And just as Patricia never forgot that night, she remembered the next morning just as clearly. She felt she was shining from within and was convinced that everyone would know just by looking at her. She glowed. He looked sheepish.
But later that same day, the very day that Patricia thought was the beginning, it all ended. Patricia didn’t notice Beth Ann when she first arrived. She was sitting at the back of a group assembled in one of the main tents. Patricia had been watching Tony, following his every move, and saw that his eyes kept being drawn towards the woman who was sitting beside Arthur. Patricia watched as Tony betrayed both her and his best friend to get his heart’s desire.
By that time, things had culminated with the protest too. Everyone knew the police were poised to move so they put the women and children in the frontline. They will not arrest the women, everyone had said. There were arguments that night about what to do but Patricia, so burning with rage about Tony and his easy dismissal, was happy to put herself on the line, to put her slender body in front.
She had linked arms with the others, shouted ‘Land Rights Now’ and sang ‘We Shall Not Be Moved.’ There were hundreds of people standing by, watching - tourists with their cameras, public servants in their suits. It was mid-morning when the police moved in. Their fists smashed against Patricia’s flesh and she ended up in the hospital.
When she was released, she returned to the Embassy. By then Tony had left, following Beth Ann to Sydney.
Patricia had never spoken about that night to Tony. She was glad of the silence, fearing that any attempt to laugh off as a joke a memory she held so dearly would cheapen it. A part of her hoped Tony’s romance with Beth Ann wouldn’t last but deep down she knew it would, could see it in Tony’s face that he loved Beth Ann with the same depth that Patricia loved him.
Patricia kept the scrapbook of him. Not of everyone, as she had pretended to Simone. She didn’t need help to keep her memories, but the clippings represented a part of him that she could have.
Patricia returned to her bedroom. She slipped between the sheets and turned the bedside light off. She could picture the embrace that haunted Simone. She too had heard the rumours over the years, caught the whispers and winks, and she was always curious whether Beth Ann knew. She wondered, couldn’t help herself, that if Tony had chosen her, how she would have coped with his infidelity.
Still, whatever Tony’s faults, she loved him. Always had. Never wavered. Staring at the ceiling, Patricia waited for sleep to come. She wondered how long it would take Simone to realise that to love someone despite their faults, to love the whole person, good and bad, is to truly love them.
27
‘I think this might be the last time,’ Darren said as he settled into his seat.
‘We’d better make it a good one then,’ Tony replied with a grin.
Darren grinned back and opened his notebook at the next blank page. ‘We’ve spoken about the history of activism by Aboriginal people in Australia that provided the intellectual ground for the Tent Embassy, but what were the international influences?’
‘At the Embassy we used the language of rights. We didn’t make them up. They came from international law, from the documents produced by the United Nations. The concept of human rights was the intellectual driving forces of the Magna Carta and the American and French revolutions. Thomas Paine, Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson were talking about universal human rights long before we were.’
Tony continued, explaining how claims to human rights were more than just the chattering of the elite. They concerned important aspects of the day-to-day lives of people who were disempowered - the right to equality, the right to a fair wage, the right to make decisions. He dismissed the idea that you have either a rights agenda or practical outcomes.
‘Take the right to be free from racial discrimination. It is a universal human right, protected by several of the key international human rights instruments and there is even one especially dedicated to preventing it – the Convention to Eliminate all forms of Racial Discrimination. We have adopted that convention into Australian law through the federal Racial Discrimination Act and it provides us with a mechanism to make a complaint about racial discrimination to the Human Rights Commission. So there is a tangible remedy for it now. People can actually make a complaint if they feel that they have been unfairly treated.’
Darren nodded as he wrote and Tony paused to allow him to catch up. He looked at the familiar furrow in Darren’s forehead, the one that made him appear intense but thoughtful. His black shiny hair was pulled back into a ponytail but his slight sideburns formed small curls. When Darren seemed to have caught up, Tony continued.
‘Anti-discrimination laws have led to profound changes. Even though there may be few landmark cases and the discrimination is only prohibited in certain circumstances, look at the impact of those laws. Pretty much every workplace now has policies in place that prevent racial discrimination in employment. They have policies to prohibit sexual harassment in the workplace. Companies run training and information sessions for employees about what discrimination is and to emphasise that it needs to be avoided. If you compared the way the workforce was before these laws with how it operates now, you would begin to understand the important impact that legislating a right can have on the community.’
When Tony paused, Darren took the opportunity to ask a question. ‘You were saying last time that land rights were never considered to be a panacea. How did you think they would assist in delivering social justice?’
‘You have to remember that getting land rights doesn’t mean the government is no longer responsible for ensuring that our communities have adequate housing, health and education facilities. Other Australians have assets and that doesn’t mean that the government is no longer responsible for providing them with the necessities. The statistics show that federal and state governments continue to underfund on all of these areas for Aboriginal people, even though we have the lowest levels of income and education, the poorest levels of health and the worst standards of housing. Having land rights will only do so much when you don’t have education, health and housing.’
Tony went on to explain that even if the government provided these basic necessities at appropriate levels, it didn’t mean that the claim for land compensation and land rights was no longer legitimate.
When Tony finally paused, Darren closed his book. ‘Thank you so much. I can’t thank you enough for all your help. It’s been an honour just to listen to you speak. I’ll send the transcripts of all our discussions through to you when I have typed these up, just to make sure you are happy with everything.’
‘Well, the pleasure has been mine. I’ve certainly relived some old memories doing these interviews.’ Tony stood and stretched his arms and legs. ‘I’ll walk you out.’
‘It’s okay. I know the way.’
‘I have to go down to the front anyway.’
Darren gave a tight smile. He had been planning to stop by at Rachel Miles’s office before he left. Her door had been closed when he had arrived. He was just as disappointed when he saw on his way out that her door was open but she was not there.
Tony paused as they passed and looked into the empty office. ‘Well, thanks again and I’ll see you when you drop the transcripts off.’ They continued walking to the reception. ‘Best of luck and remember what I said about going back to law school. If I can help you with anything, let me know.’ He shook Darren’s hand with a warm, firm grip.
Darren was wondering what to do about Rachel -whether or not he might leave a message - when he heard Tony ask Carol where she was.
‘She left about half an hour ago.’
‘Did she say where she was going?’
‘To a meeting.’
‘Well, did she say when she was getting back?’
‘No. My job is to answer the phones. Not to keep tabs on our legal staff.’
‘You are supposed to know where everyone is.’
‘She s
aid that she was going to a meeting. See,’ Carol waved her hand. ‘It is here on the board. “Meeting”.’
Tony stormed back to his office. He didn’t like not knowing where Rachel was. He always knew where Beth Ann would be. She was always contactable, except when she was working in the prison. But even then he knew exactly where she was.
He was particularly on edge since Simone had decided to visit her grandmother. He had steadfastly refused to take her back to the old mission, even when she was little, had always insisted that his mother travel to Sydney to see them. He should have known he could not stop his daughter from going there now she was an adult. The wonder was that she had never wanted to go there sooner. In the past, her friends, studies and boyfriends kept her happy in Sydney. Now, it was out of his hands.
A deep dread had lurked within him ever since, with defiant eyes, she announced she was going. He was in no position to challenge her, to command her to stay. And he could only hope that she would be shielded from the truth that he had tried to keep from her, that he himself had tried to forget. ‘I don’t want you talking to her about Emily,’ he had told his mother sternly.
‘I’m not going to lie to her if she asks,’ his mother had replied frankly.
‘She won’t ask if you don’t bring it up, will she?’
In the end he had extracted a promise of silence from her. But still, he had been restless, short-tempered, especially with Rachel, whose unexplained absence was really ticking him off. It was all getting too complicated. Sure, he loved the passion of it, was besotted with her, but now that he had let it get so out of hand there were times when it made him miserable.
He stared at the computer screen, unable to concentrate. He’d always wanted people to admire him and he had a knack for getting others to follow his lead. He could read people and knew how to tailor his remarks and his persona to his audience. It was one of Tony Harlowe’s Survival Rules: ‘Play on people’s need to believe’. This he had done, creating a kind of cult following - Tony Harlowe, Aboriginal activist and intellectual.
He’d done it with Rachel. She was young and looked up to him, was captivated when he spoke to her, could argue in detail with him about the more complex cases they were working on. She would listen carefully, attentively, as he went through speeches he was about to give. He had, perhaps unwittingly, but easily, slipped into a relationship with her that was beyond sexual. And the fact that he had been imagining leaving Beth Ann for her was testament to the depth of his feelings for her.
But the thought of the possible fallout of his actions made him sick. Beth Ann was so loyal, so kind-hearted, so trusting. He had known that the day he met her. Fragile and slight but her face so warm, not just beautiful but tender. He had loved her so desperately and the two times she had refused to marry him had only made him desire her more. He had known then that she was a light for him, that despite her slight frame, despite her timidity, she was solid. He could rely on her. She could help him forget the past and make the future that he had always wanted for himself. And she had done just that. Unquestioningly. Uncomplainingly.
Speaking with Darren had reminded him of everything that had been achieved since the Tent Embassy. And he had been able to be a part of that, to be a voice, a force. He mattered. His opinion was sought. His presence requested.
And Beth Ann had been there all the time. She had run his house, made sure his daughter was raised properly - his perfect, beautiful daughter. She never tried to take the credit for the things he had achieved which would have been harder, maybe impossible, if she had not been there behind the scenes, supporting him. The attraction of a partnership with an attractive, dynamic young Aboriginal lawyer who could also be an intellectual companion was a tempting fantasy. But Beth Ann had been there for him for all those decades and he owed her. Not just owed her but, despite Rachel, despite his lust, he did love her. She was - he had to admit it - still his light.
He felt the deepest wash of guilt for this situation he had gotten himself into, and for his deceitfulness. He had always tried to be honest with Beth Ann. Yes, he had been unfaithful and that brought with it a network of lies but he never had to wear the mask with her, never had to pretend with her that he was someone he wasn’t. He never had to play on her need to believe. He never had to be Tony Harlowe, community leader. With Beth Ann, he revealed more of himself than to anyone else. And she had accepted him, had believed in him. Even seeing him without the mask, she had chosen to love him.
At that moment, he just wanted to be with her, at home, in the sanctuary Beth Ann kept for him. To kiss her on her forehead. To feel her body fold into his. That was where he wanted to be. He would tell Rachel as soon as he could that it had all been a big mistake. She would always have a place in his heart but he could no longer keep deceiving his wife.
28
‘Bet you were surprised that I called,’ Patricia said as she opened the door to let Rachel Miles into her apartment.
‘I wasn’t even aware that you knew who I was,’ Rachel replied. When Carol Turner had put the call through to her that afternoon, Rachel had been more than surprised, had suspected that Carol had made a mistake.
‘Look, I know you must be very busy but I was hoping you might have time to come over and see me,’ Patricia had said.
‘Of course.’
‘Tonight at five?’
And here she was, wondering why she had been summoned.
Patricia Tyndale had been a hero to Rachel since she was a teenager and started becoming interested in Aboriginal issues. She bought the Aboriginal community newspapers and Patricia was always somewhere in them. Rachel had even quoted her in her essays at university and had listed her, whenever she was asked, as one of her role models - along with Tony Harlowe.
Patricia ushered her to the small table in the lounge room. ‘Do you smoke?’
‘No.’
‘Good. It will kill you.’ Patricia lit her cigarette and, after a long breath out, added, ‘It’s good you young people don’t smoke like we did in our day. It’s a filthy habit but I haven’t been able to kick it. It is my only vice though.’
‘One isn’t bad. And I think young people have plenty of other vices that are just as awful.’
‘What’s yours?’
‘I don’t have one. I don’t drink much. I don’t smoke. I don’t gamble. I don’t take drugs. Maybe my vice is that I live a boring, sheltered life.’
Patricia looked at her contemplatively.
‘Tell me about your parents.’
‘They are as boring as I am. Both school teachers. I have a brother. We are both adopted. I only found out who my birth mother was when I went to uni, but she had already passed away. I have an aunt. I’ve seen her once. She couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me where I was from or who my father was.’ Rachel paused. ‘But she did confirm that I was Aboriginal.’
‘You must think I’m a nosey old bitch.’
‘No. Of course not,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ve always admired you. I was really thrilled that you wanted to see me. Surprised but thrilled.’
Patricia took another long drag on her cigarette.
‘It always makes me nervous when people say they admire me. Makes me worried that they’ll be disappointed.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘And I am glad to hear that you were thrilled about my calling you when you have no idea what it was that I wanted to see you about.’
Rachel could have been taken aback but the wry smile on Patricia’s face suggested that she was being lighthearted.
‘Would you like something. Tea? Coffee?’
‘Just water. A little late for caffeine.’
‘You really don’t have any vices.’
There was silence until Patricia continued. ‘I know I might not have sounded gracious when you paid me that compliment about looking up to me.’ She placed a glass of water in front of Rachel and resumed her chair. ‘I’ve never been comfortable with that. I’m not good at it. But I do like to take an interest in what the young
people in the community are doing and if they need my advice or support or help, I’m very happy to give it. I realised when your name was mentioned to me that I didn’t know who you were and I thought I would introduce myself.’
‘Well, I really appreciate that,’ Rachel replied earnestly. ‘It’s a little hard sometimes. My parents are great. I have a wonderful relationship with them but, you know, there are some things I can’t talk to them about because they wouldn’t understand.’
‘I suspected something like that when I first heard of you. I thought you might have been adopted. Makes it hard to find a place here.’
‘I didn’t have much contact with Aboriginal people when I was growing up. In fact, I had none. But working on Aboriginal issues was what I always wanted to do. And while I’m so happy doing what I’m doing now, there are times when I feel like an outsider. I didn’t quite fit in when I was growing up away from the Aboriginal community but I don’t fit in here either.’
Patricia lit another cigarette.
‘We’re a tough mob. You’d think with all that we have been through with the removal policy - whole families torn apart, sometimes three, even four generations - that we’d be a little more welcoming of our own who grew up under those kind of circumstances and want to reconnect. We’re a hard club to break into.’
She paused and looked out at the window. Rachel instinctively knew to let Patricia finish her thoughts.
‘Most of us have so little. Some of us have never had very much. We’re suspicious of anybody who comes along as though they are going to take everything away from us. It’s a mentality that’s ingrained in some people. I’m not making excuses for it when I say it’s understandable considering the lives many of our people have led. It’s just human nature.’
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