Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [59]
Back on the beach Olivia found the first of the supplies coming ashore with the help of several of the Aborigines. Tyndall made no reference to the ceremony that had taken place, recognising that it was ‘women’s sorry business’ and that it was better to talk of other things. He informed her that the negotiations for dry shelling were completed and that the men would begin work in two days. The delay was for some ceremony they were organising.
‘Can’t put off a ceremony, not for anything,’ explained Tyndall. ‘We either do things to their time, or not at all.’
‘Time seems irrelevant out here, don’t you think?’ mused Olivia.
‘A lot of our world is irrelevant out here,’ he replied and went back to helping unload the dinghy.
Olivia sat on the beach and took some deep breaths, quietly watching the activity. She reflected on Tyndall’s parting remark, at the same time acknowledging the ease with which she had accepted the Aboriginal expressions of grief, and how incredibly moving the experience had been for her. She realised she had been through a cathartic experience in the ceremony and now felt a remarkable sense of relief and freedom. James was safe. It was no longer so painful to think about him.
When the Aborigines were ready to work they waited till the tide ebbed, then fanned out along the exposed coral and mud seabed, filling small woven baskets with shell during the few hours that the mudflats were exposed. Some of them waded out further, bobbing beneath the sea as their feet or keen eyes found shells. Several men and two young women set out in the dinghy, diving over the side feet first with knees drawn up under the chin, then once in the water, angling their body to swim downwards. Some dived off the lugger into a depth of three or four fathoms, resurfacing with several shells.
Tyndall watched the work with satisfaction. ‘They’re natural divers but they were terribly abused in the old days,’ he told Olivia. ‘Twenty, thirty years ago the early pearlers, well, the more unscrupulous ones, used to virtually kidnap the natives and make them work their guts out diving for shell. Women, too. In fact the women were said to be better than the men at underwater work.’ He paused, then added with a raised eyebrow. ‘Not that they did all the work underwater.’
Olivia was shocked. ‘How terrible it must have been. Why didn’t the authorities stop it?’
‘Well, they did. At least they passed a law in the Parliament, but while the arm of the law is long, it has trouble reaching some of these parts. They at least stopped the auctions of Aborigines and islanders. The barracoons were slave sales.’
‘Do the natives use the modern diving suits on luggers?’
‘A few do, but other races are better at it, especially the Japs and Malays. This mob are too inclined to go walkabout at the drop of a hat. Money isn’t too meaningful to them. Like time,’ he smiled.
‘And the Malays?’ asked Olivia,
‘Like all the East India men, not too bad, but a bit easy going. Can run amok at times with their bloody ugly knives. Have cut up a few captains over the years. And hung for it.’
‘Ahmed seems very attached to his knife … kris,’ she said, correcting herself.
‘Ah, don’t you worry about him,’ said Tyndall reassuringly, ‘Ahmed is different.’
A breeze blew up from a new direction and Olivia recoiled as a vile odour washed over her with a near physical blow. Seeing her grimace, Ahmed and Tyndall laughed.
‘Poogie tub,’ explained Tyndall. ‘Come on, you have to experience it all.’
He handed her a clean white handkerchief and she followed them along the shore holding the hanky to her nose.
Two wooden casks sat in the hot sun, and one of the men gave a cask a stir with a stick, raising putrid fumes. Each tub was filled with small shells and sea water, which fermented and decayed in the heat, and as the shellfish