The First Week (8 page)

‘Granny said they didn't have too much to do with the town in those days. Maybe walk there sometimes and buy two bottles of beer. That was the limit. They weren't allowed inside the pub. Might have dirtied the carpets.'

Marian opened her mouth to protest, but Lee lifted a hand to stop her. ‘Sorry,' she said. ‘But don't tell me it isn't true.'

Sam spoke. ‘It made Charlie angry.'

‘Yeah,' said Lee. ‘He was an activist. I think it's all connected.'

‘With Charlie?' asked Marian. Activist?

‘Charlie wanted to know about this stuff,' Lee said. ‘He was always … he sort of wanted to know the worst.' She turned to Sam. ‘You know what I mean?'

‘He was pissed off about a lot of things,' Sam said. ‘Injustice. Is that what you're saying? But isn't that …? You're an activist too.'

He was mixed up in something with Lee. Some sort of terrorist thing?

‘But it's not about killing people. You don't think that, do you?' Sam looked as though she might cry. She's so young, Marian thought. Whatever it was, Sam wasn't part of it. Well not the brains of it, anyway.

‘Of course I don't.' Lee shook her head. ‘It's different with Charlie. I don't even think I should have told him stuff, about the Reserve, the way my people were treated in the town. What happened with Granny and the school and all that. I don't know why he wants to hear about it. Makes him angry but guilty at the same time. Some trip of his own. You know?'

Sam nodded. ‘Yeah. That cold sort of anger.'

Mac's anger? Marian's neck was all stiff cords. She eased her head to one side.

‘It's hard to know what he's thinking,' Lee went on. ‘You know all that time at the brewery? He heard lots of people's stories then.'

‘What brewery?' Marian asked.

‘When they built those rich people's flats on the old brewery site. You didn't know about that?'

‘No.'

‘The old Swan Brewery, down on the river. Didn't you ever see it on the news?'

‘I remember something.' Troublemakers.

‘It's a special place,
Goonialup, Wagyl mia
. Important to Swan River people. We tried to save it. Lots of white people joined in too. But lots more didn't.
If we don't stop them here they'll take over the whole city. It'll be your backyard next.
Fear campaigns by the big money.'

‘What happened?'

‘What do you think?'

The police moved them on. The flats got built.

‘But Charlie was with us all the way on that,' Sam said.

‘Yeah I know. But it's different. You and Ros and Ben, you get involved because you think things should be better. I'm not so sure about Charlie. Sometimes I don't feel like telling him any more stories. I don't trust him. I end up saying
oh it's not that bad really
.' Lee's laugh had no humour in it. ‘It's like he's already decided everything's stuffed. All he wants is proof.'

Lee didn't trust Charlie. Marian didn't trust Lee. It was like a game at school. There should be words for it. Three blind mice …

Sam stood up abruptly and then slumped down again. ‘He doesn't trust anyone,' she said, voice not much more than a whisper. ‘He doesn't like people.'

Silence fell between the three women.

Eventually it was Sam who spoke. ‘I should have seen what was happening for him. Maybe I could have …'

Marian's eyes were closing again. But she'd had a sleep. She couldn't be tired again. She hauled herself upright.

This Charlie, that these young people knew, he didn't seem to have anything to do with her. The way they lived, their friendships, their politics. Getting involved. Whatever that meant. Getting involved in what? Wanting to change everything. What would they know?

‘Change everything,' she blurted. ‘You just want to change everything.'

What right did they have?

Lee looked at her, considering. ‘Depends where you sit, doesn't it? You got nothing but kicks in the teeth, then you want things to change. If you're sitting on a nice pile of money, then you don't.'

Marian was gripped again by anger. ‘It's not like that. It's not as simple as that.'

‘Looks pretty simple from where I stand.'

‘You complain about everything, you people. You don't know what it's like. The work it takes. You think we have money? You think it's easy for us?' She was shaking.

‘You wouldn't be talking about
Abo bludgers
would you?'

Lee's voice was quiet but Marian heard the tightness. She knew she shouldn't answer but she couldn't stop herself. ‘Well,' she said, ‘that is how it looks. It's all grants and government handouts with you lot.'

It was Mac talking, not her. You shouldn't say those things, not out loud.

Lee stood up. ‘You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know anything about my people.'

‘I know what I see. I know who does all the work.'

‘Work. Is that what you call it? Ripping down trees, clearing the land, making a desert of salt.'

Marian felt as though she'd been whacked in the belly. ‘That's … are you blaming us?'

‘Who else? Looks to me like the land's been dying slowly ever since the
wadjela
arrived.'

‘We have to eat, have to grow food.' Marian shook her head to clear it. Lee was pushing her into a corner.

She saw the younger woman's scepticism and was furious. All the years of sweat. ‘You lot would just sit around and starve.'

Lee spoke quietly. ‘I don't have to listen to this crap in my own house.'

‘Please,' Sam said. ‘Please don't fight. It's bad enough already.'

Marian levered herself to her feet and picked up her handbag. ‘No,' she said to Sam. ‘She's right, this is useless. I'll go.'

Lee didn't move. Marian walked past her and out the front door, one foot in front of the other. She stepped over the fence.

Sam had followed her.

‘Don't go, Marian. Not yet.' She was pale, and looked as though she might cry.

‘It's no use,' Marian said. ‘This is just making everything worse.'

‘But where will you go? Have you got somewhere to stay?'

‘I've got a room at the CWA.' Thank goodness.

‘Listen. I've got something you could read. Maybe it would help …' Sam disappeared into her house.

Marian stood on the porch. Her anger had gone, she felt empty and miserable. What a mess.

The door banged and Sam came out breathless holding a large manila envelope. ‘Lee wrote this. It might explain … you know, why she's pissed off …'

Marian took the envelope. Pushing it into her bag she walked to the gate and turned back to Sam. The girl looked so unhappy.

‘I'm sorry,' Marian said. ‘Please say goodbye to Ros. And thanks. You know, for looking after me.'

Waving her hand she walked quickly down the street. She had no idea where she was, just wanted to get away.

She walked blindly, crossing roads, turning corners, passing closed shops and dark gardens, putting as much distance as possible behind her. The thin unnatural glow of streetlights was lonelier than the darkest night in the country.

Eventually she came to a railway line and followed it to the next station. From the platform she watched the moon rise. A big old moon, past the full, petals blown.

The people and the day whirled around her. The farm was miles away, it seemed years since Sam's first phone call.

It was only yesterday morning.

This time she got the train door open without trouble, and sat down. The carriage was almost empty, except for a scruffy young man with one finger keeping his place in a Bible. With dismay she realised that he was staring at her, getting up to move closer.

‘Are you troubled?' he asked.

‘No,' she said. ‘Just tired.'

‘You can rest in the Lord, sister.'

She stared at him, beyond resistance.

‘Are you easy in your mind?'

‘Um …'

‘Don't answer at once. Take time to think. I'll pray with you.
Dear Lord, you have put us in this world of darkness and trouble to help each other. We are putty in your hands. It is not chance that we have met, here on this train. This sister is troubled. Show her the light, dear Lord. Let me help her.
'

Marian got to her feet. ‘Leave me alone,' she mumbled. And then, with more vigour, ‘leave me alone!'

She stumbled to the other end of the carriage, swaying with the movement of the train, and sat opposite the only other two passengers. The young man opened his Bible and began to chant and cast dark looks in her direction. To her relief, he made no attempt to follow her.

The Bible in Charlie's room, her Bible. Was Charlie caught up in one of these cults? Was that what all this
getting involved
was about? But none of the girls had mentioned God.

Marian leaned her head against the glass and watched the pale image of her face superimposed over the passing lights beyond. Perhaps she could sit here forever, go wherever the train went.

The two women opposite were talking loudly and took no notice of her.

‘You know what I did this morning? Only went to work with one sock inside out. Susie said to me, what's with your feet? You've got one sock inside out. It was too. All the bubbles were facing in. I thought oh no, I must be going balmy.' The woman laughed and thrust out one plump leg, pulling up the bottom of her pants. Sure enough, the bubbles were inside out.

‘Susie thinks she's the boss because she worked on labels all week,' the other woman said. ‘I told her that's nothing anyway. I've done labels plenty of times. She said thank God I've only got one more week in this dump before my holidays.'

‘That's awful. I wouldn't say that.'

‘She's a mongrel.'

‘Don't say that. You're terrible.'

They both giggled.

For the second time that day Marian wanted to trade lives, to go to work every day caring only about socks and labels.

Her bag was safe in the locker. She retrieved it and went out into the city. A group of Aboriginal youths had gathered in Forrest Place, maybe the same group from the station that morning. Were they angry? She couldn't read their brown faces.

Making a wide arc around them she hurried along the other side of the square.

The night was cold, but there were still kids spilling out of McDonalds. The last of the commuters hurried towards buses and car parks.

A row of small shops survived near His Majesty's at the foot of the dark office towers. Beyond them she came into a more open part of the street. The ground dropped away in front of her to a freeway, a roaring torrent of headlights disappearing into the tunnel below. She crossed above it, dwarfed, clinging to the footpath. Parliament House was floodlit on her left, its dignity undermined by the red stains of bore water on walls and paths.

There was no one about. It was no longer a residential area. The old houses were replaced with marble-fronted, gold-plated palaces. But even here the footpaths were stained. She scuffed her toe across the cement. It was the bore water. The secret underground water. They should have left it alone.

No amount of marble could resist the tell-tale stain.

Lawyers, accountants, mining companies. Everyone gone home for the night or off to bars or casinos, wherever such people went. The big WA money, the new world. The squatters, the old aristocracy, were outnumbered, or converted. It wasn't about grazing any more, not even the rich merino studs. It was mining money now.

Piles of money. Sitting on a nice pile of money.

Among the marble and glass were a few peeling blocks of flats and shabby terraces, survivors. But not for long. One was already boarded up.

The CWA, to her relief, was only three storeys. A brick building, modest, ugly, with shopfronts along the street level. Racquets restrung, secretarial services, a travel agent. A neat sign on the main door announced that the
Global TESOL College Info Seminar
was on the third floor. Another sign promised
Reception
, also on the third floor.

Marian pushed at the door but it was locked and there was no sign of a bell. In desperation she banged on the glass with her fists. Nothing happened.

Now what?

Don't panic.

She could ring Ros and Sam, go all the way back and stay there. But she shrank from the idea. Not with Lee next door.

There must be another hotel nearby. She peered up the street. And there, at the corner of the CWA building, was a small sign with an arrow.
Reception
. A driveway.

She dragged her bag around the back under the impersonal gaze of the neighbouring flats, down to a car park and a back door. The doorway was open and well lit and she paused inside, filled with gratitude. Handicrafts on the left, lounge on the right, with a framed sign in cross-stitch hanging over the sofa.

Honour to God

Loyalty to the Throne

Service to the Country

Through Country Women

For Country Women

By Country Women

A sign on the door of the handicrafts shop was more succinct.
CWA for Home and Country
. The display cases were filled with winning entries.
Beanie and Scarf. Child's Poem—Caring for Communities.

At the end of the hall a notice board announced bookings for the
Kismet Tribal Dance Group
, the
Divine Service Centre
and the
Prosthesis Group
. The
Doll and Toy Club
was advised to use the Board Room.

It was a lost world, hidden away among the marble palaces.

Beyond the notice board, a sign once more promised
Reception
on the third floor. This time it was accompanied by an arrow to
Lift
.