Kimberley Sun

by Di Morrissey

  ‘That’s right. Listen, look at the GPS and mark where we are. We don’t want to lose it.’

  Sami copied down the position then went quickly to help him haul on the rope and get the box onto the deck.

  ‘Looks very ordinary,’ she said, ‘but there is a sense of mystery about it that’s really exciting.’

  Taking his diving knife Tim began prising the slats from the top. Inside was rotting hessian, then a canvas bag. He lifted it out and ripped the canvas to reveal a small lead trunk. There was a strange padlock on it. The lock was long with a half-circle at one end. ‘Some weird kind of key fits this. Well, tough, no key. It’s brute force.’

  It took a few moments and tools from the engine room to smash the lock. Tim sat back on his heels and looked up at Sami. ‘Ready?’

  She grinned and nodded. ‘Probably something really stupid like car parts.’

  ‘Why would you lock it?’ He flung back the lid.

  Neither was prepared for what they saw under the top cover of rotting canvas. Amid a confusion of disintegrating cardboard boxes, and wrapped incongruously in plastic, was a jumble of bright gold coins and jewellery. It was obscenely dazzling. The gold as glittering as molten sunlight. ‘Christ almighty!’ breathed Tim.

  Sami was too gobsmacked to speak. Tentatively she reached in and picked up a thick gold bracelet of two cupid figures riding dolphins. She slipped it on her arm. ‘My God, it’s fabulous! How gorgeous! This is unbelievable!’

  Slowly Tim began taking pieces out and laying them on the deck. Sami had never seen jewellery designs like them – unusual earrings, necklaces with figures of dragons and beasts, and exquisite braiding and twists of gold, many inlaid with what looked to be turquoise.

  ‘It’s so unusual. Is it Asian? You say the boat’s not old?’

  Tim was fingering a coin. On one side was the embossed helmeted head of a warrior enclosed in a dotted circle. On the other side was the figure of an archer on a throne. ‘No, but this is old stuff,’ said Tim. ‘It must’ve been looted and was on its way somewhere when they went down. Storm, I’d say. You wouldn’t ship stuff like this in an unidentified fishing boat. We’ll have to notify the maritime authorities.’

  ‘Can a ship like that sink so close to the coast and no one hear about it, like distress signals?’ asked Sami, struggling to find answers to a dozen questions that arose in her mind.

  ‘Pretty remote here. Under cover of a monsoon storm it could get past surveillance. Or with just good luck, though it certainly ran out of luck. No survivors, I imagine, or they would have made headlines and this stuff wouldn’t still be sitting on the bottom,’ Tim speculated.

  Sami was soon absorbed in studying piece after piece. An intricately carved flat plaque at the end of a necklace caught her eye. As she studied the tree with birds perched on it and a goddess figure amongst animals she realised why the carved scene looked familiar. It was similar to a pattern on Leila’s rug and one she had drawn for the Aboriginal artists. ‘It looks Persian,’ she said with some surprise.

  ‘Well that adds a lovely dimension to this mystery,’ exclaimed Tim.

  ‘Tim! Look at this!’ Sami’s hand was shaking as she held up an emblem of the sun with its rays fanning from the central sphere. There was a small clasp in the centre. ‘It’s the same! Same as the one Bobby had, but in gold.’ She fumbled for a moment then the clasp sprang free, revealing the small compartment. Inside was a coiled locket of human hair tied with red cotton thread. They looked at each other, both stunned.

  ‘This must have something to do with that Stern guy,’ said Tim quietly. ‘You’d kill for this little lot.’

  ‘Maybe we’d better keep it quiet then,’ said Sami. ‘Not let it hit the front pages.’

  ‘Let’s have a cup of tea and I’ll see if I can get back to the wreck and bring up another couple of boxes. And there could be more in the hull.’

  ‘Don’t take any chances, Tim. Let the authorities get it,’ said Sami, concerned for Tim’s safety.

  ‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s have a better look at this stuff then.’

  ‘I love those cupids on the dolphins,’ sighed Sami as she lit the gas stove. ‘I could nick them very easily.’

  ‘Ask Pauline to copy it.’

  Sami stuck her head out from below deck. ‘That’s a brilliant idea. I’ll take some photos.’

  ‘God, I hope Lily has got that nice new safe. The harvest has just become a bit more valuable!’

  ‘Tim, before you were sidetracked by the wreck . . . what do you think of this as a location for a farm? Mum will want to know.’

  ‘I know. I’m still doing what I came to do. We’ll move to a couple more spots and I’ll make a final decision. I think it could be okay.’

  The voyage back to the women’s camp sped by, far quicker it seemed to Sami than the way up. She and Tim talked incessantly about the wreck, the gold hoard, and the legalities of ownership. ‘More dreams than we can cope with,’ was Sami’s summary, as they stowed the box beneath ropes and spare sails in a cabin locker.

  ‘Not a word to anyone,’ cautioned Tim as they rowed ashore to join Biddy at the camp.

  They were surprised along the track by an Aboriginal man. He stood in front of them. ‘Private land. Yer can’t go up there,’ he said gruffly. His bare chest was ribbed with initiation scars.

  ‘It’s all right, I’m here to see Biddy and Dolly and the others,’ said Sami. ‘They know me.’

  He stood aside but looked at Tim. ‘What ’bout ’im? He family, he doin’ ceremony?’

  Tim stopped. ‘I feel uncomfortable about this, Sami. I think it might be best if I go back and wait on the boat.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll come back and tell you what’s going on.’

  When Sami and the man got to the camp it was empty but she could hear singing in the distance. He indicated that she should follow a track in that direction, and she eventually came to a clearing and stopped in shock.

  A ceremony was under way. The focal point was a tree. A group of men with ochre painted on their bodies were sitting around the tree, singing a deep resonant chant. The women were sitting further away, their backs to the men, keeping time with clap sticks. All had their faces, chests and arms painted in white and brown ochre. Janet was to one side and seeing Sami she got up and came towards her. ‘Oh Sami,’ she said solemnly and took her hands.

  ‘What’s going on? Where’s Biddy?’ Sami had suddenly realised she couldn’t see her among the women.

  ‘She’s there, this is to honour her,’ said Janet gently. Sami again scanned the women. ‘Biddy died, Sami. We had no way to reach you.’

  ‘Oh, no! Oh, I’m so sorry . . . I shouldn’t have left her.’ Tears sprang to her eyes and ran down her face. ‘Oh poor Biddy.’

  ‘It’s all right, Sami. She chose this. She finished all she wanted to do and then she lay down under that tree and just went to sleep.’

  ‘Really . . . just like that?’

  ‘It was Biddy’s decision. The men are singing her spirit from her body on its way. Come and sit with us.’ She led Sami to the edge of the clearing where there were tins and jars of ochre. Swiftly she daubed white streaks on Sami’s face and arms and led her to the circle.

  ‘Where is Biddy?’ Sami managed to ask.

  ‘She’s wrapped in bark, up there in the tree.’

  Sami saw the wrapped shape resting between the bare boughs. And at the foot of the tree, Rakka was sitting patiently. Their eyes met, and the dog pricked her ears and cocked her head. Sami put her hand in the stay position and Rakka didn’t move.

  ‘The dog hasn’t left Biddy. She was sleeping beside her when we found Biddy in the morning,’ said Janet as she and Sami sat in the circle and turned away from the tree.

  Two hours later, the men stopped singing. Sami was dry-eyed and drained. The rhythmic clapping and the whole atmosphere had been cathartic. She’d thought back over her time with Biddy, how the wizened old woman had been so confronting because
of the knowledge they were connected through family. Where once Sami would have preferred no one know this, now she could feel proud of having known this old soul, whose life had been mostly hardship yet her humour and strength never appeared to have wavered. She wondered if Rosie and Harlan knew about Biddy’s death. Then she figured somehow they would, intuitively anyway. She remembered how sad Rosie had been at saying goodbye. She’d known this might happen.

  The men were talking.

  ‘They’re waiting to be sure the spirit has left the body,’ explained Janet. ‘Biddy will stay there until it’s time to be taken to her burial place.’

  ‘Oh God,’ whispered Sami, then she softly whistled Rakka who bounded forward, now released from guarding Biddy. She knelt down and hugged the dog. ‘Good girl, good dog, for guarding Biddy. Poor Biddy.’ Sami felt utterly overwhelmed.

  She cried not just for Biddy but with a feeling of release that some small dam inside her had suddenly been washed away, and with it had gone a blockage, an obstacle. Her life would now be easier and happier.

  C h a p t e r T w e n t y

  THE RUSTING AIR-CONDITIONER RATTLED IN THE window of the old shed as Lily and Mika watched the farm’s head technician, Vivian, slip a large Pinctada maxima oyster into the clamp on her workbench. It was a tense but exciting moment, the launching of the harvest. Today, the first major haul of shell from the bay was to be opened. No one spoke as Vivi competently and without fuss wedged open the front of the shell and adjusted the bench light to illuminate the inside of the oyster. Delicately she inserted the hooked probe, to cut into the pearl sac and extract from the mucus a shiny gleaming pearl.

  She dropped it into the tray, and Lily gave a little shout of delight and smiled at Mika as Vivi calmly went about putting a nucleus made from a Mississippi clam shell into the shell. The nucleus was highly valuable in its own right.

  ‘That’s what we want to see more of,’ Vivi said, ‘a lovely round fifteen-millimetre silver. Top quality. Not a bad start, I’d say. In another two years that oyster will grow another, possibly bigger.’ Vivi patted the shell and put it in the tank beside her. ‘It’s nice and healthy, good for a couple more seedings.’

  ‘It really is a wonderful moment seeing a thing of such beauty, natural beauty, come out of hiding,’ said Mika.

  ‘You want to try one, Mika? Okay, Lily?’ asked Vivi, reaching for a shell and clamping it. She got up and Mika nervously took her place.

  ‘Hands on is the best way to learn,’ said Lily. But she held her breath as Mika slipped the probe into the shell, fumbling a bit before locating the pearl sac under Vivi’s guidance, cutting it and peeling it back. A gold glow shone through the mantle and out popped a fat pearl. Lily and Vivi knew before Mika had it out of the shell that it was a beauty.

  ‘Well done, Mika! It’s a magnificent gold, look at that lustre!’ They passed it between them, the fat globule almost seemed alive with its rich colour and inner light.

  ‘You’re a natural, Mika. And a good luck charm,’ said Vivi, slipping into the seat to reseed the shell. She worked swiftly and surely, her steady hand honed from years of practice.

  ‘It’s like seeing a baby born,’ said Mika.

  ‘It’s a bit that way. You have to baby them along, keep them clean and healthy, nurture them, watch them all the time,’ said Lily, laughing. ‘If people knew the care needed and problems in raising pearl oysters they’d appreciate a pearl even more. My God, that’s going to look stunning as the centrepiece of a design.’

  The next few shells were less rewarding. ‘They’re past their use-by date. Might be good for mabe,’ declared Vivi. ‘Over to you, Mika.’

  Mika was getting quite proficient at implanting nuclei on the older shell to grow the half pearls which were used in less expensive jewellery. She had learned the procedure in a day – peeling back the mantle and gluing six or seven flat-based plastic beads in teardrop, round and heart shapes, onto the half shell for the oyster to coat with nacre. They’d be drilled off in about nine months time, killing the oyster, so only the ageing ones were used.

  Dave brought in another crate of shells for harvesting. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Mika just hooked a beauty. Now look at that, Dave!’ Lily held up the gold pearl between her fingers and Dave gave a low whistle.

  ‘That’s what it’s all about, eh!’ Lily was elated. She now understood the feeling of anticipation and excitement that went around the staff at harvest time. She hoped Tim and Sami would get back soon and share in it.

  Later Dave brought several trays of pearls into Lily’s cabin where she’d set up a table in the best light for grading. He had given them a light polish to get rid of the excess mucus before grading. Although Lily had been briefly tutored by Damien Lake in matching pearls with similar characteristics, she was still intrigued at the variations in shape, size and colour. The bubbly baroques, the keshis that had no nucleus and were spontaneously produced by some oysters, the buttons and circles, ovals and drop shapes. They were all far more common than the perfect rounds. Some of them had an overtone of pink and green. Depending on how thick the layer of nacre, the light reflected differently to add to the lustre and iridescence.

  ‘Not like farming eggs or tomatoes, is it?’ observed Dave as Lily lingered over a pale pink and cream pearl.

  ‘I keep seeing every one as a piece of jewellery, knowing how some woman will treasure it. Though men are wearing pearls too these days,’ she added.

  ‘Not me,’ sniffed Dave. ‘But your great-grandfather had a pearl earring, didn’t he?’ He shuffled around a bit, fiddling with the scales and measuring calipers. Finally he said, ‘The next batch aren’t so good, Lily. Lot of pitting. The boys are still bringing in shell, so we might do better later in the week. Look at these.’ He held out his hand to display a palm full of pearls.

  ‘Umm, not good quality, are they?’ said Lily. ‘How many are like that?’

  ‘Quite a lot. It’s an indication of pollution, too much fresh water. Good thing we’re looking for new grounds. Tim was right.’

  Lily rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling weary. ‘I just hope we break even. We need a few more pearls like the one Mika got.’ She tried not to show her disappointment. She had a headache from studying the pearls so closely and it was scary that they could lose money if the standard continued to vary so dramatically. ‘Dave, the Japanese arrive in two days. I’ll have to go to Broome and meet them and show them around, then bring them up here. We have to impress them. They’ve put money into this project, we have to show we are producing and will do even better next year. Hopefully Tim will come back with good news and do a little presentation about the prospects on new locations.’

  Dave pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Do you think we’re over-reaching a bit? Look at the problems we have here with this lot. Another farm, another headache.’

  ‘Dave! It’s a bit late to be thinking like that! We know this harvest isn’t as fabulous as it could be because of the changing water conditions. We have to address that. We have to be more disciplined in cleaning the shell, keeping everything around here pristine.’

  ‘Don’t get mad, Lily. You saw things were a bit slack when you bought in here, and you and Tim have done wonders with the place. I never had the money, I’m afraid.’

  ‘It takes more than money being invested. We have to move with the times, learn from how others are succeeding, have a vision and take a gamble on something like new grounds.’ Listen to me, thought Lily. What did I know about pearling six months ago? Zilch. She saw Dave was sinking into one of his morose moods which ended up with an empty bottle of rum and a headache. ‘Don’t worry, Dave. Let’s put on a good show for Mr Komiatyi and Mr Tobayashi and impress them with our potential and ideas.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ muttered Dave in one of his exaggerated accents. ‘Oh, I say, I don’t have to be part of this show, do I? Perform? I’m no good at that. I go into my shell like a tortoise if I have to do that kind of thing.’

 
‘Aw c’mon, Dave, you spin a great story. We love your bush yarns.’

  ‘That’s different. Standing up in front of people, forget it. I was once diagnosed with pathological shyness bordering on paranoia. These Japs will bolt if I open my mouth.’

  Lily wasn’t sure if he was being serious, then thought maybe he was. That might explain why he turned his back on his home in England, preferring the isolation of the Kimberley coast. He wasn’t what you’d call a leader, which is why he left all the ‘front of house stuff’ to Tim and Lily, and delegated the day-to-day staff management to Don and Serena. Dave had made one smart decision in his life, to spend his inheritance on buying Star Two, but he was the first to admit that had been the end of his dreams. It would be up to the new part owners to turn it into a really successful farm that could survive in the tough marketplace.

  ‘Dave, just be yourself,’ said Lily, then added, ‘I guess we’d better try to tidy up for the visitors. I mean, put on some decent gear.’

  Dave straightened up. ‘I do know what’s appropriate. My nanny taught me these things,’ he said a bit stiffly and strode off. Lily smiled.

  She was back grading and trying not to worry about the quality of the harvest when Rosie rang. ‘Lily, I’ve had word from up the coast about Biddy. She died – quietly and peacefully. I felt it was coming, suspected deep down in my heart when she organised the trip.’

  ‘Oh, how sad. I feel so sorry I wasn’t there.’ Lily was stunned and couldn’t say anything more for a minute. Then she asked, ‘How did Sami take it? It would have been really hard on her.’

  ‘She wasn’t there, but she came back in time for the ceremony, traditional ritual. I was sorry we weren’t there too. We’re planning a little event in Broome later on. Biddy wanted to die in her country and she did. I think it important Sami was there to help send her off.’

  ‘Strange how some things work out.’

  ‘Or maybe things happen the way they were meant to,’ said Rosie. ‘The house seems very empty now. I’ll see you in a day or so.’