Long Gone the Corroboree

by Tony Parsons

  Deborah’s heart beat faster and her palms grew moist. She knew at this moment that what she wanted was to live here with Clayton Steele. Everything else seemed unimportant. She’d heard and read about love at first sight and now it had happened to her. Steele was gorgeous. The fact that he was older than her didn’t matter at all. Some of the most glamorous women in the world married older men. When Clayton smiled at her, she melted. This, she realised, was what being a woman was all about. It was about wanting to surrender one’s self to a man… unconditionally.

  “It’s getting late, Clay. We should be going,” Glenda said at last.

  “Do you have to?” he asked gently. “You could stay and have dinner with me.”

  “Could we, Mother?” Deborah asked urgently.

  Glenda hesitated. “It’s a bit much to expect Clay to cater for two females.”

  “I’m good at omelettes,” Steele said.

  “An omelette would do nicely, wouldn’t it, Mother?” Deborah said quickly. “We only have a light meal on Sunday nights.” She would have settled for bread and butter, just to stay.

  “If we stay, you must allow us to help,” Glenda said.

  “Yes, Your Worship,” Steele said with a smile.

  “Clay!” Glenda protested.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You sounded so magisterial,” Steele said with a chuckle.

  “Well, you must allow us to help,” Glenda reiterated.

  “Go for your life, Glenda,” Steele said.

  Steele found that Glenda was a very dab hand in the kitchen and that Deborah wasn’t. If she did anything, it was to get in her mother’s way but she was certainly very decorative. In no time at all, there was a filling omelette on the table and this was followed by fresh fruit salad.

  “Would you like to take your coffee out to the back veranda?” Steele asked when they’d cleared up from their meal. “It’s a magical place at night with a full moon.”

  “That would be lovely, Clay,” Glenda agreed. The thought of drinking coffee and conversing by moonlight with an intelligent man such as Clayton Steele was more than lovely, it was divine. And so much more stimulating than sitting at home in front of the television.

  So they sat on the back veranda, with the night gently illuminated by a misty silver glow. It was a warm, languorous night and though the birds were silent now, there were other sounds stirring in the garden and beyond.

  “What’s that funny chirruping noise, Clay?” Deborah asked. He’d told her to call him ‘Clay’ even though her mother had preferred that she call him Mr Steele.

  “It’s the grey possums, Deborah. They’re a Queensland variety of possum and they make a birdy chirrup,” he told her.

  “And what’s that other harsher noise down towards the creek?”

  “That’s koalas, Deborah.”

  “We could be in the middle of Australia,” Deborah said at last. “It really is very special here.”

  “Yes. It’s hard to imagine that on that flat just across the creek, there used to be an Aboriginal camp where corroborees were held. That was before the Gubbi Gubbi people were virtually wiped out,” Steele said.

  “You’ve researched it, Clay?” Glenda asked.

  “As thoroughly as I’ve been able through the local historical society. There isn’t a massive amount of information available and I suspect that some of the worst aspects of early settlement have been conveniently left out. The fellow who murdered many of the Gubbi Gubbi is buried on this property,” Steele said.

  “It’s very beautiful for all that,” Glenda said.

  “It must have looked so to Jack Hewitt Senior when he saw it. He’d had a life of violence and this place must have seemed like paradise. By all accounts, he was a hard man and he wasn’t going to let the locals spoil his plans. It seems that killing Aboriginal people wasn’t regarded as a crime back then, more a public duty. After the Maryborough massacre, the officer-in-charge was presented with a special sword in recognition of his role in the affair,” Steele said, shaking his head.

  “We’ve moved on since then, Clay. We don’t hang or flog people these days,” Glenda said.

  “Murri people are still hanging themselves in our jails,” Steele said.

  “I’ll admit they are. By and large, indigenous people can’t tolerate jails. They don’t like living in isolation or being restricted in small areas. There should be better ways of handling punishment but I don’t know what they are. If an indigenous person commits a crime, he or she has to answer for it the same as any other Australian, and that generally means being incarcerated,” Glenda said.

  “Please don’t talk law tonight, Mother,” Deborah pleaded. “Mother often finds it hard to forget her job, Clay.”

  “Would you like to hear a song I composed for Billy? It’s about this place and the people who once lived here. I believe that one day, Billy will record it,” Steele said.

  “Oh, can we, Clay?” Deborah urged.

  Steele rose and presently returned with Billy’s guitar. “I’m not very good yet. I’m having lessons and I’m improving. Billy’s mother, who is very good, offered to teach me but I managed to resist that proposal,” Steele said with a wink to Glenda. "The song is called ‘No More Corroboree’. It goes like this…

  I sit here and dream of the long ago,

  When my people danced along the creek below.

  I see the fires and I smell the smoke,

  Where the lilies grew and the wild duck flew,

  Where the Gubbi Gubbi came and the Gubbi Gubbi went.

  Back to the Dreamtime, so long ago;

  Time of the Rainbow Serpent

  Who made Jerogeree,

  This place of corroboree.

  White fella come, black fella go.

  Gubbi Gubbi gone, no more corroboree

  Along Jerogeree,

  All gone the corroboree.

  Glenda clapped her hands. “How beautiful! You’re a dark horse, Clay. You have a lovely voice.”

  “It’s largely untutored but I’m having voice lessons for that, as well as the guitar, which helps me understand what Billy needs. I should explain that Billy’s favourite singer is John Denver. He had a different kind of voice to most Australian country and western singers and it so happens that Billy has the same kind of range as John Denver. The song caters for that. Did you like it Deborah?” Steele asked.

  Deborah felt as if her whole body was melting and barely managed to squeeze out that she loved it.

  Glenda Butler knew at that moment that Clayton Steele was absolutely the right person to look after Billy Sanders. There was much love for Billy in the song Clay had composed for him. There was love in the room he’d prepared for him before he even knew that Billy would be allowed to stay in it. Glenda was certain that nobody else could give Billy Sanders that quality of love and care.

  “There’s only one thing missing here,” Glenda said after a few moments of silence.

  “Oh, what’s that, Glenda?” Steele asked.

  “You should be married, Clay. You should have a sweet, young woman here with you,” Glenda said with a smile.

  ‘Yes,’ Deborah thought. ’So you should. Me.’

  “It would be far too boring here for a modern, young woman. What’s more, I wouldn’t enter into a relationship and all it would entail in the knowledge that I could get ill again. As things stand, I have only myself to consider,” Steele said.

  “You’ll soon have Billy,” Glenda pointed out.

  “Yes, I will, but having Billy isn’t the same as being married or having a partner and young children,” Steele said.

  “You aren’t going to tell me that you haven’t experienced any romance?” Glenda said boldly.

  “I didn’t say that. My last girlfriend was a blonde bombshell of the modern type. She was a career woman and would never countenance living here,” Steele said.

  “You know that for a fact, do you?” Glenda asked with a smile.

  “Yes, I know that for a
fact. It’s too far from the bright lights,” Steele said.

  “I wouldn’t be too dogmatic about staying single, Clay. I think you’re selling women short. There’d be a lot of women only too happy to live here… with you,” Glenda said.

  And I’m one of them was Deborah’s instant thought. Her body was alive with strange, new sensations.

  “Being a writer or an artist means you’re different, Glenda. You do your best work either when you’re alone or if you’re fortunate enough to be in a relationship with a woman who is totally in accord with what you’re doing. I’ve never met a woman like that and to be with an unsuitable woman would be a disaster,” Steele said.

  “I understand what you’re saying, Clay,” Glenda said. “I had an unsuitable husband until I divorced him. Of course, I didn’t think he was unsuitable in the beginning but that’s because a woman’s hormones take over from her brain. It happens to both men and women. In some cases, it’s not love but lust. I see evidence of it every week in my Court. I suppose it’s a question of whether it’s better to have loved and lost than not loved at all, and I do have two lovely daughters to show for my marriage,” Glenda said.

  "Most of us are fallible, Glenda. We do things for the best, not the worst. I’m so very happy to be alive because when I went to America, I thought there was a good chance I’d never return. Now I rejoice in simple things… like this wild, disordered garden, the birds that call it home and that lovely creek below the house. And I’m thankful for Billy for whom I have great affection. My world has even expanded through Billy because now I’m learning something about music and even writing lyrics. If my intellectual father was alive now, he’d say that I’ve gone to the dogs, so to speak, but there’s something to be said for a music genre that’s largely devoted to putting so many aspects of Australia into songs. Country music is going places and the challenge is to write songs that become part of Australia’s consciousness.

  “Really, to look for more than I have now would seem to me to be tempting the gods. Despite what’s been written about me, I’m a man of simple tastes. I’m grateful for the gift of writing and for the rewards it’s brought me. But I’m not a greedy person, Glenda, and I don’t want to push my luck, as the saying goes. The doctors told me to eat well, sleep well and try not to have any stress in my life,” Steele said.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you in my Courts,” Glenda said with obvious sincerity.

  “I wouldn’t know about that, Glenda. I should think that trying to sort out domestic problems would be a very traumatic occupation. I couldn’t do it. I could write about such people and their problems but I couldn’t judge them,” Steele said.

  “And that’s a reminder that I have another day in court in front me tomorrow. It’s time we left, Debbie,” Glenda said.

  Deborah, who still felt as fresh as when she arrived and far more deeply affected by the visit than her mother appeared to be, could hardly object, though leaving Clayton Steele was the last thing she wanted.

  “I think you’re absolutely the right person to look after Billy, wifeless or not, for the time being anyway. We might have to review the situation when we get a clearer picture of his mother’s medical problems,” Glenda said just before she climbed into her car. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon and evening, Clay.” She kissed him on the cheek and then stood looking at her daughter who seemed unsure what she should do next.

  All Deborah’s feelings told her that she wanted to throw her arms around Steele and kiss and kiss and kiss him. Steele solved her dilemma by kissing her on the cheek and thanking her for giving up her afternoon to accompany her mother.

  Giving up her afternoon! As if that was a sacrifice. She’d give up her whole future to be close to Steele. “Oh, God,” she breathed as the car pulled away.

  “What is it, Debbie?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Mother.”

  “Talk about what, Debbie?”

  “About Clay. What else?”

  Glenda glanced sideways at her daughter. “Oh, dear, you aren’t smitten, are you? Not in one visit?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it,” Deborah said firmly.

  “You are smitten? You feel queer inside? Is that it?” Glenda asked.

  Her questions met with silence. Lordy, what have I set in motion taking my daughter to meet Clayton Steele? Deborah was really a woman, albeit inexperienced with men, and she’d never been close up to anyone like Clay. She couldn’t deny that the man certainly had a presence.

  They were almost home before Deborah spoke again. “I’m sorry if I was short with you, Mother. I think I’m in love with Clay. I’ve never felt this way before. I feel really queer. It was a total wrench to leave out there.”

  “Hmm,” Glenda murmured as she sought for the right words to use. “You’re only seventeen, Debbie, and this is your first real crush. It almost certainly won’t be your last. Clay is a very nice man but he isn’t the man for you. It’s not that he isn’t good enough for you but the fact is, you’re far too young to think of getting involved with him. You wouldn’t be able to cope with him. There’s a lot more to a relationship than you may be thinking about right now. I found that out to my sorrow. Forget about Clay. Pining for him will only make you feel miserable. You heard why he came here and it wasn’t for romance.”

  “How can I forget about him when I feel as I do? And how can you dismiss what I feel as a simple crush? Why couldn’t I be really in love?” Deborah asked.

  “Because I’ve been through the same experience. Not once but twice. I thought it was the real thing, too. You have to be strong and think of other things and after a while, you’ll realise that it was a crush. You must promise me that you won’t visit Clay on your own, Debbie. I’m sure he’s too nice a man to take advantage of a seventeen-year-old girl, especially my seventeen-year-old girl, but men are men and you are a very attractive girl. You have exams coming up and university next year, so you’ll have plenty to keep your mind occupied,” Glenda advised.

  “Yes, Mother,” Deborah sighed. It was all right her mother raving on about what not to do but when your body was aglow with strange new feelings, it wasn’t easy to ignore it.

  “If anything were to happen, it would affect Clay’s care of Billy. He’d be regarded as a man of poor character. It would also reflect on me. My position and my judgement,” Glenda said.

  “I understand, Mother.”

  “I hope you do. There are times when we have to be stronger than our feelings. I’m not telling you that it’s easy but it can be done. I’ve often thought it would be nice to have a fling with another man but always pulled up in time. You shouldn’t imagine that women of my age are exempt from what you’re feeling. You meet a nice man and you wonder what it would be like to be with him. Clayton Steele is a very nice man, so I can understand why you feel as you do. How could seventeen-year-old boys have a hope against a man like Clayton Steele?” Glenda asked.

  Deep down, Glenda was a little envious that her daughter felt that way about Clay. Although she was somewhat older than him, Clay was a man she felt she would like to let her hair down with well and truly. And despite the difference in their ages, they had a lot in common. Because of her vast Court experience, she felt she understood Clay and what he was about. But Debbie could have no idea why Clay’s creativity set him apart from the usual run of men. Debbie was used to being with shallow, teenage boys, not with men, especially a man who could produce best-selling books. No seventeen-girl she knew would be capable of coping with Clayton Steele.

  The next day, Glenda noticed that her daughter was withdrawn to the extent of hardly listening to her. She picked at her food and couldn’t settle to anything. This state-of-affairs continued for some days before Glenda decided that she should send Deborah up to her brother in Townsville. Fortunately, it was the school holidays so she rang her brother, Leigh, and asked if it would be convenient for Deborah to spend a couple of weeks with him and Margie. When he rang back and told her it’
d be fine for Debbie to come, Glenda spoke with her sister-in-law and gave her the state of play.

  “Debbie’s developed a crush on an older man. No, nothing’s happened because the man in question isn’t even aware of Debbie’s feelings for him. I’d like you to keep Debbie really busy, Margie. Don’t give her a minute to herself. Get Karen to take her everywhere.” As her niece was the same age as Debbie, she was much more likely to be able to think of appropriate activities to keep a teenage girl from thinking about an older man.

  Glenda wasn’t too optimistic that this diversion would work, but it was a better option than allowing Debbie to moon about feeling miserable and maybe, just maybe, doing something really silly… like going out to see Clay. She couldn’t discount that possibility. Glenda had had a mountain of experience with teenage girls and she was well aware that a big proportion of them became dotty on boys and were quite willing to do stupid things because they thought they were in love.

  Having dispatched her daughter to Townsville, Glenda then came to another decision. She would go out and visit Clay. While her daughter was far too young for a man like Clayton Steele, she wasn’t. They were two mature adults with a lot in common, and maybe if things went well, their instant friendship might develop into something more. Perhaps she’d even be invited to stay the night. If she was going to do it, it had to be now because as soon as Billy Sanders came out of hospital, he’d go to Clay and any opportunity to be alone with Clay and discover more about him would be lost. Glenda didn’t reach her decision lightly. There’d been no affairs since her divorce, as she hadn’t met a man she liked well enough to consider any kind of relationship. There was no law that stated that a magistrate couldn’t have an affair, but neither could a magistrate flaunt a relationship or behave in a way that demeaned the position.