Gifts of the Peramangk

by Dean Mayes

  Despite the hidden abuse she endured, Virginia had become a popular part of the domestic staff. She had even broken through the once impenetrable exterior of the head housekeeper, Mrs. Finchner, and had become quite friendly with her. But while Virginia valued these friendships, she remained the painfully quiet young girl she had always been and rarely spoke unless prompted. She also remained a solitary figure, preferring her own company – or that of her canine counterpart.

  It was a protective measure, because she had come to recognise that people came and went with increasing frequency and she learned that getting close to people was emotionally painful. She felt this most acutely when Deliah left the farm once she had turned eighteen and had moved away from district entirely. No one knew where Deliah had gone – not even Agatha Penschey. It was information known only to the Pastoralist himself. The Pastoralist hadn’t replaced her either. Marjorie had been moved to other quarters and thus Virginia found herself living in the out house alone. There, she continued to eat, sleep, live and contemplate her circumstance, to despair the life she had lost and endure the life she had now.

  That life, for Virginia at least, had been made less arduous and more meaningful – thanks to her continued friendship with Agatha Penschey.

  On Agatha’s instructions, the out house was given a fresh coat of paint; a timber floor had been installed inside by a couple of the farm hands as well as a larger window which allowed generous sunlight into the once dark and dingy room. Agatha supplied Virginia with some material with which to sew some curtains and she brought in some additional furniture for the out house—a small table and chairs, a wardrobe for her clothes and a desk so she could continue studying under Agatha’s guidance.

  All of this – apart from the external renovations to the out house—was achieved without the Pastoralist’s knowledge. He remained as cold and unfeeling toward Virginia as he had from the moment she had been dragged from the trailer of the utility as an eight year old. He continued to mete out occasional punishment for trifling infractions, though these episodes were fewer and farther between as she’d grown older – mainly because she had learned to avoid them through her disciplined approach to her work but also because she was largely protected from him by Agatha, Mrs. Finchner and a handful of the staff who were brave enough to stand up to him.

  Within the confines of the parlour, Virginia’s violin lessons with Agatha Penschey continued.

  Virginia had progressed from the hesitant, struggling student to a violinist of exquisite skill and poise. Together, Agatha and Virginia journeyed through the entirety of Agatha’s musical collection and her years of experience, to which Virginia became expert and they sought out new compositions to sustain Virginia’s skill. There was little that Virginia could not master. Her ability to grasp a piece of music was now far advanced beyond even Agatha herself and Agatha marvelled at the prodigious talent of her student. Virginia’s memory was photographic and she could expertly play a sheet of music she had never encountered before within an hour of studying it through.

  Agatha Penschey began to talk about the ramifications of Virginia’s talent and she wondered whether there was a way that she could release Virginia from her life as a domestic servant so that she could be introduced to the most prestigious music schools in the country – the Sydney Conservatory Of Music, The Melbourne Conservatorium, even Adelaide’s Elder Conservatorium. Agatha’s enthusiasm in the possibilities and her belief in Virginia appeared absolute. But the concept was more than Virginia could ever hope to attain and she baulked at the suggestion.

  Virginia was astute enough to know that none of these institutions would ever consider an Aboriginal student and she also knew that the Pastoralist would never release her from her servitude before she was 18. Virginia felt uncomfortable whenever Agatha began talking about it.

  The station was the only place Virginia knew. She hadn’t left its confines in nearly a decade, so the very thought of leaving it was too much for her to bear. Despite her circumstance, Virginia felt a sense of comfort in her service, the accompaniment and companionship of Simon the dog and, most importantly, in the secret lessons with Agatha Penschey and the gift of the violin she had given to Virginia. The thought of jeopardising that by way of revealing the true nature of their friendship to the Pastoralist was too much for Virginia to consider.

  It was perhaps the only significant disagreement between Agatha and Virginia. Though she despaired privately that she could not change things, Agatha came to understand Virginia’s point of view.

  Their Tuesday lessons continued and for those precious hours each week, Virginia and Agatha revelled in the beauty of music. It nurtured their friendship. Agatha introduced Virginia to one of her other favoured pursuits – that of photography—and whenever they could, under the guise of Virginia’s work, Agatha took Virginia out on horseback to take photographs of the farm, the wild life that lived in abundance there and she encouraged Virginia to master the ‘box brownie’ camera herself. It was another skill that Virginia took to readily and before long, she was taking her own, impressive images of the world in which she lived.

  It was the conversations with Agatha Penschey that Virginia most enjoyed. They conversed about all manner of subjects and, despite Virginia’s own fears about the world outside, Agatha maintained an open window upon it, stimulating Virginia’s interest in life beyond her confines. Agatha was fond of talking about the faraway places where she had been raised and lived and visited before settling in Australia and coming to the station. She spoke of how she had embraced learning from a very young age and how music had inspired her to learn as it had done with Virginia. The violin, it was clear, had been such a strong influence in Agatha Penschey’s life.

  And within those conversations, Virginia became aware of something about Agatha Penschey that she hadn’t previously considered.

  It was an acute sadness.

  Aside from the time they spent together here in the parlour, Agatha Penschey’s happiness only occasionally flickered whenever she was speaking of her life before coming to the station. The realisation dawned upon Virginia that she’d rarely seen Agatha Penschey smile at any other time.

  Of the few occasions that Virginia had witnessed the Pastoralist and his wife together, Virginia couldn’t remember ever seeing them talking to one another or interacting in the way a husband and wife were supposed to. In fact, there seemed to be a coldness between them whenever they were in each other’s presence. Virginia reasoned that it was appropriate for the Pastoralist to maintain such a demeanour with the workers on his farm, including herself—but not with his own wife.

  It began to play on Virginia for some time until one afternoon, Virginia surprised herself by asking the question of Agatha Penschey.

  “How did you and Boss meet?”

  Agatha blinked, surprised by the question, not necessarily because of the nature of the question itself but more for the fact that Virginia had ventured to ask a question of her at all.

  Agatha Penschey raised the delicate china cup by the handle toward her lips and sipped quietly, considering her answer.

  “It was…during the war,” Mrs. Penschey responded in her softly accented voice. “He was stationed in Paris toward the end of the conflict in Europe, after Hitler had been defeated. He was an officer…such a dashing one at that. I had been studying in Paris and had met him at a club where I was working.”

  She paused, recalling the memory with a wistful but sad smile.

  “He caught my attention from the moment we met,” she recalled. “And very soon, we fell in love. We were married by the sea at a place called Cherbourg. He brought me here after we were married and—well—here we are.”

  Agatha Penschey faltered on that last sentence and her expression faded, which didn’t escape Virginia’s notice but she didn’t respond to it.

  Instead, Virginia reclined on the sofa by the window; her gaze was drawn outward and over the fields beyond. A tractor meandered lazily through the padd
ock where two men unloaded bales of hay from a trailer to an eager flock of sheep who followed after the tractor.

  “My dad was a soldier,” Virginia said simply.

  She instantly bit the inside of her lip hard as an unexpected font of emotion bubbled up.

  Agatha Penschey sat up straighter in her chair. Virginia had rarely spoken about her life before coming here – not since that first occasion where she had revealed that her family was still very much alive. Agatha had since avoided raising it with Virginia nor giving it any consideration.

  “I…y-you,” she stammered, searching for her voice. Agatha stopped herself after several moments and cleared her throat as a single question coalesced in her mind.

  “Where?” she asked, setting her tea cup down.

  “Korea,” Virginia answered with equal simplicity. She sipped her tea from her own cup and scratched Simon behind his ear, before continuing. “He had been serving since the first troops went across. He wrote my mother and I as often as he could up until just before I was taken from her. His letters stopped just as his unit were about to participate in a big fight there.”

  Agatha quickly searched her mind for the year that Virginia arrived, recalling that it was early in 1951.

  “Was it the Battle of Kapyong?” Agatha asked.

  Virginia shrugged.

  “Don’t know. I was too young to know anything much then and…I’ve never been able to find out since. I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead.”

  The familiar pangs of guilt gouged Agatha Penschey and she gazed at Virginia with profound and unspoken sorrow. Virginia’s young life had been so disrupted and Agatha knew that there was little information that had been given to her husband about Virginia when she first came here. The Aborigines Protectorate Office rarely supplied any information beyond a child’s vital statistics. But, Agatha surmised, that wasn’t to say that there wasn’t a means of finding out.

  Virginia cradled Simon’s head in her lap and stroked his ear gently as she continued to sip her tea.

  “What if I could find out for you?”

  Virginia turned her head toward Agatha; her eyes going wide.

  “How?” she asked. “I don’t think they even keep any records on Aboriginal soldiers. They’re not considered—people—in the eyes of the Forces.”

  Agatha lifted her own cup once more and sipped thoughtfully.

  “There are means of finding information—if you know where to begin looking.”

  “I don’t know,” Virginia hesitated, biting the inside of her lip nervously.

  This was the first time anyone ever broached the subject of finding out information about Virginia’s past. It wasn’t something she herself could ever achieve on her own.

  “What about Boss?” Virginia asked.

  Agatha straightened herself and flashed a defiant smile.

  “He doesn’t have to know. I can make some inquiries without his permission.”

  Virginia shifted uncomfortably and sat forward, her tea cup rattling precariously on the saucer. She could see that Agatha’s mind was working furiously.

  “I don’t want to get into any trouble,” Virginia said.

  Agatha held up her hand and waved her concerns away.

  “Look, don’t you worry about my husband. Virginia—I have wrestled with the notion of you girls coming here in the capacity that you have for years. Deliah was an orphan and Marjorie, like you, was taken from her family and forbidden to have any contact with them ever again. I have hated knowing that you were torn from your mother and I have been powerless to do anything about it. Well, no more.”

  Agatha stood from her chair and paced with her hands on her hips.

  “I am going to find out about your family, your mother and your father and—if I can—I am going to make contact with them. Let them know where you are.”

  Virginia couldn’t believe what she was hearing and she gazed up at Agatha with a look of surprise. Unbeknown to her, her lips had curled upward in a faint smile.

  Agatha nodded confidently.

  “I will do this, Virginia – no matter how long it takes. I will do it. And I will give you back your past.”

  Chapter 17

  Khalili and Ruby developed a partnership as teacher and student that was unlike anything either one had experienced before.

  For Ruby, Khalili’s teaching method, though not too dissimilar to her grandmother’s, was far and away more intensive and focused. Where Virginia had begun to falter with her declining health and memory, Khalili was able to tap into the style of her teaching method through watching how Ruby performed and take it forward in such a way that, for Ruby, felt new and vibrant.

  Khalili, who had lived and breathed the violin for over half a century, had never encountered a soloist with such raw talent as Ruby. It seemed there was nothing she could not do, no challenge she could not overcome. He believed without a doubt that Ruby was a prodigy, possessed of an incredible gift that deserved to be nurtured. But he had to be careful in doing so.

  As their lessons continued, Ruby’s talent was attracting increasing numbers of people to the hall who had heard about this young Aboriginal prodigy and were keen to see her play.

  Though it wasn’t uncommon for people to watch rehearsals and lessons in the hall—and he tolerated it in the beginning—Khalili became concerned by the growing interest and began taking steps to protect her from it. He was shrewd enough to realise that there was a certain novelty factor in Ruby that could be construed in an unfavourable light by the faculty who, to date, remained unaware of her.

  Or so he thought.

  In a quiet corner of the grounds just outside the hall, Russ—the security guard who had originally found Ruby in the garden by the window—was pacing back and forth impatiently, holding a cigarette down low beside him, stealing puffs from it as he waited. Frequently, he checked his watch and cast a scanning eye across the grounds toward the street, then cursed.

  He didn’t see the person he was looking for.

  As he turned and began pacing back in the other direction, Russ looked ahead of him to see a pretty young blonde hurrying toward him. She was accompanied by a young man carrying a compact digital video camera in one hand and balancing an equipment bag that hung off one shoulder.

  The television reporter approached with an apologetic look on her face and Russ immediately shepherded them into an alcove flanking the hall.

  “Christ, you took long enough, Dimity,” he complained.

  “We got held up in traffic and Blake couldn’t find a park,” the reporter, Dimity explained in a harassed voice, glancing over Russ’ shoulder to the door behind him. “Is she in there?”

  Russ nodded then gestured toward the rear of the hall.

  “I’ll take you in the rear entrance and you can blend in up the back of the seats.”

  Dimity nodded and looked to her cameraman, Blake.

  “Good. Are you set?”

  Blake nodded once and held up his camera, which was switched on and ready to go.

  “Right. Let’s do this.”

  Adjusting her tight fitting skirt, Dimity was about to walk in the direction Russ had indicated when he tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Hang on,” he said then gestured with his hand in a ‘hand it over’ sign.

  Dimity flashed Russ a lop-sided frown then reached into her handbag, taking out a crisp hundred dollar bill.

  “You’re a prick, you know that?” she scowled half seriously as Russ eagerly snatched the bill from her outstretched hand.

  “Yep,” he quipped with a sardonic grin as she turned away from him and headed in the direction he had previously indicated.

  Russ took a moment to appreciate Dimity’s taut behind and her curvy hips before following.

  At the entrance, Russ opened the door for them and ushered them through.

  “Now remember,” he whispered in a warning tone. “We never spoke about this. You’re on your own from here—okay?”

  Dimit
y flashed him a sarcastic look as she passed him.

  “Thank you,” she said in a syrupy voice. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Yeah, righto.”

  Russ closed the door behind them, shaking his head as he walked away.

  Dimity and Blake scanned the auditorium and, upon finding a row of seating about half way down, they discreetly made for a pair of empty seats spaced just away from a group of people, where Blake had a clear line of sight to the stage.

  The girl was there, just as Russ had confirmed and she was in the middle of discussing something with an older man.

  The teacher, Dimity supposed.

  As Dimity settled into her seat, she nudged Blake with a barely contained look of excitement.

  “This is gonna be golden,” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” Blake replied with a scowl as he prepared his camera. “So long as we don’t get caught.”

  Apparently her little crack about him not being able to find a park earlier had stung him.

  “Oh there, there,” Dimity needled him relentlessly. “I’ll buy you a beer after.”

  Blake got his camera ready, signalling for Dimity to be quiet, then he began filming.

  Ruby raised her violin and began playing the composition she and Khalili been discussing—a portion of Mendelssohn’s Concerto for Violin and Piano in E Minor. Khalili sat at a grand piano, accompanying Ruby while she effortlessly kept pace with him, bobbing her head in time with the music. Khalili would stop in mid performance and lean across to make several subtle adjustments to her positioning of the instrument in her hand, to which Ruby rolled her eyes but she smiled, maintaining the position he had manoeuvred her into.

  Dimity and Blake watched on, absorbed by what they were witnessing on the stage. The child played like a professional, like somebody much older, her teacher playing the piano beautifully. She was indeed just as Russ had told her—a wunderkind, a prodigy.

  “We’ve struck gold,” Dimity whispered to Blake excitedly. Blake nodded, continuing to film for a few minutes until he was satisfied that he had gotten enough footage. Then he closed down the camera.