Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  She turned and faced him, the moonlight casting shadows across her face, silvering her eyelashes and enhancing the curve of her cheek. He was suddenly afraid to speak, to say what was in his heart for fear of rejection, for the lessons of his abusive father were firmly entrenched.

  ‘I promise to take whatever you say with great seriousness,’ she murmured. She stepped into his arms and held him, giving him the courage to speak.

  ‘Will you marry me?’ There, it was said, there was no going back.

  ‘Eventually,’ she replied, looking up at him with a smile of joy. ‘Whatever gave you the idea I wouldn’t?’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Catriona watched as Tom and Belinda were flown away to Cairns. Woody would bring the Cessna back tonight, and although she probably wouldn’t get much sense out of Connor today, she was relieved that at least something good had come out of all this. Their overnight stay out in the bush hadn’t escaped her, and she was heartened by the glow of happiness that radiated between them as they’d kissed goodbye.

  She left Connor standing in the doorway as she stepped down from the verandah, and stood for a moment in the morning sunshine, relieved the worst was over. There was still the fight between Rosa and Harriet to sort out, and that was upsetting. Yet she had the feeling things would be patched up sooner rather than later. For, after all, the girls had been friends since childhood, and although this latest spat had obviously been serious, she was sure their friendship was strong enough to withstand it.

  Catriona put all thoughts of arguments to the back of her mind and looked out at the buildings that were scattered around the clearing of home yard. She sighed with pleasure. It hadn’t changed so very much since that first time she’d seen it from the hills – and she took comfort from the sight of the familiar trees that looked so beautiful as the sun touched them, their silver bark glowing as if on fire. She drank in the sights and scents of home, restoring her faith in the life she’d made for herself on Belvedere. She could smell the heat in the earth and the dust, could hear the call of the birds and the barking of dogs and the sibilant hiss of a million insects in the grass and the stands of trees. The northern flatlands of Queensland were all very well, but despite the vibrant colours and the verdant green of the rainforests, she preferred these more gentle colours of home, the soft tans and ochres, the pale tissue of a sky bleached by heat.

  The heat here was different too, she was reminded. It didn’t smother you, or drain you of energy, making you feel as if you were living in a sauna. It was an honest, blazing heat that evaporated the sweat from one’s skin and dazzled the eyes. The light was brilliant, so clear and sharp it threw the slightest deviation in the landscape into focus, and even in the dappled shadows she could see the still, watchful figure sitting cross-legged beneath the trees.

  ‘Are you coming in for breakfast, Ma?’ called Connor.

  ‘You go on,’ she said as the Aborigine got to his feet. ‘I need to speak to Billy Birdsong.’ She watched him walk towards her, his long, skinny legs looking frail in the shimmering oasis of heat that swirled around his feet. The sun was at his back, low in the sky, turning him into a tall, thin silhouette that reminded her of a rather stately black and white Jabiru, an increasingly rare Australian stork.

  She smiled as she waited for him to approach. The description was rather apt, seeing as his mother had seen one of these birds just as she had her first birth pain. She had believed in the traditions of her people and from that moment on, Billy Birdsong’s totem had been the Jabiru.

  ‘G’day, missus,’ he said as he came to stand before her.

  ‘G’day, Billy,’ she replied, the fondness for her old friend clear in her voice. She noted how he’d forsaken the shirt and trousers he usually wore for the sacking loin-cloth, and how his dark skin was stained with the tribal markings of white clay. With an overwhelming wave of sorrow, she realised this would be the last time she would talk to him.

  He drew one long leg up and rested the callused foot against the knee joint of the other leg, his balance assisted by a slender stick he’d honed into a primitive spear. ‘Reckon you see bad spirit alonga you, missus. Good missus have spirit to fight ’im.’

  Catriona smiled back at him. His ability to understand things never ceased to amaze her. We must make a strange sight, she thought. An old Aborigine doing his Jabiru impersonation, dressed in little more than rags, and an ageing white woman in designer trousers and a silk shirt, standing in the middle of the great emptiness, having a chat. It wasn’t something that could be seen often. And yet, to both of them, it was quite natural. She and Billy had shared many confidences and through this wise old man she’d learned the mysteries of the land surrounding them, and had come to understand why she’d been so drawn to it. ‘The bad things are gone away, Billy. It was the right thing to do.’

  His ancient face creased into numerous lines and crevices. ‘You should’a been black fella missus,’ he said with a grin that showed his lack of teeth. ‘You make good lubra – you strong spirit.’

  She tipped back her head and roared with laughter. ‘Billy,’ she said finally. ‘You are a crafty old so-and-so. I reckon if I was a lubra, I’d give you a run for your money, and no mistake.’

  ‘Reckon so,’ he murmured. ‘You plenty fiery missus. Dem white fellas wanna watch out.’

  She grew serious as she looked at him and saw the ravages of time that had stripped him of his vibrant youth, yet his proud bearing had not been bowed. Billy was the last of his tribe who still adhered to the old ways, and she knew as they stood there regarding each other that he was preparing to go on his final walkabout. ‘I will miss you old friend,’ she said quietly.

  He nodded, the tangle of grey hair catching the rays of the sun. ‘Spirits sing, missus. I hear ’em. Soon alonga Billy Birdsong up and up to stars.’

  Catriona looked up to the heavens and remembered the times he’d taken her out into the night to the top of the hill where she could be lifted into the arms of creation and carried along the Milky Way. Those journeys had replenished her soul, and given her the strength to live with the past. ‘Reckon that will be some journey, Billy,’ she said with soft regret.

  His amber eyes studied her carefully. ‘When you alonga here first time, you very sick, missus. Reckon you find good spirits now,’ he said, nodding as if to confirm this pronouncement. ‘G’day, missus,’ he said as he dropped his foot back to the earth.

  She wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to stop him from leaving her. They had been together on Belvedere for thirty years – however would she cope without his friendship and wisdom? And yet she knew it would break every taboo if she was to try and stop him, or even to follow him. This was his sacred and final quest in search of his ancestors. Billy would walk until he could walk no more, then he would find somewhere to sit and wait to die. His wife and the women of his tribe would make clay caps and mourn him, and he would eventually become dust and return to the earth – the earth he believed fervently that no man owned. His time of safe-guarding this land of the Dreaming was over and his spirit would fly up into the sky and become a new star.

  Catriona watched as he turned and slowly walked away from her. His long, slender figure seemed to shrink as the distance grew between them. Then it was obliterated by the dancing heat-haze and Catriona’s tears. ‘Goodbye old friend,’ she whispered. ‘God speed.’

  *

  Rosa was trying to drag the trunk out of the lounge. ‘Don’t just stand there, Con,’ she snapped. ‘Help me get this out of sight before Mum gets back.’

  ‘I don’t see why we have to,’ he muttered. ‘She asked me to get it down from the attic in the first place.’

  Rose rested back on her haunches. ‘She’s been through enough this past twenty-four hours, and having this here is just another reminder.’ She grasped the leather strap. ‘Out of sight, and hopefully out of mind. Come on, let’s get it out of here.’

  ‘Leave it be, Rosa.’ Catriona stood in the doorway
, her eyes red from her tears.

  ‘But I …’ Rosa began.

  Catriona waved away her objections. ‘There’s nothing in there that can hurt me any more,’ she said. ‘Not after yesterday.’ She marched into the room. ‘I’m not saying I haven’t any regrets for the mistakes I’ve made during my life, there are certain things I wish I could change, but I’ve come to accept that all the wishing in the world won’t make it so.’

  Rosa took her hand. Mum looked tired. ‘I think you’ve been through enough,’ she said. ‘But if you don’t want the trunk removed, then, fair go.’

  Catriona nodded and began to fix a gin and tonic. She poured one for each of them. ‘Here’s to Demetri,’ she said as she raised her glass. ‘And to Billy, bless him.’

  Connor dragged the trunk over to the far corner of the room. ‘What were you and Billy talking about?’ he asked. ‘You both looked very serious.’

  Catriona took another sip of her drink. ‘He came to say goodbye,’ she said softly. She glanced up and realised that although Connor understood, Rosa had no idea what she was talking about. ‘The Aborigines who still believe in the old ways of the Dreaming are in touch with the rhythms of their bodies and the world they live in,’ she explained. ‘They call it “singing”, and when they hear this singing, they know it’s time to begin the last, long journey back into the Dreamtime. He believes he will meet his ancestors, witness the creation of the world and be made to confess any wrong-doing he has done during his time as a Keeper of the Earth. After he has confronted the spirits of good and evil and proved he is ready to be received, he will then be met by the Sun Goddess and carried up to the stars and become as one with the Milky Way.’ Catriona sighed. ‘I rather envy him that belief.’

  ‘It’s not that different to what we learned in Sunday School,’ muttered Rosa. ‘Personally, I doubt there’s a next step. It’s all a big con; because people can’t stand to think they are so insignificant that this is all there is, they make up an afterlife, a paradise, and even that’s elitist.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ sighed Catriona. ‘You’re too young to be so cynical,’ she said fondly as she ruffled Rosa’s spiky hair. ‘But I’m far too busy to get into a religious argument with you now, I’m off to finish arranging the food for the party tomorrow, and then I’ve got to sort out where everyone will sit for dinner, and arrange for the band’s sleeping arrangements.’

  *

  Tom and Belinda climbed out of the police car. The Scene of Crime Team would be here within the hour, and they wanted some time alone to explore the house Catriona had described vividly the previous day.

  The wrought-iron gates looked forbidding, despite their age and decrepitude. They stood open, leaning precariously from their rusted hinges, tethered to the ground with creeping lantana, ivy and clumps of grass. The great chain that had once held a padlock was broken, and drooped in rusting loops through the scroll-work. Belinda shivered. The dark and mysterious rainforest surrounded them. It was strangely silent, as if it was watching them, waiting for some reaction. She noticed how the overhanging trees threw deep, almost menacing shadows over the neglected driveway; and beyond the drive was the house. It loomed out of the surrounding forest like a malevolent presence, beckoning her, drawing her closer, taunting her with the terrible secrets it had kept for so many years.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Tom’s voice startled her.

  ‘Yeah,’ she lied. ‘But this place gives me the creeps.’

  ‘We won’t have to stay long,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s explore.’

  Belinda reluctantly followed him up the crumbling stone steps. Looking up she saw a stone lion’s head set in the pediment of marble that projected over the huge, carved doors, and was supported by two pillars that were entwined with ivy. It was covered in lichen and half its face had crumbled away. She stood back as Tom leaned on the door and forced it open. The groan of the rusting hinges echoed through the vast hallway and up the remains of the grand staircase to the decaying roof.

  ‘Come on, Belinda,’ coaxed Tom. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts.’

  Belinda wasn’t so sure. Catriona’s story had made it all seem so real, and coming here only emphasised the horror of what had happened. She stepped into the hall. There was little left of the opulence Catriona had described. The walls were bare, stripped of the paper and paintings, and the marble floor was covered in building rubble. There was no furniture, no chandelier or bronze figure at the bottom of the stairs, only the cold ashes of a long-dead fire in the great stone hearth.

  She followed Tom as he moved through the ground-floor rooms. The humidity had crept into the walls, leaving its moist green fingerprints everywhere, pervading the atmosphere with its musty odour. Dust motes danced within the rays of sunlight that pierced the broken masonry and reflected on the remains of the ornate stained-glass windows. Broken furniture had been thrown aside, wallpaper had peeled from the walls, and the once beautiful floor was scarred and scratched. The velvet drapes at the long, elegant windows hung in tatters, black with mildew.

  ‘I’ve seen enough,’ Tom muttered. ‘Let’s go and find the shed.’

  Belinda was glad to be outside again. The house was evil, she could feel it emanating from the walls.

  ‘It’s like a bloody jungle,’ complained Tom as they pushed their way through the solid advance of the surrounding rainforest.

  Belinda picked her way through the overgrown shrubs and the weed-strewn flower-beds which must have once been quite magnificent. The broad, square lawn had returned to its natural state, the grass reaching almost to her waist, and the stone urns and flights of shallow steps were black with slime. ‘How long has this place been empty?’ she asked.

  ‘Since nineteen thirty-four,’ Tom replied as he inspected the damage that was being done to his expensive shoes and grimaced. ‘It was a popular place for courting couples evidently, and for the occasional backpacker or itinerant. During the war there were soldiers billeted here for a while, but since then it’s just been left to rot.’

  They came to a halt so they could catch their breath. ‘To all intents and purposes Demetri had left the district and disappeared. There was no record of his death, so this place couldn’t be passed on to his heirs – if there were any – or even sold.’ Tom grinned. ‘Even the tax man couldn’t get his mits on it without proving first that Demetri was dead, and they lost interest during the war years and seemed to forget about it.’

  Belinda stood in the long grass and looked back at the crumbling ruin. The stone was green with lichen and damp, and there were plants growing out of some of the crevices that had been created by the crumbling masonry. It looked dark and forbidding in the shadows. She shivered. ‘It’s not some place I’d want to do my courting in,’ she muttered.

  Tom grimaced. ‘Me neither, but if you’re desperate …’ He didn’t need to add anything more. Belinda was a modern woman; she understood.

  They carried on walking. ‘If the owner couldn’t be found, then how come someone was renovating the place?’

  Tom grinned. ‘I was wondering when you’d ask that,’ he said. ‘It seems one of the local builders couldn’t stand to see all this land going to waste, and moved in his contractors. He simply took it over, hoping that the owner or his heirs would remain in ignorance. He was actually in the process of claiming squatter’s rights when his men began clearing the wine cellar, knocked down the false wall and discovered Demetri.’

  He grinned. ‘Poor bastard,’ he said without a trace of regret. ‘Thought he was going to make his fortune with all this free land, had even put in plans to build a luxury complex of houses up here. But now Demetri’s shown up …’ He laughed. ‘He can kiss goodbye to this place. There’s bound to be a will somewhere, and if there isn’t then the tax man will sell it, probably for a fortune. Land’s expensive up here on the Tablelands.’

  Belinda clambered over a rotting tree trunk that was firmly in the grip of lantana and ivy. ‘Serves him right,’ she muttered. Then she caug
ht her first glimpse of the shed. ‘Bloody hell,’ she groaned. ‘It’s going to take forever to get through that lot. I wish now we hadn’t called SOCO and just left him there.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘He’d only turn up sometime later and cause trouble again. Better to dig him up now and get rid of him once and for all.’

  They stood in the shadows of the dark rainforest and looked at the thick vines that had crawled in and out of the fabric of the old shed. The roof had caved in, the windows were broken and the door had rotted on the big iron hinges. The rainforest had crept into every corner and crevice and the wooden shack had slowly sunk beneath the onslaught.

  ‘I doubt we’ll even find anything,’ muttered Tom. ‘It’s been too long.’ He rammed his hands in his pockets and sighed. ‘But when I get back to Brisbane I’m going to do some digging of a different nature. A man like Kane always left a trail, and I’m curious to know who he really was.’

  *

  Catriona hadn’t realised just how tired she was, and as her birthday celebrations came and went, she finally had the opportunity to rest and sleep. It was healing, restoring the mind and the spirit, and offered solace. The guilt she’d carried for so many years was banished, swept away in the realisation she’d actually been the victim. How simple it was, she thought, to look back on things and see them for what they really were. Yet, at the time she’d believed Kane when he told her it was her fault, that she’d led him on, had wanted him to do those things to her.

  Catriona slammed the kettle onto the hob. She wouldn’t allow those insidious thoughts to spoil the healing process. She was clean, unburdened and whole again. He was dead and buried, his sins rotting his soul. He could no longer touch her.

  As she waited for the kettle to boil, she listened to the sounds of Belvedere. The old house creaked and whispered and groaned, and the possums were making their usual racket on the roof. She could hear the men in the yard, the low of the milk cows and the soft, fussy cluck of the chooks in the pens. A dog was barking somewhere and Woody was hammering and drilling, probably doing the repairs on the barn; they were long overdue. She heard footsteps on the verandah and the whine and slam of the screen door. Looking at her watch, she realised it was four in the afternoon. Rosa must have returned from her ride.