by Di Morrissey
‘Ah, that was back in the UK. It had to do with family business. I rather upset my brother and dear Papa. It all became nasty, I’m afraid. My grandfather had favoured me in his will and that caused a few ructions. My father and brother had written me off as I conveniently dropped out of the picture as a teenager.’
‘That’s when you came out here?’
‘To the Territory. I was mustering, working on a big property.’ He gave a self-deprecating grin. ‘Upper-class twits were sent out to the colonies to be turned into men. I took to the cattle more than I took to anyone I knew back home. So I stayed here, moved west, and here I am.’
‘I reckon you’re jumping over a big chunk of your life there, Dave.’
‘Yeah. Well, everything was quiet till Grandfather passed on and left more to me than to my father and brother. They went to court. I didn’t want to fight. I gave it a bit of a nudge but hell, I didn’t need or want it. Instead I took a settlement and fled. That’s how I was able to buy this place. I went from a pauper to a pearler overnight.’
‘And that put you off legal wrangling, eh?’
‘Yeah. A handshake out here is as good as a piece of paper, I reckon. If someone does the dirty on you, there are ways and means of settling a score without getting the white lawmen involved. Bush justice works for me.’
Tim thought about the strange ‘traveller’. ‘Do you believe in some of the mystical stuff, the strange powers Aborigines have?’
‘Some of them. Don might know about that stuff, being a member of the local community up here. He and Serena believe in the old lore . . . and law. I take it all with a grain of salt.’
‘I heard about people in Indonesia with powers . . . I don’t disbelieve. I’m just waiting to witness it with my own eyes.’
‘Be careful what you wish for, they say.’ Dave yawned. ‘I’m turning in. See you in the morning.’
‘Yeah. Goodnight, Dave.’ Tim sat for a while longer looking at the stars and the moon. He’d been promising himself that one night he’d go and watch the moon over the bay. It would be nice to share it with someone . . . other than crusty old David. Well, his story didn’t sound like he’d got himself into any trouble, despite what Dale had hinted at. It sounded like Dave wasn’t too fond of his family if he chose to stay on as a kid in the outback wilderness of Australia rather than a cushy life back in the UK. Tim wondered if he could have walked away from a big inheritance, if he were in the same situation. Some people were fighters, some didn’t want to bother.
If they hit a big problem with the pearl farm, would Dave walk away? If he did, so what? They had been prepared to go without him in the first place. I reckon Lily’s a fighter, Tim thought, and Sami. You wouldn’t want to get on her wrong side. And she’d most likely fight like a she cat to protect her mother. Sami hasn’t given me the seal of approval yet. Oh well, he decided, whether she likes it or not, we’re in it together now. I’ve had enough experience to know we can make this work. I’ll give it five years to make me a bundle. Just need a little bit of luck, and the international market holding up.
He stood up and raked the last of the coals together and then jerked with surprise. Standing on the other side of the fire was the short Aboriginal man. ‘G’day again. I didn’t hear you. Thought you’d left.’ Tim was a bit rattled.
‘Can I join you?’
‘Of course. Did you get a meal? ’Fraid the coffee pot is done. Might be a beer left.’
The man sat on Dave’s empty chair, his legs swinging. ‘Thanks. I’m right.’
There was a silence for a moment or two. Tim wanted to go to bed but asked, ‘So, sorry, mate, I didn’t get your name.’
‘Munda.’
Tim couldn’t resist a slight grin. ‘Munda down unda, is that what they call you?’
‘I’ve heard it before. You work here now?’
‘Ah, yes. With Dave and Lily Barton. So, Munda, you going to be staying around for long, before travelling some more?’
‘I’m not welcome?’
‘Of course you are. I didn’t know whether you might be looking for a job. Suit yourself. Where are you camped? Did Don or Serena find you a bed?’
‘I’m okay, thanks.’
‘That’s good. Breakfast is early, but you wander into the canteen when it suits you. I might be turning in now. Like I said, early start.’ The little guy made him uneasy. His eyes seemed to have their own light and he was so bloody hard to talk with, yet he spoke very well.
‘Tim? Before you go.’
‘Yeah, mate?’
‘Have you ever been up near Sunday Island? Or to Lacepedes? Good waters, good places.’
‘Is that so? I’ll have to get up there sometime.’
The fellow stood up. ‘Don’t leave it too long.’
‘Right.’ What the hell is he talking about? thought Tim, standing up and picking up his plate, mug and empty beer bottle to carry back inside. When he turned around, Munda had disappeared.
Two days later Ross dropped into the supermarket to pick up some supplies and to collect a copy of the Broome Advertiser. Flipping through it while waiting in the checkout queue, he came to a double-page spread with the headline: ‘Broome Pearls Star’.
There was a long article with photographs of Pauline Despar and her latest collection of jewellery designs featuring pearls and mother-of-pearl shell. It had attracted international interest. The Celestial Collection, as Pauline dubbed it, apparently had been inspired by some ornament based on the sun that had come her way quite by chance. And in another article the paper announced that Lily Barton had bought into the Star Two pearl farm at Red Rock Bay, following in the tradition of her great-grandfather.
Ross folded the newspaper with a smile. He’d read it in more detail at home. He’d definitely call Lily. Like him, fate had brought her home to Broome.
Dale met Lily at Broome Airport and listened impassively as she rattled through the basics of the legalities she had finalised in Perth. ‘I just can’t see how you guys expect to make top dollars,’ he said at last. ‘You might as well make a hole in the ocean and pour your money into it. You’d better hope there’s a bonanza of pearls hanging out there. Harvest time soon, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, early July, Dave figured. When the water temperature is at its lowest. The oysters stop growing and there’re no eggs in the gonads. All far more scientific than I realised. For such crusty rough looking things, pearl oysters are quite sensitive.’
Dale shook his head. ‘And if, just supposing, this little enterprise doesn’t bring you a return, what are you going to do then?’
‘When – as you put it – I’ve done my dough?’ answered Lily tartly.
He gave a short laugh. ‘C’mon, Lily, I always said this was a bit of a mad idea. Why has Dave struggled on up there and no one else has ever seen any potential in that place? Boy, they saw you coming.’
‘Well thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she said coldly. She was tired and the elation she’d felt as they flew in over the bay was being replaced by a seething anger. She’d been so happy and excited to be back in Broome. Now Dale was quickly deflating her good feelings. ‘And who do you mean “they”?’
‘David George and his cohorts up there. There’s something suss about a fella, and a Pom at that, who prefers to hang out with blackfellas rather than be in town.’
‘With civilised white folk like you, Dale?’ She was going to mention Simon but thought it best to keep his son’s name out of it. Dale knew full well that she regarded Simon as a racist and a troublemaker. ‘I would have thought someone like you who’d had to make their money the hard way would appreciate an honest toiler.’
He missed the irony in her voice. They’d never discussed the stories she’d heard about Dale and some shonky deals he’d allegedly been involved in. ‘Sweetheart, I’m just being devil’s advocate. I’m concerned about your welfare, your future.’
‘It’s a bit late now. I’ve signed on the dotted line. Be honest, Dale, all you’
ve done is sling off at this scheme. You’ve never come up with any constructive criticism or practical alternative. Other than throwing in my lot with you,’ she finished with some disdain.
He looked annoyed, opened his mouth to snap back, then controlled his temper. Reaching over to squeeze her knee, he said, ‘Let’s not argue. What’s done is done. I just want you to know I’ll be here for you if you get into strife.’
Lily too had to fight to control her temper before saying in a tight voice, ‘Thanks. Hopefully I won’t need to be bailed out. Two knowledgeable Japanese businessmen have seen fit to throw a large amount of money at the project. I don’t intend to let them, or my partners, down.’
‘Very nicely put,’ said Dale and he clapped his hands in mock applause as he braked in the parking lot at Moonlight Bay. ‘Here we are. I have champagne to celebrate, and . . .’ he reached over to the back seat for a bunch of roses, ‘I’m glad you’re back, even though you were only gone a couple of days. I’ve made a reservation at the Cable Beach Club Restaurant for dinner.’ He leaned over and kissed her cheek. ‘Now let’s get your gear inside.’
Lily didn’t want to go out but thought it was easier to give in than refuse. ‘All right. I’d like to have a swim and a nap before we go, and make some phone calls to the farm. I’ll have to go up there tomorrow. I’ll see you at seven.’ She gave a sigh as he headed back down the outside staircase, wondering why it was she felt so trapped. How had she got into this relationship so deeply? Her last long relationship, with Tony, had been the opposite – she had wanted to be with him as much as possible and, while he’d been adoring and devoted, the demands of his corporate position had left her playing second fiddle. She still missed and ached for Tony. When he died suddenly she’d hit her pillow, crying aloud, ‘I told you so.’ The stress, pressure and family history of heart attacks had cut him down. He’d always believed there’d be time – later – just for them. He was a man scared of letting go, afraid of retiring, even cutting back. To him retirement meant the rocking chair beckoned. The trips she’d planned in her mind, the lazy days with no deadlines, were never to be. She’d been so lonely and with the thrill of Broome, Dale’s friendship and company had been a bonus. But now she found she was comparing him with Tony and wanting to fob him off. Her involvement with Star Two was uppermost in her mind – and her heart. Dale was becoming too demanding, drinking too much, putting her down too often. And while it would be difficult to extricate herself totally from the relationship, now she had a reason for being away for extended lengths of time, without having to return to Sydney to have a break from him.
Farouz and Sami drove south then turned east, following the line of the Edgar Ranges fringing the Great Sandy Desert. It was not a road that beckoned visitors and they saw only two other vehicles, both filled with Aborigines, presumably making the long trip to town. The stark pindan landscape dotted with acacias turned to sandy plains and alluvial flats. The sparse landscape was punctuated by limestone spinifex clumps in brittle spiky hummocks with an occasional sandpaper fig or boab tree grotesquely posed among a scatter of bold red termite mounds. They passed one fat water-filled boab covered in cheeky white corellas like a smattering of snow that rose and blew away as they passed.
In the heat of the day they stopped to shelter by the rocky capillaries running from the low range. There was a small pool with stunted trees clinging to crevices above it, and to Sami’s delight several black-footed wallabies stood watching them as they got some gear out of the car, then they sprang away along the rockface. Like them, the animals rested in the heat, then came out at night. Farouz talked quietly about the wildlife of the area, the euros – the little hill kangaroo – and the ‘missing mammals’ that were becoming extinct in the Kimberley due to feral predators. They sat quietly and Sami was rewarded by the sight of two sweet-faced, grey-blue bilbies from the colony that lived in the range.
As the afternoon cooled they set off again, heading to where Farouz’s friend Webster and his wife had a lonely station running cattle, horses and a lot of goats. Webster was his nickname. ‘How did he get that label?’ asked Sami.
Farouz allowed himself a small smile. ‘He is a great reader. He knows many large words.’
Sami laughed. ‘I must tell Palmer.’
Night fell before they arrived. A blue-pink curtain swiftly drawn across the landscape was replaced by crisp darkness and bright stars. Soon one small light in the distance became the glow behind windows of a long low building. A generator chugged. Farouz stopped at the gate, got out of the car, and hit a metal tyre rim with a piece of iron. Dogs barked and a man’s voice yelled at them to shut up.
A bright light on the roof of the house came on and a man walked through the darkness to the gate. ‘Farouz? You’re tardy, mate. I’ll give you a hand. Are you accompanied by your lady friend?’
‘Hi. I’m Samantha.’ She shook Webster’s calloused hand. In the dim light he looked to be in his sixties. A wide bush hat, crinkled skin and wire-framed glasses gripped his beaky nose. A friendly face.
‘Welcome. Pop inside, my better half is making you a bit of tea and tucker. Her name’s Maggie.’
Sami rapped at the flyscreen door. ‘Hello, Maggie, I’m Sami.’
‘Come in, love. Take your boots off.’
The woman looked emaciated, brown, sinewy, and sun shrunk, with tufty dun-coloured hair. But her smile was bright, and as she lifted a giant cauldron off the wood stove, Sami saw she was strong and energetic.
‘Cripes, you’re young. What are you doing with Farouz way out here? You don’t look like a camel wrangler. Sit down, help yourself from that teapot.’ She nodded at the table in the middle of what doubled as the kitchen and family room. There was a pantry and shelves in one corner, a lounge, deep old armchairs, and a two-way radio. Above a small desk were shelves packed with books. In another corner stood a hatstand loaded with caps and broad-rimmed Akubras. Another flyscreen door opened onto a side verandah with a refrigerator and easychairs, and off that was a coolroom for food storage.
‘Hope you like stew, dear. Not one of these trendy vegetarians, are you?’
Sami chuckled. ‘No, Maggie, the stew smells wonderful. Could I wash up first, though? I’m filthy and smelly I’m afraid.’
‘Struth, I’m forgetting me manners. I’m so used to having grubby blokes around the place. It’s really nice to have a lady visit. Follow me.’
‘I guess you don’t get many visitors way out here,’ commented Sami, thinking this was the bloody end of the world.
‘I see another woman once in a blue moon. Not counting passing Aborigines we know well. And I fly over to the coast, Port Hedland, for a bit of a break twice a year.’
They went down a hallway and she opened the door to a bedroom with a mosquito net covering the bed. ‘Throw your gear in here. Bathroom’s down there. We’ve got solar hot water – out of the bore. It pongs of sulphur but you can have a bath or a shower. Farouz and Webby will be a bit longer, I’d say. They’ll want to have a bit of a blokes’ yarn. Farouz’ll want to check out his two camels he left here last trip. You get on with him all right? He can be a bit, as Webby says, taciturn.’
‘He’s a good man. I’m working for a university, I’m interested in art, so he’s taking me to an outstation to meet some artists.’
‘Jeez, they must be bloody good to come all this way. Take your time, love.’
It turned out to be a long evening before Sami fell into bed. After dinner they sat around the screened verandah talking for hours, covering everything from the market for goat meat, the latest book by Tim Winton, the future of globalisation and the degradation of the environment even in the little-changing wilderness on their doorstep. Webster really enjoyed having the company of an academic like Sami for exchanging opinions.
Maggie and Farouz listened with some interest and, from time to time, Maggie managed to capture their attention with a boldly announced, ‘Well, if you ask my opinion . . .’ and then let fly. The poor woman
was starved for company and had wanted to chat till midnight. Webster lived up to his name by being verbose, his vocabulary peppered with colourful and unusual words and references to literature. Finally Sami couldn’t keep her eyes open and had excused herself and gone to bed.
Next morning their son Steve turned up at breakfast. A lanky, shy young man, he looked like his mother, wiry and with a weathered complexion and, unlike his father, he had little to say. He was awkward with Sami even though they were around the same age. She asked him to explain how they were going after the feral camels that Farouz wanted.
‘Bike and truck,’ he answered and bit into his toast. End of explanation.
When they set out Sami rode in the cabin of the four-wheel drive ute with Webster, Farouz was in the back with two dogs and Steve rode a trail bike in front. They drove for several kilometres till they came to a large steel-fenced yard around a bore. Webster got out and turned the cock so the water began to flow into a storage ditch. Steve had disappeared into the scrub but soon the radio crackled in the utility as he reported seeing a mob to the west.
‘Steve is going to start rounding them up, we’ll ride out with the dogs,’ Webster explained. ‘You stay here. Get up on the fence.’
‘Oh, I’ll miss all the fun of the chase,’ protested Sami.
‘Not likely, love. This mob will smell the water and with us chasing ’em they’ll charge down here to this bore like veritable wild Valkyries on the way to Valhalla. Keep out of the way of the bulls. Soon as they’re in the trap yard, whack those rails in place.’ He pointed at the rails that had been lowered from across the entrance.
‘Oh. Righto.’ Sami sounded dubious.
They thundered off, dust billowing behind them. Sami sat on the top rail of the yards looking at the desolate landscape. Why would anyone choose to live out here? They weren’t Kimberley kings by any means, although Webster had said they ‘got by’ with their goats and cattle. Yet last night Maggie had said she loved this part of the Kimberley. ‘It’s a love it or leave it affair. This might seem a harsh place to some people, a lot of people probably, but it’s got something special about it. A spirit thing, like the Aborigines say, but you don’t have to be a blackfella to feel it. And you’ll never find kinder or more helpful people anywhere. I went to Broome for a change just before the last Wet started. It’s too flash and fast for me now. I can’t figure how you handle living in Sydney.’
