Lizzie's Tale

by Beyond Beyond Books

  That was it; she made up her mind to return. She would return the way she had come and once she had refuelled at Halls Creek she would go instead to Katherine and work out her way from there.

  She turned the key in the ignition. Noting happened. Not a spinning of the motor, not a sound. She turned the key backwards and forwards a few times but still nothing. She got out and walked around for a minute, hoping whatever gremlin was stopping the car would go away. Then she tried again. Still nothing, the dashboard lights came on but no noise of an engine turning.

  She knew that a car had a battery and the battery was needed to start the engine. Alec, as part of the limited introduction he had given her to cars, had shown her where the battery was and how to check and make sure it had water. So she opened the bonnet and checked the battery. It looked like it should work, the leads were attached and the fluid level seemed right. That was the limit of her knowledge. She checked the headlights; they were still bright so she suspected that it was not the battery. There was nothing else she could see that would give her any clues about what the problem was, but her ignorance was vast.

  But what should she do. There were a few trees on the ridge, so she could put a blanket under them, in the shade, where she and Catherine could sit. While their food was not abundant they had two packets of biscuits, and a block of cheese unopened. They still had some lollies though she and her daughter had been eating them this morning so they may be mostly gone. There was a jerry can of water in the back, though more than half of the plastic bottle of water they had bought this morning had been drunk to wash down to lollies.

  She had heard of people pushing cars to start them. As they were at the top of a hill she wondered if this was possible. She did not really know how to do it but had an idea, from watching a couple times, that one person sat in the car, put it in gear and let the clutch out, once it was rolling, and the others pushed to make it go fast enough. If she could get the car from the flat place on top to where the road ran down hill then this could be tried. She asked Catherine to help her. Together they tried to roll the car towards where the ground began to fall. With them both pushing they managed to move the car about an inch. After that it would not budge; so much for that idea.

  Lizzie realised she needed to get serious about this situation. It was early September and the days were getting warm though nights were cool. She did not know where this road led, but she had increasing doubt about it being the road through to Alice Springs, considering she had not sighted anyone since she had turned onto it this morning and that was almost three hours ago. She knew it did not have heavy traffic but she expected to see a couple other cars in half a day. This lack of traffic was what had motivated her decision to go back. But without a car they could not go back, perhaps they could walk ten or twenty miles over a day or two with the water they could carry. But they could not walk more than 100 miles back to Halls Creek or even a bit more than fifty miles back to the last major turnoff.

  She knew that people who broke down in the outback should stay with vehicles. With a jerry can of water they should be OK for a week or so. She decided she must check this jerry can, this water was critical. She untied the rope that held both jerry cans in place and wriggled the petrol one out of the way.

  She had an awful feeling, this one moved around easily and the petrol one was heavy. She lifted it, it was really light. She turned it on its side and back, there was no sloshing. With an awful sinking feeling she opened it up and looked inside. It was bone dry. She held it upside down and not a drop came out. She looked inside, holding the bottom up towards the sun. She could seek a faint line where sunlight was coming through at the bottom. Looking carefully she could see a hairline crack running along the seam around the edge at the bottom.

  She cursed herself for her stupidity. Such a simple thing to check, even this morning, why did I not bother?

  Now here she was a hundred miles into the desert with her six year old daughter. They had less than two pints of water between them. What had she done? If only she had not panicked, if only she had not run, if only she had planned properly.

  She gazed across the vast expanse of sand dunes with a sinking heart. She could feel fear and desperation really rising now. The chance of finding any water in this landscape was remote, she had barely seen anything resembling a creek in this last hour, and any water which flowed would just vanish into the sand.

  Now she looked at the small rocky range on which they sat, perhaps it was twenty or thirty feet above the surrounding desert. When it rained the water would run off these rocks, there was some chance that there would be a pool or two around its edges somewhere. It was less than a kilometre long, the part that poked above the sand. This afternoon, when it was cooling and the sun was lower, they would follow their way around the edges and see if any water was to be found. It would only take an hour or two to walk around and look.

  In the meantime they must sit in the shade and conserve what little water they had. She had this awful thought of them both slowly perishing in this wasteland, she could not bear the thought of her daughter left alone here to die on her own. Yet she could not bear the thought of watching her daughter die while she lived on. Well, they must carefully share what they had and hope someone came along this road soon.

  She knew she must talk to Catherine, to explain and help her be strong and understand. So she sat down beside her and told her the story in simple terms, the whole story about how those men had hurt her and made the baby Catherine grow inside her, how she had run away to make sure nobody took her girl away from her, how she had lived in Melbourne and done things that other people would say were bad, so that they would have money for food, how she had to run away again and come to their house in Broome. Then, how yesterday, one of these bad men had come back and threatened to hurt them both, and that was why she had left where they lived. And now how she had made a terrible mistake in coming to this place, bringing Catherine with her, where they had broken down and had almost nothing left to drink.

  Catherine looked at her with big wide eyes and when she had finished said. “It’s alright Mummy, we are together. We will both be brave, no matter what happens. Then she wrapped her small arms around Lizzie’s body, cuddled in tight against her and fell asleep.

  Lizzie sat in the solitude, hugging and loving her daughter in return. She had come to know one thing with certainty from being alone here. So now she made a promise to herself, her sleeping daughter and to anyone else who could see or hear. It was that, if they survived, she would never again run from men like these again. She knew it was her duty, not just for herself, but for all the others who they had hurt and terrorised, to fight back against them.

  When Catherine awoke they walked together around the sides of the hills. They searched for water, but they found only dry rocky hillsides. By the time they came back to the car it was getting too dark to see. Nothing resembling a pool or a soak in the sand had been found. They each drank a small mouthful of water and sucked a lolly while they watched the stars come out in the desert sky.

  It was so huge, a beauty of desolation. Beyond them only the vast desert remained.

  Chapter 17 - Sophie Returns

  Next morning they woke in the cool. Their mouths were dry. Lizzie rationed another sip of water, in her case she pretended to drink, taking only enough to wet her lips. Catherine was unable to help herself. She drank almost half of the water left in one swallow. But Lizzie was glad it went to her daughter, not her. She knew they could only sit and wait and hope that someone came. They were too far into the desert to walk.

  The morning passed slowly. By lunch the thirst was much worse. She knew it was getting really hard for Catherine, brave as she was. When it seemed that the sun was about in the middle of the sky she gave her another little drink, again only wetting her own lips. Now only a dribble of water remained in the bottle, just one more small sip for Catherine.

  Her mind was starting to wander and, in a way, it was a relief. At fi
rst she tried to sing songs and tell stories to Catherine. But it became too hard as their mouths got sticky with the dry saliva.

  So now it was as if she had moved inside her head, back into the place of her own childhood, that time so long ago when all her life had seemed good and she was happy. Sophie’s face drifted into her mind, but she could not see it clearly anymore.

  Since that time of the dream, when she had pushed her away it was like she could not talk directly to Sophie anymore, maybe it was a growing up thing, but her mind image of Sophie was blurred, like something seen through dirty glass.

  But she remembered Sophie’s mother Maria really clearly on that last day when she had seen her. It came like a physical jolt: Maria had given her something on that day, a little package, and told her she must never lose it and one day, when she really needed it, to open the package.

  She remembered carefully sewing this small brown paper package inside the lining of her childhood purse. It had stayed there ever since. She kept this and other fragments of her childhood in a small tin box. She realised that she had brought this small box with her here.

  It was the only repository of a childhood lost too early, it contained all her childhood curios, pictures of her father, mother and David, a note from her father when she was nine – just about the shopping but it had his writing on it. There were a few other things as well, she could not think of them all now. But she was sure the purse was still there, and yesterday, when she packed up to leave she had put the box of things in the bag she brought. She did not know why she had still done this, despite her panic. But it was as if, no matter what happened, she needed to hold and keep some threads which joined her to this part of her life.

  She stood up, she felt dizzy. Catherine had been lying with her head on her lap. Now she opened her eyes as she stood up and looked up at her, with a curious wonder. Lizzie found the bag and rummaged in it. There was the box; with hands shaking she fumbled it open.

  The purse was still there, looking old and faded, the outer leather scuffed. She opened it and saw her childish sewing. She could feel something still inside the lining. She pulled the lining out and tore at a corner until it came away. There it was, a packet of worn and faded brown paper with some small lumpy object inside.

  She came and sat back down beside Catherine, whatever it was they would share it together; hope must not be extinguished so as to keep them both brave.

  So she unwrapped the package, having no idea what it was. She felt disappointment when she saw only a small silver locket. It was oval, about an inch long and a bit less wide. It hung on a fine silver chain, and on the back was written, Sophie, 1906. She realised that it had a clasp at one edge which opened. Inside was a photo of a small dark haired girl.

  With a gasp she realised that this was Sophie, the Sophie of her childhood and dreams, only even smaller in this picture, she looked almost the same age as Catherine was now, though their hair and faces were different. This brought the image of the real Sophie sharp again in her mind, but with this image came a strange sort of bitterness.

  When Sophie had asked for her help she had given it, without hesitation. But Sophie had never been able to help her in return. Sure, she had tried to warn her before that awful night, but it had not stopped what happened. So what use was Sophie’s face and image when what they needed was water to drink. She closed the locket.

  She could feel tears trying to form in her eyes, even though they were too dry. She brushed these away and sat up straight, looking at Catherine, determined to not let her daughter see her despair. She looked again at Catherine sitting next to her in the red dirt, such a brave little girl in her suffering, but how could this help?

  Catherine was looking back at her with very solemn eyes. She put out her hand and spoke in a dry croaky voice, “Mummy what is that you are holding; can I have a look?”

  She passed her the locket and Catherine opened it with great seriousness. Then a beatific smile lit her face. “It is my friend Sophie; sometimes she visits me in my dreams, and the night before we went away she told me not to worry if we had to go away, she would show me a safe way to go. She is trying to tell me what to do now.”

  Catherine she closed the locket and lifted it over her own head, hanging it around her neck by its flimsy silver chain. She stood up, and took Lizzie’s hand,” This way Mummy, Sophie wants us to come this way.” So Lizzie followed, holding her six year old’s tiny hand in her own. They walked along the road for ten minutes. They came to a shallow depression in the road, like a gully between sandy ridges.

  Now Catherine turned right and followed this depression, picking her way around clumps of spinifex. After a couple hundred yards it became a discernible dry creek bed and after a further couple hundred yards there was a low rocky ridge rising in front of them. The creek emerged from this rocky ridge and they could see more low rocky hills rising behind it, another fragment of an ancient mountain range poking its head just above the desert sand.

  They followed the creek line through a gap in the first low hill. Behind it lay a depression a few yards across before the next hill rose behind it. In this depression lay a pool of water, a few feet across. Tracks at its edges showed it was the drinking place of many small animals.

  So they drank and were refreshed. They filled up the water bottle they carried and took this water back to the car with them.

  Each day they came back for more water. Between times they sat in the little shady place they had made, under trees next to their car. They told stories, sung songs and waited. Three days passed. They rationed the biscuits and cheese, now less than half a packet of biscuits remained.

  Although hungry neither felt anxious, they knew that there was more to come. On the third day they heard a faint distant sound and looking north saw a plume of dust coming along the road. They heard a clattering and banging sound coming towards them along with the noise of a vehicle engine.

  Chapter 18 – Rescue

  Slowly the dust became a car carrying aboriginal people coming towards them. They waved and the car pulled to a stop.

  The people got out and came over to them, showing little surprise to see them in this empty place. Their words of English were few but their smiles and chatter were happy.

  They made space in their car. Lizzie and Catherine squeezed into spaces alongside these black bodies. An hour and a further fifty miles of driving saw them at a small aboriginal settlement, an outstation it was called, on the northern edge of the Great Sandy Desert. These people fed them, they shared their houses. They hugged and played with Catherine and she played and ran with her brown skinned friends.

  Days passed, they could all talk some common words now and she came to understand that they were living in a community of people who moved around the edges of these western deserts. She understood that these people had previously lived on cattle stations around here. They had then been forced out when they started to ask for land of their own.

  Now some had come out here to a soak in the desert and had made their own camp, a home in a place which no one else wanted. The old people had known of this soak from centuries of living in the desert, and they had shown it to their children. Now those old people were gone but the children, grown old, still remembered this place and its stories. So they had brought their own children here to teach them about this land and its stories. Some of their families still lived around Halls Creek and on other cattle stations.

  These people called their tribe the Djaru; someone had written it on a piece of paper and she now rolled the words around her tongue. They lived a simple life; they had built bush shelters and a couple more substantial timber buildings. There were occasional white visitors and once every couple weeks someone would drive to Halls Creek to buy food and other community necessities.

  Both for the most part they lived here in their own place, far from anywhere. They offered to drive Lizzie back to Halls Creek but she declined. On the next trip someone brought her car back. A lead had come off the
starter motor, soon repaired by a bush mechanic. She knew she could leave now but she chose to stay. She gave them her car to use when they needed it. She also gave them the money she had brought with her, more than nine hundred dollars, telling them to buy food in town for her and anyone else who needed it.

  She knew in time she would have to re-establish contact with the outside world, but she was happy in this simple place for now. Her daughter seemed completely happy with her new group of friends and this was good.

  As time went by she started to realise she was needed here. It was not about what she could do to succeed in her own right, to acquire things to make her safe, happy, or even rich. It was that here were things she could do to contribute to the life of this band of people. They in return did things which she needed.

  It was different kind of sharing than what she had known in the past, except towards her special friends, though she had experienced glimpses of it, such as when all the town kids had come home with Catherine and she had fed them all sweet pastries, but more important she had shared with them parts of her life’s joy and experience, the first lick of an ice cream, the season’s first mango.

  But back there most giving was in an expectation of return, that if you helped someone that they in return would do something back for you, it was exchange. She remembered how she had made Catherine and her friends pay for things at her cafe, she had considered it teaching them the value of money. But here such a concept was foreign, if anyone needed food and another had it, it was given without reward or question.

  Here sharing was what life was all about, integral to all parts of each day of living. You did the things for which you had skill or capability and others shared what you had or did as a matter of right; they in return did what they did and you shared it back. There was no counting in this giving.