Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [60]
‘Smelly but effective,’ said Tyndall. ‘The big shells are opened on the lugger and ashore.’
Late in the day Olivia, barefoot and grateful she’d made her pants ‘half mast’ below her knees, helped drag the shell–filled baskets to the dinghy which the Koepangers then rowed to the lugger. She enjoyed the physical labour and despite the straw bonnet tied on her head, her cheeks glowed from sun and wind.
Later as they sat around the campfire the Aborigines sang traditional songs, chanting and swaying, clicking and tapping the rhythm on carved music sticks and boomerangs. It was hypnotic and Olivia felt her head drooping with drowsiness. Tyndall leaned over and whispered to Ahmed, who quietly rose and led Olivia down to the dinghy. As they rowed out to the lugger, Olivia sleepily listened to the rhythmic splish-splash of the oars. The faint moonlight outlined the fat shape of the Bulan and it crossed her mind it looked like a ghostly moon ship. Behind, on the shore, the bright blaze of the campfire flickered over the dark shapes of the figures huddled around it. The haunting music drifted across the water. ‘What are they singing about, Ahmed?’ ‘Their people song. They always sing about their people and this place. They bin here long time, mem.’
Olivia slipped into her bunk and fell asleep, feeling very at home in the strange cramped womb of the lugger.
In the morning there was much activity as the Bulan prepared to get under way. Olivia realised they were not going ashore again and was disappointed she was not able to farewell her Aboriginal friends. Standing at the rail as they were about to raise the anchor, she saw two dugout canoes paddle towards them. Ahmed and Tyndall went to the starboard side and hailed the approaching canoes.
Joining them, Olivia asked, ‘What do they want?’
‘Just saying goodbye, we won’t see them for who knows how long,’ replied Tyndall, lifting his cap to salute them.
The men in the first canoe called and waved. The other craft held an elder and the two women Olivia regarded as her friends and benefactors. They signalled that they wished to come in close and, bumping gently against the Bulan’s beam, threw a small package onto the deck and shouted a message.
Tyndall picked up the parcel wrapped in woven grass cloth. ‘They say it’s a gift for you. For good luck.’
‘Oh my, I wish I could give them something in return. Tell them that, and thank you,’ she said in a rush, overcome by the gesture.
Tyndall called down to them and they shouted back in return. He turned to Olivia. ‘The women would like your hat. Are you willing to part with it?’
‘Of course,’ laughed Olivia.
Tyndall tilted her chin and swiftly undid the ribbon. Lifting the straw bonnet from her hair he threw it down to them. Both women reached for it, but the one who grabbed it promptly tied it over her unruly bush of hair.
Olivia was delighted at the sight of the near-naked woman in a straw hat.
Well pleased with themselves they turned and paddled back towards the shore. As the small dugout faded in the distance, the anchor of the Bulan rattled over the bow and the mainsail slid up the mast. Olivia stood gazing in the direction of the shore until it became a thin black line on the horizon.
When they were safely at sea Olivia unrolled the parcel. Inside was a bangle with a dark brown and green pattern woven into pale plaited grass. She slipped it on her wrist but it was too large.
‘It’s an amulet, a symbol of their family line,’ explained Tyndall. ‘It’s supposed to bring good luck.’
‘How lovely.’ Olivia slipped it over her muslin sleeve. ‘I’ll keep it close to me.’
The affinity she felt for these women was strengthened. She knew they wished her well and in their own way were helping her, and the knowledge gave her a sense of well–being and security. Their friendship was very special to her and she resolved to see them again.
A stiff breeze sent the heavily loaded lugger barrelling along, but a rising swell made the deck sloppy with wash so Olivia went below. Soon