Inheritance (15 page)

Mark took a step towards her.

Realising her words might make him think she was encouraging his advances, Cassie turned and walked the few steps back to the path and started up the track again.

‘Come on. We’ll go and see the caves now.’ She was brisk and efficient again.

The track veered away from the water as they climbed higher. The trees were sparse here and interspersed with large, untidy looking shrubs, the ground hard and strewn with rocks and small granite outcrops.

Although the path became barely discernible, Cassie picked her way upwards with Mark following. They toiled their way up for another quarter of an hour before coming to a large bush.

Cassie walked around it. ‘Here.’ Half hidden by the bush was an opening in the side of the hill. ‘This is the largest cave and the most interesting. It has the paintings in it. We’ll just check it out for wildlife before we go in.’

Pulling a small torch from her pocket, she shone the beam over the walls and floor of the cave. ‘Seems all right. Come on in.’

Mark had to stoop a little to go through the entrance, but once inside, the cavern was high enough for him to stand upright. They could see quite well at the front of the cave but the light faded as they moved further in and became dim at the back.

Cassie swept her torchlight around again. In the center of the floor sat the blackened remains of a fire, long since dead. ‘Aborigines used this in the past. See, there’s a midden heap.’ She shone the light on a mound at the rear of the cave. ‘And here,’ she raised the light and shone it on the wall, ‘here are the paintings.’

Mark moved closer and looked at the drawings. Figures and animals covered the walls, some faded, others bright. ‘This is absolutely wonderful,’ he breathed. ‘I wonder how old they are. Do you have any idea?’

‘These at the back,’ Cassie shone the light further down the wall, ‘these depict the white man’s coming, so they’d probably be only a couple of hundred years old. See, here are the sailing ships.’ The light moved to follow her words. ‘And here are the white men. You can see the white ochre faces, the buttons down their fronts and the brims on the hats.’

She kept the light steady while Mark stepped up to examine the drawings more closely.

‘Amazing. Look at this ship.’ He spoke with awe. ‘You can see the masts and the portholes and these,’ he pointed, ‘must be cannons. How marvellous.’

‘Further back here,’ Cassie moved deeper into the cave, ‘these are more traditional scenes. We have no idea how old they are. Maybe thousands of years. Succeeding generations added more ochre over the top as they started to fade, so it’s impossible to know. See, here’s a kangaroo hunt.’ The light fell on a scene showing hunters with their spears raised as they stalked a kangaroo. ‘And this is the snake, a very powerful and important figure in the Dreamtime. Sam used to tell us all about it when we were little.’

‘Who? You and Rosie?’

‘Yes, and Daniel, too.’

‘So Daniel grew up here, too?’

‘Oh. yes. He’s Sam’s great-grand son.’

‘So he’s aboriginal too.’

‘Yes. He’s only part aborigine, but he’s very proud of his heritage. Uncle Len used to tell me the stories of the early days here. He heard them from his father, who heard them from his father. And he told me about Sam and his family, too.’

‘Want to tell me? It’s interesting.’

‘Sure. In the early days, when my great-great-grandfather established the station, a tribe of aborigines used to come and camp on the banks of the river. They were always given tea and flour from the kitchen. There was never any trouble with them. Gradually some of the men came to work on the station, as stockmen and such. Sam was a stockman in my grandfather’s day. His daughter, Ruby, married the Chinese cook. They were Daniel’s grandparents and their daughter Jessie married Chris, a white stockman here on Yallandoo. They’re Daniel’s parents. They’re still both here and Jessie helps around the house. Daniel and Rosie and I all sort of grew up here, but Daniel’s a few years older. Most of the school holidays when I was here, he was off on his horse with the men. He loved working around the place and he was clever. He did well at school and Uncle Len thought highly of him. He sent him off to Pastoral College when he finished school.’

‘So Daniel is part aboriginal with a bit of Chinese thrown in and a white father?’

‘Yes, as I said, he’s proud of his heritage, as he should be.’ She frowned. ‘You’re not racist, are you?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Daniel’s a nice guy, we all like him. He’s a hard worker and very smart, too. He persuaded Uncle Len to adopt many new ideas as he went through his course. They’ve all been good innovations. He’s also very knowledgeable about the cattle. He helps with the breeding programmes. We wouldn’t like to lose him.’

‘What happened to the rest of the tribe?’

‘They gradually drifted away, apparently. There haven’t been any camped here since I can remember, although we have had some return to work as stockmen from time to time, like
Tony. Uncle Len told me he had aboriginal friends when he was a boy, so there must have been some living here then. I guess they must have all left.’

‘Sam didn’t go with them, though?’

‘No. Yallandoo’s home for Sam. Though he still goes walkabout sometimes. His tribe used to roam around a much bigger area than just Yallandoo, and he still likes to go to their sacred places to reconnect with the land sometimes. He was an elder of his tribe, and he knows all about the old ways, and the stories of the Dreamtime.’

Mark raised his eyebrows. ‘The Dreamtime? You don’t believe in that rubbish, do you?’

Cassie’s head jerked back. ‘Yes, it’s their interpretation of how the world began, and who’s to say it’s wrong?’ She spoke hotly, shocked and annoyed. ‘And it’s not rubbish. Just because you don’t understand their culture, you don’t need to ridicule it. Over the generations while my family have lived here, there have been times when the aborigines’ special knowledge of the land and their intuition have proved invaluable. I know Uncle Len accepted that some of them do have abilities and intuitions far beyond the white man’s.’

‘I guess you grew up with it, but I’m afraid I find all that stuff a bit airy-fairy.’

‘Do you now?’ Cassie lifted her chin. ‘Well, you’re entitled to your opinion, of course.’

Mark’s lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘I’m sorry, I always manage to put my foot in it, don’t I?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s just that it’s all so…different, to anything I’ve known before. It takes a bit of getting your head around.’ He resumed his inspection of the drawings. ‘So many people would be as fascinated to see all this as I am. Len never thought about opening it up for the public?’

‘No. In fact, he was always very definite that we must always protect it. In fact, now that I’m here again, I don’t know if it is such a good idea to bring hordes of people here.’

‘It could be done in a way that would preserve it.’

‘Mm. I’ll need to give it a lot more thought. This is probably not essential to the success of the cabin project.’

‘It would be a helluva big draw card.’

Cassie turned it over in her mind. ‘I’ll really have to think about it some more.’

‘Are there any more caves?’

‘Yes, two others, but this is the only one with paintings.’

‘Can I borrow your torch?’

‘Of course.’

Handing it over, she watched as Mark moved along, taking his time as he examined all the drawings on the walls. Many of them depicted the animals and everyday life of the aborigines.

‘Remarkable. Quite breathtaking. It all seems so alive.’ He was obviously awed as he handed back the torch.

‘What would you do if it was yours?’ Cassie asked curiously.

Mark looked at her for a full minute before he let out a deep breath and replied slowly. ‘Like you, I’d have to give it a lot of thought. On the one hand, you want to preserve and protect it; on the other, you’d give so many people pleasure by letting them see all this.’

‘That’s really not much help.’ She shivered suddenly, although the air in the cave was warm. ‘Let’s go outside. It’s a bit oppressive in here.’

‘Blackfella spirits?’ he taunted as they passed through the entrance.

Cassie gave him a scathing look as she led the way out. They did not talk again until they reached the pool and Cassie stopped on the bank of the creek alongside some large rocks. Her good humour restored by the walk, she sank down onto one of them.

‘Let’s sit for a minute,’ she said. ‘Remember I said these rocks can be slippery and dangerous? Well, Sam told us the legend of the creek. Do you want to hear it? Or would it be too much rubbish for you to listen to?’

Mark ignored the last sentence, spoken sarcastically. ‘Sure, go ahead.’ He sat beside her.

‘There was a beautiful young girl called Oonja who was betrothed to one of the elders of the tribe, a very old man. Unfortunately she fell in love with Sardi, a young and handsome hunter. They became lovers and used to meet up at the rock pool. Then their liaison was discovered and she was called to come before the council in the big cave. The lovers decided to run away before that and they arranged to meet late at night, when the moon was low, by the pool.

‘A big storm came up and the creek became a raging torrent. Oonja slipped away from the tribe and came to the pool. Before Sardi arrived to meet her, she was caught by one of the warriors who had followed her. She knew he’d return her to the old man and rather than have that happen, she threw herself into the creek and drowned.

‘Sardi came looking for her and when he couldn’t find her, he came along the banks of the creek calling out to her. She called to him from the water and her voice was so sweet that he jumped in to join her, and he drowned too. During storms, you can still hear the sound of Oonja calling, and legend has it that more than one man has gone to his death, lured by the sweet tones of Oonja’s voice.’

Mark picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water.

‘Let all men beware. I must be careful never to come here in a storm. Do you know any more legends?’

‘A few. Sam told us a lot when we were young but I’ve forgotten some of them.’

‘Perhaps you’ll tell me more some time.’

‘If you want.’

They sat for a while without talking, watching a colourful butterfly flitting over the water. Cassie felt the peace she always experienced here.

Mark seemed pensive. ‘You know,’ he said, after a while. ‘I envy you your childhood. Being able to spend so much time in these surroundings; even being exposed to different cultural views, too. Very different to my own childhood.’

‘How was yours?’ Cassie was curious.

‘Much more mundane. The emphasis was always on getting ahead in the world. Work, work! Do well at school! Achieve! My father was obsessed with achieving. I suppose you can’t blame him, my mother told you how they came to Australia as immigrants. He was determined to gain what he saw as his rightful place in the world.’

‘He certainly did that.’

‘Yes. But at a cost. I scarcely saw him when I was young, except on Sundays, and not always then. He was always working. My mother led a lonely life. She has a great love of music and I think that was her salvation. She was always listening to music, for as long as I can remember.’

‘Were you and your brother close?’

‘No. Laurence is ten years older than me. Maybe I was wrong, but I always felt my father favoured him. Laurence was brilliant academically and his one goal was to help run the business. I was more middle-of-the-road; I liked sports and enjoying myself. My father thought that was a waste of time, I’m afraid.’ He stooped to pick up another pebble and toss it into the water. ‘It seems like you had a lot of freedom as a child.’

‘Well, when I was home in Sydney it was school, of course, but I had a happy home life. And when I was up here, which was as often as possible, I had a great deal of freedom. Rosie and I were always together, and Uncle Len encouraged us to explore and spend time with Sam and the others and learn about their ways and beliefs.’

‘It sounds as if your uncle was a big influence in your life.’

‘He was. He loved this land, with its rainforests and the animals and birds – he was close to all nature, really. As I said, he had aboriginal friends when he was a child. He respected their culture. He used to tell me we’re merely custodians of the land. It’s our duty to protect and preserve it for future generations. That’s why I feel I mustn’t sell Yallandoo, or if I did, it would have to be to someone whom I knew would look after it in the same way.’

A shadow crossed Mark’s face and he drew a deep breath as he continued to look over the water to the far bank, where a lizard sunned itself on a flat rock. Above it, a green tree snake coiled around the branch of an overhanging tree, its colouring making it invisible to all but the keenest eye. He sat silent for a moment, seeming intensely interested in what he could see. Then, picking up a small flat stone, he skimmed it across the water and sat watching the ever widening ripple it made.

What was he thinking? Cassie wondered, but when he turned to face her his face had cleared, and he reached over to take her hand in his own, squeezing it gently.

‘Yes, I can see that,’ he said. ‘I’m sure I would feel exactly the same way.’

He stood up then and offered her his hand. ‘Come on. Time to be getting back.’

The joey sucked energetically on the teat of a baby’s bottle. As it neared the end of the milk, its eyes started to close and it loosened its grip on the teat.

Lorna removed the bottle and put the joey inside a pouch she had made from an old towel and fastened to a side of the small pen Tom had constructed from timber and wire netting on the back porch. The towel simulated his mother’s pouch and gave the joey a feeling of safety, while allowing him to jump in and out at will.

‘There,’ Lorna said, standing back and looking down, ‘he should sleep for a while now. He’s a healthy little fellow, he’ll be all right. Trying to get into my veggie patch before long, I’ll bet.’

‘Where are you going to put the zoo, Cassie?’ Rosie asked. The two friends had been watching Lorna feed the joey.