by Di Morrissey
‘Surely that’s because there isn’t a reasonable excuse to stop your son coming here,’ said Lydia.
‘Yes. You know, telling Cameron all about it the other day, an outsider, and in such odd circumstances, well, it sort of put my marriage in perspective for me. I tried. Hard. But I see it all more clearly now.’
‘The marriage?’
‘More my ex-husband. I mean, you look back and think, how could I have put up with that! Why did I? And after all these years I was still letting him boss me around, dictate my life to me. Well, you know what? No more.’
‘Ah, man, that’s music to my ears,’ said Lydia with a delighted smile. ‘So did you come to an agreement? No need to fly to France and do battle after all? Next time you go there, it will be so much easier.’
‘I hope so. My first inclination was to rush in and do battle, as you put it, but instead I did a little homework first. Jean-Luc has just passed the Brevet des Collèges – a sort of national diploma – at junior high school in Nîmes. He’s now signed up at the International School in Montpellier, where he’ll board until he gets his Baccalauréat. After that . . . university. As you and I talked about the other day, the summer holidays begin at the end of June and run until the first week of September. So I proposed to Yves that Jean-Luc could do a fifty–fifty deal with his father: he could spend the August to September grape harvest period learning the business, and prior to that he’d have a month out here with me. I think that’s perfectly reasonable. I am tired of being considered as untrustworthy, as though I’m going to kidnap Jean-Luc. His father has his passport held by a legal guy who meets Jean-Luc at the airport when he lands, and hands it back to the airline when he leaves, so that I can’t hold my son in Australia. Ridiculous after all these years. I think by standing up to Yves, at last, he had no choice but to compromise.’
‘He sounds a shit,’ said Lydia bluntly.
‘Well, he’s protective. Jean-Luc is his only child. And reading between the lines, I think now that Yves might actually be jealous of me. And my family. And Australia.’
‘Because Jean-Luc likes it better?’
‘He has more fun here, is more relaxed, can be himself, can make mistakes, can show his feelings. I believe Jean-Luc knows his future and what is expected of him, and he accepts that. But he’s also embracing his Aussie side, and I think that scares his father.’
‘Well, he got a fair dose of culture this last trip,’ said Lydia with a grin. ‘Bush culture compared to medieval European culture.’ She reached out and grasped Jacqui’s hand. ‘You’re talking sense. You seem so much clearer and more focused. I don’t know what happened out there, when you banged into Lake Disappointment. But you’ve got fresh eyes. You seem stronger.’
‘I guess the near-death experience helped,’ said Jacqui with a chuckle.
Lydia turned her attention back to the Champagne and pulled out the cork with a whoosh and a bang. ‘Fantastic! See, I knew you could do it. Is Jean-Luc pleased?’
‘Thrilled. I phoned him after I spoke to Yves. He’s a bit bemused by my suddenly standing up to his father. Apparently Yves got in first and told Jean-Luc he’d spoken to me. He said my French was still “passable”.’ Jacqui hooted with delight. ‘His family was always so disparaging about my French accent.’
‘Didn’t you say you did some work once as a translator, interpreter? Your language skills can’t have been too poor.’ Lydia poured the Champagne and lifted a glass. ‘Here’s to the new Jacqui!’
‘I do feel somewhat renewed, I have to say. Putting the last few months behind me . . . indeed years, come to that! I know life wasn’t meant to be easy, but . . . Heck, I walked away from my marriage with practically nothing, so buying the bookshop here was a big moment after years of a nomadic life of scrimping and saving. It made me feel strong, sort of like, “I’ll show yers!”’
‘So you deserve all the good things in life now, Jac. You’ve earned them. And on your terms, too. I raise my glass to you, girl.’
They clinked glasses. ‘Now, I’ll get on with making the salad,’ said Jacqui, swallowing hard. She rarely if ever acknowledged how she’d struggled, how hard things had sometimes been and, equally, rarely gave herself credit or a pat on the back.
‘I’ll deal with the muddies. Bobby and one of the boys have offered to clean them,’ said Lydia.
Jacqui’s mobile rang and Cameron’s name flashed on the screen.
‘Hi, Cameron.’
‘Hi there. You sound like you’re somewhere busy – having a party?’ he joked.
‘Well, if you must know, I’m drinking Champagne with Lydia as we had a successful mud crab hunt. Where are you? How’s your arm?’
‘It’s fine. Listen, does Lydia have a DVD player, and do you think she’d mind another guest for lunch? I have Wally’s film back from Perth. They’ve put the footage on a DVD and I’d love to see it.’
‘Oh, I see. Let me check.’ Jacqui put the phone behind her back and filled Lydia in.
Lydia shrugged. ‘Sure. Tell him to bring it round, and that he’s welcome to stay for a late lunch.’
By the time Cameron arrived, some mud crab pieces were simmering in a chilli sauce while others were simply boiled with melted butter on the side. Lydia had cooked a side dish of rice, Jacqui’s salad was made, and chunks of bread filled a basket. Everything was spread on Lydia’s long table in the garden.
Cameron brought chilled wine, soft drinks and a huge tub of gourmet ice-cream. He squeezed Jacqui’s hand as Lydia introduced him to her relatives and friends and Cameron greeted Bobby warmly.
‘Hi, Bobby. Good to see you again.’
‘So you haven’t seen Wally’s film yet?’ asked Jacqui. ‘Nor Wally?’
‘No. I thought I’d check it out first. There’s apparently some damage. But I need to see what’s there before I talk to him. I don’t want to get his hopes up if they weren’t able to salvage much. Do you think he’d mind?’
‘Wouldn’t think so. You want to look at it right this minute?’ asked Lydia.
‘No. It’s half an hour or so in length. I’m happy to wait till after lunch. Hello, sport,’ he added as Bullseye mooched over to check him out.
Lydia handed Cameron a glass. ‘Help yourself to the Champagne. Jacqui is celebrating.’
‘Really? That’s good to hear. And just what are we celebrating? It’s not your birthday, is it?’
‘I went toe to toe with my son’s father over visitation rights. I’ve never won a discussion with him before, but I won this one.’
‘Hey! Congrats, that is such good news. I know how upset you were. Well done.’ He lifted his glass and clinked it with hers, giving her a warm smile. ‘That can’t have been easy.’
‘No. Maybe it’s a one-off but he can’t back out this time. I’ve already told Jean-Luc.’
‘She’s a new woman,’ said Lydia. ‘Watch out.’
The meal with the fresh meaty mud crab was very informal as everyone used fingers and little forks to pull out the sweet white meat. Around the table there overflowed a family warmth which large extended families tended to generate, Jacqui thought. There was much chatter and laughter.
At one point, as Cameron helped Jacqui carry plates into the kitchen, he commented, ‘You miss a lot as an only child, don’t you?’
She nodded, knowing that Cameron was an only child too, and thought of Jean-Luc. She was glad he had friends and cousins.
While coffee was being served, Lydia pulled Cameron to one side and they went into the living room to see if the DVD worked.
Cameron reappeared in the kitchen as Jacqui was stacking the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. ‘I’ll help you later. You have to come and see this.’
*
The black-and-white film was occasionally scratched, but in minutes everyone had gathered to watch, even the small children. They all fell silent as the
y saw a strapping young Wally, bare-chested, dark-haired, wearing old shorts and boots and carrying spears and a woomera, walking beside two older Aboriginal men. They too were bare-chested, but the raised grooves of their initiation scars were prominent. They walked through high grass in open country, heading towards a low rock shelter and stubby trees.
‘That looks like familiar country,’ commented Bobby.
‘I bet I know where that is,’ piped up a young boy, one of Lydia’s nephews, who was quickly hushed.
The formal voice-over of the announcer said, ‘Here, in the remote Kimberley of Western Australia, this white man is being given secret and special knowledge, men’s business, a rare honour, by his Aboriginal wife’s elders. As the old men of the tribe are dying out, and the young lads prefer to work on stations or in outback townships, this sacred knowledge of these people is being forgotten and lost as more and more of the younger natives and mixed-blood generations follow the white man’s ways.’
The sequence cut to a middle-aged woman, sitting cross-legged in the shade of a tree, with several small children and two sleeping dogs. She was weaving a basket and looked up and gave the person behind the camera a huge smile.
‘That must be Elsie,’ whispered Lydia.
‘I recognise that basket!’ exclaimed Jacqui. ‘Wally still has it!’
Elsie spoke in a mixture of English and dialect, which was subtitled at the bottom of the screen. ‘Our customs go back to the first days, Dreamtime days, when our old people were given the knowledge; how the land came to be, the stories, and how we must look after country, look after culture. Up here everybody gone from our land. They work, live, in the white man’s world. So the old people, they choose my husband Wally to give the knowledge, so we pass on to our grandkids one day, we keep ’im alive, our culture, y’know . . .’
‘Wow,’ said Jacqui.
Lydia nudged Cameron. ‘This is important stuff.’
‘I know,’ he said quietly.
The film rolled on with sequences of Wally expertly throwing a boomerang and catching it on its return, throwing a spear to bring down a small wallaby, which was then shown roasting on a campfire, all under the guidance of the old men. Elsie was seen in a waterhole collecting waterlily roots, then grinding grain between two stones.
‘According to these people, the Australian Aborigines have been baking bread, planting and harvesting their land throughout the seasons for thousands of years as they moved about the country; the first agriculture on the Australian continent.’
‘Really?’ murmured Cameron. ‘Amazing.’
‘Yeah, and ask us about carbon farming,’ put in Lydia. ‘Our people used controlled burning of savannah land for centuries. Now we know their system not only prevents bushfires but reduces carbon emissions. So it’s a means of making money with carbon credits. I have a few ideas about that,’ she added.
‘Lydia’s going to be our first Aboriginal female Prime Minister,’ joked her nephew.
‘Listen, boy, when you’re bigger you might be laughing on the other side of your face,’ said Lydia, giving him a playful nudge.
‘Well, this has been utterly fascinating,’ said Jacqui as the film went black for a few seconds before the credits started to scroll past.
Cameron nodded. ‘I was hoping it might be useful.’
‘Wally and his crew are going to find it an emotional trip,’ said Lydia. ‘There’s cultural issues over images of deceased persons, however. Being mixed race, it’s okay for me.’
‘I suggest we just show it to Wally first, and let him decide how to handle it,’ said Cameron. ‘I need to speak to him. He never had a means, or possibly an inclination, to see this before now.’
‘Best let him watch it by himself first,’ suggested Lydia. ‘Now, let’s get into that ice-cream.’
*
Two days later, as Jacqui was helping some customers in the bookshop, Cameron rang her.
‘Hi, are you busy?’
‘I am rather; can I call you back? Is it about Wally?’
‘It’s good you’re busy. I’m off to Perth for meetings. Just wanted to say, Wally was very moved when he saw the film with Elsie. You might want to pop in and visit him.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘Yes. But it brought back a lot of memories. I think he wants to talk about it. He might just need a sympathetic ear.’
‘Thanks for letting me know, I’ll pop around after I close this afternoon.’
‘Right. See ya, kiddo.’ He hung up.
After work, Jacqui headed to Wally’s via the local patisserie.
‘Hey, Wally.’ She poked her head around the door. ‘It’s Jac.’
‘Hello, love, what a nice surprise. I was just thinking about you.’
‘I found our favourite goodie – passionfruit cheesecake. Do you want a cup of tea, a beer? Coffee?’
‘Never say no to a cuppa,’ he said with a grin. It was their favourite phrase. ‘And you never say no to passionfruit!’
‘True. My mother made the best passionfruit sponge cake. My son and his friends love it. They don’t seem to know about passionfruit in France. Here, take the cake outside and I’ll do the tea.’
It had become their ritual. Jacqui realised she missed doing small things like this for her son, her parents, a husband.
She put Wally’s mug of tea in front of him on the patio table and dropped her hand on his shoulder. ‘How did you feel, old friend? Seeing that film again?’ she asked softly.
‘Don’t think I ever did see it, y’know. Was all new to me. Took me back, I can tell you. Els . . . that smile of hers . . .’ His voice faltered. ‘She had a laugh that made the sun shine and the birds sing. Strong woman. Big heart. Kids and animals went straight to her. They knew. It was good to see us like that, out in the country, feeling free.’
Jacqui sat down next to him and they sipped their tea in silence for a few moments.
‘Wally, I’ve sorted out my son’s visits here. My ex-husband was being difficult, again. But you know what, Wally, I stood up to him, so it’s settled! Jean-Luc will be out to visit again as usual. And I’m even thinking I might go back to France for a trip as well.’
Wally broke into a smile. ‘That’s good news, girl. Yeah, you need a proper holiday, I reckon. ’Specially after that episode in the plane! What brought all this on?’
‘It was odd, but the plane crash put a lot of things in perspective for me. And I was talking to Cameron, filled him in a bit about my life in France, and I suddenly saw things very clearly. How I had to take stock and act.’
‘Good one. And did Cameron sort himself out as well? He seems at a bit of a crossroads too, if you ask me.’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Jacqui curiously.
‘Ah, we talked a bit after the film. He had a lot of questions. I told him to talk to Eddie.’
‘Did he?’
‘I believe so. If anyone can show him the heart of the issues up here, it’s Eddie. A born leader, that one.’
‘He’s an extraordinary man, that’s for sure. Yet so humble and gentle. You know who else is a born leader? Lydia!’
‘Yep. You’re dead right there. I always thought she’d make her mark. Well, I have to say I feel the place is in good hands nowadays. The whole coming together has been hard for some to swallow, but it’s when times get rough that we find the ones with the good hearts, eh?’
‘Yes. Let’s hope the good hearts prevail,’ said Jacqui, smiling warmly.
‘I reckon they already are,’ said Wally. ‘I can leave peacefully now when the time comes.’
‘That’s enough of that talk.’ She reached over and took his hand.
‘Ah, sometimes I think I want to just go to sleep under a tree and not wake up. Feel the earth and see the sky. Not some hospital, and walls and machines . . .’ He paused and swallowed. ‘Do
n’t let them do that, Jac, will you, love? If you can. You tell the kids for me. I tell ’em, but . . .’
‘Wally, I’ll watch out for you, old mate. Promise.’ Jacqui felt her eyes fill with tears.
*
Jacqui had buried herself back in the calm routine of her bookshop. Apart from the weeks of fighting and continuing to support the protesters at The Point camp, the only real bright spot in her life had been the time with Jean-Luc. The past few months had been as significant as they were disturbing for her; more turbulent, certainly, than she’d previously experienced while living here over the years. Was it a sign that she’d burrowed deep enough into the place to become part of the fabric of the community, to feel passionately about its future, its past, its people? Clearly the Kimberley was not just a place to live in, earn a living, and pass through until one moved on as life dictated. Was this what putting down roots really meant? Jacqui didn’t yet know if she would see out her days here and never leave. But what she did now understand was that this small cosmos, this cross-cultural, historic and colourful dot at the edge of a vast, ancient landscape, was a symbol of many things: the tolerance and gradual acceptance of blended races going back to white occupation; the acknowledgement of Aboriginal lore and the awareness of its deep heritage and culture; the riches of the land’s beauty and bounty; the growing conflict over exploitation and ownership, and the challenges of tourism and the despoilment of the wonders travellers came to experience. All this made this small town and its environs a microcosm of a wider world.
Yet somehow, the great heart of the Kimberley was an entity in and of itself, from the far-flung outposts of stations, communities and townships, to the unimaginable-unless-you’ve-seen-them landscapes, seas and creatures. And then there was the jewel that was Broome. Taken together, Jacqui knew, this was a place like no other on earth.
