He doesn’t look up until the last fish is in the bark platter. Then he picks up the platter, straightens up and stares at me, and despite his brave stance I can see that he is breathing fast and that the hands holding the platter are not quite steady.
I know I must be careful. I am still clutching the net and slowly, I hold it up and show my pleasure by smiling at him. He doesn’t smile back, but he starts to walk out of the river holding his fish above his head, his eyes sliding back to me from time to time. He is walking away from me now, and when he reaches the river bank he puts the platter carefully on dry land, before heaving himself out of the water with the help of a stout root at the water’s edge. Then he picks up his fish again, climbs up the bank and disappears into the trees.
I sit down to wait. What will he say to the others? Will more of them come down from the camp to look at me?
Time passes, and the sun is going down. No one has come to stare at me, but I don’t want to turn back now. In any case, soon it will be too dark to find my way downriver.
I am stiff with sitting still and waiting. At last I make up my mind. Before I lose courage, I set off up the steep bank into the trees, following the path taken by the young man. I can smell the smoke from their camp fire so I know I must be close to them. I stride forward with no attempt at stealth, snapping twigs underfoot so that they will hear me approach and not be surprised by me. And although I don’t feel very merry, I start whistling again, hoping that this will show them that I mean them no harm.
The trees start to thin out and the soil becomes sandy, like the soil around our own camp. I slow down and walk forward more slowly, looking carefully from side to side, wondering if they are hiding in the trees. And then, as I scramble up on to the flat ground, I see it. The Aborigines’ camp!
My first reaction is one of pride. Compared to ours, their camp is a mean sort of place. To be sure, there are a few rough huts, but they are not sturdy like ours and they look as though they are not built to last. In the middle of the camp there is a fire with stones around it. I see that the fish are cooking on it and that there are roots like the ones we have gathered roasting in the hot ashes.
I take all this in at a glance, then look at the people in front of me. They have heard me approach and they are all standing to face me. I swallow, and try not to show any fear. I still have the precious net and, again, I hold it before me and smile at them.
I am wearing my sailor’s trousers. Often Wouter and I go naked, but I wear the trousers to protect me when I walk through the undergrowth. And although I am overdressed compared to the Aborigines, I am glad of the trousers now, suddenly shy of my fair body which, even though it is bronzed from the sun, is so different from theirs.
They are smaller than me, even the men, and there are about a dozen of them. I think they are a family group, but I find it difficult to see any likeness between them. I notice that one of the men is a lot older than the others with wrinkled skin, a long beard flecked with white and thin legs; and there is an old woman, too, who I take to be his wife. The others are younger and sturdy. There is a woman nursing a child, a group of children, several young men including the young man from the river, and a young girl whom I suppose to be about fifteen. She is the only one who smiles at me, and I find myself blushing as I take in her nakedness. Her breasts, which are small and firm, are bare and her only covering is a strip of skin which hangs from her waist.
I keep smiling and holding the net out. Out of the corner of my eye I see several long, wooden spears propped up by a tree at the edge of the camp, made from straight branches of wood and sharp pieces of shale bound on to the end with strips of animal skin. There is also a hollowed-out root or branch beside the spears and some curved wooden objects.
I clear my throat and speak to them in my native Dutch, although I know they will not understand me. What do I say? I can’t remember, except that I try to explain where I am from. As soon as I have spoken, there is an instant excited chattering. They all talk at once and point at me. Suddenly my legs feel weak, and very slowly I lower myself to the ground and sit cross-legged, looking at them.
This seems to be a signal for action, and the old woman drags a fish from the fire and presents it to me on a piece of bark. Carefully, I place my net on the ground and take the bark platter. I blow on the fish until it cools and then I eat it with my fingers. What a treat to have different meat to eat!
I smile when I have finished, rub my stomach and thank the old woman. Suddenly she starts to laugh, her old body shaking, her hand in front of her mouth, and gradually the others join in, laughing and pointing at me.
Then I have an idea. Going over to a bare patch of sand, I find a stick and scratch a few marks with it. At once the laughing stops and all the Aborigines crowd forward to look.
I am no artist, but I manage to draw the rough outline of a ship with tall masts and many sails. I point to myself and I point to the image of the ship in the sand. Although they continue to laugh and make gestures, there is no sign that they understand.
Then one of the younger men comes forward. He is holding a broad leaf in his hand and on it are some loathsome-looking grubs. He hands the leaf to me and reluctantly I take it. I feel only disgust for the pale, wriggling creatures and have to force myself not to snatch my hand away. I have no idea what I should do with them.
Then the young man opens his mouth and with his hand makes an obvious gesture that they should be eaten.
Trying not to show horror, I put the grubs into my mouth and tip them down my throat, feeling the wretched things wriggle inside me and holding my hand over my mouth to stop myself from gagging.
It is the right thing to do! I have delighted them, though I cannot understand why. They smile at me, and one of the young men touches me on the shoulder. The old woman shuffles forward and feels the hair on my head, holding up one fair strand and then another, exclaiming and laughing.
Suddenly she reaches for my trousers and, with a shriek, pulls them down to my ankles. I am mortified as all the Aborigines stare, as one, at my manhood, and I wonder what they will do next. But, once satisfied that I am, indeed, a human – and a male – they turn away and chatter among themselves, leaving me to pull up my breeches, a deep blush covering my face.
I catch the eye of the young girl. She is the only one who is still looking at me, and she is giggling behind her hand. I smile at her.
If she knew what I had done on that island of death, she would never return my smile, but she does, and I see her gleaming white teeth as her lips part and notice how her eyes sparkle.
The island! My thoughts fly back to Wouter. It is nearly dark now and I cannot go back to our camp without a lantern. What shall I do?
The Aborigines seem to accept that I will sleep with them. One by one, the women and the old man leave the fire and go into the rough huts, but the young girl lingers and moves a little closer to me. I try to speak to her. I point to my chest.
‘Me Jan,’ I say.
She chatters away, so I try again, repeating my name until, at last, she makes an attempt to say it herself. ‘Meeaan’ is the best she can do. I nod in the darkness and she claps her hands together, then jumps up and runs into the hut.
The young men lie down on the sand near the fire and I join them, stretching out under the stars.
Wouter will be very angry when I do not return.
Chapter Thirteen
Wouter
I cannot find the boy. I have been down to the river, but there is no sign of him. Stupid fool! Has he gone looking for the Aborigines without me?
At last I settle down for the night. I don’t go into the hut but lie down beside the fire, though I cannot sleep. The boy maddens me, but I have come to rely on his cooking skills and his inbred country instincts.
Damn him to hell! Where is he? Have the savages killed him? Will they come for me now? How many are there? These thoughts crowd into my brain as I lie tossing and turning, one hand always on the musket by my side.<
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I must have slept at last, for the screeching of the parrots wakes me. There is still no sign of Jan, and I stumble around building up the fire and trying to make cakes in the iron pan with the last of the flour, but I am too impatient to eat and I don’t cook them for long enough. They are soggy and unpleasant and they sit heavily in my stomach.
Where is the boy? What has happened to him?
Jan
I wake at sunrise and lie still for a few moments listening to the noises around me. The Aborigines are stirring, building up their fire and chattering among themselves. When I sit up and stretch, they all stop talking and look at me.
In years to come, when I understand their language, I know that they were astonished that I was still with them – that I had not vanished back into the spirit world from whence they think I came.
Now that it is light, I can examine the camp and the people, and I begin to see the differences between the family members. They all defer to the old man who, I suppose, is the chief of the tribe, for he is brought food by the others. I notice a collection of berries on a piece of bark – berries that I’d seen before but had not dared to eat in case they were poisonous – and that they are eating these and roasting a dragon on the fire, expertly skinned, just like the one which had so frightened me. They offer me a piece of dragon and its taste is light and good – not as heavy as the meat of the furry creatures.
I know that I must return to Wouter and after I have eaten, I stand up and gesture that I must go. I think that the Aborigines understand my gestures, for they start to chatter excitedly and point at me and up at the sky.
I decide to walk back to our camp along the top instead of going down to the river again. I want to see what is between our camp and this one. Clutching my fishing net, I take my leave. I don’t know how to say goodbye, so I make a little bow to the old man and then I walk slowly away.
I have only gone a short distance before I realise that some of them are following me! I turn round, and smile and beckon them. And I pray that, if they come to our camp, Wouter won’t fire his musket at them.
Several young men follow me, armed with spears and narrow, decorated wooden shields. I wait for them to catch me up and I put my hand out to touch one of the shields. It is decorated with strange patterns in ochre and white, and I wonder how they have made the colours. From earth pigments? From ash?
The young men move with a loping stride that covers the ground quickly, and the sharp shale and rocks beneath their feet doesn’t appear to hurt them. I find it difficult to stay in front of them, but I know I must be the one to see Wouter first. Now that I am really close to them, I am aware of their bodies and of their smell – a smell of smoke and a strong body odour which is far more pleasant than that of the stinking, unwashed men on Batavia.
The trees and scrub are thick here and several times I catch sight of the strange furry creatures bounding away from us in fright. It is their feeding time, before the heat of the sun forces them to rest in the shade, and I watch how they use their forepaws to tear leaves from the bushes.
We come across a thick plantation of vines (the ones with roots beneath them) and I stop and point at them. The men stop, too, and say something to me over and over again, but I cannot understand them. There are deep holes beside the plantation and I realise that the Aborigines must go down into these sandy tunnels to harvest the roots.
What a strange, magical land this is! No one at home would believe that we have seen such sights.
We must have been going for about an hour because the sun is well up now. We come round a bend that I recognise and I know we are near our own camp. I am breathless with keeping up the pace set by the young men, but now my heart beats even faster as we approach and I slow down, putting off for as long as possible the moment when Wouter will see me – and the Aborigines. But I am proud, too, and anxious to show them our camp, so different from theirs.
As we come in sight of it, the Aborigines hang back and let me go first.
Wouter has seen us approach and he is standing at the edge of the camp, his musket pointing towards us.
‘Wouter,’ I shout. ‘Wouter, put the musket down. These people are friendly. I have spent the night with them at their camp. They are friendly, I tell you. Look, they have given us a fishing net.’ I hold it up for him to see.
Slowly he lowers the musket, but as I come up to him I can see the fear and suspicion in his eyes.
‘You idiot, Jan,’ he spits at me. ‘You should not have left without me.’
Furious, I say quietly, ‘I’m no idiot, Wouter, and I have befriended them at last.’
He does not reply, but stares at the young men who are now standing close together, their spears held at one side of their bodies and their shields at the other.
They stare back at him, and for a moment I see him through their eyes. He must appear even stranger and wilder and more frightening to them than I, for he has a great reddish beard and curly fair hair that surrounds his face like a halo. Like me, he has pale blue eyes, and now they are staring with fright.
I am used to Wouter giving me orders, but I see that, for once, he is at a loss, so I start talking to the Aborigines.
‘Why are you talking to them?’ hisses Wouter. ‘They can’t understand you.’
I ignore him, and gesture for them to sit by the fire, but they still stand in a group staring first at Wouter and then pointing at our hut and at the iron cooking pot and musket, and talking excitedly amongst themselves.
It is no wonder that they think (as I learn later) we have come from another world. They have never seen such implements before, and our hut is far sturdier than theirs.
At last Wouter snaps out of his trance. ‘We should show them the trading items, Jan,’ he says, and his voice is husky. ‘That is what Pelsaert ordered us to do.’
Pelsaert! How long ago it all seems. I would rather not be reminded of Pelsaert, even though he spared my life.
I nod, and go into the hut to find the chest, but as I start to heave it outside, the entrance of the hut is blocked by the Aborigines all staring inside and gesturing.
I push my way through them and put the chest down on the sandy ground.
‘We’ll show them the toys,’ says Wouter, and he kneels down and opens the clasps of the chest. One of the Aborigines leans over and touches the chest, and Wouter flinches and moves away from it.
‘They are just curious,’ I whisper, and I put my hand into the chest and pick up one of the colourful wooden toys – a toy soldier – and hold it out to the young man.
He backs away, grunting. But then, when I keep still, he shuffles forward again. First, he smells the toy, lowering his broad nose into my palm and then, very gingerly, he picks it up, places it between his teeth and bites it. He laughs, then, and gives it to another man to examine.
As they grow bolder, the men touch the other goods in the chest. They squat on their haunches and pick up some of the knives, chattering excitedly as they feel the sharp edges. And they laugh when I show them how the little bells ring when you shake them, but when I hold up a mirror to one of the men so that he can see his own face, he is frightened and pushes the mirror out of my hands so that it falls to the ground. I pick it up and look briefly at my own image. It is a long time since I have seen my own face. Now, at last, I am not disgusted by it.
The strings of beads are popular with them. I hold one out and show how it can be put round my neck, then I take it off and hand it to one of the men. Laughing, he puts it over his own head and they all cluster round him, admiring it.
And then, without any warning, they turn and run out of our camp, back the way they came.
I stand and look after them as they disappear. I wish they had stayed longer. I wish I could have made flour cakes for them. What will they say to the others of their tribe? How will they describe our strange implements, and what will their relations think of the little wooden toy and the string of beads?
Chapter Fourteen
> Wouter
Well, we have made contact with the Aborigines at last, but their visit has made me uneasy. Jan reports that there is a sizeable family group at their camp. The young men who came to visit us were strong and they could easily have overpowered us if they wished. I saw the way they looked in awe at our hut and at some of the other goods. We must make sure that one of us is always here ready to defend our camp – with the musket, if necessary.
Jan seems to enjoy their company, stupid boy, while I still yearn for my own sort. Perhaps, soon, I shall make my way back to the shore, check on our boat and stay there a few days. If I build a fire and maybe erect some rough flagpole, I might attract the attention of a passing ship and perhaps one would come into the inlet and I could row out to it. Pelsaert, I’m sure, would be pleased to hear of what we have discovered about the natives here and the terrain. Perhaps they would even take me away …
Yesterday, when I tried to instruct Jan in the use of the musket, he showed no interest.
‘Why should we use a musket, Wouter?’ he said. ‘It only frightens the Aborigines, and we are learning how to hunt and forage without it. After all, they have no need of it – and see how well they manage.’
I argued with him, loaded it and tried to force it into his hands, but he flung it away.
‘You can’t order me about any more,’ he shouted.
It was then that I realised how much he has changed in these past months. The crazed, whimpering boy – the Under Merchant’s puppet – has disappeared for ever. He knows that he has skills I do not have, and this has given him courage. He seems to like the Aborigines and goes to their camp whenever he can. Unlike me, he does not crave the company of his countrymen. I don’t believe he cares if he never has contact with the civilised world again!
He is happier with the savages – savages who will probably kill him.
The Blue-Eyed Aborigine Page 11
