by Birch, Tony;
‘Can I help?’
‘Of course. Let’s get you out of the cold first.’
Back inside, Sissy sat on the bed in front of a small mirror brushing her hair. Odette stood in the kitchen, looking out of the front window into the empty street.
Later that afternoon Sissy helped Odette with the hand-painted greeting cards she made for the gift shop in Gatlin. The woman who owned the shop had passed through Deane three years earlier, enquiring if there were any native handy-workers in the district. She was directed to Odette’s cottage by Millie Khan, and had arrived in a small motor car, which she parked on the Deane side of the bridge. When the woman walked up to the house and knocked at the front door Odette was surprised to see a white woman standing on her veranda. She could not recall any white woman visiting Quarrytown, let alone one dressed so elegantly.
Odette had liked drawing since she was a young girl. She kept sketchbooks filled with images of flowers and birds. Once the woman had explained the purpose of her visit and told Odette that her friend, Millie, had described her as an artist, Odette showed her some of her sketches. The woman was clearly impressed. She went back to her car and returned with a large case, placing it on the kitchen table. When she opened the case, Sissy, standing on a chair behind her grandmother, looked down at the open box and cried out, ‘Wow, Nan. Look at all this.’
Blank white cards were stacked on one side of the case. The other side was filled with coloured pencils, a sharpener, pastel crayons, a tray of watercolours and different sized paintbrushes. The woman took a card from the case, placed it on the table and asked Odette to draw a picture for her.
‘What would you like me to draw?’ Odette asked.
‘Anything that takes your heart, Darling,’ the woman smiled, patting Odette on the shoulder as if she was a child.
Within minutes Odette had drawn an image of one of the wildflowers that grew around the children’s graves at the mission. The woman was excited and said that she was confident Odette’s artwork would sell through her business.
‘I have an arrangement with several native women that operates successfully. Each month you would send me your painted cards through the post, and, as long as the work is to standard, I send you a postal order in return for the due amount. We could begin conservatively, with just one package of cards, and see what response we get. There would be no cost to you at all to begin the arrangement.’
‘And what would you pay me?’ Odette asked, sceptical of such an offer from a total stranger. The woman explained the details of the financial arrangement. Odette did the mental arithmetic and calculated she could potentially earn more from drawing greeting cards over a couple of days than she could scrubbing floors for an entire week.
‘What I need from you,’ the woman added, ‘is your tribal name.’
Odette was puzzled. ‘My tribal name?’
‘Yes. The tribe of your ancestors, where your people originated from. Whenever I sell native artwork I provide written provenance with the greeting cards, naming the tribe that the artist originates from. It adds to the value of the work, you see?’ She looked at the frowning Odette, sympathetically. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Perhaps you have lost all contact with …’ The woman blushed with embarrassment.
It never failed to surprise Odette how white people were always going on about uplifting Aboriginal people, yet they would demand information about the old ways when it suited them. She looked over to the honey jar sitting on the bread board and read the label to herself. It sounded tribal enough. ‘We’re the Bilga people,’ she explained. ‘That’s my tribe. The Bilgas.’
The woman lifted her head and looked towards an imaginary and distant landscape. ‘The Bilga people. Of course.’ She smiled as though she’d had actual contact with the tribe. The woman offered her gloved hand to Odette and the pair shook on the deal. She looked up at the blonde-haired Sissy. ‘And who would you be, young lady?’
Sissy proudly lifted her chin but said nothing, having been raised by Odette to remain wary of strangers.
‘She’s my granddaughter,’ Odette offered.
The woman’s head snapped, as if she’d been shocked by a bolt of electricity. ‘Really? Oh, really,’ she repeated, awkwardly. ‘Your granddaughter?’
‘Yeah. Really,’ Odette said. ‘The world is full of wonders.’
The woman left the case of art supplies with Odette and over time the arrangement between the women flourished. Each month Odette boxed her completed cards and posted them to the gift shop. In return, she received a postal order and art supplies. Without citizenship, Odette could not open an independent bank account. As a consequence, she cashed the money orders and kept her savings in old jam tins stored at the back of the pantry.
Sissy sat at the kitchen table and watched Odette holding a wattle branch in one hand while sketching with the other.
‘You like them ones, don’t you?’ Sissy said. ‘You paint them a lot.’
Odette twirled the branch between two fingers. The yellow flowers performed a pirouette. ‘I do like them. So do the birds and insects. I’m painting this one because it comes out early in the season. There’s not much else that flowers this time of year.’
‘You could paint all these flowers and birds by memory, couldn’t you, Nan?’ Sissy asked. ‘You don’t need the branch in front of you.’
‘You’re right. I don’t need them in front of me, Sis. But, as each tree is different, so is each branch and leaf and flower. What I’m painting this afternoon can’t be painted again. They’re all different. Once this flower dies there won’t be another quite the same.’
She handed the branch to Sissy, who closely examined the serrated leaves and fine ball-shaped flowers. ‘This comes from the tree in the front yard?’
‘It does.’
‘They’re all the same, the leaves and flowers on that tree.’ Sissy sighed.
‘No, they’re not,’ Odette protested. ‘You have to look more closely.’
Sissy moved the branch closer to her face, until a leaf tickled her nose and she turned cross-eyed. ‘I can’t see any difference between them. It’s like they’re all twins.’
‘That’s because you’re not looking with soft eyes,’ Odette said.
‘Soft eyes? What’s that?’
Odette dropped her paintbrush into an old Vegemite jar filled with water. She picked up a second, finer brush and dipped it in the yellow paint. ‘That’s something you’ll come to know with age and patience. It takes time to learn. You’re not ready yet.’
‘Will you teach me, Nanna?’
Odette delicately placed the tip of the brush against the greeting card and drew a beautiful flower with the briefest of strokes. If she heard Sissy’s question, she didn’t answer it.
Odette was thinking of her own childhood and the rare but valued time she spent in the bush surrounding the mission. She often shared these stories with Sissy, yet she also carried other memories of the mission that she kept to herself. These had etched themselves into the telling wrinkles on her face. When Odette looked up she noticed Sissy watching her closely and wondered what the girl was thinking.
Once the cards had dried they wrapped them in greaseproof paper and tied them together with a red ribbon. Odette tidied the kitchen table and swept the floor as rain began to beat on the iron roof. As the rain got heavier, water started dripping onto the floor. Sissy ran around the kitchen with the empty jars they kept for when the roof leaked, placing them on the floor to catch the drops. The half-filled jars soon performed a tattoo, accompanied by the erratic beat of rain on the roof.
‘I love this sound,’ Sissy said. ‘Do you love it, Nanna?’
‘Yes, I do.’
In the early evening, they sat across the table from each other, eating bowls of rabbit stew and listening to the radio. Sissy finished her meal, buried her face in the bowl and licked it. She rested the e
mpty bowl on the table. Odette smiled across the table at Sissy, who had no idea that the tip of her nose was covered in rich gravy.
‘Will we live here for a long time, Nanna?’
‘Of course, we will. Where else would we go?’
‘Maybe to the sea.’
‘The sea! What gives you that idea? The sea must be hundreds of miles away from here. At least.’
‘I’m reading a book that I borrowed from the library. The children in it go on an adventure in a boat, across the ocean. I’d like to see the ocean one day, Nanna. Would you take me?’
It had been a busy day for Odette. Her eyelids were heavy. ‘The ocean’s a long way from here. That would be a trip we’d need to do a lot of thinking about, and I’m too tired for that now. I’ll soon be asleep here if I don’t hop up. Let’s wash your face and hands, and then put you into your pyjamas.’
‘Do you know how long I’m going to live with you?’ Sissy asked, wiping her face with a warm flannel.
‘You know, Sis, you must have asked me a hundred questions today. You’re going to wear me out.’
‘Well, this question is a hundred and one. How long will I be living here, with you?’
‘I give up, girl. You tell me. How long?’
‘Forever.’ Sissy smiled.
Forever.
The day her daughter, Lila, was born was the happiest in Odette’s life. As a mother she’d battled to ensure Lila would stay with her forever, and for many years she’d succeeded in keeping her daughter close. After Lila went away, Odette was forced to confront reality – although her daughter had not been taken from her, for whatever reason, Lila had decided to leave her mother behind. Each night, before Odette fell asleep, she asked the old people for help, that she would not lose Sissy as well.
Chapter Four
Walking to the mission graveyard a week later Odette saw that a KEEP OUT sign had been scrawled in large letters along the junkyard fence and a chain and padlock had been added to the gate. There was no sign of Henry at the yard that morning, or the following week when Odette noticed broken beer bottles and empty shotgun shells strewn across the track. Henry Lamb had gone to ground, as was his habit. Odette suspected there’d be no bicycle for Sissy’s birthday, so was surprised on her return home from the graveyard to see Henry in the distance, standing in the open gateway with Rowdy by his side.
‘I’ve been looking out for you,’ he called, one arm bent at the elbow to shield his eyes from the precious morning sun.
‘Really?’ Odette replied. ‘I thought you might have left town, Henry Lamb. Gone on a holiday.’
‘Not me. I don’t go any place.’
She pointed to the shattered glass. ‘What’s happened here?’
Henry nervously tugged at the bib of his overalls.
‘It was them Kane boys. They come round again wanting to have a snoop. I told them the yard is private property and I have nothing for sale. They’re not welcome here and I told them so. They smashed the bottles, and I heard someone’s boot giving the fence a good kick. There was some shooting too. Bang! Bang! Poor Rowdy went off his head with the noise.’
‘That’s terrible, Henry. When did this happen?’
‘Maybe three nights back. Could be more. Could be less.’
Henry appeared to have shrunk into his overalls since Odette had last seen him. He looked more like a child than an old man. Odette briefly considered taking hold of him and giving him a hug, before checking herself.
‘Have you reported it at the police station?’
‘I’ve told nobody. But I painted this sign,’ Henry said, pointing with some pride in the general direction of his most recent warning to troublemakers. ‘And I have the gate bolted double now. I only opened it up because I’ve been waiting on you, Odette, to talk about your bicycle. For Sissy. I’ve been worrying that I missed the day. I should have written it down like I was thinking to do. Today is Sunday and I knew to wait here for you to come by. Have I missed her birthday?’
‘No, Henry,’ Odette smiled. ‘That’s thoughtful of you, to build the bike for her.’ She looked down at the glass shards winking in the sunlight. ‘Especially with this trouble you’re dealing with. I wish I could do something to help.’
‘Don’t you worry, Odette. I can look after myself. Some day when they come by I’ll have a surprise for them Kane boys.’
‘What would that be?’ Odette asked. ‘Are you going to shoot them or something?’
It was an off-hand comment but the earnest frown on Henry’s face suggested he was giving serious consideration to the proposition. ‘Haven’t thought about that, but maybe I should. Reckon they deserve it,’ he said. ‘So, when will you and Sissy be coming for her bike?’
‘Well, it’s her birthday next week. What if I brought her by here on Tuesday after she’s finished school, at around four? Would that be a good time for you, Henry?’
Henry lifted his head and closed his eyes, as if mentally checking his diary. ‘I reckon I should be here. Yep, the time would be good by me.’ He took a pen out of the front pocket of his overalls and wrote a note on his forearm. ‘Four o’clock, Tuesday,’ he whispered to himself.
‘I’ll see you then,’ Odette said.
‘Yep. I’ll be right here.’
As Odette walked on she heard the gate shut behind her, followed by the sound of a rattling lock and chain.
The following Tuesday after school Odette had a plan to surprise Sissy. She asked her to help out with a trip to Henry Lamb’s yard. Sissy had her nose in a book and didn’t want to leave the house. ‘Why do you need me to come, Nan? I have homework to do.’
‘Homework? You never have homework. I need you to help me.’
‘What sort of help?’
‘I’m looking for a special part. Henry might have one in the yard. You can help me look for it.’
Sissy wasn’t convinced. ‘A part? What sort of part, Nan?’
‘Just a part,’ Odette sighed. ‘For a machine.’
‘But we don’t have any machines at home for a part to go with,’ Sissy persisted. ‘Maybe it would be best for you to buy a machine from Henry first.’ She laughed, testing her grandmother’s story. ‘And then you can search for a part to go with it.’
Odette had had enough of Sissy’s cheekiness. ‘That’s plenty from you. All you need to know is that you’re coming with me, and I’ll tell you all about this part I’m after while we’re on the walk.’
Deane’s Line was drier than it had been in weeks. The sun was out and the walk was enjoyable, despite the pair having to stop a couple of times for Odette to catch her breath.
‘It’s your birthday tomorrow,’ Odette said. ‘You’re growing up too quick on me, Sweet.’ She rested an arm on Sissy’s shoulder as they walked and noticed that her granddaughter was almost as tall as she was, with some growing left in her. ‘I guess you’ve been thinking about a birthday present from your nan?’
‘Maybe,’ Sissy smiled.
‘Maybe? And?’
‘Well,’ Sissy hesitated. ‘I’d like a sketchbook of my own and some pencils. I’d like to draw as good as you do, Nan. One day I want to make my own cards and sell them to that lady in Gatlin you work for.’
‘That’s all you want?’ Odette asked. ‘Let’s say you could have anything you wanted for your birthday. What would it be?’
‘Anything?’
Sissy walked ahead of her grandmother as she thought about the question. ‘If I could have anything I wanted I would stay in the bath all day, every day for the next year, having my hair washed over and over.’
Odette scoffed. ‘And I guess I’d be the one stoking the fire and shovelling the coal all day to keep the water hot. And washing your hair. That would be harder than working all day for white people.’
‘Nope. You wouldn’t be working at all, Nan. We’d have our ow
n worker, doing the jobs for us. All you would have to do would be sit on a couch and drink tea. And there’d be chocolate.’
‘You’d need to search a long time to find anyone who’d work that hard for us. Aboriginal people, we do all the work.’
Odette knocked at Henry’s gate. He didn’t answer immediately. She knocked again, banging against the iron fence with the toe of her shoe. When that didn’t get his attention, she shouted his name. ‘Henry, it’s me, Odette. Me and Sissy.’
She could hear Rowdy barking. He ran at the gate, butted it and sniffed around the bottom of the gate with his wet, black nose. Odette heard the jangling of keys and the sound of several padlocks being opened. Henry pulled on the metal chain attached to the gate and opened it a few inches. He spied Odette through the crack.
‘Yep, it’s you,’ he reassured himself, and threw the gate open. He ignored Odette and offered his grubby hand to Sissy. ‘Happy birthday, Miss Sissy.’
‘Thank you, Henry,’ she said.
‘Miss Sissy,’ he laughed. ‘That sounds like Mississippi.’
‘It does,’ Sissy said.
‘So, you did remember her birthday,’ Odette greeted him. ‘Thank you.’
Henry frowned, slightly insulted. ‘Of course I did. I would not forget this girl’s birthday. Come inside.’
Henry stepped to one side and ushered them into the yard. Odette hadn’t been inside the Lambs’ junkyard before. She’d never seen anything like the collection that Henry and his father had amassed over the decades. One side of the yard was occupied by mountains of wooden chairs, tangled collections of iron bed railings, rolls of rusting agricultural fencing, cattle gates, hessian bags bulging with old clothing, tools, tables, pillars of books ruined by the damp weather and dozens of tea chests filled with pots and saucers, plates and cups, knives, forks and spoons. The rear of the yard was dominated by a long open shed, storing buggies, old tractors, truck parts, three motorbikes and even an old stagecoach.
