Читать книгу No Turning Back - Roger Rees - Страница 9

2: Aboriginal Influence

Mandy Watson

MEMORIES HAVE A place in one’s thinking. Louise’s time, when she was thirteen, with her Aboriginal friend Mandy Watson in South Australia’s town of Crystal Brook was no exception. Louise remembered the day she first saw Mandy at the town football oval one Saturday afternoon. She was a lively, dark-skinned girl about her own age with shiny brown eyes, who was wearing a bright-coloured dress and seemed to chat with everyone. Louise was intrigued. Mandy skipped along like an excited cockatoo. She was tough, fleeting, rarely in one place or with one friend for long.

Later Louise heard she was known as flippant and a school truant. Mandy didn’t share the conservative country town’s views about the separateness of Aboriginal Australians which, even in early 1970s, was still practised. Mandy’s spirited and often mischievous behaviour led many of her teachers to dislike her. In turn, she took little notice of their advice and direction. During the week when Louise first met Mandy, her brothers Geoff and Alex were staying at the family home at Stirling in the Adelaide Hills.

The sight of Mandy walking jauntily round the oval and the flash of her smile made Louise want to get to know the girl. So she left her grandfather’s car that was parked facing the peeling white oval railings, fastened her anorak tight and headed into the cold breeze. The girls smiled as they came face to face.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Louise.’

‘I like that. Mine’s Mandy. Where do you go to school?’

‘At Stirling, in the Adelaide Hills.’

‘Are you here on holiday then?’

‘Yes, we always come here for holidays.’ Gaining confidence, Louise asked, ‘Do you go to school in Crystal Brook?’

‘Nah, haven’t been to school for weeks. No one can make me go. It’s boring.’

‘What do you do when you don’t go to school?’

‘Hang about, meet boys, do some painting.’ She paused. ‘Most of all I look for wild animals and collect lizards and frogs. Collecting stuff’s good.’ Noticing Louise’s expression, she added, ‘But I don’t keep everything, not live things, I let them go again.’

Louise imagined meeting Mandy’s friends, walking and camping in the bush and patting the soft fur of a joey, or koala. Then with the quick smile which always lit up her face whenever something excited her, she said, ‘I like wild animals. Can you show me some?’

‘Sure – do you want to find some this afternoon? Now?’

‘Yes, if we can, but I’ll tell my granddad what I’m doing.’

‘Okay!’

The girls walked back to Louise’s grandfather’s station wagon. ‘This is Mandy,’ Louise said proudly to her grandfather, who was standing with his footy friends on the edge of the oval. ‘Is it okay if I go for a walk with Mandy?’

‘Oh, hello.’

Her grandfather looked surprised, then said, ‘Yes, but be back at the clubhouse when the game’s over and we can have some of your grandmother’s goodies.’ Louise knew that Grandfather Max Davitt had definite routines that he didn’t like to change. Talking with his mates on Saturday afternoon at the footy was one of them.

The girls wandered away. Mandy suggested they search for lizards in a paddock at the edge of the oval.

‘You’re Aboriginal, aren’t you?’ Louise asked suddenly. She had little idea about Aboriginal Australians, except that they were black and mostly lived in the desert. Meeting Mandy was exciting.

Mandy smiled. ‘Yep, and proud of it.’

‘Have you always lived here?’

‘Not always. Mum and Grandma come from up north at Oodnadatta.’

‘Did you live there?’

‘To begin with, and then mostly with Grandma.’

‘When did you come here?’

‘Last year, when Grandma got sick.’

Louise wanted to ask where her mother and father were and who she lived with in Crystal Brook, but didn’t. She was dazed.

‘Go on,’ Mandy said warmly, ‘ask me all you like and then I’ll ask you where you really come from.’

‘Okay, what does your grandma do?’

Mandy looked puzzled. ‘Grandma paints about the Dreaming. It’s a while since I’ve talked about Grandma’s painting. None of the other kids at the school are interested. I can show you some if you like.’

‘I’d like that.’ Louise was intrigued. She wasn’t sure how you could paint dreams.

‘See that pond over there, that’s where we’ll find frogs. Sometimes I wade out and then my boots get sucked down in the mud and I put my head under the water to see what’s there. But I don’t stay under long.’

‘That’s amazing.’

At four-thirty, when the siren went for the end of the match, the girls were half a mile away, searching for frogs at the edge of the small pond. Louise didn’t hear or didn’t want to hear the siren. As she trailed her hand through the water her fingers snagged on slimy knots of weed. In the depths light shimmered and the scent of eucalyptus and wild honeysuckle hung over the water. Feeling a feathery breeze on her cheek and seeing clouds scudding across the sky, she was captivated. She would have ignored even a trumpet call.

‘There’s one,’ said Mandy, expertly catching a small frog and nestling it in the palm of her hand. ‘Here, want to hold it?’

Louise held out an open hand and Mandy gently transferred the minute frog.

‘Grandma paints frog Dreaming; how they find and go to waterholes. I’m learning how to paint frogs and lizards so catching them I know what they look and feel like.’

Louise wasn’t at all sure what catching frogs and lizards had to do with painting, let alone Dreaming, but Mandy was persuasive.

‘Don’t squeeze the frog – you need to hold it properly. You’ll soon learn.’

At this point, with the cold and sticky frog in her hand, Louise was aware that the football siren had gone long ago, and it was a good fifteen minutes’ run back to the oval. ‘I have to go,’ she said handing the frog back to Mandy.

‘Okay, I’ll come with you; we’ll put froggy back in the pond.’

Light rain began to fall, dimpling the water’s surface. The girls ran back across the field, dodging low-hanging boughs. When they reached the pavilion they climbed quickly up its wide timber steps.

Louise thought her grandparents might be worried. It was out of character for her to be late. ‘This is my friend Mandy.’

Louise’s grandmother held out a hand and Mandy grasped it, but did not look her in the eye.

‘Don’t be shy,’ Margaret said.

After an awkward silence Louise noticed a transformation in Mandy, from the confident effervescent girl searching for frogs to the hesitant girl in the pavilion.

‘When will I see you again?’

‘I don’t mind, whenever,’ replied the subdued Mandy.

‘What about next Monday? Will you be around then?’

‘Yeah. I’ll be around.’

‘How about two – two o’clock. I’ll get a lift here.’

Louise did not want to lose contact with her, especially as she was someone very different from her schoolfriends, someone who found delight in ponds and frogs and weeds. And she was someone who didn’t live with her parents.

‘I’ll be here,’ Mandy said as Louise climbed into the back seat of the station wagon.

When they reached the farm, Margaret asked, ‘What did you think of Mandy?’

‘I liked her. I’d like to meet her again. Could we go on Monday?’

‘Alright. I’ll drive you into town. I’ll drop you off at the oval. If you have a good time with her, you can invite her back to the farm.’ Margaret Davitt was urbane and considered by her friends to be a most lovable person who, though tough, was always welcoming, irrespective of whether a person was a white Anglo-Saxon or Aboriginal. In her community she was deemed to be radical in the way she respected Aboriginal culture.

Louise was overjoyed. ‘I love you.’

Margaret’s tanned face creased in delight. ‘And I love you, Louise. Now, tell me about Mandy and why you like her.’

‘She’s different. She’s daring and knows all about frogs and lizards and she cares about them.’

Dot Painting – ‘You’ll soon learn’

ON THE MONDAY, after an early lunch, Margaret Davitt drove Louise to the town oval. Mandy was already standing there, holding a canvas satchel. Louise and Margaret got out of the car. ‘Hi Mandy, this is my grandmother.’

‘Yes, I remember. I’ve brought something to show you.’

‘That’s great.’ Louise moved close to Mandy.

‘You girls enjoy youselves. I’ll be back here at four o’clock.’ Margaret climbed into her car, waved and drove away.

‘She’s nice,’ said Mandy.

‘Yes, she’s special.’ Louise watched her grandmother’s car disappear in a cloud of dust between waving roadside gum trees.

‘My grandma in Oodnadatta is special too.’ Mandy rummaged in her satchel. ‘I’ve brought you a couple of her paintings and some of mine.’ She looked proud. The girls walked over to a barbecue table and Mandy took out the paintings.

‘Grandma started to teach me and I always watched her when she sat with her brush and paints.’ Mandy unfurled two of her grandmother’s paintings. ‘My grandma gave me these. This one’s called Frog Dreaming and this orange one is Witchetty Grub Land.’

Louise studied the bright colours. Hesitatingly she said, ‘It’s all dots.’

‘That’s right, it’s called dot painting. That’s what I’m learning.’

‘Show me your paintings. I want to see your paintings too.’

‘Sure.’ Mandy placed two paintings side-by-side on the table. She appeared embarrassed. Perhaps Louise was just being kind.

Louise gazed at Mandy’s dot paintings of desert tracks and totem symbols of a mob of kangaroos.

‘They’re beautiful. I love the bright colours. Have you shown them to other kids, or teachers at school?’

‘Nah, they think I’m a troublemaker.’

As she spoke, Louise noticed how Mandy seemed dejected. Louise remembered her grandmother saying, ‘Only in silence may you hear.’ She decided not to question Mandy any more.

‘Let’s walk into town and have some lemonade, and if we have time, go back to the pond and look for more frogs,’ Louise said finally.

As they walked Louise said naively, ‘Tell me about your dad.’

There was a long pause. ‘I don’t know much about my dad. I don’t know if he’s dead, but then I don’t know if he’s alive either.’

Louise thought that was strange. Mandy’s dark onyx eyes clouded over. When they reached the deli shop, Louise bought a couple of cans of Solo. They walked across the road to a small park, sat on a bench and drank their lemonade. Two youths, about sixteen, saw them sitting there. They swaggered over and leered at Mandy.

‘What’s going on, Mandy?’ the taller blond-haired boy said.

‘Nothing, just sitting with my friend.’ Louise looked away nervously.

‘Hey blondie, what’s going on with you, don’t you want to look at us?’ Louise froze. She couldn’t tell them that she wished they would go away.

‘Give us some of your lemonade,’ the shorter, dark-skinned boy said.

‘Yeah, come on blondie, give us a kiss.’ The taller boy smirked and made out to stroke Louise’s hair. She didn’t know what to say or do and felt herself shaking, her heart racing.

‘Why don’t you just piss off and leave us alone,’ Mandy said as she got up as if to walk away.

‘What’s wrong with you, Mandy? You could always give us what we want, and you know you does,’ the taller one said menacingly.

Mandy took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. Walking towards him she said, ‘You listen to me, Jason, listen to what I say. You touch my friend and you’ll pay for it. I’ve got cousins who could clean you up real proper. You’ll soon learn what their fists are made of.’

‘Okay, you black tart, don’t get pissy with us,’ Jason said as he turned and walked away. His friend followed him out of the park. Mandy picked up her satchel and, with a flash of triumph, led Louise out of the park.

Encouraged by Mandy’s presence, she felt a surge of confidence. ‘Wow, even when you are threatened you stay calm.’

It was two-thirty, over an hour to go before Louise was due to be picked up. She looked nervously at the boys as they disappeared down a side street.

‘Don’t worry, they won’t come back and we won’t see them again. They’re all talk. They say things like that because they’re dumb, they don’t know what else to say.’

Louise liked Mandy’s response. ‘There’s plenty of boys around like them – but there are others. You just gotta pick ’em carefully,’ continued Mandy.

‘Thanks, I just wasn’t sure what to do.’

‘You’ll soon learn. Just think about your inside world, how you believe in yourself and then you won’t have to give two hoots about those boys – then you’ll see that your outside world is not so important, that’s what my grandma taught me.’

Louise was intrigued; she’d never thought like that.

‘You have to choose your boyfriends carefully. Come on, I’ll drop these paintings off at my place and then we can go back to the pond.’

They walked three blocks away from the town centre to a street lined with boxy fibro cottages. ‘Wait here and I’ll dump the satchel.’ Mandy walked up the weed-strewn path of the third house. In a couple of minutes she emerged.

‘This is my sister’s place. She’s twenty-five and she’s got four kids as well as me living with her.’

There was an old beaten-up car in the driveway. Two Aboriginal men came out. They stood near the front door and waved to them.

‘I told them about you. They won’t say anything when they first meet you, but they’re okay.’

The girls walked back to the pond. Louise tried to clear her mind from the experience with the boys. She was still thinking about the way Mandy handled the situation and about her advice to believe in yourself. She’s so strong, thought Louise. They talked as they walked, mostly about their grandmothers. To Louise’s surprise, Mandy said she’d like to come to the farm.

Louise wasn’t sure how to respond, although she wanted to be encouraging. ‘I’m here for the rest of the week. My grandma says it would be okay. When would you like to come?’

‘Whenever.’

‘What about Thursday. Thursday morning? You could stay for lunch.’

Mandy looked apprehensive. The tough girl in the park had disappeared. She had never been invited out before by someone like Louise.

She shrugged. ‘Okay.’

‘Good. And you can tell me more about dot painting.’ Louise was confident her grandmother would make Mandy welcome. She knew Margaret Davitt thought that Crystal Brook was more interesting with Aboriginal people in the population.

‘I thought I was only going to say hello to you at the football and now it’s all turned out so good,’ said Louise.

‘Yep, sure has.’

Sunlight jagged through the trees. The girls spent an hour chatting, paddling in the pond and watching fingers of light penetrate the water.

‘Here, chew this grass till your spit turns green,’ said Mandy. ‘That’s how we learn to live off the land.’

‘I’ll try.’ Louise chewed fronds of grass into a bitter mash and then spat it out. ‘This is fun, we should do this again.’

‘If you want to.’

They wandered back to the oval. Louise thought about Mandy, with her eyes full of devilry and love. She loved her dot paintings and sketches of kangaroos, and had noticed her notebook – probably full of stories about Aboriginal camps and cooking fires. The girls sat on the grass, chatting until they heard the sound of a car pulling up.

Margaret Davitt waved and got out. Louise walked over and hugged her. ‘Can Mandy come to the farm on Thursday morning and stay for lunch?’

‘Yes, I don’t see why not.’ Margaret turned to Mandy. ‘You’ll be most welcome.’

Mandy pushed her hair away from her face and smiled.

‘Thursday morning then,’ said Louise.

Farm Visit

MANDY ARRIVED AT the farm at ten o’clock on Thursday, earlier than expected. She was dropped off by one of the men Louise had seen, an uncle, in the battered Datsun that she’d seen in their driveway. Mandy looked hesitant.

‘Thanks for coming’ Louise said warmly. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

Inside the farmhouse, Mandy gazed at the well-ordered kitchen. They talked about life on the farm and who originally lived there. Margaret Davitt spoke modestly about her home and then produced fruit juice and brownies. Mandy looked at the family photographs and recognised Louise as a small child. How happy she looked with her brothers. They finished their drinks.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Louise said, ‘I’ll show you the farm.’

‘You girls take some chocolate and wear raincoats, it’s going to rain today,’ Margaret said.

‘Okay, thanks ,Grandma,’ Louise said, pocketing a bar of chocolate.

They set off, thick clouds hanging low across the yellow-green contours of surrounding hills. A steady breeze blew and sodden leaves lay in clumps under rugged old gum trees. They walked across an empty paddock studded with huge red gum trees, some with blackened trunks from lightning strikes, others gnarled and twisted as if contorted with pain. Branches moved in the breeze and, in the dull light, lorikeets, rosellas, magpies and some honeyeaters darted and flew.

‘Rivers once flowed across this land, in the Dreaming,’ Mandy said suddenly.

‘What’s the Dreaming?’

‘It’s about how we once lived, about our ancestors, about our closeness to the land and how we imagine what the land was like a long time ago.’

‘That’s amazing.’

‘See this land, where that road runs between the hills in long curves? I reckon a river once flowed there.’ Mandy pointed.

Louise looked towards the denuded hills and tried to imagine a flowing river once being there. What on earth was all this about, she wondered.

She sensed that Mandy knew the land at a deep level. She had not heard anything like this before and couldn’t make much sense of it, but it left its mark. A mould of loving and learning from indigenous people was being set. Her mind began to fill with ideas about living on the land thousands of years before.

‘I’ll think differently about this land now. It must have been someone else’s land before my grandpa and his dad came here,’ Louise said, shifting and staring ahead.

‘Come on. We need to reach those hills. And taste them,’ Mandy said.

Louise wondered what Mandy meant by ‘tasting’ the hills.

They walked from paddock to paddock, opening and closing gates, moving briskly in the slight drizzle. They finally reached the limits of the farm and moved onto a track that led to a winding road. Above them was a solid grey curtain of drifting clouds. Below, on the side of the track, was wet brown earth and mossy rocks.

‘You need to be as close to your land as possible,’ Mandy said. ‘That’s what we’re taught.’

Fascinated, Louise wanted to understand more about Mandy’s thinking.

‘As soon as us kids are able to sit up, we’re taught to look at the animals and birds and draw them in the sand. My grandma taught me, so I learned all about the animals in the bush. This makes us smart and strong. They don’t teach you this at school.’

Mandy’s talk about drawing animals in the sand making you smart and strong didn’t make much sense to Louise, but Mandy spoke with great feeling and Louise felt inspired.

‘This earth is part of our past,’ Mandy continued as they looked down on the quilted field. On this grey day the landscape was fascinating to look at because the greens and yellows glowed.

As rain fell on her friend’s face, Louise noticed the velvet sheen of her skin. The girls exchanged shy glances. It was now one o’clock.

It would take over an hour to get back to the farmhouse. But Louise was keen to reach the hills that she’d only ever seen from a distance so returning in time for lunch didn’t matter. Sheep grazed under drizzly rain. The girls ate their chocolate beneath a big red gum tree.

‘It’s amazing, but I’ve never been to these hills before,’ said Louise. ‘I feel different now I’m here. You’re right, this land is special– it’s kind of strange.’ She thought about Mandy’s people, once living there – people whose land Louise’s grandfather and great-grandfather had stripped of trees.

At the top of the hill, Mandy pointed out scant creeks and leeward-leaning windswept trees in a gully below. ‘These trees have sour berries that my people eat,’ she said proudly.

‘I can’t understand, I really can’t … why we haven’t been taught all this about your people at school?’

‘Because nobody wants to know us.’

‘But why not? Tell me why not?’

‘Because they don’t like us, I s’pose … But let’s not talk about it, we don’t have much time left.’

Louise pictured the hills, inhabited, and the dry creek rippling and flowing to the sea.

Eventually, they turned and walked back to the farm. It was almost 2.30. Margaret was glad to see them as she’d begun to worry. Louise wanted to meet Mandy again, learn more about a person’s inner world, about camp fires, the bush and people sitting on the ground telling stories or dancing.

But the meeting was not to be. Louise heard, on her next visit to her grandparents’ farm, that Mandy had gone back to Oodnadatta. No one was sure when, or if, she would return.