‘Ready when you are, old woman.’
‘That’s what Tommy used to call me.’ Matilda reached for her stick. ‘Go to Anita,’ she told Maxi. And then, ‘I’ll get my walking shoes.’
It was a morning like so many mornings now, before the day’s fatigue wore Matilda’s energy away. Two women walking along the river bank, one young, in a 1930s tweed jacket over her flared jeans and Blundstone boots, the older in a skirt of almost the same tweed, a silk blouse, stockings that somehow never seemed to snag on thorn-bush branches, and elegant lace-up shoes.
Matilda leaned on her stick and accepted Jed’s hand at her elbow on the rough bits. The river sang of endless water, and the land glowed with autumn colours, richer now summer’s white light no longer dazzled.
At last they sat on a large fallen log, while lizards peered out of its hollows, reassured by their stillness, and went about whatever social lives lizards had, darting for insects or at each other, and Matilda talked about the Sampsons, her great-uncles, aunts, the Aboriginal family that had been so much a part of establishing the Drinkwater empire, but that Matilda had never known were related to her till after old Drinkwater’s death.
‘Old Drinkwater and his sons and workmen shot them,’ said Matilda, forgetting she had told Jed this several times before. It was a scar deeply etched, thought Jed. ‘Hunted my family like kangaroos, except for those who did the work of three men but were paid only rations.’
‘How many did they kill?’ asked Jed softly.
‘I never knew. Couldn’t ask the Sampsons. I’m on the white side of the fence, not the black. That’s how I was brought up, how the world always treated me, including Auntie Love. The things she showed me belonged to the land. These days I wonder how much she didn’t teach me, this white great-granddaughter of hers.
‘There weren’t many black faces around here when I arrived in the nineties: I do know that. Only the Sampson family. I know that others had been taken to reservations down the coast. Not allowed to leave without permission, not allowed to see a relative who looked white without permission either. I asked once, and was refused. I think they were afraid I’d cause trouble.’ She shrugged. ‘They were probably right. I found out later that if they had jobs, their wages were supposed to go to protected government accounts. But the money just vanished into general revenue, with not even an accounting of how much they were owed.’
‘Did they tell you that?’
A headshake. ‘I read it in The Australian. I didn’t even know enough to ask the right questions back then. I subdivided Drinkwater when I found out the Sampsons were my father’s family, gave Mr Sampson and his sons the land between here and Overflow.’
‘That was generous.’
‘No. Deeply selfish. What about the others who had been taken away from here? It had been all their land. Part of me knows it still is. But I was so pleased with myself back then for doing it.’
‘Only part of you?’
Matilda smiled. ‘The other part thinks, you worked for this land. You and your great-grandfather turned it from bush into farmland. I’m proud that Drinkwater could feed part of our army in two world wars and a few small ones, instead of maybe fifty people. Aboriginal Australians will never get their lost wages,’ she added. ‘The government pays its debts to people with white skins, but not black.’
‘Maybe that will change with this government?’
Matilda shook her head. ‘It’s a state government matter, not federal. What government can afford to pay out millions of dollars to people who are well nigh invisible? Billions of dollars, maybe. We are talking a hundred years of lost wages, plus interest. The whites would vote out any government that tried to repay it.’
‘So Louise Sampson who works at River View is your what?’
‘First cousin three times removed,’ said Matilda crisply. ‘Your Sam is named after her,’ she added.
‘Sam? How?’
‘He’s never told you? Maybe he doesn’t know. Moura Creek flooded and Blue couldn’t get to hospital when the baby decided to arrive. Of course Joseph is a doctor, but he’d spent the last three years in a prisoner-of-war camp. He’d never delivered a baby without an experienced midwife to help. And then Louise just walked over the ridge to help. Somehow she’d known it was Blue’s time. She wasn’t a qualified midwife — she’d wanted to study nursing, but no hospital would accept her as a trainee. But she’d helped at a lot of births. And everything was fine and they called the baby Sampson.’
‘I assumed he was Samuel.’
‘Just as long as you don’t become a Delilah,’ said Matilda dryly.
Jed was silent. Delilah had taken Samson’s strength in the Old Testament by cutting his hair while he slept. If she urged Sam away from the fulfilment of his work at Nimbin, would she be doing the same to him?
‘It will work out,’ said Matilda gently. ‘When you add time to problems, they usually do work out.’
‘What if Sam meets someone else up there?’
‘You’ve told him you love him? Miss him?’
Jed nodded.
‘Good girl. Then if he goes with someone else, you are better off without him. But he won’t. Good stock, the McAlpines. When they give their hearts, it’s forever. And they breed true.’
‘And Felicity?’
‘A McAlpine to the core. Nicholas is lucky to have her. And he’d better start showing that he knows it, or he’ll lose her.’
‘Matilda, what would you have done if I’d gone to live with Nicholas five years ago? He asked me to.’
‘Exactly what we did do,’ said Matilda calmly, leaning back against her tree. ‘Made sure you didn’t have to live with him just to make it easier to go to university. Offered Nicholas a place to stay where he could find out who he had become, and who he wished to be.’
‘You mean you . . . you engineered his leaving me?’
‘No. We made sure you both had choices. And you both took them.’
Jed was silent.
‘Don’t sulk, child.’
‘I’m not. I don’t know whether to thank you or duck you in the river.’
‘Don’t do either,’ said Matilda briskly. ‘This is my favourite blouse. And it’s dry clean only. Of course we interfered. We love you.’
She said it so simply that Jed smiled. ‘I don’t think I ever realised I could be loved!’
‘You are loved by many people. And your life will have more to love and be loved too.’
‘Well, I love you too, old dragon. I should have said that before today.’
Matilda stood, leaning on her stick. ‘True. And I am going back to have a nap, before we drown in sentiment. I’ll walk by myself, if you don’t mind. I’d like to walk with memories for a while. There is nothing wrong in giving those you love more choices,’ she added. ‘It’s only wrong if you try to blackmail or coax them into making the choice you prefer.’ She offered her powdered cheek to kiss. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’
It was a small plea, as well as a question. Matilda’s life had shrunk in the last year.
‘Of course,’ said Jed gently. ‘Can we have a nice romantic story tomorrow? Like what happened when you and Tommy met again?’
‘The sun picked up its skirts and danced, and every gum tree sang. And that is all you need to know about it. Good night, Delilah. Or rather, good afternoon.’
‘Sleep well, dragon.’
Jed watched her go, making sure she was steady enough to manage the rough ground. But although the old woman walked slowly, her footsteps were true. Jed glanced at her watch, then headed to the billabong to take the shortcut back to Dribble. This was one of Scarlett’s therapy afternoons after school. Jed would meet her at the café.
They had both carefully avoided the subject of the Chosen, though Scarlett had been to see The Great Gatsby with Mark, and he had come to dinner afterwards at Dribble. He had looked pale and said little, gazing at Scarlett with what might possibly have been adoration, which bothered Jed a little, though no
t as much as it would have if Scarlett had looked at him the same way. It would have been a boring meal if Scarlett hadn’t chattered about how gorgeous Mia Farrow had been and how all the problems could have been sorted by some good psychotherapy but then there’d have been no book, or movie . . .
Jed could head down to help at River View, or find Michael and see if he wanted a hand. Or be entirely selfish and open the new package of books that had arrived the day before and spend a delicious few hours reading and eating yesterday’s roast chook and frozen grapes with her fingers.
Books and indulgence, she decided, peering into the letterbox, an old milk can that was long enough to protect parcels too. No parcels today, just a rates notice and a postcard.
She knew the writing. Jed found her hand trembling as she reached inside.
Dear Idiot,
I miss you too. I miss seeing you wear your purple silk camisole and 1920s bloomers, but mostly I just miss you. Will be home for a visit soon.
Love, always,
Sam
As love letters went, thought Jed, it was . . . the best. The absolute best ever written. She held it to her cheek for a moment before she went inside to answer it.
Chapter 58
June 1974
Ms Julieanne Driscoll
Earl’s Court, London
Dearest Julieanne,
Don’t you dare say nothing happens in Australia now! It’s all changing so fast you can probably feel the continent wobble from way up your end.
Other vital news: I am now deputy chair of the Gibber’s Creek Hospital Board. We raised $106.49 with last Friday’s wood raffle, and are gearing up for the Daffodil Fair at the Town Hall this spring. Congratulations will be accepted.
Their Majesties the chooks have stopped laying, but Nancy advised me to feed them curry, so I’m hoping that will work.
Love always,
J xxx
PS I presume when you said that an Italian count had proposed to you in the wine bar that you told him ‘no’?
RA ZACHARIA
Ra Zacharia gave his most reassuring smile. ‘Mark 23, would you mind coming to the Star Room?’
‘Of course.’ The young man followed him from the refectory.
Ra Zacharia waited till Mark 23 had sat on the simple wooden chair, the only kind allowed in the community. ‘You have had another seizure, haven’t you?’
Mark 23 flushed, but didn’t answer.
‘Did you really think you would be asked to leave just because you are not yet perfect?’ asked Ra Zacharia gently.
The young man’s silence gave the answer.
‘Those who have left don’t understand. Nor do you. But once the others lost their faith they were of no use to me, or the Elders. But you . . . you still have the potential to help free humanity.’
The boy straightened even as he spoke. Good.
‘Why do I prescribe the herbal drinks for you all?’
‘To help us —’ Mark 23 stopped.
‘Exactly. To help you. If I expected any of you to have reached perfect harmony, there’d be no need for help. But I can promise you this. After the Elders arrive you will need no further help at all.’
‘I . . . Thank you, Ra Zacharia. I was worried. Scared.’
‘You’re not scared now?’
Mark 23 smiled with growing confidence. ‘No.’
‘Not even if others fail and leave?’
‘No.’ The young man rose to go.
‘Just one more thing.’ Ra Zacharia’s voice was even gentler. ‘You no longer bring Scarlett out here.’
‘She’s busy with schoolwork. She needs to do well enough to get into medicine.’
‘But not too busy to go to the pictures with you?’
‘I’m sorry, Ra. I didn’t know you wanted me to bring her here. Just to have her trust me. To be her friend.’
‘She does trust you?’
The young man smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘So if you asked her to come here urgently because you needed her, she would?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Drink your teas. Meditate. Don’t let changes here stress you. And remember all will be well.’
‘All will be well,’ repeated Mark 23. He bowed his head to the image of the star — a practice Ra Zacharia was careful no outsider saw — then left.
Ra Zacharia sat in his own meditation till his feelings cleared, then calmly, and in perfect harmony, reverently touched the silver knife that hung below the star.
The boy did not understand yet, of course. No one did. But why did every ancient book say that sacrifices must be unblemished to have power? Why did humanity still use the phrase ‘the ultimate sacrifice’ even if they had forgotten whence it came?
Humanity had forgotten the deepest truth of all. But when the Elders came, Ra Zacharia would be ready.
Chapter 59
Gibber’s Creek Gazette, 10 August 1974
Historic Parliamentary Joint Sitting
History was made yesterday when both the House of Representatives and the Senate met in a joint sitting made possible by this year’s double dissolution.
The combined Houses voted to grant the Australian Capital Territory and the Northern Territory representation in the Senate and to enshrine the principle of ‘one vote one value’.
Darling Jed,
I got the job! You could probably hear my boots dancing down the pavement, between the umbrellas. From next Monday I will be a trainee editor at Cassell’s in Red Lion Square. I am going to be working in their Art and Design books department. Should be sheer bliss and I can’t wait (and haven’t I come a long way from little old Canberra?!). My boss seems fab. She’s tall and glam (she reminds me of Faye Dunaway in looks) and has a degree from Oxford (of course!) but seems really nice and certainly smart. Her name is Cressida Smythe-Jones and I reckon she is in her early thirties. Hard to tell with her beautiful English complexion.
And have I mentioned that dogs are allowed in pubs here (as are women!)? The English are quite potty about their dogs and you even see them in tea shops as well. There is a tea shop in Hampstead on the High Street that I often visit on Saturdays after I’ve been walking on the Heath, and it is always filled with older ladies in tweeds and sensible walking shoes, plus their pooches who sit beside them and are fed titbits.
Must go. I have decided to go to Miss Selfridge in Oxford Street and treat myself to a new outfit for work. I’ve seen the grooviest knitted dress I think will look rather spesh, particularly with kneehigh boots. Do wish you were here, Jed, so that we could share all of this.
Love always,
J xxx
JED
Jed watched Matron Clancy push the stroller down the main street, accepting the greetings not just for herself, but for Gavin, nearly two years old now but as small as a baby half his age, strapped carefully into the padded seat so he could see and hear all that went on.
Gibber’s Creek was used to the woman and the small boy now. They had even stopped asking, ‘Any improvement?’ For there had been none, except a strengthening of Gavin’s swallowing reflex and breathing, a minuscule flinch that showed he had sensation, and a smile, so faint as to be almost imperceptible except to those who loved him.
He smiled at Jed, Miss Forty and Nancy. But his true smile was reserved for Matron Clancy, his eyes following her as she moved around her River View apartment, where Gavin slept now, on the excuse that he needed not just twenty-four-hour care, but as much stimulation as possible. And so the boy accompanied her to her office, on her rounds, for walks along the river, and on shopping trips like this. And because this was Gibber’s Creek, every person who saw the two together knew of the tragedy thirty years earlier that had taken Matron’s own son.
And because this was Gibber’s Creek, no one ever mentioned it, at least in Matron’s hearing.
‘Good morning, Matron. Good morning, Gavin.’ Jed bent to stroke the small boy’s peach-coloured skin. ‘You’re looking very handsome today.’
The boy glanced up at her, the tiny mouth curling just a little more.
‘We’re going to story time in the library. Gavin loves being with children his own age.’
Others might take this as the doting words of a deluded carer. But Matron Clancy, though doting, was not deluded. This small limp child contained a fierce enquiring mind. This little boy loved the world, and those who gave it to him. But there seemed little hope that he would ever be able to communicate with it, or join in.
‘Have a wonderful time,’ Jed said to the boy in the stroller, as well as Matron Clancy, then crossed over the road to the Blue Belle, glad that since she had expressed concern to Nancy, Miss Forty had not been allowed to be alone with Gavin again.
Three months had passed since the quarrel with Scarlett, and her promise not to go out to the community again. Three uneventful months, with no Ra Zacharia appearing at Dribble or the Blue Belle to tempt her back.
Scarlett still met Mark in town most Saturday afternoons, to go to the pictures, carefully and politely asking Jed if she minded if Mark came to dinner afterwards. Mark seemed pale, and sometimes a little vague, though when Jed had asked him if he was okay, he’d smiled, and said all was fine. Jed had just as carefully not asked Scarlett afterwards if that were true.
Three months of letters from Julieanne, tempting her with the wide world beyond Australia. But things were happening in Australia, even if not as dramatic as US President Nixon resigning because he had tried to bug the headquarters of the Democrats. Labor had finally achieved its joint sitting, passing legislation so long blocked. Up in Arnhem Land the traditional owners of Nabarlek had refused to allow a mining company to extract uranium from their land, even after an offer of $3.3 million. Jed bet that hadn’t even made the London papers.
And her own life?
Three months of writing to Sam every few days; of weekly postcards back from him, and two trunk phone calls, of excited descriptions of technical processes she only vaguely understood, of ‘I miss you’ and ‘see you soon’. But ‘soon’ remained undefined.
If Blood Should Stain the Wattle Page 35