by Di Morrissey
The other boy was now sitting at the edge of the road, his head in hands, his body shaking. Lily ran back to the red car. Two boys were bending over Eugene. ‘He’s bleeding bad, lady.’
‘Have you got a knife?’
One boy pulled a pocket knife from his belt, flipped it open and handed it to her. ‘What’re you going to do?’ Eugene looked fearful.
‘Stop the bleeding. You’ve cut an artery.’ She cut away the leg of his jeans revealing a deep gash, then ripped off her sarong and expertly wrapped it around the wound, pushing on the pressure point to stem the flow of blood. ‘Are you fellows okay?’
‘Shaky. Those bastards were chasing us. One had a rifle. I thought they were going to try to shoot us.’
‘Ran us off the road, we were scared,’ added Eugene.
‘Go and stand back along the road and flag down any car that comes along. Slow them down,’ she told one of the boys with Eugene.
‘Thanks very much for your help.’
‘I was going for an early swim. Lucky I came along, eh?’
Eugene nodded and closed his eyes. ‘My leg hurts.’
‘What happened? Were you boys drinking?’
‘Nah, me and Wally and Joe were fishing. Got some big moon fish. We was coming home when them hoons caught up with us on the road.’
‘They threw beer cans at us then started trying to push us off the road. When we saw one of ’em with the gun we hit the gas,’ said the other boy.
The man who’d stopped to help came and glanced at Eugene. ‘Police and ambo on the way. Christ, what a mess. You look like you know what you’re doing.’
‘I did a first-aid certificate many moons ago. How are the other boys?’
‘One is in shock, one is a bit out of it but he doesn’t look bad. These two look okay and you’ve got that guy under control. Lucky thing you were on the scene.’
‘There’s always the big worry of internal damage,’ muttered Lily, looking down at Eugene and thinking of Simon.
‘I’m on my way to Perth, I didn’t need this just as I’m setting out. Were you going for a swim?’
Lily was suddenly aware she was wearing only a swimsuit and an incongruous strand of pearls. ‘Yes. The terrible thing is I know two of the boys. In both cars.’
‘Oh shit. Stupid kids. Booze and speed. Gets ’em every time.’
‘These boys were fishing. They reckon the other lads chased them off the road,’ said Lily, the ramifications of the whole incident beginning to set in. ‘The white boys had beer and a gun.’
The man glanced back at the green car. ‘Who’s going to be believed? I didn’t see anything. I don’t want to be involved. Well, I’ve done what I can. The cops will be here soon and I’ve got a long drive. Good luck.’
‘Wait a minute, what’s your name? Can’t you wait till the police or ambulance get here?’ Lily’s voice was rising, a sense of outrage engulfing her.
‘I’ve done my bit. Like I said, I’ve got a long drive and long day ahead. Any minute now the right blokes will be here, that’s for sure.’ He walked towards his car, then paused and turned to Lily. ‘You know, this bit of road raging between blacks and whites is pretty typical of what’s bubbling beneath the surface of this place all the time. The locals try to cover it up, and they do pretty well. But it will keep exploding like this. It’s the law of nature.’ He got in his car and drove off without looking back.
Lily was stunned by the man’s insensitive reaction but when Eugene grunted and tried to sit up, she turned her attention to him. ‘I’ve seen you at Rosie’s, visiting Biddy. Your name’s Eugene, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Take it easy, Eugene. Hang in there, help is coming.’ Gently she smoothed his face, then placed his hand over hers on the sarong tourniquet. ‘Keep your hand here, just push gently. I’d better check on the others.’
The white boy who’d been sitting at the edge of the road had wandered into the bushes. Simon struggled to his feet. ‘Stupid bloody Abos. Shouldn’t be allowed to drive.’
‘Simon, take it easy. What happened?’ Lily held her temper.
He didn’t answer for a minute while he looked around for his mate. ‘Ah, Keith was a bit pissed . . . pissed off . . . we’d been with some girls and were going home. Saw those blokes on the road, gave us the finger or something so Keith lost his rag.’
‘Who had a gun?’
‘Not me.’
‘Was there a gun?’
‘I dunno. I was pissed. He was driving.’ Simon was sullen. ‘Dad is going to be mad as hell, I reckon.’
Lily was about to say something when another motorist stopped and suddenly there were people everywhere, a tow truck, an ambulance, the police. The early rays of the sun lit the scene with a harsh bright light. For a moment Lily closed her eyes, thinking back to the peace of the pale first light and wished the incident had all been a dream.
She gave her name and a brief statement to the police, and agreed to be interviewed later. Then she got back in her car. The day had been deeply scarred.
Poor Dale. Poor boys. She wished she could talk to Sami. But first of all, she’d better get to Dale. He’d been so happy when Simon had moved up to Broome for six months. He’d finished his apprenticeship as a builder and was getting some practical experience on Dale’s latest project – supplying building materials and equipment to a small housing estate being developed at the edge of town. Dale had hoped that Simon would stay on and work with his company.
Simon was a few years younger than Sami, and Dale and Lily hoped they might get on together. But they had no interest in each other after their first brief meeting in Sydney when Dale came to visit and had brought Simon to dinner. Lily had diplomatically explained that the gap in age and interests was too wide for much social interaction, rather than tell Dale that Sami had put her foot down about including her in any cosy family foursomes. Simon was equally relieved that he didn’t have to spend his time making contrived conversation with Lily and Sami. And Lily didn’t want to appear as though she and Dale had blended families. But as a parent, she didn’t want the local policeman arriving on Dale’s doorstep with the news his son had been in a road accident.
She stopped at the start of the long driveway that led to his home out past the beach. Rummaging in her beach bag she found an old T-shirt with a Greenpeace slogan on it, pulled it on and drove up to the house.
Sleepily, Dale opened the door. ‘Lily, this is a nice surprise. Why didn’t you come in and wake me up in bed?’ He looked at her tanned legs, the T-shirt and pearls. ‘Swimming?’
‘Dale, come inside and let’s have some coffee. I have to tell you something.’
‘At this hour? What’s up?’ He heard the concern in her voice.
She went to him and held him by the shoulders. ‘Everything is all right, but it’s Simon. He’s been in a bit of an accident.’
‘Oh Christ, where? How bad?’ He jerked in shock.
‘He’s fine. He’s being checked out at the hospital, just as a matter of course, I expect. There were others involved, but Simon is all right.’ She spoke the last phrase slowly and with emphasis.
‘How do you know all this? Where were you?’
‘I was driving to Cable Beach for a swim, the accident happened almost in front of me. He and a mate hit three Aboriginal boys. Eugene was one of them. He’s cut badly. The other has a bad arm.’
‘Where’s Simon? You spoke to him?’
‘Of course. I didn’t want you to hear from anyone else and panic.’ On cue the phone began to ring behind him and he ran to answer it. Lily headed for the kitchen to make coffee.
Dale came slowly into the kitchen a few moments later. ‘That was Simon. They’re being held for observation and a police statement. He said it was the other blokes’ fault. He had a few choice words to say about it all, so he must be okay.’
‘Dale, I saw them overtake me. From what I saw and what Eugene told me, I’d say Simon and his mate might be in the wrong.�
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‘Bugger that. Just because you know Eugene, you don’t have to take his side. But then you are a bit one-eyed when it comes to our black brothers, aren’t you?’ He slammed the cupboard door after taking down two mugs.
‘Dale, you’re upset. Have your coffee and go in and see Simon. I’m going home.’ She didn’t add that she wanted Rosie to call Eugene’s family and let them know what had happened. ‘I’ll talk to you later,’ she said quietly.
‘Lily, I’m sorry. Thanks for coming all the way out,’ said Dale wearily.
She nodded and got in her car. But as she headed back, thoughts of what had happened scrolled through her mind. And she saw Simon’s friend get out of the car and go into the bushes at the side of the road. He was carrying something. Eugene mentioned a rifle. Dale had told her that Simon had a gun licence for hunting.
Lily was now convinced that Simon and his mate had hidden the gun before the police arrived. And from what she’d gleaned from occasional references from Dale, they could also have been getting rid of drugs. When she got home, she called the police station. Then she called Rosie.
‘That’s terrible news,’ sighed Rosie. ‘Eugene is a lovely boy. He lives with his grandmother Dolly and he works part-time at the bird observatory. Dolly and Biddy are connected.’
As she made herself a cup of coffee, Lily cursed Simon and thought about Dale’s reaction when she had tried to talk to him about the accident. While he had been upset about his son, Lily saw they stood on opposite sides of the fence when it came to Aboriginal issues.
C h a p t e r F i v e
LILY HAD TAKEN UP SALTY’S OFFER TO VISIT DAMIEN Lake’s pearl farm. It had been a long drive, and on first sight she thought it looked more like a holiday resort than the headquarters of a complex aquatic farming operation. The neat waterfront operations sheds, maintenance and boat sheds, staff quarters and communal recreation rooms, all with shady verandahs looking out to the stunning expanse of Red Rock Bay, created a relaxed atmosphere. A large barge rocked gently at a mooring and two dolphins, as if on cue, swam by close inshore.
‘It’s paradise, Damien,’ exclaimed Lily. ‘Far more beautiful than I imagined. Thank you so much for letting me come up.’
‘It’s hard to capture the spirit of a place until you visit it. Or the ever-changing sights and sounds,’ he said. ‘I loved watching it grow from tents to dongas to what we have now. It’s a business but it’s also a passion.’
‘But not without its problems.’
Damien smiled. ‘Ah yes, staff problems, shell problems, engine problems, et cetera, but somehow they just don’t seem quite as forbidding as anything a city office throws up.’
‘It must have been a lot of work – making a dream come true.’
‘Tenacity and being able to laugh at adversity are a must if you want to be a pearler,’ he said, laughing. ‘It’s a family business and we like to think of everyone that works here as part of that family too. We’ve trained our own Aussie and Kiwi technicians when it used to be all Japanese workers. Seeding was a big dark secret done behind a black curtain.’ Damien and Lily stopped outside the office.
‘It’s the big oysters that are only fished up here that make pearls from Broome unique, right?’
‘Yes, Pinctada maxima. But it’s our environment, the clean waters, that make the difference. What’s out there.’ He pointed to the glittering bay.
Damien showed Lily to a guestroom attached to the office. ‘Now back to the real world. I’ll leave you to settle in. I’d better go and make my presence felt among the troops.’
Lily put off unpacking to enjoy the scene a little more. There was a magic about it all that was captivating. The dolphins continued their parade, now a little further out, and seabirds circled lazily overhead. Down near the main boat ramp, Damien joined several workers, men and women, laughing and joking as they loaded a barge with wire-mesh panels packed with freshly seeded shells. Damien owned the farm with his father, Ron, and together they were willing to turn their hands to almost any aspect of the business.
One of the women who worked on the boats with the divers offered to show Lily around and then took her to the dining room, pointing out the refrigerator filled with fruit, yoghurts and cold drinks. ‘Help yourself anytime,’ she said brightly. ‘That’s the norm out here.’ As they went on a tour of the sprawling set-up, Lily wondered what Tyndall and Olivia would have made of this sophisticated operation. Yet the heart of the business was the same – the joy of an exquisite, perfect pearl slithering out of the wet muscle of these unique oysters.
After the barge had been loaded, Damien called Lily to join him for a run out into the bay where the oysters would be put back on long lines strung between buoys. On the way Lily got a quick but detailed account of the farm routine, and gained a fresh appreciation of how much patient and skilled work there was behind the slick marketing of the industry. The staff were a key; everyone had to get on and feel they were part of a team, though turnover among the youthful workers was high. It was physically hard work with long hours, seasonal for some and isolated, although most had a week off every two or three weeks when they returned to Broome to ‘go mad’.
It was a new world to Lily. She had only ever known, through her research, how things worked in the old days, though she knew all about the social side of the contemporary pearling scene. This was very different, and Lily found it fascinating and stimulating. She told Damien, who laughed and reminded her that she had Captain Tyndall’s blood in her veins.
That evening she sat with the young crew who’d just come back from a week off, and listened to their entertaining and sometimes dramatic stories, the good-natured teasing and the camaraderie as they shared a few cold beers after dinner. Most turned in early as they’d be heading out on the first shift at five o’clock before coming back for breakfast at 7 am, then starting on their other duties.
She’d seen some of their quarters and noticed, in their rooms and all around the place, shells, coral, driftwood, grasses and seeds that they had collected. The sea, the scenery, the untamed coastline, the vagaries and danger of changing weather affected even the most blasé of the young staff. Some were there for the money, the fun, adventure, an escape, maybe romance. No matter what drew them to pearling, when they eventually left, they would take with them the memory of the rhythm of working as a team on a slippery wet deck, a perfect sunset, catching a huge fish, or moments of peace in a hammock slung between two palm trees. The harvest pearl given to each of them at the end of a season would remind them why they had gone there. Lily knew that if she were young and fit, this is where she’d want to be working.
Damien summed it up as they shared a quiet drink, watching the moonrise. ‘Producing a pearl that will become an heirloom is a birthing process; it’s umbilically linked to the moon and the tides.’
‘Tears of the moon,’ said Lily softly. ‘I understand it all better now.’
Early the next morning Lily set out to walk around their side of the bay.
She had gone almost five kilometres to where the bay curved, and she felt she was walking where no one had been for many years. Then she came on the mouth of a wide creek and at the edge of the dune, she found rusting tins, stones marking a fireplace, and empty bottles. There was a tangle of fishing line, a small midden of old shells and a rotting wooden paddle. Obviously it was a fishing spot, she thought, or a sitting down place for local people. As she turned towards the creek she heard the splutter of an outboard motor and an aluminium runabout came into view. It slowed and the Aboriginal man at the helm waved and called, ‘You all right, lady? You lost?’ He cut the engine and steered closer.
‘I’m fine, I’m staying with friends.’
‘Just visiting, eh?’
‘That’s right.’
He acted a little surprised that someone like Lily, probably from a big city, was in this spot at this hour. ‘Go up the creek ’ere. It’s not far.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Ask t’see Mr George.
He’s the boss.’
Before Lily could ask boss of what or who Mr George might be, the man yanked on the motor starter handle, gave her a wave and headed into the bay.
After about twenty minutes Lily stopped, mesmerised by the scene before her. It was undoubtedly a pearling camp, but very rundown. With the sprawling, ramshackle buildings and rough sheds, the rambling old house with its sagging verandah, the clutter of boats and gear, piles of oyster panels, ropes and floats, it looked like the set for a movie based on a Somerset Maugham story. And then Lily caught her breath. Partially screened by mangroves was an old wooden lugger lying on its side in the mud. A lugger like those she’d seen in old photographs and neatly restored at the Pearl Luggers Museum in town.
In Lily’s mind the boat looked like a tired old lady, resting, perhaps remembering her lively younger days dipping and drifting over distant shell beds. Like a flashback she saw the lugger at sea, her deck laden with shell, Tyndall laughing at the helm, Yoshi in his diving suit placing the heavy helmet on his shoulders, tender at the ready, Ahmed looking on.
‘Hoy! You looking for someone? Come on over.’ An old man in shorts and a faded shirt was signalling from the verandah of the house. A dog loped towards Lily.
‘Hello. I’m Lily Barton. Are you Mr George?’
‘David George, at your service, but you can call me Dave. Where’d you spring from?’ They shook hands. He was in his seventies, unshaven, lean, with a chirpy voice that sounded faintly British, and a cheerful smile. Lily thought his pale blue eyes looked tired and she noticed he moved stiffly.
‘I set out to explore this area before it got too hot. I walked over from the Lakes’ place.’
‘Do you want a drink of water? We don’t get many strangers just dropping by.’
‘That I can believe.’ Lily took off her hat and sat in one of the old cane chairs on the verandah while Dave fussed around in the kitchen getting glasses of cold water.
