The Yellow Papers

by Dominique Wilson

  Here in Silverton there were only two kinds of women: the few wives who had followed their men to the mines, worn weary women old before their time, and the prostitutes. The Irish, French, and English prostitutes were out of bounds to him, and disinclined to damage their fragile relationship with the police by associating with Chinese men. Unlike most of the other Chinese here, Chen Mu was able to read the few newspapers that found their way into Silverton, and he’d seethed at the articles describing the ‘moral pollution’ that their writers expected would be the result, should any white woman come in contact with ‘Chinese immorality’. To the Australian population, the Chinese were pests, sons of rapists and murderers.

  There was one Aboriginal woman, who everyone knew to be diseased, and three Karayuki-san, Japanese girls brought to this country specifically to cater for the ‘sexual passions of the coloured aliens’. Chen Mu had seen their camp on the outskirts of town – a huddle of gin cases, each providing a fragile illusion of privacy in which to ply their trade. They charged 7s 6d, and very early one morning Chen Mu had been tempted to go there before starting his round collecting night soil, but as he reached their camp he saw the police wagon already there. He’d turned the cart around and had not gone back since.

  But to leave here would be to let down Yu Ping and he couldn’t do that. The old man had given him work, had never asked where he came from or how he came to be in such a place. Now that Yu Ping was too old to work Chen Mu couldn’t leave him; he owed him his loyalty. And besides, he liked the old man. So he lived the life of a monk, and sometimes he felt so restless that he thought he could just run into that red wasteland and keep on running. He would go instead into the vegetable field and dig, no matter what time of day, and the sweat would mix with the dust on his body to form great splodges of red mud, and old Yu Ping would totter after him calling him crazy to work in this heat, but still he would dig. When the sun set he’d stagger back to their camp and the other men would offer him a pipe of opium to ease his mind and his body, but he’d always refuse, eager for the sleep that brought him dusky-skinned maidens swimming naked in a crystal-clear pond, in the cool shadows of massive green ferns.

  ‘So? What mine?’ Yu Ping asked as soon as Chen Mu returned.

  ‘Day Dream.’

  ‘How many dead?’

  ‘One.’ Chen Mu unharnessed the horse.

  ‘Hm. Lucky.’ Yu Ping leaned on his cane and watched Chen Mu brush down the horse.

  The silence between them grew, but it was a comfortable silence with each man in his own thoughts. Chen Mu gave the horse a bucket of water. The old man smiled and nodded to himself.

  ‘So,’ he said at last. ‘Tomorrow, you go.’

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘Go! Anywhere! But not here. I don’t want you here no more.’ And he turned his back to Chen Mu.

  ‘You’re dismissing me?’

  ‘Yes, I dismiss you. You go. Tomorrow!’

  ‘But why?’

  Yu Ping turned back to face Chen Mu, smiling broadly.

  ‘Hey, Chen Mu! You think you’re very clever. But not as clever as old Yu Ping. I tricked you!’ He gave a soft chuckle. ‘No, Chen Mu, I don’t dismiss you. Not like you mean. But I know about that rich man. He offered you a job – better than this – but you don’t tell Yu Ping. Why?’

  Chen Mu shrugged and lowered his gaze.

  ‘You don’t tell Yu Ping because you think Yu Ping’s an old man. You think you have to look after me. Well, I’m not going to be here no more. So who are you going to look after, hey?’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Upon the roots of the tree rests falling leaves, Chen Mu. I’m going home. Back to my village. I want my bones placed next to those of my ancestors. If I stay here, no one will remember me after I’m dead – there’ll be no one to dig up my bones.’

  ‘I’d do it.’

  ‘Yes, I know you would. But I’m a tired old man, Chen Mu. I want to go home. And I watch you. All the time I watch you and I see you’re not happy. More and more you look out towards the desert. You want to run, but you stay. You stay because of old Yu Ping. But Yu Ping thinks it’s time you left.’

  Chen Mu nodded. He knew the old man to be right.

  ‘What about your gardens? And the others? Do they know?’

  ‘They know. They buy everything. I don’t want.’

  Chen Mu nodded once more – there was nothing more to be said.

  7

  Chen Mu sat on the front steps of his one-room hut, cradling a mug of hot water in his hands, listening to the sounds of barking dogs and lowing cattle. He heard the crack of a stock whip and the men yelling, and guessed one of the herd must have broken away into the thick undergrowth. It was barely dawn and the air was crisp, the valley thick with mist from the river, and he knew sounds could be deceiving but he judged them to be just on the crest of the hill. The boss and the men were driving the mob to the better areas of feed further up the mountain, and Chen Mu had risen earlier than usual to watch them go.

  It had been a dry summer, and though Walpinya Station lay deep in a rich valley surrounded on three sides by mountains, with a river forming the fourth boundary, still the grasses had gone to seed early and until the rains came no growth could be expected. Only the healthiest cows and calves were making the journey – those too old or about to calve would stay in the valley. Matthew Dawson and his men would be back in a couple of weeks, but the cattle would stay in the high country until the end of autumn.

  The sound of barking dogs weakened. An old kelpie, too old to accompany them and chained to the veranda post so he could not follow, barked sporadically. The bark turned to a whimper, then stopped. Fingers of soft sunlight filtered through the mist, slowly evaporating it. Soon it would be all gone and another hot day would begin. In a nearby tree magpies warbled.

  Up ahead the soft glow of gaslights shone through the kitchen window of the homestead. Chen Mu imagined Mrs Hannigan, the cook, and Sahira, the Indian maid, bustling about the kitchen, cleaning up after the early breakfast they’d dished up for the stockmen. The kitchen screen door opened and Chen Mu hoped it would be Sahira, but it was only Mrs Hannigan – a gaunt, dried-up-looking woman with a sharp eye and even sharper tongue, but with a sense of humour Chen Mu was only now getting used to. He watched her take wood for the kitchen range from under the veranda and go back inside. He waited a while longer, willing Sahira to come out.

  Upstairs, only Mrs Dawson’s bedroom showed a light. Barely two days ago Rose Dawson had given birth to a stillborn child, and had since developed a fever. Chen Mu had seen the small graves in the family plot up on the hill, and he knew this wasn’t the first time this family had lost a child. There was only Miss Victoria, a girl of twelve, currently asleep in the nursery.

  The screen door slammed again and he watched Nora, the girl from the workhouse who they were training as skivvy, head towards the chicken coop, humming tunelessly. In the tiny hut next to his, Hans, the other under-gardener, snored. It was much too early for them to be starting work, but he could go and see if Mrs Hannigan had made the list of vegetables she’d need for the day.

  ‘And what time’s this to be coming in?’ she asked, arms akimbo. ‘Don’t you think you can be taking on airs, just because the Master’s gone.’

  Chen Mu hesitated, then realised she was only teasing. She poured water into the teapot from the huge kettle kept permanently simmering on the range.

  ‘You’re too early, lad. I haven’t done it yet. But you might as well sit yourself down. We’ll have a cuppa while I make my list.’

  She poured out two cups of tea, then cut thick slices of bread that she fried in the pan that still held the fat from that morning’s bacon. When the bread was crisp and golden she flipped it onto a plate and put it in front of Chen Mu.

  ‘Eat up, lad. It’s still an hour till our breakfast and you’re all skin and bones.’

  Sitting opposite him she began writing her list, based on the menu she’d planned
for the day. She would be a while.

  He was on his second slice of bread when Sahira came into the kitchen, carrying a tray with the remains of Rose Dawson’s morning cup of tea and toast.

  ‘Did she eat?’

  Sahira shook her head. ‘No, just a bit of tea.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose …’

  Chen Mu watched Sahira empty the dishes into the sink, and Mrs Hannigan watched Chen Mu. When Sahira left the room, she took a sip of tea and cleared her throat.

  ‘Beautiful woman, that …’ she said at last. Chen Mu concentrated on his bread but it was obvious to her he was attracted to the girl, though as far as she could tell he never did anything about it. ‘Plenty around here keen on her, I’d say … Wouldn’t be surprised if they made their move when they got back from the high country.’

  ‘Who? What have you heard?’

  ‘Oh, this and that … Couple of the new jackaroos’ve been hanging around more than they need to. More reasons to come to the house than a horse has flies, those two.’ Chen Mu continued eating, but she noticed his scowl. ‘Then again, you got to expect that with a woman like her.’ She pretended to check her list but was thinking of Chen Mu. She liked this quiet young man, and if the rumours that came her way were true, Chinese men made good husbands. Sahira could do a lot worse. ‘Tell me, d’you still go for a swim every evening?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘Just wondering. A body can wonder, can’t she?’

  Chen Mu shrugged. He was used to Mrs Hannigan’s random questions. He took the list she handed him and drained his cup. If he hurried, he could pick the vegetables she needed before breakfast.

  All day as he worked, Chen Mu thought of Sahira. He was told to prepare a bed for planting the asparagus crowns that had been ordered for this winter’s planting, and it was only when the head gardener McBain yelled at him that he realised he’d dug much more than was needed. He helped Hans repair the trellises, and twice didn’t hear what was said to him, so busy was he trying to work out who else on this property had his eye on Sahira. He could think of nothing but Sahira. He imagined her swimming in the river, naked in the clear water, her long dark hair freed from the pins that kept it tucked under her maid’s cap, floating behind her like a length of rich silk undulating in the wind. Then the thought would come – as it always did – that it was all useless. What would a woman as beautiful as Sahira want with someone like him? He was a nobody – no, worse than a nobody. He had an education that he couldn’t use, a motherland he could never return to, a new country that would never see him as anything more than alien, never to be trusted and forever viewed with suspicion. And they were right, for he was also a murderer. He remembered how old Wang had warned him about the barbarians, as he’d called all Westerners. What would the old man say if he knew that Chen Mu was now the barbarian?

  That evening he went as usual to the river, to swim and wash off the dust of the day. But neither the sounds of the bush nor the coolness of the water on his naked body could lift his mood. He floated on his back, letting the water carry him downstream to where the river became shallow. He imagined Sahira back at the house, helping prepare the servants’ dinner – with the Master gone and the Mistress ill in bed, Miss Victoria’s governess would eat in the nursery with her charge, so Sahira wouldn’t have to set up the dining room nor wait on anyone.

  He swam back against the gentle current to the deeper hole. There he trod water for a while and watched the banks. Dragonflies and mosquitoes hovered, and a rainbow trout jumped to feed, its scales a momentary flash of colour reflecting the evening sun. A brown snake slithered into the water and he watched it as it swam to the opposite bank, its head just breaking the surface. The gleam of its still wet body as it disappeared into the bush reminded Chen Mu of Sahira, on those hot afternoons when perspiration polished her skin to a soft burnt umber glow. But who was he kidding? Even if she were interested in him, could he ever have a serious relationship, knowing that at any time he could be arrested? Sahira was so pure, so innocent. So honest. Could he live the lie with her?

  With a groan of frustration he dived below the surface and swam until it felt as if his lungs would burst. He surfaced then dived once more until he reached the bottom, kicked off and let himself glide through the swirls of muddy water and weeds. He broke the surface and turned onto his back, closed his eyes and floated, this time allowing his mind to be soothed by the gentle lapping of the water on his body as he drifted downstream once more.

  He felt her presence and denied its possibility, but it insisted. Still he refused to open his eyes, unwilling to face the disappointment of reality. For just a moment he wanted to imagine her here, floating beside him.

  Her fingers trailed burning patterns on his belly and he felt himself swell in spite of the cold water, but still he didn’t open his eyes. He wanted this moment to last forever. He knew he must be dreaming. Her fingers traced little snail-trails on his belly, slowly working down towards his groin, and instinctively he thrust his hips slowly back and forth.

  Sahira laughed and pushed his head under water.

  Chen Mu kicked to the surface and spluttered, flaccid and angry, his fantasy shattered. She laughed once more. Anger turned to embarrassment. He swam towards the bank.

  ‘Mu, wait! I’m sorry, Mu! Please wait …’

  Chen Mu looked around for his clothes. He had to get away from her, from her laughter, from his shame. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest. He could feel her breasts, her belly pressing against his back through her thin chemise.

  ‘Mu, I’m sorry … I shouldn’t have laughed. But it did look funny …’

  He could still hear the laughter in her voice and so denied the warmth of her wet skin against his.

  ‘What did?’

  ‘Your … well, it looked like a little fish trying to catch insects, bobbing in and out of the water like that.’

  Above them a kookaburra laughed and Sahira suppressed a giggle.

  He tensed even further, pulling away from her body. She was laughing at him. Shattering every dream he’d ever had. Even the birds were laughing at him. If he were not a man he would cry. He tried to move away but she held him tighter.

  ‘Mu?’ Sahira stroked his chest, his belly. Her hands moved down the front of his thighs. Teased him by moving back up to his chest then down again. ‘Mu?’ Her hand moved slowly to his groin. Soft butterfly-wing caresses. ‘It was a very nice little fish …’ His stomach muscles tightened and he felt himself growing, swelling beneath her fingers. ‘… a very, very nice fish,’ she mumbled, kissing his back. Chen Mu groaned with pleasure and reached back, his fingers grasping her buttocks, pulling her closer still. ‘… and not so little a fish, after all …’

  She pulled him down to the ground and sat astride of him. Took off her chemise. Leaning forwards so that her breasts brushed his lips, she swayed gently from side to side to tease him as his mouth sought to grasp them. He breathed deep her scent. Twigs and rocks dug into his back but he ignored them. She felt his breath come faster and guessed he would not last much longer, so she lowered herself onto him and he gasped at the moist warmth of her. He wanted to go deeper, to crawl right inside of her, to never come out. He arched up against her, lost in a vortex of ecstasy as she rose and sank above him. The ground beneath him no longer existed, the river no longer existed, even Sahira no longer existed as he exploded inside her in a series of spasms that left him trembling.

  She lay curled beside him with her head on his chest as he stroked her still damp hair. He felt sleepy. Content. Happy even. Wounded pride forgotten, the vision of his erect penis as a fish jumping for insects brought forth a smile, and he kissed the top of her head. She shivered and he realised it would soon be dark. Time to go back.

  Next morning, even before sunrise, Chen Mu was awakened by the kelpie’s bark and the sound of a horse and sulky approaching the homestead at a fast pace. He rose and looked out. The whole house was lit up, and he r
ecognised the doctor hurrying into the house. He dressed and crossed the yard to the kitchen.

  He found Mrs Hannigan and Sahira at the kitchen table, gazing into their tea, sombre looks on their faces. Nora was sitting on the floor in a corner of the kitchen, sobbing, her apron over her head. Sahira looked up as he walked in and gave him a weak smile.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s the Mistress,’ Mrs Hannigan answered. ‘She’s real poorly. Turned bad during the night.’

  The housekeeper came into the kitchen. ‘Doctor says its childbed fever, poor woman. And the Master up the high country and all ….’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘I suppose you’d better make her some broth,’ she told Mrs Hannigan, ‘though she won’t even be wanting that before too long …’ She left, mumbling something about having to send someone to fetch the Master back.

  That evening when Chen Mu went to the river to swim, he expected Sahira to join him but she didn’t come. He went to the kitchen for his evening meal with the other servants, expecting to see her, only to find she was relieving Mrs Dawson’s personal maid. The talk around the servants’ table centred on Mrs Dawson’s rapid decline. He went back to his hut and sat on the front step, waiting. Willing Sahira to come. And though he waited till well after nightfall still she did not come.

  He lay in his bed listening to the sounds of the night, tormenting himself. To him, their lovemaking had been more than just a joining of two bodies, but did Sahira feel the same? He remembered her laughter at his penis bobbing in and out of the water. Maybe that was how she saw him – a joke, something to make fun of. She had probably told Mrs Hannigan all about it. They would have laughed together, and now every time they saw him they would smile, and though they wouldn’t say anything he’d know they were remembering. He’d been a fool. He should have saved face. Insisted she leave the river. Turn around while he dressed. He should have kept his dignity. Reprimanded her for behaving in such a shameless manner. But now it was too late. He would become a laughing stock and had no options but to leave as soon as possible. He heard footsteps outside his hut. The door opened.