The Crocodile Hotel

by Julie Janson

  ‘Sit quiet now, no talkem.’

  Jane sat in silence and Old Lucy sang a soft song.

  ‘Eyes shut, you go dere. I come too, in mind not real, slow now’, she said.

  Jane was in a trance; her mind went to the place amongst those rocks.

  ‘What you see?’

  ‘Nothing, just sand.’

  ‘Lookem.’

  ‘I can see a hill, I’m walking past it. Now, there on the dirt … something. It’s no good, Lucy, I can’t do this.’ Jane opened her eyes.

  ‘Closem, I come too. I dere wid you, likem dream, you see me.’

  ‘It’s cold, dark, down a tunnel or something.’

  ‘Yeeai, dat thing is dere.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Babies dere. My face cold now; dis side real cold.’

  Jane opened her eyes. Old Lucy nodded.

  ‘Were you here in 1929, Lucy? Did they try to kill you?’

  ‘Yeeai, little girl. One mans throwem me, but I lie still, not movem; dey think me finish up.’ She sobbed and embraced Jane, their arms encircled, great cries echoed against the red stone wall. Jane wiped her old friend’s face. Lucy’s grace and trust in Jane restored her faith in humankind.

  Dark tumbling clouds rolled in from the west. From the hot plain, Jane felt someone was watching them. There was a tension. Who was it? One of the enemies? Some horrible person wanting something? A shadow crossed the women and they froze. They couldn’t see in the glare of midday sun. He stood up high on the cliff against the sky, his outline, tall and lean, was unmistakable. Jane shaded her eyes from the glare. It was David, barefooted, Akubra hat shading his face. He bounded down the rocks and touched Old Lucy’s face.

  ‘Granny, I’m looking for you.’

  The old lady looked up, her face alive. She hugged him and her delicate bent frame leant against his chest. His eyes met Jane’s.

  ‘Okay, Aunty; all okay.’

  Jane waited for the old lady to let him go, and he came to Jane. He put his hand out and took hers, and held it for a long while. He had forgiven her.

  ‘Eh, that Orly, he tryin’ to be a boxer, but he no Lionel Rose! True, eh?’

  Yes, Orlando had stood his ground. He had been strong, had stood up to be counted, not like her. She did not trust her own voice. Her hand shook; there was a lump in her chest, making her incapable of speech. He waited, looking worried but not angry.

  ‘Not your fault.’

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘No worries’, he said.

  ‘What will you do?’ she said.

  He looked back towards Arnhem Land and swept his arm in an arc in that direction, his lips pursed.

  ‘You will finish your course?’

  He nodded, turned and walked away, disappearing into the grey green mulga trees. Jane watched him go, and felt that she would never feel a love like this again with a man who was capable of such tenderness.

  Jane drove Old Lucy home to her dogs. There, Old Lucy pointed at a tree full of white flowers. ‘Dat tree my daddy, he clever man, can light fire wid stick, find water in desert, not needem white fella.’

  Jane looked at the paintings Old Lucy had created, and saw they contained history and metaphor. The peaked black hats on some figures, which looked like interesting decoration, were police hats. The large round shapes were majestic hills, markers for a hundred deaths. The pathways that led them away from the killing were strokes and footprints in a line. They were a touchable ochred insight into the essential frailty of humans, a mythic screen indelibly printed. The images were incredibly sad.

  It was dark when Jane arrived to pick up Aaron; she carried him across to the caravan. She felt suddenly strong in her belonging in the Aboriginal world, powerful. She was growing in knowledge, had opened her awareness into a mystical place.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jane’s Revenge

  Jane knew she had compassion, that underneath she was a virago. She travelled towards the mining camp across the unchanging landscape with its dirty grey and green spinifex, pale orange rocks and pebbles and mulga. Dead buffaloes, black and bloated, with legs up, and piles of Fourex beer cans marked the way. ‘I’ve counted fifteen dead kangaroos.’ Aaron said. The names and geography of the great sandy continent were its history – Slaughterhouse Creek, Poison Swamp Creek, Treachery Point, Gins Leap, Diggers Rest, Humpty Doo, Chinaman’s Patch, and Leichhardt’s Stand. A sign – ‘You are entering Aboriginal Land. Permit required’ – had been peppered with shotgun pellets.

  She was moving towards a confrontation, with no idea what to say, or what to do, but she suspected it would be awful, and redemption of sorts. She would confront the stupidity of these men; tell them that she was Aboriginal too – as if they gave a shit. She blamed her cowardice, her failure to have moral courage, for letting it all get out of control. She had passively let men piss all over her. She had failed to look after those who really needed her.

  Jane arrived at Jalilinka mine. Dirt blew off piles of yellow rubble across the dirty landscape; it looked like the moon. She parked under a tree, put the windows down and got out of the car. She closed her eyes; a sob sprang up from her throat. She was doing it, facing up to herself, and them. She smiled as she asked the guard on the gate where to go.

  Jane woke Aaron and took him to the canteen. A tired cleaning woman agreed to look after him for ten minutes; that’s all it would take. The woman gave Aaron an ice cream.

  ‘Where is Daniel’s lunch room?’ she said, all sweetness. The woman waved her over to an aluminium demountable building next to a line of yellow bulldozers.

  Everything that had happened seemed to lead to this moment when she would turn the aluminium door handle. A creak of flyscreen. All the struggles of the last few years rose up in front of her. The humiliations, the poverty, the craven desperation and mad longing for stability. Now was the moment to be strong, to have clarity and stand up for something she believed in. It was time to confront the hatred. The handle turned; she was in…

  Inside the lunch room, workmen sat around a table eating their corned beef and pickle sandwiches. That looked tasty, she was hungry. A man was pouring boiling water into a large teapot on the table. Daniel had a bandage over his eye. He saw her and stopped mid-sandwich. She held a piece of paper out to him, her hand shook.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a police statement sheet from Lanniwah men about a criminal assault. Read it!’ she said.

  He looked down. The other men watched.

  ‘Oh, I forgot; you can’t read. Will I read it for you?’ she said.

  ‘Piss off’, he said.

  ‘Why did you assault David Yaniwuy?’ she asked.

  The men all laughed,

  ‘Nice to see you too, Janey’, said Daniel.

  ‘He didn’t do anything to deserve that’, she said.

  ‘How’s Orlando? I thought he was your boyfriend.’

  Patsy Cline music poured out of a cassette player. It was the climactic moment in a scene from a bad play.

  She was fury incarnate; her chest pounded. ‘You smashed his face in with a four by two, you broke his arm, and you bloody near killed him!’

  Daniel pushed back his plastic chair.

  ‘Take a look at my face. Your damn black boyfriend’s mates did that to me’, he said.

  ‘I wish they’d killed the lot of you, you lousy racists, self-satisfied colonising white pricks. You can’t even recognise that the mining company is exploiting you – look at your living conditions; you live like pigs! And you’re paid shit. Not even an Australian company that’s ripping you off – it’s bloody British, even Queen Elizabeth has shares in it!’ she said.

  ‘Come on, Janey, calm down; we’re all friends here.’ said Daniel.

  ‘No, we’re not. I have a witness to the assault who will testify in court about your attack.’

  ‘Who?’ he said.

  ‘Orlando Kerekov. The Aboriginal Legal Service is sending a lawyer up from Sydney.
They see it as a test case for the Territory. He has the backing of a top Sydney barrister. You won’t get away with it. And I’ve called the newspapers.’

  ‘Well, fuck me dead’, said Daniel. The men laughed.

  ‘You’ll be charged’, she said.

  ‘I didn’t hit him, he fell. I’m the victim here. Hey, you were there, Janey – limp wristed. You didn’t try to stop us. Did you get a thrill from men fighting over you? It’s all your fault, ever think of that. Make you feel good about yourself?’

  ‘I wanted to stop you.’

  ‘You came in the car with us to … what? Save him?’ said Daniel.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You played them off against each other.’

  At that, moment Jane’s eyes fell on the edge of the table.

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry… calm down!’ Daniel said, but it was too late. She lifted the table. It was time slowing, scalding tea flew over the men, they jumped, sandwiches falling to the floor. They stood up yelping and brushed the hot water from their thighs.

  ‘You stupid bitch! You burnt me!’ yelled Daniel. He mopped at his shorts as Jane picked up crockery plates and began throwing them at their heads. The men ducked in shock and some laughed. Shattering crockery slid down the plastic walls.

  ‘Take that, you pathetic arseholes. I hope you all get VD from your town whores and your dicks drop off, and your wives find out and leave you, and take all your bloody money!’ She grabbed Daniel’s collar, pushed him against the plastic wall and twisted his collar into his throat, her knuckles white.

  ‘Don’t you ever go near David again!’ she said.

  Daniel smiled. ‘Or what, Janey?’

  The whole room laughed, someone shouted: ‘Show us your tits.’

  The atmosphere was ugly, like a rape pack. She let go of Daniel’s shirt and hissed into his face: ‘Or his countrymen will track you down and kill you with a Kadaitcha man! And I will help them find you, because I have Aboriginal blood too and I will go to gaol and enjoy every minute because it’d be worth it!’

  ‘So you’re a mad black bitch … but I kind of admire that’, said Daniel.

  A voice yelled: ‘We’ve called the cops!’

  ‘Go ahead. And you know what? I am an Aboriginal woman, and I am proud of it!’

  She straightened her blouse and summoning up her dignity, walked out of the building. Her face was rigid with anger, steam from her ears. Fury made her powerful and totally fearless. A wind blew yellow dust into her face. Pools of brown poisoned water dribbled into the wild river.

  Jane collected Aaron, got into the hire car, and drove away. It was fantastic. After twenty minutes, she began to sob. What if the police came after her? What if she was charged with being an accessory to the assaults? What if she went to prison? What would happen to Aaron? He looked up from his book.

  ‘Mummy, don’t cry’, he said. She drove with her chin on the steering wheel and blobs of hot tears fell.

  ‘I don’t need a present if we can’t afford it. I’ve got lots of Matchbox cars. We can go to Aunty Rosie’s house, she will make you better.’

  She held out her hand and stroked his blond head. ‘Let’s go to town and get a chocolate thick shake and then presents!’ she said.

  At that moment, she knew that she would never go back down south to live. The power of the Territory was too great. She had swum in the Rainbow Serpent sacred billabong. She was destined to stay. She drove back along the dirt road. At last, she’d been able to find some strength. She’d taken on the misogynist, racist, white men and she felt triumphant. They stood for wiping out all Aboriginal rights, all Aboriginal people for that matter, and keeping women subservient. They wouldn’t win in the end. It felt fantastic.

  CHAPTER 9

  More Gossip

  Black eyes followed Jane and people still talked about her. Life back at Harrison was as difficult as ever, but she was nearing the end of the teaching year; she felt confident in her skills at managing the school … After all that had happened, it was inevitable that she would leave. The visiting missionaries crossed the road when she passed; she didn’t care.

  Reverend Wiltshire brought her into his office to talk.

  ‘We need to talk about the situation. We feel for you; God cares. People want you off the community: you’re too uninhibited, too bohemian, and not suitable. It’s about holding up community standards, and demonstrating morality. I struggle also to reconcile my human needs with spiritual values.’

  She nodded and smiled.

  ‘I am sorry if my behaviour has not been acceptable.’ His hadn’t been either.

  ‘All right, Jane; look, we are all sinners. You will come through this. People just like to observe others and they’re jealous. You are very brave. I have respect for you.’

  ‘Yep. Look, I won’t come to your services because I am an atheist. I do like the teachings of Jesus but not the church stuff. I appreciate the work you are doing for the clinic; the supplies are very useful. Thankyou … Look, you have tried to help. I recognise that.’

  The Reverend attempted to place his hands on her head. He was giggling – was he all right?

  ‘I just want to say goodbye. I might have to…’ he stopped mid-sentence as though he no longer knew where he was; he looked around to see Hubert walking towards him, carrying his whip.

  Jane nodded and was about to walk out, but stopped and turned towards the Reverend: ‘Does it ever bother you that you are preaching on land where there was a terrible massacre?’

  ‘We are not responsible for evil carried out before we were born’, he said.

  ‘I think maybe we are.’

  ‘By the way, Mrs Reynolds, I have been visited by the Boss. I am … I have … I want … I have decided that I am wanted elsewhere’, he mumbled.

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘Have you ever thought what if it is all a fairy story? The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost? What have I based my life upon? Am I a fraud? Will Hubert forgive me?’

  ‘Yes, you probably are.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A fraud.’

  ‘The rainbow billabong will wash away sin. I must make a flight into the wilderness.’

  ‘There’s a road house at the rainbow billabong, and a caravan park. Time to take stock. Love fades, believe me.’

  He hurried over to his tent and began packing, his ute filled up with his belongings.

  In the afternoon, Jane walked to Hubert’s veranda. He sat with his foot up on a squatter’s chair, and beckoned to her. Edie sat shelling a bowl of peas. He stared and sat forward; he seemed very serious. He was scaring Jane.

  ‘We’ve had to tell the Department of Education about what’s happened, Jane. About your behaviour’.

  ‘You could have told me’, said Jane.

  ‘What do you think this is?’ said Edie.

  ‘We talked on the radio. The inspector was interested’, said Hubert.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You’ll be getting a letter’, he said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘We just want to help you’, said Edie.

  ‘Sure. Thank you. Anything else?’

  ‘Why would there be?’ Hubert smirked.

  ‘Don’t get us wrong. We appreciate your work here, eh Hugh? But it’s so stressful; they might want to send out a doctor to you, for a psychiatric assessment’, said Edie.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Your health. We had to tell them.’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Your improper behaviour with a … ahem … a co-worker’, said Edie.

  ‘You made up some good words, didn’t you, Ede?’ said Hubert.

  ‘Moral laxity. I had to use a dictionary. Putting the children at risk.’

  ‘That’s good coming from a rapist!’ Jane spat.

  ‘Hey, watch yer language! Did you know that my dad’s old mate Joh Bjelke Peterson is the new premier of Queensland. Don’t underestimate me.’

  Jane smiled and walked away.


  They were hypocrites. They would have liked her head on a plate. They had taken to religion but still wanted something … what … from her? She would be a sacrificial teacher. It would be so easy to wreck a lone woman out here. Now she wouldn’t sleep a wink again, waiting for the damn mailbag. What would it feel like, shooting them both? Where did Hubert keep his rifle? Alternatively, chopping them up into little pieces and putting them on an anthill?

  The next day, Jane sat under a tree teaching Aaron to read; she looked up and saw Reverend Wiltshire in his ute hurtling down the road towards the gate. Hubert was close behind him on his motorbike. He pulled up and walked around the front of the ute. The Reverend was crouching down in his seat. Hubert unlocked the gate and stepped aside and the ute drove through it. The dust billowed around and Hubert stood still in the middle of the road with his hands on his hips, staring at the disappearing car. A pile of hymn books flew off the back and blew away amongst the trees.

  CHAPTER 10

  Daniel And Mayda

  The air was cooler somehow, late in the day. Jane was folding washing on her lounge. Daniel stood at her door, his Bob Dylan shirt looking back at her. He looked ashamed and hung his head. Jane couldn’t believe he was there.

  ‘I’ve come to apologise to you and your friend Davo’, he said.

  ‘Please just get on your motorbike and go back to town. I can’t have you here.’

  ‘I came to explain what happened. I was a shithead.’

  ‘Alright, don’t worry about it. Now will you leave, please?’ she said.

  ‘It’s a bit late. I might hit a bullock in the dusk. I’ll just make a camp here for the night.’

  ‘Don’t bother me again. Go somewhere else.’ She slammed her door.

  In the middle of the night, Jane heard loud shouts from some men outside. She went to the door in her nightie and there was Daniel standing in the light of a torch. Mayda was with him, quivering with fear, her dress undone at the front, her breasts exposed. She held Daniel’s hand. Burnie and Old Pelican stood in front of them. Jane walked towards the scene in slow motion. She looked at Daniel and shook her head. She was finding it hard to fight the anxiety. This was not good. This was a problem with huge consequences.