“I had you pegged for a Spanish lady.”
“Oh, that’s only my looks. I came from a long line of Italian gypsies.”
“I got that part right, then.”
The food was great. As he crunched on garlic bread, Tim enthused, “You were right. This is like eating at a restaurant.”
“I have to tell you, Tim. I’ve seen you before. I work part-time at the Legal Service.” She started smiling as she recalled the story. “They had gotten together before the meeting to talk about giving legal advice to the Land Council on those bad offshore deals. One of them stood up and looked out the window and saw you walking across the park towards the Legal Service. He said, “Hey Minna, look here.”
“Minna got up and went to the window and said ‘Fuckin’ hell’. That was the fastest I’ve ever seen him move. Then I had to look out the window. By this time you had turned and headed for Redfern.”
Then she quizzed him. “You got something on them fellas.”
“Just Minna. But them other blokes are my next ten years work. Wonder what the wind will bring in that mob.”
They looked at each other and she said, “Well, wanna see a movie?”
“Sounds good,” said Tim.
Carina selected a movie at the Mandarin Cinema.
“An Italian gypsy who likes Chinese movies with English subtitles, I’ll go along with that,” Tim joked.
“I get weirder. Be warned.”
They had an hour till the movie started so Tim offered a foot massage in exchange for the wonderful meal and Carina readily accepted.
After the movie they went for a coffee in the city and sat and discussed it. Tim learnt that it was not the only Chinese film she had seen and was impressed by her knowledge of Chinese cinema.
Back at Carina’s place they settled into a conversation about gypsies.
“I could be a gypsy. We never stopped moving from place to place when we were kids, and it’s very similar today,” Tim said with a hint of make-believe.
“Maybe you are an Aboriginal gypsy.”
“I guess I am.” Then Tim had a bright idea. “Hey, wanna see some rock carvings and charcoal paintings up near the Hawkesbury?”
“That sounds great. When?”
“What about tomorrow?”
“You’re lucky I have a loose social calendar. Tomorrow sounds great.”
CHAPTER TEN
PROPHECIES
“This is the country where a young woman lived who left her people and walked to Western Australia and married into a tribe over there. When she married in, she taught them songs and stories about this place. In 1983 an old man from Western Australia came to visit Sydney. There’s an area of land just over there that’s been put aside as a nature reserve. When the old man saw the country, he got really excited and began speaking things that even the interpreter couldn’t understand. After he settled down, he told them the story of his ancestor and claimed it as his dreaming place. He had learnt the songs the woman had taken over there. More than likely he was a direct descendant of the woman. They stayed overnight and he passed away at sunrise the next day.”
“That’s a wonderful story,” Carina said.
“It reminds me of the Mapoona Dreaming. It’s about an ancient spirit who travels up what is now called the Great Dividing Range and lets his seven sons mate with the local women. When he’s finished his journey he breathes his last breath as the first rays of dawn fall upon him. When his sons, who were sleeping in the sack that he carried them in, realised that he was dying, they tried to escape, but when the rays of light hit them they too died. Then the old man turned into a mountain and his seven sons became seven columns nestled in the old man’s arm. That story always makes me feel blacker than black. Like my links with the land and the people are unbroken,” Tim said as he looked out over the land from the highest point in the vicinity. “The land looks majestic from up here.”
“It does make you feel alive,” Carina said. “It’s a pity that so many Australians will never get to see beyond their mortgages and money. These sorts of feelings might even get people like Ruxton to open his eyes.”
“There are some who will never see,” Tim said. “If only they would lift up the shutters. We could show them how to heal the land; how to make it rain and a whole lot more. But while they are blind, they’ll get nothing.”
They sat and soaked up as much of the atmosphere as possible before returning to Sydney.
“Today was fantastic. Thank you very much,” Carina said, giving him a tender kiss. “You’re welcome to come over tonight. But don’t expect me to cook.”
“Pizzas are Italian, aren’t they?” Tim smiled at Carina and she laughed back at him.
The night sky had descended upon Sydney and Tim was feeling relaxed on the bus ride out to Carina’s. She greeted him warmly at the door and they talked briefly about the day, before ringing out for pizza.
Julie came strolling in and said a bright hello to both Carina and Tim. They sat and talked for a while about Carina’s sojourn into the bush.
“Tell her the story about the charcoal paintings in the cave, Tim,” Carina prompted.
“The paintings are about two warriors who had a fight. It must have been a battle and a half. One of the warriors had a club and rayed headdress. The other had a club and his left hand was a serpent. The one with the rayed headdress was obviously an angel and the other must have been an intruder and a strong one at that. They both must have died in the battle because there are two trees growing outside the cave and at rest on the lip of the cave,” Tim concluded.
“How do you know they were angels or whatever?” Julie asked.
“The rays coming from the head are rays of light. The whitefellas call them ancestral beings or heroes. They know that they’re angels but won’t admit that a primitive race such as ourselves had contact with God. Up near the cave there are some rock carvings and there is one big fella twice the size of any other figure. And there are three more figures along side of it, all with rayed headdress. Sounds like a Bible story, doesn’t it? Before I saw all of these painting and carvings, I maintained that our stories were very much like the stories in the Bible. When I saw all this, it only confirmed what I believed. We knew God a long time before white preachers arrived with their civilised message. The Maoris and the Islanders were the same. We’re what is referred to in the Bible as the ‘holy people’. The part which says, ‘When the holy people get attacked, this is the beginning of the end’. That happened with Cook’s excursion into the South Pacific two hundred years ago, and is to be fulfilled in a very, very short time.”
“Are you a Christian, Tim?” Julie asked.
“I wouldn’t go anywhere near a white church. They teach only lies. A Christian in the white sense, no! The same ones who killed us two hundred years ago are the same ones who are enjoying the fat off our land today. Except their cover is much more intricate. I’m waiting for the day when they start killing their own people. Then I can say, I told you so’.”
“The white people won’t like what you’re saying,” Carina said.
“I’ve never known one who did,” Tim replied quickly.
“You’re associating white people with Satan’s hierarchy,” Julie said defensively.
“The Catholic priests are the worst, most corrupt force on earth.” A slight pause, then Tim adds in deadpan tones, “It’s a front for Satan alright. I don’t want to upset the evening or nothing. A trip up there always reminds me of these stories and it just comes out.”
“That’s alright, Tim. If depth doesn’t come with what we’ve learned today, we may as well be tourists in this country,” Carina said soothingly.
Tim told a joke to break the sombre atmosphere and all three began to relax in each other’s company again. Julie hung around for some beer, pizza and pot and said goodbye at around ten.
“It’s a pity to leave when I’m starting to enjoy everything, but I’ve got other work to do,” Tim said.
; “What? Are you leaving Sydney?” Carina asked.
“As soon as possible,” he replied.
She looked at him and said, “You would have to be pretty strong to resist … whatever it is they want you to do.”
“Yes, but I’m not resisting.”
“The boys at the Legal Service won’t miss you, that’s for sure.” She laughed.
They walked to the door. “It’s been a nice couple of days, Tim. Thanks.”
He gave her a hug and looked her straight in the eye until it sank in that he wouldn’t be coming back.
“I’ll miss you. Give me a call if you ever come back to Sydney.”
“I will.” Tim gave her a final big hug and left.
There were coppers all over the place when Tim got back to the block. He walked down Eveleigh Street. Sam and Hank were standing on the vacant lot amongst a big mob of Koories. Acknowledgement was by eye-contact only. Charlie pulled Tim aside and told him that young Calvin had just been found hanging in the city watch-house.
The Koories had begun to abuse the police. One of Calvin’s young friends picked up a brick and hurled it at a police car, smashing the window and prompting a barrage of bricks. One of the coppers recieved a direct hit on the head and went down. The police withdrew to the top of Eveleigh Street carrying the wounded cop. A cop car was suddenly turned on its side by the crowd of Koories.
Camera crews began arriving and again Redfern Koories would be breakfast news for the rest of Australia. The real reason for the clash would never be known. Rehashed pictures of young Koories rolling passers-by and then the shots of police being attacked, then comments about racial tension and what a problem the Aborigines are. More police arrived along with an ambulance. The panic was now on the side of the police. They had lost control of the situation and were now fighting running battles with the Koories. Some of the Koories were laughing at the cops who were confused about what to do. Eventually the battle became a Mexican standoff.
Charlie, Hank, Sam and Tim stood at the back of the crowd waiting to see if the coppers were going to try and take anybody. The coppers backed off and sent in a negotiator. Finally peace was restored and the bulk of the crowd went back to their homes. There were about twenty or so still standing around when Tim, Charlie and company made their way back to Charlie’s house.
Sylvia, Regina and Jeannie were standing on the corner of Caroline and Louis streets. Charlie invited them back for a cup of tea.
“Young Calvin. Jeez they’re bastards,” Regina said, and then continued. “You blokes have to find a way to stop this sort of shit happening.”
None of the boys wanted to speak. Charlie finally told the group, “Minna would’ve been able to help Calvin get out of that fix. He was there that night.”
“Yes, well I fucked that up, didn’t I?” a dejected Tim said to himself.
“It’s not your fault. Blackfellas have been in this sort of shit for years. They want blacks out of Redfern and they ain’t gonna care how they do it.”
A voice at the front door was calling for Charlie. When Charlie re-entered the kitchen he said, “Minna is dead. He just died at the hospital.”
No one was expecting this sort of news, especially Tim.
“At least the bastard could a picked a better time. We might’ve shown him some pity,” Regina said, speaking the thoughts of those present. “Well, I better go along. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
They followed Regina out to the street and said goodbye then. Tim walked Sylvia to her car.
“Well Tim, you’ve hit the Sydney scene in a big way. Now we just have to wait and see what comes up in the aftermath.” Then Sylvia quickly changed the subject. “Do you ever think about me?”
“Yes, I think about you a lot. The problem is … when I start thinking about me. You know when you don’t do something that you should’ve done? How it can complicate your life?”
“Yes.” Sylvia responded.
“Well, I’ve almost got that part of my life out of the way.”
Sylvia studied him closely and said, “Almost is not good enough.”
“I’ll be back when I’ve finished. I just hope you’re still single.”
Sylvia grabbed him and gave him a short, passionate kiss and then hopped in her car calling to Jeannie. They drove off and Tim joined the others outside Charlie’s.
“Torrid old coupla weeks,” Tim said sitting on a milk crate. Charlie and Sam laughed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE BACKBLOCK
Tim dropped his bag by the side of the road and waited for the mail truck. It was good to be back. Who could live in that poxy place and maintain a semblance of sanity. He’d walk the whole way if he didn’t get a lift. So much had happened in a fortnight, he thought, and shook his head and looked down the road to home.
Aunty May had made Shane and Tim accompany her to the dump for a scrounge. Parts of the dump were alight and Tim had found a cash register that tinged as they fiddled with it. They decided to leave it and keep searching the dump for other articles.
“The whitefellas don’t throw out as much junk as they used to,” Shane said.
“Naah, not since the recession,” Tim agreed.
Aunty May had a small collection of toys, some of which were slightly damaged. She always checked the dump. Being on welfare with six kids, everything she could make use of was taken. Shane was her eldest boy and he was about the same age as Tim. Aunty May’s house was full of old junk collected over the years and her raids on local tips were famous. She patched everything up and handed them to the local kids at Christmas.
“Well, I’m gonna take these home,” Aunty May said, picking up another bag of goodies besides the toys in her arms. “All this other stuff is too burnt.”
“We’ll walk you back to the house,” Shane offered. They crossed the road on the edge of town. The ground was littered with millions of pieces of broken glass, the result of many broken beer bottles. They lived at the east end of town by the river. The community was small and almost matched the number of white residents. Tim liked the balance because the Mroodies were depended upon for their custom uptown.
It was a well-known fact that the Mroodies hunted kangaroos and caught fish for their meat and bought their vegies and fruit from the local shop. The businesses uptown would go broke if the Mroodies became totally independent. This meant the local white business people treated the local Mroodies with respect. When there had been some trouble with a couple of businesses, the Mroodies boycotted them and ran cars to Bourke, forcing the business people to compromise.
The neighbouring towns had much bigger populations and the Mroodies in those towns weren’t as lucky. Stories came in continually about the way in which they were treated. These stories bothered Tim as he visited these places often to do business. Shane sometimes went with him, particularly if there was a death or trouble.
After Tim and Shane had seen Aunty May to her place, they went fishing, looking for that elusive forty pounder Tim had seen a few days earlier.
“I know he’s in here,” Tim assured Shane.
They had four cod lines and a couple of throw-outs to catch yellow-belly if they failed to catch the big one. They set the lines and lay back on the bank to watch. Tim pulled out a joint. “This is my last one.”
“I’ve got Cassie to bring some back from Sydney,” Shane replied. “She’ll be back in a few days.”
Cassandra was Shane’s younger sister. She travelled frequently but only for a week or two and then returned home for a month or so. Tim could understand why Cassie travelled as there was nothing here that would attract a pretty young woman. She was related to all the eligible men in town, including Tim. Tim and Cassandra had slept together once a couple of years ago out of sheer frustration at the lack of suitable beaus for them both. They never did it again and kept it a closely guarded secret. Tim knew that he and Cassie could have married if they’d wanted to, as four generations had passed and it was quite common among Mroodies
to do that. Tim had been raised by Aunty May for a couple of years after his parents had died and she considered him a part of the family and that was the major consideration stopping their relationship.
Tim saw the throw-out line go taut and he and Shane looked at each other and Tim motioned to Shane to do the honours. “I hope it’s not a bony bream. They’re greedy bastards,” Shane hexed. He hooked the fish and reeled it in. A hint of dismay crossed Shane’s face as he realised it was a bony bream. He unhooked it and threw it back in, and reset the line. They settled back again and relaxed.
They packed and left just before dark with two sizeable yellow-bellies. The big cod would wait until another day. Shane went home while Tim went to Alby and Sherry’s place to share his fish. Alby was working as a jackaroo on a nearby property and made it home occasionally. Finding work was good for Alby and he’d steadied his drinking a lot. Sherry and the kids were much happier now their home environment had changed. Tim knew Alby was doing it tough and he often went over to help in various ways.
Alby looked a lot brighter and his eyes were clear of the effects alcohol. “G’day, Tim. That’s a fat yellow-belly.”
“Got the oven ready, Alby?” Tim asked.
“Sherry’s got a roast on but I’m sure there’s plenty of room for that. Nice feed of yellow-belly sounds alright.”
They entered the kitchen where Sherry was preparing food and Tim said g’day.
“I’ll gut that for ya,” said Alby. “There’s plenty of room for this, hey Sherry?”
“There’s heaps,” she responded.
Tim hardly ever heard Alby call Sherry by her name when he was on the grog and he felt a few tugs on the heart strings for Alby and his family. The kids were watching TV in the lounge, another acquisition since Alby’s sobriety. Sherry made a pot of tea and they sat around talking while the food cooked.
One of the topics that came up was the face on Mars. The kids were very interested.
“Up there on Mars under a certain light you can see all these different faces—Aborigine face, Chinese face, white face and all the different people of the Earth—and when they went in for a close-up, the face is a city, and in the middle of the face is a five-sided pyramid,” Tim eagerly explained.
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