  Her eagerness made the women twitch and glance nervously at each other. They knew that tone of voice only too well and it was a tone that augured no good.

  Mabel chose the house of the sisters Sabina number one and Sabina number two as her demonstration place and arrived the next day as promised with her box of ingredients. But Sabinas one and two, knowing by now that resistance was useless where Mabel was concerned, had already left for the mangroves to hide. Somewhere in the back of her mind Mabel had an inkling this was going to happen. She’d been around the bush mob long enough now to know that you just couldn’t trust these shifty bastards at all. But she wasn’t about to let a trifling thing like the absence of eager and willing participants stop her. Shoving the door open she marched into the Sabinas’ house to cook the chocolate cake with pink icing that she’d planned.

  But what was this? The oven was open and inside, curled up on an old piece of blanket, was a litter of puppies. The filthy blackfellows. Now she’d seen everything! Dumping her box of goodies on the floor and grabbing the puppies with both hands she turned towards the door, only to face the barred fangs of the mother dog. Dropping the squealing puppies in a heap she bolted with the mother snapping at her heels. But deary me she just wasn’t quick enough, was she, and as she lay prostrate in the yard with the snarling bitch biting her frenziedly and ripping her clothes from her body she swore. And it wasn’t just a ‘fuck’ or a ‘shit’ but a string of the most blood-curdling expletives anyone had heard in those parts, ever. After the dreadful language had finally run out the yodelling began. It was only when Augustine, who had been having a bit of a siesta, ambled over the road from his place to see what all the ruckus was about that the indignant mother dog finally decided that Mabel been taught enough of a lesson and trotted off to check on her pups.

  As she lay ripped and bleeding Mabel had no thought for the owners of the house that she had barged into unasked, or for the dear little puppies that had been scared witless by this strange muruntanga who had scared them. Or the wonderful mother dog who had protected the babies and their home from harm. Oh no, all she could think about was her own poor sorry arse. And did she even thank old Augustine who had kindly given her his bunny rug cape to wrap around her ugly pink breasts? No, this good decent Christian woman couldn’t even do that. All she could do was snivel and whimper and curse as she was led back home by the sweet old man.

  But it didn’t stop there. A few hours later Father Macredie faced the angry Andrew Mackenzie in his office. Andrew had stupidly marched around to Sabina one and two’s place to facilitate discussion with his loaded shotgun only to have three sets of dog teeth attach themselves to his body. Silly man, imagine thinking that you can reason with irate camp dogs when you’re standing on their bit of turf and one had already had a taste of muruntani blood that day. And attempting to bludgeon the dogs with the butt of the shotgun when they have you down on the ground isn’t very smart either. So Andrew was really quite lucky to only get a few pellets in his shoulder as the gun discharged past his right ear, scaring the dogs away. And once again poor old Augustine who was trying to have his nap had to drag his tired old arse out of bed and rescue yet another hopeless muruntani. It was enough to make the poor old bastard want to move back out bush for a bit of peace.

  For the first time ever Father Macredie realised he was starting to tire of all this as he looked at the raving bandaged man before him. He let Mackenzie speak; he wasn’t going to get a word in anyway. When Andrew had finished and Father had told him it served him and Mabel right and then sent the poor man on his way without even the teeniest bit of concern for their idiocy, he poured himself a nice stiff whisky and looked out at the mission that lay before him in the twilight and knew that his time at this place was soon to be over.

  And so Andrew and Mabel recovered from their dog bites and injured egos, but the wound called Seth festered away in Andrew’s heart and nothing he could do would make it heal or make him forget. Then one day the bastard turned up acting like nothing had ever happened and Brother Michael, who had suffered as deeply as Andrew, went to see him at Noah’s house. He spoke words of sadness and of longing and hope. Seth looked at Brother Michael and listened to the words that spilled forth from his mouth like a flooded river that had broken its banks. He saw the emotion in Brother Michael’s eyes and he laughed. Because while Seth had been having his adventures in the Big Joint he had learned to screw the white man just like they’d been screwing him. And it made his heart glad to know that Brother Michael had suffered and that gave him power. And when he came to understand that Andrew had been screwed good and proper as well, he laughed long and hard about that too.

  Thomas

  Andrew had never been particularly fond of cats even as a child. So when his aunt Geraldine from the Big Joint died unexpectedly and left him the ginger tom called Thomas no-one was more disturbed by the news than Andrew. Memories of the porcine Thomas purring noisily in his reluctant lap while the eccentric, short-sighted old dear poured tea into the sugar bowl sprung vividly to Andrew’s mind as he read the letter from the legal firm handling his aunt’s estate. As a kind gesture to the deceased (but more so for themselves) the legal firm had arranged Thomas’s one-way plane ticket and cat carrier with the utmost expedience and at no expense to the apprehensive Andrew who however would have liked a bit more notice. Thomas’s short but chaotic stay would not be easily erased from the memories of the associates whose chambers now stank of cat shit and piss, not to mention the shredded affidavits and other court documents that would have to be recompiled after Thomas’s lonely but productive night locked up in their office.

  Stirred up by his short but turbulent plane trip, Thomas’s first response on being freed from the confines of his cat cage was to make a beeline for the front door of the house and head for cover in the bush where he could take stock of his situation. Some of the bush mob kids and the frantic Mabel and the not-so-frantic Andrew were in hot pursuit. But the bush is a big place and it seemed Thomas’s intent was to put as much space as possible between himself and his pursuers. It was with some effort that Andrew managed to hide his smirk of satisfaction as he comforted the inconsolable Mabel when two hours of searching revealed not even so much as a glimpse of ginger fur.

  But starvation does strange things for pampered felines who have become accustomed to thinking that their little fish-shaped food bowl will continue to produce endless supplies of freshly cooked chicken and other tasty morsels. After contemplating his new surroundings from the safety of a clump of spear grass for a day and a half Thomas the deserter decided to quietly wander right on back to whence he’d deserted from. Luckily for Thomas, Mabel was the one to discover him snoozing in Andrew’s favourite chair on the verandah when she brought the washing in. Had it been Andrew, Thomas’s stay at the Mackenzies’ would have ended very abruptly indeed.

  But Thomas needn’t have worried his poor little head over the fact that dear old Geraldine, who had pandered to his every need, was gone. He had found a new saint and saviour in Mabel. And wasn’t she a
marvel with the lovely bits of wallaby and fresh fish that now appeared in Thomas’s little food bowl. What a silly duffer he had been thinking that nobody loved him anymore. And didn’t she fuss over him and scratch his cheeky little face and coo and gush when he purred or trod the pillow beside Mabel’s head before settling on the bed in the ever-widening gap between her and her husband. And didn’t the bush mob flock to the Mackenzies’ place to argue over whose turn it was to sit him on their laps and carry him around while Thomas indulgently lapped up the attention. But like all cats, his instincts for a cat hater were very finely tuned. Knowing how Andrew felt about him, Thomas liked nothing better than to rub Andrew’s legs when he sat down to listen to the radio in the evenings. Most times he was quick enough to evade Andrew’s foot as it went to boot him up the arse but sometimes he wasn’t so lucky. Another favourite stunt, when Father or the nuns were visiting and were comfortably seated in the verandah chairs, was to skate past on his bottom, legs aloft like he had worms. This would put Andrew in the blackest mood of all and for that Thomas was made to suffer dearly by having the hose squirted on him full blast.

  But they say revenge is best eaten cold, don’t they, and Thomas had a nice surprise in store for Andrew as he sat on Mabel’s lap, contemplating the three mud crabs that had been caught that morning by some of the bush mob. Andrew and Mabel had been warned about the dangers of eating food that had been overly handled or prepared by the bush mob so it was with some apprehension that they looked at the beautiful crustaceans that had been freshly cooked on the beach by Rebecca herself and which now sat on their table in a bucket.

  ‘Why don’t we feed some to Thomas and see if he gets sick?’ suggested Andrew. ‘Then if he’s okay then we can eat them.’