Salt Creek (9 page)

‘Is it a sort of diary that you're writing?' I asked when the millipede had gone. I had turned a few pages of Fred's book once. He drew the whole plant, and then details: the set of the leaves, the shape of the flowers, with notes to the side about the colours of both, the location where they grew, and the date. I thought his work showed some talent.

‘No. A record of what's here, of life here. A book.' His voice was quiet. He put his hand to his satchel where the book lay. ‘Biology, botany, geology. Not the natives. Mr Angas has already drawn them.' He seemed reluctant to speak of it.

Then Tull was next to us, when neither of us had seen or heard a thing. I wondered if there were a trick to his lightness that could be learned.

Another time on the peninsula we found charred sticks in the lee of a tall hill; evidently we were not the first to sit and watch the world from this lookout. A ship slid across the sea and we took turns with Fred's telescope to see tiny figures moving about the decks and the gossamer rigging. I vowed that one day I would be on a ship like that and sail the length of the world, and looking at Fred's face I did not think it was so different for him.

The stinging sand of the peninsula made our eyes sore and they crusted overnight so that in the morning we could barely open them. Tull showed us how the juice from the succulent plant that he called
ngunungies
rubbed gently across our shut eyelids would soothe them.

That is just one example of the useful knowledge that Tull possessed. He knew the correct reed to make string from and the sedges used for baskets or bags and the time of year when the mullet and the eels came into the lagoon, and many other things besides. He and Fred often sat in the kitchen while I cooked late in the afternoon, and I listened. It was quieter there than the dining room. I had made it as pleasant as I could: the jugs and pans and bowls were neat on the shelves, the table was scrubbed white and the small red flowers of Grandmama's geranium flowered in the window.

I had thought the blacks did as they pleased, roaming this country and never doing a day of school. But they had many rules: don't bathe until a particular flower has finished, pay attention to what birds tell you, leave the mullet for the men, don't walk about at night in case a bad spirit gets you, and many more besides. He saw things that we did not and told us which plants might be eaten and what other purposes they had.
Ngunungies
can also be eaten, for instance. I imagined the little fat leaves would have a slimy, snail-like texture (though I have never eaten a snail) but it was astringent and not unpleasant and could be eaten raw or cooked.

How to catch a duck

The natives were most ingenious and skilled. It was a delicate and patient task to catch a duck. I only saw it once when I was concealed within a stand of saltbush, from a distance. My dress would frighten anything wild away, Tull said.

You must first have string or twine to hand. Tull's was native-made (the women chew a particular reed and the men twist that into string) and was prized by all who use it. Attach a good length to a long stick and fashion a hangman's noose at its end. The hunter must be downwind of the prey and move with the utmost stealth, manoeuvring the noose slowly until it is close to the duck's head before dropping it about its neck and drawing it tight. The duck protests, as might be imagined, scaring every other bird about into flight. You must succeed at the first attempt, or else move to a place where the birds have not been disturbed. It is an easy matter then to dispatch the duck.

Tull spoke of another way of catching waterfowl with huge nets that the natives stretch above an expanse of water, which the birds fly into when frightened, but this is a job for many people when a large gathering is expected, such as for a
ringbalin
. Tull could catch a duck without a great deal of trouble and light a fire in a trice.

How to cook a duck

I only ate duck cooked in this way on a few occasions; Fred enjoyed it quite often. And now Joss wishes to try it.

Tull did not trouble to dress the bird but flung it into the flames until its feathers were burned away, then he dug a hole and heaped coals into it and lined it with grasses. The duck went in and was covered with more grass and coals and we waited. When he said it was ready we scraped the lid of coals back. It tasted a great deal better than stew. Sitting in the hollows of the sand hills while tending a fire was a delightful way to eat. There was no need to plan – in spring and summer at least – for food was at hand wherever we were. Besides the birds there were fish in the lagoon or crayfish in the reeds or cockles that we could dig from the sand, though Tull would only do that if all else had failed. There were plants, too, and small fruits we might eat if we were hungry.

When we had finished, Tull covered the fire with sand. The blacks were much given to setting fire to the land. Papa did not allow it on the run because of the danger to the stock. Fred once asked why they liked to do it and Tull looked at him in a pitying way.

‘After the fire, it rains and the grass grows,' he said, as you might say two plus two.

‘Yes?' Fred said, as uncomprehending as I.

‘And the kangaroos come,' he said.

We waited.

He picked up a nearby stick and drew it back – ‘and we kill them' – and it flew so straight and true that I could almost see the slain beast of his imagination.

‘Like baiting a fish trap? You burn the land so the kangaroos will come?' Fred said.

‘Yes.' Tull smiled then, as if he was pleased that we were not as stupid as he feared.

There were some things Tull would not eat, even if he were hungry.

Hugh and Stanton came home late one spring morning in great excitement over a duck that Skipper had flushed out of the reeds. The poor bedraggled thing, a female, was likely frightened from its nest, and now hung from Stanton's hand, its wide-billed head swinging and its eyes closed. The feathers on its tortoiseshell wings were broken.

‘I had a devilish time getting it away from Skipper, I can tell you that,' Stanton said. ‘Its wings flapping as if it were possessed, and the noise it made. I tell you I ran, and then Skipper dropped it and I managed to pounce. Look.' He thrust it towards me. ‘A fine fat specimen.'

Tull was shocked. ‘You can't eat it. You should have left it. You'll be sick. It will make your legs will grow weak.'

‘Our legs go weak?' Stanton said. ‘Why?'

And Hugh rounded on Tull. ‘It will not. It's a duck, boy. It'll do you no harm. It's our land, and they are all our ducks and we may eat them as we please and when we please, but you needn't if you are frightened to, if you are frightened of a little bird.'

‘Some people may eat them, but not you, or me. Not this one, a
Kalperi
.' Tull was very shocked, his eyes round and black, and he drew back from the duck and from Hugh and Stanton.

‘Pluck it for us, will you, Hester?'

‘Pluck it yourself,' I returned. ‘I have other things to do and if you wish for a meal at this time of day
you
may get it.' I glared at him and he turned away, looking at Addie. She shook her head and he stormed outside, with Hugh following after. Presently, we saw downy feathers wafting past the window and Skipper came inside with a large wing feather drooping from her mouth. We attended to our lessons as best we could, or pretended to at any rate. It was a poor-looking specimen that Stanton brought back a little later. He had given up on the pin feathers and some of the down. Hugh got the big knife and hacked the bird into rough pieces.

With a clatter, Stanton pulled the black pan from the rack over the stove and drew back the stove lid and slammed it down on the hot plate and gathered the bowl of lard from the winter pantry and the flipper and when the pan was hot scooped out a hunk of lard with the corner of the flipper and set it in the pan. It ran about sizzling and hissing, releasing its meaty smell. Hugh, somewhat hesitant, carried a bowl with the pieces of duck to the stove and Stanton threw them in the pan and it hissed and smoked. Stanton snatched his hand away and sucked the back of his hand. The smell of feathers frying was sharp and hot. Stanton did not look about at any of us, but said, ‘Anyone else want a piece? Fred? Addie?'

‘I'm not hungry,' Fred said, which I doubted was true. He pretended to ignore what was happening, instead working in his sketch book and pulling a flowering branch in a jar of water before him a little closer. He resumed drawing, and from the way he did not so much as glance at Tull I knew that he was aware of him and was ashamed in some way. Stanton and Hugh were only acting in defiance of his words, and though I could not see what could be wrong with eating a duck when there were so many of them nesting all about, I had seen how certain Tull was about food, and what could be eaten safely and what should be avoided. I did not like to go against his words. From Fred's darting glances I thought it was the same for him. Also, I would not add to Tull's distress.

Stanton made a snorting sound of disbelief. He hunkered down over the stove, pulling against the resistance there was in the kitchen to cooking the duck, as a bullock will pull against a heavy load. But he was determined on this course of action.

‘Get some bread,' he shot over his shoulder, and Hugh obediently found the bread and cut two rough slices of it, which he placed, one each, on Mama's small dark Staffordshire plates. Their dainty flowers presented a strange appearance with the sawn bread, but soon enough they were hidden by the pieces of duck with their blackened skin and frizzled down, which Stanton forked onto them. As the plates were too small, they overhung the rims. He poured the remaining lard over the meat and it began to slide from its dark surfaces and down its edges, finally falling to the floor, setting there in waxy drops. Stanton slammed the plates onto the table.

‘Do you mind?' Fred said and drew his books further down the table.

Hugh got a knife and fork for each of them and they pulled chairs back from the table so their feet squealed against the floor, and sat and began to eat in great mouthfuls, sawing the duck to reveal the thick seam of fat and mopping the bread in the bloody juices and shovelling the food into their mouths, glaring about from time to time. Addie stared, aghast, as if she were waiting for them to die, or at least to sicken, and Tull as if he were watching drowning men but had no means to save them. I scraped the fat off the floor with a knife before anyone could slip on it.

Once, Hugh looked up and said to Tull, ‘You. You can stop staring and get out. We don't want you in here. You should not be in here, and while my father is not you can stay outside where you belong. We've no need for your superstitions.'

Fred got to his feet, but seemed uncertain what to do next. Tull looked at him.

‘You can't order Tull,' I said.

‘And
you
will stop me?' Hugh said.

He was much taller and broader than I and I thought it wise to be quiet, even though I hated to hear him speak so and I did not think he would hit his sister. Tull moved to the door and put his hand to the doorjamb. Some compulsion held him there, mesmerized by the sight of their daring. Stanton picked up his remaining crust in his hand and wiped it all around the rim of the plate and circled the middle, gathering up all the last drops of the fat and blood, and stuffed that in his mouth, which was overfull, so the hunks of brown bread and the red meat could be seen as he chewed, and then he picked up the plate and threw it at Tull. It was a low, fast throw and if Tull had not jumped straight up in the air with utmost nimbleness and strength and celerity the plate would have struck its target in the moment before he fled. But it merely hit the door and shattered and fell to the ground in pieces, so that all Mama's china flowers were as scattered as a posy in the wind on the floor.

‘Stanton! One of Mama's plates. Look at it. For shame,' I said. ‘Have you gone mad? What will she say?'