Kimberley Sun

by Di Morrissey

  ‘Well, he sold straight from here to a wholesaler. We might be better off dealing with a broker. Let him have all the headaches. I’d also like to get some ideas from Pauline about designs and marketing.’ Lily was praying they would have some stunners that Pauline could set. That would help lift their profile in the broader market. She envisaged direct marketing Star Two as a signature line to establish them as top of the market producers.

  ‘You might see if Sami wants to come and help out during harvest,’ Tim suggested. ‘She’d find it exciting if we land a couple of big ones.’

  Lily crossed her fingers. ‘Quality is what we want. And I still think that best lustre is going to come from new waters.’

  ‘Spoken like a true pearler. Be patient, Lily. Our oysters take two years to make just one pearl. We’re in this game for the long haul. Let’s do it properly.’

  Lily smiled at the handsome young man. ‘Also spoken like a professional pearler. But if the day comes when I lose my enthusiasm and excitement about this whole operation, then that’s the day I get out.’

  ‘I think that day will be a long time coming,’ said Tim.

  ‘Pearls are like women,’ Lily replied, ‘beautiful, mysterious, elusive.’

  C h a p t e r S e v e n t e e n

  WHEN THE TIME CAME FOR SAMI TO LEAVE LEILA and the tight-knit community at the outstation, she was reluctant to go. She felt there was still something she had to do, something she had to talk about with Leila. It was as if she were trying to cram years of friendship, of stories, into a few days. They talked about so many things; about siblings – how close Leila had been to her sisters, how Sami felt as an only child. And the relationship between mothers and daughters interested Leila, indeed, obsessed her. She talked of how her mother had raised her, obeying the dictates of a traditional society, yet imbuing her with a sense of independence, insisting on the best education for her daughters. With tears in her eyes Leila touched on the dreams she’d held for her own daughters. Sami recalled the time Leila had first asked about her and Lily. ‘So you and your mother must be very close, yes?’

  It was a question Sami didn’t answer glibly as she might to anyone else. ‘Of course we’re close. It’s been just the two of us with no other family around. I respect my father but he is like a distant relative. My mother is so different from me. And yet I think she expects me to be like her.’

  ‘How will you raise your children, Sami? A daughter, should you be so lucky,’ asked Leila. ‘What will you do differently from your mother?’

  That threw Sami a little and no ready answer sprang to mind. Sure there had been the usual run of mother–daughter dramas that came with growing up in an urban environment, but on reflection they all seemed so normal and reasonable. Now for the first time Sami was mentally trading places with her mother, and it came to her that she probably wouldn’t handle matters any differently from her mother. It also highlighted once again how different life had been for the woman sitting with her under a tree in the middle of nowhere.

  Leila talked about romance – how you know when you have met the man with whom you want to spend the rest of your life. ‘The knowledge creeps up on you,’ she said. ‘Even with an arranged marriage, all the factors that are judged to be propitious for a man and a woman to be married, can be correctly identified. But there is always a certain quality that is inexplicable.’

  ‘And you just know?’

  ‘Eventually.’ Leila smiled. ‘And so the family grows, and becomes stronger.’ It seemed important for Leila to make Sami understand, that, as she put it, family is everything.

  ‘That’s all very well if you have a big family with a sense of closeness,’ Sami responded. ‘I don’t think our modern western society has the time, energy, or interest in nurturing those values.’ But she wasn’t comfortable with the judgment, and it was challenged by Leila’s emotional recollections of what the family, recent and distant, meant to her in terms of her own identity and belonging.

  In light of Leila’s circumstances, of how this small community had taken her in, accepted and helped her, Sami was forced to revise her way of thinking about many things. In Broome she was associating with Aboriginal people who were educated, running a gallery, in the legal fraternity. And then there was Biddy. Suddenly she could appreciate Biddy more in the context of this community. Sami’s feelings became more complex as she thought about the reality of the family her mother was embracing so easily, and wanted her to share.

  As if reading her mind, Leila took her hand. ‘Don’t throw it away, Sami. Try to accept and then enjoy.’

  Sami knew it was time to leave. As did Leila. Much as Sami promised she would come back with an answer to the ‘problem’ of how she could achieve a new life in Australia, Leila seemed indifferent to the outcome. ‘It’s important to me that you believe my story. Here, where it is so peaceful, the land so free, the air so clean, a place that has not been charred by war; here there is so much to cherish. For me, being with these women is an unbelievable dream.’

  ‘Leila, I will speak to my cousin about your circumstances, but I will never endanger you. There are laws here in Australia, and it is impossible that you won’t be found out eventually. You can’t live in fear, in shadows, even if you’ve done that for so long in Afghanistan. Look at the sun, how bright it is. You say it is an emblem, an omen for you. I promise you, Leila, here under this Kimberley sun you will be safe.’ Sami hugged her.

  After all the hours they had talked, the softly spoken woman had awakened something in Sami she’d never felt before. It was a feeling of love, different from any kind of love she’d imagined. She loved her mother despite their occasional frictions, she loved Rakka, and well, she could list loves, though she was yet to experience the great romantic love of her life. But this feeling was one of compassion, of connection, of female to female, despite their very different backgrounds. More importantly, the sense of empowerment it gave her was a new feeling for Sami. She was determined to help Leila. This was a woman who had been cruelly wrenched from everything she knew and loved. Sami wasn’t looking at the international picture here. The rest of the world was far removed from this small oasis, sheltering this one woman. But Sami felt that by helping someone in this crisis, she would be making a contribution. As, she believed, any fair and decent person would. She was proud to do so, and determined to succeed.

  Finally the car was packed. The women did not make a big deal of her leaving. Most took little notice, beyond a casual wave, as they continued to work on their art and weaving. Beside the car Sami said to Leila, ‘My mother told me how saying goodbye is not the Aboriginal way. It’s not that they are being rude, it’s not their custom. They would rather assume you will turn up again and greet you then.’

  ‘I understand. But for me, it is important we say goodbye, Sami.’

  ‘For now.’

  Leila pointed to the back seat of Sami’s car. ‘I wish you to have my woven bag.’

  Sami spun around, shocked to see the precious chuval bag rolled neatly on the seat. ‘Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly!’

  Leila smiled and touched Sami’s arm. She appeared quite calm as she said, ‘You know its stories. You know my sisters, mother and I made this. My brother gathered the wool. It has inspired these women. It now has a life of its own to move on from me.’ For a moment a flash of pain passed over her face. ‘I have no one else to pass it on to.’

  Sami hugged her again and struggled to stop the tears. ‘Leila, I will guard it for you. Perhaps it would be good to hang it in Rosie’s gallery – to show where the inspiration for the women’s weaving came from.’

  ‘If you like. If it helps the women here. But it belongs to you, Sami. You know we call these chuval. It carries possessions from our parents’ house to our wedding to start a new life. I hope it will one day carry your special things into a happy marriage and a new life.’

  Sami was overwhelmed. ‘We’ll talk about that another day, Leila,’ and she got into the car.

&
nbsp; Leila reached through the window and gently touched the rolled bag, which to Sami was now as precious as the finest carpets in the great collections of the world. She knew the devotion that had gone into it, the terrible journey it had undergone, the intricate signature of the sun and crescent moon embroidered on its band that represented Leila’s family. ‘Leila, I can’t – ’

  ‘Please. You are my friend. Everyone here has given me so much . . . you must take it.’

  Sami hesitated, some glimmer of understanding flooding through her. Who was it that had said to her that sometimes you had to give something of yourself away in order to receive? By letting go of what was precious to you, you’d be free, and be doubly enriched. ‘Thank you, Leila. You know I will treasure it but it’s only on loan. When you have your own house, it will be in pride of place.’

  ‘In the house of the sun, there are no shadows.’ She kissed Sami swiftly. ‘Tamam shod.’

  ‘I love you, Leila.’

  ‘Walk always with love, Sami . . . there’s too much hate. And greed. Remember what Tagore wrote, love is not two people looking at each other but both looking in the same direction.’ She lifted her hand in a simple gesture then turned and began to walk to the art shelter.

  Sami started to cry. Her vision was blurred as she set off on the long dusty drive to the coast. The sun was high and for once she took comfort in its heat, its bright light. There were no fearful shadows hiding danger out here, only shadows that softened the harsh contours. She passed the blood pink of a Kimberley rose tree, blooming by the track. A small but strong tree flourishing in what seemed to be such inhospitable surrounds. She backed up, got out and broke off a sprig, and stood for a moment in the still wilderness. A bird flew from a tree, its call cheerful. She felt safe. There was something embracing, something that gave her a sense of being a part of all this, rather than a stranger merely standing on its surface. Sami drove on with confidence. But it crossed her mind she would not be doing this in safety and with pleasure in Leila’s country.

  Lily was relieved when Sami rang her from Moonlight Bay. ‘So you’re safely back in Broome. How was it? I’ve been worried about you.’

  ‘No need, Mum. I’ve become quite the independent traveller. Farouz and Bobby came ahead with the camels. I wanted more time out there. It was really special.’

  Lily caught something in Sami’s voice. ‘In what way, special?’

  ‘It’s too hard to talk about just yet. I’m still processing it all. I’m having dinner with Rosie and Harlan tomorrow tonight – it’s so great to have Rakka with me again. I’ll be going out to the desert again, though.’

  ‘I see.’ Lily knew when not to press Sami for more details. ‘Why don’t you come up for a visit? We’re starting to harvest in about a week’s time. But don’t tell anyone. Bobby and Mika are here.’

  ‘How’s Mika fitting in?’

  ‘I think she’s loving it. She’s so polite it’s hard to tell. She and Bobby seem to have hit it off rather well.’

  ‘Good for Bobby.’

  ‘Mika has been very helpful translating some correspondence and corporate stuff we want to give to the Japanese investors. It seems they are anxious to come out for the harvest.’

  ‘That’s understandable, see what bang they’re getting for their bucks. How is it all going?’

  ‘Sami, it’s hard work, very hands on. There are so many things to deal with every day just in running the place, let alone thinking of the marketing or international side of it. But I’m loving every minute, every detail.’

  ‘When are you coming back into town?’

  ‘I’ll be going to and fro quite a bit. I think I’ll give up the apartment, I’ll stay with Rosie when I come down.’

  ‘What about me? I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here. I’ve still got work to do here for my thesis and something else has come up.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Lily was pleased Sami wasn’t planning an immediate return east. ‘Well, darling, I think you should stay with Rosie and Harlan too. Be with Rakka. But you’d better see how they feel about it. They always have so many visitors. I know they cherish their time alone, but I also know you wouldn’t intrude. By the way, have you spoken to Pauline?’

  ‘Yes, she sounds bored.’

  ‘I suggested she come up here for a bit of R&R. And I’d like her to think about doing some designing.’

  ‘Cool. We can hang out together. I’ll be up in a day or so. Do you want me to pack up the apartment?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, thanks. Bring my things up with you. Ask Martin if he’s there, or the manager, to give me a ring so we can sort things out. By the way, Tim is sailing up to King Sound, perhaps you can go with him.’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll make plans when I get up there, Mum.’

  Sami hung up the phone. She was annoyed that Tim had come into the conversation but relieved at least that her mother hadn’t mentioned Dale. He’d probably be only too happy for her to move in with him. Maybe it was time her mother thought of buying an apartment in Broome. She decided to go round and see if Ross was at home.

  Ross and Eugene were both there when Sami arrived.

  ‘I’ve been telling Eugene all about my new job,’ Ross said. ‘Dr Ted Palmer set it up. He’s a great guy. You’re really lucky to study with him, Sami.’

  ‘Yeah. I came here as a field assistant to another senior professor and Palmer is my on-site mentor, but he’s become a lot more than that. He’s a bit of a guardian angel for me, too,’ confessed Sami. ‘What’s the job?’

  Ross gave her a brief run-down of Palmer’s initiative. ‘I don’t want to let him down. I have to front up in Perth and impress this lady with the money. Can I run my presentation past you, Sami?’

  ‘Sure, Ross. But first, why don’t we go out to dinner? Maybe see a movie? I’ve been away from civilisation for too long,’ said Sami, then instantly wished she hadn’t used the word ‘civilisation’. It made her think of Leila and the bush outstation.

  The three of them decided to go to Sun Pictures, and they settled themselves in the comfortable canvas chairs as the stars shone in the clear sky above the screen and the evening flight from Darwin roared low over the open-air cinema.

  ‘I love this old place,’ said Ross. ‘My uncle would’ve come here.’

  ‘My great-great-grandfather Tyndall came here,’ said Sami.

  ‘My people had to sit up the front,’ Eugene said, ‘leaving the best seats for all the white people.’

  ‘My mother told me it flooded in here one Wet and a rat ran over her foot.’

  ‘There was a dog fight in the aisle one time I was here,’ said Ross. ‘But I still think the best story was the old bloke back in the thirties who came in drunk as a skunk and stood in the back to watch a Hopalong Cassidy movie, and when the Injuns attacked he pulled out his pistol and shot at the screen to help Hopalong! The bullet hole was there for years!’

  The ads finished, the lighting changed and Sami hushed their laughter. ‘Ssh, the movie is starting.’

  Late the following afternoon, after moving their belongings from Moonlight Bay to Rosie and Harlan’s, Sami went to the gallery. Rosie was packing up for the day.

  ‘This is a nice surprise,’ said Rosie. ‘So is everything moved? Have you settled in?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Rosie.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to hearing more about your saga in the Sandy.’

  ‘Well, I’ve told you what Leila is doing – I haven’t talked to Harlan yet, I’ll see him tonight. But I wanted to show you this.’ Sami unrolled a compact bundle of carpet, revealing the traditional Afghan bag. ‘It belongs to Leila, but she insisted I have it. It’s a treasured gift. You see, when it’s empty it doubles as a small carpet. But I could never think of walking on it.’

  ‘Oh, Sami, that’s exquisite.’ Rosie bent down and touched the intricate Herati motif, a flower bracketed by two serrate-edged leaves, which was repeated across the carpet. Smaller flowers and clusters of leaves in a pineco
ne shape were bordered by an endless Chinese knot tied with a shield-shaped medallion. In each corner was a crescent moon and a full sun. ‘So delicate, so feminine, but the colours . . .’

  ‘She told me how they made them – blue from the indigo plant, red from the henna shrub. This cochineal colour comes from crushed bodies of female insects, and madder from the root of Rubia plants gives this red-brown. It made a lot of sense to the Aboriginal women who showed her their dyes.’

  ‘This geometric script in the border, what’s that?’

  ‘A verse from the Koran in Kufic.’

  ‘It’s a bit like deciphering the symbols in Aboriginal art, waterholes, saltpans, and so on. I can see why the women were fascinated.’

  ‘I thought you might like to hang it in here.’

  ‘I’d love to. It’s such a special piece and while it’s so completely different, when you put it with the Dari collection of weavings and paintings, it does show where the inspiration has come from. You tell me when you want to take it away with you. She’s entrusted this to you for a reason, Sami.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I’m hoping Harlan can help.’

  Harlan leaned back in his chair on the verandah and lifted his glass to toast the sunset spreading across the bay. ‘I never get tired of this. It’s so relaxing after three days in court and a pile of briefs to prepare. The perfect way to end the day, even a rotten one.’

  ‘Has it been a rotten day?’ asked Sami, stroking Rakka’s velvet ears as she sat beside her on the cane lounge.

  ‘Could’ve been better. I’m always sad to see a young man get locked up when he’s had the odds stacked against him since he was a baby. I have to say, I like the sound of Ross’ scheme. It might help these boys and young men before they get into trouble. Now, what is the problem you want to talk about?’

  Sami studied his fine dark features glazed with red and gold light. He was such a caring person. A doting father, a sophisticated international man who’d chosen to come back to Broome and fight for Aboriginal rights. Rosie told her that when Harlan had been involved in major cases in Perth, his summations to the judge and jury were passionate, spellbinding performances. ‘Harlan, in a nutshell, there’s an Afghani asylum seeker, a refugee who has suffered terribly. She’s being harboured at an outstation in the Great Sandy Desert. I want you to help her stay here. She’ll die if she gets locked up in a detention centre. She’s lost everything – yet she is teaching the outstation women and they have taken her in as family. She’s behind the art and weaving Farouz brought into the gallery.’