There was a roar from across the campfire. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘I’m praying.’
Bill stood above him, casting a long shadow across Colm’s body.
‘What’s that in your hand?’
‘It’s Blue Delaney. You know that,’ said Colm, feeling the anger swell in him.
‘Blue Delaney,’ said Bill with a sneer in his voice. ‘Give me that photo.’
Reluctantly, Colm handed Bill the photo. Bill stared at it hard for a moment and then suddenly he flung it on the fire.
‘What are you doing!’ shouted Colm, trying to snatch the picture from the flames. Rusty started barking as he grabbed a stick to rescue it with, but the photo was already sizzling and quickly burst into flame, sending a glow of light across Bill’s face.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘You don’t need to be praying to Blue Delaney. She wouldn’t appreciate your prayers. She doesn’t believe in God. Christ knows what she believes in.’
‘You don’t know that. You told me you don’t know anything about her,’ shouted Colm through his tears.
‘You’re right there, cobber,’ said Bill, suddenly defeated. ‘I don’t know anything about her.’
He turned away and staggered over to Tin Annie. Colm could hear him fumbling with the door of the car and climbing into the cab.
Colm hooked an arm around Rusty and drew her closer. He didn’t want to cry any more but the tears forced their way out, soaking Rusty’s red fur.
The next day, Bill was even more silent and morose than before. He didn’t emerge from Tin Annie until long after sunrise, when the heat inside the cab became too much for him. He moved awkwardly, as if he was walking over broken glass, and every little sound made him wince. When Colm banged the billycans together, Bill shuddered.
Colm felt as if his chest was aching, as if all the tears he had cried had robbed him of his strength. He couldn’t stop running through the events of last night. It would have been better if Bill had hit him, rather than burning the photo. He should have found the letter and burnt that instead. He should have done things differently.
Neither of them spoke a word during that day’s long drive. Colm wound down his window and let the desert wind blow through the cab. He knelt on the seat with his back to Bill all the way north. In the evening, they sat silently around the campfire. Bill managed to open his beer on the steel rims of Tin Annie’s wheels. Colm sighed and pulled out his harmonica, playing a slow, melancholy tune as Bill drank himself into a stupor.
They drove into Pine Creek late on a Friday afternoon. Dozens of cars were parked outside the pub, and horses were tied to the rail. Inside, the smell of sweat and beer was thick.
Bill leant across the bar. ‘Where can I find the boss? She in tonight?’ he shouted over the din of the drinking men.
‘She’s out at Tara Downs,’ said the barman.
‘She?’ asked Colm.
‘Mrs Annie Mahoney.’
‘She’s the boss?’ asked Colm. He couldn’t imagine a woman as a boss of a big station and a pub.
‘Bossiest woman I’ve ever known, I can tell you that,’ said Bill.
‘Did you name Tin Annie after her?’ asked Colm, suddenly making the connection.
‘You don’t miss a beat, do you? Don’t you go calling this old heap of metal Annie in front of Mrs Mahoney or I’ll cop it for sure. That’s our little secret, that is.’
Colm felt a flicker of hope. At least they could still share secrets. Maybe they were still a team.
22
The Wolfram Queen
They drove along a narrow, winding track into the hills behind Pine Creek. Colm silently willed Tin Annie to break down before they got to Tara Downs, but she was as stubborn and reliable as ever. He stared out at the black trunks of the pandanus and the dry, spiky foliage.
They passed over a cattle grid and suddenly the landscape changed. There were mango trees with golden fruit on the boughs, and as they turned up the driveway they saw a huge banana tree with a giant hand of bananas almost scraping the ground.
‘Bloody amazing, what those Chinamen can do with this country,’ said Bill, catching Colm’s look of bewilderment.
At the end of the track was a big white house on stilts. Scrambling up one side of the building were thick green vines covered in flowers and strange fruits. As soon as he stepped out of the car, Colm noticed the air smelt heavy with exotic scents. Bill rang the bell. Footsteps echoed inside but it was some time before the door opened.
An Aboriginal woman in a dark dress with a white collar stood there. She looked at Bill and pursed her lips.
‘You tell the missus, Billy Dare and a friend are here to see her.’
The housekeeper disappeared and then Colm heard a shout that resonated down the empty hall. An older woman stepped out from a doorway and flung her arms wide.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph! If it isn’t the old devil himself!’
Colm didn’t know old ladies could look so scary. She was tall for a woman, especially an old woman, and her face was tanned and leathery. She had a mane of silver-white hair, and dark eyes like deep black pools. Colm couldn’t imagine her as a young girl in a blue dress. She looked as if she’d always been as she was right now.
The lady took Bill by both hands and led him into the living room, where she poured a golden liqueur into two small crystal glasses and offered one to Bill. Suddenly, she became aware of Colm at last and she shouted into the hall, ‘Jessie, bring us some soda for the kid!’ Then she grabbed Bill by the arm and made him sit down on the big white couch. Red dust rose up around him. When Colm went to sit beside Bill, Mrs Mahoney directed him to a rattan chair to one side.
‘We don’t want to dirty the upholstery, do we?’ she said. Colm wanted to point out that Bill was even grubbier than he was but somehow it didn’t seem like a good idea.
‘Billy Dare, back from the dead!’ she said, sitting down beside him on the couch. ‘Fancy you turning up like this, out of the blue. Helluva treat to see you. Why it must be fifteen years since last you were in these parts. You’re lucky you caught me. Only came back last month. London, Paris and Rome and then business in Singapore on the way south. Course, I’ve got a hotel up in Darwin that’s doing good trade these days, so I’m there a lot of the time too.’
‘How does Bert take to that? He was never one for all that gallivanting around.’
Mrs Mahoney put down her glass.
‘Bert’s no longer with us,’ she said, reaching for the decanter.
‘I’m sorry to hear it, Annie,’ said Bill, leaning a little closer to her.
‘Taipan got him three years ago,’ she said briskly. Then she looked up and smiled.
‘You know I’ve never been very good at hanging onto my men,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink and looking archly at Bill over the rim. Colm couldn’t read her expression but he knew, in that instant, that he didn’t like her.
‘So is there a number four on the horizon?’ asked Bill.
Mrs Mahoney laughed. ‘You up for grabs, Billy Dare?’
‘You know Violet was the only gal for me,’ he replied.
Violet? thought Colm. Who was Violet? In all the stories he’d told, Bill had never said anything about someone called Violet.
Jessie brought in a tray with tiny biscuits, and a long glass of squash for Colm. Even though there was a fan spinning in the ceiling of the room, Colm was desperate to get outside. The smell of the old woman’s perfume and the heady scents coming in from the garden were making him feel dizzy.
‘I’d better see how Rusty’s doing,’ said Colm, interrupting the flow of the adults’ conversation. Bill didn’t even seem to notice as he left the room.
Out in the hall, he heard Mrs Mahoney’s voice again. There was something about that voice, the way it carried on the heavy, humid air, that demanded attention.
‘So the boy? He couldn’t be a grandson. Doesn’t look like a Delaney to me.’
&n
bsp; ‘You don’t think so?’ said Bill. ‘Ted Kelly reckoned he did. Reckoned he was like my Clancy.’ Colm could hear the smile in his voice.
‘He’s an old fool. Always says what he thinks folk want to hear. That boy’s nothing like Clancy. Clance was a strapping boy. This one’s as scrawny a scrap as I’ve ever seen.’
There was a short silence. Colm wished he could see Bill. It was always easier to read his expressions than the tone of his voice. When he finally spoke again, his voice was soft and low.
‘He’s not mine. But the boy, he’s like an echo. You know, Annie, I lost Clancy. His plane went down over Borneo. Twenty-three years old and shot to pieces.’
‘I’m so sorry, Billy.’ There was a long silence and the sound of ice tinkling in their glasses. Their voices dropped so low that Colm couldn’t make out what they were saying. He was just about to tiptoe away when Mrs Mahoney spoke loudly again.
‘But this boy, this Colin or whatever you called him?’
‘Colm. He’s an orphan. Somehow, I wound up with him. It’s a long story. But I like the boy. He’s the reason I’m here. I was wondering . . .’
‘Maybe we ought to rein this conversation in right now, Billy Dare. If you think I’m like Auntie Bridie, well, think again. History doesn’t repeat like that, leastways, not with me.’
Colm didn’t want to hear the rest, didn’t want to hear Bill trying to palm him off on this cranky old lady. He was glad to get outside.
The sun was sinking low behind the banana palms. Colm wandered amongst the strange trees, touching their trunks, admiring the ripe fruit. He came to a long ribbed palm with huge green-and-black fruit at the top and tried to knock one down with a long branch he found in the grass. Then a girl appeared, stepping out from between the dark-green glossy fronds of banana palm. She had golden skin and shining black hair.
‘You won’t knock him loose like that,’ she said.
Colm shrugged and threw the stick on the ground. The girl came over and showed him how to get a grip of the trunk. Then she scrambled up to the top.
‘Will Mrs Mahoney mind?’ asked Colm, glancing back at the house.
‘They’re not Mrs Mahoney’s coconuts. My granny, she grows them.’
‘Who’s your granny, then?’
‘Granny Hum Lee. She makes all these gardens. She’s done it since she was a little girl. So I reckon she’s the boss of it.’
‘She works for Mrs Mahoney, doesn’t she? Then they’re Mrs Mahoney’s coconuts.’
The girl stared at him without smiling.
‘I’m Colm,’ he said, stretching his hand out to shake hers.
‘Lily,’ she answered. ‘Lily Yen Lin.’ She flicked her sleek black hair away from her face and then took his hand. Her eyes were brown with little flecks of gold deep in the iris. Colm knew he kept hold of her hand too long, and he blushed.
They sat in the long grass while Lily showed him how to strip the coconut of its outer skin. When she had the dark, inner kernel in her hands, she took out a knife and gouged a hole in the top.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘Drink it. It’s yummy.’
Colm took a deep breath and tipped the coconut back. The juice was warm and thin and sweet. The flavour was so unexpected that he almost spat it out, but he caught Lily watching him and swallowed.
‘It’s good,’ he said.
‘I told you it was nice. Now we can smash up the coconut meat and eat it.’
She took the coconut in both hands and smashed it against a rock until the shell cracked. It was the strangest meal that Colm had ever eaten.
‘Is Mrs Mahoney rich?’ asked Colm as he gnawed on a piece of coconut. ‘I mean, all this.’ He waved his hands across the garden and the house. ‘Did her husbands leave her lots of money?’
Lily scrunched up her face. ‘Mrs Mahoney got rich all by herself. She’s crazy but she’s real smart too. Granny says she was the richest woman in the Territory. They used to call her the Wolfram Queen.’
‘What’s wolfram?’
‘They use it to make steel. She made lots of money during the First World War ‘cause they needed lots of steel for tanks and guns and things. But then she got tired of mining and bought cattle stations and hotels instead. Like I said, she’s crazy. She owns everything.’
‘Well, she won’t own me,’ said Colm, suddenly angry.
‘She doesn’t have slaves,’ said Lily, rolling her eyes. ‘And even if she did, why would she want you?’
‘She doesn’t want me,’ said Colm. ‘Nobody does.’
23
Unforgettable
All night, mosquitoes buzzed against the netting that hung above Colm’s bed. He woke early next morning as the first rays of light cut through the louvres of his room. He splashed his face with water from the jug on the dresser and put his clothes on quickly. He couldn’t wait to escape the house.
‘Does the boy have to come with us?’ he heard Mrs Mahoney say in the passage as he was about to slip out of his room.
‘He’s no trouble, Annie. You won’t even notice he’s with us. Quiet as a mouse.’
‘But can he ride? I don’t have time to hang about while you mosey along with the kid.’
‘I’ll teach him. He picks things up quick. Smart as a tack.’
‘You teach him in your own time, not mine.’
Colm couldn’t make out Bill’s reply and then the footsteps receded down the passage.
The garden was still and peaceful in the dawn light, like an oasis in the desert scrub. Behind a small orchard of mango trees was a low shed. As Colm drew closer, he became aware of a warm, sweet smell drifting out through the louvred windows. He peered inside. Lily and an old lady were in the middle of some ritual. They seemed to be praying. He felt ashamed for spying on them but he couldn’t stop staring. When they finally stepped outside and set out aross the garden, Colm scrambled up the nearest tree and climbed onto the roof of the shed. He lay there for a while, listening to Lily and her grandmother speaking to each other in a language he couldn’t understand. Their voices floated away as they walked deeper into the mango orchard.
Colm heard Bill calling his name. He turned onto his belly and lay very still, watching Bill scan the garden. Bill called a few times but Colm folded his hands underneath his body and lay very still, as if he weren’t even breathing.
A few minutes later Mrs Mahoney came along the drive, riding a brown horse and leading another by its reins. Colm watched as Bill swung himself into the saddle, and the two old people rode off together. Colm felt a tight knot in his chest as they disappeared down the dusty road. He’d hardly had five minutes alone with Bill since they had arrived at Tara Downs. Mrs Mahoney got in the way of everything.
There was a scraping sound and Lily flung a leg over the edge of the roof.
‘Why didn’t you go and say goodbye to the old bloke?’ she asked. ‘He looked all over the place for you.’
‘If you knew where I was, why didn’t you tell him?’ asked Colm.
‘I’m no dobber. If you wanted to be found, you’d have come out.’
Colm half-wished she had dobbed him in. Lily leant closer and looked into his eyes. ‘What’s the matter? Did you want me to dob on you?’
Colm shook his head and smiled. ‘No, it’s good I can trust you.’
They heard a rattle in the shed below.
‘Oh-oh. That’s my granny. It’s Ching Ming festival today. Granny and I had to clean up the ancestors’ graves this morning and I said I’d help her carry the tools back.’
‘That’s creepy,’ said Colm.
‘What? Helping?’
‘No, you know. Cleaning graves.’
‘There’s nothing creepy about looking after your ancestors. It’s creepy to not look after them.’
Lily’s granny came out of the shed. She was small and bent, her silvery hair knotted in a tight bun. On her back was a bag full of tools and in each hand she held a long garden hoe, even though she looked too tiny to be able to carry so much.<
br />
‘So lui, li cho mut yeh la?’ she shouted crossly.
Lily lowered her head. Colm could see she was annoyed. He followed her as she jumped down into the dry grass.
Granny Hum Lee strode away from them, muttering crossly in Chinese.
‘What’s she saying?’ asked Colm.
‘Oh, just that I’m a naughty girl. But I’m not. I help with everything!’
‘What were you doing, your granny and you, this morning before you came outside.’
‘You spying on us?’ asked Lily, smiling knowingly.
Colm blushed. He hated the way Lily could make him feel hot all over so easily. Lily waved her hand and laughed.
‘We do it every morning. Granny lights some incense sticks and puts them into those little pots that have sand in them - that makes the sticks stand up.’
‘They smell nice. But what do you do then?’
‘C’mon, I’ll show you.’
Inside the shanty, Colm knelt down beside Lily and watched as she lit the incense.
‘Now what?’ he asked.
‘Well, you watch the incense burn, and then you bow to the table, you know, to show respect for the ancestors.’
‘I don’t have any ancestors,’ said Colm.
‘Course you have, you can’t be here without them.’
‘I don’t even have a family.’
‘Everyone has a family, even if you don’t know them. That photograph, that’s my Great-Uncle Kow Gong. I never met him. He wasn’t allowed to stay here and they sent him back to China. Granny’s been really sad since he died. When it’s been forty-nine days, then she’ll take the photo down and he’ll just be one of the ancestors. She reckons his spirit is going through judgement. That’s his name on that red plaque there and there’s a saying on it too.’
‘That’s not a word, it’s just squiggles.’
‘It’s Chinese writing, dummy.’
‘What’s the saying on it?’
Lily frowned and peered more closely at it. ‘I’m not very good at reading it but I think it says: “I sing - looking at the moon and the clouds. I finish my tune - the tall pine trees whistle on and on . . . ” ’
A Prayer for Blue Delaney Page 12
