by Tony Parsons
“Clay-fella best white man I ever know. You look out for him, judge-lady. You treat him well and the spirits gib you long life. I tell you true. Bye long time. You never see Marjaru again. When winds blow down from mountains of glass, my spirit stay close to this place…” And then, he was asleep.
Glenda walked back to the kitchen and sat down at the table. She appeared to be at a loss for words, which was rare for her. “You might have told me,” she got out at last.
“And miss seeing the look on your face. Not likely. Invariably, you’re right about most things, but you weren’t about Charlie. You can’t blame me for wanting to gloat a little,” Steele said grinning widely.
“Hmm.” Glenda glanced towards the veranda where Charlie slept. “Except for his eyes, he looks like walking death. They’re hypnotic, aren’t they? How old is he, Clay?”
“I should think he’s close to the century mark, if not beyond it. He was a boy during the Great War,” Steele said.
“So, where does he go from here? He should go to where he’ll be looked after for whatever time he has left.”
"That would be right if he was an ordinary man, but he isn’t. He’s the last living full blood descendant of the Gubbi Gubbi forced to flee Jerogeree and he wouldn’t want to die among strangers. He’ll arrange his own death, Glenda. He’ll will himself into a trance, or death sleep, and he won’t wake up. That’s what the spirits tell him and he’s a big-time spirit-man.
“You’re being very cold-hearted about him, Clay. Surely, you want to see him die in comfort. I mean, it’s not like you to be so blasé about death.”
“I’m not blasé about it at all. Charlie has talked to me about a lot of things, including the manner of his death, and I understand his wishes perfectly well. I’m not going to force him into doing something that’s contrary to what he wants. He’ll have a very peaceful death with the spirits of the Dreamtime with him when he goes,” Steele said.
“But he’s, well, part of our history, Clay. It doesn’t seem right that he should die alone and unrecognised,” Glenda persisted.
“It’s what he wants, Glenda. The whole history of European settlement here is riddled with instances of people trying to foist their beliefs onto indigenous people. In many cases, they’ve acted with the best of intentions but the results have been disastrous. You can’t make a snap magisterial judgement for a man like Charlie. He’s not your usual old man who can be committed into care. He has a daughter in Cooktown and she’s aware that he’s here,” Steele said.
“How is that old man going to get back to Cooktown? He doesn’t look capable of making it across the road,” Glenda said tersely.
Steele sighed. He could have told her that Charlie had no intention of going back to Cooktown, that he’d come back to Jerogeree to die, but he was afraid that with all the power of the law behind her, Glenda might, with the best of intentions, thwart Charlie’s wishes.
“He does have money, Glenda. He’s not broke. If he wants to get back to Cooktown or some other place, he could afford it,” Steele said. He hated bending the truth with Glenda; she’d stood by him since their first meeting, but he had to adhere to Charlie’s wishes, which in this case, put him offside with Glenda.
“There’s something about this whole business that disturbs me, Clay. I have the distinct feeling that you’re not telling me the full story. I realise that Charlie, or Marjaru, or whatever his real name is, thinks you’re a hell of a good fellow and something special as white men go, but that doesn’t alter the fact that he’s a very old man, a long way from home and in need of medical attention,” Glenda said.
“Charlie’s getting plenty of attention. You saw what he had for lunch. Don’t worry about him, Glenda. He’s happy with me. He knows exactly what he’s going to do,” Steele said.
“If he’s still here in a week, I’ll send a doctor from the Department of Health to check him over. If it’s warranted, he’ll be placed in a nursing home,” Glenda said.
“If I tell him that, you can depend on it that he won’t be here in a week.”
“Clay, I don’t want to fight with you about Charlie. You know what I think about you. The fact is that I’m a magistrate and as such, it’s my job to make decisions and to make them without fear or favour. Unless he has some means of getting back to Cooktown in the immediate future, he should be placed where he can be given medical attention.”
“I’ll tell him,” Steele said. It was pointless arguing with Glenda about Charlie. Despite her experience and intelligence, Steele felt she was out of her depth on this occasion. Glenda was a product of ‘white’ learning whereas Charlie belonged to a much earlier time and to people whose beliefs went back for thousands of years. There was no way Glenda could tap into Charlie’s thought processes and in fact, until this morning, she’d doubted his very existence. And now she was trying to adjudicate on his future. Steele recognised that her concern for Charlie stemmed from her caring nature and that it was part and parcel of her role in the community, but Charlie was from a time and place beyond her understanding.
“I’ll be talking to you,” Glenda said when she left.
Steele knew the next day that Charlie’s time on earth was nearly done. He seemed to have shrivelled physically overnight. If he’d been frail before, he was like a shell now. On the morning of the third day, Steele helped him to shuffle to the base of the last big cedar tree on that section of the creek. It was the last of what had once been a great stand of cedars before the timber getters felled them. He sat down beside the old man for a little while before Charlie took his hand and shook it. “You leave Charlie alone now, Clay-fella. Me close up finish. You bury me like you promise. My spirit always here now. Mebbe you use gold for Billy’s son. Billy will come to you soon. I tell you true. Me go now, Clay-fella. Spirits call me. I be never far away. Listen for me when the winds blow from mountains of glass. Me proper lucky to find you Clay-fella. You best man white man I ever know. Treat skinny old black-fella like a king. Mebbe we meet when spirits call you. Bye now, Clay-fella.”
And here, with the creek murmuring just below him, Charlie fell into a deep trance, which he had told Steele would be his death sleep. Steele stayed beside him for some time before getting up and going back to the house. When he returned that evening, he took Charlie’s old blanket with him. Charlie was dead and he covered him with the blanket. He went back to the house for a shovel and crowbar and began digging his grave. He was still digging when night closed in.
Steele finished the grave and placed Charlie in it with his blanket and kitbag. By moonlight, he filled in the grave and spread leaves over the site so that it was indistinguishable from the ground around it. But while the lone cedar survived, Charlie would always have a memorial to his life and passing.
Steele looked at the site for a long time. The cedar, whose immaturity had saved it from the axes and saws that had felled its mates, had grown large now and would grow larger still in the future. In its topmost branches, two magpies warbled sweetly, which Steele felt was as good a song of farewell as any. What he knew was that he would never leave Jerogeree while his health remained. There would be speculation about Marjaru’s disappearance just as there had been speculation about his existence. Only Steele knew that the spirits of Marjaru’s people had called him back and that the old man had come back to die on Gubbi Gubbi country where he belonged.
Steele picked up his shovel and crowbar and walked back to the house. He looked at the cot on the back veranda for some time before pulling it down and carrying it down the steps where he stacked it against the back wall. He wasn’t sure what he’d do about the mattress but he rolled it up and tied it with a piece of rope before carrying it over to the work room.
“So how is your visitor?” Glenda asked when she rang the following day.
“He’s gone, Glenda,” Steele said flatly.
“Gone? Where did he go? He couldn’t have gone far.”
“My guess is that he went somewhere and willed himself t
o die, Glenda,” he said. This was as close to the truth as he would admit.
“But this isn’t to be endured, Clay. We’ll have to find him,” Glenda said firmly.
“He came down here to die and I’d say that’s what he’s done. There’s probably some tribal burial place his mother told him about years ago and that’s where he’ll be, Glenda. He said goodbye to me last night so I’d say he’s dead now,” Clay said.
“He could be dying a lingering death somewhere and in urgent need of attention,” Glenda persisted.
“No, Glenda, that wouldn’t be the case. Charlie was a ‘spirit’ man. He told me he could will himself to die and I think that’s what he’s done.”
“I never thought I’d find you so inconsiderate about a person’s welfare, especially when it’s a sick old man,” Glenda snapped.
“That’s not the case, Glenda. It’s because I’m considerate of Charlie’s wishes that I’m not concerned about him. If a very old man has chosen to die where he wants to, then it’s really not our business to interfere. I suggest that you drop it,” Steele said firmly.
“I’m very tempted to get the police to institute a search for Charlie,” Glenda said.
“The police won’t thank you for wasting their time looking for a sane man who’s chosen to go somewhere of his own volition. You’ll end up with egg on your face. That’s not how you should appear to the public at large. I’ve always felt you were a very reasonable person and I can’t understand why you won’t accept what I tell you. Charlie is beyond the kind of aid you’re wanting to give him. His spirits have called him back here and he’s gone to be with them. Charlie was happy to be going and I’m content with that,” Steele said firmly.
“Well, I’m far from happy,” Glenda said and put the phone down loudly.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Glenda Butler thought a great deal about what Clay had told her. Being a very caring person, the thought of Charlie dying in some lonely bush place, perhaps by degrees, for lack of food and water and protection, concerned her greatly. She was also concerned about Steele’s seeming lack of compassion for the old man’s demise. But Glenda was intelligent and she had so high an opinion of Steele that she was unwilling to believe that he lacked compassion. This caused her to make a hasty trip to the local library where she spent a couple of hours researching what was known about the Aboriginal spirit world and the phenomenon of psychic power. When she had digested all of this information, she had to admit that Steele was more likely to be right about Charlie’s death than she was. She was still worried about the old man, but faced with Steele’s undeniable ‘goodness’, her common sense told her that there was no way he would have allowed the old man to suffer. In fact, she was coming around more and more to the belief that Steele probably knew far more about Charlie’s death than he was letting on. It was part of the price she was paying for not being close enough to him. She was close, but not close enough, and there was only one answer to that state of affairs.
Glenda fretted for a fortnight while waiting for Steele to ring her. She was inclined to believe that he was put out with her for questioning him about Charlie’s disappearance. So she was hugely relieved when at last he rang and asked her if she’d be able to come for Sunday lunch. There was nothing in his tone of voice to indicate any residual displeasure, which eased her mind because what she had to discuss with Steele couldn’t be settled satisfactorily in an atmosphere of acrimony.
After they’d lunched and were sitting together on the front veranda looking at the wondrous flowering garden, Glenda broached the subject that had consumed her thoughts for some time. “You’re happy living here on your own, Clay?”
“Yes, it’s a special place, Glenda. Why do you ask?”
“I mean, you haven’t changed your mind about Debbie… for example?”
“No, Glenda, I haven’t changed my mind.”
“What would you say about me coming here to live with you?”
“You mean full-time?” he asked.
“I mean full-time,” she said.
Steele’s blue eyes scrutinised her. She was, he knew, the most splendid woman he had ever known or was ever likely to know. She’d trusted him with Billy before she knew very much about him and had made him a real man again when she’d given herself to him. They got on very well and he believed they probably always would. To love and live with a woman of this calibre was not an opportunity given to many men.
“I’d turn a few somersaults. However, I’d only consent to it on one condition, Glenda.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“That you marry me.”
“Marry you?” she said. “Are you sure?”
“The thing is that after your record in the Courts, I’m not going to allow people to throw off at you for living with a writer whom some people would regard as a kind of bohemian. You’re the finest woman I’ve ever known, Glenda, and you understand me. I realise your first marriage was something of a disaster and that you’ve always said you wouldn’t marry again, but it’s marriage or it’s no go. I love you and I’m not going to let you finish your life with a tarnished reputation,” he said firmly.
“It’s very sweet of you to consider my reputation, but perhaps a wee bit late, dear. There’s something I’ve never told you, held back from telling you, because I didn’t want to hobble you in any way.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve actually been your de facto wife for quite a few years now,” she said.
“This is news to me. How come?”
“When you came to me and asked if you could have Billy, I knew instinctively that you’d be perfect for him. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just knew. But there was no way I could turn a thirteen-year-old boy into the care of a bachelor. I would have been pilloried for it. I put myself down as your partner with your address as my address,” she said.
“Good heavens! How many people knew about this ‘relationship’?” Steele asked.
“Only a couple of clerks and the chief magistrate. Maybe a couple of others,” Glenda said. “Does it matter? A lot of people aren’t married today. Having a partner is the vogue.”
“So when I slept with Gillian, I cheated on you?”
Glenda laughed. “Like I said, I didn’t do it to hobble you in any way. It was done purely as a device so I could allow you to have Billy. I was right to let him come to you, too, because you did a great job with him, Clay. And if your fancy took you to a younger woman, the relationship could technically end. By that time, you’d proved yourself where Billy was concerned and I had no intention of spoking your wheel.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Steele said. “You allowed me to make a fool of myself with Gillian and didn’t say a word.”
“I wouldn’t put it in quite those terms. Gillian had quite a lot to offer physically and not many single men would have passed up the opportunity to sample her charms. I don’t blame you for giving in to Gillian. But you knocked her back marriage-wise just as you’ve continued to knock back Debbie. You gave Gillian what she wanted when she couldn’t have you and you certainly couldn’t be accused of cheating on me as you had no idea we were, in the eyes of the law, partners,” Glenda said light-heartedly.
“Never mind all this partner business. If you come here, you’ll come as a married woman,” Steele said firmly.
“I’m flattered that you want to marry me, but marriage is a bit more final than merely living together,” she said.
“Not so, Your Worship, or Honour, or whatever you are. You know that you can get out of a marriage fairly quickly these days. What is it, twelve months of living apart?”
“That’s true,” she said.
“So, it’s not that final, is it?”
“And you wouldn’t beat me?” she asked with a laugh. “I’ve dealt with a lot of cases of abused women.”
“Don’t jest, Glenda. You know me better than that. If you come here, you come as a married woman,” Steele said again, clasping her hand in his a
s if he feared she might suddenly leave him.
“It’s madness but I’ll marry you, Clay. I said I’d never marry again, but that was before I met you and fell in love with you. I never dreamed you’d ask me to marry you and I hope you won’t regret it,” she said.
“Why should I regret it? I know what you’re like. We’ll have to nail down a few details, such as whether you want to keep on working and where we’re going to have the wedding,” he said.
“Nothing grand, Clay. Something quite small and unspectacular,” she said.
“Just as you wish, Your Honour.”
“Clay, please.”
“Sorry,” he said with a smile on his lips.
“Clay, would you object very strongly if we enlarged the cottage?” she asked.
“What do you have in mind?”
“I’d like to add another bedroom and also a covered area for entertaining. I realise you’re not strong on entertaining and I respect that, but I do have a coterie of friends, many in the legal profession, and they wouldn’t expect me to drop right out of circulation,” Glenda said.
“I understand that, Glenda. There’ll have to be a few adjustments. I realise it could be very quiet for you here, maybe even dull.”
“I could do with some quiet. In fact, I could do with quite a lot of it. I can see myself painting a bit, maybe taking some lessons. And I wouldn’t mind taking up the piano again,” Glenda said.
“Now that sounds very interesting. What about Donna and Debbie? How are they going to react to you being married? To me?”
“I’ll have to report back on that question. I think their reactions will vary quite a lot. They know what I went through with their father, so they shouldn’t begrudge me the opportunity to be happy,” Glenda said.
“Hmm. I don’t see any problem about adding the extra rooms.”
“That would be lovely, Clay. We could have barbecues on the entertaining area. I’d like to have lots of tropical plants around the walls. We could sing songs there, too. Your workroom is great, but it’s not furnished for entertaining, is it? I mean, it’s a real workroom. I’d like the new room to be a fair bit larger,” she said.