Tears of the Moon (50 page)

Initially, Amy fled to Tyndall’s side out of fear, fear that he was not seriously ill and would soon discover the theft of pearls from his safe. Then when she found he was in such a bad way, there was a flood of relief and a little compassion.

But she became increasingly agitated as the days passed and Tyndall showed slight signs of recovery. He began to eat more and was sleeping better. He tried to make conversation with Amy but quickly tired since she made little effort to contribute to the exchange, doing little more than urging him to rest, and go back to sleep. Several times he called out in his sleep for Olivia, which angered Amy enormously.

Amy soon became aware that an almost permanent
confusion of thoughts was sapping her energy. Gunther had told her the boat would be adequately provisioned and ready for sea in a few days, but he needed time to wrap up some unspecified business deals, and to receive telegraph messages from Sydney.

Now that she had the situation under control there was time on her hands, time to think, and time to wonder what she had done and what she had to do. And she knew, too, that she had Tyndall’s life in her hands. It was that power, the power of life and death, that at once exhilarated and appalled her, that kept her awake for hours when she desperately wanted to sleep. And in the loneliness and dark one sleepless night she found herself pondering on what advantages would accrue if Tyndall died. She could perhaps have a claim on everything. There would be no need to put to sea with Gunther. But then the robbery bound her to Gunther, didn’t it? That could not be undone.

She felt the pearls against her body but her mind wandered elsewhere and images of death filled her mind. But he won’t die … unless … and she found herself thinking of an overdose of medicine. That could kill him … morphine … an overdose … but that would be murder. She pushed the thought from her mind, then was disturbed when it came back, again and again, and haunted her until she fell into a sleep of utter emotional and physical exhaustion.

She awoke shivering in the pre-dawn coolness and pulled a cotton sheet up to her shoulders. She looked over at Tyndall, who was now tossing restlessly. Her eyes drifted to the bedside table and
locked onto the bottle of medicine and those terrible thoughts came back, and soon she found herself weeping silently, and praying for daylight in the hope that it would expunge the dark thoughts that festered in the night.

In the early morning came a note from Gunther delivered by one of his crew.

My dear partner
,

Everything will be ready in two days. The evening tide will be right and there’s a little Jap festival to keep everyone occupied. Have your bags packed
.

Karl

Amy collapsed into a chair. But it was not the awareness that there was no turning back now that caused her reaction, but rather the note’s reminder of the festival, a festival devoted to the dead. She found herself once again crying uncontrollably while looking at the stirring Tyndall and his medicine by the bed.

Two days later at the edge of town the O-Bon Matsuri festival got under way. This Japanese ceremony to honour their ancestors was a major event in the town and began at twilight at the Japanese section of the cemetery, which was segregated from the white section. In a solemn procession the Japanese community gathered by the graves with offerings of food and sake. Incense sticks burned and the graves were decorated with origami flowers or fresh blooms. A small blue lantern illuminated the name
on each headstone. Following prayers, a ceremonial dance, O-Bon Odori, was performed by the Japanese women. These were the night ladies of Sheba Lane who rarely appeared in public, but on this night, dressed in traditional satin kimonos and with lacquered hair, they delicately swayed and turned on their high wooden zori sandals. Hands like white doves fluttered from the long folds of their gilded and coloured robes in the movements of an ancient dance. The crowd of spectators watched in silence, the haunting high pitched wailing of the women’s voices and strings of the samisens rising into the night air.

The Aborigines watching in the background nodded, recognising the meaning of ceremonial connection with ancestors being played out on the red pindan dirt beneath the starry sky.

Very much later, after the feast in a park in town, the crowd followed the Japanese community down to the shores of the bay. Here the specially made little boats of mangrove wood laden with food and flowers and a miniature lantern or candle were pushed into the water. These would guide the spirits back to their ancestral home.

As the Japanese mourners knelt on the shore chanting prayers to the slow beat of a drum, the hundreds of small lights glided out across the bay with the tide.

Further down the bay, the red and black schooner slipped from Dampier Creek and sailed towards the sea.

Amy stood on the deck, watching the receding
lights of Broome and the fleet of tiny lights bobbing across the bay and she was seized by a fleeting moment of doubt.

Karl Gunther joined her. ‘Second thoughts?’

‘Bit late for that, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. It is. But if you don’t gamble, you don’t win either,’ shrugged Gunther.

‘I prefer sure things when that’s possible,’ answered Amy.

‘I thought you’d figured that out by now, Amy. Nothing is sure in this life. It’s all a big game … so play with the winners.’

‘Are we going to be winners, Karl?’

‘We have the pearls, we have a plan, we have a chance to make big money. Like I said, nothing’s sure. But I’d say we are ahead of the game.’

Amy didn’t respond at once, again thinking through her position. She had more to gain gambling on Karl Gunther than staying in Broome. Besides, she’d burned her bridges there, so she was ready to confront whatever lay ahead.

As the boat picked up a freshening breeze and heeled slightly to port, Amy took hold of a shroud and looked out to sea and the rising moon. She suddenly felt buoyant, excited and tremendously alive. Turning to look at Gunther at the helm, she said brightly, ’You’re right, Karl. We’re ahead of the game.’

When Rosminah returned late at night from the Matsuri festival, she found the door to Tyndall’s bedroom ajar. She ventured in, it was quite dark—no light was burning and the blinds were drawn. Slowly
her eyes adjusted and she became aware of Tyndall slumped across the bed, one arm dangling towards the floor, his breathing shallow and hoarse. The small phial of brown liquid was empty, tipped on its side, as was a glass. There was a small pool of water beside the bed. She rushed for the doctor.

As the sun rose, Tyndall passed the critical period. The doctor rubbed his eyes and smiled at Ahmed, sitting on the other side of the bed. ‘He’ll be all right. Luckily he didn’t take the rest of the laudanum. It must have spilled when he reached for the water. Any more would have stopped his breathing.’

‘You think she give him too much?’

‘You’ll have to ask Mrs Tyndall that question. Maybe she didn’t understand my directions clearly. I’ll arrange for a competent nursing woman to stay with him.’

As soon as the doctor had left and Tyndall was settled, Ahmed began searching for Amy.

By mid-morning he had learned she had sailed with Karl Gunther. She’d left the house on the cliff, taking her personal effects with her. From waterfront gossip he learned Gunther was heading to the Far East on an ‘extended trip’.

Ahmed nodded to himself and said a quick prayer of thanks to Allah. This news would no doubt hasten Tyndall’s recovery.

Sergeant O’Leary called out to Tyndall as his boots thumped on the verandah.

The Chinese cook appeared, nodding and smiling. ‘Master in back garden. You likee tea?’

‘Something a bit stronger thanks, Ah Sing. Bring the whisky. Two glasses.’

He walked through the house and into the garden to find Tyndall stretched out in a hammock under shady trees.

‘G’day, Sean,’ he called cheerfully and gestured to a wicker chair. ‘Make yourself comfortable. Did you tell Ah Sing to bring drinks?’

‘Indeed I did, even though ‘tis a bit early in the day. Sun still not over the yardarm as they say in your line of business.’

‘To hell with the yardarm.’

Ah Sing padded up with the bottle, glasses and a jug of cold water. As O’Leary poured, Tyndall slowly hoisted himself out of the hammock and joined the policeman. ‘I suppose you’ve come to get a statement.’

‘Just a formality, John. Coroner will decide if anything else has to be done. Great shame losing the
Shamrock
. All in all you’re not having a very good run. Cheers anyway.’ He raised his glass.

Tyndall drank and sighed in satisfaction. ‘Damn good medicine.’

‘And not as dangerous as some,’ quipped O’Leary. ‘You still got no idea what happened?’

Tyndall grimaced. ‘No, it’s still a mystery to me. I do have some vague images of Amy giving me medicine, but she did that regularly. And I have images of me reaching out in the night for a drink. But I was going through a bad spot there just before she did a bunk. Fevers, hallucinations, the lot. Ahmed is convinced she gave me an overdose. I don’t know … it’s
hard to accept. I can’t believe she hated me that much.’

O’Leary took his notebook from his shirt pocket, opened it, then took an indelible pencil from its holder and examined the tip carefully before writing the date. ‘But there is the business of the pearls.’ He made it more of a question than a statement.

‘Ah, now that has the mark of Amy and Gunther about it,’ remarked Tyndall. Two days after Amy had fled Tyndall had given Ahmed the keys to the safe so that the latest collection of pearls from Toby Metta could be safely deposited. At this point, the robbery had been discovered.

‘Of course it is only circumstantial, but who else is suspect?’ Tyndall asked.

‘Good question. Ahmed?’

‘Nonsense.’

‘I agree. Either Amy found your keys or Gunther has skills we didn’t know of. I’ll note the details, but there’s really not much I can do about it.’

‘Know that, mate. But all things considered I don’t feel too bad about it. Thanks to Yusef I now have grounds for divorcing Amy. Adultery.’

O’Leary leaned back in his chair and grinned. ‘You don’t give up, John, do you?’

‘No. Not on this one. Olivia means the world to me, Sean. I’ve now got a chance for freedom and a chance to win her back.’

‘Bit complicated getting a divorce when you can’t find the wife,’ observed O’Leary sympathetically.

‘There has to be a way,’ responded Tyndall with some passion. ‘There just has to be a way.’

‘Then let’s drink to it,’ said O’Leary, pouring a generous measure into both glasses.

It was Toby Metta who came and broke the news to Tyndall. He arrived at the foreshore camp where Tyndall was getting ready to go back to sea with his fleet.

Tyndall watched from the upper balcony of the shed as Toby puffed his way along the track and up the stairs, his round face aglow with perspiration and some agitation. He waved a copy of the
West Australian
newspaper and collapsed in a chair.

‘Read the bottom of the page there,’ he instructed.

‘Toby, what’s got you in such a state?’

‘Read. I’ve marked it.’

Tyndall looked at the circled story and read it quickly.

SINGAPORE, Friday

British colonial authorities have yet to confirm the identities of two white people found murdered on the schooner SYLPH in the Straits of Malacca but they are believed to be from Australia. The man and woman had both been shot several times. The ransacked vessel was found yesterday and taken in tow by the Royal Navy patrol boat CURLEW in international waters west of the port of Malacca, an area notorious for pirates operating out of islands near Sumatra. The boat’s papers indicate that it had been based in Broome in Western Australia before spending time in minor ports in the Sulu Sea. The body of a Japanese crew member was also found on board. The fate of the other crew members is unknown.

‘Sounds unmistakably like Gunther. Desperate business by the sound of it. Sorry to bring the news like this, John.’

Tyndall was stunned at the coldly reported facts. ‘I wanted her out of my life. But not like this. Bloody horrible business.’

‘What are you going to do? Cable Singapore?’

Tyndall looked thoughtful and spoke slowly. ‘Yes, I will. To get more details. Then … ’ he looked up resolutely. ‘Then I’m going up there to check on the whole story. I’m her husband, I need to do that.’

‘She’ll have been buried, case closed by the time you get there. Not much point is there, John?’

‘I thought she was dead once before. This time I want to be sure.’ He glanced at Toby’s slightly shocked expression. ‘I have to be sure, Toby. I can’t claim Olivia and marry her until I have proof that I am a free man.’

Toby rose and refolded the newspaper. ‘I understand. It’s been a hard time for you. Maybe fate has decided to smile on you again. I wish you well, John.’

Tyndall didn’t make the journey to Singapore. Sergeant O’Leary called in to see him with information sent from the Singapore authorities confirming the identity of Gunther and Amy. Documents, including the death certificates, would be forwarded.