6

I listen as Bonny tells Beeral of the strangest request so far in Germany. A month and a half after arriving in Dresden, Bonny explains that ‘Mr Müller’ showed him statues of Roman gods as white as the sun’s glare on sand or the brightest ochre. He also showed him casts of visitors to Germany – copies of just the faces, or sometimes the faces, shoulders and chests.

Bonny says to Beeral, ‘Mr Müller wants to make copies of us also, but says we must not tell Hilda. He said, “She does not know how strong you are and will not agree, but I will pay you well and then take you soon to see the Queen. We will give the Queen a copy of the statues so that she remembers you and what you have asked of her.” I am telling you this, Beeral, so that you understand and do not grow alarmed at the peculiar requests of the men here. There is a reason for what we are about to do.’

The museum room has a large table, two stone slabs and buckets of wet plaster. Bonny volunteers to go first, his pulse quick in his neck. I can see such things. He undresses and holds the shell containing his Jun Jaree in his enclosed fist as Dorondera and Jurano watch closely, their shoulders rounded protectively in a way that suggests they, too, are nervous, but are trying to hide the fact.

‘Lie down there, please,’ Herr Meyer, the museum director, instructs, indicating one of the stone slabs. A technician shaves Bonny’s chest and face with a sharp razor and applies a thin layer of grease to his skin. He asks Bonny to rub some of the grease over his head, through his hair.

Herr Meyer says, ‘Now I will put these straws into your nose so you can breathe.’ He inserts the tubes into his own nostrils and takes several breaths to demonstrate. At that moment, the tubes still extending from the man’s nose, the door opens, and the German doctor Haeckel enters.

‘Ah, your walrus impression,’ the doctor chuckles.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Herr Meyer tells him, withdrawing the tubes. I notice the museum director’s eyes are watering.

‘Keep me safe, Beeral,’ Bonny whispers in Badtjala, looking through the window to the sky.

Sections of plaster-soaked cloth are applied to Bonny’s chest, and Bonny tells his friends that the bandages are pleasantly warm. As more bandages are applied, a frown creeps across Bonny’s brow.

‘The white mud is growing warmer,’ he says, bemused. ‘Like the sand in summer, not hotter. Do not be alarmed.’

Herr Meyer and his assistant work quickly, applying the bandages to Bonny’s shoulders and neck. Bonny’s frown deepens as the plaster is applied to his chin. He stares at the high ceiling and clutches his shell until the doctor, Haeckel, removes it from his hand, claiming it is a distraction.

‘Where is Hilda?’ Bonny asks Louis in German.

‘I have arranged that she visit relatives today. Cousins she has not seen for a long time.’ Louis pauses. ‘Close your eyes now, Bonny. I will be back when it is done.’

By now the plaster covers Bonny’s upper arms and torso, ending at his biceps and at his hips. I continue to watch but am uneasy as the technician starts to cover Bonny’s face with the thick, white mud. Bonny is nervous. I know this from the way his fingers run against one another at his sides. There is a faint swirling of white dust in the air as Bonny exhales. A bird pecks at the window with a message from Beeral: ‘What game is this? What test?’

It is Dorondera and Jurano’s turn, but they refuse to allow the men to cover them in plaster until they know that Bonny is safe. Dorondera cynches her arms tightly around herself as Jurano holds his hand over the straws in Bonny’s nostrils.

‘He breathes fast,’ Jurano says in Badtjala.

Dorondera reaches out and takes hold of Bonny’s hand, stilling his racing fingers.

After perhaps an hour, the mould is dry enough to remove and, carefully, it is lifted, leaving a perfect impression, as if Bonny had fallen face first into soft, damp sand. Bonny appears tired but unhurt, as strong and defiant as ever.

‘That space,’ Louis explains, for he is now back in the room, ‘will be sealed and filled with more white plaster, which will be in the shape of you, Bonny. Your front.’ He pauses, as if imagining the finished product. ‘In this way, you will live on forever. You will not be forgotten.’

‘We will give it to the Queen,’ Bonny says, also in German. ‘You promise me this.’

‘Yes.’

Bonny draws several long breaths and looks sideways at Jurano.

‘It is uncomfortable, but it is safe,’ he says in Badtjala now.

Jurano lies on the slab and, gradually, his greased torso and face are coated with the wet rags. Soon, only the loincloth and his bare legs and arms protrude from beneath the suffocating mass. Bonny goes to his friend and touches his arm, assuring him he is there. That he will stay.

Dorondera shakes her head at a man who is asking her, in a mixture of German and body language, to undress.

Louis leaves the room again. I would like to tell you what I feel about him, about Louis, this man I once knew, but I will not be distracted from my task of relaying this version of Bonny’s story, which I fear otherwise will not be told. I can only imagine what this is like for him, and for Jurano and Dorondera.

‘I won’t let them hurt you,’ Bonny tells Dorondera in Badtjala. ‘We will be well paid, and you will be able to buy the things you wish. You can take a gift home for your sister.’

Dorondera reluctantly removes her dress and lies on the neighbouring bench wearing just her pantaloons. She rubs a thin layer of the offered grease over her face, hair and body and flinches as soon as the plaster is applied to her stomach. It drizzles to the edge of her underwear.

‘Stay strong,’ Bonny tells her, resting a hand on her shoulder as she tries to sit up. ‘Remember why we are here. These copies will stand in the Queen’s house to remind her of us and our visit. She will make sure that our people are not moved off K’gari and that the killing stops.’

Dorondera lowers herself back down, and Bonny looks out through the window. Dorondera clenches her fists as her abdomen is coated in plaster. The metal straws are placed in her nose and she cries out again, trying to sit up. She glares at Bonny.

‘You said they wouldn’t hurt!’ she yells in Badtjala.

‘Be careful!’ Bonny shouts in German at the doctor, Haeckel.

‘She moved,’ the doctor says. He presses his hand across Dorondera’s bare chest and, with the help of the technician on the opposite side, lowers her again.

‘Do not do this to her,’ Bonny says, pulling the man back. ‘Stop.’

‘She is safe,’ Haeckel insists. ‘It will be over sooner if she stops moving. We need casts of all three of you.’ He holds up three fingers and points to each of them in turn.

‘Dorondera, try to be brave,’ Bonny tells her. ‘Do it for your young cousins back home. What do you want for this? What can Mr Müller buy you?’

‘A fur,’ Dorondera says. ‘I want a fur.’

‘We will be fast,’ Herr Meyer says. ‘I have made hundreds of these. You are safe.’ He taps Dorondera on her arm.

But Dorondera, still terrified, cries out as the plaster is layered over her throat and chin, and Jurano, incapacitated under the shell of drying plaster, releases a muffled groan as he extends his fingers in her direction.

Again, Dorondera tries to sit up.

‘Stop or you will injure yourself,’ Herr Meyer says, but he appears shocked when Haeckel straddles Dorondera and sits across her thighs.

‘It’s for her own safety,’ the doctor says. He holds her down until the technician has fully covered the girl’s face. ‘She must not move.’

Bonny covers his own face with his hands, quietly repeating the long list of places they have been, until he gets it right. I imagine that he is thinking himself far away from here. The act appears to calm him slightly. He whispers to Beeral that this hardship will soon be rewarded. It is the price they must pay.

While Bonny’s face is covered, I am shocked to see the man Haeckel lift the waistband of Dorondera’s pantaloons and look underneath.

Before the sun sets, there are three empty shells propped on the museum floor. Dorondera turns her back to dress, and even when she faces the men again she refuses to look Bonny in the eye.

‘I am sorry,’ he tells her in Badtjala.

‘We only came here because of you,’ she says. ‘You convinced us.’

Louis re-enters the room.

‘So, it all went well?’ he asks in German.

‘You must pay us very well for that,’ Bonny says bitterly, also in German. ‘Dorondera will have a fur, like the acrobats had. I will use my money for seeing the Queen. I will go alone if I must. Jurano, what do you want? Not firewater. Something else. To see the Queen?’

Jurano looks at Louis. In German he says, ‘We finish here soon. I want to see my wife.’

Four days later, Bonny, Jurano and Dorondera are called back to the museum, where the three finished casts stare back at their owners.

‘I am white,’ Dorondera says in Badtjala, touching the statue’s surface, her fingers tracing the downturned lips, the crease between her eyes.

‘You look very fine,’ Louis answers, although he seems troubled by the obvious distress captured in the casting. He touches the cast and continues in Badtjala, ‘They paint these to match your real skin colour.’ He pauses. ‘But remember, you not tell Hilda. You understand?’

It is difficult to keep listening.

Louis adds, ‘We needed more money. See Queen. I buy you fur, Dorondera. We find gift for your sister. Your cousins.’

‘My sister is not coming back,’ Dorondera says. ‘It will be like the other girls who were taken away many years ago. The government thought they were white, but they weren’t. They never came back.’

The story of the albino blacks who were taken to Sydney, mistakenly thought to be survivors of a shipwreck, is well known among the Badtjala.

Louis presses on. ‘We need money to go back to K’gari. You tell Hilda, then no money.’ He stumbles over the words, his ability in Badtjala growing poorer since being in Europe. ‘Hilda is gentle girl, she not understand. Sometimes we must suffer pain to do good in end. Yes? You see?’

It is Jurano who replies.

‘We see, yes, Mr Müller,’ he says in Badtjala. ‘We see now, very well.’

He takes hold of the cast of himself and, with one sharp forward motion, smashes it on the floor.