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Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms

Page 14

by Anita Heiss


  Banjo looks as his wife warmly for a few seconds. He wishes he could give her a better life. He wishes he could give her some money to go into town and buy some perfume or stockings or a nice pair of shoes. He wishes she could have some of the things the white women in town enjoy. A wireless to listen to like Marj has. He feels so much love for her as she pours his tea from the billy can that he wishes she would talk more now. He does love the sound of her voice, and hates himself for thinking otherwise only minutes ago. As he drinks his tea he has an idea about something for her for Christmas Day as well. It won’t be fancy, but he knows she will like it, if he can just get that last job done. ‘I have to go out for a while,’ he says and leaves the hut.

  Banjo walks into the kitchen with Kevin in tow. ‘It’s all goothas and mirris out there,’ he says. They sit down at the table. It’s already hot at nine am and Banjo is covered in sweat. ‘It’s good the church donated a few toys – I distributed them last night and it looks like most of them have something to play with.’ He and Kevin have passed little dark girls sitting in circles and giggling, playing with fair dolls with blonde hair, not even caring how different the plastic girls in their hands are to themselves. One had a tea party set and was pretending to pour cuppas for the others, who were enjoying acting like grownups. Boys of all ages were throwing around not one but three footballs that had made their way to Erambie on Christmas morning. Banjo wishes he didn’t have a bad leg so he could kick a ball around too. He’s a bit envious that Kevin has always been able to be more active than he is.

  Banjo disappears during breakfast, leaving Kevin at the table reading the paper. After the children finish their porridge they wash their faces and hands under the tap out the front of the hut and put on their best outfits. The girls have new calico dresses that Joan has sewn for them from material the nuns at the convent gave her; Joan worked late into the night to make sure her children had something special to wear. The clothes are a dull cream shade but each girl has a beautiful ribbon to put in her hair for colour. James has a new pair of shorts but they are a bit big and are being held up by the piece of rope. He loves them and smothers his mother in hugs and kisses.

  ‘Uncle Kevin, Mary gave us a penny to buy you a present, and we got you this,’ young Jessie says and hands over a box of matches.

  ‘This is the best present anyone has ever given me.’ Kevin hugs Jessie, then winks at Joan and says sternly, ‘But you know little kids shouldn’t play with matches, don’t you?’ And the four children all nod a wide-eyed yes. The girls look more than pleased with their efforts and the gratitude their Uncle has shown.

  ‘You know what we can do with this newspaper?’ Kevin asks the children, waving it around in the air. ‘We can make it fly.’

  The children all moan, not believing a word their Uncle says.

  ‘Don’t be silly, newspapers can’t fly,’ James says, hitting himself on the forehead.

  ‘What? You haven’t seen a kite before?’ And the kids all laugh.

  For the next little while Kevin is busy making a kite from the newspaper, using twigs he sent the kids out to find. When it’s finished Kevin is very proud of himself and the kids are excited. ‘Well, come on then, a kite is meant to be in the sky, not inside!’

  James is the first one outside, bouncing up and down and clapping his hands with excitement. Before long other kids from the mission are standing close by as Kevin tries to woo the low, hot breeze to lift his newspaper kite into the sky. When he finally gets it up there are cheers and roars of laughter. ‘Give me a turn,’ James squeals and his Uncle helps tie the string around the little boy’s hand so the kite doesn’t get lost to the atmosphere.

  Banjo returns to the hut looking very pleased with himself as they all sit around drinking glasses of water with cordial. A treat for Christmas Day. He approaches Joan and hands her a brown box.

  ‘What’s that?’ the four youngest children say in unison and Banjo grins from ear to ear.

  ‘It’s for your mother,’ he says, a look of pride on his face. Joan and Banjo haven’t given each other gifts since before the kids were born; everything has always gone into the children’s health and wellbeing, and something extra like a toy at Christmas, if they can manage it.

  There is confusion and surprise on Joan’s face. James is at her apron within seconds, tugging and jumping and wanting to know what’s in there. ‘Is it for me too?’ he asks.

  When Joan opens the present she beams and hugs Banjo hard. Then she pulls an iron kettle from the box.

  ‘So you like it then?’ He puts his arms around his wife. The children are excited about their new iron kettle too, fighting over who’s going to take it outside and fill it up.

  ‘This is so fancy,’ Joan says. ‘I’m the luckiest mum on the mission today.’ She’s happy because even Marj’s kettle is an old one. ‘But how? There was no extra money,’ she whispers in his ear.

  ‘I built a table for old man Jones yesterday and he paid me enough to buy this, but said not to tell anyone. So don’t tell anyone,’ he replies, slapping her on the backside. Joan squeals and James and the three younger girls all giggle.

  At lunchtime they sit down to roast chicken and potatoes with gravy and there’s extra watermelon for dessert. Everyone is happily munching away, savouring every delicious mouthful, though Banjo notices Mary is quiet and not eating much. But he doesn’t say anything, simply happy to have all his family around him.

  As they relax after eating, James starts combing Jessie’s hair and yanks out a big knot that stays in the comb. Jessie squeals and pushes her brother away. He’s fascinated with the hair he’s caught, struggling to pull it off the comb before throwing it on the ground.

  ‘Ouch,’ he says, in a delayed reaction to the shove and immediately starts sooking, looking at his mother.

  ‘You don’t want to leave that lying there,’ Kevin says to his nephew, who stops his fake crying and looks adoringly at his Uncle.

  ‘Why?’ he asks as he climbs onto Kevin’s lap and starts combing the hair on the man’s arm.

  ‘You should never leave hair in your comb or just lying around. You should burn it, or throw it in the fire.’ Kevin looks at the stove. ‘Not you, James, you aren’t allowed to play with fire, but adults should put hair in the fire.’

  ‘But why?’ James whines.

  ‘Because if the clever man gets hold of the hair he can use it against you.’

  ‘But why?’

  Banjo sits back and rolls a cigarette, listening to his brother tell an old story he’s heard many times.

  ‘Don’t you know the story about the person who was really sick and the clever man went to see him and rubbed the sick man’s belly, and he rubbed and he rubbed, and when the clever man walked out of the room he carried a bowl full of hair! Do you want to end up with a bowl of hair in your belly?’ Kevin asks seriously, frightening the boy.

  ‘NO! Mummy, I don’t want to have hair in my belly,’ James cries as he runs to his mother.

  Kevin stands up and says bluntly, ‘Well, don’t leave the hair lying around then, okay?’

  Joan shakes her head at Kevin, who shrugs his shoulders as if to say What? and walks out of the room.

  On Christmas night, Mary takes some chicken down to Hiroshi. She ate as little as she could so there would be something special left for him, something different in case he hadn’t had roast chicken before. She has struggled all day knowing he has been alone on such an important day; a day for family and celebration – and for some people, gifts.

  ‘Chicken,’ she says as she hands the meat over. ‘We really only have it on Christmas Day.’ Mary wonders what Hiroshi must think about them being so poor. What his own life was like back home and if they ate chicken often. ‘Merry Christmas,’ she says. ‘Do you like chicken? My mum roasted it.’

  ‘I like chicken,’ he says, taking the small piece of white meat from her. ‘Yakitori,’ he says, hungry. ‘Our chicken is called yakitori, we cook it under the heat,’ he adds,
gesturing to show how they serve chicken back home.

  There is very little meat and it disappears quickly. But there is watermelon too, which he puts aside to eat later. Mary stands, waiting for the opportunity to hand over his gift.

  ‘What?’ Hiroshi asks because she is beaming. It’s contagious and he smiles back. ‘Why are you so happy?’

  Mary hands him the book of poetry, pleased with herself for the find, and also feeling like an accomplished ‘borrower’ from the Smiths’ house.

  ‘Under the u-i-ru-ga-su,’ Hiroshi sounds it out the way a Japanese person reads English characters and looks to Mary for approval.

  ‘Willll-gaaahss,’ she says. ‘It’s a tree. A wilga is a tree. And my Uncle Kevin told me wilga means orange tree.’

  Hiroshi nods and to Mary he looks happier than he has since arriving. ‘Merry Christmas, Mary, I am sorry I have nothing for you.’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t need gifts,’ she says, stopping short of telling him that he is her gift. That his sharing, his friendship and what he has given to her heart is her gift.

  14

  25 February 1945

  EVEN DEAD JAPS

  Mary reads out the headline on the front page of the Guardian, and then puts her hand over her mouth. She reads to herself the rest of the story that suggests the bad smell in the town’s water can be blamed on rumours of dead horses, cattle and ‘even dead Japs’ found at Lithgow water supply. She summarises the claim for her parents and then adds, ‘It’s okay because it’s been emphatically denied by Lithgow Council.’

  The three of them screw up their faces anyway at the thought of dead anything in the water supply and wonder what is actually coming through the one and only tap at the front of their hut.

  ‘Cuppa anyone?’ Joan asks, trying to break the moment with some humour. ‘The water’s boiled so most of the germs will be gone anyway.’ Neither Mary nor Banjo accept the offer, both thinking about what they had possibly already consumed.

  Thankfully it’s not long before the sweet, sugary juice of watermelon is dripping down everyone’s chins – Kevin and a few of the other men have swum across the Lachlan to the Chinese gardens and pinched a few of the region’s best fruit. Joan has struggled to cut the massive fruit into pieces the kids can manage with the only half-decent knife she has, but once done, the slices are shared and enjoyed.

  ‘Where did you get this, Uncle Kevin?’ James asks innocently. Everyone knows stealing is bad, but eating watermelon this way has been part of life at Erambie for a long time; all the locals indulge in the treat but no one thinks of it as really stealing. And it’s always shared around, so the guilt is shared around too, until there is none left.

  ‘I found it,’ Kevin says, rubbing the young boy’s head. ‘I found it on the other side of the river, and I thought I heard it calling out to me to go get it and bring it here.’

  James starts giggling. ‘Don’t be silly, watermelons can’t talk,’ he says, lightly slapping his sticky hand on his Uncle’s arm. James looks at his mother. ‘Why don’t we grow watermelon in our garden?’

  Joan gives her son the biggest smile he’s ever seen. ‘There’s not enough room out there, and potatoes are a bit more filling, don’t you think?’

  James nods enthusiastically.

  ‘This is better than the speck fruit the fruito gives us,’ Jessie says, referring to the local fruit grower who sometimes gives away apples with spots on them.

  ‘Yeah, it’s not damaged. This is the most perfect watermelon ever,’ Dottie says with a big slurp before giving her Uncle a hug. ‘Thank you.’

  Everyone jumps when there’s a thumping on the door.

  ‘Banjo, it’s John Smith, open up.’

  ‘Dear Lord,’ Joan says, looking at the watermelon. ‘There’s no time,’ she says to Kevin and Banjo.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Kevin says. ‘Leave it to me.’

  John Smith walks in looking hot and bothered, his few strands of hair straggly and damp, and his shirt half hanging out and covered in sweat patches.

  ‘Where’d you get that watermelon from?’ he asks, knowing there’s been thefts reported.

  ‘I got it given to me for some droving work,’ Kevin says.

  ‘Would you like some, Mr Smith? It’s very sweet,’ Joan asks.

  ‘I haven’t got time.’

  ‘Here, you can take a piece with you.’ She hands him the largest piece she’d cut. ‘And that’s a nice shirt.’

  Smith is taken aback by the compliment but tucks his shirt in and smoothes his hair over. ‘Mrs Smith does like me to look good at work.’

  ‘Of course she does,’ Joan says.

  ‘Was there something you wanted, John?’ Banjo asks. ‘I’m sure you didn’t come for the watermelon.’

  ‘No, that’s right. There’s been some sightings of a stranger around the station. Especially late at night. You know what’s going on everywhere, Banjo, I want you to come to me if you hear or see anything. You got that?’ With that, Smith walks out, slurping on his watermelon.

  FUTURE OF ABORIGINE MISSION

  A story Mary is reading in the Guardian causes her great concern: there’s a proposal to either rebuild or relocate Erambie Aboriginal Station. She informs Banjo, Fred and Sid that two members of the Aborigines Board have already visited Cowra; one was a part-Aborigine named Mr W. Ferguson, who was a railway worker in Cowra from 1915 to 1916 and then a shearer at a number of district shearing sheds. ‘“Mr Ferguson admitted that the present camp was a disgrace and that the homes were little better than humpies.”’ She looks at her parents, knowing how proud they are about their home.

  ‘Well, I don’t like people saying Erambie is a disgrace,’ Joan says. ‘We all keep our homes as clean as any of the white people in town and we don’t have any fancy cleaning tools or anything.’

  Mary knows that her mother and Aunties Marj and Ivy and the other women are very proud of their efforts in maintaining their homes, even though the conditions they live in are generally well below the standards of the white people in Cowra.

  Banjo stands and puts his arm around his wife. He’s growing angrier by the minute but trying to remain calm for the benefit of maintaining peace. ‘What else does it say, Mary?’

  ‘“Mr Sawtell said that the policy of the Aborigine Board was to gradually assimilate the Aborigine into the white race. The number of full Aborigines was growing smaller each year.”’ She stops reading, wondering if it is true.

  ‘They think we are dying out,’ Fred says, ‘that eventually there’ll be none of us left.’

  ‘That’s what they want, then we won’t be a problem to them anymore,’ Sid adds.

  Banjo takes a deep breath.

  Kevin walks in with a paper of his own and sits down. Mary keeps reading to herself while the others discuss their future and the proposed relocation. She thinks about the article she had read a few days before, about the evacuation of Tokyo. One million civilians have left the city. Mary has no idea what that means for the Japanese at war, for the Japanese in Cowra – for Hiroshi. She wonders if Hiroshi’s family has been evacuated too, not really knowing how far his home is from the city. Mary decided not to show Hiroshi that day’s newspaper, not wanting to upset him unnecessarily and make him worry. Her concern for him has been heightened since they kissed; Mary is consumed by her feelings for Hiroshi. She wonders if this is what her parents felt when they met. Did they think about each other constantly? Did the well-being of one become the main concern of the other? She wishes she could talk to her mother about this but she knows that’s impossible.

  When there’s a gap in the conversation she finishes summarising the article to them. ‘Mr Sawtell says he is doing interviews in town also and apparently there is considerable local opposition to the station remaining where it is as it covered a large part of an area that would be a future residential area of Cowra.’

  Kevin lights a cigarette and it’s stuck to his bottom lip as he says bluntly, ‘It’s all about land. They took t
he land that was ours. Then they moved us onto this land, and now they want to take this land from us too.’

  Joan looks her brother-in-law square in the eyes and says with conviction, ‘It will never happen, Kevin. Most of the people here will never want to leave. They’ll have to physically remove us.’

  Easter doesn’t really mean much to most of the people at Erambie, except for Joan. She gets up early on Good Friday and says her Rosary with an extra Hail Mary for the community and one for Hiroshi. For everyone else, Good Friday is just another day but without school and work, for those who are lucky enough to have work. While Mary is at the Smiths’ preparing breakfast for the family, most of the kids are playing rounders and kicking footballs while the men are smoking and yarning. Joan and the other women are busy doing their usual chores and preparing what food they have for later in the day.

  When Mary gets home, Jessie walks in behind her. ‘Mum, the Aunts want to know what time they can eat meat today?’ On Good Friday the women on the mission check in with Joan because she works at the church and everyone reckons she’ll know what the proper rules are around Easter time – even if they’re not really Catholic, people still try to do what they think is the right thing.

  ‘Tell them after twelve o’clock they can eat all the meat they want,’ she says. ‘And,’ she adds as Jessie gets to the door, ‘let them know cards are at Aunty Marj’s again tonight.’ The girl skips off cheerily.

  When it’s dark and everyone has been fed, Mary heads to her Aunty Marj’s house where the ladies have started playing cards. She sits with the children as she always does. Mary is maternal and has always thought about the family she will have one day. In recent times when she gets carried away with her daydreams, she has wondered what a life and family with Hiroshi might be like. She can’t imagine moving away from the mission, because Erambie is all she has ever known, but the thoughts of cherry blossoms and Japanese mochi rice cakes and rabbits in the moon are very exotic to her, and something she is convinced she would like to try, just for a little while. Meeting Hiroshi has opened her up to a whole new world and way of thinking. She has never travelled away from Cowra before and she has only really thought about as far away as Sydney, because some other girls her age had gone there to work. But now she is dreaming about a life in Japan with its Shinto religion and four main islands, and lots of fish to eat. What a different life she could have if she married Hiroshi. No more cooking and cleaning for the Smiths. No more rations. No more wearing calico dresses.

 

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