Spirits of the Ghan

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Wouldn’t Dave want to know the truth?’ she insisted. ‘Don’t you think he’d want to find out?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Matt answered in all honesty. ‘For some unknown reason Dad’s never professed an interest in his family’s background.’

  ‘But now we know what we know don’t you think that would alter the case?’

  Now we know what we know, he thought. But what do we know, Jess? Truly, what do we know? He remained silent.

  She could hear the doubts rattling around in his mind. ‘Have you had any more dreams,’ she demanded, ‘any more blackouts, headaches, sleeplessness?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So doesn’t that tell you anything? Doesn’t it prove we’re on the right track?’

  On what track? What does it prove? Still he remained silent.

  ‘We’re doing what your ancestors want of us, Matt,’ she urged, ‘so they have no need to torment you further. I don’t pretend to know why they want this of us, but it proves they’ve successfully made contact and it proves who they are.’

  Proves who they are? But who are they? This conversation seems to be going on between you and my brain, Jess.

  ‘Don’t you want to find out more about them? Isn’t it your duty to trace your background?’ Jess knew she was nagging, but she couldn’t seem to stop. ‘Wouldn’t your father want to know about his family?’

  Matt’s brain stopped conversing at that juncture and the words just popped out. ‘You reckon we should tell Dad, do you?’

  She hadn’t been heading in that specific direction and the ‘we’ came as a complete surprise, but yes, she thought, yes, Dave should be told. ‘Well, I certainly think you should tell him,’ she replied firmly.

  ‘He wouldn’t believe me without you, Jess.’ Matt looked her squarely in the eye. ‘Dad honestly would not believe me without you: we’d have to tell him together.’

  ‘I take it I’m being dared,’ she said, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. Telling a white man he was black was certainly something of a dare.

  ‘Yes. You’re being dared.’

  ‘When would you suggest?’

  ‘Next Saturday – I have a long weekend due. We’ll fly down to Adelaide for a few days, what do you say?’

  ‘All right.’ She accepted the challenge without further thought. ‘But just Saturday for me,’ she said. ‘I’ll go on to Sydney the next day. I’ve planned to visit my father.’

  ‘Just Saturday it is then.’ He shrugged reluctantly, not bothering to disguise his disappointment; he would have enjoyed a long weekend with her in Adelaide. ‘Now are we going to eat these steaks before they congeal?’

  ‘We most certainly are.’ She picked up her knife and fork and attacked her Scotch fillet with zeal.

  He watched, loving as he always did the way she ate with the appetite of a navvy.

  ‘Jess darling, how wonderful to see you!’

  Lilian’s welcome was as effusive as ever, her embrace all-engulfing, and this time Jess found herself smothered, or rather entwined, in voluminous lengths of red and orange silk. The early spring weather being mild, a selection of lightweight scarves had replaced the alpaca.

  ‘And Mattie darling, you look so well!’ Matt’s turn to be engulfed, after which Lilian disengaged herself and stepped back to admire the pair of them. ‘You both look so well, you really do!’ God they’re a handsome couple, she thought. ‘Come in, come in, Dave’s making the coffee.’

  Once again Matt had refused his father’s offer to pick them up at the airport, insisting they’d catch a cab. ‘Too much hassle parking and all that, Dad, much easier to get a cab.’

  They followed Lilian, who led the way like a glorious sunset through to the main living room, talking all the while.

  ‘So sorry to hear you’re only staying with us the one night, Jess,’ she called back over her shoulder, ‘we could have arranged a day’s visit to the wineries all four of us. I’d have adored that.’

  ‘Hello, Jess. Good to see you.’ Dave was placing a tray of sandwiches on the coffee table as they entered. He gave Jess an avuncular peck on the cheek, which rather surprised her, but he was merely obeying instruction.

  ‘Make her feel especially welcome, dear,’ Lilian had begged, ‘treat her as if she’s one of the family; do please, please for my sake.’

  Having obliged his wife, Dave embraced his son. ‘I know you said you’d be eating on the plane, but I made sandwiches anyway.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have, Dad.’

  ‘Yes I should, it’s lunchtime, they’re leg ham fresh off the bone, and I’m hungry.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Father and son shared a grin, everyone sat, and when the sandwiches were passed around they proved so delicious Matt and Jess ate their share anyway.

  ‘We’re all hot mustard fans, I’m glad to see,’ Dave said, ‘I thought I might have whacked on a bit much for you, Jess.’

  ‘No way,’ Matt answered, ‘she’s a Hot English freak from way back,’ to which Jess, chewing vigorously, nodded agreement.

  Lilian beamed happily from one to the other, enjoying the pair’s familiarity, but studying them with serious intent. Did she detect something a little different, she wondered, something a little more than ‘good mates’? Yes surely she did. Something’s happened between them, she thought. I wonder if they’ve become lovers. Oh I do hope so. How wonderful.

  As the small talk continued and the sandwiches dwindled and second cups of coffee were downed, she decided to test the waters.

  ‘Oh my goodness, we’ve thrust lunch upon you and talked for an hour and you haven’t even unpacked,’ she said. ‘You’ve probably been dying to freshen up, Jess.’ She turned to her son in seeming innocence. ‘The studio or the flat, Mattie darling?’ she asked. Then upon receiving a dagger-like look she continued without drawing breath, ‘Yes, the studio of course, same as last time.’ What a pity, she thought.

  ‘So long as I’m not intruding upon your work, Lilian,’ Jess said. ‘I’m more than happy to bunk down on a sofa: I’m a very good sleeper, I promise you.’

  ‘You’re not intruding in the least, dear, and I will not have you “bunk down”. Come along,’ she stood, ‘we’ll go upstairs together.’

  ‘I know the way, really, no need to bother.’

  ‘Allow me, please, I like to play hostess.’ She didn’t. She never played hostess, much preferring people look after themselves, but she wanted to get away from the hostility emanating from her son. ‘We’ll leave the boys together for a while. I have some new pieces you might be interested in. I’ve been painting up a storm recently – cityscape themes, something a bit different.’

  ‘How wonderful.’ Jess jumped eagerly to her feet. What a privilege, she thought. ‘I’d love to see them,’ she said, picking up her small case. She was travelling light, with only cabin luggage.

  As she followed Lilian up the stairs, Jess wondered whether, in her absence, Matt would tell his father of the latest developments, or rather she wondered how much he might tell his father. He certainly wouldn’t mention her belief in their family’s black ancestry, she knew that much, but he’d also warned her he didn’t want to tell his father about the re-routing of the rail corridor.

  ‘I don’t think it’s necessary, Jess,’ he’d said. ‘Dad’s been the leading surveyor on projects like this all his life and he might not approve. It’s a pretty unconventional step we’re taking, unprofessional even, and he’s a bit of a stickler when it comes to work.’

  Jess found the excuse rather lame. What, she thought, Dave won’t approve of your altering the route or he won’t approve that, in doing so, you must deep down believe in the necessity to do so? She strongly suspected the latter. You don’t want to be caught out in case he scoffs at you, Matt. But she pretended to accept his explanation.

  ‘So what will you tell him?’ she asked.

  He knew she was questioning the reason for his evasion and he could understand why she might, but it was not
his father’s scorn he was avoiding at all. He simply did not want to tell anyone of his intention to alter the route of the Ghan. He didn’t want to hear himself say the words out loud, even to his own father. If all went according to plan, he would tell Dave one day, certainly, but now with everything hanging in the balance any mention of the subject seemed to be tempting fate.

  ‘I intend to tell Dad everything that’s necessary, Jess,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll tell him about my recurring dreams and my blackouts, and how I was directed to what you believe to be a sacred site. I’ll tell him what happened to me at the site too. I’ll be straight with him, I can promise you. The effect that place had on me was profound, as you well know. I’m willing to tell Dad all of that and you can take things from there. What do you say?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ she’d replied.

  ‘Well here we are, dear,’ Lilian said as they arrived at the top of the stairs, ‘I’ll leave you to wander around and settle in while the boys have their chat.’ Having successfully escaped her son’s hostility, Lilian was now eager to escape playing hostess. She really couldn’t be bothered chatting about her paintings, even to someone as gorgeous as Jess. Talking about art was always so boring. You either liked what you saw or you didn’t: people should leave it at that. She would retire to her office downstairs and catch up on her emails, she decided. ‘We’ll re-group in an hour or so, shall we?’ she said. Mattie would have forgiven her by then.

  ‘Lovely, one hour it is then. Thank you, Lilian.’

  But the question had been rhetorical. Lilian had already done an about-turn and was off down the stairs, scarves wafting ethereally in her wake.

  Jess dumped her case on the floor. She wouldn’t bother to unpack, not yet. She was much more interested in examining the several new paintings, which, far from being properly mounted, were strewn about haphazardly as usual. They differed in subject matter from the outback topics normally favoured by Lilian, but each was in typical Lilian Birch style, bold and provocative. Here the bright red door of an attractive sandstone terrace house, the redness reflecting the heat of the mid-afternoon summer sun, the door temptingly ajar, beckoning one inside; here a park bench and a wintry dawn, a woman seated, viewed from behind, staring out over the river, straight-backed, body language depicting her deep in thought, but is she happy or sad? One longs to see her face. Here a modern office block at dusk, other city buildings and the central square’s autumnal trees reflected in its shining surfaces, but no people rushing about after work, just one lone figure standing by the main doors. Is it Sunday, and if so what is he doing there?

  Jess was entranced. Each painting seemed to raise a question that teased, and the lighting in each denoted not only the season but the specific time of day, making a further comment. Lilian’s mastery enthralled as always, but even while admiring the pieces, Jess couldn’t help her mind now and then wandering to father and son. Just how much was Matt telling Dave?

  Quite a bit as it turned out.

  She joined them in the sitting room an hour later, having finally unpacked her case and freshened up as Lilian had suggested. She’d deliberately whiled away the time to allow for the full hour, but Lilian was there well in advance, pouring herself a glass of red wine from the bottle on the cabinet as the men tucked into their second beers.

  ‘Jess darling, I was just about to come and get you,’ Lilian said with a touch of impatience the moment she appeared, ‘what on earth took you so long?’

  Jess ignored the look from Matt, a mixture of exasperation and sympathy. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘didn’t mean to keep you waiting.’

  ‘The boys have been telling me about the latest fascinating things that have been going on and Mattie now says the rest is over to you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jess was instantly daunted, but saved the necessity of further comment as Lilian continued.

  ‘They’ve already downed a beer, but as I don’t drink the stuff I’m hoping mid-afternoon isn’t too early for you to join me in a wine.’ She held the bottle aloft. ‘It’s a Barossa Shiraz, and a very nice full-bodied one I promise you. Or would you rather a beer?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s too early at all, Lilian. I’d love to join you in a wine, thank you.’

  ‘Oh goody.’ Lilian beamed. ‘I’ve never understood the lust for beer myself, wonderful I’m sure after a strenuous game of tennis, but I don’t play tennis.’ She took another glass from the cabinet and poured Jess’s wine. ‘Cheers,’ she said as she handed it to her.

  ‘Cheers,’ Jess responded and they clinked glasses and sat.

  The wine was certainly full-bodied, Jess thought as she took a sip. She put the glass down warily, waiting for whatever cue was coming her way. She’d need her wits about her to tackle what lay ahead. How was she to approach things? she wondered. Perhaps she could open with the spiel she’d given Matt about the 1930s ‘biological absorption’ scheme and how many apparently white Australians didn’t know of their black ancestry.

  ‘I’ve been hearing all about Mattie’s recurring dreams and blackouts,’ Lilian said, ‘most unpleasant. And then about the visions he had that directed him to a site you believe is sacred, Jess, how extraordinary.’

  Dave took over at that point. ‘Yes, it’s quite remarkable that the images Matt had in his mind proved so precise – the larger and smaller rock outcrops, the clearing, the sign … You must have found that amazing, Jess.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I did.’

  ‘And he says he can’t remember what happened at the site,’ Dave went on, ‘but that you told him afterwards he was yelling out in a local language.’

  ‘That’s right. He was yelling “run” in Arunta, over and over.’

  ‘Remarkable,’ Dave shook his head, ‘quite remarkable.’

  ‘And that’s as much as the boys have told me,’ Lilian could contain herself no longer, ‘and now Mattie won’t tell either of us anything more. He says the rest is over to you.’

  There was an air of expectancy. Jess took a deep breath.

  ‘Well, as Matt has mentioned, I believe the site is sacred.’ She started out cautiously. ‘I believe the dreams he was having right from the start, the dreams about railways evoked by his grandfather Charlie and possibly his great-grandfather Brian, were leading him towards the discovery of this site …’ She paused; Where to from here?

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Lilian urged, ‘go on, go on.’

  ‘I don’t know why the site is sacred,’ Jess said, still buying time. ‘It’s not officially recognised as such. Perhaps something happened there a long time ago, something that was of personal significance to a local family; in any case Matt was certainly led there for a purpose …’

  How unlike Jess to flounder, Matt thought, she needs help. He decided to cut to the chase.

  ‘Jess reckons it was our ancestors who led me there, Dad,’ he said, ‘she reckons we’ve got blackfella blood in us.’

  Complete silence followed, Dave and Lilian staring dumbfounded, Matt now the expectant one awaiting a reaction and Jess, although surprised by the bluntness of his statement, grateful to have been saved further delay tactics. Who would be the first to speak?

  It was Lilian’s bewilderment that finally won out. ‘What ancestors?’ she asked. ‘Charlie and Brian?’

  ‘Well, the ancestors of Charlie and Brian, yes,’ Jess said.

  ‘But Charlie and Brian were white.’

  Now’s the right time, Jess thought, and she launched into her discourse on the government’s ‘biological absorption’ scheme, which Lilian in particular appeared to find spellbinding.

  ‘Several generations on,’ she concluded, ‘when children have been adopted out with no knowledge of their background, there are many left totally unaware of their black ancestry.’

  ‘So there you go, Dad,’ Matt remarked, ‘it seems we come from central desert blackfella stock.’

  ‘How thrilling,’ Lilian said.

  Jess looked from mother to son, wondering if either or perha
ps both were being flippant, but it appeared not. She looked then to Dave for his reaction. Was the man shocked, offended or merely in a state of disbelief? He appeared none of these – perhaps he was simply as spellbound as his wife. But he was silent. Was he waiting for her to go on, and if so what more was she expected to say?

  ‘Matt tells me you’ve never professed an interest in your family’s background, Dave,’ she said. ‘Forgive my impertinence, but haven’t you ever wanted to trace where you come from?’

  ‘No, strangely enough.’ The reply was simple, but Jess could tell she hadn’t offended.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘My mother,’ Dave said. ‘I can only suppose I was being protective, but Peg wanted no part of her past. She’d talk about Charlie and the great love they’d shared, brief as it had been, but she never spoke of her family. I was her world and she was mine and it didn’t seem right to invite the past in. Or rather, it never occurred to me to do so.’

  ‘And it still doesn’t?’

  ‘Oh yes it does. Now it does.’ Dave glanced at Lilian and they shared a moment of complicity. ‘I already have, or rather we have.’

  Jess’s turn to be mystified. ‘In what way?’

  ‘At Lilian’s insistence I traced the background of Brian Francis Witherton. The records show his father was Thomas James Witherton, born 1872, died 1935. His mother was Anne Featherstone, born approximately 1878 or ’79, died 1947.’

  ‘Approximately?’ Jess queried.

  ‘Yes. It seems she was adopted by the Featherstone family from an orphanage in Adelaide when she was around three years old. No-one knew who she was or where she came from or her exact date of birth.’

  Once again a telling silence, Lilian’s the most telling of all, and it was naturally Lilian who chose to break the moment.

  ‘Things seem to fit rather neatly, don’t you think?’

  Much general discussion followed after that. It was obvious to Jess that Dave had difficulty believing his son had been visited by the spirits of their family’s ancestors, but then so did his son. Even Matt, profoundly affected as he’d been by his experience at the site, found the spiritual connection hard to swallow. But both men were in agreement that something inexplicable had taken place, and both were surprisingly accepting of the possibility, even probability, of their black ancestry. As for Lilian, well Lilian wholeheartedly embraced the notion.