Solomon's Song (11 page)

Hawk cannot believe his ears. Mary, the ever wary, who doesn’t suffer fools gladly and can pick a charlatan soon as look at him, is now carrying on with such inane drivel. ‘About as sensitive as my black arse,’ Hawk says, suddenly angry. ‘He is a gambler as well as a drunk, even if he could be made to reform from the grog he will remain the other. She, Hinetitama, has a fixation, that is all.’

‘She’s in love with him, Hawk, same as you were with Maggie Pye.’

For the first time in his life Hawk turns on Mary. ‘How dare you, Mama! This Dutchman isn’t worth a pinch of dog shit! He’s a useless bastard, and up to no good in every possible way.’

Mary looks at Hawk and says unflinchingly, ‘You could have said the same thing about our Tommo, now couldn’t you? What about Maggie Pye? She was a whore. I was a whore, reduced to the vilest circumstances. Does that make us bad people? Your Maggie was a fine woman, one of the best I’ve known, but she was still a whore. We can all reform, Hawk. If we are fortunate enough to get a second chance. Hinetitama loves this Dutchman, why can’t we give him a second chance, eh?’

Hawk, still angry and unaccustomed to defying Mary or even using coarse language in front of her, wheels around again. ‘Mama, I beseech you, listen to me! You don’t know what you’re talking about. The man’s bad, weak, hopeless. He has the look of a gaolbird about him. I simply won’t do this to Tommo’s memory. Christ Jesus, Tommo asked me to take care of his daughter not to destroy her! I brought her away from New Zealand so she wouldn’t ever again have to mix with scum, with rubbish like Teekleman.’

Mary is silent for a moment and then Hawk sees the anger rise up in her. ‘Now you listen to me, Hawk Solomon. Tommo’s dead, the girl is alive! I can’t go thinking about the sensibilities of the dead where the living are concerned. She refuses to marry any of the local prospects and, I must say, I don’t blame her, they’re a pretty gormless lot. But she will marry her Dutchman and time is runnin’ out, she’s twenty-five years old, not much time left for childbearing and as far as I can see Teekleman has no disadvantages in that particular area.’

Hawk loves Mary with all of his heart but he now believes her power, wealth and arrogance, taken together with her need to create an on-going, living memorial to her life, has totally corrupted her. ‘Mama, you mustn’t do this, I beg of you. You will destroy your granddaughter, destroy her as surely as you claim Hannah and David destroyed Tommo.’ Hawk pauses and takes a deep breath. ‘If you persist in this, then I will tell David Solomon that we stole Hannah and Ikey’s share of the Whitechapel safe. He will go to the law and I shall testify, admit our guilt and you will be ruined.’

‘And you?’ Mary sneers. ‘It were you who did the stealing, who opened the safe and took what was inside. What will become of you then?’

Hawk shrugs. ‘It don’t matter. If you let that Dutchman have Hinetitama you will have destroyed me and you have dishonoured my twin!’ Hawk sighs. ‘What happens next doesn’t matter.’

Mary is silent, her hands in her lap, her head bowed. Hawk appeals once more to her. ‘Mama, can’t you see, what you’ve done is wonderful, they can’t take that away from you, but what happens after you’ve gone is of no consequence, you can’t take it with you, it’s all over. Let someone else have the bloody brewery!’

Hawk hears the sharp intake of Mary’s breath as she looks up at him. ‘Have it? Someone else? A stranger? A man!’ she cries. ‘Now, you lissen t’me, boy! I built it with me own hands, these stupid, ugly, broken claws!’ She throws her hands up in front of her face. ‘I’ve told you how they come to be like this! Men done it, men who wouldn’t let a woman have a job as clerk, they done it! Held me down and broke me fingers with their boots, then raped me!’ Mary is shaking with anger and tears roll down her cheeks and her nose begins to run. ‘The brewery, the Potato Factory, that’s me answer to them bastards who done me in at the East India docks! That’s me answer to the beak that sent me down. To the vile Potbottom who flogged me on the convict ship and the tyranny of the sanctimonious bible-bashing surgeon Joshua Smiles! Not to mention the utter bastardry o’ the male warders at the Female Factory and their soldier friends who lay us on our backs at night and took from us what they wanted! The banks, the fat, pompous bastards in their grey worsted weskits and gold fob chains, in cahoots with the other brewers. “Sorry, Mary, we don’t give credit to women,” they sneered, then not even bothering to get up and show me to the flamin’ door!’ Mary takes a breath, sniffs and then continues, ‘I’m the first woman in the known world to build me own brewery! To make and name me own beer! You hear that? The first! That’s supposed to be men’s work ain’t it? The male perog-a-tive! Men own breweries, doesn’t they? Men with big bellies and bushy curled moustaches!’ She sniffs and knuckles the tears from her eyes. ‘Well, a woman built this one! Long as it stands with its two chimneys, two fingers o’ brick stuck up into the sky for all to see, it says, “Fuck you!” on behalf of every woman what was ever raped and abused and humiliated by a man!’

Mary now points an accusing finger at Hawk, her voice rasps from the anger and disappointment she feels. ‘And now you want to do the same. The same as them bastards on the London docks. You wish to destroy me.’ Her head jerks backwards. ‘Why?’ she cries, ‘Fergawd’s sake tell me why? What have I done to you? You who I brought up, loved with every breath in me body. I even killed for you.’ She suddenly grows very quiet and speaks almost in a whisper, ‘My beloved Hawk, I never thought I’d live to see this day!’ Mary stops and bows her head and begins to weep softly, ‘I am so ashamed.’

‘Oh, Mama! Mama!’ Hawk cries out in anguish.

Mary looks slowly up at him, her eyes brimming but her voice defiant. ‘Well you won’t and you can’t!’ she chokes. ‘I’m gunna find that Dutchman and he’ll take Hinetitama to his bed and as soon as he’s given her a couple of brats it will be your job to see him off this island. What did you say it cost last time? Two sovs, weren’t it? Well, I daresay it will take a lot more next time, but I don’t care.’ She pauses and shouts, ‘I WANT MY HEIRS!’ Then she brings her hand up and clasps the small gold medal resting, as ever, upon her breast, Ikey’s Waterloo medal. ‘You know what it says on the back, on this, don’tcha? I shall never never surrender! I ain’t never and I never shall!’ She releases the medal and brings both her hands up to cover her face and weeps and weeps.

NEW LIFE AND THE DEATH OF MARY ABACUS

1886-1892

Slabbert Teekleman simply turns up in Hobart one bright late spring morning in November 1886.

Martha Billings, the kitchen maid in Mary’s home, hears the bell on the back door and goes to answer it, thinking it must be the butcher boy. She discovers a small man, who looks to be in his forties and is somewhat red-visaged and battered-looking, as if he’s taken a bad licking or two in his time. The hair below his dirty cap sticks out at every angle and is in need of a good wash. At the maid’s appearance he removes his cap and clutches it to the region of his crotch. Martha now sees that he has a bald pate smooth as an egg.

‘Whatcha want?’ Martha asks, summing him up immediately as a nobody.

‘I’ve a note, fer Miss Solomon, miss,’ the man replies.

‘Give it then,’ Martha demands, extending her hand.

The man shakes his head. ‘Nah, ‘fraid I can’t, miss. I got instructions see. I got to hand it to her personal.’ He now realises he is talking to his own social level and his confidence is restored. He returns his cap to his head. ‘Miss Solomon personal.’

‘And what if I said that were me an’ all?’ Martha says tartly, feet apart, her hands clamped to her waist.

The man smiles. ‘Whole town knows who Miss Solomon is, brought back by Mr Hawk over a year now on the Waterloo.’

Annoyed, Martha turns and asks the cook what she must do, explaining the man’s purpose. ‘Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Go and fetch Miss Heenie,’ Mrs Briggs instructs, then she pops her head around the door and takes a quick look at the man. ‘He don’t look like he bites.’

Martha sniffs. ‘Wait here,’ she orders the messenger.

The man grins slyly, pleased to see the uppity servant girl put in her place by the cook. ‘Thankee, missus,’ he says, grinning at Mrs Briggs.

‘I dunno, young folk don’t seem to know their manners no more,’ the cook remarks, ‘Too much lip that one.’ She turns back to the messenger. ‘I don’t suppose you’d mind a nice mug o’ tea and a slice of bread and jam?’

The man smiles, showing several teeth missing with the remainder blackened. ‘Thankee, much obliged, missus.’

When Hinetitama arrives he is sitting on the back step with a tin mug of hot sweet tea and a hunk of bread and jam. He jumps up, slopping tea over his hand in his haste.

‘Oh dear, you’ve burned your hand?’ Hinetitama cries, concerned.

‘Some, not much,’ the man replies, plainly embarrassed for creating a fuss.

‘Here, let me see your hand?’

‘Me ‘and’s fine, miss. No ‘arm done.’

‘Cook’ll give you another mug of tea.’

‘No, miss, it ain’t all spilled.’ He looks down into the mug. ‘Plenty left, thankee.’ Then he stoops to rest the mug on the step beside the hunk of bread, wipes his tea-splashed hand on the side of his greasy corduroy trousers, removes his cap and takes a piece of folded paper from its interior. ‘Here, miss, I were told to give it to you personal.’

‘Thank you, Mr…?’

‘Isaac Blundstone, miss, bootmaker by trade.’

Hinetitama smiles. ‘Thank you, Mr Blundstone, I’m obliged to you.’ She turns to the cook. ‘Do we need a bootmaker, Mrs Briggs?’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Miss Heenie. I could ask Mistress Mary, it ain’t for me to decide. Food, yes, but not boots, don’t know nothing about boots.’

Hinetitama turns back to Isaac Blundstone and looks down at his boots, which are scuffed and in poor repair. ‘Bring some of your work, let me see it.’

‘Yes, thankee, miss, I do good work.’

Hinetitama smiles knowingly. ‘What, down the pub?’

‘The pub, miss?’ The man looks puzzled.

Hinetitama points to his hands. ‘You’ve got the brandy shakes. You’ve had a few already, haven’t you?’

The man grins slyly, looking down at his scuffed boots and shuffling his feet. ‘Hair o’ the dog, couple o’ heart starters, that’s all, miss.’

‘Who gave you this?’ Hinetitama waves the note. She is excited, for somehow she senses it’s from Teekleman, but restrains herself from finding out, fearful of the contents of the note, wanting to know, but not right off, instinctively needing more to add to what might be contained in the note.

‘He didn’t say, miss. He didn’t give no name,’ Blundstone lies.

It’s been more than a year since Hinetitama’s conversation with Mary. While neither she nor Hawk has said a word to her, the servants, the big ears in every establishment, have inevitably gossiped and Hinetitama, who they call Miss Heenie and is a great favourite with them all, has come to know about the terrible row over Teekleman.

‘He didn’t say, but he shouted you a drink?’ She can smell the cheap brandy on his breath. ‘What? A nobbier o’ brandy, two maybe, where was that?’

‘Aye,’ Blundstone says, surprised. ‘The Hobart Whale Fishery, miss.’

‘Card game, was it? You met playing cards?’

Blundstone is clearly impressed with Hinetitama’s sleuthing. ‘He were, miss. Me? I ain’t got that sorta money.’

‘Bar fly, eh? Topping up to cadge?’ Hinetitama has seen him for what he is, a regular drunk who’ll take on the self-appointed task of keeping the drinks coming at a card game and earning his reward in grog both from the publican and an occasionally generous player. It is unlikely, but not inconceivable, that he might not know Teekleman’s name.

‘He said just to give you the letter, not to say nothing more.’

‘Tall, fair hair, blue eyes?’

‘Aye, that’s him.’

‘Foreigner, when he speaks like?’ Hinetitama adds, seeking further confirmation.

The man nods again and Hinetitama, satisfied, gives him a shilling. ‘There you go then, that’ll buy you the whole dog.’ She laughs. ‘Or you could use it to sole your boots, Mr Isaac Blundstone, the bootmaker!’

Blundstone grins. ‘It’s me brother what’s the bootmaker, I’m what yiz’d call the prod’gil son.’

The note when Hinetitama finally opens it is written in a competent hand which suggests a fair education.

Dear Hinetitama,

Ja, I have come here to Hobart and also I will much like to see you. It goes well with me. I am staying at the Whale Fishery. You will come I hope so.

Slabbert Teekleman.

Hinetitama goes into a real tizz and spends the remainder of the day alone in her bed chamber arguing with herself, alternately tearful and smiling. When she thinks of going back to Teekleman her heart commences to beat rapidly, though she, on some occasions, thinks this must be a certain sign that she is doing the wrong thing and on others that she loves him. By evening, when a maid is sent up to call her down to dinner, she is emotionally wrung out and exhausted. Claiming she doesn’t feel well she tells the maid to ask her grandmother to excuse her.

Mary, upon receiving Hinetitama’s message, comes hurrying to her bed chamber, ‘What’s the matter, precious?’

Hinetitama feigns distress. ‘I must have eaten something, I feel unwell, Grandmother.’

‘Unwell? Your tummy? I’ll call Dr Moses.’ She seats herself on the side of the bed and takes her granddaughter’s hand.

‘No, it’s just a small upset,’ Hinetitama smiles wanly. ‘Best if I don’t eat, that’s all.’

‘You sure then?’ Mary asks, looking concerned.

‘Grandmother, it’s nothing, I’ll just rest,’ Hinetitama insists.

‘You call me if it gets any worse, you promise now?’

‘Grandmother, you work so hard, you look tired, it’s me should be caring for you!’

‘Day weren’t no different to any other,’ Mary sniffs. ‘Can’t turn back the clock, I’m gettin’ old, that’s all, old and cranky,’ she adds gratuitously. She bends and kisses Hinetitama on the forehead then rises slowly, though she stands straight as a pencil and, for a woman her age, still has amazing stamina. ‘You call me if you feel any worse during the night.’

By morning, with less than a good night’s sleep, Hinetitama knows that she must go to Slabbert Teekleman, that she cannot resist the temptation. ‘Oh Gawd, help us,’ she says to herself as she brushes her hair prior to going down to breakfast with Mary. ‘Please let it be all right this time.’

At breakfast, which is served early, just after six o’clock so that Mary and Hawk can be at the Potato Factory by seven when the brewery workers start, she again has no appetite. Fortuitously Hawk is away on a trip to Burnie so that she and Mary are sitting alone at the dining-room table. Hinetitama goes through the motions of dipping her spoon into her porridge bowl, but eats very little.

‘Still no good, eh?’ Mary enquires, observing her lack of appetite.

‘No, Grandmother, it’s not that,’ Hinetitama says.

‘The note?’ Mary says suddenly, her own spoon halfway to her mouth. ‘Is it something I should know, girl?’

‘Mrs Briggs told you?’

‘Not much to tell, was there? She said you got a note. Man come to the back door.’

Hinetitama, unable to contain herself any longer, announces, ‘Grandmother, it was from the Dutchman!’

Mary remains silent for a while. Finally she returns the spoon, its contents uneaten, to her plate. ‘The Dutchman? Slabbert Teekleman?’

Hinetitama nods, amazed that her grandmother has remembered both his names.

‘Well?’ Mary demands. ‘What will you do?’

‘Grandmother, I don’t know, I’m that scared.’

‘Frightened? Lovesick, more like!’ Then, realising Hinetitama is asking for her support, her voice takes on a more sympathetic tone. ‘Of course you’re scared, my precious. After all, it’s been almost two years.’

‘I’m different now. He may not like me.’

Mary is hard put to conceal her relief, her granddaughter is not rejecting the Dutchman as she’s come to think of Teekleman in her mind. ‘Course he will, child, don’t you worry your little head about that.’

‘Whatever shall I do, Grandmother?’

‘Do? Why invite him to supper tonight, of course. What does he like to eat? Mrs Briggs will make it for him special.’

‘Like? I don’t rightly remember. Meat ‘n’ potatoes, I suppose,’ Hinetitama says absently.

Mary laughs. ‘Like all men, eh? We’ll get cook to do us a nice roast, roast beef and taties.’ Mary is suddenly all business. ‘We’ll send the carriage to fetch him. Where’s he staying?’

‘The Hobart Whale Fishery.’

‘The Whale Fishery? That’s a Cascade pub, one of Delgrave’s, Ikey used to go there a lot. Do you think he’ll agree to move to one of ours?’ Mary doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Course he will, won’t cost him a bean. I’ll send him a note, make all the arrangements. Half-six, most men like to eat early, I don’t suppose he’s any different, eh?’

Hinetitama agrees, thinking that Teekleman is unlikely to be drunk so early in the evening. She has never seen Mary all of a twitter like this before. Her grandmother is seldom her best in the morning and is usually silent, almost morose, her abacus at her side. Every once in a while she grunts and sends the beads rattling along their wires, then writes a number down on a notebook beside her. But this morning she’s plainly in excellent humour.

‘But what if he’s changed also?’

‘Well, we’ll just have to find out, won’t we, my girl?’

‘What will Uncle Hawk think?’

Mary shrugs, not denying the probability of Hawk’s opposition. ‘He ain’t here, is he now?’

For a moment Hinetitama wonders whether Hawk’s absence hasn’t been planned by Mary all along, but she is not accustomed to deceit and silently castigates herself for this uncharitable thought.

‘Oh, Grandmother, I’m so excited. Whatever shall I wear?’

‘It don’t really matter, men don’t notice anyway.’ Mary grins. ‘Unless o’ course you wear your birthday suit?’

‘Grandmother!’ Hinetitama has never heard Mary talk like this before. Then she laughs, she’s never felt closer to her grandmother and her anxiety is greatly ameliorated by Mary’s cheerful assurance. ‘Please, God,’ she says to herself, ‘don’t let him be drunk when he comes.’ Then she adds another plea to the Almighty, ‘And don’t let all this be of Grandmother’s doing.’

Teekleman arrives promptly in Mary’s carriage at half-past six and is greeted at the door by Hinetitama and her grandmother, who has finally persuaded her granddaughter to wear a gown of a modest mousy-brown colour, one of the earlier rejects from old Mrs Mawson’s attempts to bring her into line with current Hobart fashion.

‘Don’t want him to think you’re too good for him now, do we? He’ll be jittery as a race’orse, no point in shying him right off with silks ‘n’ satins in the brightest colours now, is there? Modesty, my girl, you need never feel it in front of a man for most have less intelligence than you, but you must appear always to show it,’ she declares, then explains further, ‘Men believe what they see, women what they hear.’ Though she herself has chosen to wear one of her best gowns. When Hinetitama remarks on this the old woman grins. ‘Modesty and beauty from you, age and riches from me, mark my words, the combination is irresistible to any man who comes a’courting with a death and an inheritance in mind.’

Slabbert Teekleman is well scrubbed and wears clean though not expensive linen. He is dressed in the manner one might expect from a small businessman of the respectable middle classes and wears a plain woollen weskit without a fob and chain strung across his belly. His boots are freshly dubbined, his hair neatly parted and his beard trimmed. He is a big man, only slightly given to noticeable paunch and is still most handsome in his overall appearance.

Hinetitama watches, smiling, as Mary greets him. ‘You are most welcome in our home, Mr Teekleman,’ she says, offering him her gloved hand. ‘Of course, you already know my granddaughter.’

Teekleman, for his part, seems surprisingly at ease, and Hinetitama observes that he appears to be completely sober. ‘Thank you, Madam,’ he says formally to Mary. Smiling, he bows and only lightly takes her hand. In doing this he is displaying a social awareness Hinetitama is unaware he possessed. Furthermore, his returning smile reveals he has not lost any of his teeth. Turning to her he offers his hand. ‘I am so glad we meet vunce more, Hinetitama, that you and your granmutza invite me here to your nice house.’

Hinetitama smiles broadly, her heart pounding furiously, but she is determined not to show her nervousness and to put the Dutchman at ease. ‘I’ve been that worried all day that you’d change your mind and not come,’ she laughs, her words immediately relieving the tension.