by Steve Hawke
‘But it took Big Al Steer and his mad plans to give us the nerve to do something about it. So at least we’ve got one thing to thank him for. This is our last one. It’s about our special place. Thank you everybody.’ And then her shout, ‘Save Eagle Beach!’ a short pause, and then the song.
Where the pindan meets the ocean
Where the mangroves line the creek …
Janey thought she was going to die of embarrassment, but when she dared to glance up, she could see Graham smiling broadly, nodding and tapping his fingers to the music, and Felicity watching her with a thoughtful air.
When it finished they plied her with questions, and gradually drew her out of her shell as they moved from the dining room onto the patio. Before long she was her passionate self, spilling out the story of the battle for Eagle Beach.
When she has brought it up to date, with the latest word from the committee — though not the events outside in the forecourt — she finally falls silent. Graham chuckles, ‘Big Al, what a name for the bad guy.’ Then he asks Janey, ‘What’s his surname again? Steer?’
‘Yeah, Alan Steer. But everyone calls him Big Al.’
‘Mmm. I’m sure I’ve heard his name somewhere, but I can’t place it.’
‘That’s quite a story Janey.’ Felicity turns to Sal. ‘It’s a sheltered life you lead by comparison, isn’t it darling.’
Sal looks cross at this, and is about to say something, but Felicity has already turned back to Janey. ‘How do you think it’s going to turn out?’
Janey’s face clouds. ‘I don’t know Mrs Pearson. We’ve tried everything we can think of, and done everything we can to hold him up. But the Planning Department’s on his side in the end.’
‘I presume you’ve applied for protection for the site under the Aboriginal Heritage Act?’
‘Stop playing the lawyer Mum,’ says Sal. ‘You’re not at work.’
At that moment the phone rings and Sal heads inside to answer it. Janey resumes the conversation. ‘The department reckons there’s a big enough buffer zone in the development plans. Little Joe — he’s my uncle — he’s trying to get the Legal Service to check out whether that can be challenged, ’cause it’s rubbish. But they’re really slow. He reckons they can’t cope with the workload.’
Felicity is thoughtful. ‘I don’t really know the Heritage Act very well. It’s not my field.’
‘I’ve read it, but it’s not really clear on buffer zones.’
‘You’ve read the Act!’ Felicity is astounded.
‘Yeah. After all this started.’ Janey can’t help a little boast. ‘My mum reckons I’d make a good lawyer — always arguing.’
‘From what I’ve seen of you, she’s probably right. You should give it a go.’
‘Janey.’ Sal is calling from the doorway.
Janey looks up at her, surprised.
‘It’s Jimmy.’
‘Jimmy?’
‘Yeah, Jimmy. On the phone.’
‘How’d he get your number?’
‘He said he rang the school.’
‘There’s no way I’m talking to him.’
‘He says it’s really important.’
‘No way.’
Sal disappears back inside. Janey sits with crossed arms, back in her shell. Felicity and Graham exchange puzzled looks. There is silence on the patio for a minute, until Sal comes back out, tugging at the phone cord for extra length. She puts the phone on the ground, says ‘Okay,’ into the receiver, then hits a button. Over the speakerphone comes the sound of guitars and Jimmy’s voice.
Mango trees flowering in June, tamarind getting ripe soon
Cricket soon over, and football will once again rule
Dancer and Tich join in.
And here we are dreaming in Broome.
Janey is biting her lip.
Easterly winds blowing today, blowing across Roebuck Bay
Mozzies are coming, and salmon are running in schools
And here we are dreaming in Broome.
Now the tears are streaming down her face. Graham and Felicity are throwing worried looks at Sal, who signals at them to stay where they are and keep quiet.
Playing and laughing and crying under the moon
Dancing and swimming and fishing, singing in tune
Horse races run in July, scorpion in the night sky
Shinju is coming, and Sammy will once again rule
And here we are dreaming in Broome.
Jimmy has taken the chords, and the half a melody that she posted up to him, and crafted them into a song that she recognises as her own, but that is somehow better, richer, just right. Janey starts singing the words. Softly at first as she gets her tears under control, but gradually becoming stronger.
Now mangoes are ripe on the ground, Nimanburr hanging around
Rain clouds are building, and we’ll see the wet season through
And here we are dreaming in Broome.
She takes the receiver from Sal and sings the chorus down the line with Jimmy and the others.
Playing and laughing and crying under the moon
Dancing and swimming and fishing, singing in tune
Horse races run in July, scorpion in the night sky
Shinju is coming, and Sammy will once again rule
And we’re just here dreaming in Broome.
24
MARCH HAS COME, and still there has been no rain to speak of. It has been close to the worst wet season in the Kimberley in the hundred years that records have been kept. Buster has been watching the weather, and waiting.
He takes Dancer walking through the dunes down at Eagle Beach. It is a companionable habit they have got into over the years. Sometimes they just walk in silence. Sometimes Buster tests Dancer on the bush names of fruits and trees and grasses, or gets him to identify the different lizard tracks.
This morning Buster leads them to the top of a dune that looks out over the bay, with Jiir’s headland away to the left. He asks after Janey. Dancer tells him that as far as he knows she’s doing okay. She and Jimmy have made up after their big fight.
‘That song of hers that he did the music for, hey?’
‘Yeah, she couldn’t stay cranky after that.’
‘I haven’t heard that one yet. You kids’ll have to play it for me one day soon.’
‘We can sing it this afternoon if you want.’
‘That’d be good.’ Buster pauses a moment, then speaks again. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been round much for you lot lately.’
‘What d’you mean Nyami?’
‘You’ve all been carryin’ a big load for me. For Jiir. For this country here.’
They sit in silence for a minute or two.
‘Listen Dancer, I’m goin’ away for a while. Me and Little Joe. We’re goin’ up the coast, inland, all round. Lot of old men I got to talk to. See, we’ve all got our own way to do things. That Janey, she’s like a bull at a gate. Me, I’m more like Harry, that old scrub bull in your song. I stay out on me own, sniff the wind, try to get the lay of the land before I charge on in.
‘Since the day you kids found those pegs, that’s what I’ve been doin’, sniffin’ the wind and watchin’ you lot leadin’ the charge. I’ve had this bad feelin’ in my guts, and I’ve just let it sit there, hopin’ things might come right.’
He falls silent again. Dancer lets the silence be, wondering where it will lead. Buster gestures down towards the headland.
‘I been talkin’ to Little Joe and that Bob feller. Looks like Big Al can’t touch that place for now. Leastways, not for a month or two, till that committee mob meet again. Might be he can bugger up that creek area, but Jiir’s place is safe — for a little while. But he’s not happy, not since the day that bulldozer came in.
‘You know the story Dancer, for Jiir and Manburr. Bringin’ the storms and the rain, like Jimmy’s song says. They didn’t come this year.
‘I couldn’t do anythin’ before. I couldn’t talk to him while I was worryin�
� they might knock down his place. But now I got to try, while I got a chance.
‘Some people call ’im rain dancin’. But it’s not really like that. We sing and we dance. We talk to those two. We ask ’em what’s wrong, what we’ve done wrong. Might be they listen. Might be not.
‘But first I got to talk to all those other old fellers. See what they reckon. Maybe we’ll do that ceremony, up there at Garnet Bay.’
Buster gets to his feet. After a moment Dancer stands up beside him.
‘You take care of yourself while I’m away, boy,’ Buster says. ‘And keep lookin’ out for this place.’
If the tape of the concert had broken the ice and gotten Janey talking that weekend, Jimmy’s musical phone call was the cream on the cake. When it was over, she told the Pearsons the story behind it all, which explained why she had been so down in the dumps. By the time she and Sal returned to St Brigid’s on Sunday night, Janey had a standing invitation to visit with Sal anytime at all.
A couple of weekends later she is back there again, and Graham tells her he has been asking questions amongst his banking friends ‘about your Big Al Steer. It seems he had to come down here and front them after that committee meeting you were telling us about. They’re not too happy with the delays, let me tell you.’
‘What? Are they going to pull out on him?’ Janey asks excitedly.
Graham chuckles. ‘Nothing as spectacular as that I’m afraid. But from what I’m hearing, his banks have some questions about the viability of the whole resort if he doesn’t get the all clear for the golf course. He’s got the okay to proceed with the tavern, but I get the impression he’s skating on fairly thin ice.’
Graham tells his story with a boyish grin, expecting Janey to be pleased to be getting this privileged information, but his news leaves her thoughtful and sombre.
‘I know it’s something — but they can’t build the tavern without knocking Teoh Tom’s place down. And even if he only puts the tavern in, and maybe the pearl farm, everything will still be wrecked. It won’t be the same down there any more.’
She rings home that night with a long phone call to Ally, and then Jimmy. She takes great delight in their amazement that she has found a source of information on Big Al through her new friend.
When she rejoins the Pearsons on the patio Janey notices a huge grin on Sal’s face, and the mischievous smiles of her parents.
‘Guess what,’ Sal says.
‘I don’t know. What?’
‘We were having a talk while you were on the phone. You know how I told you we always go away somewhere at Easter if Mum and Dad can get the time off.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, they were just asking me where I’d like to go this Easter.’
‘So are you going skiing in Italy then?’
Sal shakes her head. ‘I changed my mind.’
‘What are you grinning at me like that for?’
‘We’re going to Broome!’
Janey is stunned for a moment. Then she too grins, and gives Sal a big hug. ‘Awesome.’
Sal starts twirling her round in a dance, singing, ‘Mango trees flowering in June, tamarind getting ripe soon. Cricket soon over, and football will once again rule …’
Janey joins her for the punch line, ‘And here we are dreaming in Broome.’
March turns to April. The big ceremony up at Garnet Bay is nearly finished. Janey is due the next day for the Easter holidays, and the Pearsons three days later. And the Jirroos are on edge. Yesterday the kids were riding down to the shack and found the site office transportable — which has been sitting there empty — has been cleaned up. And there are pallets of cement, stacks of pipe, and coils of cyclone wire stacked nearby. It seems Big Al is on the move at last.
In the morning Eddie takes the kids down to have a look. They hold their breath as they approach the transportable, but nothing more has happened. The kids unload their bikes and Eddie gives them strict instructions to stay out of trouble.
They jam for a while at the shack then talk about the plan for a party during the holidays. A welcome home for Janey, and for Buster and Little Joe and Micky when they return from Garnet Bay. The highlight for the kids will be doing Dreaming in Broome with Janey singing. And they’re looking forward to meeting this Sal girl and her flash parents. But all the while they are listening out for any activity from the direction of the site office.
In the afternoon, when the tide is right, they decide to go crabbing. Buddy insists on taking the canoe. He wants to paddle up the creek a bit to see if he can find any sign of old Tom. Buddy reckons Tom has been acting weirder than ever, and they haven’t seen him for a few days. Buddy knows the old man has a network of fish traps, crab holes, dinner camps and secret trails in the depths of the mangroves, and suspects he might be hiding out there somewhere.
Buddy and Dancer paddle out from the beach around to the creek mouth to check the familiar holes, while Tich and Jimmy work along the shoreline. They meet up down near the creek mouth. It’s not a great haul — just three crabs, enough for a feed, but not a feast. Buddy is trying to talk Dancer into coming with him on a search for Teoh Tom when his brother interrupts. ‘What’s that?’
None of the others can hear anything, but no-one doubts Dancer of the big ears when he says he can hear something up near Tom’s place.
It is like déja vu. Mack on a machine, churning up the ground. Only this time it is a trenchdigger, not a huge bulldozer. He has started from close to Teoh Tom’s camp, and has the machine heading from there towards what the old man calls the gunbun country, and beyond it, the mangroves. Already he has gone twenty metres and the trenchdigger is slowly but relentlessly tossing the broken dirt up in its wake.
This time there is no Janey to lead the way. Eddie’s warning is ringing in their ears and they approach uncertainly, Dancer in the lead. He is remembering Buster’s words before he took off. Keep looking out for this place.
He doesn’t have to decide what to do, for Mack sees them coming and takes the initiative. He leaves the trenchdigger idling and marches over to confront them.
‘Planning on causing any trouble this time?’ he demands, hands on hips.
Dancer gulps. ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’
‘What I’m doing is none of your damn business kid. But I’ll tell you anyway. I’m putting in the drainage lines before the contractors turn up to lay the slab for the tavern. It’s all legal and approved, as I’m sure you smart-arses know, so get out of my way.’
‘What about Teoh Tom?’ says Buddy.
‘What about him?’
‘That’s his camp there.’
‘He’s had his notice. Got posted a week ago. It’s not my problem if he doesn’t check his mail.’
‘You’re just going to knock it down?’
‘That’s the general idea, if he doesn’t clear it out himself.’
‘But … but …’ Buddy can’t think what to say.
‘But, but, but,’ Mack sneers. ‘I’m getting back to work. If you try and get in my way this time you’ll want to have pretty good nerves.’
‘That’s gunbun country,’ Tich cries. ‘The witch might get you.’
This brings a cackle from Mack as he climbs up into the seat and puts the trenchdigger back in gear.
‘Let’s hope she does,’ mutters Buddy.
The kids all look at Dancer. It seems to be down to him to take the lead. He looks angrily in Mack’s direction, but shakes his head. ‘We can’t.’
‘What about Tom?’ Buddy implores. ‘They’re going to knock his place down. We’ve got to find him.’
‘You’re right bro. You and me’ll go look for him, okay. Jimmy — you and Tich ride like hell back to town. Find your dad or Eddie, anyone, let them know what’s going on.’
The sun is dipping towards the horizon as Mack looks back down the trench line he has dug and consults the plan again. He’s got the line right, just to the left of the big old white gum, only another ten metr
es to go. Mind you, the ground is starting to get pretty soft, now he is into the mangroves proper.
He puts the trenchdigger back in gear and inches forward. He reaches the point he has picked out as the end of the line and disengages the digger. It has taken longer than he thought. The sun is almost gone now and the tide is coming in, but he is done.
Mack starts the machine on its slow, clumsy turn, with the tracks slipping in the moist ground. A strange, moaning sound that seems to rise and fall with the breeze echoes through the mangroves. He looks around, puzzled, but fails to spot Tom on the other side of the creek, lowering himself down from the tangle of mangrove roots where he is hidden, into the water.
Mack’s puzzlement turns to alarm as a colony of bats flies into the air, whistling and chirping and flapping. He throws his hands up as a bat brushes his face, and next thing he knows the trenchdigger slews in the mud and tips. His scream mingles with the screeching of the bats as the machine comes down on top of him.
He can tell instantly that his leg is broken. Somehow, amidst the sweat and the fear, and the pain that courses through his body, he manages to wriggle free just as the engine putters out. He lies there for a moment, covered in mud and blood, trying to gather his wits.
He pulls his mobile phone from his pocket and punches in numbers, muttering, ‘Come on Al, come on.’ He almost passes out with relief when it is answered. ‘Al. Is that you? I’m in trouble.’ As he is speaking a spider sails down on a thick thread in front of him. As he swats at it the phone slips from his grasp and plops into the mud. The incoming tide washes in and covers it. He clutches at the phone, but it slips from his grasp.
He starts dragging himself forward, slipping in the mud. The tide is racing in as fast as he can move. He clutches at a mangrove root to lever himself another foot or two. It snaps in his hands, and as he lurches backwards a pair of the striped bandy bandy snakes — sea snakes with bites that can kill in a minute — slither out of the tangle of roots, hissing at him. He nearly faints with fright as they disappear into the rising water.
He has reached the end of his tether. From the depths of his soul he summons one last mighty scream for help, then subsides into the mud, feeling the water creeping up.