Long Gone the Corroboree

by Tony Parsons

  “You wrote well from other places. Four bestsellers in a row,” I reminded him.

  “I suppose if you’re a writer, a real writer, you should be able to write anywhere but it feels right here. It’s hard to explain exactly what I mean. The closest I can get to it is to tell you that I feel more at ease here than any other place I’ve lived. There’s a connection between this place and me. It’s as if I belong here. That might sound soppy to an outsider but it’s the way I feel.”

  Clay leaned forward in his chair. “When I came here and learned about what had happened to the Aborigines, I realised immediately that I needed to write their story… their obituary, if you like. And then, Billy turned up and it seemed that I’d also been brought here to have an input into his career. I’ve written about the dispossessed and murdered people who once lived here and Glenda appointed me Billy’s guardian, so in a very small way, I hope I’ve made up for some of the wrongs dished out to the original tenants of this land. I say tenants advisedly because they didn’t feel they owned land in the sense that we do. They had no deeds because the land owned them; they were its tenants as they had been for thousands of years. It was theirs by all that was right and just. And we took it away from them because we considered them as being hardly more than vermin to be exterminated… and many were. It was our greed, greed for land, that destroyed that special bond with the land. We wanted it all,” he said.

  “I agree that Europeans behaved very badly in those early years of settlement but we have tried to redress some of those wrongs. We’ve given some land back,” I said.

  “Granted, but Eddie Mabo had to go all the way to the High Court to get that breakthrough. And there were some shocking things done long after first settlement – no right to vote till 1967 and, the ‘stolen children’ episode, plus a gutless Australian Government that allowed Britain to test nuclear bombs on Aboriginal land that will probably remain polluted forever,” Steele said forcefully.

  “Much the same sort of thing is happening in parts of South America, Clay. I had a trip along the Amazon and huge areas of rainforests are being denuded either for timber or to grow crops. The indigenous people are being dispossessed of their hereditary hunting grounds. To a lesser extent, the same kind of thing is happening in New Guinea. Some call it progress,” I said.

  “It’s our present greed that concerns me, Gillian. I saw it in Sydney where people wanted more of everything… bigger and bigger homes, more expensive vehicles and luxury yachts… lifestyles financed by salaries so huge, they’re immoral. We’re living beyond our means, Gillian. We’re using up precious resources to maintain an excessively high lifestyle while millions of people elsewhere are dying from starvation and disease. We’ve substantially failed our young people, many of whom have turned to drugs with the inevitable consequences. And look at the divorce rate; it’s horrendous.”

  Steele fidgeted in his chair. “I didn’t want to be part of the greedy society, so I opted to buy what was then an abandoned cottage, restore it and live quietly and simply here, in this lovely place. I’ll never go back to Sydney,” Steele said vehemently.

  That made me squirm a bit because I’d inherited a lot of cash and property. My father had worked hard and made some good investments, so I didn’t feel too badly about my inheritance. Yet I understood and mostly agreed with Steele. We’d become a greedy society and the gap between the haves and the have-nots had widened considerably. Yet not many people were prepared to voluntarily accept a lower standard of living, and given the choice between a four-bedroom brick home and a restored cottage, most would opt for the former. A writer could justify the latter because most writers don’t earn very much money. Steele may have earned more than most but unless his books broke into the international market, it was unlikely that he’d ever be wealthy from writing.

  “Have you any plans to be married?” I asked. “If you have, wouldn’t that determine whether you could continue to live here? A lot of women wouldn’t find this place at all suitable,” I said.

  “I don’t have any plans to marry,” he said forthrightly.

  I thought it was quite apparent that the last kind of woman Steele would want to be involved with was a pushy, modern female. His woman, if there ever was one, would have to play second fiddle to his values… and like it. Maybe, just maybe, Steele was worth making sacrifices for, though I hadn’t made up my mind about that. Not that I had any reason to consider that dilemma. I’d long ago become used to men making passes at me and having to repel them. If there was any place where a man could make passes with immunity, it was here at Jerogeree where, after Billy had gone off to school, there was Clay and there was me. Yet, Clay hadn’t made a move in my direction.

  After lunch on the Friday, I drove up to Maroochydore to meet with Glenda Butler, as this was the base for the administration of legal matters within the general area. Mrs Butler had finished a busy morning in court and was dictating to a secretary when I arrived. I told her I wouldn’t take up too much of her time as I’d be seeing her the next day so we got right into it.

  “What is it you want to see me about, Gillian?” Mrs Butler asked.

  “I don’t quite know how to begin,” I said diffidently, “and you will probably think I have the most tremendous cheek to come here but…”

  “You’ve come, anyway,” Mrs Butler continued for me.

  “Yes, I’ve come, anyway. The thing is that being a journalist, I’ve become used to analysing people and their behaviour and I need to check out something before possibly making a fool of myself,” I said.

  “Does this concern Clay?” Mrs Butler asked perceptively.

  “It does and on two counts,” I said quickly. “Clay told me that your daughter had a crush on him before she went off to university. I’m wondering if she’s still keen on him. My second concern is that from what I observed the other night, and despite the difference in your ages, you and Clay appear to be very close. I need to know if in fact you are,” I said.

  Glenda Butler sat back in her comfortable leather chair and surveyed me from behind a vast highly polished desk. I fancied that her eyebrows had lifted marginally. “Am I to assume from these questions that you’re interested in Clay?” she asked.

  “I could be. Clay is certainly a man I think I could really like,” I said.

  “Hmm. I should send you packing for asking me such a very personal and impertinent question except that I realise many young women like things upfront. Then again, you’re a journalist, many of whom are overly aggressive when it comes to asking questions.”

  I looked the magistrate squarely in the eye and she nodded her head.

  “In so far as my daughter, Debbie, is concerned, I’m not convinced that she’s over the crush she had on Clay. My feeling is that if Clay moved a fraction in her direction, Debbie would fall all over him.”

  “You think he won’t?”

  "I’m almost certain he won’t. Debbie is too young and inexperienced for Clay. She doesn’t understand that, but Clay does and that’s what he told her. That’s what he told her when she was seventeen and that’s what he’d tell her today.

  “I doubt that Clay is looking for a relationship with any woman. He has something of a phobia about his past illness returning and because of that, he has an extreme reluctance to commit himself to marriage and children. I suppose it’s not something one can discount completely but as I’ve told Clay, he shouldn’t allow it to dominate his life,” Mrs Butler said. “You see, Gillian, Clay is very fond of Billy and may come to realise his life is fuller for having a child in it.”

  She put down her pen and looked at me rather severely. “I have tremendous regard for Clay and I believe it’s reciprocated. If I were a younger woman, I’d marry him tomorrow, which is a huge admission on my part, as after my disastrous first marriage, I vowed I’d never marry again. But I’m really too old to be a mother again and a childless marriage wouldn’t be fair to Clay, no matter what he thinks at this time. Maybe, he’d think half a loa
f is better than no loaf at all and maybe not having a family wouldn’t distress him. But the matter runs deeper than that. Billy Sanders is in what might be put using the Latin term, in statu pupillari, which loosely translated, means a state of wardship. And Clayton Steele, to use another Latin term, is homo alieni juris. Do you understand the terms?” Mrs Butler asked.

  “I’m afraid I don’t. I didn’t study Latin, though I’m aware of some of the more commonly used phrases.”

  “It means being under the control of another person. In effect, it means that Clay has guardianship of Billy Sanders while he satisfies the Court, which is me, that he is taking adequate care of him. If he were to marry while Billy is underage, the Court might have to review its decision to allow him guardianship of Billy,” Mrs Butler said.

  I thought about this for a little while before I answered. “Is Clay aware of this condition?” I asked.

  “Of course. It was pointed out to him before Billy was given into his care. While Clay is responsible for all of Billy’s material needs, I’m responsible for Billy’s overall care. Clay took Billy on in the full knowledge that it would restrict his own lifestyle for a number of years. This arrangement doesn’t mean that Clay is unable to go out with a woman, should he feel disposed to do so, but it does mean that he can’t enter into a permanent relationship with a woman who could be, for all the Court knows, of unsuitable character,” Mrs Butler explained.

  A naturally suspicious person – and I don’t regard myself as belonging in that category – might jump to the conclusion that this was an ideal situation for Mrs Butler to be in. She had admitted that she liked Clay a lot and she was in the fortunate position of having the legal right to be close to him. It seemed to me that if Clay needed to reach out to a woman, Glenda Butler would be the one who was instantly available.

  “I can’t speak for my daughter but for my part, I can tell you that Clay is simply a very good friend. Whether Clay wants or needs a woman in his life is debatable. He’s got Billy and he’s done a wonderful job with him. I thought he would when I gave Billy into his care but Clay has surpassed my expectations,” she said.

  “I can see that,” I agreed. “There’s great empathy between Clay and Billy. And I thought there was the same empathy when you sang with them,” I suggested and waited for her reaction.

  “I suppose there is, now that you mention it,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe because I never reared a son and also because Clay is one of the most transparently decent men I’ve met. But what you shouldn’t forget is that Clay is a writer and a very good one. My feeling is that writing will always be the most important thing in Clay’s life. It’s part of him, like breathing. A woman would need to understand that and adjust her life and values accordingly. If she couldn’t and made demands on Clay that affected his writing, the marriage or partnership would be a disaster. I could do it, but I think too much of Clay not to want the best for him,” she said.

  I had a very good idea that her fondness for Clay encapsulated far more than she was letting on but I couldn’t very well ask her if she’d slept with him. If she had, she had. It was her business and if she’d gone to bed with Clay, it was only one more facet of this quite extraordinary situation. But Glenda Butler hadn’t finished letting me know what she thought about Clayton Steele.

  “Clayton Steele is a national treasure, Gillian. Clay and a few of his contemporaries are the conscience of this country. They put into print what a lot of us think but are unable to express adequately. To try and nail down Clay to being a normal husband and father is unrealistic. Age and experience give you that kind of understanding.”

  “I suppose that discovering Clay was living here was something of a surprise,” I suggested.

  “Absolutely. It was especially astonishing because my eldest daughter had been an ardent admirer of his writing for some years. I’d wanted Donna to do law or medicine but she was so captivated by Clay’s books that she opted for journalism. She’s been studying economics in London because there’s a big future for journalists who can write coherently about money matters. What scares me is if she were to come home and discover that Clay has lived here for some time,” Mrs Butler said.

  “You mean she doesn’t know?”

  The magistrate shook her head, “Clay asked us not to tell her. You couldn’t expect a journalist working in Fleet Street not to disclose Clay’s whereabouts. So, Debbie and I haven’t said a word to her about Clay. But what I don’t need is for another female of this family to be keen on Clay. Donna is older and more experienced than Debbie and the potential for strife between the girls can’t be overlooked.”

  “Is Donna likely to come home?”

  “Oh, she’ll come home when she has her economics degree. Donna’s angling for a job in Brisbane. She hates the English winters. She loves the beach and being out and about on the water. London and Paris are exciting places for a while but there are a lot of negatives too.”

  “So, how would you describe Donna?”

  “Cool, calm, collected and classy,” Glenda Butler said with a smile. “Donna has her priorities nicely in place. She’s doing the hard grind now so she can cash in on it later. Donna is much more hard-nosed than Debbie. She’s no smarter but she’s more driven.”

  The probability that Donna Butler would return home and meet Clay was a disturbing thought and one that caused me much angst. The man obviously had an affection for Glenda, but her age went against her. Perhaps her daughter might prove to be just the woman Clay needed.

  “And now, I’ll have to get back to my dictation,” Mrs Butler said. “You’ll be able to talk to Debbie tomorrow and maybe ascertain how she feels about Clay now. She might let her hair down with you where she won’t with me.”

  I left the courthouse with my questions virtually unanswered. I felt uneasy because it seemed to me that Glenda had run me up a blind alley and had fairly blatantly tried to steer me away from Clay Steele. There wasn’t much I could do about it, as Glenda had the inside running, both legally and socially.

  I tried to turn my thoughts to more mundane matters and bought some groceries before driving back to Jerogeree where I found Clay hard at work at the kitchen table.

  “You should invest in a study,” I told him.

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. It can’t be easy working here with constant interruptions. You need somewhere quiet to tuck yourself away. Maybe with a view out to the wilderness and wildlife.”

  “That was my original plan. But I haven’t had a lot of money to play with since I came here. Overseas medical treatment is costly and the main restoration work here took most of what was left. I receive royalties every six months but I have to manage them carefully. I have Billy to consider,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Clay, I didn’t realise.”

  “Don’t be. It’s a good idea, Gillian. It’s probably time to look into it again,” he said. “How was Glenda?”

  “Glenda was Glenda. She’s some woman. I find her a wee bit intimidating. Legal people are inclined to have that effect on me. I’m going to her place tomorrow to meet the luscious Deborah and I’m staying the night. I’ll go back to Sydney on Sunday. I’ll take a few days and maybe take some photos to add to my collection. I took some beautiful shots along the Amazon,” I said.

  “I’m sure you did. I’d like to see them some time.”

  “Maybe on my next trip,” I said, thinking of the hundreds of shots I’d taken, especially those of children in the rainforest that was being swallowed up by greed. I’d wanted to save it for them, but all I’d been able to do was write about it.

  “Yes. Bring them next trip,” he said. He didn’t say it with any emphasis but at least, he’d left the way open for me to come back.

  I didn’t feel so down about Clay’s apparent lack of interest in me after meeting Deborah Butler. I didn’t consider myself to be unattractive but Debbie was younger than me and fresh and lovely too, with a razor-sharp brain. And it was quite apparent t
hat Mrs Butler was very proud of her gorgeous daughter.

  It appeared that Glenda had briefed Debbie thoroughly to the effect that I was interested in Clay. Whatever she’d told her, Debbie went straight for the jugular.

  “Are you interested in Clay?”

  “We…ell,” I prevaricated. “I happen to think Clay is an intelligent and attractive man, and what he’s done with Billy is amazing. But Clay hasn’t indicated by word or deed that he’s the slightest bit interested in me.”

  “I see,” she said and sounded relieved. “I’m still in love with Clay. Mum doesn’t know. She thinks I simply had a crush on Clay when I was seventeen and that it was a passing phase. But it wasn’t.”

  Breath lodged in my throat. “So, where do you go from here?”

  “Nowhere for the moment. Clay knocked me back with the excuse that I was too young for him. Perhaps, I was. I’m older now and I still feel the same way about him. Maybe Clay will change his mind about me after I graduate,” Debbie said.

  “How do you think you’d fit in out there with Clay and Billy. Your mother thinks you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

  “I know that’s what Mother thinks, but as clever and as experienced as she is, she doesn’t know everything. I think that deep down, Mother wishes she was a younger woman so she could have Clay herself. Mother thinks that because Clay is such a brilliant writer and has such a great brain, that he’d be too formidable for a very young woman. How silly! A woman could graduate as a doctor at twenty-four and be responsible for the health of hundreds of people. I’ve studied Clay. I know the things that interest him and I feel I could make him happy. And I’d live in a tent on a river bank if it meant being with him. Clay is the man for me,” Debbie said passionately.

  I didn’t have to be told more forcibly than that where Deborah Butler stood in relation to Clayton Steele.

  “Your mother thinks that Clay doesn’t want a relationship at all,” I threw at her.