Some of her cousins were very handsome, but Mingari’s mum warned me against them in case I might be related to them. She warned me to find my real family first. She warned me that they could be my brothers.
Some of my classmates started calling me ‘nigger lover’. Margy and Mingari would gang up against them, and eventually the name-calling stopped. I felt safer with my new friends.
Big Brother and Margy were in the same class, and they became good friends. Now he had protection at lunchtime too.
Big Brother was good at netball. Dad had made a goal-ring for me to practise on, on the tennis court. Big Brother was a better goal shooter than me. Sometimes at school he played netball with the girls in the quadrangle. No one dared tease him anymore, thanks to Margy.
At the school social I caught some girls trying to flush my cousin Rosie’s head down the dunny. She was the next cousin down from me, and she was also Aboriginal. My anger exploded, and I fought them off her. I knew I would be in big trouble, but I didn’t care anymore.
After that I was still in a rage and went looking for one of the teachers who was always mean to me. She always gave me bad marks, even when I did my best. I found a pole and went searching for her in the crowd. Some of my favourite teachers talked me out of hurting her. Rosie and I told our mothers straight away what had happened. I did not get in trouble at home that time.
At the end of the school year Mum and I were called in to the Principal’s office. He said that I was not allowed to return to school, that I would be too much of a disruptive influence on the other students. Mum surprised me by saying that she had no intention of leaving me at that school anyway. She walked out of the office. I smiled at the Principal and followed her to the car.
I got grounded for most of the holidays. But I didn’t mind. I was free from high school.
Twenty Seven
I had stolen money from Mum’s purse to purchase a small flask of Scotch. I carried it in the inside lining pockets of my denim jacket. My bong fitted inside the other internal pocket. It was my favourite coat, and ironic that Mum had bought it for me because she had no idea of my secret stash inside the jacket. Neither did anyone else. When my aunties drove past, I smiled and waved, knowing that my secret was out of sight of their Lutheran eyes.
I poured Scotch into the bong. I packed the cone with the dope I had been given from friends at the pub. I fired it up, sucking and coughing, then I skulled the Scotch.
Leaning against the stone wall, outside the local Town Institute hall, I waited for the drugs and alcohol to take effect.
Slowly I moved among the cars parked along the main street. I inserted matches into several tyre valves to release the air.
After a while I thought, ‘better check on my big brother.’ It was the local cabaret, and I knew he would be dancing. He loved to dance. We would muck around dancing at home when Mum was out in the dairy. She didn’t like the modern dances: she said it encouraged all sorts of bad behaviour.
Some of the guys from the football club used to tease my big brother about dancing. I saw the hurt look on his face often. I hated them because they had grown up with him and should have been his friends. Did it really matter if he didn’t want to play football?
I smiled to myself. They were the ones who would be changing their tyres at the end of the night.
Stop Pretending
That first time you stopped in the park
Sitting down talking to the mob
You thought you could handle the pace
Drinking goon and telling yarns
As the day turned to yellow
You passed out drunk on the grass
Pretending you were asleep when the fighting started
Pretending you didn’t notice his black hands on your tits
Pretending deadliness when he staggered away.
The next time you bought cigarettes to share
The man you liked was married up already
His cousin was new in town and as handsome as he
He was from Karratha, where’s your car Arthur?
Everyone laughing passing the goon around
Until you passed out drunk on the grass
Pretending you were okay with this
Pretending you were part of this mob
Pretending you belonged, you belong.
You cleaned out your bank account
To take your place with the mob
Shouting goon and shouting abuse
To the staring collar and ties
Until you passed out drunk on the grass
Pretending you weren’t hurting
Pretending you weren’t hiding
Pretending, depending, repenting
Twenty Eight
One weekend Mingari wanted to go to the city, so I lied to my parents and caught the train to the city with her. We were going to visit her mother who was staying with her sisters, Mingari’s aunties. I was excited. Mingari had told me many stories of her city family, but I had never met them before.
The women hugged me and fussed, and welcomed me like a member of the family. The walls of the house were covered with family photos. The faces of their children all looked so beautiful and happy. I was surprised how proud they were of their kids. I thought Aboriginal children were always in trouble. At least that’s how it felt at school.
The women spent the rest of the afternoon guessing which family I belonged to. One of the aunties told me she had her first child at the Kate Cox Baby Home, where I had been born. She was still waiting to find the baby she had put up for adoption. She asked my birth date and tried to guess who my mother might be. Her sisters suggested a lot of names. They got me to roll up my jeans so they could see my ankles. I didn’t understand why, but I didn’t mind. I was still shocked that so many babies had been adopted away from their mothers.
How could they laugh so much? How could they joke so much about sex? Why weren’t they ashamed? How could they be so nice to me?
On the way home I stuck my face against the window on the train. Many unanswered questions circled in my brain. Somehow it felt like my world had changed.
Twenty Nine
I couldn’t trust the world I knew anymore. So I found a new one.
I stopped going to the Friday night youth group at the church and started going to the hotel instead. I met a group of people there. Many of them had not grown up in the district, and most of them had never been to church.
They taught me how to play eight ball, and they bought beer for me because I was still under-age. They told me I was funny. One of them told me I was beautiful.
He was tall, dark, and, just like me, he was ugly. He said his family was Irish. His name was Barry, and his nickname was Bones. He was very skinny.
My parents didn’t like him one bit. My old friends from church didn’t like him either. But he knew Mingari’s mum from the pub; they drank together all the time. So I figured at least she liked him.
Shells
in the aisle
of midden shells
he blocks
her advance
they both laugh
as they prepare
for war
his shiny shell
embellished spear
in hand
watches her paint
in fine white ochre
her breasts
her stomach
her thighs
glisten white
soon to turn
red.
Thirty
I was sprinkling LSD and speed through my diet of alcohol and marijuana. Everyone I knew in the city used drugs. Sometimes we partied for days, and I often watched the sun rise. My friends and I had a lot of fun, although some days I felt very sick.
Bones and I went for a motorcycle ride with a few of our friends. We decided to visit the hotel in my local town. As we rumbled down the main street I felt safe among my new group of friends, and even though they looked tough and talked tough they were alright real
ly. Then I saw my big brother. He was all dressed up in his safari suit and carrying a ‘man bag’. When he waved, I pretended I hadn’t seen him. I hoped my friends hadn’t seen him either.
One day Bones said he was in trouble with the cops. He said he had got a job on the railway line, a long way away, in the desert country. He asked me to come away and live with him. I had wanted to get away from home for a long time, and I wanted to slow down on the drugs. So I said, ‘yes.’
Mum burst into tears and ran sobbing from the room when I told her. Dad didn’t say anything. Neither did Bones.
Quietly I packed my bags, feeling empty inside. My little brother and sister stayed in the kitchen with Dad. I could hear Mum crying from her bedroom. Bones bolted and waited outside in the car.
I didn’t know how to say goodbye to my big brother. I just left without a word.
Yes and No
Why is it harder to say No
than it is to say YES?
We’ve just been kicked
out, can we stay here?
Why do I regret my reply
as soon as it leaves my
mouth?
Will you be home on that
day so I can visit?
Why do I replay conversations
in my mind
over and over?
Can I borrow some money?
I’ll pay you back!
When will my real answer
reveal itself?
Do you want to come to
the pub for a drink?
Why is it harder to say No
than it is to say YES?
Hey lovey do you want to
get your rocks off?
Thirty One
The sunrise illuminated the bruises on my face. Bones said he was really sorry, and that he really liked me, and that I better not leave him. He had punched me in the face when he was drinking. He punched me in the face every payday. I was getting used to it.
He said it was my fault. He said he couldn’t stop hitting me because I wouldn’t cringe or cry. But I wasn’t crying for no one. Those days were long gone.
I would just look at him with dead eyes.
Dead Eyes
bruises on my face
yellow with sunrise
until the shadow blocks
out the sun.
black eyes listen
to scratchy words
of a drunken record
that does not stop
his shadow falls over
releasing the sun
I stare at him
it is my only way to let him know
I will kill him if he pushes me
too far
it is my only way to let him know
my spirit was damaged
a long time ago
Thirty Two
Every few months, trucks would arrive on the other side of the railway track. I sat on the verandah and watched for hours as the bush mob set up their camp. I could hear them talking and singing happily amongst the Spinifex bushes. They did not talk in English.
The other railway workers said the bush mob had artefacts for sale. I wanted one so much. Bones said, ‘Fuck that, it’s just a waste of money.’ He wanted to save all the money for grog.
I was ashamed about the bruises on my face. I didn’t leave the house for several days. But one day when Bones was at work I walked across the track. The women waved me over and showed me wooden carvings, of kangaroos, lizards, and birds. The carvings were beautiful, but I had no money.
I noticed an old man sitting by himself. He held up some boomerangs, so I started to walk towards him. I heard a noise. Looking around me I realised some of the women had thrown stones near me. I didn’t go any further.
One of the railway workers said he wanted to give me a carving he had brought from the bush camp. It was a little bird. I put it on the bare mantelpiece.
Later Bones threw it into the fire.
Thirty Three
Mingari and her man came to live along the railway line too. They’d had a little baby boy together, and seemed happy.
Bones and I used to visit them on the weekends. We would put the red sign out along the track and jump into the guard’s van when the goods train pulled up, to get a free trip to the next siding, where they lived. It felt good to have Mingari close by, and being able to spend time playing with her baby, Beau.
Sometimes I forgot I always had black eyes. Mingari asked me, ‘Why do you let him hit you round?’
I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want Bones to know what we talked about.
I didn’t want to tell her that I didn’t know why.
A Promise
She gives him a cloud of parrots
He expects her to peel the carrots
She gives him a safari cruise
He expects her to hide the bruise
She gives him a blue magic rabbit
He expects her to feed his habit.
He gives her a kicking horse
She expects his true remorse
He gives her a rotting plum
She expects a little freedom
He gives her his silver spoon
She expects she’ll kill him soon.
Thirty Four
I thought long and hard about what Mingari had said to me. I decided that enough was enough.
Like every house along the railway line we had a long-drop dunny in the back yard. One day I waited until Bones was in there. He had grabbed a book to read, so I knew he would be sitting for a while.
I grabbed the rifle. It was his prized possession, a .22 semi-automatic. He had taught me how to fire it, and I had used it many times for target practise, shooting cans off fallen logs. I lined it up and shot several rounds through the tin walls of the dunny. I imagined him holding on to his ankles for dear life.
But it wasn’t enough. I was so angry that I couldn’t stop. I shot all the chooks—six more shots, and six dead chooks lay in the back yard. Then I fled.
I ran to the big sandhill out the back, in the shrub. My body shook all over, and sweat rolled down my skin. I felt like screaming, but I didn’t dare. I didn’t want Bones to know where I was.
I wasn’t distressed that the relationship was over. I was more concerned about losing my temper and about my safety and about the chooks.
The next payday, I asked for some money. Bones gave me half his wages; it was the first time he had given me money. I bought a one-way ticket on the train, then I rang Mum. I was going back home.
Thirty Five
Everyone was nice to me when I returned to the farm. But no one wanted to hear what I had been through. We just didn’t talk about it.
I tried to get on with my life. I tried to make it up to my family: I went to church with them; I went to visit extended family with them; I helped around the farm; and I joined the local tennis team. I tried living a normal life.
After a while I got a job in the local pub. It was great—the social hub of a small town. It seemed everyone enjoyed a drink, but they drank in a happy way; not like Bones, and with none of the fits of anger that Bones displayed. I started drinking lots. I worked through the day serving drinks, and stayed most evenings socialising. When I was drunk I could be friendly with everyone. I could be friendly with the girls from my school days, but I never felt like their real friend.
When the pub closed, I would drive home to the farm. Mum always left a plate of food warming in the oven for me, even though she always hoped I would make it home to join the family for the evening meal. Most times I scraped the plate into the chook bucket and went to bed.
It was at that time that I started feeling sick. I went to the doctor. He told me I was pregnant. I felt really sick then.
Thirty Six
Mum had another sobbing fit and ran out of the room to pray and to lie down. At eighteen I would be the first unmarried pregnancy in our small country town, and I knew Mum and Dad were ashamed of me. The younger siblings looked at me like I
was the devil. I felt like I was carrying the devil inside me.
My big brother gave me a hug. He was visiting the farm from the city, where he worked as a nurse. His new girlfriend was with him. Mum was excited as he had never had a girlfriend before. Big Brother told me he was thinking about getting married, and maybe I could stay with them.
Everyone at church said I should put the baby up for adoption. The minister wanted me to stand up in front of the congregation and confess my sins. I already felt ashamed every time I looked at Mum and Dad’s faces, so I refused to do it. The minister persisted and would turn up unexpectedly at the pub. Eventually I told him to ‘rack off’.
Some people at sport said I was a slut. I told them to ‘rack off’ too. I was glad I didn’t go to school anymore. Who knows what I would have copped there. And I was glad Bones didn’t know I was carrying his baby.
Thirty Seven
Mum started taking me to counselling. I knew she was concerned about me, and trying to cope with me being pregnant. I only agreed to go along to ease the look of hurt on her face. After a while I resigned from the pub and moved to the city to stay with friends. I still drank, a lot, even though I tried not to. The months flew past, until I was in hospital, giving birth to a baby boy. Big Brother was with me during the labour, so I named the baby after him.
After five days I was discharged. My parents were waiting in the corridor. I walk gingerly to them. ‘Do you want to go in and see my baby?’ I asked. Dad picked up my case. No one said anything. We just walked down the corridor, got into the lift, went straight to the car park, and drove away.
Too Afraid to Cry Page 4