But Prindy was staring at him called Njorjinga and King George, as he came towards them with the other blackmen, lugging their piled buckets of fish. The grey eyes were wide, perhaps from more than interest in the fish, since mention had been made of what probably was the most interesting of all things to him now, the Snake.
Old George smiled at Prindy as he came up, and again addressed him as Kokanjinni, a western lingo for Nephew. He also looked at him, as Prindy craned out to watch the loading of the fish, with an expression that seemed to suggest he read more in the grey-eyed glance than the mere display of nepotal deference he might expect by convention. But no other word or sign was exchanged between them. George climbed into the truck with the others. Barney swung the truck back for the shore-line, sending the crabs scuttling again, headed up the beach and through the Compound, to halt outside Mr Turkney’s office and there have the catch weighed on the big scales and duly entered in a ledger. It was obvious that George understood neither operation, although he watched with interest verging on suspicion.
As a matter of fact, his industry was very much curtailed. By law he was prevented from what was called Managing his Estate, which virtually meant from conducting any kind of business without the patronage of his Protectors. What money accrued from his fishing was held in trust for him by the Aborigines Protection Department, which doled it out to him as it thought fit. But the shrewd old fellow had a way of beating that. He could buy what he liked from the Compound Canteen Store on credit against his Trust Account. He did so liberally, and realised handsomely on the stuff in cash through some system of brokerage dealings with other inmates of the institution that had never been elucidated by the authorities, to whom he was known as a Head.
It was curious that when their declared policy was to assimilate their charges into the civilised community, and they complained of their general lack of what was called economic sense, they disapproved of the display of the very essence of it, Private Enterprise. King George and his female counterpart in the matter, Queeny Peg-leg, were joked about mainly in Official circles. Still the disapproval was there always in evidence. They were accused of exploiting their simpler brethren. As if just about every civilised person in the land did not do exactly that in some form or other, if it were only in foisting Jesus onto them or taking salaries for protecting them.
Old George now went into the store to collect his dues, while Prindy went off in the truck with Barney and Hoppy to deliver the goods, at much greater profit to the Department than to George.
The delivery first took them into the region reserved for the residences of Junior Government Officers, their first call being at the McCusky home, evidently to give Mrs McCusky the pick of the catch, the way she, a thin tight-lipped fairish lady, went through it. Looking at Prindy, she asked, ‘That the boy?’ As they left her, Barney remarked on the interest that was being taken in him and hinted at the much greater that would follow his appearance in Court, and got onto the subject of the bijnitch again under the guise of being able to help him see the embarrassing business through more easily if he knew all about it. Still Prindy was silent.
Next they called at the Garrison, where they dallied for some little time beside the cook-house owing to Prindy’s interest in company drill that was going on. So struck was he by the patent absurdity of a body of men’s heading in one direction with such positive purpose only to turn and do the like in the opposite that he asked, ‘Wha’s matter dat-lot . . . he like old bull walkin’ up-an’-down fence?’ He also remarked on the Drill Sergeant’s yelling, which must have struck him like the bawling out of defaulting black stockmen by his uncle Clancy and others. ‘Wha’s matter dat-one all-time growl-growl-growl?’
From the Garrison to the Hospital, where there was the strange sight to see of people lying in bed in whole groups with the Sun halfway up the sky, and the chilling sound of a woman’s screaming as if being beaten fair to death. Of the latter, Barney remarked, ‘White lady havin’ a baby.’ Black ladies, at least living in their natural state more or less, never inflicted their pangs of parturition on male ears, always being removed into isolation at time of delivery.
Then to the Jail. It wasn’t the prisoners who got the fish, but the jailers, the pick of it here being taken by the wife of the Chief Jailer, Major O’Dowdy. So thorough was her picking that it allowed quite a time for looking about at what could be seen, which included a glimpse inside through the big wooden doors, where a group of blackmen, all clad alike in grey shirts and khaki pants, decorated with that emblem of the King of England, the broad arrow, were squatting in groups cutting logs of wood with cross-cut saws, while chanting in corroboree style. There were other men similarly coloured and clad working in the bright gardens that lay between the high whitewashed iron walls and the line of Officers’ residences. All were interested in Prindy, perhaps already having been apprised of his identity and appearance by the grapevine that was known to function most efficiently between jail and town. Mrs O’Dowdy knew of him, anyway. Having mauled all of the fish several times, looking in their gills and sniffing them, a fat fair woman with silly wobbly blue eyes, she asked Barney, ‘That him?’ Then, as if Prindy were some dumb animal, proceeded to inquire about his parentage: ‘Is it a fact that his father’s Martin Delacy . . . or Dinny Cahoon like they say?’ Barney was obviously careful with his answers, as if knowing her as one not to be trusted. While it was going on, Major O’Dowdy himself appeared from inside the prison, a heavily built white-haired red-faced man, dressed rather like a policeman. He spoke to Barney about bringing more wood for his sawyers. The logs used were cut by gangs of more or less forced labourers who were inmates of the Compound with nothing better, from an official point of view, to do. The resultant wood was issued as fuel to Government Officers.
As they left the Jail, Barney had another go at getting Prindy to talk, even suggesting now that his stubborn silence might land him behind that high wall to saw wood all day — but quite without effect.
The baskets were empty of fish now. However, there remained a box, covered with a sack and serving so far as a seat for Hoppy and not included in the weighing-in at the Compound, which proved to hold the best of all the catch, a dozen or so large Trevally, or White Fish as they were called locally, at least by Chinese, who prized them highly. These were destined for the Chinese. On the way back from the Jail towards Town, Barney took a sudden turn up a narrow road that brought them into what was obviously the domain of Chinese gardeners. As in all such places, there were large chained dogs to announce their presence. A skinny old pantalooned Chinese woman came to them with a basket, took a look and a sniff at the fish, and when it had been handed over to her, gave Barney a small paper packet. No word was said. Evidently it was a commonplace deal, with what was called opium ash, a low-grade form of the drug pedalled to the blacks by Chinamen.
The itinerary now led by way of that road down which Barney had taken Prindy and his mother the night of their arrival. They went through a timbered region, with a glimpse of the old Delacy residence, down to the coconuts, but off to the left now before reaching the cemeteries and over the wastes of maritime marsh to the home of Jumbo Delacy. It was quite a substantial place, even if in bad repair, an iron bungalow with verandahs screened in the old style with split bamboo strung on wire, well shaded with mangoes and other leafy trees and a couple of coconuts. Jumbo and Possum, his wife, and their numerous brood came rushing out at sound of the horn. It was then revealed that still more fish were being transported unofficially, when Barney handed over a sugar-sack he’d had on the ledge behind him in the cabin. As it was just about time for dinner, and the visitors accepted Jumbo’s invitation to stop and have it with them, Possum set to work at once, with the help of a couple of the bigger children, to clean and cook the fish. Evidently Jumbo had been apprised of the need to get Prindy talking about the Catfish affair, as Mr McCusky had said he would be, because he and Barney at once fell to discussing the matter over a bottle of beer also produced fro
m the cabin of the truck by Barney, while Prindy went off with younger children, at Jumbo’s urging, to look for coconuts. During the meal the pair continued to discuss it, at first as if Prindy weren’t there, advancing their own theories — I reckon — no-more, I reckon — then suddenly swung on Prindy and asked what he reckoned. The stratagem didn’t work. The grey eyes were as blank as ever. Exasperated, Jumbo demanded, ‘Wha’s matter . . . you been chillip dat time?’
Prindy said simply, ‘I don’ know.’
Jumbo went on: ‘Crise . . . wha’-for you fright? Dat-lot old-man can’t hurt you spone you talk. He dere long o’ jeel, ain’t he? You fright’ long o’ dat lot Delacy, eh?’
Prindy shook his head.
‘Yes . . . I reckon you fright’ long o’ dat-lot. You fright’ dat-one Clancy put him stockwhip roun’ you, spone you talk, ain’t it?’
The grey eyes widened. Jumbo seemed to take the expression for admission of fear: ‘Yeah . . . da’s it.’ Evidently he’d heard, like most people in the land by this time, surely, seeing what a place it was for passing the word around, that the affair had been in some degree due to Clancy’s interference. He went on: ‘Mr McCusky . . . and me-two-feller Barney . . . we wan’ ’o help you. No matter ’bout who been start dat row. Dat one Clancy been start it all right. We know. All you got ’o do you tell him me-feller what happen dere long o’ Ring Place. Den we can mek trouble for Clancy. More better we mek trouble long o’ Delacy mob, eh? You no-more like him dat-one Clancy, eh?’ Prindy shook his head. ‘You no-more like’m Martin, eh?’ Again the fair head shook. ‘Well, there y’are, see. We after dat-lot white Delacy. Now you tell-him-’bout.’
The head shook again: ‘I don’ know.’
Barney checked Jumbo’s impatience, got him aside and said he’d leave the boy with him. He then departed. Prindy appeared to be quite ready to stay. Soon after Barney left, he joined the other children in a trip to the beach just across the way through the maritime scrub, and had his first taste of the joy of swimming in salt water.
Arrived back at the Compound, Barney Bynoe went straight to Mr Turkney in his office to report on what he’d done. Turkney’s reply was to the effect that he had done well, but that he himself had better check with the Boss, and promptly rang Mr McCusky. McCusky not only approved of the idea of leaving Jumbo to work on Prindy, but added that he thought it a good idea to have the boy stay with Jumbo’s family for the time being, seeing they had no proper place for him at the Compound. Turkney asked what he would do about the mother. McCusky said, ‘Hang on to her. It might be her who’s stopping him from talking. Besides, she’s supposed to be under medical attention, isn’t she?’ Turkney explained that so far Dr McQuegg hadn’t been to see her. McCusky laughed: ‘He hasn’t got over Hogmanay yet . . . or Piggy Trotters’s wake. Issue some special rations to Jumbo for the boy, otherwise I’ll have him on my back for money. By the way, I’ve just heard that poor old Piggy was that yeller piece’s old man . . . you ever hear it? Dinny told me . . . and he ought to know. So really the kid’s name’s Trotters. I was thinking of using it. We can’t put him up in Court as Ah Loy, or into our new institution . . . it’s too ridiculous. But it’d be too hard on old Elsie and the girls. Still, we got to get him a proper name. That’s our policy now. No blackfeller names. No crazy nicknames. That Prindy business’ll have to go. Means a bloody goanna. You got anything in mind, Tub?’
Tubby Turkney, feet now up on the table and phone cradled on shoulder, wearing that look of resignation which was part of his dealings with his superior, answered with deliberation that might well have been taken as irony by a more perceptive questioner, ‘Not a thing, Eddy, not a thing.’
‘Right, then. Leave it to me. So long.’
Mr Turkney lowered feet and phone together with relief so evident that Barney smirked in turning towards the door. But that relief lasted only as long as it took Barney to get outside, when it was shattered by a shrieking revelation of something of what McCusky actually had left to him. Evidently Nell had been on the lookout for the return of her boy, and not seeing him, rushed at Barney, wanting to know where he was, and being told, demanded to be taken to him, shrieking down his assurances and objections, and proceeding to do violence on him, when Turkney came lumbering out, roaring. ‘Here . . . cut that out . . . what’s going on?’
Nell turned on him. ‘Bloody harcarse bastard been steal my boy!’
‘He never steal him . . . he leave him Jumbo Delacy place . . . and I told him to.’
‘I wan’ ’o go dere long o’ my boy.’
‘Well, you can’t. He’s all right there.’
She swung from him back to Barney, who was retreating to the truck, rushed after him and grabbed him by the blue shirt, pulling it out of his trousers, screeching, ‘You tek me long o’ my boy, you bloody bastard.’
Struggling to get free of her, Barney lost half his shirt. He leapt out of reach. As she went after him again, Turkney went after her, grabbed her sound arm. She swung on him to menace him with the splinted arm, with the cockatoo screeching rising higher, ‘Le’ me ’lone, you bloody bastard!’
Turkney was bellowing now: ‘Don’t you swear at me, you bloody bitch!’
A crowd was coming running, blacks and the girls from the Adults’ Home. Nell’s voice cracked as she got it out: ‘Bloody puggim white bastard!’ She broke free, turned to run towards the gate. Turkney yelled to Barney to stop her. She kicked Barney in the shin, but stumbled in doing so and saved herself from hitting the ground with the hand of her good arm. Yelling for someone to go and get his missus, Turkney pounced on her, tangled with her in her fierce resistance, grabbed the hand of the broken arm, twisted it, causing her to give a final piercing shriek and fall in a faint. The inadvertency of his act was surely shown in his sudden paling and gasping, ‘Christ!’ as he bent over her. He looked up at his wife’s arrival, saying miserably, ‘I must’ve hurt her arm . . . but she was going crazy. I’d better get the doctor.’
He trotted back to his office and called Dr McQuegg, who started off with a testy implication that the girl had been neglected. As testily Turkney replied, ‘You can hardly blame me for that. I arranged about an X-ray and everything with the hospital.’
McQuegg grunted, ‘Bloody holidays. Send her over the Hospital and I’ll be right out to take a look at her.’
Nell had recovered consciousness by the time Turkney returned. She was struggling again, but with no such violence, and sobbing for her lost Lil Boy instead of shrieking, soothed somewhat now by her friends from the home and Mrs Turkney, who was saying, ‘Now everything’s going to be all right.’
Turkney briskly told Barney to take her to the Hospital in the truck, and then told Big Dolly to accompany her. Nell’s too ready compliance with his directing her to get into the truck should have given a hint of the fact, as quickly disclosed, that she thought she was being taken to Prindy. She realised that something other than her own intention was being carried out when the truck, having passed through the gateway, swung right instead of left, which was the direction they’d come in from, that night of arrival. She was sitting between Barney and Dolly. Wildly she began to look about, then demanded, ‘Where we go?’ Barney told her to the Hospital. She started shrieking again, ‘I don’ wan’ ’o go Hospital . . . you tek me my boy!’ Then as they tried to soothe her she swore at them, struggled to get out. Dolly got a grip on her as she tried to squeeze across her bulging belly. Still Barney kept going, passed the Children’s Home and their playground, beyond which the road narrowed, running through scrub, its surface rather rough, being the natural rock of the locality, a slag-like Laterite. They had just got onto this narrow stretch, with Nell well and truly in Dolly’s grasp but still struggling, when she kicked Barney in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to lose control. The truck veered off the road, bounced over some lumps of Laterite, hit a tree — Bang!
The impact threw Dolly and Nell out, Nell to fall underneath. Another shriek. Then silence. Doll
y dragged herself off her cushion to find it inert. She called to Barney, ‘She faint again. Look her arm!’
Barney and Hoppy came down to take a look. One of the splints was splintered and half the bandages snapped. A glance at the truck showed it was undamaged. Barney leapt back into it, started up, backed onto the road. Then he got down again to help Dolly and Hoppy lift the still unconscious Nell into the back. As they did so, Hoppy, who had her by the legs as the others hauled her up, exclaimed: ‘Crise!’ When they looked at him he showed a pink palm red with blood.
In a few minutes they were at the Hospital, to find Dr McQuegg already waiting and with some excuse for his testiness now after hearing what had happened meanwhile. ‘Bloody half-wits! She ought’ve been sent in the ambulance. Bone fragmented . . . miscarriage, too, I’ll bet. What a bloody mess!’
As Nell began to rally and struggle again they gave her Morphine. Examination proved the doctor’s prognostication correct. It was dark when they wheeled her out of the Operating Theatre, with her arm in plaster, her belly deflated, and put her in a bed in that corner of one of the verandahs reserved for the like of her. The Matron, a stocky red-faced woman with popping blue eyes, silenced the worried doctor’s final attempt to blame everybody but himself by saying, ‘Blame the booze, doctor. Anyway, does it matter all that much? She’s only a halfcaste.’
Just about then, over at Jumbo’s, Prindy was being taken up that scrubby hill in the pale light of a half Moon mostly clouded over, by Jumbo and two of Jumbo’s bigger boys, with the intention of showing him how his rich relations lived. The big old Delacy home (the modified palace of a Chinese tycoon somehow outwitted by the late Inspector Delacy, now become the leading squatter’s town house of the Land) was ablaze with light. The visit was, of necessity, secret, but easily enough made; for one reason that evidently Jumbo had made it so often as to have perfected it as a piece of stratagem; for another that watchdogs were not kept, as probably by the former owners. In fact the modification of the place was such that whereas the mainstay of the domestic service down at Beatrice River was Chinese, here it was Japanese, the very opposite. The major-domo was an ancient Japanese named Hanno, another shrewd acquisition of old-man Delacy’s, according to what Jumbo told Prindy about this family of theirs, at once to express his own all-abiding bitterness in his own rejection by them, and evidently to arouse the same in the boy with a view to getting his confidence. It seemed that Hanno, an old-time pearler, had been involved in murdering business with his compatriots that could have cost him his life either at the hands of these or of the hangman, was delivered from both through the power of Police Inspector Delacy, as the result of which, out of a Nipponese sense of obligation or need of perpetual protection, had enlisted himself in perpetuity as bondsman to the family. Although Jumbo spoke of Hanno as a friend of his, it was obvious that he envied him his position in the household. As he said, when pointing Hanno out as they crept up to watch the family, with several friends, at dinner in the big dining-room, ‘Wha’ dat bloody Jap doin’ dere, and we-lot got o’ stay outside, eh?’
Poor Fellow My Country Page 43
