Gifts of the Peramangk

by Dean Mayes

  Setting her cup down on the counter top, Mrs. Stinson rounded it gracefully and swept over to Virginia and her mother, cupping Virginia’s cheek in her hand in a motherly gesture.

  “We made a much longer daisy chain today,” Virginia reported proudly. “There were plenty near the water hole.”

  “Well I hope you didn’t stay out in the sun for too long my dear,” Mrs. Stinson continued. “We don’t want you burnt to a crisp.”

  “No, ma’am,” Virginia nodded respectfully. “We were really good. Made sure we stayed under the willow.”

  “Ahhh—that willow. Do you know that willow tree has been by that water hole since I was your age?”

  Virginia nodded, having heard that story from Mrs. Stinson countless times before. She fidgeted for a moment as silence fell between them, then she looked up at her mother.

  “Go on,” Sylvia smiled. “Go and get your ice cream. I’ll be along soon.”

  Mrs. Stinson nodded in understanding and winked at the child. Virginia turned and darted out of the shop, across the street to where the other children were still waiting.

  Mrs. Stinson watched as the children disappeared into the general store one by one.

  “She’s growing up so fast,” Mrs. Stinson mused cheerily as she picked up her tea and sipped quietly from the fine bone china. “Have you heard anything at all from Artie?”

  Sylvia hung her head slightly and shook it.

  “Beryl keeps a close eye on the telegraph for me but there’s been nothing for three weeks,” Sylvia’s quiet voice cracked with emotion. “The wireless news talked about rumours of a major push soon but…I don’t know if he’s involved in it or not.”

  Sylvia stifled her emotions as Mrs. Stinson set her cup down and put an arm around Sylvia’s shoulder.

  News from the battlefield was often sporadic at best, but at least Sylvia had previously been able to get something from her husband. Now, it had trailed away to nothing and Sylvia had been plagued with many a sleepless night.

  “There, there child,” Mrs. Stinson soothed. “Look, why don’t you finish early today. I’ll close up here and call on you both a little later.”

  Sylvia looked across at her employer through swollen eyes.

  “No, no—I’ll finish. There’s not much left to do.”

  Mrs. Stinson held up her hand and silenced Sylvia.

  “I can finish that for you. I’ll not have another word from you on the matter. Go and spend time with your daughter.”

  Sylvia nodded gratefully and bowed her head, wiping away a single tear from her eye.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Armed with a single-scoop ice cream each, the seven children sat themselves down on the curbside outside the general store. They immediately went to work, enjoying their treats in the warm afternoon sun, licking furiously as the ice cream began to melt and drip down over their fingers.

  Sylvia emerged from the haberdashery and crossed the street armed with a kerchief in one hand, having spied her daughter the moment Virginia sat down.

  Sylvia knelt down beside her daughter and wiped her cheeks. All of the children giggled at one another as they observed each others’ handiwork.

  The breeze rustled through the tops of the plane trees lining the street and the eucalyptus behind the buildings. The strong scent from the eucalyptus wafted through the main street catching Virginia’s attention and she stopped for a moment to appreciate it. It was her favourite smell of all. It was clean and crisp. It was home.

  “Hey!”

  The children turned almost simultaneously at the sound of Bobby’s voice and followed his outstretched finger as a trio of vehicles came into view from the far end of the township. As they approached, the children could make out the familiar black and white colours of a police sedan leading the convoy of three, followed by a grey sedan which was in turn shepherded by a rickety looking truck.

  They glanced at each other with a hint of nervousness.

  Mrs. Stinson appeared at the entrance to her shop, having heard the approaching vehicles and she crossed over the street to stand next to Sylvia.

  The vehicles slowed to a stop, drawing close to the curb on the opposite side of the street. The children watched as the engines were silenced and the three cars sat for a moment. Bobby stood, growing suspicious of the new arrivals.

  The doors to both the police sedan and the grey sedan snapped open. Two constables stepped out, as did two suited men after them. They inspected their surroundings with a barely concealed distaste.

  Virginia’s attention was drawn to the two suited men who stood directly across from her.

  The first man—the driver—was tall, possibly the tallest man Virginia had ever seen. Dressed in a drab, grey tweed suit and colourless bow tie, he sported spiky, thinning hair that was perfectly manicured into an impeccable short back and sides. His features were sinister, with long sallow cheeks that gave his thin lips the appearance of being permanently pursed. His eyes were distorted behind thick, black rimmed glasses that sat, perched precariously, on the tip of his nose. He held a clipboard in one arm as he swiped his free hand down his jacket absently.

  His colleague, who emerged from the far side of the sedan, rounding the vehicle to stand next to him, was an equally dour presence. This man was barely half his colleague’s size, his head reaching to just past the top of the first man’s chest. Dressed similarly in uninspiring grey tweed, his slick, brown hair was combed severely to one side with Bryll Cream. It did not move at all in the afternoon breeze. This man wore a pair of gold rimmed glasses over small eyes and large, bushy eye brows and sported a short, thick moustache that gave him a perpetual scowl.

  Sylvia glanced at Mrs. Stinson, then placed her hand protectively on Virginia’s shoulders, drawing Virginia close to her as the tall man set his eyes upon the group. She glanced to the old tray truck from which two more men had stepped. She recognised one of them right away—the township’s kindly local doctor, Dr. Flaherty, a man who usually wore a smile, no matter what his disposition might be. Today, however, he appeared particularly troubled. He was accompanied by a second man, unfamiliar to Virginia and her mother. He carried a battered leather Gladstone bag which was partly opened and revealed the end of a stethoscope that hung lazily down one side.

  When Virginia looked up at her mother, the worry etched into her features was palpable and Virginia felt that worry seep into her pores, into her blood and it coursed through her.

  The tall man adjusted the clipboard he held in his arm and gestured wordlessly to the two medicos, approaching the two women who had now been joined by the proprietor of the general store, the butcher immediately next door and the postmistress. The children, who had retreated a little further under the verandah of the store, watched as the man nodded to the police constables on his left.

  Mrs. Stinson stepped forward through the group, puffing her chest out boldly, setting her expression like steel as the men approached.

  “What seems to be the trouble, Wally?” she queried Dr. Flaherty malevolently. “This is all a little theatrical, even for you.”

  Dr. Flaherty was unable to make his jaw move immediately and he looked down awkwardly at the bitumen.

  “Routine inspection, Grace,” the doctor grumbled, gesturing to the two suited men. “This is Bytes of the Aborigines Protection Board. He’s here to…”

  “There have been reports from this District,” the tall man, Bytes, interjected abruptly, eye balling Mrs. Stinson. “…of malnourishment and serious illness among the blacks. It is our job under the Act to investigate any reported cases of neglect and intervene accordingly.”

  Sylvia visibly stiffened at the way Bytes cast a pejorative edge on the word black then, but she remained silent, her fear far outweighing her anger at this point.

  “Mal-nourishment,” Mrs. Stinson exclaimed incredulously. “Whatever in the world gave you that idea?”

  Dr. Flaherty fidgeted where he stood, rubbed the back of his neck and tri
ed to make himself as small as possible in the formidable presence of Mrs. Stinson. However, it wasn’t too long before the austere business woman levelled her glare on the medico once more.

  “Wally? Do you want to explain this?”

  She stepped forward until she was standing before Dr. Flaherty. The doctor seemed to wither where he stood.

  “L…look, it’s mandatory, Grace,” he whispered fearfully to her. “If I get a call from the Board requesting information, I’ve got to give it—under the law. They could toss me in jail otherwise.”

  Bytes stepped toward the children and inspected them cursorily, before signalling to his counterpart behind him. The second bureaucrat stepped forward and for several moments, they whispered between themselves, occasionally pointing to the children and gesturing with a nod to the doctor accompanying Dr. Flaherty.

  Bytes extended a finger toward the group, causing all of them to flinch and withdraw further. He gestured with a nod to the two police constables on his left.

  “You will all step forward!” he snapped chillingly. “Now!”

  Both Sylvia and Mrs. Stinson moved to stand in front of the children. Mrs. Stinson flicked her eyes at one of the police constables.

  “Barry. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re scaring the children.”

  The constable named Barry seemed to falter slightly, indicating that he had some sympathy for her opinion, but he quickly regained his composure when Bytes whipped his head around and glared menacingly at him.

  “Look here ma’am. I am here on the authority of the South Australian government and I don’t have all day.”

  The bureaucrat, Bytes, was now standing so close to Mrs. Stinson that she could smell his breath when he spoke. Not surprisingly, it was foul, a mixture of tobacco and halitosis, and she wrinkled her nose accordingly. Sylvia, standing slightly behind her, tightened her grip on Virginia.

  “We are going to examine the Aborigines and determine whether or not they need to be treated further down in Adelaide!”

  Bytes jutted out his lower jaw until he was mere inches from Mrs. Stinson’s face.

  “I will have you arrested if you interfere in our work.”

  Hesitating, Mrs. Stinson looked over at a worried Sylvia. She proffered her hand, palm down in a gesture of reassurance.

  Bobby, Lucy and Albert all lined up side by side on the curb while Virginia, petrified now, clung to her mother’s leg. One by one, the children were examined by both doctors right there in the street. They were given what amounted to as thorough a physical as could be administered outdoors. Dr. Flaherty was more gentle with his charges, Bobby and Lucy, than his counterpart who wrestled with a fidgeting Albert, who refused to comply.

  The owner of the general store stepped out onto the pavement and stood, observing silently while several other passers-by stopped a little way off.

  Stethoscopes were placed all over the children’s chests and backs, their temperatures were taken and noted, tongue depressors were slapped firmly down and throats examined, their heights recorded. When it came to Virginia’s turn, she squeaked, terrified, and hid even further behind her mother. The government doctor was not at all impressed and grabbed at her angrily. Sylvia stood her ground.

  “Listen you! I will examine this child,” the doctor hissed as Bytes stepped forward to assist.

  He grabbed Virginia’s arm and wrenched it, whipping Virginia’s body like a rag doll out from behind her mother. Dr. Flaherty flinched, clearly uncomfortable. Bytes deposited Virginia roughly in a standing position in front of him on the road way.

  Paralysed with fear, Virginia remained frozen.

  “Now bloody well stand still!” he barked, gesturing for the doctor to continue.

  He listened to her chest, examined her throat, felt under her chin and neck.

  “Cough,” he barked at her soullessly.

  Virginia gave a pathetic little hiccup that barely resembled anything like a cough.

  “Properly!” the doctor hissed, growing increasingly frustrated. Sylvia stepped forward anxiously but was warned off by the constable nearest her.

  When Virginia coughed, properly this time, flecks of blood hit the roadway between her and the doctor.

  Immediately, he looked up at Bytes who had his folder opened and was writing something down in it.

  “Mmm-hmm,” he mused caustically.

  A feeling of dread flooded through Sylvia and she tried to go to her daughter. This time the constable stepped into her path and grabbed her arm.

  “No,” she hissed.

  “Right!” Bytes announced dispassionately. “This one and…”

  He looked at the doctor beside Flaherty, waiting for his suggestion.

  The doctor pointed at Albert, who was trembling beside Bobby.

  Without even hearing the words, Sylvia knew instinctively what was about to happen. She had heard stories of others further afield who had come to the attention of the Aborigines Protection Board.

  Her heart was in her mouth as time seemed to slow to a crawl.

  “You can’t!” Sylvia screamed as Bytes grabbed Virginia’s arm once more and delivered her into the hands of the second constable—Barry.

  “What are you doing?!” Mrs. Stinson implored furiously as the constable lead Virginia to Bytes’ car.

  “Mum!” Virginia squealed, petrified as she was led away.

  “I’m taking these children into protective custody so we can examine them further down in Adelaide. Clearly there is evidence here of illness and neglect. We will decide whether they will be returned or not.”

  As Bytes’ colleague moved to round up Albert, Bobby stepped forward, shielding him from the bureaucrat.

  “Don’t be a bloody black fool,” the bureaucrat spat, pushing Bobby out of the way.

  Bobby retaliated, balling his hand into a fist and whipping it up viciously, catching the bureaucrat with a blow to his chest.

  Immediately, the second constable launched into action and he pounced on Bobby while the stricken man collapsed to the road, the wind having been sucked from his lungs. Bytes himself lurched forward and grabbed Albert with the help of the government doctor and Flaherty.

  Sylvia launched herself at the car, where Virginia had been deposited into the back seat.

  Her heart pounded noisily in her head.

  This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening!

  The terrified child screamed and bashed at the window with her fist while the police constable subdued Sylvia and prevented her from getting any closer to the car.

  Bytes and the two doctors, who all had a firm grip on the kicking and screaming Albert, quickly carried him to the vehicle and tossed him inside on the opposite side.

  Mrs. Stinson was impotent with rage.

  “How can you do this!? That child’s father is serving this country!”

  Bytes simply shook his head as he rounded the rear of the car and went over to check on his winded colleague.

  “He’ll be notified…if we decide to do so.”

  The pair of police constables shielded the car while Mrs. Stinson rushed to Sylvia’s side, gathering her in her arms as Sylvia’s legs went to jelly and she collapsed to the roadway, wailing hysterically. Mrs. Stinson cradled her as she glared at Constable Barry with disgust.

  “What have you done!?”

  Bytes assisted his colleague to the car, set him inside then quickly got into the driver’s side and started the engine. The constables fell back to their own vehicle while the doctor signalled to Flaherty, who was standing off to one side and appeared shell shocked.

  Inside the car, Virginia continued to scream and punch at the glass while Albert sobbed and sobbed, kicking at the passenger door. As the car pulled away from the curb, both children huddled together, wrapping their arms around each other. All at once they fell strangely silent.

  Sylvia desperately, frantically reached out with her hand toward the car as it pulled away from her.

  “Noooo!” she wailed.
/>   All three vehicles executed a full turn in the middle of the township then accelerated away from where they had come.

  Though she was too young to comprehend the full gravity of what had just happened, Virginia Crammond knew in the depths of her soul that she would never see her mother again.

  Chapter 2

  Present Day

  A bitumen street, pocked with craters. A road-way neglected. Nature strips adorned with yellowing and dying vegetation. Gardens drab and straggly. There are trees and bushes but they are dark—lacking flowers, lacking colour. Lawns are either overgrown or non-existent. The hulk of a car sits on blocks in one yard—it has not seen a road in years. Stinking refuse piles up in another yard, a cornucopia of household rubbish, food scraps, an abandoned mattress, pieces of furniture. It is a haven for feral cats who rifle through it looking for mice or rats which exist in plentiful supply. Death metal music blasts from a window somewhere nearby; an oppressive, depressing maelstrom that could hardly be described as music. Not that anyone here would care. No one is prepared to confront the owner of it.

  Red brick, semi detached commission houses stand in various states of disrepair. They lack any individuality; well, save for one or two…which strangely enough, appear to be reasonably well cared for. In the main, however, none of these houses are owned – they are tenanted, and no one here has any particular predilection toward pride of place.

  This place…

  Commission housing. Government accommodation provided to those who could least afford it. This place could best be described as a ghetto but no one would dare utter that term aloud. It was hard to think of it as anything else.

  Here, in the northern suburban fringe of Adelaide, South Australia, the poky little houses lining the street were, at their most basic, a roof over one’s head, but little more. Where the red brick housing of the older design and build provided a little more warmth and comfort, the newer cinder block homes were draughty, cold and chronically damp. Again though, no one cared much. At the very least, it was shelter. Gratitude was expected in such circumstances.

  It wasn’t always this way. In the post war boom, when the suburb was conceived and built, heavy industry was the epicentre of the community. It was a place of modest prosperity. Everyone had a job, a car, a family, a measure of security. There was a sense of pride and optimism.