Also by Margo Lanagan
FOR TEENAGERS AND ADULTS
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
Yellowcake
Red Spikes
Black Juice
White Time
NOVELS
Tender Morsels
Touching Earth Lightly
The Best Thing
FOR YOUNGER READERS
Walking Through Albert
The Tankerman
Wildgame
This project has been assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
First published in 2012
Published in the US & UK as The Brides of Rollrock Island
Copyright © Margo Lanagan 2012
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.
Allen & Unwin
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Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
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A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available
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ISBN 978 1 74237 505 2
Design and illustration by Zoë Sadokierski
Set in Adobe Caslon Pro 12/16pt by Zoë Sadokierski
Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Daniel Mallett
Misskaella Prout
Bet Winch
Dominic Mallett
Daniel Mallett
Lory Severner
Trudle Callisher
Acknowledgements
‘The old witch is there,’ said Raditch, peering over the top to Six-Mile Beach. ‘Well settled with her knitting.’
‘It’s all right. We’re plenty,’ said Grinny.
‘We’re plenty and we have business,’ James said with some bluster — he was as scared of her as anyone. He shook his empty sack. ‘We have been sent by our mams. We’re to provide for our families.’
‘Yes, we’ve come all this way,’ said Oswald Cawdron.
‘We have.’
And down the cliff we went. It was a poisonous day. Every now and again the wind would take a rest from pressing us to the wall, and try to pull us off it instead. We would grab together and sit, then, making a bigger person’s weight that it could not remove. The sea was grey with white dabs of temper all over it; the sky hung full of ragged strips of cloud.
We spilled out onto the sand. You can fetch sea-hearts two ways. You can go up the tide-wrack; you will find more there, but they will be harder, drier for lying there, and many of them dead. You can still eat them, but they will take more cooking and, unless your mam boils them through the night, more chewing. They are altogether more difficult.
Those of us whose mams had sighed or dads had smacked their heads for bringing that sort went down towards the water. Grinny ran ahead and picked up the first heart, but nobody raced him; hearts lay all along the sea-shined sand there, plenty for all our families. They do not keep, once collected. They can lie drying in the tide-wrack for days and still be tolerable eating, but put them in a house and they’ll do any number of awful things: collapse in a smell, sprout white fur, explode themselves across your pantry-shelf. So there is no point grabbing up more than your mam can use.
Along we went, in a bunch because of the witch. She sat some way along the distance we needed to go, and exactly halfway between tideline and water, as if she meant to catch the lot of us. She had a grand pile of weed that she was knitting up beside her, and another pile of blanket she had already made, and the end of her bone knitting-hook jittered and danced at her shoulder as she made more, and the rest of her looked as immovable as rocks, except her swivelling head, which watched us, watched the sea, swung to face us again.
‘Oh,’ breathed James. ‘Maybe we can come back later.’
‘Come now, look at this catch,’ I said. ‘We will gather them all up and run home and it will be done. Think how pleased your mam will be! Look at this!’ I lifted one; it was a doubler, one sea-heart clammed upon another like hedgehogs in the spring.
‘She spelled Duster Kimes potty,’ he whimpered.
‘Kimeses are all potty,’ I said. How like my dad I sounded, so sensible, knowing everything. ‘Duster is just more frightenable than the rest. Come, look.’ And I thrust a good big heart into his hands, sharp with barnacles to wake him up.
The ones that still float are the best, the most tender, though the ones that have landed, leaning in the wet with sea-spit bubbled around them, are fine, and even those that have sat only a little, up there along the drying foam, are still good. The other boys were dancing along the wrack up there, gathering too much, especially Kit Cawdron. He was only little and he had no sense; why didn’t Raditch stop him? We would have to tip most of that sack out, or half the town would stink up with the waste.
‘They’ll not need to go as far as us,’ said Grinny at my elbow.
I dropped a nice heavy-wet heart in my sack. ‘We could get them back down here, to walk along with us, maybe.’
No sooner had I said it than Grinny was off up the beach fetching them. He must have been scareder than he looked.
I busied myself catching floating hearts without sogging my pants-hems. Some folk ate the best hearts raw, particularly mams; they drank up the liquor inside, and if there was more than one mam there they would exclaim how delicious it was, and if not they would go quiet and stare away from everyone. If it was only dads there, they would say to each other, ‘I cannot see the attraction, myself,’ and smack their lips and toss the heart-skin in the pot for boiling with the rest. If you boiled the heart up whole, that clear liquor went to an orange curd; we were all brought up on that, spooned and spooned into us, and some lads never lost the taste. I quite liked it myself, but only when I was ailing. It was bab-food, and a growing lad needed bread and meat, mostly.
Anyway, the wrack-hunters came down and made a big crowd with us. Harper picked up a wet heart and weighed and turned it, and emptied his sack of dry ones to start again. Kit Cawdron watched him, in great doubt now.
‘Why don’t you take a few of these, Kit,’ I said, ‘instead of those jawbreakers? Your mam will think you a champion.’
He stared at a heart glistening by his foot, and then came alive and up-ended his sack. Oh, he had some rubbish in there; they bounced down the shore dry as pompons.
His brother Oswald was dancing in and out of the water-edge, not caring what Kit gathered. I picked up a few good hearts, if small. ‘See how the shells are closed on it? And the thready weed still has some juice in it, see? Those are the signs, if you want to make mams happy.’
‘Do they want small or big?’ Kit said, taking one.
‘Depends on her taste. Does she want small and quicker to cook, or fat and full of juice? My mam likes both, so I take a variety.’
And now we were quite close to the witch, in the back of the bunch, which was closer, quieter, and not half so lively as before, oh no. And she was fixed on us, the face of our night-horrors, white and creased and greedy.
; ‘Move along past,’ I muttered. ‘Plenty on further.’
‘Oh, plenty!’ said Misskaella, making me jump and stiffen. ‘But no one wants to pause by old Misska and be knitted up, eh? No one wants to become piglets in a blanket!’ Her eyes bulged in their cavities like glistening rockpool creatures; I’d have wet myself, if I’d had anything in me to wet with.
‘We’re only collecting sea-hearts, Misskaella,’ said Grinny politely, and I was grateful to him for dragging her sights off me.
‘Only!’ she said, and her voice would tear tinplate. ‘Only collecting!’
‘That’s right, for our mams’ dinners.’
She snorted, and matter flew out one of her nostrils and into the blanket. She knitted on savagely. The bone’s rustling in the weed sent my boy-sacks up inside me like startled mice to their hole. ‘That’s right. Keep ’em sweet, keep ’em sweet, those pretty mams.’
There was a pause, she sounded so nasty, but Grinny took his life in his hands and went on. ‘That’s what we aim to do, ma’am.’
‘Don’t “ma’am” me, sprogget!’
We all jumped.
‘Move along, all of you, and stop your gawking,’ spat the witch. ‘What’s to see? You think I’m ugly? Well, so are your dads, and some of you yourselves. Look at you, boy-of-Baker, with your face like a balled fist. So I’m out alone? What of it? You think all women are maundering mere-maids like your mams, going about in a clump? Staring there like folk at a hanging — get out of my sight, before I emblanket you and tangle you up to drown!’
Well, we didn’t need her to say it twice.
‘You can never tell which way she’ll go,’ murmured Grinny as we scuttled on.
‘You did grand, Grin,’ said Raditch. ‘I don’t know how you found a voice.’ And Kit, I saw, was making sure to keep big Batton Baker between himself and the old crow.
‘Sometimes she’s all sly and coaxy? And sometimes she loses her temper like now.’
‘Sometimes all she does is sit and cry and not say a word or be frightening at all,’ said Raditch. ‘Granted, that’s when she’s had a pot or two.’
We collected most efficiently after that, and when we were done we described a wide circle around behind Misskaella, on our way back to the foot of the path. ‘From behind she’s not nearly so bad,’ I said, for she was only a dark lump down there like a third mound of weed, her hook-end bobbing beyond her shoulder.
Yes, Misskaella, seals. See? She loves them!
The seals gleamed in the sunshine. I tried to crawl to them, but Bee held firm to my ankle, and I could not go. Pink flowers on long stems nodded about my ears. I did not even have enough of a mind to know that the cliff dropped away there; I thought that the seals lay on the ground right in front of me, that they were seething worms or caterpillars, sleek and soft-looking. I thought I could catch up a handful of them, and understand them as I understood everything, by putting them in my mouth.
Ann Jelly carried me down the cliff path, back and forth in a tipped-steep world. As we went, I saw the seals more truly. They were grown-up-people sized; they were bigger even than that. Still I reached for them. I leaned out from Ann Jelly’s shoulder, and when she turned I leaned across her face.
Look, she’s not at all afraid, she said.
They would roll on you and crush you, Missk, for all their big friendly eyes.
How they smell!
Oh, the king of them down there, fighting off those ones, isn’t he the ugliest thing you ever laid eyes on?
I did not even see the king, for all the mothers so close to me, for all the seal-babies that roamed and moaned over them. I did not find their smell foul; it was all one with their fascination. The mothers looked warm; I wanted to crawl over their hills, so much softer than those rocks and sharp periwinkles I had explored before, so much freer than being clasped tightly to Ann Jelly’s side, and not carried where I wanted. Why did we hang back so? Why did she not put me down, so that I could crawl to them and climb among them? Why did Bee turn us back, when we had only strolled once and distantly along the edge of the herd? Why must we climb away to the seal-less parts of the world? We might touch them! They might like to be patted, as dogs and cats did. Their babies might approach and speak to us! I pushed myself high against Ann Jelly’s shoulder and watched the seals sink away. I would have cried at the loss of them, if I’d not been so busy being surprised by them, a flap of life here, a surge there, a head lifting to regard us.
We went home, and tea and bread happened as always, its clatter and talk held in by the kitchen walls, so different from the flying world outside, the wind and sun. I was tucked in between Tatty and Grassy Ella, behind my towering teacup.
And you should have seen Missk with the seals, Mam, down at Crescent! Lorel said across the table. I raised my face hopefully from my bread. Sometimes when they talked of me Mam lost her sharp look. She even smiled on me now and then.
I should? Mam poured and put down the pot. She looked at me, and Lorel’s words went in and pinched her face tighter. I watched her around my cup with one eye and then with the other.
She couldn’t keep her eyes off them! said Bee, out of sight of me. She wanted to crawl in among them. Of course we did not let her. She sounded nervous now. She must have caught sight of Mam.
It’s true, she was very interested, Ann Jelly apologised. I have never seen her so fixed on anything — Strange, Mam said. Was anyone else about, at Crescent Corner?
There was a pause full of worry at Mam’s loud voice, then, ’Twas just us six, Bee’s voice came timidly.
Just us six, and a thousand seals, said Grassy, poking over her bread all unawares.
Good, said Mam. Watch her near those things. She watched me hard, herself. And don’t tell anyone else of this, that she loves them. No one needs to know that. Do you understand?
We were all quiet. Grassy looked down at me. My face tried a squashed-feeling smile at her, but she did not smile back.
Yes, Mam, said Bee.
Nanny Prout’s house smelt of the ages, and was gloomy from all those years holding only Nanny. She had never wanted company, said Dad, but had shut herself away from everyone, even us her family. She would still have been shut away if she’d had her choice, but because she was so ill Aunt Baxter and Aunt Roe could busy their ways in and interfere. It was they who had told us to come; this was the last time Nanny would be fit to see us, they’d said.
Aunt Roe had put us in the chilly parlour. The dead fireplace was hidden behind a screen; a dark dresser loomed against the wall. Mam and Dad sat on the edge of the strange sideways couch. The pin in Mam’s shawl sucked all the light from the room, so that the rest of us must sit in dusk. Her hair, freshly tidied, left her face out in the cold, unsoftened. I wore a dress newly handed down from Tatty, and I felt blowsy and floaty in it, not held together properly; cold air crept in under the skirt. I clambered up between Mam and Dad, and drew some warmth off them.
Nobody spoke; that was alarming. No girl whispered, so Billy had nothing to snipe at. We all listened to the sickroom, the clinks and footfalls there, the murmuring aunts, the silence from the bed. We hardly knew Nanny Prout, any of us children. Ann Jelly remembered her outside Fisher’s, windblown, shouting (She didn’t even seem to know I was a relative!). Billy and Bee and Lorel had seen her in an armchair — perhaps that armchair, with the brown flowers on. I had no idea who she was, what she looked like, whether I should like her or be afraid. But her dying must be tremendously important; look at us waiting about so warily. The whole house, the whole day and town beyond it, leaned in over her bed, preparing itself. What would it be like? Was a near-dead nanny awful to look upon? I feared so, from Mam and Dad’s silence and stillness either side of me.
With a rustle of her brown dress, into the doorway stepped Aunt Roe, her face white and pointed. She waved us out of the parlour as if she were vexed with us. ‘She’s very tired,’ she said, her own voice weary as if to demonstrate. ‘You mustn’t stay long.’
&
nbsp; She led us to the sickroom, and stood aside from the door. ‘It’s Froman, Mam,’ she said accusingly, ‘and Gussy and all their children.’ She turned and flapped her hand at us again, as if we must step forward for a beating.
Mam pushed us children into the room. Ann Jelly led the line of us alongside the bed — which held a tiny person, not much more than a doll. Tatty nudged me forward; the others passed me along; Ann Jelly held me by the shoulders. Nanny Prout’s hand on the coverlet, pale yellow, held not the slightest tremble of life.
‘Froman,’ said Nanny. Oh, the relief that she could utter a word! Her face frightened me, so collapsed and fissured that I worried it would crumple quite away. The bonnet frill around it tried vainly to distract from the fearsomeness.
‘Mam.’ Dad gave a little bow. Anywhere else the bigger girls would have laughed at him, but here in the room with Nanny and her approaching death, none of them even snickered.
‘And Augusta?’ Nanny managed. It did seem cruel of Mam, to have so many syllables in her name that the old lady must labour through.
‘Nanny,’ said Mam, as if that name, though not as hard to utter, were just as distasteful.
‘And all the little ones.’ Nanny looked along the taller row of us. ‘Don’t tell me their names again. There are too many, and what is the point, now, of my remembering them?’
‘Mam, what a thing to say!’ Aunt Baxter fluted. She laughed, and twitched the quilt at Nanny’s far elbow.
Nanny’s colourless eyes worked their way back along the lower three of us. Her gaze met mine and stopped. She had been pretending interest, but she ceased it now. Her lips poked out, pulling her wrinkles after them like the mouth of a drawstring purse.
‘This one here, though, at the end, the littlest.’ Her voice was dry and partial. ‘I don’t like the look of her. She’s a bit slanted, a bit mixed.’
‘That’s our Misskaella,’ said Dad in his comfortable voice. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Missk.’ But Mam pulled away and frowned at me, as if she had never noticed me before.
‘She harks back, I tell you,’ said Nanny. ‘It is in her mouth and nose, and just in the general set of her. There’s no denying it. She’ll be hard to marry — that’s if any men are left on Rollrock, after this rash of daughters has gone through. Look at them all! Only the one boy — and him bad-tempered, by the look.’
Sea Hearts Page 1
