Matilda's Last Waltz (49 page)

There were several women standing around, dressed in the tattered remnants of what she guessed were mission hand-me-downs. They were shyly watching her and giggling behind their hands as Gabriel pulled three of them out of the circle.

‘Daisy, Dora, Edna,' he said proudly.

What ridiculous names, Matilda thought. The mission at Dubbo had a lot to answer for. She eyed the three women for a moment. It was very unusual for an Aborigine to take more than one wife – they were a monogamous race, and had strict rules about promiscuity. Perhaps the three women were sisters and he'd taken them in, as was the way.

‘Which one's your wife, Gabe. I don't need all three.'

‘Edna,' he replied. ‘But all three womens good.'

‘I'll take the one who won't go walkabout the minute my back's turned,' Matilda replied tartly.

Gabriel shrugged, his grin slipping just a little as he eyed the three women thoughtfully. ‘Edna,' he said finally.

‘Fair enough.' She tried to keep a straight face, but it was difficult when he looked at her with such obvious guile. ‘Remember now, Gabe. No work, no baccy. And that includes your lubra. Understood?'

He nodded sagely. ‘Oh, yes, missus. Gabe know.'

‘Come on, Edna. Let's get cleaning.' Matilda began to walk towards the house, then realised all three women were behind her. ‘I only need Edna,' she explained. ‘You two can clean out the shearer's quarters.'

Edna shook her head emphatically. ‘Daisy, Dora alonga me, missus, eh? Do other house later.'

Matilda eyed each of them in turn. They were no beauties, and definitely past their prime, but there was the dignity about them that was in all these bush Aborigines, and she admired them for that. With a sigh, she gave in.

‘Right-oh. But I need you to work, not stand around gossiping all day.'

Life went on at Churinga much as it had done for years, but Gabriel's idea of bringing in the rest of his tribe had proved to be a godsend. He was a wise if cunning old bastard, and managed to get his men and women to work far harder than she'd expected.

Of course, as befitted the leader of the tribe, Gabriel never did very much himself, but sat dreamily by his gunyah and threw orders around, making a show of being in charge.

Matilda had never approved of the way he treated his women but had realised long ago that she couldn't interfere. The lubras accepted their beatings with stoicism and then paraded their bruises like trophies. Their sense of hygiene and the way they cooked and looked after one another would have appalled a so-called civilised society, but the Aborigines had their own way of dealing with things and she had no intention of changing thousands of years of tradition.

She trained the younger men to be jackaroos, and the women in how she wanted things done in the house and the station kitchen. She even got the children helping in the vegetable garden.

They were impossibly easy to spoil, she found, with their limpid eyes, their cheeky smiles and ragged hair, and she would often make them sugary sweets to suck as a treat. She had to watch them though, they were as cunning and quick as Murray magpies. A chook went missing occasionally and vegetables had a habit of disappearing before they reached the kitchen table, but Matilda didn't really mind so long as it didn't go too far. Gabriel and his tribe had rescued her from extinction. The future suddenly didn't look quite so bleak. News of a turning point in the war meant that for the first time in six years there was real hope it would soon be all over.

Bluey died in the winter of 1943. He had slowly wound down like an old and very tired clock. One night he fell asleep on his blanket and never woke up. Matilda was heartbroken as she buried him under his favourite wilga tree. He'd been with her for so long and was her closest companion. Even though she knew his spirit and tenacity lived on in his pups, she would miss him.

Now she had Wilga to manage as well, she was rarely at home. The two drovers were finding it hard to keep up with the work, and she'd had to teach a couple of Gabriel's younger boys how to look after Tom's cattle. There were only about a hundred head, but they provided milk and cheese, which she sold, and the occasional steak. Matilda hoped that by the time the war was over, she could begin to see the fruits of her breeding programme, for cattle could do well out here.

The bulls and rams had been penned throughout the drought and hand fed, they were the life blood of the properties. But the bills from the feed store were high, and she didn't know how long she could manage to pay them. The wool cheques had been meagre, mirroring the fall in quality in the wool, and as she pored over the books every night, she realised they still had to live from day to day despite the intense labour over the past few years.

The Australians and Americans fought fiercely to drive the Japanese out of Indonesia, but hundreds died there from the bitter cold and the jungle fevers which could rage through an army division faster than a sniper's bullet.

Matilda listened to the news reports when she could, and tried to imagine the hell of fighting in a jungle that glowed with phosphorescent fungi and steamed in tropical rain. The Australians and Americans were being slaughtered not by the enemy but by the conditions in which they had to fight. Beriberi, foot rot, open sores which attracted creeping, stinging things, malaria and cholera – all unavoidable in jungle warfare. It made her feel lucky to be in the middle of a drought. How the diggers must be longing to smell the baked earth of home and to feel the sun warm and dry on their faces after the leeches and humidity of the jungle.

Gabriel had been afraid of the radio at first, shaking his fist at it and murmuring his heathen curses, but Matilda had shown him it presented no threat by sitting on it and switching it on and off. Now he came to the house, surrounded by his large tribe, and took up his place in the doorway, one foot resting on a knobbly knee as he listened. She doubted very much if any of them understood what was being said, but they liked to hear the concerts that always came after the news.

She and Gabriel had become friends over the years and Matilda had even learned enough of his language to understand the story-telling that was so much a part of his tribal tradition. He was exasperating at times, and work-shy, but she looked forward to his company on the few evenings she took off to sit on her verandah.

She was sitting that evening in the rocking chair her mother had once used, her mind drifting with Gabriel's sing-song voice as he sat on the top step, surrounded by his tribe, and began to tell the story of the creation.

‘A great darkness was in the beginning,' he said as he looked down at the spell-bound faces of the children. ‘It was cold and still and covered the mountains and the plains, the hills and the valleys, and even went down into the caves. There was no wind, not even a breeze, and deep inside this terrible darkness slept a beautiful goddess.'

There was a murmur amongst the tribe. They loved this story. Gabriel settled himself on the step.

‘One day the great Father Spirit whispered to the beautiful goddess: “Awake and give life to the world. Begin with the grass, then the plants and trees. Once you have done this, then you will bring forth the insects, reptiles, fishes, birds and animals. Then you may rest until these things you have created can fulfil their purpose on the earth.”

‘The Sun Goddess took a great breath and opened her eyes. The darkness disappeared and she saw how empty the earth was. She flew down and made her home in the Nullarbor Plain then set out on a western course until she returned to her home in the east. The grass, the shrubs and trees sprang up in her footsteps. Then she travelled north and kept going until she passed to the south, repeating her journeys until the earth was covered with vegetation. Then she rested on the Nullarbor Plain, in peace with the great trees and the grass she had given birth to.'

Nods of recognition went round the circle and Matilda looked at the faces and felt she was privileged to be a part of such an ancient ritual.

‘The great Father Spirit came to her again, telling her to go to the caves and caverns, and to bring life to those beings that had dwelled there for so long. She obeyed the Father Spirit, and soon her brightness and warmth brought forth swarms of beautiful insects. They were all colours, all sizes and shapes, and as they flew from bush to bush they painted their colours on everything and made the earth glorious. After a long rest, in which she shone continuously, she rode her chariot of light up into the mountains to see what glory she had created. Then she visited the bowels of the earth and drove the darkness away. From this abyss came snakes and lizard forms which crawled on their bellies. A river came from the ice she had melted and ran into the valley. Its waters held fish of all kinds.

‘The Sun Goddess saw that her creation was good, and she commanded that the new life live in harmony. After returning to rest on the Nullarbor Plain, she again went into the caverns, and with her light and warmth brought forth birds in great numbers and colours, and animals of all shapes and sizes. All the creatures looked upon her with love, and were glad to be alive. The Father of the Spirits was content with what she had done.

‘It was then that she created the seasons, and at the beginning of spring she called the creatures together. They came in great numbers from the home of the north wind. Others came from the home of the south wind and the west wind, but the greatest number came from the east, the royal palace of sunshine and sunbeams. Mother Sun told them her work was complete, and that she was now going to a higher sphere where she would become their light and life. But she promised to give them another being who would govern them during their time on the earth. For they would change, their bodies returning into the earth, and the life the great Father Spirit had given them would no longer dwell in form on the earth, but would be taken up into the Spirit Land where they would shine and be a guide to those who would come after them.

‘Sun Mother flew up and up into the great heights and all the animals and birds and reptiles watched in fear. As they stood there, the earth became dark and they thought Mother Sun had deserted them. But then they saw dawn in the east and talked amongst themselves – for had they not seen Mother Sun go to the west? What was this they could see coming from the east? They watched her travel across the sky and finally understood that Mother Sun's radiant smile would always be followed by darkness, and that darkness was the time for them to rest. So they burrowed in the ground and roosted on tree boughs. The flowers that had opened to the bright sun, closed up and slept. The Wanjina of the river wept and wept as it rose and rose in search of brightness that it became exhausted and fell back to earth, resting upon the trees and bushes and grass in sparkling dewdrops.

‘When dawn appeared the birds were so excited that some of them began to twitter and chirp, others laughed and laughed while some sang with their joy. The dewdrops rose to meet Mother Sun, and this was the beginning of night and day.'

The tribe began to move away from the verandah, murmuring amongst themselves, sleepy children dangling from hips, as they headed for their gunyahs. Matilda carefully rolled a cigarette and handed it to Gabriel. ‘Your story is very like the one I was told as a little girl,' she said softly. ‘But somehow it feels more real when told by you.'

‘Elders must teach the children. Dreamtime important. Walkabout part of that.'

‘Tell me why it's so important, Gabriel? Why do you keep going walkabout? What is it out there you have to find when there's food and shelter here?'

He eyed her solemnly. ‘This Mother Earth. I am part of earth. Walkabout give black fella his spirit back. Take 'im to hunting grounds, Uluru, meeting places and sacred caves. Speak with ancestors. Learn.'

Matilda smoked her cigarette in silence. She knew by his expression that he would tell her no more. He was a part of an ancient people, almost the same now as they must have been in the Stone Age. He was, and always would be, the nomadic hunter who knew the land and the habits of the creatures and plants that inhabited it with a skill that few white men could emulate.

She had seen one of the younger men bring down a kangaroo with a boomerang, had watched the children trap scorpions in a ring of fire. The blocking of the wombat's hole several feet from the entrance meant that when the hunter approached with his nulla nulla, the animal found itself to be trapped as it tried to get into its burrow. The tug of war that followed was always fierce for the wombat is extremely obstinate.

Gabriel had shown her where a few scratches on a gum tree showed where the opossum was resting in the hollow trunk or amongst the thick boughs. How a few hairs among the rocks leading to a hole with a smooth surface to the entrance indicated the presence of sleeping opossums. She had been entranced by the cleverness of his honey collecting. She had watched in awe as he attached a feather to a spider web then dropped it on to the back of a bee as it sucked nectar from the wattle blossom. For over an hour, she and Gabriel had followed that bee as it went from flower to flower, then, with the white feather trailing behind it, returned to its hive. Gabriel climbed up the tree and carefully plunged his naked arm into the hive to steal the honey. The bees seemed unaware of his presence and he wasn't stung. Matilda felt foolish as she hid behind the tree.

She sighed and stubbed out the last of her cigarette. She knew the other squatters thought her strange, and had overheard their speculation about her relationship with Gabriel, but she ignored them in their ignorance. Gabriel and his tribe could teach her far more than any gossiping, small-minded squatter's wife.

‘Why you got no man, missus?' Gabriel's voice dragged her back from her thoughts.

‘I don't need one, Gabe. I've got you and your tribe.'

He shook his grizzled head. ‘Gabriel soon go on last walkabout.'