by Steve Hawke
I sent the camera back home to the farm before we got shipped to New Guinea. Never developed the film till it was all over. I thought you might like to have these.
Your mate,
(Sgt.) Bruce Smith
Bella became the keeper of the treasures. But it was not until her mother died, many years later, that she took the photographs from their envelope and pasted them into an album, and bought the silver chain so she could wear the pendant and keep it close.
8
THE COURTYARD IN front of the Planning Department is empty when Janey arrives and parks her bike in the rack on Monday morning.
She takes a deep breath and marches through, straight up to the front counter. The receptionist is sorting the morning’s mail into a rack of pigeonholes. She flicks a glance at Janey but continues with her task. Janey counts off a minute in her mind before she coughs. The receptionist turns with a look of inquiry.
‘I’d like to see the files on current planning and development applications please.’
‘Is this for a school project?’
‘No ma’am. I’m doing some research.’
With an annoyed look, the receptionist takes a pamphlet from a rack on the counter and slides it across to Janey. ‘This will tell you all you need to know about the Department.’
‘That’s not what I’m looking for thank you. I’d like to see the development applications if I could. They are public information aren’t they?’
The woman finally gets the message. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twelve.’
‘And your name?’
‘Jane Jirroo.’
‘Take a seat Jane.’
The receptionist returns after a few minutes, but tells her she will have to wait a little longer.
‘Will I be able to see the files?’
‘I’ll let you know shortly.’
Shortly turns out to be over half an hour. Janey reads the pamphlet, then the other leaflets on the rack, then twiddles her thumbs. Finally the receptionist ushers Janey to a small reading room. Without a word, she indicates a large pile of files on a desk. She makes a point of leaving the door of the reading room open so she can see Janey from her position at the counter.
Conscious of the woman’s scrutiny, Janey pulls up the chair and takes the top file as if she does this every day. In fact she is amazed that she has got this far — and she does not really have a clue how to find what she is looking for.
Dancer had offered to help when Janey came up with the idea, but was relieved when she said she’d be okay on her own. There is no doubt that Janey is the best amongst the kids at this whitefeller stuff — schoolwork, reading, forms, paperwork — but it’s a bit more complicated than that. It’s not something the kids talk about, or their friends, or their parents, but it is a part of life for the Aboriginal people in Broome.
A lot has changed since the old days of enforced segregation and curfews, of lives ruled by Native Welfare and missionaries. When Buster and Bella and Micky were young, people were simply not allowed to cross over into the world of the whites. Such blatant discrimination might not be allowed now, but there are still barriers that create a divide in the lives of the Jirroos and the rest of the Aboriginal people in the town.
Amongst their own, they know where they stand, who to speak to, how to speak to them; all the unspoken rules that make life understandable and familiar. But in the white world — school, shops, government offices, the homes of most of the white families — the unspoken rules are different. Even the way you talk is different. The kids grow up speaking Broome lingo amongst themselves and gardia talk on the other side of the divide. Most of the mob find ways of dealing with it. But they never feel entirely comfortable in this other world; it’s like playing a familiar game by a different set of rules.
There are a few, like Janey, who seem to be able to glide from one world to the other without tripping up. Amongst the mob this ability is seen as very useful at times. But it doesn’t make you special. Other people are good hunters, good with animals, great cooks, fast runners, singers, lawmen, fishers, healers. And this skill is a dangerous one, because it can seduce you away from your own people. The great test is whether you still remember and respect all the unspoken rules when you are with your family and amongst the mob.
Down at the beach Jimmy is still seething. He had thought they were all back on track for the talent quest when he heard Janey sing those lines, but since then everything just keeps going wrong. First Micky stops them rehearsing. Then Janey comes up with this idea of going to the Planning Department to see if she might be able to find some clue as to what the pegs were about.
Jimmy had argued that it could wait. Little Joe or one of the others could get onto it, or they could ask Legal Aid to check it out. But he knew he had no chance of budging her. The best he could get was her promise to head straight down to the shack once she’d finished her search of the files.
‘I should be there by two o’clock,’ she said.
‘But the contest starts at four!’ Jimmy exclaimed in anguish.
‘What is it with you and this contest? A couple of days ago we all agreed we were going to keep the band a secret; now you’re wetting your pants about going in this show when we’re not ready.’
That’s when he lost it. ‘I don’t get what’s eating you about this Janey. It’s such a great chance. Are you jealous ’cause of what Kim said to me?’
She had given him a cold look. ‘I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.’
Now Jimmy is mad at himself more than Janey — she won’t forget that line about Kim. But being mad is better than letting himself feel guilty for allowing his obsession with the music to rise above everything else — even the mysterious threat to Jiir. It’s just that he knows with an absolute certainty that they could play brilliantly if the five of them went for it. They could win hands down. Everyone would know he had come up with this deadly tune.
And even if Janey does turn up, Jimmy doesn’t trust Buddy not to get sidetracked. He and Tich went off to get the canoe hours ago, and from where Jimmy is standing on the cliff there is still no sign of them rounding the point.
Hands thrust deep in his pockets, Jimmy stalks back to the shack. Dancer is in the shade of the verandah, trying a variation of the bass line. He plays it through once more then asks Jimmy what he reckons. It doesn’t sound bad, but all Jimmy will concede is that he needs to hear it with them all playing. ‘If that ever happens.’
Dancer gets up and stretches. ‘Wonder how she’s going.’
Jimmy answers sourly, ‘I’ll tell you one thing; I bet she’s not here by two o’clock.’
Dancer looks him in the eye. ‘Cuz, our Nyami Buster’s the boss for Jiir. We belong to that place — you and me. We’ll get the law for it one day.’
Jimmy looks away with a grunt, but Dancer is insistent. ‘The Barefoot Kids thing will happen if we keep believing in it, whether we go in this contest or not.’
‘Okay! Okay!’ Jimmy shouts. ‘I just can’t see why we can’t do both things.’
Jimmy was right about Buddy getting sidetracked. Only it was not exactly accidental; Buddy had something on his mind. When he and Tich went to get the canoe, instead of going around the beach to where it was tied up in the mangroves, Buddy took them along the dirt road from Eagle Beach as far as the rarely used side track that led into Teoh Tom’s.
Tom’s dwelling is a tiny, ramshackle hut built mostly from scrap and salvaged materials, with odd angles and tiny extensions cobbled on. Charms and chimes dangle from posts and tree branches.
Tom was drawing water from an old-style well with a rope on a bucket, carting the bucket over to his small garden and carefully pouring water onto each plant in a row of chillies.
When Tich squatted down beside Buddy he turned to her with a gleam in his eye. ‘Micky said Teoh Tom knew Bella and Buster’s dad. We should ask him.’
‘No way!’ Tich was vehement. ‘Nyami said he was a voodoo man too. I’m n
ot going down there.’
‘Chicken.’
‘And what about gunbun?’
‘What about it? Let’s ask him.’
Tich got up. ‘You can get the canoe by yourself then. I’ll wait up at the point. Don’t forget — we’re practising at two o’clock.’
Buddy made his way down the slope, whistling a tune to announce his presence. Teoh Tom looked up from his watering, and started waving his arms about. ‘Get away boy. Get away.’
Buddy held his hands up in a gesture of surrender as he came out of the bush into the yard. ‘I’ve just come back to get our canoe. I didn’t want to go sneaking around behind your back.’ He gave his most disarming grin. Teoh Tom looked at him suspiciously.
‘You like that crab?’ Buddy asked.
It seemed to take a few seconds for the question to register with the old man. Suddenly, with a darting movement like a heron spearing a small fish, he plucked a chilli from one of the bushes and waved it at Buddy. ‘Chilli crab,’ he said, breaking into a leering smile.
Buddy took a couple of steps closer. ‘My Mimi Bella makes chilli crab. Best in Broome, everybody says.’
Tom skipped on the spot, rubbing his hands together. ‘Might be, boy. Might be. Might be they didn’t try my one yet.’
‘You know Mimi Bella?’
Tom nodded jerkily in reply, hitching up his fluorescent shorts.
‘You know that necklace of hers? The one with the diamond?’
The question made Tom hunch up and turn away, looking sideways at Buddy with a nervous twitch.
‘She lost it. Two nights ago. At Big Al’s pub.’
Tom shuddered, and backed towards his hut, rolling his eyes. Buddy’s curiosity got the better of his discretion. ‘She got that diamond necklace from her father — Old Jirroo. Micky reckons you were the last man to see Old Jirroo alive. Is that fair dinkum?’
By the time Buddy finished his question, Tom was in the doorway of his hut, muttering something that Buddy couldn’t catch. For a few moments he seemed to go into a trance. Then he blinked, and closed the door, with no indication that he was even aware of Buddy’s presence any more.
Buddy stood for a while staring at the door before he headed to the mangroves to get the canoe.
The tide was low and it was heavy work dragging the canoe down to the waterline on his own. He paddled out into the creek. But instead of going down to meet Tich he turned upstream. He wanted to puzzle over what had just happened by himself for a bit.
It’s been slow going. Scared of missing anything, Janey has ploughed her way through file after file. House extensions, subdivisions, rezonings; her head is starting to spin and her hopes are fading. The notepad is still blank, her pens have not been touched.
Every now and then the receptionist has come to stand in the doorway. The first few times there was a polite inquiry as to how she was going, then it was just a look that said, ‘Aren’t you finished yet?’
Feeling the pressure of this scrutiny, Janey takes the second last file. She starts leafing through the pages more quickly, skimming for a word or a name that might mean something.
It is the map that catches her eye first. She recognises the shape of the coastline before she sees the name in small print — Eagle Beach. Catching her breath she scans the map more carefully, then works backwards to find where this particular application starts. The cap comes off her pen and she starts scribbling on the pad, lips moving silently.
Tich is perched on a rock on the creek side of the point, just clear of the mangroves. She looks upstream to see if Buddy is coming. Nothing. She’s had enough of this and decides to walk back; Buddy can paddle the canoe on his own. As she is getting up she hears a strange noise, out of place amongst the usual bush and water sounds. It’s coming from a clump of mangroves; a sort of clicking sound.
The noise disappears, then returns in another burst. As it does, she hears Nyami Micky saying, ‘Gunbun! That’s the mangrove witch! Little hairy one she is.’
She is very much on edge as she creeps towards the source of the noise. Fear turns to fascination though, when she catches a glimpse through the mangrove branches of a strange buoy bobbing on the water, moored by two lines attached to the trees.
The buoy has an instrument panel — something that could be a thermometer, with dials, leads trailing in the water, and an array of lights. A red light blinks on and off in time with another burst of clicks, making her start again. What on earth can it be?
She is about to call for Buddy when the sound of an outboard motor registers with her. A dinghy is coming from the direction of town, heading directly towards the mangrove thicket. The man in the dinghy is Horse. He slows the dinghy and heads straight for the buoy.
Tich runs upstream until she spots Buddy, who is whistling as he paddles. She manages to attract his attention, and with a pantomime of fingers on lips, gets him to shut up as he approaches.
Tich leads Buddy back to a spot where they can spy on Horse. Steadying himself with a hand on a mangrove branch, Horse leans over to inspect the dials, and then writes something in a notepad.
Janey feels like she is about to burst. A ball of anger mixed with excitement has been building inside as she has filled her pad with notes and sketches. The map that first caught her eye is unfolded on the desk, and she is making one last check of her hand-drawn copy of it. Then she’ll be out of here to spread the news.
She does not notice Michael dribbling a basketball through the foyer. She does not hear him asking the receptionist to get his dad. Michael sees her though, as he leans against the counter. He saunters over to the open doorway of the reading room. ‘What d’you think you’re doing Roo Girl?’
Janey instinctively covers her pad and turns the map over. ‘None of your business Jawbone.’
Georgie comes through from the back, a boom box swinging from one hand. Janey sees the look of surprise on his face when he spots her at the desk with the files, but when he steps into the room he is wearing a hearty smile. ‘Janey Jirroo! How’s that nephew of mine? He seemed to be running a bit wild at the Bay View the other night.’ As he speaks, he moves closer, trying to see what the files are.
Janey answers tersely. ‘Buddy’s fine thanks.’
She shifts to block his view. But even as she does so she knows that this is silly. Georgie works here, he can check as soon as she leaves. Anyway, he’s supposed to know about this sort of stuff. This all flashes through her head as Georgie asks her directly, ‘What are you reading there?’
The anger starts to spill out as she answers with a question of her own. ‘Have you heard of a company called Garnet Investments?’ It comes out sounding like an accusation. Georgie shakes his head. She turns over the map, her indignation bubbling over. ‘Look at this! They want to build a tourist resort at Eagle Beach!’
Georgie bends over her to examine the map. She stabs at it with a finger. ‘It’s all around Jiir’s place! We saw the surveyor’s pegs out there.’ Georgie pores over the map, tracing lines.
‘You’re the Aboriginal Liaison Officer aren’t you? It’s your job to protect Jiir isn’t it?’
He drags himself away from the map. ‘I’ll see what I can find out,’ he says, but he’s talking more to himself than to Janey. He passes Michael the boom box. ‘Good luck in the talent quest son. I’ll try and make it out there.’
Janey is about to demand that he answer her questions when the words ‘talent quest’ register. She looks at her watch and gasps.
9
AFTER JIMMY STALKED off, Dancer had put his guitar aside, and settled into the hammock slung on the porch of the old shack. It had been a long day already; he’d been up well before dawn to see his father off. Andy pushed himself mercilessly when the cattle season was on. It was barely thirty-six hours since he had arrived back in town late for the gig at the Bay View. He had spent most of the next day messing around with the troublesome clutch, and now he was off again and unsure when he’d be back. It had been the same for almost
as long as Dancer could remember — ever since Andy got out of jail and got himself back on the straight and narrow.
Andy had always loved station life. He was working as a stockman on one of Big Al’s cattle stations when he first met Dancer’s mum. The cattle truck was his grand plan to redeem himself, a way to make a living without tying him down to living away from Broome and his boys all year round.
And it was Big Al he had turned to when none of the banks would touch him. Big Al had put up the stake for the truck. There were no favours; the interest rate was above bank odds. But Big Al knew Andy’s appetite for hard work, and figured it was probably a good investment.
Andy had paid the final instalment ahead of schedule a year ago, and that put Big Al in a receptive mood for Andy’s next proposal. Big Al owned the vacant block next door to the Jirroos; he’d bought it from Andy’s dad twenty odd years before. It was one of his early investments in Broome and he’d been happy to sit and watch its value rise.
Andy’s dream was to buy it back and build himself and the boys their own place. It would be next door to the rest of the family, but it would be their own. It wasn’t just a matter of relieving the overcrowding of them all squeezed in at Col and Mary’s, in fact that was the least of it. For Andy it was about proving to himself, to his boys, and to the rest of them, that he could stand on his own two feet and provide for his sons.
Big Al had bitten. Once again, no favours on the price; it was a matter of realising on his investment after all these years. He took the deposit Andy offered and gave him twelve months to come up with the next instalment. Andy and the boys now thought of the block as theirs. It was where the truck was parked when Andy was in town.
Dancer and Buddy were even keener than their father on the whole plan. But as Dancer watched Andy drive away that morning he couldn’t help wishing that his dad had a job in town, like Uncle Eddie and Uncle Col. He hadn’t been able to get back to back to sleep, which was why, soon after he hit the hammock, he had dozed off in the mid-afternoon heat.