Tears of the Moon (34 page)

Olivia found him, hungover and morose, at the camp the next day. She made him strong tea. ‘Perhaps Niah was jealous at us taking Hamish away. She’s been a bit reserved lately. And now she’s found her tribal family it’s only natural she’d want to take Maya to them, for a visit,’ said Olivia, trying to explain the situation rationally.

‘She’s
my
daughter, too. She really doesn’t belong out there.’

‘How can you be sure, John?’ said Olivia, hating to see the misery in his eyes and feeling a little bit guilty that perhaps it was because of her that the situation had developed in this way. ‘You can only wait.’

Tyndall gazed at Olivia sadly. ‘You’re right, of course. And there’s not a damned thing I can do about it. But wait.’

Olivia poured his tea and hoped Niah would be sensible and not stay away too long. She’d heard of
some Aborigines going walkabout for six months or more. ‘At least we know she’s in safe hands.’

Tyndall didn’t answer.

In the weeks that followed, Niah discovered her extended family, the rituals, the sacred sites, the stories and sense of kinship. The tribe embraced Maya and in a simple but moving ceremony performed by the women, the young girl was welcomed into the extended family of the clan and given a shell pendant. The small curved shell had the same carved pattern as her mother’s. No matter where she went in life Maya had a link with previous generations and a place of belonging.

The old women adored the beautiful girl and entertained her, singing and showing her endless patterns made from twine twisted between fingers. It was a time for both mother and daughter to learn their language and culture.

Niah relaxed and felt comfortable leaving Maya with the old women while she went hunting and gathering food with the other women and young girls. There was much to learn.

One day after they reached the coast Niah felt a need to be on her own. She found herself thinking a lot about Tyndall and Broome. While the others collected oysters and shellfish, Niah clambered over rocks to a deserted inlet. She wandered idly for a short time kicking at the sand, then sat and stared out to sea. Somewhere across the ocean was the island where she’d grown up and where her other
family lived. She remembered how her grandmother had sat and told her the story of the land across the sea. It had been a long time ago and Niah’s mother told her stories of how her grandmother had sailed back over the sea to visit, returning with gifts and stories of the great welcoming ceremony for her. Niah, by inadvertently returning to the home of her grandmother, felt she had completed the circle.

Deep in thought she didn’t hear the footfall behind her. An arm grabbed her around the throat and her arms were swiftly pinned behind her back.

‘Got you!’ The grinning face of Karl Gunther leered close to hers. ‘What a pleasant surprise, my pretty. What are you doing up here?’

‘I, I, I come with Tyndall,’ she stammered frantically.

‘Oh yeah? And where’s ‘is boat. I’m moored around the cove, there ain’t any other boats ‘ere.’ He dragged her to her feet.

Niah tried to scream but he clamped his hand across her mouth. ‘Now, now. Don’t make a noise. Or I’ll hurt you real bad. You’re comin’ with me.’

He dragged her, kicking and struggling, along the sand. She bit and scratched until he gave her a solid backhander and she went limp. Slinging her over his shoulder, he hurried along the beach.

Niah came to in the dim cabin of a boat. She could tell by the sound and movement that they were getting under way and she struggled to rise, but found she was tied by her ankles, the rope looping up to tie her hands behind her back. She attempted to cry out
but a rag had been tied across her mouth. Her frantic heavings sent her crashing to the deck where she lay bruised and sore. A black cloud of fright and despair descended on her.

Once the boat was under way, Gunther appeared and yanked her upright. ‘So, you fell. Dear me.’ His voice dripped facetiously. He flung her back on the bunk. ‘Stop fightin’, woman. There’s no point. Be nice ‘n’ things may go easier for you.’

She lay there, her eyes burning with anger as she watched him fuss around the cabin. He then threw her one last look and a leering grin. Niah thought longingly of her child—at least she was safe, but her urge to get off this boat and get back to Maya overwhelmed all other feelings.

Hours passed. She felt faint with hunger and thirst. Gunther returned and yanked the cloth from her mouth, loosened her hands and gave her water which she gulped greedily. She sat and glared at him.

‘Don’t give me the evil eye. You wanna get on in this life, you be nice to me.’ He flicked a finger under her chin and Niah resisted the impulse to poke a finger at his eye. He tied one of her hands to the ankle rope.

The cook delivered a plate of rice with a few strips of dried fish on it and turned away. Niah spoke swiftly in Malay but he didn’t reply. She ate with one hand and waited.

Gunther came to her, drunk, later that night, forcing her back on the thin coir mattress of the bunk. He pulled out a knife, casually slit her sarong and flung
it away. Grinning in the lantern light he drew the knife around her nipples and slowly ran it down her chest and belly to her pubic hair where he held it as their eyes locked. Niah remained motionless.

‘That’s the girl. No point in fighting me now,’ he slurred. He reached down and slit the rope binding her ankles, kicked her legs apart and held the knife threateningly above her. Niah didn’t move. Gunther dragged off his trousers and flung himself on top of her, fumbling and groping, his rum-soaked breath almost smothering her.

Niah kicked out with her legs, pulling up her knee and thrusting it in his groin, making a grab for the knife with her free hand. Her movements were swift and strong and they both rolled to the floor, Gunther gasping in pain. They fumbled for the knife, Gunther having dropped it in the fall. Both their hands fell on it and he swung it, slicing downwards towards her neck. Niah twisted and felt it hit her shoulder, cutting deeply. She swung her free elbow, smashing it into Gunther’s teeth then, grasping the knife, she turned it back on him. He yelled in pain and rolled away from her and in that second she staggered to her feet and raced up to the deck.

A lantern swung from the rigging and the crew, sitting and eating their meal, glanced up in astonishment. No one moved or spoke as the bleeding, wild-eyed, naked girl stood before them trailing rope looped around her feet and wrists. In that split second Niah knew she could expect no help from these men. Hearing Gunther cursing and crashing his way up on deck, she turned and dived over the side of the lugger.

She sank through the dark water, holding her breath, kicking her legs free of the rope, then swam until she was forced to the surface to take a breath. Treading water, her heart pounding, gasping for air, Niah looked around. The moon was obscured by clouds, so it took her a few seconds to adjust to the dark night. Then she made out the shape of Gunther’s lugger, its lights glowing faintly, the distance between them growing as she watched. She turned around and saw the coastline, thankfully not an impossible swim away. But fear clutched at her as she struck out, knowing sharks infested the waters. She doubted whether Gunther would look for her, knowing as she did that he was wounded and it would be an impossible task with no moonlight to guide him.

Her childhood spent in the waters about her island home stood her in good stead. Although she swam strongly, she still needed to rest often. But thankfully she could feel the current drawing her towards the shore.

She had no idea how long she spent in the sea, but eventually could hear the surf and suddenly there was a rush of water and her legs were raked by sharp needles as she was washed on to a coral reef. She tucked her legs up and with a few strong strokes got herself over the reef to calm water.

She could see a white strip of beach and soon her feet hit the bottom and she tripped, crawled out to the sand and lost consciousness from fatigue and loss of blood.

Dawn found the naked girl still unconscious, her limbs covered with congealed blood from many cuts. Blood trickled from the knife wound in her shoulder. As the morning began to heat Niah became conscious and raised herself to her knees. She was weak but knew she must move to find shelter. Staggering into the sand dunes and scrubland, she found a small waterhole and threw herself down to drink. She then peeled a large piece of paper bark off a tree and using it to shade herself she set out to follow the creek upstream following a well-worn track.

Just as she thought she could drag herself no further, Niah saw several small shacks and behind them a large white tower. At the same time a black girl and boy came along the path, squealed in shock at seeing her, turned and ran.

Niah called to them, then sank to the ground and passed out.

Niah opened her eyes and found she was on a small bed in a white cell-like room. A black cross hung on one wall and sunlight and a soft breeze came through a window, framed by open wood shutters. Turning her head, she saw a white man sitting beside the bed, smiling kindly at her. He was wearing a long dark robe. A mug was offered to her and the man helped her sip the cool broth. It gave her some strength and she looked down and saw that she was dressed in a white shift or shirt of some kind. Realising that her shoulder was bandaged, she tried to lift her arm on that side of her body but found it
would not respond. Suddenly she felt hot and then began shivering. Fear gripped her, but the man spoke gently to her, his accent different from the white men she knew in Broome.

‘I am Brother Frederick. This is Beagle Bay, don’t be frightened. You are very sick. Rest now. Later you try to eat, yes?’

Niah fell back and closed her eyes.

For three days she battled the fever and infection from the deadly coral that had poisoned her. She had lost a lot of blood and Brother Frederick spent a long time praying for this native girl who was so desperately ill. Niah was too weak to speak except once to utter one word in reply to his asking her name—’Niah,’ she whispered.

As the days passed, Niah’s hold on life slipped further and further from her grasp.

Finally Brother Frederick lifted Niah from the bed and carried her across the sandy ground to the whitewashed mud-brick church. Inside it was cool and dim. He went to the altar, put Niah on a mat, lit candles, knelt beside her then raised his arms in supplication.

‘Dear Lord, bless this heathen, take her into thine almighty kingdom and shower her with love and thy blessings. Let her life not be in vain!’

Niah opened her eyes and saw the candle-lit altar shining with inlaid mother-of-pearl. A brief smile touched her dry lips and feebly she lifted an arm towards the priest. Brother Frederick looked at her and followed her eyes to the mother-of-pearl shell
pendant and knew she had found some recognition or made some connection with the pearl shells on the altar. Then her head fell back and she died quietly in his arms.

Brother Fredrick buried her in the small graveyard near the church.

On her grave he added a simple headstone into which he had set the shell pendant with clay and lime paste. The strange pattern puzzled the Brother, but he sensed it was symbolic and meaningful.

Brother Frederick made a note of the event in his journal and never mentioned it again. Life and death were like leaves falling from a tree to him.

A long way down the coast, the tribal women saw Gunther’s boat with its black hull and dark red sails move away. In the sand they read the signs of a struggle and found Niah’s digging stick. The snatching of Aborigines was not unknown but the women were deeply distressed. They sent word along the coast to watch for the strange boat and rescue Niah.

The women took Maya with them, she was part of their family and they all cared for the little girl, sharing food and love with her as they travelled across the land, all hoping for the day Niah might return to them.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN