Elianne (18 page)

After ten minutes or so, Kate sat up. She hugged her knees and stared out at the distant mill, its tangle of buildings towering gothic-like over the surrounding bushland of the estate and the never-ending cane fields.

‘I’m sorry for stirring up that argument over lunch,’ she said. The matter had been playing on her mind and she wanted to apologise.

‘What argument are you talking about?’ he asked dozily, eyes closed.

‘Conscription. It was a bit tacky of me, really.’

‘Tacky. In what way?’ He opened his eyes and squinted up at her. ‘Tacky’ wasn’t a word that featured regularly in his vocabulary, nor in the general lexicon of the Durham household. University speak, he thought.

‘Well, pretty tasteless to talk about “the very principle of war” and the taking of human life when your brother’s about to go into battle, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Nup, you were only being you, I’m used to it.’

‘It’s just that Dad –’

‘I know.’ Neil stopped squinting up at her and propped on one elbow. ‘Dad was on his high horse and you wanted to have a go at him like you always do. Alan and I wonder why you bother.’ He smiled. ‘I must say I was surprised how quickly you caved in this time. But it was because you didn’t want to be tacky, right?’

‘Right.’

‘You weren’t, so don’t worry.’ He flopped back on the jetty and closed his eyes once more.

Kate rolled onto her stomach and studied him thoughtfully. ‘Hey, Neil . . .?’

‘What now?’ he said, propping again.

‘They give you an option, don’t they? I mean, I know you have to serve your time in the army, but when you’re called upon for active duty, you don’t actually have to go, do you?’

His laugh was affectionate. ‘Oh Kate,’ he said, as if she was a child who’d asked a truly naïve question, ‘a bloke can’t opt out just like that, not after training with his mates. Sure, they say it’s an option, but we all know it’s not.’ He could see she was puzzled and he tried to explain. ‘Nashos get chucked all sorts of shit at training camp, they really put you through the mill and the blokes form a rock-solid bond. That’s the whole aim of the exercise and it works, I can tell you. What are you going to say to your mates when you’re all trained up and they ask you to go to war? See you later, fellahs, I think I’ll stay behind?’

‘I get the picture,’ she replied.

‘You mustn’t worry about me,’ he said, keen to put her fears at rest, for he could see that she did worry. ‘I love the army, strange as that may seem to you, and I think I’ll make a good soldier. Don’t worry on my behalf, Kate. Please don’t.’

‘I won’t,’ she promised, although she knew she would. What a decent man my brother is, she thought, what a kind man. Kate felt suddenly and inexplicably moved. There was such concern in Neil’s eyes. Soft and brown and caring, they reminded her of her grandfather’s. Like Bartholomew, Neil was a gentle man. He shouldn’t be going to war, she thought. But then of course no one should. She would not voice her anti-war sentiments in the family home again though, she told herself, not even if provoked by her father. To do so would be disloyal to Neil.

She made her vow out loud and emphatically. ‘I’m not going to let Dad rile me anymore,’ she declared. But her brother only laughed.

‘That’ll be the day,’ he said. ‘You won’t be able to help yourself, I’d bet my last quid on it. Or should I say dollar,’ he corrected himself. ‘Either way, I bet you and Dad have at least one big barney before decimal currency comes in.’

‘You’re on.’ Kate held out her hand, ‘the fourteenth of February it is.’ The government’s advertising jingle had been preparing the country for months now. ‘Bet you five quid or ten dollars I manage to keep my temper till then,’ she said. ‘Do you think we’ll end up calling dollars “bucks” like the Americans do?’ she asked as they shook on the deal.

Neil returned to Enoggera the end of the following week, and Kate came close to losing the bet barely two days later. So close in fact that she could hear her brother mocking her. See? she could hear Neil say. Told you.

It started out over breakfast with Alan’s comment about the ongoing consequences of the Student Action for Aborigines Freedom Ride. He’d read a recent article in
The Australian
newspaper and he knew Kate had been involved.

‘The article said that the Freedom Riders attracted publicity overseas as well as throughout Australia,’ he said, ‘including the
New York Times
.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And that as a direct result of the student action the NSW Aborigines Welfare Board has announced it’s going to spend sixty-five thousand pounds on housing in Moree.’ Alan was genuinely impressed. ‘Wow, Kate, a bunch of students pulling off something like that; you’d have to be pretty proud of yourselves, I reckon.’

‘We certainly are.’ Gratified by her brother’s interest, Kate dived in with an activist’s zeal. ‘And it’s not before time I can tell you. The housing conditions are appalling in New South Wales country towns. So is the state of Aboriginal health and education, not to mention the racism and discrimination that abounds. Aborigines are treated as a sub-human race. It’s high time something was done.’

Kate had made a conscious decision not to discuss her activism at home, feeling that it would only antagonise her father and others of his ilk who automatically railed against any action taken by those ‘down south’. But now, having gained Alan’s undivided attention, she couldn’t help herself. Ignoring her barely touched breakfast she continued enthusiastically.

‘SAFA’s more or less disbanded now, but I’ve joined another student activist group headed by Charlie Perkins. We intend to campaign for a national referendum. There are other groups pushing the federal government too. We need to right the wrongs perpetrated against Aboriginal people –’

‘A national referendum.’ There was a snort of derision from the head of the table; Stan had heard quite enough. ‘You’re talking about New South Wales for God’s sake.’

‘No, I’m not, Dad,’ she countered. ‘Queensland’s as bad as New South Wales if not worse. Racism’s endemic throughout the whole of rural Australia.’

‘Not here at Elianne it’s not!’ Stan snarled. He took instant umbrage at what he perceived to be a personal slur against his character from those interfering bastards down south. ‘That’s utter bullshit. We’ve always been good to our blacks here!’

Alan attacked his eggs, regretting the fact that he’d brought up the subject, and Hilda exchanged a glance with Bartholomew that said ‘here we go again, another father–daughter slanging match’.

But Kate kept her temper in check. ‘How can you possibly say that?’ she replied coolly. ‘You don’t employ any Aboriginal workers, and you never have.’

‘Course I don’t,’ her father snapped, ‘why would I? They’re a lazy bunch of good-for-nothings. You can’t rely on them, Big Jim knew that.’ His daughter’s expression obviously annoyed him further. ‘And don’t you look at me like that, missy,’ he said knowing how ‘missy’ infuriated her. ‘I’m telling you here and now there’s nothing racist about me – I’m just talking plain common sense.’

Nothing racist, Kate thought, you’re sailing pretty close to the wind. She was about to comment on the fact when she heard Neil’s voice. See? Told you, and knowing any remark she made would invite argument, she maintained her silence.

Stan waved an accusatory finger at Bartholomew. ‘Father used to hire a few local blacks now and then, but it always backfired on him. They wouldn’t turn up or they’d walk off the job. Isn’t that right, Father?’

But Bartholomew continued buttering his toast with meticulous care as if he hadn’t heard the question, so Stan re-directed his aggression to Kate.

‘I’m not talking about the Abos,’ he said scathingly, ‘I’m talking about the Kanakas. We’ve never once had a racism problem here. We’ve been good to our blacks for generations. Why do you think I still employ a half a dozen or more on the estate? Because they’re part of Elianne, that’s why. They and their families have been here since the mill first opened.’

Having delivered what he saw as the irrefutable comeback, Stan visibly relaxed. His daughter’s continued silence convinced him that the debate was over and that he’d won, and he leant back in his chair embracing his moment of triumph.

‘Why I remember Big Jim telling me how he fought to help his Kanakas when so many were sent home in the early part of the century,’ he said waxing expansive. ‘“It wasn’t fair, Stan,” that’s what he used to say to me, “those men and their families had been here for years, they were part of the land. Then the new federal government brings in the White Australia Policy and what happens? They’re kicked out of the country. No thanks for the decades of hard work, no thanks for having built this place with the blood and sweat of their labours.”’

Stan gazed about at his captive audience. ‘Big Jim fought to protect his Kanakas,’ he said as his eyes came to rest on his daughter. ‘I remember the exact words he said to me. “The Kanakas of Elianne are like family to us, Stan, we owe them our loyalty.” That’s what he said. And I’ve honoured that sentiment ever since.’

Having concluded his speech to his eminent satisfaction, Stan looked about once again at his audience as if perhaps expecting applause. He was a little disappointed by the lack of reaction, although his wife obligingly gave a nod and a small smile by way of recognition.

In the ensuing pause, Kate stood. ‘May I be excused from the table, please?’ she said, addressing her mother.

Hilda was taken aback. ‘But you’ve hardly touched your breakfast.’

‘I’m not very hungry this morning. I think I’ll go for a walk with the dogs.’

‘Oh. Very well, dear.’

Kate left. She couldn’t stay in the same room listening to her father rave on about Big Jim a moment longer. Particularly as everything he said was a tissue of lies. It hadn’t been that way at all.

Pavi is coming to Elianne. He and Mela and their baby. Jim surprised me with the news this very afternoon . . .

Ellie had been delighted beyond measure when, barely eighteen months after her marriage, she’d learned Pavi Salet was coming to work at the estate.

‘You see how determined I am to keep you happy, my dear,’ Big Jim said when he returned from his trip to the New Hebrides and informed her of her friend’s impending arrival. ‘I anticipate that Pavi, together with his wife and baby son, might well be here within the month. As soon as your wastrel of a father has finalised the sale of his property in any event.’ He smiled, aware Ellie held little affection for her father.

‘Oh Jim, how wonderful.’ Ellie jumped from the sofa where she had been resting and in her excitement threw herself at her husband, reaching up to fling her hands about his neck like a boisterous child. ‘What a glorious surprise,’ she said, her words tripping over each other. ‘Is that the reason you went to Efate? I wondered why you would wish to see Papa, but you never said a word . . .’

‘Gently, now, gently,’ he disengaged himself from her embrace and returned her to the sofa, ‘you must take care in your condition.’ Ellie was four months pregnant with their second child. ‘Of course that’s why I went to Efate, and of course I didn’t say anything,’ he continued, towering Goliath-like over her. ‘You would have been disappointed had Pavi not wished to be indentured to me upon your father’s departure.’

It had taken André Desmarais little more than a year of debauchery to find himself as deeply in debt as he had been when he’d sold his daughter into wedlock. He’d written begging Ellie to appeal to her husband on his behalf and save him from ruination; if she did not, he’d said, he would have no option but to sell up all he had and return to France penniless.

Ellie knew that had she pleaded her father’s cause, Big Jim would have come to his assistance, for Big Jim would do anything she asked of him. But Ellie had hardened her heart to her father.

‘Let him rot,’ she’d said coldly. ‘I believe him responsible for the death of my mother through the hardship he caused her over the years. I have no desire to help Papa, nor indeed ever to see him again.’

Jim had agreed with her decision. ‘Any monies André received would only be squandered in any event,’ he’d said dismissively, which had left her wondering why he had bothered going to Efate. He surely had no wish to see her father, and there was no need for him to make the trip for the purpose of hiring workers. The islanders he employed were contracted through a recruiting agent, government-appointed as required by law, but well-remunerated by Big Jim, who was willing to pay handsomely for the choicest and strongest pick of the catch. She had not queried her husband however, presuming he was conducting some business about which she knew nothing. No one, not even she, ever questioned the actions of Big Jim Durham. She was thrilled now to discover the reason for his trip.

‘What employment have you offered Pavi, dearest?’ she asked, as if professing a passing interest rather than questioning any choice he may have made. Although undoubtedly the queen of Elianne, she knew better than to attempt any say in the affairs of the estate. She did hope, however, that Jim did not intend Pavi to work as a cane-cutter or field labourer. Pavi was after all an educated man.

Big Jim’s laugh was one of eminent satisfaction. He was delighted his wife was so pleased with her gift as had been his intention, but he was pleased too with his acquisition. ‘Why, Pavi shall have one of the most important jobs to hand, my dear. A skill in animal husbandry such as he possesses is not to be wasted. Your friend Pavi Salet shall be in charge of the stables.’

Such a position was certainly of major importance. The Clydesdales that hauled the loaded cane wagons to the mill, usually in teams of four, were of inestimable value, and the maintenance of their health and equipment was imperative to the daily operation of the estate throughout the hectic months of the crushing season.

‘Ah, how he will love that,’ Ellie clapped her hands together delightedly, ‘and he will treat the horses with such care. They will become family to him, Jim, just you wait and see.’

‘Yes, I do believe they will,’ her husband replied drily. ‘He said he’s looking forward to making their acquaintance and getting to know each one personally. According to Pavi every horse has a distinctly different personality. I must confess I had never thought of working animals in that manner.’