DANCER WAKES WITH the first light of day.
He tries pulling the blanket over his head, but this morning it won’t work. Images from the last couple of days are crowding his mind, spilling over from his dreams. The shock, and the sick feeling in his guts as they gazed on the line of surveyor’s pegs heading straight for Jiir Rock; the bulldozer as it bore down on Janey; and worst of all, the look on Buster’s face when they gave him the news.
With the thought of Buster, Dancer is fully awake and out of bed in a flash, remembering that he has to sit with the old man today. Normally he’d be more than happy to miss the first day back at school, but not like this.
In the top bunk Buddy is still sound asleep, lost in a dream of his own. A glance out the window shows no signs of life, but he knows Bella will be up. He pads through the silent house and across the yard to her place.
‘Mornin’ Dancer.’ Bella gives him a smile as he brushes aside the straps of the fly screen. She hands him a big pannikin of milky tea and butters a couple of hefty slices of damper, then goes back to scrubbing out a huge pot.
‘You cooking up broth?’ Dancer asks.
‘Yep, you can take it with you up to the reserve.’
‘Nyami Micky’s still there for now though isn’t he?’
‘He’s gone out to get me some birrga birrga and fever grass for the broth.’ She sees the look of concern that comes over him. ‘Don’t worry Dancer, Buster was sleepin’ when Micky left him.’
‘Still, he shouldn’t be on his own, Mimi. I’ll go straight up now, hey. Buddy can bring the broth later.’
When he does manage to get up with the dawn, Dancer likes this early hour. Usually it is when they are out bush, and he can listen to the birds and enjoy the quiet and the stillness as the light grows richer. But this morning he hardly notices his surroundings as he pedals through the deserted streets, past the shuttered shops, and up Kennedy Hill to the reserve. All his thoughts are with the old man.
He finds Buster still asleep on the verandah of his tiny house, sprawled out on a foam mattress on the old iron bed. But it is a troubled sleep. Sweat glistens on his forehead and grey stubble shows on his upper lip and jaw. The blanket has become twisted by his tossing and turning.
Dancer pulls a chair close by the bed and watches, sitting as still as Jiir poised on a branch. When Buster rolls over, Dancer reaches out to straighten the blanket. The old man stirs again. He mumbles something and his eyes flicker open. He gives Dancer a weak smile.
‘You okay Nyami?’ Dancer asks anxiously. ‘Can I get you anything?’
Buster reaches out with his near hand and pats Dancer’s knee. He doesn’t answer. Dancer holds his eye, and dares to ask the question that is filling his mind. ‘It’s Jiir, isn’t it? That bulldozer.’
The hand stays on Dancer’s knee, limp, but somehow reassuring. The old man’s eyes close as he nods. This seems to bring a fresh wave of pain to his fevered body, and it is not the strong voice familiar to Dancer that speaks. ‘You’re startin’ to understand boy. That dozer’s woken up old man Jiir. In his place there under the ground, he heard those rocks comin’ down … He was talking to me in my dreams last night … You kids did your best.’
Dancer feels the pressure of the hand on his knee.
‘But he wants to know why I’m lettin’ them bugger up his place. I’m supposed to be the boss for that place … supposed to look after it.’ He pulls the blanket up around himself as if to ward something off, and turns away from Dancer.
Dancer watches the hunched figure for a moment, then pushes himself sharply to his feet. He doesn’t realise he has been holding his breath until it rushes out in a sort of gasp that is a mixture of worry and anger.
Georgie eases his car into the verge by the Jirroos’ driveway. He waves down Eddie’s battered ute and puts on his official voice. ‘A complaint has been lodged with the Department.’
Eddie’s reply has a sharp edge. ‘What sort of complaint?’
At the other end of the driveway Buddy is walking across the yard. He is intrigued at the sight of his two uncles facing each other down from the driver’s seats of their cars. He crouches behind a trailer where he can hear Georgie.
‘Apparently your daughter was the ringleader of a group of children who were interfering with the lawful activities of a developer down at Eagle Beach yesterday.’ Eddie snorts, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as Georgie continues. ‘I’m also told that their behaviour endangered not only their own safety, but that of the worker involved.’
Eddie is trying hard to keep his temper as he snaps back. ‘Mack was in danger was he! Get down off your high horse Georgie, and talk like a Broome boy. We know who you are and where you’re from. Remember? We used to play music together once — before you started getting airs and graces.’
Georgie and Col both open their doors. Buddy tenses, eyes wide at the prospect of a fight, right here in the driveway. But Eddie puts a hand out and signals for Col to stay where he is. Georgie hesitates, and settles back into his seat as he speaks. ‘If that’s how you want to play it Jirroo, then let me put it this way. Tell your brats to keep their noses out of other people’s business, and keep them off the streets.’
Eddie has gone past anger now; he shakes his head in disbelief at the words coming from this man who used to be his friend, an in-law. ‘Eagle Beach ain’t the streets Georgie. It’s Jirroo territory. You know that. But I haven’t got time to argue the toss with you. We’ve got real jobs to go to.’ He turns away in disgust and restarts his ute, then looks back at Georgie. ‘I thought your job was to look after blackfellers, not help the bigwigs stitch us up.’
Georgie yells furiously at the departing ute, ‘That’s right, run away! Just like a Jirroo. Just like your brother. Andy got off light, he should’ve done life for killing my sister!’ The engine screams, as Georgie slams his door and reverses out into the street.
Buddy gets up slowly from his spot behind the trailer, watching Georgie disappear.
‘There you are!’ It is Mary, with a cross look and a large thermos. ‘You better get a move on Buddy. Here’s Bella’s broth. Drop it off at the reserve, and get yourself to school quick smart, hey. The others left ten minutes ago.’
Buddy’s first thought is to tell Mary what has just happened, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he takes the thermos with a complaint. ‘It’s not fair. Why do I have to go to school while Dancer stays back with Buster?’
Mary gives him a look that makes it clear she is not in the mood to start down that sort of track. ‘Just get a move on. What are the teachers going to be thinking, with you late on the first day of term!’
Buddy gives his aunt a dirty look and snatches his schoolbag. Taking off down the driveway, one hand on the handlebars of his bike, the other cradling the thermos, he almost loses his balance as he turns his head for a parting retort. ‘If Dad was here, he’d let me.’
Buddy feels like he is about to explode. He tears down the footpath trying to shut Georgie’s words out of his mind, riding as fast as he can, as if trying to take out his feelings on the pedals. He doesn’t see the car reversing out of a driveway until the last second. He slams on the brakes, swerving and skidding, then spills to the ground.
He ignores the driver’s angry shout as she pulls away, then scrabbles after the thermos that has fallen out of his bag. He’s relieved to see the thermos is still intact. Only then does he register the pain. He puts a hand to his forehead and sees it is smeared with blood.
Mary rolls her eyes in exasperation as she watches Buddy disappear. ‘He’s a handful that boy. I wish his dad was here a bit more to pull him into line.’
‘It’s his nature Mary, whether Andy’s around or not.’ Ally points to an empty chair at the big backyard table. ‘Sit down and enjoy the peace and quiet for a few minutes.’ Mary still has her mind on her nephews. ‘I can never get over how different he and Dancer are.’
Ally glances up. ‘You can certainly see their different mothers in the pair of them.’ She gives Mary a serious look. ‘Has Col ever told you the story properly? All of it?’
‘You know he doesn’t like talking about all that stuff Ally. Strong silent type and all that.’
‘Men, hey,’ Ally shakes her head. ‘I used to think I should sit you down and give you the family history when you first came. But I didn’t know you well enough then, and I never knew what Col had told you. Then as the years went by, it didn’t seem to matter so much.’
She leans across the table with an intensity in her voice. ‘None of us likes talking about it, sis. Talking about it, remembering it, anything about it. But you’ve been part of this family for what? — twelve years, thirteen? You’re more of a mother to those two boys than anyone else on this earth. You’ve got a right to know.’ Ally pauses for a moment before adding, ‘If you want to that is.’
Mary nods.
‘Wait there a minute,’ Ally says, getting up. ‘I’ll make another pot of tea.’
Dancer glances at his watch, wondering when Buddy will arrive. Buster is still restless and throws off the blanket again. The day is warming up, and Dancer folds it and puts it down beside the bed, by the pair of clap sticks.
The clap sticks are about twenty centimetres long — ironwood stained dark brown, with a simple pattern etched into the wood. Dancer picks them up and tests their feel — solid, weighty, comfortable in his hands. He taps them together gently; even so, the sound is clear, there is a richness to it.
He gets up and moves off the verandah into the dusty yard, and starts to tap a rhythm, humming softly to himself. He looks around the reserve. There is no-one in sight. His feet begin to move in small shuffling steps, a hesitant imitation of the traditional dance he has seen a few times. He is thinking of Buster last summer. He was strong and well and handsome, leading the dancing at the open part of the ceremonies, before he and the rest of the men took the boys away for their initiation.
Lost in these thoughts, his feet gradually free up, and soon the rest of his body is moving into the dance. The shuffling steps become a series of high steps and stamps, with splayed knees. He crouches, bends, sways. The low hum is now a wordless chant.
Ally talks softly, as if to herself. ‘Dancer’s mum was a quiet one, just like he is. She was a bush girl from Tirralintji, up the Gibb River Road. Her and Andy met when he was just a green young ringer working on one of the stations up there. True love if ever I’ve seen it. We teased Andy something terrible.
‘They came down here when she got pregnant. She was a lovely girl, but hard to get to know. She couldn’t really handle town life, I don’t think.
‘Dancer was such a big baby, and she was such a slip of a thing. She was never well after the birth. When she got really sick, after a couple of years, she wouldn’t go to the hospital. One morning she was gone. Back to her mob up there, we found out.
‘Maybe she knew in her bones she was dying. Or maybe she felt she couldn’t take Dancer away from Andy — and old Buster. Buster doted on him — the first child of the new generation of Jirroos. Whatever it was, she left him here with us.’
Mary lets the silence hang for a few moments before asking, ‘Didn’t Andy chase her, try to find out what was wrong?’
‘Course he did, Mary. He was gone for a fortnight up there. And he’s never talked to anyone about it. Not even Col I don’t think. He couldn’t handle it. Before long he went on the grog big time. They were nightmare times. I had Janey by then, and me and Bella had to care for Dancer between us. Andy’d disappear for days and weeks, then he’d be nothing but trouble when he came back.’
She looks across at Mary. ‘You know who tried hardest to get through to him, get him to pull himself together?’
Mary shakes her head. Ally gives a rueful laugh. ‘Georgie. Georgie bloody Jordan. Him and Andy were best mates before it all went wrong. Hung out together. Played music together. But then, as if to spite Georgie, Andy took up with his sister. She was a drinker too, and the pair of them just dragged each other further and further down.
‘Then Buddy came along. He was small, wiry, always crying. No wonder, poor kid. His mum and Andy were always drunk, or fighting — or both. And it just went on like that until the crash.
‘After the funeral there was the most terrible blue between Andy and her family. Old Rosa gave him a hiding and he just stood there and took it. He knew he had it coming under the old laws.
‘Andy turned up here the next day, looking like death. He grabbed Dancer and took off with him and Buddy. Next thing we heard, they’d all been picked up in Derby. He was in gaol, and the boys had been taken in by Welfare.’
‘You know the rest of the story more or less. That’s when Eddie rang Col. He figured Col was the only one who might be able to get through to Andy. They were always the closest of the brothers.’
Mary laughs at the memory. She can afford to now. ‘Me never out of Ireland in me life, Jimmy just weaned, and Tich on the way! And next thing I knew, Col had us on a plane to the other side of the world to wait for me brother-in-law that I’d never met to get out of the nick.’
Ally reaches out a hand and squeezes Mary’s. ‘It did the trick at this end though. Dancer settled straight back in like he’d never been away. Buddy though — I don’t know. I think he was scarred by it all in some way. You’d think he was too young to remember, but to me, he’s always seemed scared underneath that front of his, scared it might all fall apart, or he might get taken away again.’
A noise from one of the nearby houses brings Dancer back to the real world. The chant dies in his throat and his feet come to a halt. Then he turns to check on Buster, and sees that the old man has woken and is watching him. His first instinct is embarrassment, but then he sees the smile in Buster’s eyes.
‘You know it was me that gave you the name Dancer.’
‘That’s what Dad says.’
‘You’d hardly started walkin’, but you used to shuffle about whenever I sang. I told ’em all you’d dance a good caba caba when the time comes.’
The moment is broken by Buddy’s arrival. Dancer turns, ready to give Buddy a grilling about where he’s been, until he sees the blood and the dark look on Buddy’s face. ‘What happened?’ he asks him.
‘Came off me bike.’ Buddy hands the thermos to Dancer, evading his brother’s attempts to inspect his wounds.
Buster props himself up on an elbow and pats the bed. Buddy sits beside him and gets his hair ruffled while Dancer opens the thermos and pours some of Bella’s broth into a pannikin. Buster pushes himself up into a sitting position and drinks a big draught, then smacks his lips. ‘Bella reckons this soup can fix anythin’. Maybe you better drink a bit Buddy.
‘Soup isn’t what I need though. I’ve got some business to do, blackfeller way. Got to go to Garnet Bay.’
Dancer’s eyes widen, but Buddy hasn’t really been listening. Sitting there next to his nyami, he blurts out, ‘Did Dad really kill my mum?’
Dancer has no idea where this has come from. ‘Buddy! Nyami’s sick.’
‘It’s okay Dancer,’ Buster says. He faces Buddy, waiting until Buddy looks up and meets his eyes. He speaks gently. ‘No Buddy, he didn’t kill her.’
‘Then why’d he go to gaol for it?’ Buddy almost shouts his question.
‘Buddy, Buddy, Buddy,’ Buster sighs deeply, and pulls Buddy in close to lean against him. ‘You’ve seen what happens when the grog gets hold of people. It’s like a madness, a disease. You’ve seen it round town.
‘When Dancer’s mum died, Andy let that madness get hold of him. He hooked up with your mum. She was a beautiful girl Buddy. They both loved you boy, but they lost control of their lives. She died in an accident. A terrible car accident. Andy was drivin’ that car. And he had to pay the price — two ways. By blackfeller law, and by whitefeller law. They put him in gaol for dangerous driving.’
Buddy has been staring fixedly down at his feet. Now he twists to look up at Buster, barely able to hold back his tears. Buster holds him in a tight embrace, murmuring softly. ‘He didn’t kill her Buddy. But he has to live with knowin’ that he was a part of her dyin’. All he’s ever wanted to do since then is make it up to you the best way he knows.’
Buddy sniffles. Some of the tension in him is released, but he keeps his face buried in Buster’s chest. Buster looks across at Dancer, who has tears running down his cheeks. He shifts slightly, easing Buddy off so he can look at him. ‘Has Georgie been shootin’ his mouth off?’
Buddy nods. Buster shakes his head sadly, then straightens himself up and manages to get a smile on his face. ‘Tell you what, how about comin’ to Garnet Bay with me?’