by Di Morrissey
‘Be patient, darling. I wasn’t sure how you’d take to this news. It’s a little complicated, but fascinating,’ said Lily. ‘Being half white, Maya was sent by the missionaries to Perth and brought up as a white child and renamed Maria.’
‘One of those stolen generation kids?’
‘In a way, I suppose she was. Anyway, Maya, the child Niah had with Tyndall, married Olivia’s son, Hamish Hennessy, from her first marriage. So, the two families came together in a most unusual way.’
‘Mum, it’s like the plot of a TV soapie,’ Sami exclaimed. ‘And I get the feeling you’ve got a few more episodes to go.’
‘Well, yes.’ Lily took a breath. ‘So, Hamish and Maya had a daughter, Georgiana. Through her, my mother, you and I got the genes, the bloodline connection, with Tyndall and Olivia’s families . . . and all that is part of who we are.’ Lily sat back in her chair and looked a little drained.
Sami didn’t say a thing. She was stunned by the revelation. The link back to Aboriginal stock was certainly there but somehow it seemed unreal. No, thought Sami, not unreal, just unimportant. It was so long ago, such a convoluted link. It was hard to imagine anything remotely Aboriginal about her grandmother.
Lily watched her daughter’s face and sensed a growing tension, perhaps fuelled by disbelief at what she had just heard. ‘It came as a bit of a shock to me too, Sami, when I read all this in Olivia’s diary, discovering John Tyndall was a relative. What I wasn’t prepared for was, on my first visit there, meeting Rosie Wallangou, the young Aboriginal artist who did a painting of the pendant. She had been left a fund by Olivia because of her family connection. After realising we were linked through the pendant I went back to her house and met her family that included old Biddy.’
‘The old Aboriginal lady you talked to who was fishing?’
Lily gave a faint smile. ‘Darling, I know it’s a lot to take in, but the fact is, all of them, old Biddy included, are connected to us in all manner of ways – blood, marriage, kinship, skin and association. We’re family.’
Again there was silence as Sami tried to take in the extraordinary details, but it was all too much. After a life as an only child in a single-parent family, with a disaffected remote father, she’d longed for family, but not like this.
‘They’re not my family,’ she suddenly exclaimed, rising and gathering up her things. ‘I have nothing to do with them!’
Lily stood and reached to wrap her arms around her daughter, but Sami jerked away. ‘Please don’t jump to conclusions, love. Please. You don’t have to do anything about this now, but just think about it. I’m not ashamed of having Aboriginal blood in the family.’
‘It’s not that simple for me, Mum,’ Sami exploded. ‘They’re out there, now. It’s not like this was all in the past and we can be so rah-rah bloody liberal-minded and . . . and aren’t we all PC and all that.’
‘When you meet them –’
‘I don’t want to, Mum. I don’t want to hang out with people I have nothing in common with just because of some fling my great-great-grandfather had with a half-caste girl! And they probably don’t want anything to do with a white yuppie like me. God, I wish you hadn’t told me this.’ She crossed her arms in the defensive way Lily knew so well.
‘I thought it best to be honest with you. If I hadn’t told you, then you’d be entitled to be angry with me.’ Lily tried to lighten the mood. ‘I’ve never heard you describe yourself as a yuppie before.’
‘You know what I mean. I’m white, educated, an academic for God’s sake. I’ve lived a very different life from theirs, we’d have nothing in common. They might even expect us to support them. You know what they’re like – what’s yours is mine.’
‘Sami, I never thought I would hear you resort to stereotypes. As a matter of fact, they are all doing very well. Rosie especially. But you’re right, they lead a very different life. That’s not to say one is superior to the other.’ Lily held up her hands. ‘Sami, I’m sorry you’ve reacted like this. I know it has come as a surprise, but it’s not that big a deal, you can ignore it or embrace it. I’ve chosen to embrace it. You decide. You tell me when you’re ready to meet them.’
When, after some years of total secrecy, Sami had finally revealed her ancestry to girlfriends, she was taken aback at their enthusiastic, even envious, reaction. She argued that if it were their family history they might feel differently, if they were the ones with Aboriginal blood. It was all very well to indulge in political correctness and find oneself taking an interest in the national debate over reconciliation, but to Sami it was a profound internal dilemma that she didn’t understand very well herself. Would she have felt differently if she’d been told she’d been adopted, she wondered?
Diluted and distant, but she still had the blood of a part Aboriginal, part Macassan islander in her veins, the result of her white great-great-grandfather’s liaison. And in Broome there were ancestral links to a whole group of coastal Aborigines, the Bardi people. Captain John Tyndall had been famous, a successful pearling master who’d made, lost and rebuilt a small empire that had all but disappeared.
Sami often wished her mother hadn’t gone on that search into the past. She tried to ignore the heritage her mother had uncovered, but it was like a tiny volcano inside her, pressing to explode. The need to know she belonged somewhere was growing. Sami tried telling herself she didn’t need ‘family’. All she wanted was a sense of belonging somewhere, a place of some meaningful permanence. Compared to her friends she felt like a gypsy – rootless, without continuity.
She barely knew her father, who’d divorced her mother and now lived in America. Lily had moved from the family home to a smaller house then an apartment. It was a streamlined existence. Most of Sami’s friends came from large extended families that valued annual events and rituals, celebrating the past and the future as they married and gave birth to another generation. Sami slipped easily into the fold of friendship they offered – an extra chair at the table, another sleeping bag on camping trips, sharing experiences and gatherings that gave Lily time to travel, time to take a break from work and being mother of a teenager.
It was only now that Sami recognised how lonely her mother had been and maybe that was why she clung to this recently discovered extended family in Broome. She had little contact with Sami’s father in America and the man Lily had met and fallen in love with many years ago had died. Her mother had a casual relationship with a man in Broome, but that wasn’t what always drew her back there.
As soon as she agreed to the Kimberley trip, Sami knew that it was going to be impossible to put off acknowledging the extended family links in the remote northwest. Since her mother dropped the bomb, Sami had matured, and she felt a little more relaxed about handling the challenges of meeting the odd collection of relatives for the first time. Lily had persuaded her to return from the trip to the east Kimberley outback via Broome and join her for a short holiday at Moonlight Bay.
Before dawn the next morning and back on the road, Sami consulted her pencilled ‘mud map’, looking for the small turn-off by a tree that had an old chain and rusting bicycle wheel swinging high from a branch. She checked the distance travelled from the campsite, made a quick calculation, drove another few kilometres and with some satisfaction saw the tree with the bike wheel and a rough track beside it.
She turned onto the track and scanned the way ahead. The sky and earth were the same pale grey, large clumps of spinifex and straggling trees were darker contrasts. And then she saw, slightly to the right, a distant tiny glow. A fire, a camp. She was nearly there, and she felt instantly that her life, her whole world was about to change. There was no returning from here. She was expected. She came with some knowledge of western and eastern art history, training in comparative research and experience as an assistant lecturer to graduate students at her university in Sydney. But here she was a neophyte, fulfilling a job thrust at her by a professor who had no idea of the personal ramifications of the task.
Kevin Lean glanced in the rear-view mirror, checking on the caravan he was towing. The corrugations in the dirt road were jarring and the caravan was shuddering and bouncing. A cloud of thick dust had changed their Silver Fox to rusty red, but he was enjoying every minute of the off-the-bitumen adventure. His wife, Bette, was less enthusiastic.
‘This is a bit scary, Kev. When do we get back onto the bitumen?’
‘Don’t worry, love. We’ll be at the station before you know it. One more night camping out, okay? Then civilisation.’
‘A homestead in the middle of a million acres. Doesn’t sound like the centre of the universe to me. Still, I’m glad we’ve got the Silver Fox and don’t have to sleep in swags.’
‘There’ll probably be a few people like us. It’s a big do.’ He glanced around. ‘It’s magic country, isn’t it?’
Bette nodded. As fit, energetic and cashed-up baby boomers they’d decided to celebrate Kev’s early retirement with a round-Oz trip that offered a few challenges and promised a lot of fun. While she was loving their dream trip, it did have its anxious moments. Bette found the vastness and emptiness of so much of the country disconcerting. Although she agreed with Kevin that the country was stunningly beautiful, the colour amazing, and the wildlife and plants fascinating, she was always glad to reach a park where there were other people. Sitting around and swapping stories of their adventures was better than actually having them. Bette was very much a city girl and the bush was digestible only in small doses. ‘We haven’t seen anyone all day,’ she said.
‘Well, that’s not unusual out this far. You were the one who said the Gibb River Road had too many cars on it. Say, what’s that up ahead? Someone broken down?’
‘Kev, it’s a taxi!’ announced Bette in a tone of disbelief.
‘Well I’ll be blowed,’ he exclaimed, braking in time to pull over behind the dust-shrouded taxi. ‘There’s no one in it.’
‘Yes there is. Underneath.’
The couple climbed down from their air-conditioned four-wheel drive, reeling as the hot air enveloped them. A man crawled out from under the jacked-up car.
‘Had a prang, eh mate?’ Kev called as the young man emerged.
‘Yeah, bloody bad luck. That and a few other complications. Thanks for turning up. I was getting worried no one was going to come by. There’s not much traffic in these parts even with the big gig on at the station.’ Bobby tried to sound nonchalant but he had been relieved to see the four-wheel drive pull up. He noticed that they were a smart, well-dressed couple. Kevin was tall and thin but fit like a man used to working out in a gym. He had cropped grey hair and even features; he sounded educated, like a lawyer or a manager of some kind, Bobby thought. His wife had freckles, a ready smile and pale blonde hair streaked with grey. She looked friendly and warm hearted.
‘What’s up? Can we help? I’m Kev Lean, this is Bette.’ They all shook hands.
‘Bobby Ching. I’m driving a bloke from Broome up to the races. We hit a bloody big roo early today. My passenger went off for a loo stop and a bit of a wander, and he hasn’t come back. I’ve been as far as I’m game to, looking for him. But I’m not heading out there in this heat with no idea which direction to go in.’
‘Rule number one, stay with the vehicle,’ said Bette as if quoting the manual on safe outback driving, and Kevin raised a sympathetic eyebrow for Bobby’s benefit.
‘Yes, it was stupid of me to let him go. I tried to make him understand how dangerous it could be.’ Bobby sounded worried.
Kev peered under the car and saw where Bobby had dug himself a shallow bed to shelter from the blazing sun.
‘Have you got any cold water, mate?’ asked Bobby, suddenly looking weary.
‘Sure, sure. Come on, hop into the air-conditioning. Get the water bottle out of the Esky, Bette.’
‘Now, tell us more about your passenger and what happened,’ Bette said as Bobby drank and then wiped some water over his face.
‘He’s a German bloke. We were going to the races at Bradley Station. When the roo hit, the radiator rammed into the engine. The fan belt and battery are shot so there’s no power or communication. I knew we’d be all right if we waited, but Matthias went walkabout and didn’t come back.’
‘Has he got water?’ she asked in alarm.
‘Nah. He wasn’t going for long, and I told him not to go far in this country. He said he wouldn’t, but it’s real easy to get disoriented and lost. He said he wanted to take some photos. When he didn’t come back after two hours I started looking, at least close by. Come to think of it, his hat was no bloody good for this country either, just a cap. We’d better see if we can find him. Does your radio phone work?’
‘Yeah, go ahead.’ As Kevin handed the phone to Bobby, Bette reached for her camera to photograph the stranded taxi. This would make some interesting news in their email newsletter to friends and family in Adelaide.
Bobby got on to Mr Choy in Broome and briefed him quickly then hung up. Suddenly Bobby’s mood seemed to change. It was as if the phone call had jogged him out of the daze of heat exhaustion. He turned to Kevin. ‘The boss says we gotta look for him.’
‘How fit was he, Bobby?’
‘He didn’t seem all that fit. A bit overweight, probably in his fifties. Like most of these Europeans and Japanese that come up here for a quick look, he had no idea of just how dangerous it can be out there in the spinifex.’
‘We don’t go off the road if we can help it, certainly not in conditions like this,’ said Kevin. ‘How long before you think help will get here?’
‘Too long. Is there any chance we could unhitch your van and have a bit of a look round? I don’t like his chances if he didn’t find shelter.’
Bette reached out and touched Kevin’s arm. ‘I don’t know, darl.’
Kevin surveyed the inhospitable country beyond the road. ‘I don’t want to take any chances. If we damage our car out on that . . . get lost, I mean, I want to help, but –’
‘Listen, mate, he could die out there. He’s been out there all day. Please, you gotta help,’ said Bobby.
‘Of course. Let’s go then.’
The two men drove into the bush, leaving Bette sitting at the edge of the road under the shade of the quickly extended caravan awning. She had her diary out making notes even before the dust of their departure had settled. The adventure had become worrying. Awful scenarios flashed through her mind of the men crashing the four-wheel drive or getting lost.
Kevin was having similar thoughts. For all the adventures he had anticipated, he didn’t really expect anything like this to happen. It was unbelievable that a man who just went off for a little look around the scrub could actually disappear. While the boy beside him seemed decent enough and outback savvy, he didn’t like taking off like this, across blank countryside with no road, no landmarks, or any idea of what they might find ahead.
‘Have you been out this part of the country before, Bobby?’
‘Not off the road. Do you have a compass?’ He tried to joke.
Kevin looked serious. ‘We thought about getting a GPS but I didn’t think we’d go off the roadmap. We have just about every other piece of high-tech gear, though. But they are more aimed at creature comforts.’
Bobby nodded. He’d noticed the expensive outfit they were driving. It was no basic caravan like most of the grey nomads trekked around in. He figured this couple only stayed in top-class parks.
Kevin peered nervously ahead at the barren landscape. ‘I don’t think we should go too far. I mean, we don’t know what direction he went. Who is coming from Broome to help?’
‘My cousin will get cracking once he hears from Mr Choy. He’s notifying police in Broome and they’ll probably put someone in the air. These air searches are expensive, they don’t do ’em at the drop of a hat these days. There have been too many doggo stories and false alarms over the last few months. People panic and call the cops just because they’ve broken down on the highway.’
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��This is not exactly a highway in my book,’ said Kevin. ‘Rough red dirt across the middle of nowhere. I bet it’s a sea of mud when it rains, and it’s a metre of fine powder in the dry. You can’t help feeling isolated.’
‘Scary for city people, eh? But at least you’re experiencing the outback when you leave the bitumen.’ Bobby glanced around. ‘And you don’t know what you’re going to find when you get off the beaten track. No itinerary, no plans, no people. Thrown on your own resources.’
‘That’s not very sensible, or safe,’ said Kevin stiffly.
‘Ah, don’t worry, I’m a bit Aboriginal, I know what to do.’ Bobby tried to laugh but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
Kevin drove cautiously, surprised that what he thought looked like flat country was full of ditches and channels. He hoped Bobby was taking note of the direction they had come from because he was concentrating solely on twisting and turning the wheel to avoid stones and rocks and spiky bushes. He was squinting, leaning forward, peering through the dusty windscreen covered by wire mesh when suddenly Bobby pointed.
‘Over there, to the right a bit. Where those birds are circling. Near the trees.’
‘I don’t see anything except a bloody lot of spinifex,’ Kevin said as he turned the wheel. Soon they were on what looked like a very shallow dried-up creek bed.
‘On the other side, take it easy getting across. I think we’ve found him,’ said Bobby, already preparing to jump from the cab.
On the other side of the gully of sand was the body of the German man, close by a stunted tree, its dead spiky branches reaching to the sky as if signalling for help.
‘Jesus, is he dead?’ wondered Kevin aloud, and he blew the horn to scare away the two huge birds that were circling nearby.
Seconds later he stopped the engine and joined Bobby alongside Matthias. The man was lying on his side looking as if he were comfortably asleep, except for the cracked red skin and bloodied swollen mouth. Bobby rolled him over and propped him up.
