English passengers Page 7

  Just there in the water, you see, all at once there was a stranger, and this stranger was like a monster. His face was almost ordinary but that just made him worse because his hair was so wrong. This was never the colour of hair at all, no, but pale like grass goes after hot days. His eyes stared at me. When I gave a start, the monster’s face rippled.

  For a moment I thought the others might have got monsters too. But when I looked they just had themselves, upside down.

  Mongana saw. ‘‘Freak,’’ he screamed. Mongana was my worst of all foes in those long-ago days. Mongana means blowfly and it was just so, as his best pleasure was stinging and biting. The little scut was two summers older and hated me ever since I could recollect, so his hatred was an always thing like wind in the trees. Often he would follow me, trying to trick me unawares with some kick or grievous blow, so I never went anywhere without a waddy stick to be ready. ‘‘D’you like what you see, freak?’’ he shouted. Then he splashed, and his splashing was as hating as his shout, and when the others splashed too I went away.

  Later, when they’d left, I returned to the pool, just in case the monster was gone now. But when I walked into the water there he was still, staring up at me with those frightened eyes.

  Of course the great mystery of those long-ago days was what in fuck happened to Mother and Father. Other children had theirs, unless they died, yet I had neither, nor even any distant recollection. When I asked I never got answers, but just angry looks and sometimes a grievous blow.

  ‘‘Never you mind,’’ Grandmother would say with eyes like cuts. Grandmother often was angry with me. She was my friend, my protector, my family, but though she was kindly, her kindness was always a little hating. It was just her way. It was she who gave me meat as we sat by the fire, popping it into my mouth with her long, bony fingers, but when she gave it she would scowl. ‘‘I don’t know why I bother feed you. You ’re nothing but trouble.’’ Likewise if we were all walking to some new place and I was crook, she was the one who kindly picked me up and carried me on her shoulders, but then she’d pinch my leg hard so it hurt. Sometimes I got so angry I hated her right back and would go off and sleep just by myself on the other side of the fire. But she was my family, so in the end I always did return. When I came back she wouldn’t say a word but gave me food just like before.

  Of course now, all these years later, I know why Grandmother was hating in her kindness. I don’t blame her none, either. Why in scut not, Grandmother? I might ponder. But when you’re just small you never question the why of things. You just swallow them like air.

  ‘‘Forget Mother,’’ she said, when I provoked her with my asking, which I did often, as I never was one to give up a thing when I had begun. ‘‘She’s gone and that’s all.’’ This was everything I ever could get from her.

  But of course I wouldn’t forget. I asked Tartoyen.

  Now, Tartoyen was almost more my friend than Grandmother, though he was not my family. He had no sons, just daughters, and I did divine that was why even then. Tartoyen was a little fat and had lazy eyes, but he was clever and hardly got wrathful at all except when he was feeling crook, so everyone listened to what he said, and did it too, usually. He never grumbled that I was some little scut and just trouble, like Grandmother did. Sometimes he taught me new things, which was tidings of joy. Best of all, if he caught Mongana and other enemies trying to wound me with some grievous blow he would strike them down. But even Tartoyen got strange when I asked about Mother. His face would change, like he saw black rain clouds coming.

  ‘‘She went away across the sea,’’ was all he’d say, and he wouldn’t look me in my face like usual but turned his head away. It was even worse if I asked about Father. Then his eyes would go narrow. ‘‘You don’t have any father. You never did. Now stop bothering me with these things. Your mother’s dead. If she was alive she’d come back.’’

  Still I never did believe him quite. I did and I didn’t, both at the same time. When we were stopped by the shore I would look out at the big noisy waves and dream Mother walking out of them. She was tall and fine and better than any mother those others had. In her hand she’d carry a rush basket filled with strange food from wherever she’d been across the sea—muttonfish big like stones, but sweet like honey, and roots blue as the sea—and she’d give these all to me, smiling in some tenderest way like Grandmother never did. Sometimes she’d bring Father with her but I never could see him well. That’s a thing with dreaming. Sometimes your dreams are confounding and won’t do what you want, even though they’re yours. I did try hard but I could never make Father have arms or legs, so he just seemed to hang above the water, like a kind of cloud with a face.

  If there was one enemy of my dreamings it was that little scut Mon-gana and his mother, whose name was Pagerly, as they would do anything to give me hardship. Pagerly would try and turn others against me by telling piss-poor falsehoods, saying I struck their babies with grievous blows when they weren’t watching, or that I cursed them secretly and this was why they got crook. If I heard her saying such heinous stuff then I’d shout, loud as I could, that she was just some lying scut and they shouldn’t listen. Mostly they knew I was right, but only mostly, and I could see they never believed me all the way through into their deepest breasts. Sometimes I could feel their eyes on me, wondering.

  Mongana was almost worse. He would say any poisoning thing just to cause me woe and spoil my dreamings. ‘‘Where’s your mother, freak? Don’t you know? I’ll tell you. When she saw how ugly you were she tried to kill you and then she ran away to die.’’

  ‘‘That’s not true. She went away across the sea. Tartoyen said so.’’

  But Mongana was hateful and his favourite game was to drop words in your ear like poison ants’ eggs. ‘‘Tartoyen just says that so you won’t cry.’’

  Afterwards I tried to drown those words, like pissing on fire, but they would hatch and I felt their bites. When I sat by the sea and tried to dream Mother and Father it would go all wrong. Yes, she would step from the waves all tall and fine like before, but then she wouldn’t smile at me at all, but would walk right past with a face like stone, as if she didn’t want to know me now. That was hateful.

  But time passed, and I did endure. As I told, enduring always was my special skill. I endured Mongana and on lucky days I even got the scut with some grievous blow. Why, with time I even thought less often about that mystery of what happened to Mother and Father.

  Sometimes we stayed in some place and sometimes we walked again, hither and thither. In hot days we were in the bush and Tartoyen and the others hunted game, which we cooked on the fire. When cool winds came and bush was getting just ice and snow and so we went by the sea with its huge waves and noise, and we built huts lined with tea tree bark, where we’d stay warm, and we’d eat muttonfish or sometimes seal if we got one.

  Little by little I began to recollect places where we went, till I knew those hills and mountains and even where the world stopped. Slowly slowly I could solve some of those puzzles to confound. Tartoyen took us to that valley in the hills where red ochre was and he showed me how he put it in his hair to make it so beautiful. He taught me how to know what weather was coming next, just from that hazy ring round the moon, or from the shape of clouds, and his ways were so clever he hardly ever was wrong. He showed me how to make spears sharp with fire and my teeth—so sharp they’d almost catch in rock—and how to throw them too, though I was still too small to throw them far. I learned how to follow animals from the marks they left, and to know which tree possum climbed by the scratch he left on the bark with his claws. And I learned about KANUNNAH, who was ugly and heinous with his long hanging head and stripes on his back, and who was our hated foe. Kanunnah would kill you if you did not spear him first and most of all he liked to eat children. Quite often we saw kanunnah though he ran away when he saw we were so many.

  Also I learned of WRAGGEOWRAPPER, who was ugly and tall and came in the darkness sometimes, fast like the
wind, and shrieked like trees creaking. Wraggeowrapper would stare at us when we slept and was a most grievous foe because you never could see him. He would make men go mad if he caught them at night away from the fire, but we were too clever and stayed near. When we sat so in the dark, after our eating, Tartoyen told us stories—secret stories that I will not say even now—about the moon and sun, and how everyone got made, from men and wallaby to seal and kangaroo rat and so. Also he told who was in those rocks and mountains and stars, and how they went there. Until, by and by, I could hear stories as we walked across the world, and divine how it got so, till I knew world as if he was some family fellow of mine.

  Sometimes we met TARKINER, who were southwards of the world. Tarkiner were almost friends, and three women of ours came from them, though some words they spoke were strange, and they did things that were just piss-poor foolish, like getting fearful if we put mut-tonfish in the fire to cook, as they said this would make the rains come, which it never would. If we met them at the edge of the world we would stop sometimes and tell any news, and in the night we would camp together and stay awake late to see who was best at dances, Tarkiner or us, though it was always us.

  Also there were ROINGIN, who were northwards and were our foes. They always were this ever since anyone could remember, being heinous scuts who couldn’t be trusted if you turned your back just to piss against a tree. Tartoyen told us stories of old wars with Roingin and how they never did win except by low cheating. Even lately there was some battle, where Gonar’s uncle got speared in his leg, one of theirs too, and some others speared too, though I was too small to recollect this. Mostly we kept away from that end of the world and when we went near we spoke little and went carefully. We never were scared of Roingin, of course, as they were only cowards, but they were more than us, as Roingin were famous for being many. Once when we were at the edge of the world I saw them, that whole mob, plenty of them, sitting by the sea eating muttonfish, which was interesting. They saw us too, of course, but they pretended they never did, while Tartoyen made everybody stay quiet and so we went away without any war that time. Afterwards Gonar said we were foolish not to fight Roingin and spear them dead, as Gonar did love fighting better than everything, being angry like some fight got inside him and wouldn’t let him rest. But others knew Tartoyen was right, as Roingin were so many.

  So time passed. I grew taller, until, by and by, I did suppose I knew every thing now, and there were no mysteries to confound anymore. Of course in truth I knew piss-poor little. Why, I knew only half, and that whole other half was sat there waiting, like one kanunnah, licking his lips.

  One day it was warm and there was rain but no wind, so drops fell straight like stones. We were in the bush, sitting quiet and watching meat cooking in the fire, and the smoke smelled good, as this was the first game we caught for days and we were hungry after eating just roots. Then Gonar, who went off to the edge of that clearing to do shittings, came running back and shouted in a whispering way, ‘‘Something’s coming.’’

  Now if something’s coming and you don’t know what it is there’s no prudence just waiting for it to walk on you. Tartoyen signalled with his hands and we went away into trees without any noise, to a place some way off, with bushes to hide, though we could see between the leaves. Then twigs were breaking, telling us this something coming was clumsy. In fact it was three somethings. No, I had never seen creatures so strange, I do recollect. They were the shape of men but only this. Their skin was not like skin at all but was the colour of stone, and loose, so it flapped. Even their feet were ugly, too big and with no toes. Worst, though, were their faces. These were coloured like raw meat, with no alive look in them. Up they walked through the rain, which was getting heavy now, so it made the trees clap. They stopped when they saw the fire and meat, but then they ran towards it, very fast and grabbing.

  I looked at Tartoyen and to my surprise I saw he looked just woeful. Then I saw everyone was woeful now, even Gonar, who would fight the wind itself. That was some puzzle to confound and made me curious. ‘‘What are they?’’ I whispered.

  D’you know Tartoyen went angry, like I never saw him go angry before. ‘‘Ghosts,’’ he said, like I said something bad about him. ‘‘Dead men jumped up.’’

  When everything’s got suddenly strange, one more strange thing seems almost usual. So this was what happened to dead ones, I did suppose. It was scaring but also interesting. I did observe those ghosts didn’t look happy being dead but were restless, like they had bad aches inside. Also they were too hungry. They never stopped to see who made that fire but just started eating the meat. Our meat. Its cooking wasn’t finished and it must have been hot as burning but they just tore off big pieces and put them in their mouths, very rude. Death gave them some big appetite I did divine.

  Here were many mysteries to confound. So I tried to surmise why Tartoyen never told me about these ghosts before, though he told me everything else. Also I pondered if ghosts could die, though this seemed impossible when they were already dead. I was thinking so, rain was clapping, and others were watching ghosts eat our meat when all suddenly I saw Mongana’s mother give me a hating look, sharper than spears. Sometimes you do just know a heinous awful something is going to happen, and sure enough, now she pointed right at my face.

  ‘‘It’s his fault.’’

  All at once every one of them was looking at me. I didn’t understand. ‘‘What d’you mean?’’

  For a moment nobody said a word and the only sound was that rain clapping quicker and quicker, making the leaves shiver. Then Mongana’s mother gave Tartoyen a look that was full of scornings, which was strange too, as he was Tartoyen and no one did that usually. ‘‘Go on, tell him.’’

  I supposed Tartoyen would give her words like some grievous blow, but no, he just closed his eyes like his head ached and never spoke a word. Grandmother did instead, yes, whispering like some snarl, ‘‘Leave him alone.’’

  But there is no trap like a mystery to confound. Even if you know the answer is some terrible hardship to endure, still you must hear. ‘‘Tell me.’’

  Tartoyen he let out a big breath and sort of sagged, like belly meat. ‘‘Your father was like them. A ghost.’’

  That was some mystery to confound, bigger than any other. How could I be the child of some dead man? Yet those looks of others told me it must be so, as they were changed now, as if I was some piss-poor strange fellow, or Roingin. Then I did recollect that long-ago afternoon, and that stranger looking up from the shallow pool. So I could divine this truth. Yes, that was ghosts’ hair I had, and ghosts’ monster face. This was some terrible thing. All this while here I was, breathing and eating for years, and mostly things stayed just the same. Days came and went and I thought I knew everything. Then all at once, quick as slipping and falling, I found every day of it was really just some hateful foolishness. Suddenly I got angry, and I most of all I got angry with Tartoyen, who was supposed to be my good friend.

  ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me?’’ I didn’t even whisper it. I hardly cared if those ghosts came and killed us all.

  Tartoyen didn’t answer me but just looked at the ground, where a little grey beetle was walking over some leaf.

  ‘‘You lied to me. You said I had no father.’’

  Tartoyen closed his eyes. ‘‘He wasn’t like a father. He just came one time in the night and took away your mother.’’

  Now I saw Grandmother pointed her long, bony finger at Tartoyen’s face. ‘‘You let him steal her from me. You all did.’’

  D’you know, they all looked shamed. All because they didn’t kill Father that long time ago. The only one who wasn’t, and was just hating, was Mongana’s mother, Pagerly. ‘‘My husband fought him even if none of you did. Don’t you forget that,’’ she snarled. ‘‘He wasn’t scared of any ghost. He was brave when you were cowards. And his ghost’’—she pointed at me—‘‘killed him for it with his thunder noise.’’

  Mongana was crying.


  So I learned why they both hated me all this while. Mongana’s father got killed by Father. It was all bad, very bad. Still I had to know more, even if it was just worse. ‘‘What happened to Mother?’’

  Grandmother shrugged. ‘‘She escaped from the ghost’s island and came back to us. But by then anger got inside her and wouldn’t let her rest. So one day, after you were born, she went away to kill him. I tried to make her stay but there was no telling your mother what to do.’’

  That was when Pagerly gave me a gleeful look, as if she had some special hating thing for me. ‘‘She wanted to kill you, Peevay. She wanted to smash your head against a tree. She said so. She would have, too, if she hadn’t been so weak.’’

  That was the very worst thing of them all, I do recollect, and I felt quite weak with piss-poor woeful feelings deep inside my breast. Mongana was right after all. Mother wanted to kill me. She never would step from the sea with special food just for me.

  So finally ended that mystery of what in fuck happened to Mother and Father. I saw others watching me, and their looks were as if I was different now, not quite like them, which was heinous. All of a sudden everything in all the whole world was just spoiled, and it was all my fault besides. All I wanted was to put it back like it had been just before, when we were sat around the fire, quiet and ordinary and waiting for meat.

  ‘‘Look, they’ve gone,’’ said Gonar.

  I’d forgotten about the ghosts. Sure enough when we peered through the trees there was no sign. Carefully we left those bushes and returned to the fire. Ghosts’ tracks went away running, as if they heard our talkings and got scared. There was hardly any meat left except for just bones.