Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [31]
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
His reply, short and guttural, meant nothing to her and was like no language she had ever heard. Gratefully she held out her hands over the flame which represented security as well as a practical aid for light and cooking. Suddenly anxious to build the fire, she heaved herself to her feet and went to where she had stacked some wood.
When she turned back to the fire the man had gone, melting into the softly falling night.
She slept fitfully that night, driven to distraction by the attacks of flying, biting insects. When the dawn finally came, Olivia threw a branch on the fire embers and was relieved to see it flare into life. She felt a renewed spurt of energy and was confident that today Conrad would arrive. In anticipation she stowed and packed the things she had scattered about her shelter and gathered more wood. She longed for fresh food and was concerned at how low the water had sunk in one of the barrels. Perhaps the native who had kindled her fire might lead her to water. She had heard and seen nothing, but somehow knew they were close at hand and watching her.
By late morning she was weary, her limbs ached and she felt very strange, which she put down to lack of proper food. She sipped some of her water and to distract herself decided to walk through the coastal fringe of growth behind the white low sandhills. But after some distance with nothing but low scrubland, sandy red soil, spindly trees between sparse large gums, the heat began to affect her. So when she came upon a small clearing she sat down in the shade. She closed her eyes then gulped in shock as she felt her body become gripped in an iron clasp of pain. She drew up her knees as another spasm rippled and stabbed at her and the terrifying realisation hit her that she was going to have her child all alone in this wilderness.
Crying out aloud, she struggled to her feet, her arms cupped beneath the weight of the child which was pushing insistently and agonisingly downwards. After staggering a short distance, the pain once more forced her to the ground. Curling up on her side, Olivia rocked and moaned as the contractions rippled through her body. She lost track of time and sense of where she was, as she focused on the point within her body that was causing this anguish. She was vividly aware of her predicament, fearful of its outcome and screamed for her husband. Finally, she lapsed into semi-consciousness.
Through the mists of her mind Olivia became aware of a gentle hand soothing her hot brow, and firm hands straightening her legs. She felt herself being lifted.
‘Conrad, I knew you’d come,’ Olivia sighed and struggled to regain consciousness. Opening her eyes with relief, instead of her husband, she found she was staring into the dark eyes of a black woman. Two other Aboriginal women murmured words that had no meaning and pulled at her clothes but Olivia was too wracked by another contraction to fight them. She soon realised they were there to help her, and she began to work with them. Her voluminous skirt and petticoats were dispensed with and she squatted forward, supported front and back while the third woman directed proceedings. She felt the baby slide from her body as she arched and heaved with a panting cry and the satisfied grunts from the woman in charge comforted her. In a rush it was all over and the child was turned to face the earth, the cord pulled free and cut with a sharp stone flint. Olivia felt a hard push on her belly to expel the afterbirth.
They settled her and busied themselves with the baby after lifting it to her with broad smiles, showing her it was a son. Olivia, weak and shaking, could only gasp until they placed a wad of gummy substance