Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [58]
They anchored for the night and, by the light of a lantern and the clear moonlight, Ahmed cooked their meal of rice, fish and vegetables with a spicy sauce over a small portable fuel fire. Sitting on the deck, eating off tin plates, the water lapping against the hull and the stars bright above, Olivia thought it one of the most enjoyable meals she could remember. The sea air had made her drowsy so she retired to the main cabin, opened the portholes and fell instantly into a sound sleep. On deck Ahmed and Tyndall, in swaying hammocks slung under the booms, talked softly in Malay and English.
They had been at sea for two days before Olivia raised the matter of a stopover in Cossack so that she could visit her baby’s grave. Tyndall agreed without hesitation.
Olivia walked slowly to the small, lonely cemetery where her son had been formally buried what now seemed an age ago. Their brief stay in Cossack held only sad memories for her and she gave thanks again for the entry of John Tyndall in her life. Broome and pearling had helped her cope with the loss of James. But she needed to say goodbye, to make some gesture to show she hadn’t abandoned him.
At the cemetery Tyndall stood back a little as Olivia went to the grave, knelt on the barren sandy soil and laid a small bunch of wildflowers at the foot of the tiny tombstone. She thought of all the things she would never do or share with him. Never to see him grow and discover the world, never be able to show him the love that ached in her. Her arms and heart felt empty and she cried softly. Then she prayed silently, and absently stroked the mound slowly for some time before kissing her fingertips and lightly touching the headstone. As she rose Tyndall took her arm and their eyes met briefly, then she turned and together they walked silently to the road and the hired sulky.
For the rest of the journey Olivia spent a lot of time sitting alone in the shade of the sails looking out to sea or at the passing coastline, but not really seeing. Ahmed took her food and drink from time to time, saying little, and getting no more than a nod and a fleeting expression of gratitude. Tyndall kept his distance, occupying himself with the wheel, and tried to understand the emotional turmoil she must be experiencing.
One morning, after hot black tea and toast with treacle, they got under way and by lunchtime were nosing into the strip of coast where they had established a rough camp. They moored and as Ahmed rowed them ashore welcome calls rang out from the bushland and soon the Aborigines were milling about exchanging greetings and news.
To Olivia’s delight, among another group making their way to them, she recognised the women and the men from the people who had helped her when she first came ashore. Tyndall glanced at her, then swiftly and gently explained in their language the fate of Olivia’s baby. The women made a clicking sound with their tongues and spoke quickly.
While Ahmed spoke to the men in pidgin, Tyndall said softly to Olivia, ‘The women say your baby has returned to his Dreaming place and is well.’
Olivia crumbled and Tyndall reached to take her arm and felt her choke on a sob, then stiffen and pull herself erect. ‘Please tell them I am very grateful for their message.’ She hesitated, then went on, ‘Tell them that I’m glad they gave James a Dreaming.’
Tyndall struggled with the message but the reassuring nods from the women did much to hearten Olivia. They took her by both hands and led her off to a huge spreading rain–tree and in its shade formed a circle and began a ceremony of wailing, weeping and