Rosa has supper cooking, and has just distributed teas, calling up Riley, who’s been engrossed with something down by the creek. Two Bob blows on his pannikin, takes a sip, then lights up a rollie. ‘This is where Jandamarra been camp, long time. An’ ol’ Marralam when he first been come back here, before he make that Ol’ Camp. My old man the one been make that new camp, other side creek.’
No-one had wanted to make camp over that side.
Two Bob has said very little until now. He’d been at the lead walking the horses in. He’d dropped the reins, walked to the skeleton hut and removed his hat, then stood there for a long, long minute. Since then he seems to have been lost in his thoughts.
Riley repeated his tour for Andy and Rosa. Two Bob did pipe up when he wanted to take them to Jaliwala. ‘Tomorrer, Riley. Tomorrer.’ As they’d gone about the business of unloading and sorting the horses Dancer, Rosa and Andy said little, but each time one caught another’s eye, they would share a sense of disbelief. Disbelief that this place is. That it could’ve been. That barely twenty years ago Riley lived here with a Nanna and a Poppy Pop. That Two Bob has carried such a secret.
Now Two Bob’s words cause the three of them to take another look around the shelter. To think that Jandamarra had … that they are sharing this space with him.
‘Woorroooh.’ Rosa’s voice resonates from the walls.
Andy shivers.
Dancer places a hand on the dry, dusty ground, cups the hand over his mouth and nose, and breathes in the smell.
For a few minutes there is nothing but Two Bob smoking his cigarette, watching his exhalations drift upwards. Until he stubs out the butt on the tin, and puts it in his top pocket. Just as Dancer is about to speak, Rosa breaks the silence. ‘I’ve been thinking, Uncle. In the morning we should bury your father with the others.’
‘Yuw.’ The answer is emphatic. He gets up and moves the few paces to the fire to deposit the cigarette butt, and on his way back to his spot bends to place a hand on Rosa’s shoulder in a gesture of thanks. Once Two Bob is seated again Dancer speaks.
‘Grandpa, Riley got me to open the treasure box.’
‘Whha?’
‘That tin trunk, next to his bed.’
Two Bob is flummoxed. ‘What for?’
‘I don’t know why. He just asked me.’
He reaches behind, feels for the oilskin package he has put in his swag, tries to pass it to Two Bob. But the old man is reluctant to take it.
‘What now?’
‘It’s a will, Grandpa. Poppy Pop’s – William Noakes’ will.’
‘Oh fuck me.’ Two Bob is panting. This wasn’t part of his plan. ‘What he say?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t read it.’
‘Read him.’ His voice is almost panicky. ‘Read him. Read him.’
Dancer looks around. Riley is listening, but not watching. If Rosa and Andy had seats, they would be on the edges. Both are leaning forward, hands clasping ankles, intent. They each give him a small nod.
Once again he unwraps the oilskin. His hands are trembling. ‘This paper’s so dry. It feels like it’s going to fall to bits. Hang on.’ He puts down the sheets on the open oilskin, opens his swag and stretches out, propped on his elbows, so that he can read without holding the paper.
‘The Last Will & Testament of William Noakes,’ he reads. ‘It’s in pencil. It’s so faint.’ He glances up at the sky beyond the shelter. The light is starting to fade. ‘Rosa, you’ve got the best torch.’
She springs up and grabs it from beside the fire. ‘Hang on,’ she calls. ‘This tucker’s going to burn.’ She pulls the pair of billies off the coals. Dinner can wait. Careful not to tread on the oilskin, she flicks the torch on and passes it to Dancer. He turns the cover page over. He has to pause a number of times to decipher the faded writing. But the others wait, perfectly still and silent, until he finishes.
‘My name, my true name, is William Noakes.
‘I have also used at times the name Charlie Walker.
‘I was born in the Nullagine goldfield in the year of 1900. Mother Mary Noakes, boarding house proprietress. Father Rudolph Noakes, mining engineer and prospector.
‘I assert that I am the rightful owner of pastoral lease number 1836/98 in the District of Omalinde, known to me as Maryvale. The lease papers and my agreement, in the name of Charlie Walker, with the late Stumpy Maclean are herewith enclosed. I am led to understand that Mr Maclean died at war, in the service of his country.
‘I know not what may have become of this lease in the offices of the Lands Department in far-off Perth, as I have not been in a position to pay the annual rental since the disappearance of Mr Maclean so many years ago.
‘But let me say that no other person has shown themselves on this place to make a claim upon it. And I do hereby assert by right of the original lease, and by right of my continuing occupation, my ownership of this land.’
There is a collective intake and release of breath as Dancer turns to the next page.
‘I cannot follow all that my son Othello tells me of the world beyond, but gather many things have changed, and that the natives may now hold their own lands. I pray it be so.
‘And if this prayer be answered, I do hereby bequeath this property to my son, Othello Noakes, whom I am led to believe is known in the wider world as Two Bob Walker, he being one of a pair of twin boys born here on Maryvale, before it had that name, in the year, I think, of 1929.
‘As of the date of writing, I know him to be alive and well, residing upon Highlands Station, formerly owned by the above named Stumpy Maclean.
‘I beg of Othello, if ever this be read to him, to care for his grand-nephew, Riley Noakes, and hope that he may see fit to one day let Riley take the title.
‘I have no Executor. I know not when, or if, this document may be found, nor by whom. Yet I also ask and pray, that if perchance Othello has passed, and young Riley has attained his majority, my bequest pass to him.
‘I bequeath also, to Riley, the contents of the pouches enclosed with this document. The small collection of yellow nuggets and flakes will no doubt be easily recognised. The clearish stones may be of no value, but when I chanced upon them I was reminded of mother’s diamond engagement ring.
‘If neither Othello nor Riley are positioned to accept this bequest …
‘Then I do not care.
‘I know not the date, and am uncertain even of the year.
‘Alas, I have no witness, but I append my signature.
‘William Noakes.’
54
There are more papers. The others wait, still silent, as Dancer holds the torch close to examine the next page. ‘I can’t read it. Too faded. Fuck … in trust, I think … that might be Maryvale … and signatures, might be.’
He gives up and lays the sheet with the will. The last document is on a heavier, parchment type paper, the ink faded but clear, in a fancy old font. Dancer grins. ‘It’s the lease paper for Maryvale.’
He rolls out of his lying position, sits up and looks at Two Bob. His grandfather takes off his hat, scratches his head.
‘Bugger me,’ is all Two Bob can say as he reaches for his tobacco tin.
Rosa gets to her feet, speechless, as she stirs up the coals and puts the billies back on the fire. Riley disappears for a moment, then is back with two sheets from the sketchpad. He smooths them out as well as he can on the ground next to the oilskin.
He pulls one of the pouches from a pocket. Loosens the leather thong. Gently pours the contents onto the first sheet of paper. A tobacco tin’s worth of flecks and flakes and small nuggets gleam yellow in the light of the torch. He pulls the other pouch from the other pocket. Repeats the process. A dozen small clear stones tumble out.
Andy reaches out, takes the largest of them, sits it in the palm of his hand. Dancer shines the torch on it. ‘Quartz?’ Andy wonders. ‘It’s all over these hills.’
‘Ol’ man liked lookin’ at rocks,’ says Two Bob. ‘Specially
that quartz. I remember him always pickin’ it up, holdin’ it up to the sun, lookin’ close. Must be some reason he hung on to this lot. Somethin’ different.’
‘Hey lambara, you’re a station owner. Boss of Maryvale! Rosa’ll have to pay you for all these bullamon now.’
‘Can’t be. That lease must be finished up long time now.’
Andy’s jest has broken the spell, unleashing a torrent of questions and speculations.
How much would that gold be worth?
Where would they get the maybe diamonds tested?
Is there any chance Two Bob would have a case for the Maryvale lease?
There must be some kind of place in Perth for looking at old papers that can make out what that agreement with Stumpy says, mustn’t there?
Riley ignores it all. He carefully folds each sheet of paper into a vee, and empties the contents back into the respective pouches, gets his torch, then disappears.
The flurry of questions is left hanging in the still night air.
55
Dancer wakes with fragments of yesterday’s events tumbling through his mind in an overwhelming jumble. He rolls onto his back and opens his eyes. He can just make out the arching rock of the overhang above him, and he finds his mind settling on thoughts of Jandamarra. Of sleeping and eating and being with family here, in the same space the great warrior once inhabited. Nothing seems quite real.
He hears Two Bob stirring, and climbs out of his swag to wait in the mouth of the shelter. ‘Eh jaminyi, good morning,’ Dancer says, turning to greet him.
The smile on his grandfather’s face makes his heart dance. It is not lost on either of them that this is the first time he has used the reciprocal term. Two Bob embraces him in a fierce hug. ‘Wulyu gumanda, jaminyi,’ he whispers. They sit watching the outlines of the small valley beginning to emerge from the pre-dawn gloom.
‘Is it good to come home?’ Dancer asks.
‘Not yet,’ is the cryptic answer. Two Bob gets up. ‘I’m gunna find a shovel over there. I know where he always put ’em. Might be white ants got the handle by now but better than nothin’.’ He holds up a hand when Dancer starts to get up. ‘I might just poke round little bit meself eh.’
‘No worries.’ He watches the old man walk stiffly down the slope, pausing for a few moments to inspect the Old Camp. Then Dancer starts looking around for kindling.
They’ve finished breakfast and are on their second cup of tea by the time they see Two Bob making his way up the slope. Riley seems to be still asleep, but as soon as Two Bob joins the others, he sits up in his swag. The others pay no attention to his rustlings and bustlings until he calls, ‘Oi.’
He indicates to each of them where to sit: Rosa, Dancer and Andy in a row opposite him, with his swag in between them, Two Bob beside him. He is trying to be solemn, but can’t quite control the twitching at the corners of his mouth. With great ceremony, he pulls the flap of the swag back. There are three folded sheets of paper. He looks at Dancer. ‘That milli milli for Poppy Pop, he says that gold and them stones belongin’ to me, right?’
‘Yeah.’
He looks across at Two Bob for confirmation. ‘Yuwai.’
From between the folds of the first sheet he slides out one of the ball sac pouches, empty. He opens the fold of the paper, revealing a small mound of gold and four stones. Like last night, he uses the vee to pour them into the pouch, then places the pouch on the centre of the sheet, obscuring a drawing.
He repeats the procedure for the second sheet, four stones and a small mound of gold the same size as the first. For the third sheet there is no pouch. Instead he uses the bandanna that is normally tied around his neck.
‘Rider.’ He slides the first pouch towards Rosa, revealing the drawing. One side of the fold is Rosa and Tim on horseback. On the other side Rosa is handing a cartoon style bag of money with a dollar sign to a man with glasses wearing shorts and long socks.
‘Dancer.’ He slides the second pouch towards Andy. On one side Dancer is dancing the junba. On the other Andy is watching two motorbikes disappear, one rider holding a dollars bag.
‘Walker.’ He passes his bandanna to Two Bob. The first picture shows him and Two Bob walking in the bush. The second is another shorts-and-long-socks man with a bag of money. Riley and Two Bob are standing in front of a big dual-cab four-wheel drive.
With a single movement he bounces to his feet. ‘That torch got no more battery!’ And then he is gone. He stops short of the Old Camp, cups his hands to his mouth and calls, ‘Thank you, Poppy Pop. Thank you.’ He turns upstream, heading for Jaliwala.
‘Bugger me,’ says Two Bob.
Rosa reaches out and picks up her drawing. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
‘It’s your rents and rates Rosa,’ Andy confirms. ‘You should get some change.’
‘And that?’ Rosa asks, pointing at Dancer’s picture.
‘Tell you later,’ says Andy. There are tears rolling down his cheeks.
56
Using a shovel blade like a trowel, Andy and Dancer take turns to hack out a small grave. Rosa goes back and forth to the creek with a canteen bringing water to soften the ground, and helps Two Bob with clearing fig litter and vines from around Bessie’s and Sarah’s graves. When the work is done they share a drink from the canteen before walking together up to the remains of the hut.
‘Should I go look for Riley?’ Dancer asks.
‘Not yet,’ Two Bob answers.
He picks up his swag cover, takes a deep breath, steps across the threshold. He kneels, smooths the canvas out. Bone by bone, he places the skeleton on the swag. Some break as he picks them up. He doesn’t react, just gathers the fragments and puts them with the bones. Finally only the crumbled skull remains. Piece by piece it is placed in the canvas.
He puts his hands in the small of his back and straightens for a few moments. He does a final inspection of the bed, finds two more small pieces of bone, which join the rest. He folds the canvas over, then gently, carefully, rolls it up. The others can see his shoulders trembling as he stands with his back to them.
Two Bob leads the procession back to the fig tree, and tenderly lays the swag roll into the hole. Kneeling by the grave he asks, ‘Anybody want to say somethin’?’
They all shake their heads. He stands up and steps back. Rosa keens softly as Dancer and Riley backfill the hole and pat the small mound smooth.
Riley goes to the base of the fig tree and retrieves the flowers he has collected – yellow and red, cotton tree and kurrajong – and arranges them on the mound.
Two Bob is the first to turn. He leads them silently back to their camp in the shelter.
57
‘There’s somethin’ else we’ve still gotta do.’
There is a weight in the words. As one, Dancer, Rosa and Andy put down their pannikins and turn. Two Bob squeezes Riley’s shoulders in a hug, then gets up and steps out of the shelter’s shade. He pushes back his weather-beaten akubra, and looks up at a sun just past its zenith and beginning its westerly descent, reckoning.
‘Might be enough time if we take off now. These ol’ legs of mine are slowin’ down, you know. Or we can do it in the mornin’.’
‘Enough time for what?’ Dancer asks.
‘You’ll see, young feller.’
They know there is no point in pressing for more. Andy is first to his feet. ‘Let’s go, lambara. Do we need anythin’?’
‘Water bottle might come in handy.’
Two Bob leads them across the creek to the cliff face behind his father’s camp. He follows an old footpath along the base of the cliff. It has become tangled with undergrowth from below, and fallen branches from above. Andy steps up to join him. They exchange nods, and Andy takes the lead, and the hard work of clearing the path.
Dancer assumes they are heading to the spring. Andy pulls up at a low call from Two Bob. The five of them gather. He points with his lips. Through the tangled growth they can glimpse the darkness of a small cave, an
d hear the trickle and splash of water. ‘Jaliwala,’ says Two Bob. ‘Might have to come back tomorrer, eh. Clean him up little bit.’
To the right of the spring a gully has been carved into the cliff face, the steep slope littered with scree. He puts a hand on Dancer’s shoulder, breathing deeply a couple of times, before gesturing again with his lips. ‘See that path?’
‘Sort of,’ Dancer lies.
‘I gotta go first, clear the ground for us. Riley, you come last one, behind Rosa. When we level out, you gotta sing. You know what song eh?’
‘Yuwai.’
Two Bob gathers himself, pushes aside a low branch, and sets off up the gully. As soon as he comes out into a clear patch of ground, he stands tall, and calls. For a minute or more he talks in Bunuba, loud and strong, to someone or something up there.
He starts to climb again. There is little vegetation on the stony, boulder-strewn slope but the pace is slow. Andy has to pull one big fallen tree branch aside, but otherwise Two Bob leads them, pausing frequently to continue his chanted dialogue with the country.
He stops, leaning against a vertical rockface, his breath fast and shallow as he struggles to regain his poise. One by one the others join him, all gasping at the climb. Dancer is the first to turn and look out. Beneath them lies the small valley, sparkling in the afternoon sun; a timeless speckle of eucalypts and spinifex in greens and yellows, shot through with rocks and patches of pindan.
Two Bob lets them absorb it for a minute as the canteen is passed around, then he gently nudges Riley. In a high treble voice, Riley begins to sing. The sweet lament floating out over the valley both thrills Dancer and sets him on edge.
Two Bob picks his way along a narrow, dusty path clinging to the rockface. Tracks and droppings reveal it as a pad of the rock wallabies. Andy follows a step behind, then Dancer, Rosa and Riley, still singing. Dancer’s left hand trails against the cliff face, helping him to keep his bearings on the vertiginous track. He senses a change in the texture of the rock beneath his fingers, glances, gasps. He is stroking a red ochre dingo.
The Valley Page 19
