Mazin Grace

by Dylan Coleman

  ‘Why they want to take us for, Mumma?’ I ask one night when we walkin’ ’ome through the scrub, jindu duthbin, with all my minya sisters and brothers runnin’ ’round Mumma tryin’ to keep up, lookin’ ’round scared-way, real ngulu, that mumoo or jinardoo might get ’em. Mumoo, them bad spirits. Or jinardoo, that Nyunga who knows magic. Whitefella’s name ‘boogie-man’ but Nyunga-way they real and can hurt you.

  ‘Some of them walbiya mob got funny ways,’ Mumma says, Lil-Lil on ’er jubu. ‘They must think you kids better off somewhere else.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask her. ‘’Cause we whiter?’

  She growl me, tell me to stop askin’ ’er questions, she gotta make sure all of us kids get ’ome safely. She yell out loud-way then, check they all there, that mumoo or jinardoo hasn’t grabbed one of ’em when she’s not lookin’, I s’pose.

  I just hang my gugga down and walk along quiet-way after that, thinkin’, ‘Why Mumma growlin’ me?’

  I can’t help what I look like. I can’t help it if them welfare mob want to take me away. Welfare mob like mumoo but I’m not scared of no mumoo, not in the dark, not our mumoo anyway.

  When Mumma say, ‘I thank the Good Lord that he looks over us and protects us, and Jesus keeps us safe,’ I look up at the sky and see the moon. I reckon like our old Jumoo, it shine down and protect us at night like God, keepin’ us safe from welfare.

  Mumma scoop up my hand in ’ers then, and she says, ‘You kids safe for ’nother day, girl. That’s the main thing.’ And I can see ’er teeth shinin’ through the moonlight and I know she smilin’ ’cause we all together and safe. ’Er smile’s all warm, like it’s holdin’ all us kids in tight, pullin’ us into ’er mimmi, like it sayin’, ‘I will never let them welfare mob grab you. Never in a million years.’

  But sometimes we don’t always know when welfare comin’.

  Like that time, Molly, Mumma’s youngest daughter lookin’ out the kitchen window and laughin’, ‘Hey, Grace, your mumma comin’ ’ere.’

  ‘Who you talkin’ ’bout?’ I ask, ’cause I nyindi Ada’s ’way all day workin’, and Mumma Jenna’s out the back.

  Molly laughin’ real loud-way now. ‘Look, your mumma comin’ for you, she gonna take you away.’

  ‘Who?’ I run to the window and push ’er out the way.

  ‘You know your mumma, Sister McFlarety.’ She laughin’ at me, teasin’ me.

  I get real moogada then. ‘That old bag, she not my mumma,’ I yell at her. ‘Welfare,’ I scream out warnin’ my sisters and brothers, ‘welfare comin’.’

  Then, I run flat-out-way and slide under the bed in the kitchen. I hear the other kids jinna scatterin’ in all directions, just like hide-and-seek but real scared-way. If we get found we lost for good. Then there’s a knock at the door. I squash myself up close to the wall. Molly sits in the middle of the bed and the mattress goes right down ’cause it’s got broken springs and she’s squashin’ me. It’s lucky I’m only minya six year old and real skinny but it still ’urt. ‘Bloody, Molly,’ I hiss at her, real moogada-way. My breath real hot and I start sweatin’.

  I can hear Mumma walkin’ from the back room. She unlatch the front door.

  ‘Hello, Jenna. Is everything all right here?’

  She got funny-sounding voice. She talk like she in charge of us like Pastor and Superintendent. I can tell she’s lookin’ Mumma Jenna right in the eye. This weena’s like a mumoo in our house, but a worst kind of mumoo, worse than our Nyunga one. I can see my murra shakin’ in front of my face. She could grab us right now and we’d never see Mumma or Papa or Ada or any of our family again. I put my murra mooga over my face ’cause I don’t wanna think about it. Why don’t she just go away and leave us mob alone? Don’t she know she’s not welcome ’ere? We wanna stay with our family. She should go steal ’er own mob’s kids. What for she want with us minya Nyunga gidjida mooga, anyway? Hasn’t she got kids of ’er own?

  ‘Where are the children?’ she askin’ Mumma.

  ‘They must be out playin’, Sister.’ Mumma’s voice so quiet I can hardly hear her.

  ‘Make sure they are here next time I come.’ ’Er voice sounds like Teacher growlin’ us to listen.

  I feel sick, my djuda’s all squirmy. ‘Go away, go away,’ I’m startin’ to scream in my head now.

  I think she’s walkin’ towards the bed, so I peek out from behind my fingers. At least if ’er murra comes down to grab me I can bite ’er real hard-way and make a run for it. I don’t know what this weena looks like, properly ’cause I only seen her from long-way or ’er jinna and two fat legs close up, in all the years she bin lookin’ for us. But she must be real fat and ’ave jinna minga, ’cause I never seen so much jinna squished into a weena’s boogardi like that before. No wonder she’s grumpy. ’Er feet probably hurt like hell. She’s gettin’ close now. I hold my breath. ‘Snoopin’ old cow. Get outa here.’

  Soon the door closes, Molly gets up, and I squeeze out from under the bed and go straight for ’er and give ’er a good kick in the shins, hard as I can. She’s screamin’ and trying to catch me, but I cut it out the back door, real quick-way.

  ‘That not my mumma,’ I yell at her. ‘That fat old battleaxe not my mumma.’ My eyes stingin’ now ’cause my tears real angry ones. Molly’s always teasin’ us when Mumma not around and she’ll give me floggin’ if she catches me so I keep runnin’ out the back until I know I’m safe. I turn ’round. ‘Hey, Molly.’ I wait till she listenin’ good-way. ‘That big fat gubarlie not my mumma. She your mumma, indie? You fat and ugly like ’er. She must be your mumma.’ I put my murra on my hip, lean back and let out big loud laughs. ‘Ha. Ha. Ha.’

  Now the kids come out from hidin’ and they laughin’ too. I can see Eva shakin’ ’er ’ead, big smile on ’er face, and Adrian, Polly and Sandy with murra mooga on mouth, tryin’ to stop laughin’.

  Next minute, I’m layin’ flat-out on the munda with minya stars whirlin’ round my gugga. I see Molly’s shoe layin’ next to me and I ’ear ’er screamin.’ ‘Don’t you be cheeky to me, you little cow.’

  All the kids laughin’ now. They tryin’ to cover their laughin’ but minya Sarah’s burst out cryin’.

  I get up and dust dirt off my dress. My head’s hurtin’ real bad but I don’t want Molly or the other kids to know, so I flick my ’air back over my shoulders, stick my nose in the air, snooty-way, stick my tongue out and walk off. Huffin’ under my breath, ‘You might be a king-hot-shot with your boogardi, Molly, but you still real ugly.’

  ‘What you say to me, you cheeky little runt? What you say?’ She start runnin’ for me, then.

  ‘What, you not only ugly, you deaf too?’ I yell out with my murra in front of me.

  I cut it quick-way round the house before she can catch me. My sisters and brothers runnin’ behind me now. They in trouble with Molly too for laughin’. I know I was cheeky to Molly but she shouldn’t tease like that. Welfare could grab us kids and take us away for good. Who would Molly ’ave to tease then?

  3

  Where I belong?

  One thing I know for sure, that old Sister McFlarety not my mumma. She too ugly and she got big fat barrel legs and mine real skinny. Molly just goona stirrin’ me. But it’s hard to look at your mother as your mother when you always called your grandmother ‘Mumma’. Even though I kind of knew that Mumma Jenna and Papa Neddy’s my grandparents, it’s still real confusin’ thinkin’ about why they say your grandmother your mumma. Ada my real mumma? What about my mummatja?

  Eva says it happen that way ’cause of that Commandment Pastor talks ’bout in church on Sundays: ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’ I ask ’er one day. ‘You not allowed to grow up to a adult? You ’ave to stay a kid all your life, or what?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she says to me, ’er face all screwed
up. ‘It means you can’t be mudgie mudgie with someone else’s man or you’ll go to hell, with fire and brimstone.’ Eva always thinks she know everythin’ ’cause she’s older, but she’s not always right. Anyways, I’m only minya six year old, how I meant to know all these big fancy words?

  One day, our mob go over to Williams’ farm, near Nelson’s Tank, bit further on from Mission, for Papa and the uncles to ’elp Old Rod with ’is fencing – he’s walbiya farmer and he real good to us mob. Come reapin’ or shearin’ time, lotta Nyunga mob go out and ’elp farmers with their crops and sheep. Papa says we should thank the Good Lord and Old Rod for giving our family work on the farm so that we ’ave food in our djuda. Papa and Old Rod, they both tjilbi mooga, one Nyunga, one walbiya. When we campin’ at the farm we stay in a minya tin hut near the pigsty, with nice soft sand to sleep on, and a fire in the middle to cook our mai and keep us warm when it gets real minyardu.

  Me and Eva there playin’ ’round the pigsty, pokin’ the big mumma sow with a stick. She squealin’ and getting real moogada tryin’ to bite us, but we on the other side of the fence and jump back when she go for us. Mumma Jenna yell out for us to leave that biggy ngunchu alone. We sneakin’ past the tin hut ’cause Mumma in there with the minya gidjida mooga cookin’ stew, and she might tell us off again, and we wanna go play other side of the big farm’ouse.

  ‘Stay ’way from that farm’ouse and leave them walaba weena mooga ’lone,’ Mumma always growl us wunyi mooga.

  ‘What’s in there, that big ’ouse?’ I ask Eva, wipin’ my moolya bilgi on my bultha as we get closer to the big shady veranda. ‘What’s behind that door and them windows with them flash lacy wada mooga hanging up there, so we can’t peek inside to see?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eva say, kickin’ a minya pebble on the munda then lookin’ up again through ’er ’air.

  We stand there, lookin’, wonderin’. Old Rod live there with Mrs Williams and their two kids. Then, we see a gubarlie stick ’er ’ead ’round the corner of the ’ouse and stare at us. Me and Eva jump back and look at each other. She real scary with ’er minya guru wada mooga on the end of ’er moolya, wah all screwed up like she’s lookin’ real cross-way at us. ’Er skin’s wrinkled like dried out walga. But she don’t say nothin’, she just starin’ at us like she tryin’ to work us out.

  ‘She’s that scary old lady who comes to stay at the farm sometimes,’ I whisper to Eva under my breath.

  ‘Yeah, that’s Old Rod’s wiyardtha, indie? But she real creepy lookin’,’ Eva tell me through her closed gudadee.

  I grab Eva’s murra. We both shakin’ but we just stand there frozen-way, too ngulu to move. Don’t she know it’s shame to stare like that? But she walaba, she don’t know much ’bout Nyunga ways. She wearin’ a black dress that go down to the munda. She look like that witch Teacher read to us ’bout in them fairy stories at school. Eva musta bin thinkin’ the same thing as me, ’cause we both turn ’round same time and cut it, flat-out-way down the track past the trees.

  ‘What that gubarlie lookin’ at us like that for?’ I ask Eva puffin’, leanin’ over with my murra mooga on my knees, catchin’ my breath.

  ‘She probably lookin’ for Old Rod.’

  ‘What she blind or joobardi or somethin’. Can’t she see we just minya wunyi mooga, she wanna go over to the back paddock there, if she lookin’ for ’im.’ I screw up my wah and scratch my gugga, thinkin’. ‘What you reckon she wanna boil us up in a big kitchen pot, or roast us in the oven?’ I stare at Eva real ngulu-way, my guru mooga nearly poppin’ outa my gugga.

  ‘Oh, you real simple,’ Eva says shakin’ her gugga.

  We walk back to the shed, where Mumma’s cookin’ a stew on the fire, all the minya ones playing ’round ’er in the dirt. Lil-Lil sees us and puts her murra mooga out to be picked up. I grab ’er and give ’er kisses on ’er ngulya. ‘We not gonna let no old witch cook you up for dinner, Lil-Lil. No we won’t.’ I blow a raspberry on her djuda and she giggles.

  Sarah come up then, tuggin’ at my skirt, ‘What old witch, sissy?’ she ask ngulu-way.

  ‘No witch,’ Eva tell ’er, ‘sissy just talkin’ joobardi-way.’ Eva frowns at me. ‘You wanna be up all night with her crying ’cause she scared of old witch?’ she growl me under her breath.

  That night, with all our djuda mooga full with Mumma’s stew, Ada help dig minya bit of dirt out to make nice comfy sand bed for us ’round the fire. She tired too, bin working doin’ cleanin’ all day. She throw blanketie over me and my sisters and sit down next to the fire. Lil-Lil in Ada’s lap suckin’ ’er mimmi, minya jinna stickin’ out wigglin’. I want to lean over and pretend to bite them, they so cute, but Ada will growl me ’cause she tryin’ to get baby to sleep, so I just stay there smilin’ at my minya sister. All the grown-ups sittin’ round the fire talkin’ and laughin’. Uncle Murdi playin’ ’is guitar and singin’ old cowboy song, with ’is booba Yudu curled up next to ’im; Uncle Jerry and Uncle Wadu on other side with Papa rollin’ buyu; Aunty Soossy and Aunty Ruthie sippin’ tea outa big pannikins, and Aunty Nora got baby Jeremiah on ’er mimmi, layin’ with the other kids, Polly, Sandy and Joshy. They only turned up late today, for more work tomorrow. Aunties Essie, Mim and Wendy back at the Mission but Molly ’ere, she playing with big long stick, pokin’ the fire. She might goomboo ’er bed later. That’s what Mumma says: ‘Gidjida mooga that play with fire goomboo the bed.’

  If walbiya mob here now, they wouldn’t know what we yarnin’ ’bout, cause we talkin’ Kokatha lingo.When we by ourselves like this we Kokatha wongan anytime. If we on the Mission, walbiya mob growl us to stop talkin’ in our lingo and make us talk English. Why they do that? They probably worried we talkin’ ’bout them and don’t nyindi what we wonganyi ’bout. So they say, ‘Speak English’ then they nyindi. But even if they nyindi Kokatha wonga, they wouldn’t understand anyway, ’cause they different from us. It’s like they gotta know everything and be boonri of everybody, all the time. I don’t say nothin’ to walbiya, ’cause if I do I get called ‘cheeky little girl’ and I get told off or flogged.

  All the minya ones yawnin’ and gettin’ real tired now, startin’ to go ungu. I close my guru mooga and layin’ on the munda all warm next to Eva and Sarah, she got ’er arm over me, touchin’ my face.

  ‘What ’bout that bad ol’ witch, sissy?’ she whisper.

  ‘Sissy look after you, don’t be ngulu minya Sarah,’ I tell her. ‘Sissy chase witch ’way if she come ’ere. You safe now, go ungu, minya, sweet one.’ I sing ’er minya lull-a-by. She close ’er guru mooga and go ungu.

  Uncle Murdi’s put ’is guitar ’way and there’s only whispers and fire cracklin’ now. I’m tired-way goin’ ungu too, thinkin’ what Eva said ’bout people bein’ mudgie mudgie with someone else’s mudgie, and fire and brimstone. Then I feel Ada quiet-way lay Lil-Lil next to me and tuck the blanketie under us. Lil-Lil feel soft and warm and I breathe ’er minya guling smell in my moolya but I still pretend I’m sleepin’. Then I hear car engine, and peek with one guru minya bit open. Ada walkin’ outa the hut, and minya while after, car drivin’ ’way. Where she goin’?

  Later, I wake up when I hear car drivin’ ’way again. It’s real minyardu now and I can ’ear old rooster in the chook shed cock-a-doodle-doo-in’. Ada stokes up the coals, gets shovel and digs a hole next to me, then she shovels some coals into the hole and covers them up with munda. She go back to the fire and puts more wood on to keep it goin’. She lay down then in the soft warm sand and pick up Lil-Lil and put ’er on ’er mimmi and pull the blanketie over ’em. Lil-Lil snuggles into Ada’s mimmi and Ada goes ungu. I snuggle into ’er too, she smell like gubby, nguggil and ’nother funny sweaty smell. Then I start thinkin’, ‘Who she bin with? Someone else’s mudgie? Will she burn in hell with fire and brimstone like Pastor’s talk ’bout the Ten Commandments and adultery?’ No, the thought of Ada burnin’ up with gugga uru all
diggled, and smellin’ like malu cooking on the campfire sound like lies to me. Ada a good weena, she try to look after us kids best she can. She growl us sometimes, but she always make sure we ’right and when she can’t Mumma Jenna’s there to look after us. No, Eva wrong, she don’t know nothin’.

  Next day, I tell ’er straight, ‘You talkin’ joobardi, Eva.’

  She leanin’ against the tin hut in the shade yarnin’ with Polly and I can see ’er murra mooga goin’ into fists. She’s gettin’ moogada with me. I cross my arms and squash my eyebrows together.

  ‘Ada’s not goin’ to hell,’ I tell her.

  ‘I never said she was,’ Eva yells back.

  She moogada too now, she jump forward, and push me, and we into it then, pullin’ ’air and screamin’. And my no-shame minya mouth swearin’ loud-way, too. Can’t stop once Eva get me moogada like that.

  ‘You so stupid, Grace. Trying to get me in trouble again,’ she yell. Then, she head for the moog tree near the farm’ouse. That’s where we go when we moogada.

  ‘God’s not stupid,’ I yell out after her.

  She just throw ’er murra mooga up in the air and keep walkin’.

  No. God’s not stupid. He’s smart. Mumma Jenna says he won’t send us any troubles too big we can’t put up with. But sometimes, I think he sends us things that don’t make sense, that we ’ave to find out for ourselves, like them Ten Commandments. God give us brains to figure them out, one by one, like riddles. I like riddles ’cause I’m good at workin’ ’em out. Teacher give us riddles in class sometimes and I just deadly-way drill them other kids at school with the answer. Sometimes it takes long time, thinkin’ ’bout it all the way ’round, but sooner or later, I always get ’em right.