Kimberley Sun

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Hopefully we’ll do a bit of that up in Red Rock Bay, eh Sami?’ Lily said, but before Sami could reply Rosie turned to Lily.

  ‘Did Ross tell you who this house belonged to?’

  ‘Tamerah. I think he worked for Tyndall. David George, from the pearl farm at Red Rock Bay, told me it was a Star of the Sea foreshore camp.’

  ‘No wonder Biddy spent so much time here. Well, you’ll have to tell Ross when he comes back. He is coming back?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘I reckon,’ chimed in Bobby. ‘So who was Ahmed?’

  ‘He was a very loyal companion, bodyguard, right-hand man to my great-grandfather,’ Lily replied. ‘Tyndall saved Ahmed’s life and in return, Ahmed devoted his life to him. It’s a beautiful story.’

  ‘And a beautiful sunset,’ announced Palmer. ‘Look at those colours.’ They all fell silent, but in a matter of minutes the sky began to fade as if water had diluted the image.

  Biddy nodded her head with satisfaction. ‘We can go home now.’

  Sami, Eugene, Bobby and Palmer stayed behind when the others left, talking earnestly about dinosaurs and arranging a boat trip across the bay. Palmer barely acknowledged Lily’s departure and Lily couldn’t understand why she found that quite irritating.

  The road was familiar to Lily, but Sami was spellbound by her first experience of the coastal countryside as they drove along the red powdery ribbon of road through the pindan. In such a short time, a matter of minutes really, they had travelled from modern suburbia to dusty bushland that looked as if it hadn’t changed for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. Just like the red cliffs at the edge of Roebuck Bay, where the giant herbivores had walked, and the ancient sandstone art galleries inland, this area in the northwest had a timelessness to it that made Sami’s immediate concerns seem insignificant. Yet in a way, they were linked. This land held the blood of some of her ancestors, this country was where her mother was thinking of putting down roots. Could Lily’s grandchildren have an attachment to this wilderness? Only if she, Sami, allowed them to experience it, she answered herself.

  ‘What do you suppose your life would have been like if your mother had come back from the city and stayed on here?’ she mused aloud. ‘If you’d grown up in Broome, or even Perth, and come here regularly?’

  Lily didn’t seem surprised at the question, which appeared to come from nowhere. ‘I’ve thought about that. Often. I think I would have loved growing up here, but I’m sure I would have wanted to travel and have a career and find a husband outside of the local town.’

  ‘Which you did.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Lily. ‘You can roam happily when you have a home waiting to welcome you back. I moved around, but felt restless. Mostly because I had no sense of belonging in a family that had roots . . . and a real home, not just a roof over our heads. Here we have deep family roots.’

  ‘Granny wandered the world constantly. Do you think she felt the same?’ Sami wished she had asked harder questions of her elusive grandmother.

  ‘She chose to live that way. I suspect there were elements of shame or guilt, times being what they were. But you know, I often think she had a blind spot.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Olivia must have been such a loving and sweet woman, Tyndall had a huge heart, and the love between Hamish and Maria was powerful and never had a chance to sour. That heritage belonged to Georgiana, but for some reason she chose to ignore it.’

  ‘Do you feel angry? Do you blame her for not telling you about all of this?’ Sami waved at the bush outside the air-conditioned car.

  ‘I did at first. I’m still confused, still sifting through emotions and attitudes as they come up,’ said Lily slowly, thoughtfully. She squeezed then slightly relaxed her fingers around the steering wheel. ‘But there’s one thing I’ve worked through . . . there’s no question. I embrace and accept my Aboriginal connections here, and would have no qualms about introducing my relatives to anyone I know back in Sydney.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘I think so. I’d be happy to be put to the test. Rosie and Harlan came and stayed with me. But they fit in anywhere so that wasn’t an issue.’

  Sami didn’t respond immediately, but the question had to be asked. She tensed slightly. ‘Is that because they, well, don’t look black, I mean, have light skin. Sort of pass . . .’

  Lily’s words were hesitant as she tried to clarify her thoughts as much for herself as for Sami. ‘In accepting my family connection here it means I am acknowledging that I am part Aboriginal.’

  ‘A very teeny part.’

  ‘That’s not the point. Blood is blood. It’s there. It can be denied, but it won’t go away.’

  ‘But if they have accepted you and you are happy to acknowledge it, what’s the issue?’ persisted Sami, hoping the answers might help sort out her own confusion.

  ‘It’s the whole idea of belonging. Where do I fit in? I feel uneasy, dishonest, about claiming ownership of the land on which my great-grandfather’s house is built, or Niah and Maya’s country as being part of me. Yet, when I spend time with the old women up the coast in Biddy and Dolly’s country, I feel comfortable; I find a sense of peace I don’t find anywhere else. But that’s because there is a sense of sharing and they teach me the ceremonies, the kinship with them and that part of the country. There isn’t a question of whose house we are in.’

  ‘So where do white Australians – even with no links to Aboriginality – fit in? Where do I fit in? It’s harder when you have a choice . . . and a past.’ Sami sighed.

  ‘I believe we’re all prisoners of our past. Whether it be recent or ancient. What counts is how we live our lives now, but that’s not always easy. Everything comes at a cost. We pay the price for where we have been born.’

  ‘Not that easy if you’re born in some war torn country in the Middle East or some drought-plagued African desert,’ agreed Sami.

  ‘Be glad you were born in beautiful Sydney with rellies in magical Broome,’ said Lily to lighten the mood. ‘Look, there’s the turnoff. Sister Angelica is staying here while Father Stoddart is in Perth. Let’s drop in for tea.’

  Sami turned to the back seat. ‘Cuppa tea time, Rakka.’ The dog wagged her tail and stretched. Sami and Lily were also glad of the diversion.

  They watched Sister Angelica prepare a pot of tea in the tidy if spartan kitchen. She was tiny, her bones prominent through the thin layer of skin. But she radiated strength and good humour. Her voice was firm, though the slight stoop gave away her age. She was in her eighties and refused to leave this area she knows so well and move into Derby, or go back to a convent in the city to see out her days. Lily had told Sami the elderly nun knew the Kimberley and its culture and people very well. ‘And she’s an entertaining old bird and very caring. One of the old bush school.’

  Thinking of this remark Sami asked, ‘Do you get lonely, Sister? How often do you go back to the city?’

  ‘Once a month the mail plane comes in and I go with them wherever they’re headed. I have to get supplies when I can. My need or desire to go to Perth or Darwin has diminished with the years. I have a very scattered flock to check on.’

  ‘Just you?’ asked Sami, thinking it was a great responsibility and burden for the frail nun.

  ‘Oh goodness no. There’s Father Stoddart, the health care and government people.’

  ‘So you’re more the spiritual mother hen,’ said Lily, which made the nun laugh.

  Settled at the small laminex table Sami asked, ‘How many people are up in this area? What if you get sick? Who looks after you?’

  The sister smiled at Sami and Lily, her blue eyes untroubled. ‘I am well looked after. By God, my dear. I’ve trusted Him to care for me all these years. I see no reason to worry. There are others who need my care.’ A shadow passed over her face. ‘I can’t leave. Who would be here for my little flock?’ She poured the water from the kettle into the teapot. ‘The community here has broken up. There used to be a small school,
a nurse and the elders.’

  ‘Where are they now?’ said Sami.

  ‘Father told me there was a squabble over who should be in charge and which family ran things. So a group of them moved off to set up a community on new land they say belongs to them. It’s all rather a shame.’ She sighed. ‘The children aren’t being made to go to school. So the community bus has gone, and there’s drinking and glue sniffing going on. Of course it’s not allowed here.’ She put the pot on the table. ‘Now tell me about your adventure. Dave came through for supplies last week. He’s in a bit of a dither with two ladies coming to visit,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘I anticipated that,’ said Lily. ‘We’ve brought heaps of supplies with us, from toilet paper to tomato sauce. Did he tell you why we were coming?’

  ‘He was a bit cagey. I gather he’s thinking of expanding, bringing in new blood.’

  ‘With dollars,’ added Sami.

  ‘Is that what you’re doing?’ The old nun raised an eyebrow.

  ‘It depends on the potential. We’re just sussing things out,’ said Lily vaguely.

  ‘There was a bit of pearling done up here in the old days. Then the cyclones wiped out a fleet and they stuck to the sea off Roebuck Bay. It made more sense to have the camps in Broome then. From what I’ve heard, it seems to me old Captain Tyndall started pearl farming up here as an experiment, but it never quite took off.’ She lifted the teapot. ‘A refill? Dave has always been a battler, with big dreams once. But he prefers to lay low these days.’

  ‘What do you mean, Sister?’ Lily was remembering the remark Tim made about Dave’s plans to be a major player being thwarted.

  ‘I don’t think it’s my place to break a confidence,’ she said in a tone that signalled no further conversation on the subject. ‘When you’re ready, Sami, you’re welcome to have a look around.’

  After tea with bread and wild honey collected by some of the local women, Lily and Sami followed Sister Angelica into the garden between the little house and the freshly whitewashed church. ‘Gosh it’s looking wonderful,’ said Lily. ‘Who’s been working so hard?’

  ‘A lot of people are keen to do something up here now. Things are improving thanks to Father Stoddart.’

  Sami sensed that the reply hinted at a multitude of problems and was about to probe further when her mother spoke. ‘I think I’ll go inside the church and sit quietly for a minute. Like to join me, Sami?’

  Sami was surprised. Her mother had never been particularly spiritual or religious. ‘No, you go ahead. I’ll go for a bit of a wander with Sister.’

  Sami was admiring the struggling flowerbed and Father Stoddart’s vegetables when the phone in the rectory rang. ‘Excuse me. Sometimes these calls turn into long gab sessions, if you know what I mean. Feel free to wander around.’ The nun walked briskly to the rectory.

  Sami whistled Rakka over by a thicket of old trees, several smothered in vines and rambling bougainvillea, and when they were together she cautioned her pet. ‘Now you heel. There are lots of other dogs around here, and this is not your patch, okay.’ She found the near-deserted community depressing. There was a sense of tiredness, lassitude, of marking time. Were there too many ghosts of stolen children, broken families, imposed discipline – however well meant? And then, in tune and in time with her thoughts, she saw the old graveyard.

  It was testimony to more than a century of Christian burials for the devout, and, she speculated, those who put on a good front. All races peacefully united . . . in the graveyard. For a minute the untidy graveyard repelled her. Rakka distracted her briefly, attempting to run off after a bird, but was whistled back and flopped in the dusty shade of a gum tree.

  Something drew Sami closer to the headstones, and she wandered among them briefly. Then growing more uncomfortable, she was about to leave when she saw a bird alight briefly on a headstone set a little apart from the main rows. It was quite untidy, compared with most of the others, and she was drawn towards it. The bird flew off, and what then attracted her attention was the sun gleaming on a large pearl shell embedded in the stone. There didn’t appear to be any writing, but as Sami wiped her hand across the mother-of-pearl she caught her breath. She recognised the scratched circular pattern of rings on the shell, the same as on the pendant that went with Tyndall’s pearl necklace now worn by her mother.

  The grass and weeds were thick at the base of the stone and she kneeled down to clear them, reacting impulsively to a surge of emotion that she didn’t attempt to understand. She uncovered a simple bronze plaque set into a cement square. Engraved on it were the words Lily had composed:

  Here lies Niah, lost too soon. Beloved by Captain John Tyndall, their daughter Maya, her husband Hamish Hennessy and daughter Georgiana. Life comes full circle.

  The graveyard was no longer a strange, anonymous place. Sami had a direct and tangible connection to the young woman buried here. She knew the fragments of the story but now wanted to know more. As she gently pulled more weeds from around the headstone, hot tears burned her cheeks.

  Lily walked from the church and into the graveyard. She saw her daughter on her knees, in tears at Niah’s grave and turned towards her.

  C h a p t e r T e n

  BOBBY WAS LOOKING AFTER THE RECEPTION DESK AT his father’s office during the lunch break when Detective-Sergeant Karl Howard came through the door. He put down a magazine and rose to greet the police officer. ‘G’day, Sergeant.’

  ‘G’day, Bobby. Acting receptionist, eh? I’ll bet you’re not thinking of making a career out of it.’

  ‘No way. I’m just holding the fort till Julie gets back. If you’re looking for my father he’s out as well.’

  ‘Actually, I want to talk to you.’ He took off his hat. ‘Have you got a few minutes? Maybe we could use your father’s office?’

  Bobby paled. ‘Me? What’s this about?’ he asked as he led the way to the next room.

  The veteran detective nodded towards a cane sofa and a chair set before a coffee table. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Yeah, no worries. Come in,’ said Bobby. He kept the door open so he could see the reception area, then he looked questioningly at Howard.

  ‘Bobby, do you recall a few weeks back a body was found out in the scrub back of Twelve Mile by some kids on trail bikes?’

  ‘Yes. It was in the paper. What about it? What’s this got to do with me?’

  ‘We’ve identified the body as that of a German tourist. The fellow you drove out to Bradley Station . . . well, set out to drive him there.’

  ‘Oh, no. Not Matthias!’

  ‘That’s him. Matthias Stern. Fifty-three. From Stuttgart. Now you spent a bit of time with him. I’d like you to tell me as much as you can about him to help with the enquiries.’

  Bobby was shaken by the news. Matthias murdered! He sat in stunned silence, lost for words. Howard continued. ‘If you recall, the case is being treated as a murder. His hands were tied behind his back, obviously the body had been dumped from a car. He’s been positively identified by dental records. His son was concerned when they hadn’t heard from him back home.’ He took a notebook from his shirt pocket and opened it. ‘So, what can you tell me about him?’

  Slowly Bobby recounted all he could remember of his conversations with Matthias – that he was into archaeology, had done a lot of travelling in Asia before taking up a university post in Stuttgart. Recently, he’d been in Malaysia and had met some guy. They’d arranged to meet in Broome but he’d got the message to go and meet him at the races at Bradley Station. Occasionally Detective Howard prompted him for more specific details, especially a description of Hajid. He also went over the details of Bobby’s enquiries at the hospital after the races.

  It was only after the detective had left that Bobby remembered the box with the sun inside it that he’d lent to Pauline. He dismissed it as being of little consequence in solving the dreadful crime. He wished Ross was back in town so he could talk it over with him.

  Samantha could tell her mo
ther’s adrenaline was starting to rush as they got close to the Star Two farm. Lily kept consulting the sketched map that David George had sent, and hugging the steering wheel as the car bounced along the dirt track after turning off the main road.

  ‘I originally walked in along the shore, so I haven’t a clue about this private road. But we must come to the farm soon.’

  ‘The compass says we’re heading towards the bay,’ said Sami. Then a minute later she added, ‘Look, there’s the gate.’

  Sami got out and opened the rusted gate. It was hot and humid, and she could smell the salt air. Suddenly she felt a tingle in her body and realised that she, too, was excited about arriving, even though she didn’t know what to expect. Glancing around, she was taken aback by the scatter of corrugated-iron buildings, piles of nets, a litter of what looked like broken equipment, and several old barges and launches on the creek bank beside a small jetty.

  ‘Jeez, Mum, it looks like a suburban tip. But on a prime site.’

  ‘Atmosphere, darling. It gives the place that special character,’ responded Lily with a grin. ‘An artist would love it. Ah, there’s David George.’

  An older man had walked out of a large shed. He waved and indicated they should park under a shady tree near a stack of old oil drums. Adjusting his battered hat, he came over and shook Lily’s hand. ‘So you came, eh? Good. Ready for a bit of basic living then?’

  ‘We are, Dave. This is my daughter Samantha. She’s been camping out for some weeks, so this will be a breeze for her. And this is her dog Rakka.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, and welcome to Star Two.’ They shook hands. ‘You ever been on a pearl farm before, love?’

  ‘No. I’m looking forward to this,’ she said politely, trying to mask her dismay at the disorder around them.