by Tony Parsons
“Whatever you want,” he said.
“Can we get Josh Evans out here to discuss the extensions?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said. He could see that being married to Glenda was going to mean there’d be changes, but what the heck: he was getting a terrific woman who he couldn’t now imagine living without. If a few changes made a difference, he’d be happy to go along with them.
“There’s just one other thing, Clay,” Glenda said.
“What is it, Glenda?”
“I’m pregnant,” she said tautly.
“You’re what?”
“I’m pregnant. I’ve had it confirmed,” she said.
Steele’s eyes widened. “How is that possible? I thought you were finished in that area,” he said.
“It’d been erratic, so when things didn’t happen normally, I stopped taking precautions. Needless to say, it was an unexpected development.”
Steele looked at her in shock. “It’s more than that. It’s a minor miracle,” Steele said.
“I’m not the oldest woman ever to fall pregnant, dear. The point is, what is it going to mean to our relationship? You like peace and quiet for your writing and you’re going to have not only a wife, but the strong possibility of a crying baby. Because babies do cry, dear,” she said.
Steele held his hand gently against Glenda’s cheek. “You’re the one who will have to bear all the physical discomfort. It’s been a long while between babies and, like you keep telling me, you’re not as young as you once were. I’ll be very worried until he or she arrives safely and you’re all right,” Steele said.
“I’m very healthy and I’m very fit, dear. I can put up with a bit of physical discomfort to have our child,” she said. “It’s like we’ve been gifted a miracle, and that’s how I choose to regard it. If the crying becomes too much, I can always have a spell at my house.”
Steele shook his head. “Whatever comes, we’ll weather it together, Glenda. The writing can be put on hold. The minor miracle will have to take precedence over everything else.” He shook his head in wonder. “What will your daughters have to say about a baby brother or sister?”
“I dare say Debbie will be furious and Donna may imagine that I’ve developed early dementia. I can just hear her.”Mother, a baby at your age! You must be out of your mind."
Steele continued to look at Glenda, dazzled. “I think I need a cup of tea.”
“Want me to do anything?”
“I’ll be fine. Just watch the birds.”
“This place has a soporific effect on one… the birds and all the different aromas. If you leave me for long, I’ll probably go to sleep,” she said.
“I won’t leave you for long… ever,” he said. He thought there was a good chance she would go to sleep, as she was lying on a long recliner chair she’d recently added to the house’s furniture.
“You do say the nicest things, Clay,” Glenda said. And he did.
He was surprised when, a few minutes later, he heard Glenda call to him.
“Clay, come here. You have a visitor.”
Steele went out to her. She was sitting up in the chair and looking out into the garden. There, swinging along on his crutches, was Billy Sanders. If he’d come from his mother’s place, it would probably have been the longest distance he’d negotiated on crutches since his accident.
“Billy,” Clay said as his former charge came to a stop at the steps of the veranda.
“Mr Clay. And how are you, Mrs Butler?”
“All the better for seeing you down here, Billy,” Glenda said as Steele took Billy’s arm and helped him up the steps and into a chair.
“You’ll be ready for a cup of tea after that walk,” Steele said. “And Mrs Butler brought a fruit cake.”
“Sounds good,” Billy said with a grin that approached that of the old Billy.
“Any special reason for the big effort?” asked the perceptive Steele.
“You could say that, Mr Clay. What happened to Marjaru?” he asked abruptly.
“He’s gone, Billy. He’s with the spirits now,” Steele said.
Billy nodded then put his hand in his shirt pocket and withdrew two folded sheets of paper. “Have a look at that, Mr Clay. I think it’s the best song I’ve written. Marjaru said I’d write and perform again, and maybe, I will. See what you think.”
Steele took the sheets of paper and sat down in the chair between Billy and Glenda. All thoughts of the kettle boiling in the kitchen were extinguished from his mind by the delivery of Billy’s work. Whether it was good or otherwise, it signalled an improvement in Billy’s state of mind. But as he absorbed what Billy had written, he felt mounting excitement. Billy had penned Marjaru’s story. The many months of pushing Billy to read and to improve his use of words had paid off; his words were simple but eloquent. It would need a little tweaking to use as a song and he wasn’t keen on the reference to himself. He understood why Billy had included him in the song, as he was a factor behind Marjaru’s decision to return to the land of his ancestors. But he saw no great difficulty in writing himself out. His immediate task was to try and convey to Billy his own sense of excitement for what he had done.
Marjaru’s Farewell
There’s a whisper in from Beerwah
And along the crooning creek;
Sighing round the glassy peaks
And through the Bunya pines.
He came from the north like a wraith in the night,
Back to the land of the Gubbi Gubbi,
Where the cedar once grew
And the wild duck flew.
Back he came because of you.
Who else but Marjaru?
Dark clouds hover above the spectral peaks;
Lightning flashes over a hidden lair.
Paintings drawn on ancient rocks
By a race no longer there.
Chorus:
Where creeks wind through the forest lush
And bunya pines grow straight and tall.
Where rainbow birds feed from the bottle brush,
Of the Gubbi Gubbi, there is none at all.
Grasstrees still cling to the hillsides.
The rock wallaby is still bounding free.
Up high, the eagle glides.
But there is no Gubbi Gubbi to see.
No corroboree chants fill the scented air;
No cloying dust from stamping feet,
Of painted men who keep in time
To a rhythmic age-old beat.
Anxious eyes see the white men arrive,
And dark deeds that would appal.
Cedars long gone to axe and saw,
And the Gubbi Gubbi no more.
Grey possums chatter birdlike in gnarled trees,
Along the murmuring creek.
Rain clouds drift on by.
But long spears no longer fly.
It was all because of you
That I knew Marjaru.
A hundred years he lived
Did Marjaru.
The spirits tell him "You close up finish,
Go back to Gubbi land now.
Good white-fella Steele look out for you,
You last Gubbi man… Marjaru."
Now ’neath the glittering stars,
Where the East wind sobs through the glassy peaks,
The Dreaming Spirits still whisper of Marjaru.
This I tell you true…
Steele sat in silence before nodding his head.
“What do you think, Mr Clay?” Billy asked anxiously.
“Wonderful,” he breathed. “Pick up your crutches, Billy. We’re going over to the work room,” Steele said and tried to conceal his inner feelings.
“Shall I bring the tea and cake?” Glenda asked. She sensed that Steele was excited by what Billy had given him.
“Would you, dear?” Steele said with a nod.
Once inside the work room, he sat Billy down and read through the song again. On second reading, it reinforced his initial judgemen
t: the song was simply splendid. It would require changes, but the basic thoughts were wonderful and could be expanded into song form.
Steele hummed some lines and sang others, sometimes more than once. “Very nice,” he said and patted Billy on the shoulder. “It needs a little more work, but you’ve done the hard stuff.” And for Glenda’s benefit, he sang the chorus.
Glenda, bringing the smoko, had tears in her eyes because she recognised that Billy’s contribution not only might mark the beginning of his way back as an entertainer, but gave Clay a huge amount of pleasure. A large measure of his faith in Billy had been restored. “But how lovely. Billy, it’s lovely,” she exclaimed.
“I’m awful pleased you like it,” said an obviously pleased Billy.
“It is, isn’t it, Clay?”
“I doubt Billy realises just how good it is. There are a few words that need changing, but tidied up a wee bit, it’ll be a winner. Billy, as soon as you’re able, we’ll have to work at it and then record it. It’ll put you back on the map,” Steele said.
Billy shook his head. “Not me, Mr Clay. You. I wrote this song for you. You did so much for me and I never did anything for you. All I did was let you down after I left you. Marjaru told me I’d come good and I believe I will. I’ll sing the song later but I want you to make the first recording.”
“Billy, I couldn’t do that. It’s your song. It’s the most perfect song to focus attention on you again,” Steele protested.
“When I can throw away these crutches, I’ll sing the song, Mr Clay. You wrote me lots of good songs and I never did a damned thing for you. You’ve got a great voice and you could have recorded them yourself, but you gave them all to me. This is the only thing of mine that I think is really good and I want you to have it.”
Steele looked across at Billy with tears in his eyes. “Oh, Billy…”
“I’ll get a big kick out of hearing you record one of my songs. Mum agrees with me. Marjaru agrees with me,” Billy said thickly.
“How do you know he agrees with you?” Steele asked.
“He came to me in a dream, Mr Clay. Told me I was a selfish bugger. Took everything but gave nothing. He said I would write a great song and then give it to you. Prove I wasn’t a selfish bugger. Prove I was man-fella at last.”
Steele looked at him in amazement. The words Billy had used could have come straight from Charlie’s mouth. And when he looked at Glenda’s face, he saw that she was as stunned as him, for she too, had heard Charlie speak.
“That must have been some experience,” Steele managed to get out.
“Too right. I never had a dream anything like it. Must have been because I was thinking about Marjaru so much,” Billy said.
“It looks as if we’re going to have a trip to Tamworth,” Glenda said.
“Mrs Butler and I are going to be married, Billy,” Steele said, as he noted the puzzled look on Billy’s face.
“You took your time about that.”
“I suppose that means you approve?”
“Too right. Nobody else would be good enough for you, Mr Clay,” Billy said.
“Huh, you’ve changed your tune. I can remember when you went crook at me for ignoring Debbie. You told me all the boys were keen on her and asked why I wasn’t,” Steele said.
“I was only a boy-fella then. Had no sense. But I’ve got some now. That old black-fella plenty clever-fella. You see, he’s even got me speaking like him,” Billy said, and laughed.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Billy? I mean, about your song,” Steele said.
“It’s what I want, Mr Clay. You sing that song and I’ll sing at your wedding. How’s that for a deal?”
Steele looked at Glenda who nodded. “It’s a deal, Billy. I think we’d better have that cup of tea now, and then, I’ll run you home. One trip of that distance on crutches is enough for the day.”
The day was dying when Clay and Glenda finally came out onto the front veranda. As the half-darkness deepened to night, the moon rose from the east and its light turned Jerogeree into a fairyland. Right then, the wild lovely garden appeared even wilder and more beautiful, with its scents more intense than ever. Glenda knew then that the old story about their being a curse on Jerogeree and that it was haunted by the spirits of murdered Gubbi Gubbi no longer had any legitimacy. Clay had made the difference. He had restored the old cottage and made its long-abandoned garden into a place of even greater beauty. Just as he’d cared for the land, he had taken care of Billy Sanders and made him an icon of his people.
“I’m going to enjoy living here, Clay. It’s a very special place, isn’t it?” Glenda said at last.
“Very special,” he agreed. The words of the first song of any consequence that he had written, the song that had catapulted Billy Sanders from obscurity to national recognition, came into his head and he hummed it softly…
I sit here and dream of the long ago when my people danced along the creek below.
No more corroboree along Jerogeree, all gone the corroboree.
The old Gubbi Gubbi people were gone but a vestige of their blood flowed through the veins of Billy Sanders and his son, Charlie, and if Marjaru’s prediction came true, the boy child would grow up to do great things. And this small portion of what had once been Gubbi Gubbi land would pass into Aboriginal ownership. It wasn’t much, but it, along with the gold he’d deposited, made it possible for Steele to do something for the descendants of the people who’d been massacred here and for Marjaru who had come from North Queensland to die here, the last full blood of the old people who’d been driven from their land.
As the night breeze blew down to them from the glassy monoliths beyond, Clay imagined that he could hear old Charlie calling to him… Marjaru… Marjaru… Marjaru.
“You’re very quiet, Clay,” Glenda said.
He put an arm round her waist and drew her closer to him. “I’m trying to hold the words of a new song in my head,” Steele said.
“Where did you get them, dear?”
“From a long way away, Glenda. They came on the breeze and there was a name that we both know… Marjaru,” he said.
“Marjaru. Did you ever tell me what it means?” she asked.
“It means the last person, or in this case, the last man,” he said.
“That old man has made quite an impact on Billy. He seems like a different young man now. Did you see the change in him?”
“Straight away,” he said. “Old Charlie offered him redemption and a great future for his son. It was the medicine he needed. I think Billy will be all right now.”
They sat down on the divan and Glenda leaned her head against Steele’s shoulder. As long ago as in her teen years, she’d dreamed of finding and marrying an exceptional man who would be everything in the world to her. She’d married a good-looking man with no morals who’d ended up knocking her about. She’d had some hard years bringing up her girls while serving as a magistrate, with all the responsibility that position entailed. Until she’d met Clayton Steele, she hadn’t imagined she would ever find happiness with a man. Perhaps it was her experience in Court that helped her recognise that Steele was different. And so he’d proved to be.
“If you record that song of Billy’s, the last shreds of your anonymity will be gone forever, dear.”
“A fellow can’t have everything, Glenda. I had a few years hidden away when I needed them to get back on my feet. And once you begin entertaining, I’ll really be public property,” he said with the gentle smile she had come to know and love so well. He was less concerned about the extensions Glenda wanted than the fact that he would have to help entertain her visitors.
“I might be entertaining, but you’ll be the entertainer,” she said. And then, with her wonderfully perceptive understanding of him, she instantly eased his concerns. “There won’t be hordes of people, dear. I realise you’re a very private person, but I can’t drop all my friends and colleagues overnight. There are some who were very supportive after I divorced
Hugh and was on my own. I assure you, they’ll be very small gatherings,” she said.
“Oh, well, I suppose it’ll be another arrow in my quiver.” Steele’s eyebrows lifted. “I wonder what my mother will say when she hears that I’m singing country and western music. She’s a strictly grand opera buff when it comes to singing.”
“Perhaps you should take lessons to keep your mother happy,” Glenda said. “You have the voice for it.”
“Ah, but Glenda, dear, I won’t have time to learn the technique. There’s you to consider now and I certainly don’t plan on neglecting you,” Steele said and drew her tightly to him.
“I’ll see to that, dear. I’ve waited all my life for you and I don’t plan on wasting a moment of our time together. Besides, there’s going to be another Clayton, or perhaps, a Carole Steele to look after,” she said.
“I must say it’s been quite a day,” Steele said shaking his head and grinning as he pressed his lips to Glenda’s. What he now recognised was that finding Glenda and having her love him as he loved her was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
As the night breeze dropped away, he thought he heard a final soft ‘Marjaru’ and then, there was only the birdlike chirruping of the grey possums in the trees beside his restored dwelling…