Long Gone the Corroboree

by Tony Parsons

  “The bitch was with Danny Evans. I told her what I’d do if I found her with him… or anyone else. Danny doesn’t give a stuff about Lilly. He only wants to screw her,” Davis said savagely.

  “And you don’t?”

  “Lilly’s my woman,” Davis said.

  “It isn’t any of my business but have you considered that Lilly might prefer Danny to you?”

  Davis looked at Steele sharply. “No, I haven’t. Lilly belongs to me.”

  “That’s your point of view, Dooley. From where I stand, it appears to me that Lilly would like you to go to the devil. You belt her and you belt Billy, so why on earth would she want you to stay with her?”

  Davis appeared nonplussed at being presented with this argument. It was a safe bet that no one else had ever laid it on the line so clearly.

  “Danny Evans is a white fella. It was a white fella that got Lilly into trouble in the first place,” Davis said.

  “What’s that got to do with anything? Do you really believe you’re a better option, a fellow who belts her and her son?”

  Davis looked at the breadth of Steele’s chest and remembered what he’d said about doing some weight-lifting. He reckoned a fellow wouldn’t be so free with his words if he couldn’t throw a strong punch.

  “Where’s Billy?” Davis asked.

  “He’s inside, in bed and asleep. And that’s where he’s staying for the time being. You’re not his father and if you touch him again, I’ll get an order taken out against you, Dooley,” Steele said firmly.

  “That’s not being very friendly,” Davis said sourly.

  “The people I call my friends don’t belt women and kids.”

  Davis made a sound in his throat for which there was no meaning in any English dictionary. “I go a bit mad when I’m on the piss,” he said weakly.

  “If you can’t handle the booze, you should stay off it, Dooley. You’ll come to a bad end the way you’re going.”

  “I’m not havin’ Danny Evans pinch me woman.”

  “From what I hear, Lilly doesn’t regard herself as your woman. You foisted yourself on her and you’ve had her too scared to clear out. So, she goes behind your back with Danny Evans. Walk away from Lilly, Dooley. Go back to your shearing. Find another woman,” Steele suggested.

  But the idea of finding a woman like Lilly Sanders was so daft that Davis refused to consider it. “You would side with another white fella, wouldn’t ya?” Davis growled.

  “Colour’s got nothing to do with it. I don’t give a damn about what colour you are, Dooley. A real man doesn’t hit a woman, or a child. If you want to be thought a decent bloke, you’ve got to behave like one. Where were you when Lilly needed medical attention? You were chasing off after Danny Evans and you didn’t give Lilly a second thought. I took her to hospital. I didn’t come here to be caught up in my neighbour’s affairs but it’s been forced on me. Now, you need to clear off and behave yourself or there’s trouble coming,” Steele said.

  Davis shifted uneasily on two legs that weren’t entirely steady. He wasn’t sure whether Steele was threatening him with physical violence or giving him advice. He had a momentary vision of Steele picking him up and throwing him through the air like a football, which his physique suggested he’d be quite capable of doing. Instead of arguing with Steele, he turned on his heel and walked up the road to where he’d left his vehicle.

  Billy waited until Dooley had driven away then joined Steele on the veranda. “Ya told Dooley where to go, Mr Clay,” he said admiringly.

  “You’, not ‘ya’, Billy,” Steele said.

  “It’s a wonder he didn’t try and job y… you. He’s jobbed a lot of blokes.”

  “Maybe I had him bluffed. Anyway, I hope that’s the last I ever see of him.”

  “Me, too.”

  But neither the man nor the boy believed it would be.

  After breakfast, Steele presented Billy with his new check shirt, determined that the boy’s birthday wouldn’t be entirely ruined by Dooley’s fists. “You might have to wait a little while for your duds. Your mum will have them put away somewhere,” Steele said.

  “Thanks for the shirt, Mr Clay. It’s a real beauty,” Billy said with tears in his eyes.

  “If you work hard at your voice, I’ll buy you a big hat to go with it. You’d have to try it on, of course hats can be either too tight or too loose. Have any preference for colour?” Steele asked him, trying to distract the boy.

  “Any colour’s okay, Mr Clay. Maybe white or black rather than those in-between colours,” Billy said.

  “What do you say we have a morning’s fishing?” Steele suggested. “We’ll have some lunch and then I’ll take you in to see your mum. How does that sound?”

  “That’d be real beaut, Mr Clay. You sure it won’t take up too much of your writing time?” Billy asked with genuine concern.

  “A fellow can’t work all the time, Billy. There’s a saying ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’. A man needs to take a spell now and then to rest the grey cells,” Steele said, tapping his fingers against his skull.

  “What’s the grey cells, Mr Clay?”

  “They’re what make up your brain, Billy. There’s a more technical answer but that’ll do for now. We’d better look for some worms. Do you think the perch will bite on worms today?”

  “Aw, you never know, Mr Clay. Some days, they won’t bite on anything and other days, they’ll bite on just about any old bait. They bite better early morning and then towards night. If we take some meat down, we can try for some craybobs for bait.”

  Worms weren’t hard to find in a garden laden with humus. They squirmed beneath every rotten log too… great fat worms that had fed undisturbed for years.

  Down at the creek, Billy threaded one on his hook and had a ‘yella belly’ within ten minutes. It took Steele half an hour longer. Then, Billy pulled a patch of bark off an apple gum and caught a brown spider. He put the spider on for bait and caught a perch on that, too. “You can use grasshoppers too, Mr Clay,” Billy said with all the accumulated knowledge of his thirteen years.

  “How come you know so much about fishing, Billy?” Steele asked.

  “Aw, I talk about it with other fellas, Mr Clay. It’s one of the things you can do that doesn’t cost much money. That’s once you’ve got your gear. Mum gave me mine for different birthdays and for Christmas presents.” He saw Steele cast further out into clear water and shook his head. “Don’t cast there, Mr Clay. ‘Yella belly’ don’t like clear water. They hang about the reeds and alongside old logs. They travel a lot too, but they do it mostly at night,” Billy said.

  So much useful knowledge in one so young, Steele thought, so much knowledge about fishing anyway. “It’s a peaceful pastime. A fellow can’t get into too much trouble fishing from a creek bank,” Steele suggested.

  “I don’t know about that, Mr Clay. It’s safe enough here but it’s not so safe down on the coast. There was a fella from in town that got washed off the rocks and drowned. He was a mad keen rock fisherman and he took a lot of risks. The best fishing spots on the coast seem to be the most dangerous. You got to be very careful if you go to the coast, Mr Clay. There’s always that one wave that’s bigger than the rest,” said the cluey young man.

  “Thanks for the advice, Billy. I lived in Sydney and there were blokes washed off the rocks there quite regularly. I realise rock fishing is a risky business. If I go to the coast, I think I’ll stick to the beaches and the jetties. We’ll have to do a trip down there. What do you say, Billy?” Steele asked.

  “Really, Mr Clay? That’d be beaut. Me Uncle Ted took me a couple of times. We camped on the beach and fished the rocks, too. It was just great fishing with the sun going down and then up early before the sun came up. We got a big box of fish, too. I reckon the saltwater fish are heaps better than the fish we get here. You don’t need to spice ’em up like these fish,” Billy said.

  “These are okay for the time being, Billy. And watch those ‘me�
��s. It’s ’my’ Uncle Ted, not ‘me’ Uncle Ted,” Steele reminded him.

  Billy grinned. “Yeah, okay, I forget. Mum came with us when we went to the coast. Mum can cook fish like nobody else can. She stuffs them and they taste terrific. We had fish for dinner on the beach.”

  “We could camp there overnight and sleep in the van. I mean you and me, Billy. What do you reckon?” Steele asked, relieved to see the boy more cheerful.

  “That’d be fantastic, Mr Clay.”

  “What about Dooley? Does he like to fish?” Steele asked.

  “Naw. Dooley is keener on steak than fish. He’ll eat fish but he’s got no patience catching them. He uses a fish trap. I use a fish trap too when we’re out of fish, but there’s no fun in it,” Billy said profoundly.

  Man and boy gathered up their gear, pulled the sugar bag of fish out of the creek and walked up to the house. They cleaned the fish and Billy took the insides back to the creek and dumped them in. “It’ll fatten the craybobs,” he said with a grin.

  Steele cooked some of the fish in foil with a few herbs and served it up with chips and salad.

  “That was pretty good, Mr Clay. Good birthday tucker,” Billy said with obvious enjoyment of the meal.

  “Yes, it was pretty good,” Steele agreed. “I’m feeling a lot better since I’ve been eating Jerogeree fish. Do you happen to know if this creek belongs to the Mary River system or drains into the Brisbane River?”

  “Er… neither, Mr Clay. I heard me… er… my Uncle Ted say that it runs into the Stanley River and it runs into Lake Somerset,” Billy said.

  “You’re a fountain of knowledge, Billy. Seriously, it’s worth knowing that sort of thing. If you write about an area, you need to get your facts right,” Steele said. “You ready to go and see your mum now?”

  “I’m ready,” Billy said.

  “We might stop and get something for you to give her. People often give grapes. Don’t know why but they do. Maybe because they’re easy to handle. Does your Mum eat grapes?” Steele asked.

  “Yes, she eats grapes. She’s pretty keen on chocolates though. Danny Evans gives her chocolates,” Billy said.

  “Bully for Danny Evans.” Steele wondered how Lilly was able to maintain her fabulous figure if her diet included chocolates. “We’ll get her a box of chocolates.”

  “I didn’t mean that you had to buy her chocolates. I’ve got some money saved up,” Billy said.

  “A box of chocolates won’t break me, Billy.” But the boy still looked worried. “You know, the fish you caught me would more than pay for the chocolates.” And Billy’s face brightened with relief.

  When they reached the hospital, they found Lilly looking slightly less alluring than usual. She had a black eye which was half closed and her voice lacked its usual warmth. She was dressed in a hospital gown and Steele was pleased that he had asked Billy to run back home and pack some of her clothes into a suitcase.

  “We brought some of your clothes, Lilly,” Steele said. “I asked Billy to go home and make a selection. There’s some there for when you leave hospital, too.”

  “You’re a good man, Mr Clay. Billy doesn’t know how lucky he is to have you looking out for him.”

  “Billy looks out for me too, Lilly. He’s shown me how to fish and we caught some nice fish this morning. Billy’s stuffed full of fish and chips right now,” Steele said with a chuckle.

  “Lucky little devil. You be sure and help Mr Clay, Billy,” Lilly said as sternly as she could manage.

  “He does help, Lilly. How long will you be in here?” Steele asked.

  “Another few days. They’ve got the ribs strapped up.”

  “Will you be able to manage when you go home?”

  “I’ll be all right if Dooley isn’t there. Billy can look after me.”

  “I had a yarn with Dooley. I laid it on the line, Lilly. If he touches Billy again, I’ll bring the police into it. I’d like to have told him I’d do it if he touches you but that would probably have implied that I had an interest in you. I do have an interest in your welfare but it’s you that should apply for the court order against Dooley,” Steele said.

  “The family wouldn’t like that,” Lilly said.

  “Your family aren’t the ones getting beaten up.”

  “Aw, I don’t know. Plenty of Murri women get belted. It comes down from the old people. The lubras used to cop some awful hidings,” Lilly said.

  “You can stop Dooley from bothering you. The court order would keep him away from you. If he flouts it, he can be locked up,” Steele told her.

  “Prison’s no good for a Murri man, Mr Clay. They’re not used to being locked up. Lots of Murri people die in prison. It’s a bad place for us. I don’t want to see him in prison,” Lilly said.

  “Dooley isn’t just Murri,” Steele said.

  “That one quarter Murri makes a difference, Mr Clay. It’s stronger than the white-fella part. Prison’s very bad for Murri people,” she repeated.

  Steele thought it was a strangely benevolent attitude considering Dooley’s treatment of her.

  “Dooley could kill you next time. He told me that when he’s on the booze, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He wants to hurt you for going behind his back. You wouldn’t want Billy left on his own, would you?”

  “Billy’s big enough to look after himself, Mr Clay.”

  Steele shook his head. “No, he isn’t, Lilly. He’s only thirteen, which means that the government would put him in a home or in foster care. Billy wants to be a country and western star and that would put him back years. Billy needs you. He’s more important than Dooley and he’s more important than Danny Evans. You can’t like Dooley or you wouldn’t be seeing Danny Evans, and seeing him will only get you into more trouble. Billy is what matters. Get a court order to keep him away from you,” Steele said sternly.

  “All right, Mr Clay,” Lilly said without much conviction in her voice.

  Steele shook his head. It was like talking to a post. But he lacked any experience of dealing with a woman like Lilly, and for all his high IQ, he was out of his depth understanding her.

  When Lilly left hospital a few days later, Billy went back home, and the cottage seemed strangely quiet without him. It wasn’t that he was a rowdy boy, in fact, he was quite the reverse. He was always careful not to intrude when Steele was tapping away on his computer either in the kitchen or on one of the verandas. But he was a boy who slotted into Steele’s schedule extraordinarily well. He’d peel potatoes and pumpkins, do the washing up and keep his room tidy without a word from Steele. But when Steele started working on a song, he’d become highly animated, indeed a different boy entirely. He’d sing passages to guitar accompaniment so that Steele could gauge how his words sounded musically. Steele enjoyed these sessions, not only because of Billy’s obvious pleasure in their collaboration but because writing the songs stretched his brain and made it work at something it had never experienced.

  But now that he was back to living on his own, Steele took the opportunity to carry through on a couple of objectives he’d set himself. The first was to visit the local heritage library to research the history of the district. He was keen to dig out what he could on the two Hewitt males who, apart from the massacred Gubbi Gubbi, had both been past occupiers of his property.

  Steele was disappointed with the paucity of information. There was mention of a massacre near Maryborough where a detachment of native troopers under the command of a European officer had been in pursuit of a Murri ‘offender’ and had fired on all Aborigines in sight. It appeared that there was so little local regard for the indigenous people that this same officer was supposed to have been presented with ‘a sword of honour’ for his part in the reduction of ‘blacks’ in the area. Smaller massacres didn’t even rate an official mention.

  Steele also discovered that in the early days of settlement, there’d been some great stands of cedar and pine in the Wide Bay area and venturesome timber-getters kept probing further and furth
er inland to harvest it. The local Murri people had taken great exception to this steady encroachment onto their traditional hunting grounds, and needless to say, after a few Europeans had been killed, the tough new settlers had little compunction about exacting vengeance on the traditional owners of the land.

  It was about this time that Jack Hewitt Senior had entered the scene. Hewitt was a mysterious man because although he was said to have been a convict from New South Wales, apparently no person of that name was known to the authorities. The popular view was that Hewitt was an escaped convict and had adopted the name to throw officialdom off his scent. It was acknowledged that Hewitt must have been an amazing bushman to have negotiated a huge stretch of country before arriving in the region of the Glass House Mountains on stolen horses. Whether he was one of the bushrangers who’d robbed coaches of their cargoes of gold, nobody could definitely say, but that’s what many people imagined. It seemed it wasn’t healthy to question Hewitt because he was a formidable man with a fearsome reputation for being able to look after himself.

  As tough as Jack Senior was on fellow settlers, he was absolute murder on his indigenous neighbours. Always heavily armed, Hewitt shot any Murri who looked sideways at him. It seems that when he took a liking to a particular piece of land and erected a hut on it, the locals were particularly incensed. This was regarded by them as a choice camping site and had been for thousands of years. Under the guise of friendship, Hewitt handed out bread laced with strychnine and ground glass, and many Gubbi Gubbi perished. It was said that Hewitt shot others to, in his words, ‘put them out of their misery’. This massacre, coming on top of others, virtually wiped out Murri people from the region. But not quite because one night, Jack Hewitt Senior was clubbed to death on his newly acquired land.

  It seemed that Jack was survived by a Murri woman and their son, and the younger Hewitt, Jack Junior, had lived until he was over one hundred years and had died in the old cottage that had been built on the site of the original hut. And nobody had lived in the cottage since his death many years before.