True Country Read online

  This time Sebastian nodded, but he was disappointed. Billy didn’t believe that Sebastian could guarantee who would use the motor and how they would treat it. Billy couldn’t bring himself to trust Sebastian or his boys to look after his motor.

  ‘You come. Your motor, my boat. We look for some turtle together, eh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes.’ Sebastian nodded vigorously. ‘Tomorrow, you pick me up at my place. I’ll wait on the road, you know, up from my place?’

  Liz came with them. Sebastian’s wife, Victoria, came also. Sebastian had his harpoon, knife, a plastic container of water. Then Milton climbed in the back of the utility, and then Beatrice, and Jimmy...

  ‘Shit,’ said Liz, ‘how many more?’

  ‘Eh, Sebastian, that’s it then?’

  Sebastian, Billy, Liz and Milton went in the dinghy. Victoria, Beatrice, and a disappointed Jimmy stayed on the beach.

  They followed the coast, the small outboard motor working hard to push the aluminium dinghy with four adults aboard.

  Milton looked at his father, then stood at the bow. He stood on the front thwart with his harpoon in hand. The harpoon was a long thin piece of wood, like a spear. It had a metal tip to which was tied a long length of strong rope.

  Milton moved so that he had one foot each side of the point of the vee formed by the bow and was standing on the gunnels. His weight forced the bow down. He stood tall and surveyed the ocean around him, adjusting the balance of the harpoon in his hand as he did so.

  ‘Go slow, just creep.’ Sebastian repeated his statement with a gesture of his shaking hand. Billy decided to watch the hand, which also indicated the direction they were to go in. Sebastian was concentrating on the surface of the ocean around him now that he had, by reference to the ocean floor and to landmarks, found the point from which they started the hunt in earnest.

  ‘This bottom, see? Turtle like near this rock, crabs too, big ones, for tucker.’

  They followed the coast, the great rocks standing in the deep blue sea, and the red beaches, white beaches, between them. The motor droned, the ocean lapped at the aluminium hull. The sea shifted, glinted, winked in the powerful sunlight.

  ‘There! See him?’ Sebastian whispered tightly. ‘That way.’

  Billy steered the boat in the direction indicated by Sebastian’s pointing hand. Milton’s toes gripped the gunnels. ‘Shh. Slow.’ Billy and Liz hadn’t seen anything. There was a shape, like coral moving, a few metres before them to port. Milton went up on his toes and launched himself with the harpoon. Almost as he hit the water Sebastian sat back with a grunt. Milton surfaced, spluttering. An embarrassed grin twisted his face as he pulled himself in over the bow, almost nosediving the craft as he did so. ‘Missed him,’ said Billy, pointlessly.

  They retrieved the harpoon. The tip was bent and they spent some time on the shore hammering it back into shape with a small boulder.

  They continued. It was warm even on the ocean, and with the steady rhythm of the motor, soporific. Milton remained precariously balanced at the bow, and Sebastian sat in his slouched way, as if folding in on himself, but with his eyes alert and shifting. He was not shaking. He was ... was it him, humming? Billy kept an eye on the two of them for a sign, and Liz gazed into the deep, changing blues of the ocean. Here and there birds gathered where stricken bait fish were herded to the surface. The birds squawked, and fell, picking off the small fish.

  Milton dived a second time and Billy saw the harpoon, saw the harpoon accelerating away from them at an angle to the surface of the water. The rope was uncoiling and springing out of the boat. Sebastian clutched at the rope, and Milton, having leapt from the water like a dolphin and become man again once in the dinghy, held it firmly, and went to haul it in. The rope went limp.

  The next time Billy saw the turtle first. Its head popped from the surface, suddenly, not twenty metres to their right. Billy hissed and swung the boat slowly that way. Its face seemed to register surprise. Liz said afterwards, ‘Like ET, or an old man.’ Milton dived, and they saw the rope snaking out as if it wanted to escape them. Billy cut the motor on Sebastian’s command and watched as Milton and Sebastian held the rope, and strained. The bow swung around and pointed along the rope to the turtle. They began hauling it in.

  The turtle was alongside. Billy helped, but it was too heavy to get aboard. The boat would capsize. Sebastian and Milton held it and Billy steered for a nearby beach. They went very slowly, for the dinghy was leaning heavily to the turtle’s side where the two men held it, and the gunnel was only centimetres from the water. It was difficult to retain a grip on the turtle.

  With the boat supported by the sand the three men managed to haul the turtle on board. It was heavy, and its skin had an almost human texture; thicker, and more leathery to be sure, but still it felt like an old person’s skin. Billy thought he would like to taste its flesh.

  Billy stuck his knife into it once or twice, around its throat, and it waved its head and legs about. ‘Kill it! Kill it properly, don’t be cruel.’ Liz yelled at them and pushed Billy. Milton and Sebastian looked bemused. Billy sawed his blunt knife across the animal’s throat a few times. Dark blood spurted, and thick tendons and veins were exposed. ‘Yes, that it, kill it,’ said Sebastian, and he rubbed his hands together.

  They motored back to the beach where they had left the others. They sat very low in the water. The wind was up now, and the small wind waves broke around the bow and splashed them. Once or twice the dinghy, with so much weight at the bow, wallowed, and seemed about to dive into the depths. Milton moved as far back as he was able and they continued even more slowly.

  Billy was unsure of which beach they had departed from, but he saw the black shapes of the children by the water’s edge, and then the vehicle. It took forever to reach them.

  Jimmy and Beatrice ran into the shallows and grabbed the bow as they beached. Victoria ambled down from the shade of the trees behind the dunes. Billy and Sebastian dragged the turtle up the beach on its back. Its limbs continued to twitch. The children poked at it, and kicked it. Victoria smiled. ‘Big one, eh? Good one.’

  ‘What do you want, eat it here, on this beach, or go back to camp? You tell us, it might be too hot for you maybe. We want you to be happy.’ Sebastian asked them. They hesitated. Everyone packed up the gear. They left the dinghy upside down in the dunes.

  Crossing a creek on the way back they saw a large goanna. It raised itself and raced from the creek bed. In the rear-vision mirror Billy saw Sebastian mouth one word. The goanna stopped. All those in the back of the utility began laughing and, as Billy accelerated out of the creek bed, the goanna was released into motion.

  Sebastian asked them to drop him off a few kilometres before the camp. ‘We not get enough for us ourselves if we eat this one back there,’ he said. They rolled the turtle off the back of the ute and it fell where the fire would be. Milton pursed his lips and held two fingers out to his father. Sebastian put a cigarette between them. The two younger children stayed with Sebastian and Victoria, but Milton came back into the camp with them to tell some of the others to come out for a feed. They dropped him outside one of the huts, and he waved goodbye over his shoulder as he walked in the front entrance.

  ‘Could’ve said thanks, don’t you think? It wouldn’t have put him out or anything,’ said Liz. ‘Sebastian did, that’s the difference between the old ones and the young. They just take you for granted.’

  ‘Yeah. Shall we go back out there in a while, see how it’s going?’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Have a taste.’

  ‘Yuk. No! You go if you want.’

  Her skin burnt, her flaming hair dry and crackling, and turtle blood spattered all over her.

  They Drink

  Sister Therese she run the health clinic. She the young one from Spain, or Philippines, maybe. Nice little lady, bit hard to understand but. You see? There’s all sorts of language spoken in Karnama. Spanish, Spanish English, Philippine Spanish, P
hilippine English, Aboriginal languages, Aboriginal English, Australian English, Government English, Politician English. And more. Got them all nearly.

  Sister used to stay over there all the time then, at that health clinic, maybe because it was air-conditioned, and all with new sinks and toilets and fridges and taps and that. Close for emergencies also.

  One night Sister rang the mission. We only had phones in Karnama a little time then. She was frightened. Murray he could hear it in her voice as soon as she spoke.

  ‘Murray, please can you come? There’s drunken men outside the clinic. Shouting out and calling my name. They cannot even hardly stand up.’

  Murray tell her: ‘You’ll be right Sister, they won’t come in, you’ve got good locks. Anyway, I make it policy to have nothing to do with drunken Aborigines.’

  But Sister Therese was frightened. ‘It’s not Aborigines. It’s the builders.’

  They were too drunk. This was not work day, see, and they been drinking long time. All the people were watching them, laughing. It was funny really. Kids copied them, staggering and talking lazy like. Father Paul and Murray went over there pretending they was just driving. They joked with the drunk men and got them over to mission with them.

  It’s no good having people like that in Karnama. They stay over behind mission workshop away from the people. They came to build houses but don’t let the young men work with them. They look at the women, part laughing and part hungry. They bring too much beer with them.

  Every night they drink until have to fall asleep. We know. Some of the women go over there. They say to them, ‘Hey, come over to our camp. We can play cards too. Have some tucker, maybe a little drink.’ Eva went over there, Araselli too, even with the baby in her. Milton’s wife, Annie, she went there too. And even some of the women who have lots of kids. We know, and people talked about it.

  Everyone know they had drinks there. They sell beer to some of the men. Too much money. And then we had drunken people shouting and fighting and too much noise at night.

  And two times some of the people—it was Raphael—sneak over there in the daytime when they were working and empty their freezers. Took all their beer, everything. They came back and opened the fridge, and saw nothing. Nothing. Just emptiness.

  They got wild. They told Gerrard about it, and they tell Father Paul too. We were wild too, but not because they were. They shouldn’t have grog here, not if we don’t want them to. The council made a letter like this:

  From now on

  No grog in Karnama

  By Plane by overland By any whatever

  The Karnama Aboriginal Corporation Land

  is now a dry area

  ANYONE breaking this council rule

  Will be Punished

  Mission or other workers found Drinking

  on Aboriginal land will also be Punished

  No vehicles car ETC will move

  Around Karnama after sundown

  Unless for emergencies

  Chairman and council

  But who took any notice? Moses and some other councillors, they drink themselves. But they don’t go silly like these young blokes.

  We don’t like the grog, really. It’s no good for us. We don’t like it. Them young ones, they get drunk, they want to fight. They get a car and think they’re like in a video. One day someone get killed, a kid maybe. They drunk they hit wives, fight with other blokes, go after their rumbud. They don’t listen.

  One young bloke grab Fatima, he’s supposed to be her rumbud and not look at her even. He grabbed her and push her away when she tried to stop them fighting. One day maybe someone just lay her out, rumbud or no rumbud.

  Some of the young ones, still at school even, some of them like that too. Drinking and that. Young Deslie, he was standing in the road turning around and around and yelling out. Sebastian sang out to him from down near the school. He didn’t hear, he didn’t listen. And Franny, that dreamy one, drunk and fall asleep, sleeping in his own vomit.

  When Father Pujol was here it was better. We didn’t have so many Toyotas maybe, but now only chairman’s mob get them anyway. No one fight then, no drink anyway. He warned you once, twice, then he made you leave, throw you out of the place. Especially if it was a white bloke causing trouble. But there wasn’t so many white blokes then either. Just mission and couple of teachers.

  Tell us, we learned anything from white man yet? Nowadays people make a mistake. Maybe tired. Little by little Aborigine going down. Drinking and dying. Making circles, littler and more little. We don’t like looking, and seeing it that way. We want to fly up again.

  They can’t forget about our roots, they can’t leave behind and go to the whiteman roots. That no good.

  Our time, we never see all these things. When early people was alive, in their own land, we never see such things. When we were little children, when we grow big, all our life we see things get all mixed. We see wrong things for our people, so far for the Aborigine the gardiya make trouble. Grog, money, everything.

  So. What we gunna do? We can only do, we can only say. They can listen to us. They can believe us, what we say and what we tell them.

  That’s all we say. That’s what we ask.

  That’s what Billy should write down and show those kids.

  Fun and Games

  Gerrard moved into the clinic accommodation when Sister Therese moved back to the convent with the other Sisters. She didn’t like being on her own and so close to all the drunks. Gerrard set up his exercise bicycle in front of his video recorder and pedalled away in the morning before he went to the office and in the afternoon before he had dinner. The house was the only one in Karnama with ducted air-conditioning, so he didn’t get too hot and he sweated less doing his exercise than he did just sitting in the corrugated iron office during the day.

  One evening he invited Billy and Liz over for a meal. He liked food and he liked cooking. They took beer with them, and he opened a bottle of wine. He had wine flown in by the crate. Billy, Liz, and the wine breathed, and Gerrard spoke rapidly over his shoulder as he stir-fried.

  He hoped his wife would be able to join him within a couple of weeks, now that he had this place. He didn’t think she’d be able to take the heat and, well, the environment generally.

  After the meal they played Scrabble. Gerrard told them of the plans he had for getting the community to begin operating small enterprises, so they wouldn’t be relying on hand-outs. And they’d come to understand things like reward for effort. ‘But the problem is they get good money for doing nothing, so, you know, why bother?’

  Gerrard started the game. He told them he didn’t play much, but that his wife liked to when they lived in places like this. His first word: BLACK.

  ‘Topical, Gerrard, but not a big scorer. Eighteen.’

  The next word. MAGIC. Gerrard roared with laughter.

  ‘Still relevant! Twenty. You been earbashed yet about the blackmagic?’ He made one word of two, said it slowly, staring at them dramatically. Then he rolled his eyes. ‘Amazing. They’re even frightened of the dark. They’ve concocted some superstitious mix of primitive church; you know, devils, the angel Gabriel’s feathers, fire and brimstone; and bits of their own old voodoo stuff.’

  BEGIN. ‘Ten.’

  ‘I haven’t played this much,’ said Billy. ‘I don’t play much, not, like, games I mean.’

  Gerrard snorted. ‘C’mon, you’re a teacher aren’t you? Hey, aren’t you a bit of a writer? So I hear. You should be a whiz!’ But he wasn’t. Gerrard played well, using the board like a map to collect the treasures of triple scores. Liz was competitive. Billy lagged behind. And he was drinking too much, the wine confused him.

  ‘Nice wine? I like this drop,’ said Gerrard. ‘Half a bottle a night with dinner. A little more allowed on weekends. Disciplined drinking is vital to good digestion. One of life’s pleasures. Moderate drinking, everything in moderation ... Hey what about this?’

  VIVANT.

  ‘Piss off, Ge
rrard. English only.’

  ‘Okay then.’

  VELVET.

  Gerrard smirked. ‘Look at these words. BLACK, VELVET. Billy had GIN in BEGIN. What are we thinking of?’ And he studied his new letters carefully. Liz showed annoyance in her glance at Billy.

  The door slid open. The dark, warm air rushed in. It was Moses. He stood at the door, one bare foot inside the room, the other out. They could smell him.

  ‘You got something to mix? Ginger ale, Coke, something like that?’

  Gerrard laughed and gave him half a large bottle of lemonade. ‘Don’t drink too much Moses, you need to be on deck in the morning.’

  Gerrard told them that Moses and a couple of the other council members drank pretty well every night. ‘They do it properly though. You know, quiet. Just with the family. Don’t bother anyone. They know how to drink.

  ‘You know I’ve bought a bus?’ He suddenly changed the topic. ‘For the community to use.

  ‘The kids, the old people, hardly ever get to go out. It’s mostly just Moses and those with him; his sons, his family.

  ‘Some of Samson’s mob, of course, once he gets that new vehicle for the ranger’s job. You seen it? Lovely. Airconditioning. Wonder how long before that’s wrecked. But the others, specially the old ones and the little kids, they hardly ever get to go out to the beach on the weekends, or anywhere, and they love that, you know.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Liz, ‘don’t we know it. It’s hard enough to get past them when we go out ourselves. You could end up with everyone with you if you didn’t say no.’

  ‘Can’t a roster be worked out for the community vehicles?’ asked Billy.

  ‘Not easily. Use of the vehicles seems to be a perk of being chairman, or a council member. I’m not gunna rock the boat on that one.’

  ‘That’s what they’ve learnt quickest, from us,’ said Liz. ‘Perks, privilege...’