Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [14]
Her hands were gnarled like a man’s, veins and bumps stood out along her thin legs, but her body was heavy and a cotton hat hid what remained of her wispy grey hair.
‘My name’s Lily.’ She sat down on the sand beside her.
‘Me is Biddy. I got me little house down back of the creek there.’ She nodded over her shoulder. ‘Dat’s some of me mob over there.’ Another tilt of the head was aimed towards half a dozen men sitting in the shade by one of the old sheds, a pile of empty beer bottles and the glint of silver bellies of wine casks testament to weeks of drinking.
‘Lazy buggers, some of ‘em,’ she continued, ‘Men worked hard in the old days but. Plenty work round then.’
‘Tell me about the old days, Biddy. What was it like?’
Biddy tested the line draped over her finger then settled back and started to reminisce—colourful stories punctuated by frequent cackles. She talked about the big bungalows, the fancy furniture. ‘Some of ‘em even got pearl and gold made into chairs and what not.’ She described the ornate embroidered dresses, the men’s uniforms, the parties.
‘That washin’ was somethin’. Them Masters change their whites many times a day’
‘Their whites?’ Lily was thinking of the photo of the smiling man in the starched white suit.
‘An’ their shoes. Fifteen pairs of shoes I hadta white up for the boss … But they were good people, good people.’
Lily listened, asking a question now and then, starting to see colour flow onto her black and white image of old Broome.
Biddy told of how she’d stayed with one family most of her life till the war came. ‘Everyt’ing in Broome go upside down. T’ings come good in last coupla years but. Never be same as old days for many fellas, but for Biddy, it’s okay. My granddaughter doin’ really good.’
Lily felt herself warming to Biddy—to her strong sense of humour and her keen observations of life.
‘Did they treat you right in the old days, Biddy?’
‘Yeah, all right with my one white family. We like family. All my family come t’ Broome. Even bush aunties and uncles. Now only us left.’
‘Were there bad times?’ asked Lily.
The old woman shrugged.’ Sometimes. Old Biddy now always here fishin’, good times ‘n’ bad times. Not much else yer can do, eh?’
Lily smiled. That was one way to deal with life, go fishing. She’d always liked fishing. Quiet fishing, from a boat with a handline. It gave you an excuse just to sit and think, or to let the mind drift. You weren’t doing nothing, you were fishing.
‘Tide’s comin’ in,’ remarked Biddy. ‘Wash everyt’ing fresh agin.’
The tide now ran swiftly and started licking at Biddy’s torn sandshoes. She started rolling in her lines. One was around a big plastic reel, another on a cork and one around a lemonade bottle.
Lily picked up the bottle. ‘Can I help?’
‘You feel ’im run, you jag ’im quick,’ instructed Biddy.
‘Don’t worry, Biddy, I’ve fished for my supper before today.’
But it was Biddy who had the strike and landed a fat catfish which she expertly dispatched, avoiding its cruel spines.
‘You holiday in Broome?’ Biddy asked as they packed up.
‘Sort of.’
Biddy looked at Lily with some intensity. ‘Broome a good place. You look aroun’.’
‘I intend to, Biddy.’
Lily walked back to where the pearl shops housed in old shell sheds began. She swung down an alley and found herself in the remains of Chinatown, the crooked alleyways, renovated dark and narrow shops and eateries, all hinting of a shady past. She headed back past the Roebuck Hotel. The pub was quiet, a group of Aborigines squatting in some shade by the entrance. Despite the bright touristy coat of paint on the town, the past was still visible and Lily found herself soaking up the atmosphere.
That evening she decided to walk up the road to the Mangrove Hotel which overlooked Roebuck Bay, have a drink and watch the sunset before finding a restaurant for dinner.
She walked across Bedford Park, past the rusting horse-drawn train carriage which used to run down to Streeter’s Jetty, and past the replica