‘Hooray.’ Sarah claps her hands as she runs after us.
We don’t need nets to catch crabs like them walbiya mob, when the tide’s out like this we go out on the flats with a stick. When we see dark patches in the white sand we poke the stick in and tap the crabs’ backs and straight ’way they stick up their nippers. Then we flat-out-way grab them by their claws and take them to camp and throw them on the coals to cook. Ada’s always in a real good mood when we catch gulda marra ’cause she like havin’ a good feed too. She pick out the meat to give to my younger sisters, for them to ’ave a feed too. Sometimes all of us go out together to get gulda marra so we get a big feed for everyone.
Later, all us kids go to our special spot by the old Denial Bay jetty, to get more numu mai. Then, with our toes in the sand, we feel ’round for cockles and get periwinkles off the rocks too. We put all of the wanna mai in a big pile on the beach, and when we finished we take them back to camp and cook them on the coals. We get salt water and boil the periwinkles in a billy can, and get a safety pin to pick out the meat. Some grown-ups and bigger kids go up the jetty to catch fish and if we lucky we get to ’ave a good feed of fish cooked in the coals. Mumma always cooks damper too.
I love ’olidays at Denial Bay so much, I never want ’em to end, I just want ’em to go on for ever and ever.
One night, snuggled up to Mumma ’round the campfire, I say, ‘It’s so deadly here. Was it like this when you were a minya wunyi?’
‘Well, when I was minya wunyi like you, I lived on the Mission too, but we moved ’round a lot more.’ Mumma Jenna stoked the coals with a stick. ‘When we not on the Mission, in summer we come down to the beach and eat wanna mai and bush tucker like our Old People ’ave for long time. Then, when winter comes, we go back that way.’ She points with ’er murra, back towards the Mission. ‘And eat other mai. Mulu, wadu, rabbity, joongu joongu, things like that.’ Then Mumma smile like she gone back to when she’s a gidja, and the fire there make ’er look like she’s shinin’. ‘I used to play in the wanna here, just like you kids, now,’ she tells me.
The fire crackled like it was agreein’ with ’er.
‘I reckon it’s rotten how them Mission mob keep us cooped like jookie jookie layin’ eggs,’ I say to Mumma.
‘You know,’ Mumma say gentle-way, movin’ ’er murra through my ’air, ‘my Papa, your Granny Charlie Freedom, he was a strong man, he spoke up for us Nyunga mob when the Missionaries treat us bad-way. He even wrote letter to government boonri mooga in the big city askin’ for them to take over ’cause the church mob not treatin’ us right-way. Lotta people starvin’ and gettin’ sick, gidjida mooga too. Not enough work or rations. It was a real bad time for us mob.’
‘What happen then?’ I ask, amazed that my Papa Charlie and other Nyunga mooga would do that, stand up to walbiya mob like that.
‘Well, nothin’ at first, but Papa Charlie rounded up the men with their picks and shovels and walked down the road on the Mission there, in front of the boonri’s ’ouse, and demand that we be treated right-way.’
‘Wow, that’s deadly.’ My guru mooga nearly poppin’ outa my gugga.
‘Hey, look out!’ Eva laughed.
‘Yeah, them Missionary mob got real ngulu after that, thought somethin’ bad was gonna happen to ’em. They shit themselves.’
Us kids all look at each other and giggle.
‘Some things changed but some things stayed the same.’ Mumma looks into the fire. ‘You can’t change some things, girls, but you mustn’t stop tryin’ either. Us Nyunga mooga stuck together and some things changed for the better. You always remember that story now, and when you grow up, you will get more wisdom to know what you can change and what you can’t. The Good Lord will give you that wisdom if you pray and ask ’im for it.’
I put my gugga down then and feel shame how I bin real cheeky to God and Jesus lately. But I only be cheeky ’cause they won’t answer my prayers. I sit quiet-way after that and think ’bout all us Nyunga mooga comin’ together on the Mission to help each other. I think about all the fightin’, ’specially when they drunk and arguin’ now, and I just can’t see everyone doin’ what Papa Charlie done long time ago.
Mumma put more wood on the fire, it crackles like biggy ngunchu burru in the oven.
‘Mumma,’ I ask her, ‘why some of our own mob treat us real bad-way, call us nasty names?’ I thinkin’ ’bout them boys on the beach kickin’ sand at me and Eva earlier. ‘Why lotta people fight on the Mission an’ ’urt each other?’
She makes one big sigh and crosses ’er murra mooga, like she’s thinkin’ ’bout what she’s gonna say next. Then she open ’er mouth and ’er words come out real slow-way.
‘Sometimes, when you pushed down too low and put down all the time, you start believin’ you’re low and dirty and scum of the earth. Then you look ’round at your own mob and you start thinkin’ the same ’bout them too. So you start actin’ that way towards yourself, with no respect, and towards your own mob, disrespectful-way. That’s how it works, girl. But you clever minya wunyi mooga, indie?’
We make big nods with our gugga. I agree with Mumma. I’m smart minya wunyi.
‘So you nyindi to be respectful and carry yourself with pride like your Papa Charlie and speak out when you need to. And like the Good Lord, treat all men as equals, and always stand up for what’s right for Nyunga mooga.’
As I curl up next to Ada and my sisters that night, I feel real strong inside, like nothin’ in the whole wide world’s gonna hurt me. ‘Sticks and stones can break my bones but names will never hurt me,’ I whisper as I fall to sleep, thinkin’ of Papa Charlie and all them brave Nyunga mooga. Makes me feel real strong and proud to be Nyunga, and now I nyindi why them kids treat us mean-way ’cause Mumma give the answer to work it out.
Us kids real sad when we see that stupid Mission truck burnin’ down the dirt road comin’ to round us up and take us back to the Mission, like sheep dog with nyarni mooga in a paddock. Take us back to that dirty, cramped minya cottage with the stinkin’ mattress that smell of goomboo and those rotten bedbugs all skinny and hungry-way waitin’ for us.
‘I wanna stay here,’ I yell at Ada.
Goin’ back to the Mission reminds me of all the ngoonji promises and grown-up lies.
‘Don’t start, Grace,’ Ada says with a look on ’er wah that says she will crack me if I muck ’round.
I swear under my breath, but Ada ’ears me. I’ve done it now.
‘What did you say?’ She’s yellin, slappin’ me ’round the yuree. ‘Your filthy minya mouth gettin’ you in trouble again, Grace, and we not even back at the Mission, yet.’ She ’it me a couple more times. ‘Keep it up and I’ll really give you somethin’ to whinge about.’
I run away from ’er and stand behind a jinditji, lookin’ back at the houses near the jetty.
‘Hurry up and get on the truck now,’ Ada hisses through ’er teeth at me.
I frown at ’er and kick the leaves of the bush, then run past ’er quick-way before she can slap me again. Grown-ups ’elp me up on the truck and I go sit between Eva and Polly.
On the way back to the Mission I ask Eva, ‘Who’s that Tessie weena whose place we went to that night when that drunken Nyunga went joobardi with the knife?’
‘She’s Old Rod’s sister,’ Eva say, then turns away from me like she don’t wanna talk no more.
Before the truck gets back to the Mission my leg start hurtin’ real bad again but I’m sick of worryin’ if God’s punishin’ me so I just think about all the fun we had at Denial Bay to try to forget about the pain.
When we get ’ome I’m lyin’ on our bed cryin’. Ada thinks it’s ’cause I got the goonas with ’er for slappin’ me but my leg’s hurtin’ real bad.
Mumma comes in to see me. She sits down on the bed next to me and brushes my tangled ’air
off my face.
‘What’s wrong, girl?’
Mumma’s voice always feels like honey goin’ down a sore throat, real soft and soothin’.
‘It’s my jinna, Mumma,’ I tell ’er, movin’ my murra down my leg to where it’s achin’.
‘It must be the pipe you bin tripped over on the way back from school the other week, that Polly tell me ’bout,’ she say.
I nod my gugga.
Mumma put ’er murra under ’er armpits and wipe out the smell from there, then with ’er murra mooga rub my jinna where it’s sore.
‘Nguggil make your leg strong,’ she say, rubbin’ ’er murra hard round my jinna where it hurt.
‘It’s feelin’ better now, Mumma,’ I say, after she’s bin rubbin’ it for a while.
‘See, that’s Nyunga-way, the Old People teach us that.’ She’s smilin’. ‘We got word that your Jumoo Rick Joanus comin’ soon, he might ’ave a look when he comes.’ ’Er face look real serious-way then. ‘You might ’ave mumoo in there.’
My eyebrows go up on my ngulya.
‘Nunkerie can see right inside your jinna and take that mumoo out if it in there.’
‘No mumoo in my jinna, Mumma,’ I tell ’er, sittin’ up.
But I’m just sayin’ that ’cause I don’t want to believe it. Nothin’ else but mumoo would make my jinna hurt like hell, like this.
‘You just lie down there now and don’t worry, Grace. Jumoo will know what to do. He’ll be ’ere soon to ’elp.’
Mumma go out the room then and Ada come in.
‘You right, my girl?’ she ask in a nice voice.
‘Jinna’s real sore,’ I tell ’er.
‘Yeah, I nyindi.’
She sits down next to me. She looks at me sorry-way and brushes my fringe out of my eyes and tucks it behind my yuree.
‘I’m sorry I growled you today, Grace.’
‘That’s ’right, Mumma Ada,’ I say, ‘I can be proper naughty minya wunyi sometimes.’
Ada nods and we both smile.
‘You rest now,’ she say quiet-way before she goes out the room.
I lie there scared-way, thinkin’ ’bout mumoo runnin’ round in my jinna, makin’ it hurt real sore-way, makin’ my jinna minga. I think about how mumoo can act funny-way sometimes, how they jump right into you if you run ’round the wrong places and step on one.
I try to think of somethin’ else, somethin’ nice and calm to stop thinkin’ ’bout mumoo mooga. I close my guru mooga and I see Old Rod’s face smilin’ at me with a big box of fruit and I start stuffin’ my face. Then, I see us drivin’ into town with ’im in ’is car and we crossin’ the railway line. I reckon there’s a mumoo that lives on the railway line that likes to jump in and out of Old Rod when he drives past, when he takin’ Ada and us girls into town. ’Cause he sure act different when he goes over that railway line. Oh no, I’m thinkin’ ’bout mumoo again, it must’ve jumped from my jinna into my gugga.
I just want that mumoo to go ’way so I pray.
‘Dear God and your Son Jesus. I know I bin real naughty minya wunyi lately, cursin’ youse and all, but I promise if you make this mumoo go away, I’ll be a good girl from now on and even if you can’t I’m gonna try my best to be good minya wunyi from now on. Amen.’
8
Mumoo jumpin’ ’round
As I’m lyin’ in my bed waiting for Jumoo, I start to think about solvin’ my riddle again and Old Rod’s there in my gugga, or mumoo pretendin’ to be ’im. I look at ’im this way, and then that way. Slow-way, I try to work ’im out. Sometimes he acts like walbiya and sometimes he acts like Nyunga. Sometimes, he mixes it up and acts both ways. It’s real confusin’. To work a riddle out you gotta look for things that match that are the same, and look for things that match that are different.
Like when Papa and my uncles go out huntin’ they look out ’cross the munda and they can see malu movin’ long way ’way. Walbiya mooga can’t see what they see, they can’t see the malu like Nyunga mooga ’cause they used to lookin’ at the munda ’nother way.
‘Where? I can’t see any kangaroos,’ they say. ‘You must be imagining things.’
But muggah, our men nyindi the malu’s there, ’cause they look with their guru mooga different-way, they look all at once, for everything that’s the same, and for anything that’s different. And sure enough, when they get closer, there’s the malu ’cause they seen it long way back and they nyindi the malu’s there. They might look for other clues too: fresh goona on the munda. If it’s dry, malu bin there long time ago, if it’s soft, then malu nearby. ’Nother thing’s smell. The men use their moolya to smell for malu goomboo and goona but the wind gotta be blowin’ right-way ’cause them malu mooga can smell too, and if they smell Papa and my uncles, they jump away. Then we go hungry. That’s ’ow I bin lookin’ at Old Rod, same way as Papa and my uncles when they go huntin’ for malu and the same way that eagle watches them rabbity mooga.
When I look close-way at Old Rod, I see some things the same, and I see some things different. I notice that Old Rod treats us nice-way on the farm and when he take us campin’ outback to check ’is stock or fix fences, but when he takes us in town, that’s different. He acts funny-way, like he don’t know us.
Why’s he do that?
When he acts different, it’s always just after ’is old truck crosses the railway line headin’ into town, over them railway tracks at the crossing, always then. It’s like them railway lines’re a big mark in the munda where things change. Not like them lines or tracks Papa Neddy and Mumma Jenna or the other grown-ups, draw in the munda with a stick or their murra to tell us stories ’bout our Old People or animal footprints. Not them tracks. More like them lines Eva draws when she gets moogada with me for annoyin’ ’er. She stand in the hut on the farm and stretch out ’er arm with a big stick and draw a circle ’round in the dirt and says I’m not allowed to go over that line or she’ll ’it me. And I just gotta put my jinna over that mark in the munda to see if she tellin’ ngoonji. Then, when my big toe crosses over that line, that’s it, everything changes, real quick-way. We fight and I go cryin’ to Papa Neddy. Then Eva gets in trouble from Papa and she’s even more moogada with me then and teases me, ‘Ah, you Papa’s minya pet.’
That railway line’s like that. When Old Rod crosses it, everythin’ changes, ’is eyebrow drop over ’is guru mooga and them wrinkles in ’is ngulya go all deep and squash together. That’s when he reaches under ’is seat and grabs a bottle of gubby and drinks it down quick-way. Then he starts to growl Ada ’bout minya things. Things that don’t even matter. Like the minya stain on Eva’s dress or me jinna nigardi. Ada always puts ’er ’ead down then and don’t say nothin’. Me and Eva do the same. But I still look up, sly-way, outa the corner of my guru, to watch ’im. Try to figure ’im out, that tjilbi. Try to work out why he acts different-way, after we cross that railway line.
When we get into town, he always drop us at the bushes, near the ’ospital, by the wanna, and we ’ave to walk into the main street from there like he don’t want other walbiya mob to see us with ’im.
‘I’ve got business to do,’ he always tells Ada. ‘You meet me back here with the girls, later on.’
And he has a big important voice when he say that, when he talks about ’is big business he’s gotta do. Like, it’s so important that the sun might not come up the next day, unless he do that business right away. He gives ’er bunda then and we always ’ave to meet ’im at the same place later.
If Ada sees ’im in town and asks ’im how long he’s gonna be, he talks real quick-way to her, then flat-out-way leave us then, like he don’t even know us. He act more like the other walbiya mob in town. They pretend we not even there, or just stare at us, whisper behind their murra, real funny-way. Makes us feel shame when they do that. I know Old Rod’s different from th
em whitefellas but he acts like them when he’s in town. It’s like when he’s ’round ’is own walbiya mob, he act like them and when he’s ’round Nyunga mooga he act more like us. He look after us though, gives Ada bunda, buys us things, gives us food to eat, and gives us rides in ’is big truck and sometimes ’is moodigee.
On special days, not very often though, Old Rod drops us at Mona Tareen’s Frock Salon and goes in and talks to the boonri weena.
‘You buy a good dress for yourself, and clothes and shoes for the girls,’ he tells Ada.
When me and Eva were real minya she bought minya moona mooga for us too. Every summer and winter we get new clothes and Ada has to look after them bultha and boogardi mooga, otherwise Old Rod gets real wild and tells ’er off.
When I was minya, three or four, I didn’t see how Old Rod acted different-way to us when he’s ’round walbiya mob, but as I get older I notice more. Since I’ve bin lookin’ for clues I see more things now too.
It was good fun goin’ with Old Rod into town and even deadlier if we went with ’im to the Ceduna Show. Ada would dress us up real flash-way in our clothes from Mona Tareen’s and us kids’d look real deadly. Ada’d dress real nice-way, too. We’d be so excited, waitin’ for Old Rod to pick us up at the Three Mile Gate, that it’d be real hard to keep clean. We’d be runnin’ ’round Ada playin’ catchy, slidin’ ’round on the munda, fallin’ down and actin’ real silly-way. But Ada give us good growlin’ to make us keep clean. We’d start jumpin’ up and down when we see Old Rod comin’ down the road in ’is flash green Holden or ’is big truck if he got pigs, sheep or bullocky to put in the show. He’s always winnin’ first prize with ’is animals. He pick us up, drive us to the show and give us bunda to go on the rides and play games. My favourite ride’s the hurdy gurdy and I like puttin’ the balls in them clown’s mouth too. But I never win anythin’, only jidla toy, ’cause they cheatin’ mob, them fellas that work there at the show. We go flat-out-way ’til we got no more bunda. Then we look for Old Rod again. We go ’round the animal fences, through the legs of all them walbiya mooga, all them farmers there waitin’ for the judgin’ of their biggy ngunchu or sheep or bullocky, yarnin’ with each other. They all look the same with their boogardi mooga, trousers, overcoats and their moona mooga on their heads. So we gotta scoot ’round lookin’ up and tryin’ to find Old Rod’s wah. It’s a long way up to find ’is wah when you real minya.
Mazin Grace Page 8