The Crocodile Hotel

by Julie Janson

  The children learnt to tell the time with a cardboard clock while Jane and Orlando rocked and rolled. ‘One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock, rock, we’re going to rock around the clock tonight …’ Jane ploughed on with alphabet chanting, and pre-writing exercises. She taught the bright ones new vocabulary and carefully repeated pronunciation, and she watched Orlando’s unconventional music methods as he tore over the plain with children chasing him. He was a mad thing.

  ‘Could you just stay inside sometimes and work on maths?’ said Jane

  ‘Don’t be conventional, Miss. We are the new thing in Territory music.’

  ‘Just stay for a few hours: they need to learn to read.’

  ‘They need rhythm and blues and love!’

  ‘For God sake, help me.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Dick!’

  ‘Look, I’m on a spiritual journey. Last year I went on a vision quest near Uluru. A Native American shaman called White Foot led us. I didn’t eat or drink anything for three days. I went to a sweat lodge and ate peyote. I meditated on a hill. It was amazing’, he said.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was hoping to see my spirit guide: it would open my eyes.’

  ‘And did you?’ She was beginning to realise that he would never help with the washing up, ever.

  ‘I saw a frothy caramel milkshake. Little dribbles of cold water ran down its sides.’

  Jane realised that a man who had a milkshake as his spirit familiar could not possibly be trusted.

  Lanniwah children sat in her lap and played with her hair. They drew figures of men in lap-laps with spears, grannies surrounded by dogs, bright red fires and yellow sunsets, kangaroos and turtles, jabirus and bush turkeys. Some boys drew guitars, penises, and guns. She loved to hear them reading, all her work was paying off. They wrote about grandparents: ‘My grandfather walk around Arnhem Land, he bin carry lot of spears, he kill lot of people.’ They drew pictures with Texta colour pens of warrior men and women carrying coolamons full of bush tucker. One drew, in bright reds and yellows, Granny Lucy surrounded by blue dogs sitting by a fire, shining blue skies, staring at a pile of red rocks – ‘She always draw dem rocks.’ They drew sacred waterfalls and all of it with a flat dimension, no perspective, no lessons in art from Giotto in their school. Everything had equivalent value, a fish, a flower, an insect or a man were all drawn the same size because all had equal importance in the Aboriginal Dreaming cosmos.

  Ricky drew a Texta colour picture of the store and he also drew the tree with the metal ring, but it was out of proportion, the rusted reddish ring shone as a huge circular form out of the small tree.

  “What is this place?’ said Jane.

  ‘Killing place’, said Ricky. David was on the lookout for boys who drew with their shirts over their heads sniffing the heady Texta fumes.

  Orlando worked well with David. They took the older children on walks to talk to Old Pelican who showed them his paintings and therefore their history. Jane was happy. It was a perfect scenario, two teachers and an Aboriginal teaching assistant made a functioning remote school. She pushed thoughts of loving David out of her mind: a whitefella was safe.

  CHAPTER 3

  Dinner Again At Edie’s House

  Edie suggested they have dinner for the new teacher. She asked Jane to bring a plate of something from a tin. Edie had picked some of her red geraniums from the garden, and put them in a vase on the table. Jane sat sipping tea.

  ‘These are my favourite, Rouge Cardinale geraniums, and second best are the small pink Lotusland ones,’ said Edie.

  ‘Nice, it’s incredible that the bullocks don’t eat them.’

  ‘I’d shoot them first.’

  Edie cooked as the children tore around with Aaron playing chasings. She wore a red Chinese dress; it was peculiar. Jane observed that Hubert liked having other men to talk to – Orlando and the Reverend, they would have to do. He smoked and chatted over a cup of tea in the afternoon light.

  Phrases like ‘living in sin’, and ‘defacto couple’ floated around. No one mentioned them … The flagrant breaking of Hubert’s rule not to visit the black’s camp, hung in the air like a dead crow.

  ‘So your teaching assistant’s alright?’ said Hubert.

  ‘The kids love him.’

  ‘Oh yeah, everybody loves that smartarse fella.’ Hubert smirked at Jane.

  ‘Apparently, I am his brother in their moiety system.’ Orlando said.

  ‘But you’re not a real relation, just adopted into their dumb clan system.’

  ‘It’s not dumb’, said Jane.

  ‘No, but say if I wanted to marry a young woman here. I wouldn’t worry about what darn subsection she was, I would just have her. I mean if my dear wife was dead or something …’

  ‘You wouldn’t be accepted.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘Well, I’m not flamin dead but you might be if you keep this up.’ Edie said.

  ‘You’re right, mate,’ said Orlando.

  ‘Boss, call me Boss, everyone does,’ said Hubert.

  ‘Okay, Boss. I really appreciate the welcome you have given me.’

  ‘No worries.’

  ‘What’s the story with Gertie’s daughter?’ said Orlando.

  ‘Shirley’s half white. Only race on earth where the colour gene is recessive on the female side,’ said Hubert. ‘But she could pass; her kids will be quarter caste.’

  Jane flinched at the description but the two teachers lounged on Hubert’s veranda. Gertie was sweeping the floor behind them and the cattle dogs slouched under the fence. Hubert shook his head at Orlando.

  ‘It’s easy to be tempted, you’d know that’, said Hubert. Silence. Orlando looked embarrassed. Jane nudged him.

  ‘Those eye-lashes, their black pussies waving in your face, whoa, tempting all right.’ Edie came out to the table, threw down a bowl of red jelly, and tinned fruit. Hubert rolled a cigarette and looked over at Edie. She snarled. Orlando shook his head at the offered tobacco pouch.

  ‘It’s a crime Hubert, if they’re underage girls’, Jane said. Hubert nodded. ‘No, I’m not saying … I couldn’t … Hey, looks like rain.’

  The Reverend Wiltshire arrived and took a stool. The tone shifted. Edie became animated and girlish, giggling, and offered him a drink of warmish green cordial. Jane unwrapped her contribution of savouries: Kraft cheese on Jatz with pickled onions. The minister was nervous, and slapped mosquitos as he joined in the discussion.

  ‘How’s your tent Reverend? Comfy, I bet’, said Hubert.

  ‘It’s not comfortable. Too many rocks, but that was the place you told me to camp.’

  ‘Too right. Want to keep an eye on you. Don’t want you becoming an Abo.’

  ‘Actually, some of the young Aboriginal men are a profound inspiration to me, like David. He brought the boys to Sunday school. We talked about the love of Jesus, his teachings. Yes, to be a teacher is a calling. It shows a true dedication to human beings. Like Jane here.’

  ‘It’s the children. I love them.’

  ‘There are many temptations in the bush and many young white men have been seduced by the Aboriginal way of life.’

  ‘They live combo. It’s shocking’ said Hubert. He ate a pickled onion while staring at Jane’s mouth.

  ‘This place. What an opportunity! Give me an Aborigine for a day and I can teach him about the love of Jesus. My arms reach out to them. I feel a power that is profound and I am open to learning about the comparative aspects of their religion. A shared spiritual insight.’

  ‘Or teach him how to bow down to the white cattle man and be beaten and subjected to inhumane treatment at the hands of missionaries and be grateful? How about we repeat the story all over this country? You’d appreciate that would you, Reverend?’ said Orlando.

  ‘You a commo radical or something?’ Hubert laughed. Jane hid her face.

  ‘Perhaps you, Orlando, might be happier studying anthropology back at your university
or returning to … what were you? A poet was it … in Glebe. This calling is not meant for everyone.’ the Reverend pondered.

  ‘Make a lot of money do they? Glebe poets?’ said Hubert.

  Jane offered more canapés of biscuits and bright green gherkins. She tried not to think about the secret that the women had suggested about Edie. Surely, that was evil gossip, but she eyed Edie with new appreciation.

  They finished eating. Everyone said how nice it was – the custard and jelly had been lovely.

  Orlando declined the offer of a lift back to Katherine and assured the Minister that he would work harder at his spiritual life. Edie hugged Jane and she felt excruciated.

  ‘We all try to get along with the Aboriginal people here. Take that Old Pelican: he has wisdom and magical powers. How about you join him and me for a little prayer in the youth bible classes?’ said the Reverend.

  ‘Sounds informative. I’ll try to make it’, Jane lied.

  Edie called her children with a loud whistle.

  ‘Time for bed, say goodnight to Mrs Reynolds and Mr Pepepov.’

  ‘That’s Kerekov’, said Orlando.

  ‘Good night’, they called out. The children went to bed and Hubert rolled another smoke. Later, Jane saw Hubert and Edie walk hand in hand down towards the billabong; they looked happy and in love … Jane had a twinge of envy like a hit of drugs. She sat outside her caravan with Orlando.

  ‘I bet they’re talking about us. I told them I was married. Oops.’

  ‘They’ll think you’re a slut’, said Orlando.

  ‘They wouldn’t use that language.’

  ‘A loose woman.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Maybe, they think I forced myself on you.’

  ‘I bet they think I’m a sex starved nympho from Sydney.’

  ‘Well, that’d be right’, he said. She punched his arm.

  ‘I reckon Hubert will think that your reputation will end up smashing you in the face. I can just hear him saying, “If some cattle men get wind of it, they’ll be sniffin’ around for a go. Linin’ up outside her caravan.” Don’t worry, darling, I will protect you’, he said.

  Jane wondered what that meant, ‘protect you’. Was it a kind of commitment? No, too soon. He would be off as soon as he could. She could never trust him – or could she? There would be a moment when he also told her that he needed something else. She would fail again, or not.

  That night, Jane heard a noise outside her window. Orlando was asleep beside her snoring gently. She saw a figure standing at the window right near her head. She was very still. She tried to wake her lover, but he was fast asleep. Jane slowly pulled back the sheet and sat up quickly. The dark shadow of a big shape leapt from sight. She looked out the window and pulled herself up on the sill. It was a naked white man in a blanket, crouched down on the dirt trying to hide, but her eyes met his for a fleeting second and he got up and hurtled back into the night like Dracula. Dogs barked wildly. Jane thought he was a pathetic peeping Tom, whoever he was.

  Jane imagined that another dinner for the teachers and the Reverend might not be happening any time soon, even if she did bring a plate.

  CHAPTER 4

  Daniel

  Orlando’s friend arrived to stay for a few days. Daniel was a twenty-nineyear-old builder who worked for contractors and had a range of racist and sexist jokes. He had taken Orlando with him to visit the contractors’ camp outside of Katherine. In town, the builders liked to hang around the Crocodile Hotel, but as ‘fly-in-fly-outs’, in an Aboriginal community they were outsiders with no place in the kinship system.

  Daniel rode his motorbike straight up to Jane’s caravan. He was blond and rugged; he hitched his R M Williams jeans, brushed down his red Bob Dylan tee shirt and gave her a shy smile.

  ‘Gidday Jane, I hear you’re a wonderful teacher.’

  Daniel cooked them a lamb roast with tomato puree and garlic. He had a secret bottle of red wine. He was funny and outrageous, self-deprecating, fantastically politically incorrect. Jane told herself that she tolerated him for Orlando’s sake. He looked around her caravan and saw a valuable bark painting on the wall.

  ‘Hey, that’s nice; worth a bit, eh?’ he said.

  ‘It’s a Dreaming story by an old friend, my adoptive father Old Burnie’, said Jane.

  ‘Bet you got it for next to nothing.’

  ‘No, she paid a lot for it’, said Orlando. Daniel leaned over to the bark and scratched the ochre with his nail. He nodded.

  ‘Sorry, that was rude. Hey, I might not look it, but I had a good education, I forgot my manners.’

  Daniel had blazing blue eyes, and he grinned with white teeth … He was a mystery: something hidden inside him; he was intelligent and competed madly with Orlando to outdo him. The men had chemistry between them. He seemed to adore Orlando and yet baited him. She felt admired but completely left out, like an ornament.

  There was a sound of laughing out in the bush. A high squeal and whispering. Out of the night, Mayda and Lizzy stood giggling in the caravan light. Jane saw them through the window and opened the door. They were wearing their best clothes with pink flowers in their hair, their hands held over their mouths.

  ‘Come in, you want something?’ Jane said.

  ‘Nothin, just …’ Mayda dropped her head.

  ‘What? Come and have a cordial, or a biscuit? Is everything okay?’

  ‘We going back. Goodnight … Daniel!’ They hid their faces, then slowly Mayda lifted her head and stared at Daniel; they ran off laughing.

  Jane sat back down at the table. ‘That was strange’, said Jane.

  ‘Just kids, they‘re always curious’, said Orlando.

  Daniel was a mate and mates were hard to find. Later after some drinks, Daniel took Jane in his arms and rock and rolled in the caravan kitchen as he smiled at Orlando. Aaron hit Daniel with a plastic Robin Hood sword.

  ‘Don’t touch my mother’, Aaron said.

  ‘Look out, Oedipus!’ Daniel said.

  Jane laid out the dinner on the Laminex table; she served the food, and listened to their banter. Daniel laughed and wrestled with Aaron. They made a Lego castle. Then Jane took her son to bed and read him a story while the two men told wild loud lying stories.

  ‘Daniel! Can you can read me. The Magic Pudding?’ Aaron called out.

  Daniel took the book and looked embarrassed.

  ‘Mate. Not now’, he said.

  ‘I can make it up. I know it all’, said Aaron. He told the story to Daniel who sat on his bed to listen, then returned to the table.

  Daniel brought out a hashish joint; yes, that was good. Everything was funny: Dan balanced a glass on his forehead, hilarious, and laugh – she couldn’t stop: everything, her whole existence was so damn funny. The lights in the big house went on; that was funny. The food tasted so yummy; Dan had a Cadbury’s chocolate, food of the gods.

  Orlando cleared the table with Daniel and washed up while Jane listened to the men. Now she felt excluded; it was like being the audience at a movie: the men were very entertaining but she waited in vain for a moment when she could join in. They became riotously stoned. Her jealousy grew; Daniel had all Orlando’s attention. She was not important.

  ‘Cyclone Tracy. You remember how we saw the pink cement mixer truck fly over our head?’ said Daniel.

  ‘And the howling banshee screams from the wind?

  ‘You pulled your flatmate under a mattress in the bath, wouldn’t let her out. That was cool.’

  ‘We were saved by the plumbing fixtures, the whole house blew away’, said Orlando. Jane stroked Orlando’s hair, he flinched and she dropped her hand. Daniel watched and caught her eye. She looked away at Daniel and raised her eyebrows. Orlando saw her.

  ‘I stayed in a house a few years after Tracy, just slept on a concrete floor with a mozzie net, no walls’, she said.

  ‘The smell of the rotting Christmas turkeys inside smashed freezers, what a stink. Wild dogs tore into garbage, no water t
o drink, it was like in Vietnam’, said Daniel.

  ‘You weren’t there, honey. We lost everything: all I had left was my shorts, didn’t even have a pair of thongs.’

  She stood up and moved to her bedroom. ‘I’m going to bed’, she muttered.

  ‘Goodnight, teacher’, said Daniel.

  She found him amusing but strange. His masculine private school boy persona had an animal energy. She had met men like him before; she spoke but he ignored her … a subtle misogyny.

  ‘Why don’t you come over to the Crocodile Hotel one day? We’ll have a real booze up.’ Daniel called out.

  The next night, Orlando went to bed early, leaving Jane to entertain Daniel outside next to a fire. They were drunk.

  ‘The enemy is inside your head’, said Jane.

  ‘Are you a stupid shrink or something? I had enough of that pycho stuff in the army’, said Daniel.

  ‘No, just observant. I can help you to learn to read’, she said.

  ‘Piss off! I’ve had more spastic teachers try to do the remedial thing on me than you could count. You should throw Orly out, he doesn’t deserve a woman like you’, he said.

  ‘It’s not your business; you haven’t even got a girlfriend, what would you know? You pretend to love Orlando, and try to stab him in the back.’ Jane stood up as he grabbed her hand. She stared at it.

  ‘Have a bit of pity. A man gets so desperate. I was in hell when I was conscripted. I just need someone to talk to.’ Daniel said.

  ‘We’ve drunk too much’, she said.

  ‘Sorry, I’m screwed up, it’s self-loathing; up here I drink, it’s not cool, and I’m used to people punching my head in pubs. I learnt to box in Nam. I like the taste of blood in my mouth’, he said. Jane walked into her caravan and turned off the light.

  On the Saturday morning, Aaron ran off to play with his friends to make a road from the school to his caravan. It was a very long project; they were digging rivers. Daniel ate breakfast inside with Orlando, laughter seeped out the windows. Eavesdropping seemed inevitable. Jane leant against the aluminium concertina door – it was the only way to find out what was going on with Orlando. She suspected that she was developing a paranoid psychosis, an obsession with him that verged on insanity. It was a delicious falling out of love and she craved the drama of it. The tone of the men’s talk was conspiratorial.