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Kimberley Sun

Page 5

by Di Morrissey


  ‘She got to know who she is. She don’ know ’bout herself. Can’t be happy till you know yerself.’ Biddy was right, thought Lily. Until you know who you are and where you belong, where you fit in, you can’t be truly happy. Maybe this accounted for Sami’s restless, quicksilver nature. She was afraid to settle in one place too long in case she had to address the issue of her family roots.

  ‘You bring that girl. You got to know your people. All of dem.’ Biddy closed her eyes. The bony figure between the white sheets was silent. Lily quietly stroked the old woman’s hand.

  After a while Biddy spoke again, but didn’t open her eyes. ‘I kin hear the music. Time to dance and sing. Nice here in the shade of dis old tree. Good to touch the ground. She our mother. I hear you singing, mother . . .’ A low grunt became a singsong wail, a gentle lifting and receding like the tide around the mangroves.

  Rosie appeared at the door. ‘She’s some place else, Lil. Come back to the verandah. She’s happy, she’s fine.’

  The next morning at the recently developed Pearl Luggers Museum down by the mangroves, but only a block from the main street, Lily hovered behind a group of tourists looking at the old photos of luggers at sea and in port, and pearling crews standing beside huge mounds of shells. She studied the photographs of the pearling masters in their white uniforms, searching for a familiar face. Then, after glancing at a display of an original hard-hat helmet and diving suit, early snorkel gear and air tanks, she stepped outside into the glare of the Broome morning. She put on sunglasses and a straw hat before looking over the two beautifully restored luggers at permanent dry berths.

  ‘Lily! Welcome back.’ The cheerful voice of one of Broome’s great characters – ‘Salty’ Baillieu – called to her. The former pearl diver now managed the Pearl Luggers Project, which gave visitors a sense of Broome’s pearling days.

  ‘You have no idea how great it is to be back, Salty.’

  ‘Ah, sounds like you’ve still got the homelands bug then,’ he laughed.

  ‘More than ever, I think,’ said Lily with resignation. ‘I’ve just enjoyed the talk and video presentation. It’s a wonderful insight into the old days.’

  ‘Having been divers, Dave and I can speak from experience. Not that I was ever in a hard hat! So, what do you think of our lugger project?’ He gestured at the two vessels.

  ‘It’s wonderful to see them restored. Do you know, seven years back when I first came here to Broome there wasn’t a lugger to be seen.’

  They walked along the narrow jetty reaching into Dampier Creek behind the Pearl Luggers Museum and office.

  ‘Did you have an opening party?’

  ‘Yes, I wish you could have been here. We had some of the last of the hard-hat divers here who raised the flags on the old luggers. I think they were very moved to see the boats restored like this.’

  ‘Sounds very nostalgic.’

  ‘It was, but we’re looking to the future,’ he responded in a businesslike tone. ‘Got to move with the times, Lily.’

  ‘But at Broome pace, eh?’ Lily added with a grin.

  ‘Indeed,’ laughed the old sea dog. ‘Now, how long are you here? I’m tied up with things so I can’t make it out to the bush for the Bradley Races. Bill Reed has organised a charter plane. You should go – he’d love to have you along. It’s an event not to be missed.’

  ‘I’ll give him a call and catch up. Might as well experience something new out here. Once I’m in Broome I rarely venture far away. It’s just so nice being here.’

  ‘You should go up to one of the farms. I’ve got a mate up north, Damien Lake, who has a pretty decent pearl farm. He’s a friend of Bill’s too. We’ll fix it up for a visit if you’d like.’

  ‘Outback races and a pearl farm. Sound good to me. Thanks heaps.’

  ‘A pleasure. Maybe we’ll convince you to stay this trip.’

  Lily smiled. ‘Who knows?’

  Lily wondered what she’d let herself in for as the plane with Bill Reed’s party on board circled Bradley Station, a vast cattle station in the northeast Kimberley. From the air the homestead was a small oasis in the vast red desert. Its normal isolation was broken by the mass of vehicles, planes, people, stock and temporary campsites, and the focal point – a stage in the centre of a freshly marked racetrack. Such a shame Dale was away on business. He’d probably enjoy this, Lily thought.

  Bill Reed, sitting across from her in the narrow aisle, looked fit and tanned, dressed in his usual impeccably pressed shorts and casual silk shirt. After meeting Bill at a social function on her second trip to Broome, the former pearler now jewellery retailer of Linneys of Broome had become Lily’s good friend. Through Bill she had met some of the most interesting people in Broome from all walks of life, as well as visitors from around the world. He leaned over and spoke above the engine noise. ‘Good thing we’re here in the Dry. The station gets cut off in the Wet – creek crossings are impassable once the Durack and Pentecost rivers start a big run. Mail plane comes in twice a week from Kununurra.’

  ‘So where are we?’ asked Lily.

  ‘Well if we kept flying west the next big town we’d hit would be Wyndham, but we’re further north. It’s so much easier to fly than drive, the track gets a bit rugged once you turn off the Kalumburu Road.’ He looked out the window. ‘Looks like they’ve got a good roll-up. They were expecting about a thousand or so. It’s been advertised for months.’

  ‘Where do we all stay?’

  ‘There’s a lot of empty land down there.’ Bill grinned, his round face beaming. ‘We’ll be staying in very comfortable tents. The tourists camp in swags or bring their caravans.’

  Kevin and Bette, who’d heard about the race meet not long after they set out on their trip, were a bit taken aback when they arrived. The whole set-up was much more organised and elaborate than they’d expected. Jackeroos at the road leading into the station held out buckets for cash donations and the entrance fee. An attractive jillaroo welcomed arrivals, handing out an information sheet. ‘Everything from when food is on, the program, a few housekeeping rules we ask you to mind and where the lavs are,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘Are there showers?’ asked Bette tentatively.

  ‘Not really, water is always an issue out here. I wouldn’t advise jumping into the dams, the cattle have messed them up. A few people put metal containers in the coals of the campfire after dinner so they can have a warm wash at night or in the morning.’

  ‘What about the loo situation?’ asked Kev. ‘How many people are here?’

  ‘We’re estimating there are around fifteen hundred now. The tractor has been out with the post digger making long drops with half a forty-four gallon drum as a seat. They’re screened with hessian and there’s a hurricane lamp hanging in each one, so you’ll find them quite adequate.’

  ‘You’re going to experience the real outback,’ Bobby said cheerfully from the back seat.

  ‘Looks like it,’ said Kevin. Bobby’s cousin and his mates had turned up to take the taxi back to Broome and given Bobby a lift so he could catch up with Bette and Kevin and take them up on their offer of a lift to the races.

  He had explained to them, ‘I felt sorry for Matthias, his meeting at the races sounded so important. So I figured I’d grab his pack and see if I can find his mate and explain what happened to him.’

  Bette had thought it was very decent of him and they were happy to have him travel with them.

  ‘I’ll see if this sheila can find Matthias’ mate,’ Bobby said as he jumped down and gave his best smile to the jillaroo.

  ‘I’ve come in a mate’s place. He got crook and couldn’t make it. He was supposed to find a fella here.’

  She consulted her clipboard. ‘We have several friends planning to meet up, what was his name?’

  ‘I don’t know. My mate’s name is Matthias.’ He had to think for a minute to recall Matthias’ last name. ‘Stern. That’s it.’

  She flipped through the papers attached to her fold
er. ‘Ah yes, there’s a message for a Matthias Stern. If you’re meeting up with his friend you should bring your gear over to the northwest corner of the track. It’s near where the rodeo people have thrown their swags.’ She turned to Bette and Kev. ‘Everyone with rigs like yours with all the mod cons are asked to drive over there and set up on the flat, past the main campfire.’ She waved an arm in the direction of the campfire site and Kev nodded. ‘You can take your time getting settled in, there’s dinner and a rodeo tonight. The camel race and cricket match are on tomorrow, the big concert’s on tomorrow night and there’s a recovery breakfast and farewell the next morning. Enjoy yourselves.’

  Bobby took his small bag and Matthias’ backpack from the car and smiled at them both. ‘Thanks for the lift, I guess we’ll run into each other during this shindig.’

  ‘Too right. By the way, we’ll probably get an early start back to Broome soon after that recovery breakfast, if you want a lift home,’ said Kev.

  ‘We have ages yet!’ Bette said. ‘Let’s enjoy ourselves and not make any plans. He always wants to be on the road at daybreak.’ She gave her husband a playful dig in the ribs.

  ‘Look who’s talking! The biggest schedule maker and planner on the block.’

  Bobby laughed. ‘Not out here. Now you’re getting into Over The Range mode. Once you cross into Kimberley country, it’s a whole new way of life. Catch you later.’

  He wandered among the campers setting up their tents and sorting out their swags, sitting around in fold-up chairs with drinks in hand, chatting and preparing for the evening festivities. It had the air of a boot camp mixed with a country race meeting and scout jamboree. Bobby thought how bizarre it was that past the station buildings there was nothing around for hundreds and hundreds of kilometres. Out here they were a small speck on a very empty map.

  He found the general area the girl had told him about and finally, set apart from everyone else, he came to a tent with a large tag tied to it that read ‘Matthias Stern’.

  He stuck his head inside. A sleeping bag and pillow with a large backpack were propped in a corner leaving a comfortable amount of room for someone else to sleep in. Bobby dropped his small swag and Matthias’ pack and looked again at the backpack. Every zip was secured with small but strong padlocks; it obviously belonged to a traveller who’d learned to be careful.

  Bobby stepped out into the sunlight and came face to face with an older man. He paused, smiled and held out his hand. ‘G’day, mate, is this your camp?’

  His outstretched hand was ignored. ‘Indeed it is. I am expecting a friend. What were you doing inside?’

  The man had an accent Bobby couldn’t place. ‘Yeah, I know about your friend. Matthias Stern. I was just dumping some of his gear inside. And mine. I’m sorry to give you bad news, mate, but he’s had a bit of an accident.’

  ‘An accident? How, what happened? How bad is he?’ His eyes narrowed and Bobby realised the man was staring at him with deep suspicion. He was dressed in a white Nehru shirt that hung out over long cotton slacks. Nearing fifty, he was stocky, muscular and olive-skinned with a shaved head and dark goatee beard. To Bobby he looked out of place among the other campers.

  ‘He’s in Broome hospital for a bit. He’ll be fine soon enough. My name is Bobby Ching, I’m from Broome and Matthias hired my taxi to get him up here. Thought the least I could do was to put you in the picture.’

  There was a moment of silence as the man absorbed the news, then the tension in his face eased a little. ‘Please, sit down and tell me the details. I must apologise for the initial reaction. I am Hajid.’ They shook hands and then sat on a log close by the tent.

  ‘I was driving him here when we hit a roo and my taxi broke down. Matthias unwisely took off for a bit of a wander in the scrub, he wouldn’t listen to me. Lucky he didn’t die out there.’

  Hajid was listening intently. ‘He set out to walk? In the desert?’ He thought a moment. ‘Yes. I can imagine he would do such a thing.’

  ‘Yeah, well it’s easy to get disoriented out there. Our radio was gone so we couldn’t call anyone. He was very determined to get here and meet you. As I said, I figured the least I could do for him was to let you know what happened. You two old friends?’ Bobby waited for an explanation but none came.

  ‘Where are his personal effects?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got his bag.’ Bobby pointed to the tent. ‘I’ll give it to him when I go back to Broome in a couple of days.’

  ‘That is good of you, to come so far to tell me this.’ The man relaxed and smiled for the first time. ‘Do you know Matthias well? Did you talk much?’

  ‘Nah. I met him in a pub one night. We yarned a bit and when I told him I drove a taxi he hired me to come out here. He’ll be sorry to miss all this, looks like quite a do.’

  ‘Apparently.’

  Hajid gave Bobby the impression of being a businessman. Bobby noticed the expensive, elaborate watch, a large gold ring and a gold chain around his neck. He was trying to pin a nationality on him. Greek? Arab? Pakistani? Yes, that seemed closer to the mark. ‘So, are you a tourist? On holiday?’ he asked.

  ‘In a manner of speaking. Are you going to stay for the races and the show?’

  Bobby sensed the man was changing the subject. ‘Well, now I’m here . . .’ He shrugged. Bobby found it hard to explain to himself why he’d come, let alone to this stranger. ‘Matthias seemed very keen to get here and see you. Are you travelling together?’

  Hajid hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘We have worked together. I knew of him at his university in Stuttgart. We met in Malaysia.’

  ‘Ah, you’re into archaeology too then?’ asked Bobby, smiling.

  ‘In a way. We were planning a small expedition. But that will have to wait perhaps.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be fine soon enough,’ Bobby assured him. ‘Will you be going to Broome?’

  ‘I don’t think so. We shall have to rearrange our rendezvous. Now, perhaps you can tell me something about the order of the proceedings here.’

  Bobby soon discovered the heart of this remote cattle station of thousands of hectares was, for this weekend at least, as bustling as a big town at annual show time. He kept running into people he knew, people from all over the Kimberley and the coast. It was an event held each year to raise money for the Royal Flying Doctor Service, and it gave people from scattered townships and isolated pastoral families an excuse to get together and have fun. Because of the distances involved, such opportunities to socialise were rare and not surprisingly, they soon became popular events for tourists as well. Everyone who came was generous with their money knowing it was going to an organisation they all valued.

  Lily hadn’t felt this sociable for months. So many events all at once was full on. She was delighted to find she had a comfortable tent in a semicircle of others around a campfire near a thatched eating shelter. Their arrangements were far better than those of the many campers who chose to sleep under the stars in their swags. Then there were the visitors like Kev and Bette, who set up their caravans and made themselves at home despite the lack of electricity and the rather primitive washing arrangements.

  The bustle of activity, the animals, the expectation of a show full of surprises and danger reminded Lily of wandering around the circus when she was a child. Dogs were tethered to trees and trucks and, close by, a dozen camels were penned, their racing harnesses draped over a railing. A couple of metres away she came across Bill’s group who had set up a smart picnic with tables and chairs and a white tablecloth, with gum leaves as a centrepiece, a champagne bucket and good glasses. She was reminded of picnics at the Melbourne Cup, and the contrasting images made her laugh out loud. But it went unnoticed in the light-hearted chatter as Bill poured another round of drinks.

  ‘I’m looking forward to the show. How fabulous to get Yvonne Kenny. Good on her,’ said Judy, a real estate agent who’d flown up with Lily.

  ‘I reckon the camel race will have to be a highlight,’ announce
d Steve, the Broome restaurateur. ‘Anything can win that – the form is an utter but delightful mystery.’

  ‘Well, of course there’s no point in betting then, is there?’ asked Lily.

  ‘Bloody oath, there is. That’s the whole idea!’ Steve said, laughing. ‘To do your dough.’

  ‘All for a good cause,’ added Bill.

  The two days were organised from breakfast till after dinner. The cricket teams were made up of men from cattle stations in the region, the rodeo had attracted hopeful amateurs and professionals from all over the northeast, and everyone was looking forward to the big concert where the world famous Australian soprano Yvonne Kenny had graciously agreed to sing to support the Flying Doctor Service. She had flown in the day before and was staying at the homestead before flying down to Perth for a recital, then returning to Europe.

  On the second morning, as Lily walked back from the main campfire with a steaming mug of tea, she was surprised to see Bobby Ching.

  He greeted her with a huge grin. ‘Hey, Lily, how’s it going? I heard you were back in Broome. I might have known you’d be up here with the social set.’

  Lily was fond of the bright young man she’d met a few years back. Pauline Despar had introduced him as someone with big ideas and always ready to do an odd job. ‘Bobby! This is very different but lots of fun. I’m here with friends from Broome. I didn’t know you were coming up too.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s a long story. I’m here ’cause I suppose I’m helping out a customer, my passenger. I’m staying with a bloke who’s a bit of a pain.’

  ‘Oh, how come?’ Lily asked as they walked towards the eating area where chops, sausages and eggs were being cooked.

  ‘It’s his mate, they were supposed to meet up here. But along the way my passenger got real crook and had to be flown back to Broome.’ Bobby decided to abbreviate the story. ‘I came in his place to explain things to his friend, this strange foreign bloke. He’s very stand-offish. I don’t know what the heck he’s doing here. He’s always wandering off by himself,’ said Bobby thoughtfully. ‘I mean, he’s weird, creepy.’

 

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