by Di Morrissey
‘Who Is This Man?’ asked the heading over the shot of Hajid, and the caption declared that police wanted to talk to him as they believed he could assist them with their enquiries into what happened to Stern.
It wasn’t hard to read between the lines of that caption, Dale told himself as he absorbed the full story. What really stunned him was the connection with Lily, who was mentioned as being one of the locals who had met the man the police were seeking. There were also tantalising hints that a box of valuable antique artefacts found on a wrecked foreign fishing boat could be linked to the dead man. While no details were revealed about who found the wreck and where the items were now, Dale knew that this was what Lily had vaguely mentioned when they met a few days ago.
There was also a photograph of a piece of jewellery, a sun with large rays, which the story acknowledged had been made by local jeweller Pauline Despar, and was similar to one the police were seeking. The original, declared the police, had been stolen from Pauline’s safe on the night she was bashed at her shop. Detective Howard was quoted as revealing the stolen medallion was an antique, and had once been in the possession of the dead man.
Dale pushed the paper across the table to Simon. ‘What do you make of that?’
Simon had just sat down with a cup of coffee, hoping it would help relieve a hangover and his urgent need to smoke some pot. His hand wasn’t that steady when he put down the coffee to pick up the paper, but the headline and photographs were such a shock that the shaking forced him to spread the paper firmly on the table, then clutch his hands on his lap. He read every word, before telling his father that much of the story was probably ‘a beat-up’. He quickly swallowed his coffee then announced that he was going downtown to meet some mates.
‘Yeah, but for God’s sake stay away from the drugs, son.’
‘Ah c’mon, Dad. A bloody occasional smoke is no big deal.’
Dale shrugged in despair. He knew that over the past month or so his son’s drug intake had grown pretty serious. Friends in the police force and businessmen he dealt with in town had all warned him that the lad was pushing the boundaries of acceptable indulgence – and Simon was not being discreet about it. A bloody good old-fashioned belting is probably what the young bugger needed at some stage, concluded Dale, but it’s a bit late now. He reached for the paper to read the headline story once more.
Bobby and Mika walked through town down to Ross’ shack for a coffee with Eugene. They found him sitting inside with his field books and birdwatching records. He was meticulous in noting his observations. ‘Hey, long time no see, Bobby. Hi, Mika. How’s the farm?’
‘Busy. Japanese invasion is over. Oops, sorry Mika,’ said Bobby. ‘It was very successful. They might back me in a business deal when they come back next year.’
Eugene glanced at Mika with a look that said, I’ve heard that before. She merely smiled at him. ‘Sit down and I’ll make some coffee. Do you want to go for a fish later, Bobby?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
Eugene went to the kitchen sink to fill the kettle. The window faced the creek, the tide was just starting the run in. Yeah, it would be a good time to head out for some fishing on the flats, he thought. He was about to turn away when someone walking along the mudflat channel in the mangroves caught his eye. He watched the man for a moment. A keen observer, Eugene was trained to take in small details and movements, and this man was acting strangely, furtively, as if he were afraid of being seen. He seemed very unsteady.
‘Hey, Bobby, take a look at this bloke. Look, out there, just in front of our place. Isn’t that Simon?’
Mika joined the two men at the window. ‘Yeah. What’s he doing?’ said Bobby. ‘No fishing gear or stuff for crabbing.’
‘He’s carrying something, but he hasn’t been fishing,’ said Eugene.
Simon was fiddling with a small object in his hands. He seemed to be pulling it apart.
Bobby went out and sauntered across the patch of grass towards the boat landing. ‘Hey! Simon! What’s up?’ he called.
Simon instantly hurled what he was holding into the mangroves, dropped something else, then broke into a run, heading to a pathway that skirted the mangroves and led into town behind nearby shops.
Bobby shouted again but Eugene shot past him. ‘I’ll get him, mate.’
Simon was staggering slightly and shouting, ‘Fuck off, you little boong. Fuck off.’
Eugene decided not to enter into negotiations. He made a flying tackle, bringing Simon down, kicking, flailing and swearing. Although a slighter build, Eugene was strong and agile, and managed to keep him pinned down until Bobby arrived. Together, they pulled his arms behind his back.
Bobby took one look at Simon’s eyes. ‘He’s coked up. Way out of it.’ He tried to talk in a calming voice. ‘Cool down, Simon. Why’d you run?’
‘Don’t let him go, he might harm himself or someone else,’ said Eugene. Then he yelled out to Mika who was standing nervously by the house. ‘Call an ambulance.’ At that Simon struggled violently.
‘Right,’ Eugene said, and swung a fist, smashing into Simon’s jaw and the struggling stopped.
‘What’d you do that for?’ asked Bobby. ‘He’s knocked out.’
‘I owed him one.’
‘Oh, that’s right.’ Bobby recalled the road rage incident some months ago. ‘Fair enough. He got off that one lightly.’
The ambulance team agreed Simon had taken a heavy dose of cocaine. They strapped him onto the stretcher and took off for the hospital.
‘I’ll call his father,’ said Eugene. ‘He’s not going to like this.’
Mika shivered. ‘I need that coffee.’
‘I’m going down to the mangroves for a minute,’ said Bobby. ‘I want to see what he was fiddling with, what he tossed away. It might be dope.’
Mika had three coffees ready when Bobby walked back inside. ‘Well, what was he doing down there?’ she asked.
‘We’d better go down to the cop shop. Give this to Detective Howard,’ said Bobby. He showed them the small wooden box in his hands.
‘What is it?’
‘It belonged to Matthias, that bloke who was murdered. But it’s what was inside that matters. It has sure caused a lot of trouble.’ He showed them the sun-shaped moulded lining of the box. ‘I reckon he chucked the medallion out there. We’d better get the cops onto it then start searching before the tide comes in much more.’
‘For the sun thing? The one that was in the paper this morning?’ exclaimed Eugene. ‘Man, Simon’s a goner.’
T h e D u n e P a r t y
IT HAD BEEN A WEEK SINCE THE JAPANESE VISITORS had left but it seemed a lifetime. Lily decided it was time to celebrate with an end-of-harvest dune party. And more than that, to thank everyone, her friends, co-workers, partners and family.
The dune party was Sami’s idea. She’d been talking with Farouz and had persuaded him to tell Rosie the traditional stories that were part of Leila’s culture. Because the collection of weavings made by desert women would never be repeated, it was significant and Rosie decided it should not be broken up. A big West Australian collector had sent his curator to see it. In passing, Farouz had said to Sami, ‘One appreciates the world better from the top of a dune. It’s the best place to see the sunset.’
So the invitations had gone out for the ‘Sunset Dune Party – please dress in sunset colours’. And now everyone was being driven from the farm along the edge of the bay to where the rushes and grasses surrounded the silver-white dunes. To Lily they looked like giant pearls – smooth, iridescent, unmarked.
Soon the dunes were alive with the guests, trudging their way up one side to the peak. When they arrived, they found everything set up for a celebration. Bobby, Dave, Eugene and Ross had come along the beach in four-wheel drives and carried the party necessities to the top of the dune – cold drinks, food, folding chairs and beach blankets.
So there they sat, strung along the crest of the dune like red, gold, orange, pink, lilac
, blue and silver birds. Glasses in hand, they talked and laughed and marvelled at the long sweep of pristine beach, the glittering waters of the bay, the sun preparing to sink majestically into the sea. There was everyone from the farm, friends from businesses in town, Damien Lake, several men and women from local Aboriginal communities, and Karl Howard and a colleague from the Broome police.
Gossip and chatter flew between the groups. The shock of Simon being held on charges of assault, theft, breaking and entering was a hot topic. His story had emerged . . . of being hired by Hajid who was now being sought by police. Hajid had targeted Stern, who was gambling in the casino near the Malaysian capital, Kuala Lumpur, as someone who was vulnerable and who had connections to the art world.
The police would probably never know how the gold hoard was taken from Kabul, for Hajid was an international operator, a man who hid behind false names and false passports. He had disappeared and would eventually resurface somewhere else in another guise with another scheme. Simon had told Detective Howard that all he knew was that Hajid had recruited Stern to translate the message in the sun medallion giving details of where the collection of gold pieces would arrive and possibly arrange their sale. The boat sinking and the medallion going missing at the Bradley Station races had been accidents, quirks of fate. Hajid had hired Simon to find the medallion and had paid him well. When the story started making media headlines, Simon received one abrupt phone call from the mysterious Hajid: ‘Get rid of the sun, fast.’
Art archaeologists and historians were still studying the antique treasures and there was talk about a display in the Perth Art Gallery before they were returned to Afghanistan.
Palmer sat beside Lily, admiring her gold-print caftan in soft chiffon. ‘You certainly know how to throw a party. Do you just roll the guests down the hill afterwards?’
‘Good idea. The boys have built a bonfire and there’s plenty of food. So, what say you, Palmer?’
‘I say you are one hell of a lady. And I love you.’
‘Oh. I guess it’s not always going to be smooth sailing, but right now, I think my life is pretty wonderful.’ They kissed and Lily glanced to where Sami was sitting with her arm around Tim. Rakka sat nearby. ‘I feel badly for Dale, though,’ she reflected. ‘He knew Simon was getting into drugs but being conned into this caper is hard for him to deal with.’
‘Dale might need a friend. Is there anything we can do?’
‘Harlan offered to represent him even though Simon is in the wrong. But Dale’s brought in some heavy lawyer. So that’s fine. At least he knows we offered.’
‘Have lunch with him occasionally while I’m away,’ said Palmer. ‘But just lunch.’
‘I’ll miss you. I’ll miss Sami.’
‘You have plenty to keep you busy.’
A cheer suddenly went up as Farouz appeared over a sand dune with his string of camels. ‘Anyone for a ride!’ called Tim. ‘Ride into the sunset and then see the fireworks.’
Led by Palmer striding out with his bagpipes, the line of camels and guests trailed along the beach. For a moment Lily was alone, deep in reverie, when a soft voice asked, ‘Mind if I sit with you?’
‘Mika!’ said Lily in surprise. ‘Of course. This is something different to write home about, isn’t it?’ she added, waving a hand over the scene before them.
‘It is wonderful. Thank you.’ Mika sat down beside Lily. She was wearing bright red capri pants and an orange and pink silk shirt.
‘When you came here for a holiday, did you imagine anything like this happening?’
‘No. Indeed not. But I am grateful to you for taking me in, helping me,’ began Mika a little formally.
‘No, it’s you who’ve helped us.’
‘It had to be. Destiny perhaps,’ Mika said solemnly. ‘You know that I’ve been reading about the history of this place. Well, about the old days of pearling and the Japanese connection with Broome. I am a history teacher.’
‘Of course. I assume you went to the Japanese cemetery here,’ said Lily.
‘Yes. It is a sad place. May I ask you about Captain Tyndall? Where is his grave?’
Lily was a little surprised by the question. ‘It’s on the hill near the old house. Close to the big poinciana tree where Olivia scattered some soil from baby James’ grave . . .’ her voice trailed off. ‘That’s part of my family history. It is a long story that began with Tears of the Moon, a pendant and pearls.’
Mika bowed her head. ‘It is part of my family story too. Everyone here speaks with such admiration for Captain Tyndall.’
‘He was a very special man,’ said Lily slowly. ‘What do you know about him?’
‘My great-great-grandfather Yoshi worked with him. He was number one diver.’
‘Yoshi!’ Lily was astounded. ‘Oh Mika, they were very close. Yoshi retired and went back home. Olivia’s diary says little but I always wondered if they kept in contact. I suppose the war . . . changed things.’ Lily took her hand. ‘So now you have come back. Did you know this when you arrived here?’
Mika shook her head. ‘Not really. At home I saw the photograph of Yoshi with Captain Tyndall and I wanted to find out more.’ She looked so sad that Lily dropped her arm around her shoulders.
‘Mika, your story is just so much like the story of how I first came here. And what I found out wasn’t always easy. But sometimes we have to ask if we have the strength, the spirit, to accept how things were, how they are, and how they are to be.’
‘I would like to pay homage, respect to Captain Tyndall.’
‘Of course. Back in Broome we’ll take you to do just that.’ And as Lily looked at the fireball of the sun slide into the sea she wondered if Sami had visited Tyndall’s grave. It was time, and Mika’s request was an ideal opportunity. As the sunrays began to fade it was as if a chapter had finally closed.
Sami sat in the garden of the old house looking at Roebuck Bay. She was thinking about her distant ancestors who seemed to make such a claim on her life today. Do I want to stand by their graves? she asked. Do I want to do this? Do I need to do this? Why am I doing this?
She answered herself – because my mother wants me to go with her and Mika. So why was she suddenly reluctant? It was a simple enough gesture to walk to the cliff top, to visit the twin sandstone headstones marking the graves of Olivia and Tyndall. She was leaving soon and the gesture would please her mother.
There was a soft step and Rosie stood beside her and looked across the bay. ‘So beautiful, isn’t it? So peaceful. They loved it here. This is a place of memories that go way back. Before Biddy to Minnie’s mob.’
‘You’re the keeper of the family stories eh, Rosie?’
‘For the moment. They should be shared. Your mother has learned your family story. Soon you will know it all too. But you must come to it when you want to know, with an open heart and mind. We can’t hide from our past, Sami.’
‘I guess I was trying to do that. But since I’ve been here, well there’s no escape really, is there?’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ll come back, Rosie. With an open heart. I know this is my home.’
She nodded with slight satisfaction. ‘Your mother is ready.’
Sami and Lily walked together. In the distance they saw the small figure of Mika, her hair blowing in the sea breeze. Lily stopped and touched Sami’s arm. ‘Before we get there, I want to give you this.’ She handed Sami a small velvet bag.
Carefully Sami drew out an old carved pearlshell and recognised the circles and carving on it from Niah’s grave. ‘It belonged to Niah?’
‘Yes. I found it with the pearls among my mother’s belongings when she died. Keep it with you, for luck and so a piece of the family is with you wherever you go.’
‘Thanks, Mum, thanks so much.’ Sami was touched by the gesture. ‘I know it’s special. I understand its spiritual significance too.’
‘You’ve learned a lot this trip.’ Lily linked her arm through Sami’s.
‘Rosie says I have a lot more to unders
tand. I’ll get there. I’m only just coming to terms with who I am. Who we are.’
Lily paused and gave her daughter a kiss, then without saying a word, the two women walked hand-in-hand to join Mika at the graves.
They stood by the simply marked gravestone, each with their own thoughts and prayers.
Captain John Tyndall, born November 14, 1868, died March 3, 1942. Olivia Hennessy Tyndall, born March 18, 1872, died July 15, 1953.
Mika laid a red rose on the gravestones and bowed deeply. ‘The spirit of Yoshikuri-san honours you, Captain Tyndall.’ She bowed her head.
And in her mind she was thinking yet again of her great-grandfather – Takeo Yoshikuri – son of Yoshikuri-san, who had worked with and loved Captain Tyndall. And how Takeo had been a brash, brave pilot who’d flown the Zeros in the raid on Broome on 3 March 1942.
You cannot escape the past, thought Mika. But you can honour it.
Sami took her mother’s hand, suddenly overwhelmed by the emotion of the moment – a simple incident but one that joined so many people together in so many ways. She felt part of a circle. She thought of Leila’s weaving and how it was symbolic of life itself, of how the weft and warp of so many threads and colours formed patterns, and ultimately a beautiful tapestry. Sami now recognised that so many threads from her past, so many diverse stories and experiences had been woven together to make her the person she was. The past could not be changed, but as Mika had shown, it could be honoured. Sami lightly squeezed her mother’s hand.
THE END
A Note from Di . . .
