by Steve Hawke
He ignores the driver’s angry shout as she pulls away, then scrabbles after the thermos that has fallen out of his bag. He’s relieved to see the thermos is still intact. Only then does he register the pain. He puts a hand to his forehead and sees it is smeared with blood.
Mary rolls her eyes in exasperation as she watches Buddy disappear. ‘He’s a handful that boy. I wish his dad was here a bit more to pull him into line.’
‘It’s his nature Mary, whether Andy’s around or not.’ Ally points to an empty chair at the big backyard table. ‘Sit down and enjoy the peace and quiet for a few minutes.’ Mary still has her mind on her nephews. ‘I can never get over how different he and Dancer are.’
Ally glances up. ‘You can certainly see their different mothers in the pair of them.’ She gives Mary a serious look. ‘Has Col ever told you the story properly? All of it?’
‘You know he doesn’t like talking about all that stuff Ally. Strong silent type and all that.’
‘Men, hey,’ Ally shakes her head. ‘I used to think I should sit you down and give you the family history when you first came. But I didn’t know you well enough then, and I never knew what Col had told you. Then as the years went by, it didn’t seem to matter so much.’
She leans across the table with an intensity in her voice. ‘None of us likes talking about it, sis. Talking about it, remembering it, anything about it. But you’ve been part of this family for what? — twelve years, thirteen? You’re more of a mother to those two boys than anyone else on this earth. You’ve got a right to know.’ Ally pauses for a moment before adding, ‘If you want to that is.’
Mary nods.
‘Wait there a minute,’ Ally says, getting up. ‘I’ll make another pot of tea.’
Dancer glances at his watch, wondering when Buddy will arrive. Buster is still restless and throws off the blanket again. The day is warming up, and Dancer folds it and puts it down beside the bed, by the pair of clap sticks.
The clap sticks are about twenty centimetres long — ironwood stained dark brown, with a simple pattern etched into the wood. Dancer picks them up and tests their feel — solid, weighty, comfortable in his hands. He taps them together gently; even so, the sound is clear, there is a richness to it.
He gets up and moves off the verandah into the dusty yard, and starts to tap a rhythm, humming softly to himself. He looks around the reserve. There is no-one in sight. His feet begin to move in small shuffling steps, a hesitant imitation of the traditional dance he has seen a few times. He is thinking of Buster last summer. He was strong and well and handsome, leading the dancing at the open part of the ceremonies, before he and the rest of the men took the boys away for their initiation.
Lost in these thoughts, his feet gradually free up, and soon the rest of his body is moving into the dance. The shuffling steps become a series of high steps and stamps, with splayed knees. He crouches, bends, sways. The low hum is now a wordless chant.
Ally talks softly, as if to herself. ‘Dancer’s mum was a quiet one, just like he is. She was a bush girl from Tirralintji, up the Gibb River Road. Her and Andy met when he was just a green young ringer working on one of the stations up there. True love if ever I’ve seen it. We teased Andy something terrible.
‘They came down here when she got pregnant. She was a lovely girl, but hard to get to know. She couldn’t really handle town life, I don’t think.
‘Dancer was such a big baby, and she was such a slip of a thing. She was never well after the birth. When she got really sick, after a couple of years, she wouldn’t go to the hospital. One morning she was gone. Back to her mob up there, we found out.
‘Maybe she knew in her bones she was dying. Or maybe she felt she couldn’t take Dancer away from Andy — and old Buster. Buster doted on him — the first child of the new generation of Jirroos. Whatever it was, she left him here with us.’
Mary lets the silence hang for a few moments before asking, ‘Didn’t Andy chase her, try to find out what was wrong?’
‘Course he did, Mary. He was gone for a fortnight up there. And he’s never talked to anyone about it. Not even Col I don’t think. He couldn’t handle it. Before long he went on the grog big time. They were nightmare times. I had Janey by then, and me and Bella had to care for Dancer between us. Andy’d disappear for days and weeks, then he’d be nothing but trouble when he came back.’
She looks across at Mary. ‘You know who tried hardest to get through to him, get him to pull himself together?’
Mary shakes her head. Ally gives a rueful laugh. ‘Georgie. Georgie bloody Jordan. Him and Andy were best mates before it all went wrong. Hung out together. Played music together. But then, as if to spite Georgie, Andy took up with his sister. She was a drinker too, and the pair of them just dragged each other further and further down.
‘Then Buddy came along. He was small, wiry, always crying. No wonder, poor kid. His mum and Andy were always drunk, or fighting — or both. And it just went on like that until the crash.
‘After the funeral there was the most terrible blue between Andy and her family. Old Rosa gave him a hiding and he just stood there and took it. He knew he had it coming under the old laws.
‘Andy turned up here the next day, looking like death. He grabbed Dancer and took off with him and Buddy. Next thing we heard, they’d all been picked up in Derby. He was in gaol, and the boys had been taken in by Welfare.’
‘You know the rest of the story more or less. That’s when Eddie rang Col. He figured Col was the only one who might be able to get through to Andy. They were always the closest of the brothers.’
Mary laughs at the memory. She can afford to now. ‘Me never out of Ireland in me life, Jimmy just weaned, and Tich on the way! And next thing I knew, Col had us on a plane to the other side of the world to wait for me brother-in-law that I’d never met to get out of the nick.’
Ally reaches out a hand and squeezes Mary’s. ‘It did the trick at this end though. Dancer settled straight back in like he’d never been away. Buddy though — I don’t know. I think he was scarred by it all in some way. You’d think he was too young to remember, but to me, he’s always seemed scared underneath that front of his, scared it might all fall apart, or he might get taken away again.’
A noise from one of the nearby houses brings Dancer back to the real world. The chant dies in his throat and his feet come to a halt. Then he turns to check on Buster, and sees that the old man has woken and is watching him. His first instinct is embarrassment, but then he sees the smile in Buster’s eyes.
‘You know it was me that gave you the name Dancer.’
‘That’s what Dad says.’
‘You’d hardly started walkin’, but you used to shuffle about whenever I sang. I told ’em all you’d dance a good caba caba when the time comes.’
The moment is broken by Buddy’s arrival. Dancer turns, ready to give Buddy a grilling about where he’s been, until he sees the blood and the dark look on Buddy’s face. ‘What happened?’ he asks him.
‘Came off me bike.’ Buddy hands the thermos to Dancer, evading his brother’s attempts to inspect his wounds.
Buster props himself up on an elbow and pats the bed. Buddy sits beside him and gets his hair ruffled while Dancer opens the thermos and pours some of Bella’s broth into a pannikin. Buster pushes himself up into a sitting position and drinks a big draught, then smacks his lips. ‘Bella reckons this soup can fix anythin’. Maybe you better drink a bit Buddy.
‘Soup isn’t what I need though. I’ve got some business to do, blackfeller way. Got to go to Garnet Bay.’
Dancer’s eyes widen, but Buddy hasn’t really been listening. Sitting there next to his nyami, he blurts out, ‘Did Dad really kill my mum?’
Dancer has no idea where this has come from. ‘Buddy! Nyami’s sick.’
‘It’s okay Dancer,’ Buster says. He faces Buddy, waiting until Buddy looks up and meets his eyes. He speaks gently. ‘No Buddy, he didn’t kill her.’
‘Then why
’d he go to gaol for it?’ Buddy almost shouts his question.
‘Buddy, Buddy, Buddy,’ Buster sighs deeply, and pulls Buddy in close to lean against him. ‘You’ve seen what happens when the grog gets hold of people. It’s like a madness, a disease. You’ve seen it round town.
‘When Dancer’s mum died, Andy let that madness get hold of him. He hooked up with your mum. She was a beautiful girl Buddy. They both loved you boy, but they lost control of their lives. She died in an accident. A terrible car accident. Andy was drivin’ that car. And he had to pay the price — two ways. By blackfeller law, and by whitefeller law. They put him in gaol for dangerous driving.’
Buddy has been staring fixedly down at his feet. Now he twists to look up at Buster, barely able to hold back his tears. Buster holds him in a tight embrace, murmuring softly. ‘He didn’t kill her Buddy. But he has to live with knowin’ that he was a part of her dyin’. All he’s ever wanted to do since then is make it up to you the best way he knows.’
Buddy sniffles. Some of the tension in him is released, but he keeps his face buried in Buster’s chest. Buster looks across at Dancer, who has tears running down his cheeks. He shifts slightly, easing Buddy off so he can look at him. ‘Has Georgie been shootin’ his mouth off?’
Buddy nods. Buster shakes his head sadly, then straightens himself up and manages to get a smile on his face. ‘Tell you what, how about comin’ to Garnet Bay with me?’
11
THE NEXT SATURDAY Little Joe’s old Hilux is bouncing over the corrugations of the Beagle Bay road, heading north up the Dampier Peninsula. Behind it a plume of red dust billows in a rolling cloud that drifts slowly inland on the breeze.
Micky takes up most of one side of the ute’s tray, asleep on a swag, unaffected by the jolting ride. Janey, Dancer and Jimmy are leaning against the back window of the cab, perched on rolled-up swags. Buddy is squeezed in amidst a big esky, boxes of tucker and camping gear, and a couple of guitars.
The front cab is just as crowded. Little Joe is humming a tune to himself as he picks the best course through the ruts and corrugations. Bella is next to him, and Buster is gazing out the passenger side window. Tich is sprawled across their laps.
In the back Janey shouts above the noise of the car, ‘Did Buster tell you anything about what he’s going to do at Garnet Bay?’
Dancer shakes his head. ‘Only that he had this dream. I think he needs to see those old fellers up there.’
‘Then why are we getting dragged along? Someone should be keeping an eye on Eagle Beach.’
Nothing more has happened since the confrontation with Mack and his bulldozer. But nor have they been able to find out any more about Garnet Investments and its plans.
But before the conversation can go any further the ute slows and turns in at the sign that indicates the Moondrops Pearl Farm.
The break in the journey is welcome to all except Buster, who is anxious to get to Garnet Bay. He has already put off his departure to the weekend to keep his promise to Buddy. But Little Joe is looking for a dinghy and outboard, and Frankie here is supposed to have one at a good price.
Buddy hovers as Bella unhooks the canvas waterbag strapped to the front of the Hilux. He loves the smell of the wet canvas and the earthy taste it gives the water. When she passes him the bag he drinks deeply, then lets the water run over his face and down his chest.
Then he runs after Micky, who has wandered away to find a patch of shade. Micky takes the waterbag and lowers himself to sit against a tree trunk. ‘Too easy this farmin’ business,’ he says to Buddy. ‘Not like my day when you were out on the luggers for weeks on the trot, an’ dive for the pearls.’
Buddy has other things on his mind. ‘Where do you reckon those Garnet Bay diamonds finished up Nyami?’
Micky pauses with the waterbag at his lips and laughs. ‘You’ve got those diamonds on the brain haven’t you. Let me tell you boyo, not everyone reckons they’re so great.’ He takes a long pull at the waterbag before continuing. ‘Like I told you, they never found most of ’em. But there were any number of stories about ’em, stashed here there and everywhere. The coppers were all over the place, quizzin’ everyone.
‘I never saw any of ’em. But I did know one old woman who had a few.’
‘Fair dinkum!’
Micky smiles at Buddy’s excitement. ‘And you know what?’
‘What?’
‘She got so worried about those diamonds — what with the police snoopin’ round, and everybody askin’ her what she was going to do. She reckoned every time she opened that matchbox she kept ’em in, she got to feelin’ sick. So one day she went out bush, all on her own …’
‘No!’ Buddy can sense what is coming, and screws up his face in disbelief.
‘She took those diamonds out of the matchbox, and she turned round and round and round, till she was proper dizzy, and chucked ’em as far as she could into the bush.’
Buddy shakes his head at the thought of such a terrible waste. ‘You should’ve asked her to take you out there to look for them — later on, when everything settled down.’
‘I did Buddy. I asked her, but she didn’t want to talk about it.’
The other kids are clustered by a big cyclone wire fence down past the jetty, peering into the enclosed yard. ‘What d’you reckon they’ve found?’ Micky asks.
Tich was jumping up and down, calling them. Leaning against a shed wall was a strange looking buoy. ‘It’s the same. It’s just like the one me and Buddy saw in the mangroves — with Horse.’
Little Joe calls from the office, telling everyone it’s time to go. The dinghy has already been sold. Janey makes a bee-line for Frankie before he disappears back inside. ‘There’s a weird looking buoy in the yard over there, with dials and stuff. Do you know what it’s for?’
‘Sort of. I think it measures tide flows, salinity levels, water temperature — that sort of stuff. The lab guys use it to work out the best time for seeding the pearls.’
‘Big Al couldn’t be starting a pearl farm at Three Mile as well could he?’ Janey asks Dancer as they climb into the back of the ute.
The afternoon shadows are lengthening by the time they approach the outstation. The three big kids are kneeling on the swags now, looking over the roof of the cab. They’ve been coming up the peninsula all their lives but this is the first time they have been in to Garnet Bay. Jimmy points out the painting of Manburr the ghost crab on the peeling sign that indicates they have arrived at the community. A small pack of dogs appears out of the bush and gives them a noisy escort in.
The community is a small, slightly ramshackle scatter of houses set in the lee of the dunes in scrubby coastal country of wattles and bauhinia trees. People have mostly built their own places. There are a few caravans. In the yards, palms and paw paw trees and climbing bougainvilleas bring some brighter colours.
They pull up with a honk of the horn. As soon as the kids have finished unloading gear and setting up the swags in the backyard, they’re off through the dunes to check out the beach.
When they got back from the beach, Buster had pulled Dancer and Jimmy aside and told them to come and see him after supper.
Now the two boys pad along the foot track by the light of the moon to the circle sitting around the small fire. Little Joe signals them to sit on the ground next to him. No-one is talking. On the other side of Little Joe a man called Francis is sitting cross-legged, holding a cross made by a pair of sticks. There is a tangle of wool in his lap, with balls and strands of different colours. He is using these to weave a pattern on the frame formed by the cross. On the other side of the circle another man is doing the same thing, but his pattern is different.
The boys take all this in, along with the dark, stern faces flickering in and out of the shifting shadows in the firelight. Jimmy turns towards Little Joe, who lifts a finger to his lips. Buster starts talking in a rhythmic voice that reminds Dancer of the traditional singing he loves.
‘Where we go tomorrow
is the place belongin’ to Manburr the crab. In the dreamtime Manburr was a man, and his friend was Jiir.
‘They travelled down from the north. They brought the law that makes the rain.
‘Manburr stopped here at Garnet Bay. But Jiir, he kept goin’ to that place near Eagle Beach, before he went into the ground. He became Jiir the sea eagle.’
Buster coughs into a handkerchief and Dancer notices the tired look in his face.
‘The songs follow their track. The songs tell the story of Jiir and Manburr — how they brought the rain to this country.
‘We can use these songs to talk to these two. When we need to, when the country is cryin’ for water, we can ask them to bring the rain.’
Buster shifts slightly on the old flour drum that is his seat and holds the eyes of the two boys, speaking gravely in his everyday voice. ‘You boys aren’t old enough to come with us. One day though, you’ll learn this story and you’ll sing these songs. Because this is the dreamin’ of the Jirroo family.’
He points with a stick to Francis the weaver, who holds up his design. ‘Jiir, the sea eagle.’ And then at the other weaver, who holds his up. ‘And Manburr, the crab.’
Buster stares into the fire once more and says very softly, ‘The rainmakers.’ There is a murmur of assent from the men around the fire.
In the silence that follows, Jimmy and Dancer steal a glance at each other. This is the closest they have come to learning some of the secrets of their heritage. They can feel the weight of the moment, and the promise of what lies ahead. But no explanation is offered as to why Buster has brought them here and given them this small taste of a much bigger story. Little Joe taps Jimmy on the shoulder and signals with a gentle lift of his head that they should head back to the camp.
By the time they set out the next morning the numbers at the small community have swelled. A ragged convoy of four-wheel drives winds along the sandy coastal track until they reach a fork where a side track leads towards a small bluff. The women and kids unload fishing gear and the other bits and pieces for a day at the beach, and the cars continue along the main track, only the men still on board.