The Blue-Eyed Aborigine

by Rosemary Hayes

  But now that we are settled in our camp and have learnt how to feed ourselves, I am restless. I don’t want to live the life of a savage.

  Jan

  It is some time since I first came upon the Aborigines’ camp. I hoped that they would come again to visit us, but although I have been to see them again, they have not come back here.

  I always go with a gift – sometimes with a catch of fish made in the net they gave me, sometimes with another string of beads from the trading chest.

  I am beginning to work out who is who. The old man is the head of the family, and he and his wife have five sons. Four of the sons have wives and young children, and I believe that the girl who smiles at me is the daughter of the old man and woman, born of their old age.

  The girl always knows I am coming and she is there at the edge of their camp ready to greet me, smiling and laughing and clapping her hands when I arrive, and she immediately takes whatever gift I bring and runs to her family to show them.

  I try to talk to her, and we are beginning to understand each other’s gestures. I think back with shame to my conduct on the island when I forced myself upon women. I would never do this to her, though my dreams are full of her – her laughing eyes and wild hair, her stocky limbs and beautiful firm breasts. I cannot help but look with longing at her nakedness, and I cannot control my dreams.

  We have names for each other now. She still calls me ‘Meaan’, and I have made an attempt at pronouncing one of the words she says when she points at herself. I call her ‘Heni’.

  One day, I take a supply of the toys from the trading chest to their camp and show them how to work the wires so that the toy soldiers make a stiff, jerky, walking movement.

  At first they just stare in horror, but then some of the braver ones come closer. The women seem particularly fascinated and the children, too, are wide-eyed with amazement.

  Heni smiles boldly at me and I hold out one of the toys. At first, she snatches her hand away but then, laughing, she allows me to put the toy into it. She closes her fist around it and runs off to examine it.

  After that, the children all crowd round me and stretch out their hands for the toys until there are no more left to give.

  The young man whom I met at the river when I first came to the Aboriginal camp is the only one without a wife, and he has made himself very friendly towards me. I have named him Smiler because he is always cheerful. He laughs at my attempts to communicate with him, but he is patient and has started to teach me some useful skills.

  Smiler brings his own spear for me to handle and then takes me to the trees to find a good straight branch. I watch as he rubs it smooth and selects a sharpened piece of shale, showing me how to attach it to the end of the wood.

  When he has finished, he hands it to me and gestures that I am to have it. So now I have my very own spear!

  I sometimes join the young men on their hunting expeditions. and I marvel at their skill. The strange, curved wooden thing I saw on my first visit turns out to be something they throw at their prey, but I cannot master it. And the big hollowed-out tree branch is not a weapon, but a musical instrument of sorts. Often, one of the men blows into it when we are sitting round the fire and it produces a low, sad sound which echoes through the trees.

  There seems to be no pattern to their hunting, except that it usually takes place at dawn or dusk. They will suddenly pick up their spears and vanish, assuming that I will follow.

  I am clumsy and much slower than the others. They never wait for me so I have to keep with them, for I would get lost on my own. My feet are not as tough as theirs and bleed as we run across the unforgiving rocks and shale; I find it difficult to be as noiseless as they are when they move.

  One day, I manage to spear one of the small dragon creatures and Smiler is delighted that I have added to the tribe’s provisions.

  Not long after this, I try to speak, with gestures, to the head of the tribe, the old man. He has not yet been to our camp and I want him to come and see for himself what the others have seen, but I can make no headway with him. At least, I think I have not, but then, one day when I am back with Wouter, the old man suddenly appears with some of his sons. He does not greet Wouter or me, but walks forward towards the fire, crouches down and starts to examine our footprints.

  ‘What is he looking for?’ asks Wouter.

  I shrug. I have no more idea than Wouter.

  The old man gets up slowly and approaches our hut. The young men stay back as he bends down and goes inside. When he emerges, he shakes his head, gives me a rare smile, and, refusing my offer to join us for food (which he seems to understand through my gestures) he leaves us.

  Wouter is unsettled by this visit.

  ‘We must go back to the shore and check on our boat,’ he says, ‘and see if we can attract the attention of a passing ship.’

  I look at him in astonishment.

  ‘But how often do Company ships come up this coast, Wouter? And even when they do, they will be miles away from the shore.’

  ‘Pelsaert would like to know what we have found out,’ says Wouter firmly. ‘Maybe we can make it back to Java and report.’

  ‘But, Wouter,’ I say, scratching my head, ‘Pelsaert wants us to stay here. He said so. And we are doing well. We do not want to leave now. The Aborigines will show us how to survive in the colder weather.’

  Wouter shouts at me. ‘I cannot live out my life among savages!’

  ‘They are not savages!’ I reply angrily.

  Wouter sighs. ‘I do not mean that they are without kindness, Jan, but they have no knowledge of the outside world. They have no metal, no clothes, no learning.’

  ‘I have no learning either,’ I mutter. ‘Does that make me a savage?’ And as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. Both Wouter and I are truly more savage than these gentle people. We are from a so-called civilized land, yet we have blood on our hands.

  But Wouter isn’t listening. ‘We must try to get back to our own people,’ he continues. ‘If we can make our way to Java, we can report back to the Company all that we have seen. We shall surely be pardoned.’

  I say nothing. If he tries such a mad scheme, he will be on his own, for I shall refuse to go with him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wouter

  I leave Jan in charge of the camp and instruct him to guard it.

  ‘I shall only be gone a few days, Jan, but do not leave the area while I am away. No visiting the Aborigines.’

  He grunts, and I suspect he won’t obey me, so I take him by the shoulders and shake him.

  ‘I mean it, Jan! We need to protect our property.’

  He looks down at his feet and scuffs his toe in the sandy soil.

  I turn away from him, shift the full water bottle which is strung round my neck and set off down the track. Before long, the camp is out of sight.

  It is shady among the trees and I cover the ground quickly down to the waterhole. It is early and I disturb some of the furry creatures drinking there. I could have a good shot at them and instinctively my hands go to the musket slung over my shoulder, but I don’t lower it.

  I drink some water and take a moment to look about me, noticing how the sun’s rays hit the ridge on the other side of the river and watching as its dark shape slowly becomes lighter and less menacing. It is a pretty sight.

  On our first journey from the boat to the waterhole, Jan was too scared to leave my side and jumped with fear at every noise and shadow. How strange that it is he who has found it easier than I to settle here and to make friends with the Aborigines! He can survive without me now. Indeed, he can cope better than I.

  I am not a fool. I know that there will, in all probability, be no ship in sight, but at least I can make myself visible if any does pass. I want to leave some clue at the shore in case another stranded sailor or soldier should be washed up here, or a ship anchor in the inlet.

  As I turn away from the waterhole, something makes me look back – and
I see a group of Aborigines, their spears at their sides, standing quite still on top of the ridge silhouetted against the dawn sky, watching me. They have appeared suddenly and are only dots in the distance but they are a natural part of this landscape; they belong here as surely as I do not.

  Before long, I am back at the dunes where we hid the boat. It is still there, unharmed, and I feel reassured by this and sit down in the small patch of shade afforded by its bulk.

  When I am rested, I take the paddle from the boat and ram it into the sand, then I strip off my shirt and attach it to the top of the paddle making a rough flag. Next, I gather firewood and light a fire. I have brought the tinderbox from our camp so that Jan will have to stay by the fire there and tend it, having no way to light it again in my absence. I smile, pleased with this ruse. He will not be able to go running off to the Aborigines.

  My water bottle is full and I have some salted meat with me and three roasted roots. With luck, I should be able to find shellfish in the rock pools near the waterhole, so I shall be well fed and watered.

  I have also brought the journal and quills with me and now, at last, I feel like writing something. While I am away from Jan, I can think, and I will tell what we have found here in this strange land where we have made our camp.

  Slowly, I start to make my letters. I never learned much spelling but I think I can make myself understood.

  Jan

  As soon as Wouter is out of sight, I make for the Aboriginal camp. Wouter thinks he is so clever, taking the tinderbox. How does he think the Aborigines make their fire? They do not use a tinderbox!

  This time I decide to walk by the river and climb up to their camp, just as I did the first time I discovered it.

  I am hot and thirsty when I reach the river beneath their camp, so I stop for a drink and then, as there is nobody there, I strip off and wash myself. I rinse out my breeches and lay them on a rock, then settle down in the shade of a tree while the burning sun dries them.

  Tired after the long walk, I fall asleep under the tree and, for once, my dreams are gentle.

  I awake to the sensation of something on my skin. I jerk myself awake; I have learnt about the snakes in this country and I see how the Aborigines fear them.

  But it is not a snake. I look up in horror: the Aboriginal girl is standing over me. She is giggling and letting some sandy soil trickle through her fingers and on to my naked chest. Embarrassed, I cover my genitals with my hand, jump to my feet and make my way to the rock where my breeches are drying. But as I struggle to put them on, she comes up behind me and puts her hand on my shoulder.

  I turn, then, and look at her. She meets my gaze and smiles, then she puts up her hand and strokes my face.

  I stop buttoning my breeches and clumsily put my hand over hers. I am not used to tenderness, and I feel a surge of such pleasure and gratitude that my eyes fill with tears.

  Gently, she takes her hand from my face. She doesn’t go away, but stays crouched beside me, murmuring something in her own language.

  At last I gain control of myself. I sniff, and wipe my hand across my nose.

  ‘Heni,’ I say – and my voice is husky. Then I take her hand again and put it to my lips. She doesn’t take it away, so I move a little closer to her. I don’t want to frighten her, but I ache to have her in my arms – and to my joy she moves into my embrace naturally and happily, and we stand together, the water rushing past us.

  It is I who finally tear myself away from her, and she gives a little cry. With every fibre of my body I yearn to make her my own, but I don’t know what rules there are in the tribe. I respect her parents and her brothers and I don’t want to offend them.

  In the end, it is she who moves forward again and I am powerless to stop her. Gently she removes my breeches and strokes me. I groan, and lower her carefully to the ground, kissing her beautiful breasts and stroking her legs and buttocks. She gives herself to me with complete generosity and I am gentle in a way I have never been before, thinking of her, wanting only to give her pleasure.

  When it is over, I am overwhelmed with happiness and I hold her close to me and weep. If her father and brothers kill me now, I shall die content.

  Wouter

  As I sit by the boat, I think about Jan. Our relationship was never good, but it has worsened since he became involved with the Aborigines. He seems to enjoy their company in a way that I cannot and I am becoming more and more restless, more anxious to try and make contact with our own people.

  For a while I had a dream of taking the boat back to Java, the two of us rowing north, but when I suggested it to Jan he said coolly, ‘You go if you wish, Wouter. I shall stay here.’

  ‘Then I shall report you,’ I shouted, but the moment I said the words, I knew it was an empty threat.

  He knew it, too, and laughed in my face.

  I pleaded with him. ‘I can’t go alone, Jan, you know that. Come with me, and together we can have a great adventure – and think what we shall have to report to the Company when we reach Java!’

  ‘It is madness,’ he replied. ‘We would never reach Java in that boat.’

  ‘The Commander reached Java in an open boat,’ I said.

  ‘The longboat was large and sturdy, and the Commander had the Captain with him and a crew of sailors.’

  We don’t speak of it again. I know it is madness, but it is no worse than the madness that grips me here when I think of what the future holds – a future with only the boy and a lot of savages for company.

  I continue to write in the journal. It is a slow business but I persevere, telling whoever may read it that we are alive, that our camp is upriver in a sandy hollow and that we have contacted the Aborigines and given them trading goods. It takes me a long time to form the words, and even then there is a deal of scratching out and rewriting.

  At last I have finished, and I put the journal in the driest place I can find in the boat. Perhaps someone will read it and come looking for us. Please God that they do.

  Then I heave the boat out of its hiding-place in the dunes and into full view on the shore. If a ship anchors in the inlet as the Sardam did, our boat will be clearly seen and someone will come to investigate.

  I feel better now. I have done what I can to alert any passing ship to our presence. I will spend one more night here at the shore, straining my eyes, as I have these past three days for sight of a sail, and then I will retrace my steps and return to camp.

  As the sun rises and the sea sparkles and dances in its light, I make my way along the shore, stopping to look every now and again, shading my eyes and staring towards the horizon, hoping that a sail will appear. But there is nothing. When I reach the waterhole, I turn away sadly from the sea and make my way up the path that leads to our camp.

  The path is familiar now and my thoughts are miles away when I hear a rustle in the undergrowth. I stop and listen, quietly lowering my musket from my shoulder. I have disturbed one of the furry bounding creatures, and it is a little way off from me, its short forepaws held up comically before its face, regarding me.

  At once I fire, hitting it cleanly. I watch as it drops stone-dead in the undergrowth, then I put the musket down on the path and stride forward. I smile as I think of the fresh meat we shall eat later.

  Jan

  Not for a single moment do I regret making love to Heni. ‘Making love’. Those are words I never thought I would use, but that is what it was, releasing feelings in me of tenderness and affection that I didn’t know I had. I can hardly believe the wonder of it, and I cannot wipe this stupid grin off my face.

  Heni takes my hand and leads me up the river bank towards the Aboriginal camp, stopping from time to time to turn and smile at me and caress my arm.

  It is only when we come in sight of the camp that I feel fear. What will she say – to her parents and to her brothers?

  But she seems quite unconcerned as she leads me towards her father, and when she reaches him, she gestures towards me and chatters and laughs.
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  For a moment he looks solemn, but then his face splits into a wide smile and he reaches out and touches me.

  Years later, I will learn that he considered it an honour that I – whom he believed had come from the spirit world – should have chosen his daughter.

  He shouts to the rest of the family and they gather round him. There is a lot of chattering and excitement and I know it is to do with me and with Heni, but I have no idea what it all means.

  When the noise has died down and the men and women settle back to what they were doing, I see that Heni’s father is working on something. Timidly I creep forward to have a look. He is etching a pattern of dots and angular lines on a stout stick, and every now and then he calls one of his sons to inspect his work.

  I learn later that it is a message stick which will be sent to some of the other tribes in the area, telling them of the arrival of spirit ancestors in their midst, and inviting them to come to a corroboree, a gathering, the lines and dots showing where and when it will be held. One of his sons will take the message stick to the other tribes.

  I stay that night at their camp and take my place, as usual, by the fire, but I cannot sleep for thinking about Heni, and when everything is quiet I get up and walk to the edge of the camp, looking up at the stars and stretching my arms above my head.

  I sense her presence before she is with me. And then I smell her beside me; she smells of wood smoke and of the tangy scent of the trees surrounding us. I turn towards her, holding out my arms, and we make love again on the sandy ground, slowly this time, exploring one another.

  I did not think that I could feel any more love for her, but now it is even deeper and I know that I cannot leave her.

  I pray that she will never find out about my past.

  The next morning there is much chatter and everyone is pointing at me. I wish I knew what they were saying, for I know that they want me to do something.