Bloodlines

by Nicole Sinclair

  *

  Sometime in the night he’s panting and feverish. He feels Rose behind him, breasts against his back, her breath hot on his neck.

  He’s slipping back into sleep when he hears her groan and thrust her hips into him. He reaches behind him and, in one graceful movement, pushes her hips away, twists onto his back and lifts her up and onto him. He rocks her back and forth, back and forth. He feels her hair swish against his chest when she crouches and leans forward, then she sits back and she’s riding him and he’s hot and sweating, his throat is burning and he is crying and exhausted and he wants it all to stop but she won’t, and he can’t.

  Shouting, then a scream unzips the night. Beth wakes with a start. A thud lands heavy against the wall and Grace is shrieking: Mummy Mummy! Beth sits bolt upright in bed, looking at the clock. Nearly midnight. She hears Desmond yelling, then Lena’s back door slams as it hits the outside wall. Beth creeps out of bed, walks through the oily night and peers through the kitchen window. Lena’s cowering under the clothesline with Desmond arching over her, fists raised, shouting.

  ‘Plis daddy!’ Grace is on the back step, screaming. ‘Nogat. Plis!’

  Lena, arms overhead, is moaning, and her feet are digging into damp grass, trying to get away from Desmond kicking and punching her. Val’s light switches on. Then Ruth’s. Beth is at the door now, opens it slowly.

  ‘Nogat!’ Lena, urgent now: ‘No. Grace insait, insait.’

  ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ Grace’s wails rip through Beth. Val’s in a long floral nightie, carrying a broom like a crook. Ruth’s wielding a saucepan above her head and Delilah carries a mop. Beth steps down onto the ground, feet sinking into moist grass. They all walk closer.

  Val’s voice is loud and steady: ‘Lena, yu orait?’ Desmond swings around. ‘Yu go nau. Dispela ples em i bilong Saint Mary’s. Desmond yu go na noken kam bek.’

  Beth can almost touch Lena when Desmond spins back. He looks directly at her. Eyes wild. Fists up. He lunges, his face inches from hers. Beth flinches, can’t breathe.

  ‘Daddy!’ Grace is standing, scratching at her face. ‘Nogat! Daddy!’

  Then Desmond’s turning and stumbling past the haus win, the women, the water tanks, and racing for the gate, wrestling with the padlock till he’s out and lost to the night.

  Beth kneels down and cradles Lena in the dirt, vomit everywhere.

  *

  ‘I let him in, susa, and we come inside,’ says Lena, repeating the story a third time. She dabs the cut above her right eye with the corner of a laplap. Her left eye is swollen shut. ‘We had fish and kaukau then he wanted moni. I sent money to the village, I say. And he doesn’t believe. Yelling, so much yelling. Grace waked up. Then his big hands hitting. Never before. On my face. My head. Then push me against this wall.’ She taps the wall behind her. ‘I go away, outside. Then Grace can’t see.’ She looks at Grace asleep on the couch and a tear slides over her cheek.

  ‘You’re all right now, Lena,’ Beth says softly. ‘He won’t come back. Even I’m scared of Val and Ruth! Plus Moses is keeping watch in the haus win. He’s got a bush knife.’

  Lena smiles sadly and pushes on the table, slowly standing. She winces, rubs her rump.

  ‘I’m going to stay here tonight,’ Beth says.

  ‘Thank you, susa.’ Lena reaches for Grace. ‘Sleep good.’ Then, Grace tucked into her, she limps to the bedroom.

  *

  Beth’s curled on the couch that stinks of mould and body odour. She listens until Lena’s whimpering finally stops. This place, Beth mutters. Even with the fan spinning overhead, the humidity’s unbearable. She hears a mosquito somewhere and pulls the laplap over her. Her legs stick. This place. A pressure cooker, all right. She thinks of Grace: the look of terror, standing there on the back step, piss running down her skinny black legs. Clawing at Delilah, who’d raced for her as Lena lay moaning on the grass.

  She thinks of Clem. He never smacked her when she was growing up. If anyone ever hurt you, Bethy, they’d be a dead man. His rifle was wrapped in a yellow pillowcase. It was like a small child, tightly swaddled in the bottom of his wardrobe, and Beth had felt safe knowing it was there if someone came for her in the night. Clem was a clown, and a lamb, but she knew that he would kill for her. Joking with Sam one night over roast pork and apple, she’d said: Clem’s the kind of man that—say I murdered someone, you know, did the most hideous things to their body—he’d put the kettle on and say, ‘But jeez love, I bet you had your reasons.’

  In the dark, sticky night, Beth wishes Grace knew love like that.

  The morning has a sting to it already and Eva and Clem sit in the kitchen, sipping tea and eating pikelets with chunky strawberry jam.

  ‘I’m worried about her, Mum.’ Clem’s voice cracks.

  ‘You’ve worried about that girl all your life, love.’

  ‘I know. But what else could I do? Without Rose, yer know. No mum.’

  ‘Beth had you, Clem. And me. That’s gotta be more than most in her situation.’

  Clem feels heavy as a sack of wheat, the whole of him sagging round the edges.

  ‘Maybe I should go up there, you know. Check she’s okay. Maybe then she’ll come home.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’ Eva looks worried.

  Clem sips his tea.

  ‘You’ve done your best, love,’ she says. ‘Everyone knows that. Beth does. And Rose’d know it too. But you gotta let Beth go. She’s over there and you’ve still got her on a leash.’

  ‘Fair go, Mum.’

  ‘I mean it, Clem. Sometimes I still think you see her as that skinny ten-year-old, hair sticking up everywhere and crooked bottom teeth. In a heartbeat I reckon you’d turn back time if you could, to when she was little and idolised you. Little Clem, like Smithson and all the others called her. Gutting sheep and shooting roos and doing everything you wanted.’

  He’s silent, and then the words come. ‘I hated seeing her skinny,’ he says slowly. ‘You know, before she left. So sick and skinny. She was hard, you know. Empty.’ He looks at the wisteria wrapping itself around the railing, twisting and twisting right up to the laundry door. ‘I saw myself in her a bit; like after Rose died.’

  ‘I know, love,’ she says. ‘I saw it too.’ She moves closer to him, rests her arm on his. ‘You can’t hang onto her because you lost Rose, love. You got to let her go.’

  *

  Clem strides out hard across the paddock, Red yelping, enjoying the pace. He swats at flies and kicks at a big chunk of quartz, sending it skittling towards the jam trees. He’s edgy as a cut snake. Angry even. And it’s not a feeling he knows well. He walks for hours in the hot afternoon sun and wishes he’d brought his thermos. Man’d kill for a cup of tea. Even in thirty-five degrees Clem thinks a hot drink is the best antidote for the heat. Makes you sweat, he always tells Beth, keeps you cool. Your own air conditioner! He checks the fences, sees where some roos have forced their way under and buckled a section. He’ll need to fix it. He counts the sheep. A hundred and ten ewes, three rams, forty fat lambs soon ready for market. He sits down by the dam to rest in the cool of the gumtrees, and suddenly remembers the cubby Beth made between two smaller trees, imagines he can hear her singing to herself as she thatches sticks for the roof. Funny how he can recall what she looked like as a little girl, can see the scabbed knees, the skinny arms, but when he racks his memory to picture what she looks like now, he can see only long brown curls and the rest is hazy.

  He remembers her handing him the pliers at the strainer post, so he could get the tension of the fence along the driveway spot on. Like a son might have done. Remembers her in knee-high rubber boots kicking up dust as she struggled across the ploughed paddock, basket of afternoon tea and his thermos resting on her hip. Like a wife might do. Then he suddenly thinks of Boy taking that bait, shivering and frothing all the way to the vet’s, how he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him again. And when Beth said she’d bring him home and he stayed in the kitchen while she dug the grave,
he’d felt sad and awkward because she was doing what he should have done. He hadn’t known what to do about it, but he knew that things were changing.

  Val had urged Lena to stay home from school, but now here she is, walking to her classroom in the middle of the day. Val slams down the lid of the photocopier, races after her, but when she sees Lena, sitting at her desk, eye puffed shut, and her lip split, she stops suddenly. It looks much worse in daylight.

  ‘Lena.’ She walks towards her slowly. ‘I told you Mrs Samin will take your class. Go home. Rest.’

  ‘No,’ says Lena firmly. ‘This is my job. He win then. No man do this to me and get away with it.’

  ‘We can cancel tonight. The fundraiser. We’ll do it later.’

  The fundraiser is Beth’s idea; she thought it might buy new desks for the Year Nines next year, and the women have been busy with preparations for weeks.

  ‘No,’ Lena says again, looking firmly. ‘Lena’s Place open for business. Asia Night tonight. The whole island can see what man he is.’

  *

  ‘She’s going ahead with the fundraiser.’ Val seeks Beth out in the library and plonks next to her in a chair. ‘She’s incredible. Most women would be hiding.’

  ‘She told me this morning,’ says Beth. ‘Maybe it’s a good thing, you know, show him she’s not going to be bullied.’

  ‘Things are different here, Beth. Don’t forget.’ Val picks at the hem of her skirt. ‘Lord, she looks terrible. She can barely walk. Humans are a brutal mob, all right,’ she adds. ‘Life is brutal. We fool ourselves thinking otherwise.’

  ‘Thanks for the cheer up,’ says Beth.

  Clem nearly drops the phone when she answers; it’s so good to hear her voice. ‘Bethy I—’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Love, I—’

  ‘Clem? Clem?’

  ‘Love.’

  ‘Hello Cle—’

  The delay is terrible; they talk over each other and then Beth huffs, ‘You go first, I’ll listen.’

  ‘Love,’ Clem says, and suddenly just wants to talk straight: ‘You can come home whenever you want.’

  ‘I know, Dad.’

  ‘I miss yer, Bethy.’ He rests his forehead against the cool wall. ‘Eva does too. Plus I’m sick of Smithson asking me if you’ve been eaten yet!’

  ‘God, really?’ she says. ‘Idiot.’

  ‘It’s a joke, love. Him and Pat ask after you all the time. Everyone does.’

  The line is quiet.

  ‘I’ll be home soon,’ she says. ‘Maybe Christmas.’

  ‘Maybe?’ He’d thought that was a given.

  ‘Yeah. Christmas. Maybe. Val’s going to Mount Hagen, you know in the Highlands, she says I can go with her.’

  His head hurts, his palms are tingling. ‘Well, love,’ he says, trying to rally, ‘that’d be great too. The Highlands, hey? Real head hunters’ territory.’

  She’s speaking fast ... Hagen sounds interesting, Goroka’s not too far away ... apparently there’s some remote villages we can walk to where they’ve barely seen white ... but he’s not really listening and he cuts her off: ‘You are okay love, aren’t yer?’

  ‘I’m okay, Dad.’ He hears a faint whimper, imagines her in a thin-walled hut, jungle bearing down, her eyes closed, his little girl, trying not to cry. ‘Just been a tough few weeks.’

  ‘You know ...’ He’s patting his thin hair down now, unsure of what might come spilling from his mouth. ‘The thing is, love ... erm well ... Sam called. The other night.’

  Silence.

  ‘Out of the blue, Beth.’ Then he just closes his eyes and lets it come: ‘It was really good, love, to hear his voice, terrific. He asked about you and I told him you were off saving the fuzzy wuzzies.’ When that doesn’t get a reaction, he hurries on: ‘He’s going well. The rehab’s been great, he’s walking fine, even thinks he might be able to play a bit of cricket next summer. He’s moving back to Hobart. Makes sense to go back to his family, I reckon. He sounds good, love, real good. He was just ringing to let us know, to say goodbye.’ Then, because he’s wanted to for months but had never found the right moment or the words or the courage, and he’s still not even sure he’ll find them now, he says, ‘You did the right thing, Beth. Yer like yer mum. Gutsy as hell. She left everything she knew to head west and she never looked back. That’s you, love. You’ve done the hardest thing and you had to go, but the best thing is—you’re coming back.’ His voice croaks. ‘One day.’

  ‘Thanks Dad, b—’

  But he’s not going to stop now: ‘I wanted to tell you when it all fell apart, when shit hit the proverbial, well, I, I’m proud of yer, love.’ Clem shifts so his back is against the wall. He closes his eyes. ‘And I love yer, Bethy.’

  ‘Dad—’ He can hear her sniffling. ‘Thanks, Dad. That means a lot. I—’

  And the phone cuts out. He stands there useless for a few minutes, then presses redial again and again but the line clicks dead and he can’t get through.

  Saint Mary’s Asian Night is written on the blackboard and adorned with orchids, hibiscus and balloons. Ruth struggles with it down the steps and across the grass, then plants it firmly on the verge outside Lena’s Place. She kicks a dog trying to piss on it. In the bain-marie there are greens stirfried in soy sauce, chilli squid, sweet and sour chicken, mounds of fried rice and deep fried chicken necks. Beth found red and gold paper lanterns at Lim’s and now they hang brightly above each table. Lena, dressed in a shiny maroon meri blouse, shuffles behind the counter, and every so often rests against the back wall. There are sideway glances and a few furtive looks when people see her sore eye and bruises, but she gives everyone a big smile and assures them that she’s fine. By six, the place is heaving. Ned and Bill arrive and sit in the far corner; they grieve the best way they know how: beer in hand and a can open at the empty place in honour of their mate.

  ‘I heard about Roo,’ Beth says, placing a bowl of prawn crackers on the table. ‘I don’t really know what to say. I—’

  ‘It’s okay,’ says Bill. Beth can see he’s exhausted. ‘Just because someone dies you don’t have to like ’em, love.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry for you guys, I guess.’

  ‘Thanks love,’ says Ned. ‘He was a bastard, I know. A bastard, but a wantok. God, we had some fun.’ He crumples his empty can and places it on the table.

  ‘Will you go to the funeral?’ says Beth.

  ‘Nah. It’ll be in Oz. Brisbane, probably.’

  ‘Hey, Ruth!’ Ned calls out suddenly. ‘We’re outta beer. Can you get some?’

  ‘Nogat,’ says Ruth, wiping the counter.

  ‘Go on, just run next door.’

  ‘No. I will not. You bring yourself. We just serve foods.’

  ‘Jeezus,’ says Ned, and thumps the table. He looks over at Ruth, who throws the cloth on the counter and, hands on hips, stares back at him hard. ‘Sorry,’ he says, arms up placating her. ‘Sorry. I’ll go.’ And he pushes back his chair and saunters next door.

  ‘You women are amazing,’ Bill says. ‘You’re saving the next generation by day, feeding the nation at night! The car park’s chockers. Everyone’s told their wantoks—the whole flamin’ island must be here!’

  By seven o’clock, all twelve tables are full and fifteen people are lined up at the door. Students are in their best clothes, and their parents laugh and yell at each other across the room. Delilah’s music from Buka and the Solomon Islands pumps from the stereo in the corner, and Mr Reis is nearby with a guitar slung over his shoulder, getting ready for his set. Lena and Ruth talk in Pidgin and laugh, their faces shining with sweat. They deliver plates piled high with food and at the door Delilah tells the queue they can get takeaway or come back in an hour. She kicks a dog nosing at the bottom step and sends it yelping into the night.

  Val and Mrs Samin sit off to the side and when Val catches Beth’s eye, she raises her glass of wine, mouthing, congratulations, and then, thank you.

  A smile spreads wide across
Beth’s face. So many people.

  She removes plates from tables and, back in the kitchen, starts on the dishes. She scrubs at chicken grease and rice gone hard, fries coconut-battered ice cream, wipes over bench tops, and though she’s been at school all day and on the go for sixteen hours, she feels exhilarated.

  They raffle off three frozen kakaruks and a free dinner for two, and at nine o’clock Val makes a speech thanking everyone for coming. She pays tribute to Lena who sits near the bain-marie, eye almost shut, face bruised but beaming widely. Val’s voice catches as she thanks her for hosting the fundraiser, thanks her teachers, and everyone for supporting Saint Mary’s.

  ‘This island, this place, bilas ples,’ she says, swaying slightly, hand over her heart.

  Beth feels a warmth spreading through her. For the first time in so long, everything feels right.

  ‘Good on you Sister Val,’ Bill calls out.

  And the crowd stamps its feet, cheering and clapping. Serviettes are screwed and sent flying across the room, big men pound their fists on the table and holler, kids whizz around the room, chasing each other and screaming. Beth looks over at their man with Sekuriti printed on his T-shirt, wondering if he’ll calm the place, but he’s drinking an SP beer and thrusting his fist in the air. Bill has Val in a twirl, dancing round the room, then Beth grabs Hosannah and everyone is up, spinning each other round, dancing and clapping. So much laughter in that room just then, so much love. Even Lena, sitting in her chair, is clapping in time to the music, and Beth waves as she spins past, sees all the familiar faces, her students, the teachers, parents, Val and Bill, Delilah dancing with Grace, Ruth and the sekuriti guy, and Beth closes her eyes and knows that she is hamamas. Happy.

  It seems just yesterday that Beth was dressed in her navy tennis skirt, new racquet in her lap, sitting alongside him in the ute as it chewed the highway to Claytonville for the district championships. And when she was twelve he taught her to shoot at tin cans on fence posts, then rabbits and foxes down the creek at night. And he’d given her a squeeze when he realised she was a leftie just like Rose. Then she was standing by the crimson bougainvillea in that swirling sea green dress with the big bow on the bum, the dress Eva whipped up for the high school ball. Moving to the city and renting with friends when she did the teaching course: his girl in her black uni get-up, that stupid square placemat on her head, and he couldn’t have been more proud. Then going to the girls’ school on the hill one day and meeting her principal: She has such promise, your Beth, a real natural, and after, the two of them eating Chinese takeaway in the courtyard of her Fremantle cottage, the wind ringing in their ears, ginger beer tickling their throats. And seeing her and Sam come home from overseas, Beth all brown and worldly, talking of places he’d never heard of. And later, shrunken inside herself, sitting on the bed, Eva’s gown in her lap, just staring at it, running her hand over and over fabric the colour of newly shorn wool. Crushed by what happened to Sam, punishing herself for the accident. Then she was stalking through the Departures gate at the airport, red skirt and farm boots, long curls swishing across her back like she could have been Rose all those years before.