Skins (18 page)

She spread the skins she was going to use out on the floor. Anderson was angry with her. She knew that much. That morning he had stood with his back to the fire, watching them all, waiting for a reason to snarl. Isaac had bristled silently in the corner and she knew he would do more than beat her if he had half a chance. She guessed that Anderson was angry because he felt he had to defend her. Perhaps he was angrier with himself. She shuddered and wondered if Isaac would try it again. Not while Anderson was in charge of the camp. But what if he wasn't? She brushed the hair from her eyes and made an effort to think of something else. The men had gone sealing, for the day was still and cloudless. They wouldn't be back for two or three days. It was just her and her sister and Church.

She looked down at the pile of skins she had brought from the storeroom. On some the hair was coarse and the leather thick and unyielding; on others the fur was soft like silk and the skin supple and light, and there were different shades of brown and gold and silver-grey. She would make a coat. As she ran her fingers over the fur, she remembered the fur-seal hat and stole she had seen for sale in a ladies salon in London. The skins from the other bundle would have been better but she couldn't use them for they were the ones that would fetch the high prices. They had white-tipped silvery guard hairs and a thick rich chestnut underfur. The ones in front of her looked moth-eaten for they had bald patches in places where the animal had been scarred, probably from the teeth of a shark or another seal. She would cut around them. Just as she brought the knife up to the leather, Mary's dirty feet appeared. She stood in the doorway. Golden light framed her head and kept her face in the dark.

‘It's sunny out.'

‘I can see that. Do you want any of this?'

Mary didn't say anything for a moment.

‘Mmm, I suppose.'

‘There's plenty. And if we're here for winter …'

‘I hope not.'

Dorothea didn't reply.

Mary remained standing. ‘Don't you ever think of home? Or wonder what they're doing?'

‘Of course, but it would be no different.'

‘I know … I was just wondering how Netty is and all.'

‘She'll be alright.'

‘Don't you miss them?'

Dorothea replied by hacking into the skin with the knife. She did miss William, her little brother. But she had grown tired of being mother to the others. Now it was Netty's turn. Mary bent down and picked up one of the skins. She held it out in front of her. It had holes where the flippers had been cut away.

‘Don't have to do much to this.'

She put her arms through the holes and it was like a shapeless coat. She giggled as she spun around. Dorothea smiled.

‘Tis the latest fashion from London,' said Mary in her best voice.

Dorothea draped another around her shoulders. She walked up and down the hut with her head turned to the side, skirts gathered high and stepping on her toes. Mary was choking with laughter. Dorothea's spirits rose in response to her sister's lightness of mood, particularly as it was so uncharacteristic. Church walked in. They stopped and looked at each other and caught their giggles. He cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the ground.

‘Excuse me,' he muttered.

‘Tis alright Mister Church. Please come in and make yourself comfortable,' said Dorothea, her face pink with the effort of trying not to laugh.

They gathered up the skins and took them outside where it was easier to see. They sat with their backs to the sun, squinting at the shimmering fur covering their knees, and made holes to thread the twine through. In front was the hut and above it a wispy smudge from the fire in an otherwise blemish-free sky that stretched endless and blue. A raven flapped its wings in the foliage and called sharply over the melodic twittering of little birds. And the sea breathed back and forth. Their heads bent over their work, and their hands pushing and pulling to penetrate the tough seal hides.

That evening they displayed their garments to Church. He was at the other end of the table. They had made coats with sleeves, the fur turned inwards. They were proud of their efforts. Church noticing, nodded. After a while Dorothea took off her coat, for even though the night was cold it was too hot to wear inside. It was strange with just the three of them. The night noises seemed louder than usual and even though she hadn't often noticed the black women slipping in and out of the hut, she noticed now when they didn't. She asked Church to get them some more wood. The door scraped across the floor and they listened to his footsteps as he trod on sticks that lay across the path behind the hut. Then silence dropped on them, heavy and suffocating, so that when Dorothea spoke her voice sounded strangled.

‘He seems to be taking a while.'

Mary looked over at the door and back at Dorothea. Then he pushed it open and everything was alright again. They fed the fire and poked it up into a bright blaze. Shadows danced on the walls. They ate bread and a broth made from the leftover bones of the goose, which they drank from cups.

She lay on her skins, warm and well fed and yet sleep seemed distant. There was something bothering her. It was probably just the lumps and bumps in her bedding. She turned over and moved the coverings but then she woke Mary. So she got up and went into the kitchen where she relit the lamp and stared into the dying coals. Charred wallaby and goose bones lay amongst the ash. They reminded her of the bone Dinah had given her. Where had she put it? She had meant to throw it away on her way back from the well but when she had reached the hut she had realised it was still in her hand so she had put it on the shelf. Now she felt for it, her hands running along the wood. It was still there and in her palm it was iridescent. She didn't know why but she fastened it around her neck. Then she took the lamp into Anderson's room and stood at the doorway while the light wavered. When she had looked back that night he had been lying there, shiny and purple. She crept forward and placed the lamp on the chest. She sat on his skins and pulled his coverings around her and put out the light.

They were on the other side of the point beneath Flinders Peak when they saw the sail. Mary noticed it first. They had been collecting limpet shells. There was not much wind and the dark shapes bent with the oars as they moved along the sparkling sea. Dorothea squinted into the midday sun. She thought at first that it was Anderson. But she knew from the way the man stood at the steering oar that it wasn't him. Mary shielded her eyes from the glare with one hand and raised her other arm. Dorothea looked back out to sea. Then she took Mary's arm and lowered it, stepping back towards the sandhill, bringing her with her.

‘What are you doing?'

‘It ain't them.'

Mary looked again. ‘Are you sure?'

Dorothea nodded. The boat was nearing the point, turning to head into the bay in front of the camp. She still had hold of Mary's arm and she gripped it more tightly.

‘Ouch!'

She released her hand from Mary's wrist.

‘Sorry. Where's Church?'

Mary shrugged. ‘I think he was in the hut.' And then she asked: ‘Who do you think it is?'

‘Don't know but they're sealers.'

The boat vanished into the corner of the bay.

‘I don't think we should go back until they're gone.' She added quietly, ‘That's if they go.'

They went inland up through soft sand and thick twisted wattle, fighting the dead foliage that crossed their path, sometimes on their hands and knees through the wallaby trails. The little animals were all around them. They would thump the ground and crash through the undergrowth but the two women never saw them. The bush enclosed them and muffled the sea. Eventually it cleared and they clambered over rock. From the highest point they could see Goose Island Bay and the pink lake. But not the corner of the bay where a boat might have been pulled up. They came down the other side and leant up against the warm steep rock that curled over them like a wave.

The sun was low in the sky when Dorothea thought about getting up. The warm rays no longer reached them and she shivered.

‘I'm thirsty,' said Mary as she got up and stretched.

‘There's a rock pool back there.'

‘Can't we go back?'

Dorothea was standing above her, looking across to the camp. She could see a thick winding spiral of smoke.

‘I don't think they've gone.'

‘But … well we can't spend the night here.'

‘Might have to.'

‘That's stupid … I'm going back.'

Dorothea shook her head.

‘We don't know them.'

Mary looked away, rubbing her arms. Dorothea could see the sea on three sides of the island. The setting sun lit the face of a dome-shaped island so that it reared out of the water like some strange apparition. The mainland seemed so close. The flat islands to the northeast were like stepping stones towards it. She wondered where Anderson had gone. Then she remembered he said he was going east to an island where there were fur seals. She hoped he would be back soon. It would be cold tonight. They couldn't light a fire and what would they eat? She wished she knew where the Aboriginal women found their berries and their bulbs. They had limpets. She gritted her teeth and shuddered. She couldn't eat them raw though.

They could almost see the sun sinking, it disappeared so quickly. The burning disc weaved through crimson clouds and dropped behind the land edge. And then scarlet streaks faded to purple as the sky darkened and the first star appeared above them. The spongy lichen at the base of the rock was soft and damp. They lay on one of their coats and placed the other over the top of them. Dorothea wrapped her arm across Mary's stomach to keep them close together. She closed her eyes, willing the night to be short and trying not to think what they would do if the sealers were not gone tomorrow.

‘Do you remember when we was children and we got lost?'

‘Mmm.'

Mary continued: ‘We was playing in the field behind the church and we went into the forest and we couldn't find our way back.'