by Jack Dey
“Davis! The boss wants to see you.”
“O..ok!”
The boy pushed the door open to Mason’s office, his face still red from the heat of the furnace and hair wet with sweat, which ran down onto his soaked leather apron.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, come in, Davis. I have noticed that you have outpaced some of the men and you have increased the output from the tempering area. You show great promise, boy, so I am taking you off the floor and putting you into the office. I will train you on the business side of things.”
Panic showed on the boy’s face. “I..I have no schooling, sir, and I can’t read or write.”
Mason remained stone faced and the boy found it hard to read what the old man was thinking.
“I will teach you all you need to know. The rest is up to you. If you are not the young man I think you are and if you can’t learn the business after three months, then you can go back into the tempering area.”
Mason saw the relief flash across the boy’s face.
“Thank you for the opportunity, sir. I will do my best.”
Mason smiled and then dismissed the boy to his work. Watching him walk back to his area, Mason’s thoughts tantalised his mind.
Indeed you will, boy. Indeed you will.
Mason’s tutelage was exhaustive and he showed Ken all the dubious business angles designed to trip up his competition; how to haggle for contracts and come out with the better end of the deal; how to read the rival’s face while keeping his own face emotionless and never giving anything away while he was dealing. Every deal Mason did, Ken was right there learning, taking it all in and if he missed an angle that Mason used in a deal, he would be blasted with vitriol. Ken hated disappointing Mason and would scold himself for every mistake, learning well from his respected mentor, hanging on every word and every action. The speed and skill at which the boy learnt his trade surprised even Mason and he congratulated himself on such a fine prodigy.
Ken Davis had just turned eighteen when he landed Mason a large government contract to manufacture ship parts, a lucrative contract. Every angle Davis had covered, keeping the government negotiators on the back foot and tied up on every point, to Mason’s benefit. As the boy grew into a young man, he became ruthless and Mason prospered from his efforts.
It wasn’t long before Mason introduced his prodigy to the card tables, applying his trade at the gambling houses and walking away with much more than he came in with. Soon the ladies attached themselves to this young mastermind and the good times began in earnest. Davis was too smart to lose his head to alcohol, even though he did indulge in a glass or two. He began to enjoy the pretty things that came with success, position and money.
His family moved into a bigger house, just down the road from the tiny cottage and soon he and his sisters were noticed and sought after, being invited into high society and opening many doors of opportunity. Davis’ blossoming business head was becoming well known and bringing great wealth to Mason. His mother idolised the son who had turned her despair into opportunity and it wasn’t long before gentlemen were calling on her, too.
With all Davis’ success, he still felt empty. He often came home and ambled barefoot down onto the beach and listened to the sea’s soothing beckoning. The gentle swish of the waves on the sandy shore helped him to relax and then his mind would drift back to his father. He sat in the sand and held a conversation, as if he was sitting there with him and then tried to imagine his father’s face in the eye of his memory, but all that would come into his mind was old man Mason.
*~*~*~*
Nine years had passed since starting at the foundry. Davis became restless and bored with the routine and longed to court his elusive mistress, the sea. He had heard a lot about the fortunes being made at the Palmer River gold rush, some one thousand miles north from Brisbane and also at the Torres Strait pearling grounds, 400 miles further north again. It seemed Davis couldn’t lose. Everything he touched turned to gold and now it was time to see how far his abilities reached and where they could take him, building an empire of his own.
Taking passage aboard a newly launched luxury steamer, Davis journeyed into the Torres Strait to experience the boom for himself. The voyage was to take a full week, plenty of time to relax and embrace the beauty and tranquillity of the sea. The steamer was crowded with dignitaries and members of the gentry. Although Davis was accustomed to rubbing shoulders with these high and lofty people, he had no idea of dining protocol. His first thought was to induce the cabin boy to bring him his meals in his lodgings, but this idea would seriously inhibit and trap the enjoyment of being shipboard. Then coming to a quick decision, he decided to hustle his way through and join the elite anyway.
Let them laugh and scoff if they want, he thought.
The head butler led Davis to a table of dignitaries with a vacant seat. The party was already engaged in trivialities, becoming acquainted with the people surrounding them and working out the social order, to whom they should be speaking and to whom they should shun.
The butler cleared his throat and announced with a loud plumb-in-his-mouth voice, “Mister Kenneth Davis!”
The party stopped their conversation and stared at the young gentleman about to join the table, sizing him up to see whether he was worthy of their society. After an awkward few moments, a portly old lady broke the silence.
“Well, sir, do you intend to sit, or do we have to crane our necks all evening?!”
Davis smiled and nodded at the old dowager, then took his seat next to a gentleman in his forties. The gentleman bowed his head and introduced himself.
“I am Robert Jennings.”
*~*~*~*
CHAPTER 4 - MARCH 1855
Nirrimi easily climbed the steep, grassy hill behind her home on Thursday Island and stood peering out across the open sea. From her vantage point, she could gaze in all directions to the horizon, as far as the eye could see. A build up of monsoon cloud hung heavily over the ocean towards the north, back lit by the hot, tropical afternoon sun.
“A storm is coming,” she said quietly to herself, “and it looks like a lot of rain.”
She squinted hard, scouring the empty sea like a light beam from a lighthouse, looking for a sign... anything... anything at all. Nirrimi tried desperately to hold back her emotions. An intense foreboding nagged at her stomach and made her feel nauseous. Then without permission, a renegade tear slipped from her dark eyes down her fine, ebony cheeks and onto her lips.
*~*~*~*
Aunty Rosa was a huge, round, elderly native lady. Before she met Jesus, she would carry around a tree branch, just the right shape and length to assist the young hooligan bucks to learn respect for the community elders. On occasion, when she was challenged by a would-be hero, the tree branch would be applied to the ‘shinier parts’ of the would-be’s proud heritage, while his lesser courageous friends laughed hard from the safety and seclusion of a nearby bush. Aunty Rosa would take a step towards the bush and an explosion of arms, legs and bodies would ricochet in all directions, escaping that dreaded branch.
After her experience face to face with the Lord Jesus, soon after the preacher arrived, she softened and used her enormous reserves of love to inspire wayward juveniles. She was Aunty to all local people, black and white, well known and well loved.
Aunty Rosa’s concern for Nirrimi was growing each day. Like this one, she made frequent visits to the little hut where Nirrimi lived, just down the dirt road from her own hut. She was resting on the porch step when Merinda ran up to her.
“Aunty Rosa, have you seen my Mummy?” Merinda asked.
Aunty Rosa felt a pang of pain. “No, child, but I suspect she has climbed the hills behind us to search again. She will be back soon, I am sure.”
Merinda’s face dropped and she began to cry. Aunty Rosa snatched her up in a huge bear hug and took her inside Nirrimi’s hut, fully aware of the cause of the child’s distress. She held Merinda for a
long while, allowing her to empty the tears and let some love flow into the child’s worried heart.
Through her sobs, Merinda asked, “D..do you think my Daddy is ever coming back?!”
“We can only pray, child. Jesus knows.”
As Nirrimi entered her home, the unexpected sight of Merinda crying, nearly completely covered by Aunty Rosa’s embrace, was too much for Nirrimi. The strong, protective walls she had put up to protect herself, crumbled and the dam of emotions burst. Aunty Rosa drew Nirrimi into her embrace too and they all cried together.
Passion flashed violently through Nirrimi’s mind and she pulled herself away from Aunty Rosa. There was no holding back the tsunami of hurt, now it had been given freedom to enter her thoughts. Sadness, grief, anger, hatred, betrayal and love all fought each other for a place on Nirrimi’s stage. Aunty Rosa was expecting the next scene and braced herself for it.
“I knew that white preacher was bad news when he started talking against our traditional spirits!” Nirrimi said crossly. “All this talk of the white man’s God... and Warrammarra swallowed it. Now look where we are. Warrammarra is dead! I have no husband and Merinda has no father!” Nirrimi broke again and sobbed, deep, broken hearted sobs. “I begged him not to go to our enemies,” she whimpered, “with that white man, to talk of the white man’s God!” She slipped to her knees on the floor, her arms folded across her chest and began rocking back and forth, crying, coughing and sobbing, her back and chest heaving violently as each new wave of grief hit her.
Aunty Rosa put her large hand on Nirrimi’s back and prayed silently for her as she wept. Merinda placed her arms around her mother and prayed silently as well. Nirrimi’s tirade had exhausted her and gradually her sobs subsided. She slipped gently to the floor and curled up in a foetal position, becoming still and fell asleep... exhausted. Carefully, Aunty Rosa picked up Nirrimi and placed her on her bed to sleep, then pulled a light cover over her and took Merinda back to her home. The large woman’s heart was breaking for Nirrimi and Merinda and she began to ask Jesus why.
She felt him gently say, “All in my time, Rosa. All in my time.”
*~*~*~*
The sudden thunderclap woke Nirrimi with a start. Her mind was foggy and her head ached, while the rain teemed down on the roof and it was an effort just to hear her own thoughts. She looked around the familiar room, dazed and disorientated; the happy memories of the years as Warrammarra’s wife teased and mocked her.
He was gone, most probably dead.
It was getting dark and the humidity made it seem as if it was 100 degrees inside. Merinda, she guessed, was safe with Aunty Rosa. Nirrimi washed her face and dried off the tear stains, feeling strangely cold even though it was so hot. She knew Aunty Rosa would insist that she stay with her tonight and the thought brought her great comfort, as she sighed in relief. She peered around again at the familiar surroundings, feeling nauseous. She had to get out of here before the tears started again and the memories started tormenting her heart.
The traditional thatched huts had given way to the wood and tin structures brought with the coming of the Europeans to T.I.. A small percentage of Nirrimi’s people still lived in the traditional huts, but most had changed to the white man’s way because the wood and tin structures didn’t leak in the torrential rains. The preacher had helped build their own one-room place and Aunty Rosa’s dwelling was identical, built by the preacher also.
Nirrimi closed the door to her hut and ran determinedly, dodging large puddles and jumping over others. Aunty Rosa’s hut was only a hundred yards away, but she was soaked by the time she lunged onto the small porch. As usual, Aunty Rosa’s door was wide open, an invitation to visit to anyone passing by. Aunty Rosa met her at the door with a dry blanket and Nirrimi began to dry off.
“Come inside, child, come inside.”
Merinda wrapped herself around her mother’s legs and they both held each other for a long time. She could see Warrammarra’s kind eyes reflected in her daughter’s and she was glad to have such a pleasant memory of him. Nirrimi caught her emotions again, forcing them to stay inside her heart.
Walking into Aunty Rosa’s home was like walking into a smile. It cheered your heart and filled the empty spaces with warmth. On the small table lay an open Bible and judging by the delicious smell coming from the cooker and the plates in the cleaning basin, Merinda had been well taken care of. Nirrimi’s neck and shoulders were a mass of tension, but she knew she had to eat and her stomach began to make overtures, groaning and wanting to meet the delicious smell coming from the cooker.
“Are you hungry, child?” Aunty Rosa enquired.
“Mmm!” Nirrimi said.
“Sit, sit and I will bring you something.”
She placed the steaming meal on the table in front of Nirrimi, kissed her on the forehead and went outside, followed by Merinda. Nirrimi glanced warily at the open Bible as she began to eat, as if it was a snake about to strike at her. She had no idea she was so hungry until she savoured the first mouthful and then the tasty food just seemed to slide down and revitalise her. With each new spoonful she glanced warily at the Bible again, making sure it hadn’t come any closer. Warrammarra had tried to read to her from it, but she had flatly refused. Merinda, however, would sit on her daddy’s knee, mesmerised by every word her father read.
The storm outside had worn itself out and moved on. Merinda was asleep on Aunty Rosa’s lap as she sat on the porch, humming a traditional lullaby and staring at the stars. Nirrimi, having finished her meal, gently picked Merinda up out of Aunty Rosa’s lap. Merinda stirred as Nirrimi took her inside and placed her on a mat on the floor, which had been put down for them both to sleep on. She kissed her daughter, once for herself and once for Warrammarra, gently pulled the thin blanket over her and Merinda slept peacefully.
Nirrimi had never known her mother and for as long as she could remember, Aunty Rosa had been there. It was Aunty Rosa who did all the motherly things and she loved her as her own mother. Nirrimi walked outside again and sat down alongside Aunty Rosa, still staring up at the stars.
Knowing the cultural restrictions, Nirrimi’s curiosity overcame her fear of tradition and taking the opportunity, she nervously asked, “Tell me something about my mother, Aunty.”
Aunty Rosa shifted from her position, staring at the stars. She peered intently at Nirrimi as if coming to a decision. The traditional people never spoke of such things. It was taboo to speak of the dead or even mention their names.
“That is a bad story, child, and such a waste of a dear life,” Aunty finally spoke.
“Please, Aunty!” Nirrimi begged.
Aunty Rosa shifted her position on the wooden porch and took a deep breath, her dark eyes reflecting the starlight.
“It is probably time,” she mused as she spoke, competing with the raucous cicadas, animated by the fresh rain and deepening humidity. Aunty looked for a place to begin and then sighed, clearing her thoughts.
“About thirty years ago, a small band of New Guinean warriors arrived by canoe, unwelcomed onto our island. Your mother loved wandering alone, observing and enjoying the natural creatures and flowers. She was gentle, a lot like you. She happened to be close to where the warriors landed, in a deserted place not many went. They saw her and took her. Eventually, an opportunity came and she broke away from her captors and ran back towards the village. At the same time, one of the warriors shot an arrow into her leg as she tried to escape. Bleeding profusely, she stumbled into the community and collapsed. There was so much outrage among the people at what had been done to her, that our men, armed with spears and clubs, found the intruders and killed them.”
Aunty paused at the horrific memory.
Nirrimi shifted uncomfortably on the porch. “Please go on.”
Aunty Rosa continued, cautiously watching Nirrimi’s reaction, “It wasn’t evident what they had done until you were born, nine months later.”
Nirrimi was stunned. “I am part New Guinean?!”
The shock silenced the two women until Nirrimi whispered, “Did she die giving birth to me?”
“No, child,” Aunty Rosa whispered sadly.
“The day after you were born, a large storm hit the island. Many shelters were wrecked and some of the fishermen were caught out in it and never returned. The people blamed your mother for bringing evil onto the island and upsetting the spirits. According to protocol, the only thing that could appease the angry spirits was a human sacrifice.”
Nirrimi gasped, “My mother?!”
Aunty Rosa nodded, then paused, watching Nirrimi.
Nirrimi struggled to gain composure. “What a day today has been!” she whimpered.
Aunty Rosa closed the story abruptly. ”That’s enough for now, child.”
“No... please go on, Aunty.”
Aunty huffed, closely watching her. “You were left to die, so I took you in. The elders were not happy, but they were not game to come near me and my tree branch.”
Nirrimi giggled and her heart swelled for the wonderful woman sitting across from her. She sidled over and threw her arms around her adoptive mother.
Leaning against Aunty, Nirrimi sadly pondered, “Do you think they were right about the storm and my birth, Aunty?”
Aunty kissed Nirrimi’s forehead. “No, child, your mother died for a lot of superstition. That storm was just a coincidence.”
“What makes you so sure, Aunty?” Nirrimi peered up into her dark eyes.
“I met the white man’s God.”
*~*~*~*
CHAPTER 5 - MARCH 1855
Nirrimi squirmed on the porch and nestled into Aunty. Although the sun had gone, the heat and humidity surrounded them like a damp sheet and the cicadas had faded also. A thousand questions formed in Nirrimi’s mind, only to be chased away by others vying to be heard. Finally, Aunty broke the silence.
