by Di Morrissey
It was getting hot, into the high thirties Sami estimated. She decided to go and dip the cloth she’d tied around her neck in the bore water that was filling the mini dam.
The water was surprisingly hot. Sami waved the wet scarf in the air to cool it. Then she heard a low rumble. Turning around she saw the camels coming over the clumpy dune with its balding patches of hummock grass and spiky spinifex. They were raising a cloud of dust, their necks stretched forward as they pounded in her direction. She didn’t move for a few seconds, so dramatic and unusual was the sight. It was like an image from the movie Lawrence of Arabia. Then she realised they were heading right for where she was standing. In near panic she ran to the fence and clambered to the top. There were about fifteen of them, all adults it seemed, with two big bulls leading the pack.
The first three ran abreast through the wide entrance, the ones following on their heels slamming against the railings. It was a stampede to the water. There was some scuffling, nipping and teeth baring as they milled around the pool. A young calf had hung back. Sami jumped down and headed to the gate, skirting behind the calf to move it into the yard. It lifted its head and eyed Sami and as she began making shooing noises and waving her arms, a female in the mob detached herself and charged, intent on attacking Sami.
Sami’s first instinct was to run, but instead she flung herself at the railings and climbed up as the mother camel hurled herself at the fence. The steel pen shuddered and Sami was thrown off balance. She just managed to catch herself and stop from falling. The mother and calf skittered away before stopping and looking back at the water. Sami was overwhelmingly relieved to see the truck heading back, but on hearing the engine the mother and baby took off.
Farouz and Webster jumped down and looked at the mob in the yard. ‘Good work, Sami. Too bad we lost that mother and baby. We’ll have to get them to take to the mob at Dari,’ said Farouz.
‘Where’s Steve?’
‘Doing a bit of a recce, to see if there’re any more in the area,’ said Webster. ‘So let’s go get that mother and young ’un. You drive, Sam, we’ll rope.’
‘Drive? Where to?’ She looked around at the rough landscape with no tracks and few landmarks, then back at the ancient truck.
‘We’ll bang on the roof of the cabin, left side, go left, the right, thataway. When we spot them you’ll have to get alongside so we can throw a rope over them.’ Webster got in the back followed by Farouz, who began winding a length of rope into big loose loops over his arm. Webster did the same.
Sami slid behind the wheel and Webster leaned down and shouted through the window, ‘Put your foot down, we’re hanging on. Head towards those couple of bloodwoods near the dune.’
The truck bumped and lurched, flinging Sami around as there were no seatbelts. Eventually, on another signal from Farouz, she turned left and saw in the distance the mother camel and her baby.
‘Head for ’em but ease up and get alongside so one of us can rope her,’ shouted Webster.
As soon as they got within twenty metres the mother ran, then stopped, her baby holding back then following. Sami gunned the engine and got closer. The camels broke into a steady run, their long legs covering the rocky ground.
‘Gun her, they’re going for the dunes. Get to them,’ screamed Webster.
‘I’m doing my bloody best,’ shouted Sami desperately. She saw she was getting close, the calf was tiring or unsure, and it had slowed.
‘Get alongside, get up close!’
‘I might hit them,’ Sami shouted back as the truck came up on their tails.
‘Be ready in case she darts in front,’ warned Webster. Farouz was saying something but she couldn’t hear. She edged up alongside the mother camel who looked at her with a startled expression. The baby dropped back and in that instant Farouz flung his rope and Webster screamed at her to slow and stop. Looking over her shoulder, Sami saw Farouz was off the truck and wrapping the rope around the calf’s legs, forcing it to the ground.
Webster banged on the roof. ‘Let’s go. Let’s go. After the mother, she won’t go far . . .’
The mother stopped then circled and was standing looking at her baby deciding what to do, when instinctively Sami sped across between them. As the camel broke into a run she hit the pedal, came up alongside and Webster neatly lassoed the animal.
Sami braked, Webster hit the tray but wasn’t hurt. He jumped down. ‘Give me a hand,’ he shouted as the angry mother bucked and kicked. ‘Grab the other end of that rope and run around her. Watch the back legs.’
The rope was tightened and the rearing, snorting camel was brought down. Webster directed Sami to help him get a head collar on it.
‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ she muttered in genuine dismay.
Webster straightened and tied the head lead of the camel to the back of the truck as Farouz led the baby towards them. Webster held out his hand and shook Sami’s. ‘Fair damsel. You did bloody all right.’ And Sami flushed with pleasure.
The feral camels were left penned at Webster’s, waiting for Bobby to arrive with the truck. The following day Farouz and Sami left for Dari outstation. They’d bypass the main community, which was thirty kilometres further south.
‘How long will we stay there?’ asked Sami as they cleared the homestead paddock.
‘A few days. It will be time enough. We’ll camp out tonight and get there in the morning.’
Sami was looking forward to the experience. The camel mustering had sharpened her sense of adventure and the semi-desert country they now faced was quite a contrast to the coastal and plateau areas of the Kimberley. They didn’t speak much as they drove, but around their small fire at night, Farouz seemed more relaxed than she’d ever seen. He was truly a loner, a desert man, she decided. It must be in his genes. He began to tell her stories of the old days. How his grandfather came to Australia to help open up the remote inland with camel trains carrying supplies to properties, mines and townships. His grandfather had married an Aboriginal woman and settled in the north. Farouz had been educated by his father, living isolated in the desert.
‘I went back to the old country, to Herat once . . . and because my father told me stories I felt I knew it well,’ Farouz reminisced.
‘What do you remember about it?’
‘Pomegranates, how everyone opened their doors to us, the beautiful mosques, bazaars and coloured buildings, fountains, and carpets, carpets, carpets. It was just as I imagined it would be, just as my father had described it. Yet he’d only been there once.’
‘Seems like each generation makes the trip as a sort of pilgrimage,’ observed Sami.
Farouz poked at the fire with a long stick, sending a stream of sparks into the still night sky. ‘It’s heritage, isn’t it? The past is always with us.’
‘But you’re as Australian as I am,’ said Sami, and in the low light she missed the little smile that flashed across her friend’s crinkled face. She went on, ‘I love the stories you’ve told me, especially the one about the first king – Ahmad of the Precious Pearl.’
‘All people have their stories that tell of where they came from, how the land was conquered or won, the pilgrims, philosophers and wise men. The country of our birth claims us in one way, the land of our forebears in another. We should cherish both along with the place we call home. For me the Australian desert is home.’
‘And family? What claim has family on you?’ asked Sami.
‘I share my wife’s Bardi relatives, and her father’s Chinese relatives. She died some time back. There are many stories I told my children about our beginnings,’ he said.
‘So you never ran out of stories to tell, eh?’
‘No TV. I told many stories by the fire,’ he said. ‘Until they got the videos. Now I tell my camels, my family live in many places.’ He looked at her and said casually, ‘You will have many stories to tell your children.’
‘After this trip, I think I will,’ agreed Sami. And as she curled into her swag and glance
d up at the stars that appeared so close, she thought about stories that were stored in people’s hearts and minds. And she resolved to sit down with her mother and ask her to share some of her stories. Sami had never been curious about early events in her mother’s life, or what stories she’d been told. While delving into the visual world of art for her thesis, more and more Sami was realising it was the stories attached to pictures and people that linked one to another; that stories glued everyone together.
C h a p t e r F o u r t e e n
BERTRAND SHEARS HAD BOUGHT SEVERAL COPIES OF the magazine Savvy West, which featured the spread on Pauline’s Celestial Collection. One photo showed a smiling Bertrand holding a mother-of-pearl crescent moon necklace from which fell different lengths of fine platinum wire with diamonds at each end. Bertrand thought he looked rather good so he planned to send the magazine to family and friends. Pauline was getting great feedback via email on the pieces she’d sent to California. Bertrand felt in his bones she was going to be a major name in the jewellery design business and he would be part of the success story. He pulled up in near deserted Dampier Terrace long before most stores opened because he was taking a selection of jewellery over to the Cable Beach Club to show to an upmarket tour group that had flown in for two days.
As he got out of the car he noticed the showroom lights were still on. Pauline must have forgotten to turn them off after she finished working late in the office emailing sales agents and answering offers to exhibit. And the window display was still intact. Normally they locked it away at night. Also, while the red double doors were shut she hadn’t pulled the metal grille across them. She must have been tired, or had come in early, Bertrand thought.
He found the door key on his silver snake-charm keyring and went to the doors, only to find to his shock that the padlock wasn’t in place. He turned the chunky metal doorknob. The door swung open.
‘Princess Pauline, you’re in early,’ he called. Then he stopped and glanced around. ‘Pauline?’ he called hesitantly. Something didn’t feel right. Quickly he looked in the glass counters where pieces were still displayed, not locked away. The cash drawer was open and he ran to it but there were some small notes in it. He slammed it shut and rushed to the safe in the back where the lights were still on. As he got to the doorway he froze, his hand flying to his mouth. It looked like a snowstorm – papers, documents, designs were flung everywhere. On the floor in front of the scrambled desk lay Pauline, a small crumpled figure, blood staining her head and T-shirt. Bertrand started to retch, and with his hand over his mouth he inched forward. ‘Pauline, oh darling heart, what happened?’
He reached down and touched her face. It felt cool, but not cold. God, what did a dead person feel like? He lifted her wrist and finally felt the small flutter of a pulse. Galvanised, he rushed to the phone and called the emergency number, gasping a desperate plea for immediate assistance.
Then he hung up and looked at the safe. It was open. ‘Oh Jesus, someone’s broken in . . .’ He saw the back door was open. He rushed back to Pauline, unsure of what to do, wringing his hands. He crouched down and stroked her brow, murmuring, ‘It’s going to be all right, Princess. What bastards did this to you? Oh, your poor pretty face.’
He heard the siren and straightened up as the ambulance men hurried inside. ‘Thank God you’re here, through here, on the office floor.’
He stood back as the two ambulance officers put an oxygen mask on Pauline, checked her blood pressure and inserted a drip in her arm. ‘She must have been here all night, body temperature is low.’ They fitted on a neck brace then wrapped her in a space blanket.
‘Looks like she came to, tried to move,’ commented the senior ambulance officer.
Two police officers arrived and looked swiftly around. One quizzed the ambulance men as they lifted Pauline onto a stretcher while the other scanned the office. ‘When did you arrive?’ he asked Bertrand.
‘A few minutes ago. The back door was open, I just saw her there and rang emergency,’ he said in a quivery voice.
‘Didn’t touch anything, did you, sir? Make any other checks? What’s missing?’
‘Oh my goodness, I didn’t check. I was so upset at Pauline . . .’ He glanced around. ‘When I arrived I did think it was odd that she hadn’t put anything away as we do when we lock up. She was working late, you see.’
The policeman pointed at the open safe. ‘What was in it?’
‘There were some loose pearls and diamonds, the good stuff had been sent to Palm Desert. Normally we keep the pieces on display in there at night. How did they open it?’ He peered forward, expecting to see jemmy marks at least. ‘We only lock it at night when we leave.’
‘We’ll have to check for fingerprints and so on.’
‘Anything. Anything I can do to help.’ Bertrand watched the ambulance pull away and a few curious onlookers peered through the doorway. ‘I just can’t understand what happened. If it was a robbery, why didn’t they take everything?’
‘That’s exactly what we’re wondering.’ The policeman flipped open his notebook. ‘Okay, let’s go back to when you left yesterday. First though, who should we notify? Has she got any family here in town?’
‘No, Perth. I have her father’s number. Maybe we should call Lily Barton too, she’s very close to Pauline and she’s here in Broome, I think.’
The word spread quickly. The reporter from ABC Radio interviewed a distressed Bertrand after he’d finished talking with the police.
He was upset when he couldn’t reach Lily who was on her way to the farm, so he rang Star Two and spoke to Tim, asking him to break the news that Pauline would be in hospital for a few days with severe concussion, but she would be okay.
Tim was shocked at the news. He waited up at the top end of the farm until he heard Lily’s car and went out to meet her. She was taking her bags out of the boot, and he touched her arm. ‘G’day. Leave that, I’ll do it. Tea’s made.’
‘Oh, thanks. How’re things? You sound a bit down.’ She picked up her shoulder bag and walked with him towards her small cabin.
‘Yeah, I’ve got a bit of bad news. Well, things are going to be okay, but you should know.’
‘What’s wrong?’ She didn’t like the tone of his voice. A sudden fear grabbed her, she’d been out of phone contact all morning. ‘Sami? Nothing’s wrong with Sami?’
‘No, no. Come in and sit down. No, it’s not Sami. It’s Pauline. She’s in hospital – she’ll be fine, a bit of shock though.’
Lily dropped her bag on a chair. ‘Dear God, what happened? You’re sure she’s okay?’
‘She’s badly concussed, but she’ll be out in a few days.’ Tim handed her a mug of tea and told her everything that had happened.
Lily slumped into the chair. ‘I should go down to her.’
‘There’s not a lot you can do until she’s feeling better. Talk to her on the phone tomorrow. Rosie is going in to see her. Bertrand has the shop under control. He rang her father.’
‘Just when things were going so well for her. What do the police say? Are there any clues as to who did it? I know why they didn’t take her stuff,’ she added. ‘It’s too distinctive. That would make it hard to sell, all original pieces.’
They tossed around various scenarios, then Lily got to her feet. ‘I’d better see Dave. This news has dampened our partnership celebration.’
‘Let’s get together at your place before dinner. Talk about a few things.’
‘Sure.’ She glanced around the bungalow, which had a living area with an old table under louvred windows that faced the creek, a kitchenette, a bedroom and a small bathroom. Already the table had become her desk. The two cane lounges and easychairs around the coffee table had become an informal meeting area. Dave and Tim had smaller cabins and only Lily’s cabin had a verandah off the sliding door at the side. It reminded her of a casual beachside holiday house. She liked being able to make a light meal and cups of tea without going to the canteen. Dave had made a lot of im
provements and fixed things up since her first visit.
She went down to one of the sheds where several of the divers were looking at a panel of seeded oysters with Vivian, the new seeding technician. In her thirties and highly experienced, she had learned her skill in Japan and worked at several Broome farms before working with Tim in Indonesia.
Dave reacted in surprise when he saw Lily. The conversation among them came to a halt and she had the impression she’d walked in on the middle of something. ‘Hey, partner,’ Dave said at last. ‘I didn’t know you were here already.’ He extended his arm towards Lily. ‘Meet the new boss. Or one of ’em, I should say. Now you poor buggers have three of us.’
‘Hello everyone. How are things going?’
There was a bit of an awkward pause. ‘We’re doing good, real good, thanks,’ said one of the men.
So far Lily had spent most of her time focused on the account books, but she knew it was essential to establish a rapport with the workers. She asked about their routine and details of the seeding activity now under way. Eventually the salty sea smell of the shed and the inner stress she fought to conceal got the better of her. She felt a little weak at the knees and was pleased when Dave took her arm.
‘C’mon, let these characters earn their keep.’ He steered her outside into bright sunlight and a light breeze. ‘Good you did all that legal stuff down south. Thanks a lot. Want a cool drink?’
‘I just had tea. I figured we’d have a quiet celebration tonight. Tim suggested we meet around five at my cabin.’