Jasmine came with a bottle of whisky and a puppy. She held the bottle firmly by the neck, but the puppy was unrestrained. It bounced around, almost tripping her, and ran, slipping and sliding on the linoleum, into the kitchen as soon as the door was opened.
‘Shit, an invasion!’ The puppy cannoned into walls, ran under the table, and slipped and scampered away from their attempts to get it back out the door. Eventually they succeeded.
They sat at the kitchen table with glasses of whisky before them. ‘Ah. Like Somerset Maugham or something isn’t it? Living in the tropics, living in more privileged circumstances than the locals, sweating and drinking whisky.’
‘Wasn’t it gin?’
‘Hardly appropriate here.’
‘I’m going to get myself a pith helmet, and a monocle,’ said Liz. ‘Perhaps a whip even.’
‘For Bill? Kinky.’ Jasmine wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. They had more whisky. ‘I think I’d get myself a houseboy,’ Jasmine continued after a time.
‘For your housework? Or to cool your passions. You want your desires slaked, woman?’ asked Liz. Then, seriously, ‘How come you came to a place like this anyway Jasmine? Unusual for a single woman, isn’t it? I think so anyway. I wouldn’t be able to do it, not on my own.’
‘I was unhappy. I’d split up with my man, I wanted a baby. I thought I wanted a baby. I think maybe I’m running out of time. I’m thirty now.’ She laughed at herself. ‘Oh, and the CES just said the job was available. This was in Perth. And I’d been up here before, in Broome and Derby anyway.’
They mouthed little words then, for a time. Jasmine was probably relieved when she thought of something with which to change the subject. ‘You know old Walanguh is sick? So they say, very sick apparently.’
‘Is he one of them that stays down under the mango trees, near those old tiny huts? Fatima’s husband?’
‘Yeah, I think so. With all the dogs. And naked most of the time, so the Sisters are always saying.’
‘Yeah, I was over there the other week. I was walking back from the river and Sebastian yelled out to me. He was talking to the old bloke. So I went over there. He was hard to understand. I could hardly understand what he was saying. He looked all right though, not sick or anything.’
‘They reckon he’s been sick off and on for a long time. But now it looks like he’ll probably die even. They flew him into hospital, which shows he’s sick, otherwise he wouldn’t let them send him in there. So everyone is saying.’
‘Sebastian told me that he’s a “powerful one”, or was anyway. I s’pose that means they have a lot of respect for him.’
‘The mission reckon he killed a lot of men when he was younger, so the Sisters and Brother Tom say, and they’ve been here longest. They say he was a great storyteller, and singer and that. And, the Sisters say, a womaniser.’
‘Maybe they like to think about that, the details.’ They laughed, an easy joke.
More whisky. Billy noticed that Jasmine’s throat was flushed. Suddenly the pup barked and leapt from the verandah. The three at the kitchen table turned their heads and saw Murray appear in the frame of the door with the pup leaping up at him, its tongue and tail waving. This time they managed to keep the dog out.
They pulled the curtain across the sliding door. ‘In case someone comes it wouldn’t look too good if we’re all here getting pissy.’
The rain began. ‘First afternoon rain for a while, eh?
‘Yes it’s starting to dry up now. Tourists’ll be in in a couple of months, or less. And the locals’ll be going out for, in with, grog. You hear they wanted to fly old Walanguh out, to hospital? He wouldn’t go.’
‘Yeah, we were just talking about that.’
‘There’ll be a big funeral if he dies, just about everyone here’s related to him one way or another. He’s Fatima’s husband, did you know? The mission married them, but I don’t think there’s any kids, they certainly don’t seem to have much to do with one another these days.’
More little talk, more small whiskies. Their words not finding targets, not so well aimed, but more abundant, and criss-crossing, colliding in space between them.
‘Look at that pup.’
‘We should be getting our vehicle in soon.’
‘He was the last of the litter, the runt. From Samson, you know, the dancer, the family that look after Deslie.’
‘I get so tired here, in the heat.’
‘No one wanted him.’
‘They’ll be able to get grog in soon, in the dry.’
‘No one was looking after him. He’s a petrol sniffer. And there are, or were, very few petrol vehicles here. Samson’s his cousin, or uncle...’
Too many words. They said many things. Murray said, ‘I’m glad to get away from the mission a bit. Everyone’s bitching about Father Paul, and then practically cheering, secretly, that he’s leaving.’
‘Leaving? Really? When?’
‘On sabbatical, I think it’s sabbatical. Soon. Maybe a few, or several, months’ time. I think. Something like that.’
Murray’s boots rocked onto their toes, and onto their heels. Then one leapt over the other as he crossed his legs, and stretched them out. His foot bumped Jasmine’s.
‘Sorry,’ he blushed.
‘S’alright.’ Did she notice the blush? She spoke to Billy. ‘How’s the taping going?’
‘What?’ Murray’s question.
Liz explained. Murray raised his eyebrows. ‘Why bother? You want to encourage them? They’ll lie to you you know. Still, I guess you could fix up their English when you write it up for the kids or whatever.’
‘Not necessarily, not just that. Look ... I’m not finding time to write them up anyway.’
‘No one’ll thank you for it.’
‘Ha! Ah well. What else can I do? I like that sort of thing. And I’m Aboriginal, of Aboriginal descent. A bit of tarbrush in me.’ Oops. He gave a derisive snort of laughter. Too many whiskies for Billy maybe. ‘So I’m interested. That must be part of the reason I asked to come here. Most chalkies only come here if they’ve got no choice. I dunno. Maybe it’s stupid any of us being here, if we look at it.’
‘Why are you here then, Murray?’ Liz focused on Murray. All the eyes turned on him. She continued, perhaps protecting her husband from criticism that may have been about to come. ‘You’re not a lay missionary, are you? You get paid?’ Murray was spotlit. Everyone else around the table sat in a dimmed, shadowless light.
‘No, no.’ He was quick to deny the occupation. He was looking at Jasmine. ‘I’d been labouring, plasterer’s assistant, for years. Lifetimes.’
‘How old are you?’ interrupted Liz.
‘Twenty-nine,’ he said promptly.
‘Sorry,’ said Liz. The spotlight was off. ‘We’re all doing our ages. It’s dark in here, isn’t it?’ She turned on the room light. Thin shadows returned.
Murray continued, ‘So I came here, voluntary, when I saw it advertised in a local church bulletin. After three months Father Paul asked me to stay, for wages.’
‘You are a Christian, committed then?’
The spotlight flickered.
‘My family are. I go to church, here, once a week at least. Father Paul explained that that would be required.’
‘So, you’re not a Christian?’ Liz was raised as a Catholic, lapsed in her early twenties.
‘Yes, but ... this mate of mine, he was at uni, he sends me reading. Kierkegaard ... like Graham Greene, have you read...’
Talk, talk, and blue smoke drifting from Jasmine’s cigarette. The smoke was the colour of the clouds outside. The room’s light glowed yellow as the late afternoon light faded. The airconditioner roared, as ever, unnoticed.
A figure, having materialised from the darkness, was knocking at the door. They feebly pushed at their whisky glasses, temporarily wanting to be rid of them. Billy went to the door, feeling tipsy.
‘Milton, what’s up mate?’
Milton was annoyed at feeling shy, awkward at the door of this new house, teacher’s clean house, these gardiya all caught together with their glasses before them, and he alone.
‘Come in, Milton.’
‘No, I must go, supper now. Maybe we go fishing tomorrow, my car. You, me, Liz too, Alphonse.’
‘Yes, great, yes.’
He left. They called their goodbyes as he closed the sliding door. Their eyes ricocheted as they returned to their drinks, and their laughter was tainted with guilt.
‘He’s a nice man, isn’t he?’ said Liz.
‘Yes, very. And so good looking. Adorable.’
Murray looked at Jasmine as she said this, watched her soft throat as, dragging on her cigarette, she tilted her chin back. He pressed his fists between his thighs and stretched his legs.
‘I’ll have to leave. My turn to wash dishes tonight. Thanks for the drinks,’ he said. ‘Hey,’ he addressed Jasmine. ‘Seeing as how Bill and Liz are sorted out, what are you doing tomorrow? You could come with me and Father Paul if you want. We’re going out to one of the creeks to fish, maybe a beer. Or if we don’t go, I could help you make a fence for your pup.’
‘Um, look, um, I’ll come over early. You’ll go early? I’ll come over early if I want to come, otherwise it just means I need my sleep. All right?’