by Karen Wyld
Marcie remembered how the letters from him had gradually changed. The longer the conflict went on, the shorter and less frequent were his letters. And there was something else. It began with doubt. A questioning hidden between the lines of scrawled ink: should their nation even be involved in this war? He’d watched his fellow soldiers, and the way they treated both the enemy and allies, who, unlike him and his battalion, had in common an ancestral connection to the battleground. Then he began to notice little signals. Did men wearing the same uniform as him still not see him as an equal? And then came the delayed recognition: his own nation may have given him that uniform but they still didn’t see the man within. Marcie had already begun her own questioning, but her father’s letters confirmed for her that the fight for civil rights was essential to their freedom. She never had the opportunity to speak of these things with her father. He had been shot by ‘friendly fire’ on foreign soil, killed by his compatriots.
Marcie channelled her grief into action. Participated in anti-war marches and the civil rights movement. Her mother eventually heard rumours of Marcie’s relationship with a militant activist and became concerned. She’d already lost a husband on the front line; she wasn’t going to lose her only child. After a heated argument, Marcie moved out. One day, Marcie noticed an intended non-violent protest had become an out-of-control skirmish with the police. Even when away from the action, she felt engulfed by a rising chaos. Then, her boyfriend was shot dead by the police, when walking home from his grandmother’s house. Packing her bag, Marcie flew as far away as she could. At first, she didn’t keep in contact with her mother. Recently, they’d begun to exchange letters. Her mother had not shared bad news, but Marcie could read between the lines. Her mother was sick and needed her. And Marcie needed to be home. In her adopted country, she’d noticed subtle political shifts around her, and recognised the fire in the belly of black peoples fighting for rights. In some ways, it was similar to the fight she’d run from. She also knew that although she could give support, this was not her fight. Sitting alone in their bed, with the faint aroma of her lover’s perfume on the pillow, Marcie knew Simone was right – it was time to go home.
After Marcie finally drifted off to sleep, Tori’s sleep-talking was drowned out by the downpour outside. As Tori tossed and turned, her dreams filled with wondrous beasts. Dream-Tori recognised she was on Aunty Isabelle’s Country, on the shore of the inland sea. As the rain fell, the ancient seabed filled, covering the red dirt. Tori noticed shadowy figures in the turbulent waters. Enormous flippers, slithery tails, long reptilian necks, teeth sharp as daggers. Big to gigantic aquatic creatures swam in this ancient sea. Tori took a step back from the shore as some of these shadows came closer, to swim in the shallows. A long beak, filled with sharp teeth, emerged. The beast flipped its head, revealing a large squid-like creature between its teeth. It opened its mouth wide and the prey disappeared down its gullet. It went to grab another, but a large reptilian bird swooped down, grabbing it before escaping the toothy-beaked water beast. Tori twitched in her sleep, reacting to this dream of carnage. Outside, the rain came down even harder, its sound penetrating her dreamscape.
Tori thought she heard Aunty Isabelle’s voice. She couldn’t find her. She turned towards the sea, marvelling again at the magnitude of the beasts. Especially the size of their stomachs.
She heard her aunty say, ‘You are safe here, this is your Country too. They won’t eat you.’
In her dream, Tori felt a longing for family: What might have been if Mother hadn’t made us leave our father’s Country? Perhaps he returned and they’d all be together now. Tori heard Aunty Isabelle’s voice again: ‘He didn’t. He would have, if he could.’
A small, brightly coloured bird appeared, fluttering over the turbulent sea, as if teasing the beasts within. One creature broke through the water, snapping at the small bird, which nonchalantly floated out of reach. Mesmerised by the bird’s dance, Tori’s thoughts drifted: Is Maggie safe? The sea was expanding rapidly, water engulfing more arid land as the rain fell. Dream-Tori turned around and saw the treehouse. There is no sense of distance or geography in dreamscapes, so of course she didn’t wonder why this urban tree and the inland sea were so close together. The unusual bird flew towards the treehouse, as if moving between the raindrops. Tori followed, becoming more and more soaked as she walked. Standing on a small hill, she saw that the park’s pond had flooded and was almost surrounding their tree. The rain-loving ducks were nowhere in sight. The downfall was too heavy, even for them. Tori shouted, knowing Maggie wouldn’t be able to hear her. The rain was too loud. Arriving at the tree, the bird flew up and up, until it was hidden from view in the dense foliage. And Tori woke up.
She checked her clothes hanging by the heater; they were almost dry. She got changed and turned off the heater. Finding a pen and piece of paper, she scribbled a note. Then she quietly left the flat. Standing in the doorway downstairs, Tori looked into the darkness. The street lights were feebly attempting to shine on a dreary night. In the dim light they managed to cast, Tori noticed the street was flooded. Water was gushing towards already full gutters, causing waves to rise and hit the pavement. That rain was not looking like it would stop any time soon. She suddenly thought of Gabriel, and what he’d taught her about rain.
Maggie was awake when Tori returned to the treehouse. Curled up in bed, listening to the rain, seemingly unafraid of the storm surrounding her.
‘The pond has nearly reached the foot of our tree,’ remarked Tori, taking off her soaked shoes.
‘I had a peek just before. That rain is certainly heavy.’
‘Tell me about it!’
‘You’re not even wet?’
‘I walked between the rain.’
Maggie sat up in bed. ‘Like Gabriel?’
Tori nodded. ‘I remembered what he told us.’
‘That’s so cool. I want to try that, but not tonight. This nest is too cosy. The sound of rain has put me in the mood for thinking, and remembering. Just now, I was remembering stories. I’m not sure, but I think our great-grandmother told them to us.’
‘Nana Vic? Can you remember that far back? We were just babies. All I know about back then was the little bits Mum told us about Nana Vic and Grandfather Albert.’
Maggie said, ‘I know it sounds impossible, but I do remember. Just snippets of stories being whispered over us as we fell asleep. Of a colourful snake, starry sisters, and a bit more. I can’t remember much of the stories, and what I can recall will one day be gone, just like Mum.’
‘The stories will stay alive as long as we keep remembering and sharing them. Do you remember what Aunty Isabelle told us about raindrops?’ asked Tori, as she climbed under the quilt of feathers.
‘I think so. Something about duality of the collectiveness and individuality? And how it’s represented by seas, which are made up of countless tiny drops.’
‘And through the cycles of rain, everything is connected. We’re linked to all, even ancient seas and beasts long gone. Which means Mum isn’t really gone.’
‘I guess not. Then neither is Father. Nor Nana Vic and Grandfather Albert, Aunty Isabelle, Gabriel, Bethel and Omer. Dead or alive, we’re still connected.’
‘With all that rain out there, flooding everything in sight, I reckon there’s quite a few souls who want to make sure the living know they’re still here.’
‘I like that thought,’ said Maggie. ‘Perhaps they can do it with a little less rain.’
‘Earlier, I dreamt about weird aquatic dinosaurs, like the ones Aunty told us lived in the inland sea ages ago. Probably because of all this rain.’
‘Louis’s place would be flooded. Is he okay?’
‘I didn’t go there. I’m sure he found somewhere dry. I went to Marcie’s flat. She let me sleep on the couch. Then I had that dinosaur dream, and came back to see if you were okay.’
Maggie took her sister’s hand. ‘Thanks for caring.’
‘I’m sorry I said those me
an things when you were only thinking of my safety.’
‘What happened at von Wolff ’s has left its mark on both of us, but we can’t let those memories tear us apart.’
‘I miss her so much.’
‘Me too. Sometimes, when I look at the stars, I know Mum is still watching over us.’
Maggie picked up a placard and handed it to her sister. Tori turned it over to read the words.
‘Did you make this one?’ Tori asked.
Maggie nodded and picked up another one. ‘If you don’t want to carry that one, you can have this.’
Tori said, ‘No, I like this one. The message and the design are good.’
‘I made it for you, just in case you changed your mind.’
‘You actually came,’ said Gloria, as she walked past them. ‘That sister of yours was worried you wouldn’t.’
Tori shrugged. ‘Had a day off, so thought I’d help. If that’s all right?’
‘Of course, bub,’ replied Gloria. ‘More people, the better. This bloody government has to start listening. We need to protect Country, make sure it’s cared for. Not just for our mob but everyone. And for future generations. Gubs need to understand that we, the First Peoples, know the right way to respect land, waters and skies. We will keep on demanding land rights, until they do the right thing.’
Gloria walked over to another table and greeted the older people seated there. More people were walking into the community centre’s main room, picking up placards or greeting friends and kin. A few said hello to Maggie, who then introduced Tori. Everyone was really welcoming, but Tori felt overwhelmed and muttered shyly in return.
‘The bus is here,’ shouted a young boy, running into the room.
‘Come on, then,’ Gloria announced loudly. ‘Time we were moving. Someone remember to grab the flag.’
Two men walked over to the far wall, and took down the gigantic black, yellow and red cloth that hung there. They folded it between them, and went outside. Louis arrived as the last of the placards were being carefully placed in the storage compartment on the side of the bus. The bus was old-looking, with large patches of rust. Tori noticed how rust and paint-fade had been covered up by a patchwork of painted designs all over the bus. Similar styles to the paintings people did in the community centre. There were also small black, yellow and red patches on the bus, like the cloth that had been on the wall of the centre. Maggie spotted Louis, and ran over to him. When Tori joined them they went to board the bus together. A line of people was moving slowly up the stairs and down the aisle.
‘Looks like there’s no seats left,’ observed Tori.
Maggie pointed. ‘There’s two.’
Following Maggie, Tori sat next to her, with Louis standing in the aisle. The bus kept filling up and, after lots of good-hearted jostling, Louis had less space to stand.
Tori stood up. ‘Here, you sit down.’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘You sit.’
‘I will. On your lap,’ Tori laughed. ‘If you don’t mind, that is.’
‘Okay,’ he said, sliding into the seat.
Louis turned to Maggie. ‘I’m not squashing your arm, am I?’
‘I’ve got plenty of room.’
‘How about you?’ asked Tori, as she sat down. ‘I’m not squashing you, am I?’
‘Nah, I’m fine. Your bum is a bit bony though,’ he said, with a smirk.
‘Shut up!’ laughed Tori. ‘That’s my comb.’
Maggie commented, ‘Bet it’s not your comb, Tori. You do have a bony bum.’
‘Hey, twin. We’re supposed to stick together.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Sure.’
Louis exclaimed, ‘How was that storm? My place got flooded out.’
‘Oh no,’ said Maggie. ‘Do you want to stay at our place?’
‘I’ve got somewhere new to live.’
Tori asked, ‘Where?’
‘Brother Eddie is letting me stay in his spare room. I do gardening and stuff instead of paying rent. It’s pretty good there.’
‘Cool,’ said Maggie. ‘I like him.’
Louis nodded. ‘Yeah, he’s been helping me a bit. I’m thinking of writing to my nan. Tell her I’m sorry. Brother Eddie reminded me how important family is. Culture gets lost if we don’t stay connected to kin and Country. And without connection, we can get sick.’
‘She probably misses you,’ noted Maggie. ‘I wish we knew where our mum’s family lives. I hate being so alone. Other than Tori, of course.’
‘Maybe Brother Eddie can help you. He’s really good at finding people. He even gave me news about my mum and dad. Eddie visits prisons and chats to mob from all over. My parents have been putting word out, looking for me, and it travelled all the way here. Mum’s getting out soon. Maybe she’ll stay clean this time and we can spend time together.’
‘Mothers are important. I hope it works out for you,’ said Tori.
Louis had an urge to take Tori’s hand because she sounded so sad, but he remembered how she hated being touched. Feeling her weight against his body, and trying hard not to focus on her body warmth, Louis was unsure how he felt about her being so close. She’d initiated it, but he still was uncertain. Not for the first time, Louis pondered how hard it was to understand Tori. How difficult she made it for him to show how much he cared for her.
‘What’s that noise?’ asked Maggie.
Tori listened. It was a distinctive thrumming, getting louder. She felt her heart beating in unison.
Maggie looked out the window, seeking what was making the noise. ‘Deadly.’
Tori looked too, and saw a line of motorbikes overtaking the bus. A loud cheer came from passengers, followed by clapping and whistles. Tori watched the bikes go past, and noticed most of the riders had the same patch on their leather jackets or denim vests: a black fist raised. Some also had the black, yellow and red design on their clothes. She’d never seen that many motorbikes in one place before. After the bikes had passed, a lone police car went by.
‘Hope they behave,’ muttered Louis.
‘Who?’ said Maggie.
‘Cops. They love making trouble for mob. And seeing that many blackfullas on bikes probably has them itching to start something.’
The bus began to slow, and then stopped. They looked out the window, and saw a river in the distance. After waiting for the aisle to clear, and giving way to older people, they fetched their placards from the storage compartment. They then followed the crowd across the grass. On top of a knoll, Tori paused. From where she stood and right up to the river, there was a sea of black. And black, yellow and red.
‘How good is that sight?’ declared Gloria, who’d walked up behind Tori.
‘What’s that design lots of people are carrying, and wearing on their clothes?’
‘That’s our flag, bub. The flag of proud sovereign peoples.’
‘So many people here,’ remarked Tori.
‘Unna. Let’s join them,’ said Gloria, as she walked down the hill.
Maggie ran past. ‘Hurry up, Tori.’
Tori and Louis followed Maggie. She led them towards the front of the crowd, but it was too dense to get through. They instead found a place to one side. The crowd fell silent as an Elder welcomed everyone to Country. And then the crowd clapped when the next speaker took the microphone. Tori listened closely, as the sound was being distorted by the audio equipment, and the words were often drowned out by people clapping. She had never felt this type of energy. People seemed so happy and confident. Children ran through legs, and out to the sides of the crowd, where there was more room to play. Their screams of laughter carried on the soft breeze. Tori then noticed blue uniforms scattered on the perimeter. So many police officers. She turned around, hoping none of them would recognise her or Maggie from a missing persons poster.
Tori still didn’t quite understand what the protest was about, but she noted Louis and Maggie were nodding while listening to the speeches. She saw the crowd suddenly part, like an ocean being cut in
to two, waves held back on both sides. Down the middle walked a white man in tiny pink shorts, a white figure-hugging T-shirt and long white socks. He carried himself with confidence, and it was obvious people respected him.
‘Who’s that man,’ Tori asked, nudging Louis.
He turned around briefly. ‘The Premier, silly. He’s not one of those gammon ones. He’s on our side.’
As the sea of people closed behind this unusually attired charismatic politician, Tori turned her attention back to the stage. A different person was speaking now. Saying something about land rights and sovereignty. Tori thought she should ask Maggie what it all meant later.
‘Brother,’ said a man, clasping Louis hand.
Louis smiled. ‘Billy. Good to see you, bro. Where you been?’
‘Around. You going to the concert after?’
‘I reckon so. See you there?’
The man nodded and walked off to talk to a nearby group.
‘What concert?’ Tori asked.
Maggie replied, ‘There’s some bands on, in a park not too far from here. That park is closer to our place, so we can walk home after.’
Tori asked, ‘So you’re planning on going?’
‘Sure,’ said Maggie. ‘It sounds like fun.’
Louis noted, ‘I think Aunty Gloria’s wanting to speak with you, Tori.’
Tori looked in the direction Louis indicated, and saw Gloria beckoning her over.
‘Did you want something,’ asked Tori, as she got closer.
‘You need to come to the centre soon, so we can have a yarn. Are you using that bush rub I sent home with Maggie?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Use it every day. It will heal your skin quick as, but it won’t heal your spirit. We need other treatment for that.’