I Knew You'd Have Brown Eyes (11 page)

After the man left I sat in a chair in my house facing Lake Evella, far from any city, family or my friends back in Brisbane, contemplating things. It occurred to me that in life the only person we can rely on is ourselves. We can have people around us, enjoy their company and sometimes – but not always – their support. But we have to learn to survive and be strong and capable, alone. To know how and when to say no to something we don’t want. I came to the conclusion that my happiness came from knowing I was tough, strong, independent. I didn’t need help.

I gave up on religion too. The guilt that had been laid on me for breaking the Catholic religion’s no sex before marriage rule seemed irrelevant to me now. The church representative’s advances made me laugh out loud. After all the years I had spent feeling guilty and now here I was trying to be a responsible grown-up and what was I offered for my efforts – sex! I forgave myself and I felt free. Released. No matter what life threw at me from here on, I knew I could deal with it unaided. I knew who I was.

13

The remote area nurses in our region had regular in-service training in Gove. The week away from our communities was always a well-anticipated, well-earned break. The night before we returned to our communities the Area Nursing Officer, Carol, always invited us to her home for a sundowner. I respected her and enjoyed these relaxed evenings. I was admiring her lush garden on one such evening when she approached me.

‘What are your plans now, Mary?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well you’ve given the church two years of your life. What’s your next move?’

‘I hadn’t really thought.’

‘I’m looking for a replacement for the senior nurse’s job at Alyangula on Groote Eylandt. I think you should apply for it.’

I normally chatted with the pilots on my journeys to and from Gapuwiyak but, on my trip back, I was deep in thought. Alyangula was a mining town. I’d met the nurses who worked there and they seemed a happy bunch. But Alyangula was a white town, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to leave working with Aboriginals. On the other hand, I was tired and frustrated that our health messages weren’t getting through. I’d met people who were burnt out and had become negative about Aboriginal people. I didn’t want to be like them.

Back in Gapuwiyak I went to see Mark and Geraldine. Over dinner I told them about Carol’s suggestion.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Geraldine said.

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m ready to give up Aboriginal work.’

‘Look kid,’ Mark said, ‘you’ve given two of your best years here. It’s time you moved back into the real world. Alyangula has a golf club, tennis courts, a pub – two pubs – a swimming pool. Did I mention the pubs?’

‘Yeah, but …’

‘And Alyangula is not the only community on Groote. There are two Aboriginal communities there.’

‘Yeah, I know Umbakumba and Angurugu. I’ve met the nurses who work there.’

‘Listen, if I were in your shoes I would take the offer. It might not be there when you feel ready to leave.’

Mark had a point and my spirits lifted. It was good advice. I liked these two people a lot. We didn’t have the same philosophy when it came to working in Gapuwiyak, but they were good people who enjoyed life and they provided a balance to my sometimes idealist views.

Walking into the Alyangula Health Centre on my first day was like checking in to a five-star hotel: air-conditioning, a clean, spacious waiting room, three examination rooms, an X-ray machine, designated theatre, treatment and child health rooms, a secretary, and real phones. As the sister-in-charge, I had my own office. The clinic serviced the 500 workers of the BHP manganese mine, their families and the local teachers. In total, 1500 people. There were three nurses, a resident doctor, a dentist and a research doctor. After-hours on-call rosters were shared among the nurses instead of falling just to me, and having a doctor meant I didn’t need phone consultations before conducting procedures. I had an air-conditioned, one-bedroom flat.

Groote Eylandt is on the western side of the Gulf of Carpentaria. It has beaches, small islands and water teeming with fish. The island, like most of Arnhem Land, falls under Aboriginal free title. In this case, it belongs to the Anindilyakwa clan. Dutch explorer Abel Tasman named it large (groote) island (eylandt). The Groote Eylandt Mining Company (GEMCO), a subsidiary of BHP Billiton, had been mining manganese there since the 1960s. It was pure magic having all the facilities Mark had told me about and more. Best of all was the view over the bay. My social life was transformed from almost non-existent into invitations out on most nights of the week. What I loved best was the opportunity for sport. Two evenings a week I went to aerobics classes – Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’ still has me kicking my legs in the air whenever I hear it. I started jogging with the doctors. We would run through the bushland behind the clinic, down to the bay, in time for sunset, and then back through the town to the health centre.

One of the doctors convinced us to join him – midway through our jog – at the pool. I had never had swimming lessons but could manage a few laps. The others easily churned out a couple of kilometres. When the boys decided to enter the annual Groote Eylandt triathlon, a new sport in 1986, I had my Apollo bike sent from Brisbane and signed up. We began training in earnest.

I made friends with a group of adventurous mining engineers and geologists. One became my boyfriend. We didn’t have a serious relationship – he was younger than me – but we had a very enjoyable time together. On weekends when I wasn’t on call we all went camping and fishing. There were a multitude of coves, bays and beaches to explore and I always came home with a good supply of fish. We took an underwater diving course. Groote had plenty of great dive locations.

On one memorable camping trip, six of us arrived at our location on sunset. We lit a huge fire, cooked dinner, drank too much alcohol and fell asleep around the fire. The next morning we noticed crocodile tracks very close to where we had fallen asleep. We hadn’t noticed them the evening before and didn’t know how fresh they were. If they had been made during the night we could only guess that the coals from the fire had protected us. Astounded by our stupidity, we spent the morning staring at two large saltwater crocodiles lurking just under the surface of the flat ocean. They stared back.

Work kept me busy. It was different from Gapuwiyak, where people often waited a long time before presenting and were therefore very ill, requiring a lot of attention. The morning clinics at Alyangula involved boring coughs and colds, or filling out medical certificates. I was in charge of the immunisation and baby clinic. Weekend on-call work brought fishhook removals and kids’ sporting accidents.

The Alyangula clinic also serviced Bartalumba Bay, where Kailis Fisheries had a prawn processing plant. The fishermen from the prawn trawlers would be out at sea for weeks at a time. We often treated serious infections from the men who came in off the boats. They were grateful for our help and gave us big boxes of fresh prawns.

One evening the mine manager, Trevor, invited me to a dinner held for a visiting politician. The doctor, headmaster and head of police were also at the function, along with several heads of departments of the mine. It was held at the director’s cottage, a beautiful house on the only hill on Groote. Tables were set in a huge garden, with lights strung between the trees. I chatted easily with the people at my table. It was a thoroughly civilised evening. After dinner, people mingled and I found myself standing near Trevor. We exchanged simple pleasantries and I asked him if he knew much about the Aboriginal people who lived on Groote.

‘Yes, of course. I go fishing sometimes with the elders here. Nangaburra has taken me to his island and told me a lot about the history of his place.’ He had a slight accent but I couldn’t decipher where it came from. I don’t remember what I expected him to be like but it wasn’t someone as relaxed as he seemed.

‘The Anindilyakwa people share a long history with the Macassans, who came from the island of Sulawesi, Indonesia.’

‘Really? What brought the Macassans here, so far from home?’

‘They fished for trepang – sea slugs.’

‘What did the Aboriginals give them in return?’

‘They helped them to catch the trepang. Some went back on their boats, or prahus, and stayed in Macassa. If you go there now you’d see some of their descendants.’

‘Was this before the Dutch came?’

‘Oh, way before any Europeans ever came to Australia. A whole century before. You know the word they use up here for white people?’

‘Balanda,’ I said.

‘That’s right. It means ‘white’ in Dutch and it came from the Macassans, who were under Dutch rule – they brought lots of Indonesian words here.’

‘All around this island there are tamarind trees. They came from the Macassans too. They brought tamarind to cook with and, when they discarded the seeds, trees grew.’

I was surprised and interested in this historical perspective. People had told me that mining was exploitative, that miners only cared about profits, but here was the boss of the mine talking to me about history and taking an interest in the original inhabitants. He told me that when the mining company GEMCO had discovered manganese there they set up a trust for the Aboriginal people. The royalties paid significant commercial benefits to the communities, not to individuals, well before land rights. I made a mental note to keep an open mind about mining and Aboriginals.

We continued talking until everyone had left and Trevor’s wife joined us.

‘Time to go home,’ she said.

The next day Trevor sent me a book,
Fred Grey of Umbakumba
. It was about the man who established the Aboriginal settlement of Umbakumba in 1938. Some time later I went there and saw the remnants of the market garden Fred had established. It provided food for the Qantas flying boats that stopped on Groote to refuel after World War II and provided jobs for the Aboriginals who lived there. The book was central to the discussion Trevor and I had the next time we met.

Alexis and Mum came for a visit. Mum was much happier. She’d thrown herself into her studies, was enjoying the challenge and was doing well. Alexis was also studying to be a teacher. It was good to see Mum more relaxed – we got along much better. Alexis had a great time meeting and socialising with my friends. We got drunk one night and came home singing loudly. Mum didn’t approve of that.

After Mum left, Alexis stayed on for a few days and I took her camping to a favourite spot. We found a place by some big white rocks to pitch the tent. Then we pulled out fishing reels and stood on the rocks to catch fish. The water was clear enough to see the fish approaching our bait. We lit a fire, cooked the fish and sat down with a glass of wine.

‘You seem so happy here, Mare,’ Alexis said.

‘Yeah, it’s a beautiful place!’

‘Have you told anyone about your son?’

I poked the fire with a stick. ‘No. In the past I’ve told people I consider to be close friends. I always feel relieved to be able to talk about him.’

‘Did you get any counselling after he was born?’

‘Counselling! You have no idea what it was like back then, Lex – we were disgraced girls. It was as if they just wanted our babies and then wanted us out of the way. No one ever asked me how I felt. I just had to get on with it.’

‘There’s been some stuff in the papers recently about changes to the adoption law.’

She couldn’t remember exactly what the changes entailed. I hadn’t heard anything. We didn’t get newspapers or TV on Groote.

‘Do you remember when you told me about him?’ she said.

‘No.’

‘I was sixteen and going out with this guy. He was a creep and you must have seen that. You told me all about Christopher. You warned me to be careful. I dropped him after that. I was so shocked. I never knew.’

We sat in silence looking up at the stars.

‘They’re so bright here, aren’t they?’ Alexis said. She saw I was crying and took my hand.

‘You know Lex, you and Teresa are the only ones in our family who’ve ever asked me about him. Even though I cry every time, it always makes me happy to be able to talk about it. I think that’s the hardest part, the silence.’

Later, Teresa’s son Adam came to Groote. It was a big adventure for a six-year-old. He flew as an unaccompanied child, all the way from Brisbane. I took him fishing and all over the island. Teresa used to call him ‘her little man’ and he was just that – a little boy with a lot on his shoulders. Mum had told me that Teresa was taking drugs again – Valium during the day and sleeping pills at night. She denied it when Mum confronted her.

Lots of the mine workers owned boats, and some waterskied. After work, if I wasn’t running, swimming or doing aerobics, you’d find me skiing on ‘town’ beach. On calm days it was perfect, though we had to be careful of the venomous box jellyfish, and wear a full-length lycra suit. Occasionally there were crocodiles and they kept us on constant guard. Trevor and his children often joined us.

Trevor was fourteen years my senior. He had four children, three of whom were teenagers. Whenever we met we instantly fell into easy conversation. I enjoyed his intellect. One evening at a small company function that he and his wife hosted at their home, we sat together under the poinciana tree in his backyard. As had become our habit we conversed about history, politics, Aboriginals and mining. And then he asked, ‘So what’s your future, Mary – what do you want? Where do you see yourself ten years from now?’

I wasn’t sure how to answer. He continued.

‘Are you going to marry an engineer, have children and live out your life on Groote Eylandt? Is that the future you see?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said. Feeling at ease in his company I ventured, ‘My life is not as straightforward as it seems. When I was seventeen I had a baby and I gave him up for adoption because I had no way of supporting him.’

‘That must have been hard for you at such a young age.’

‘Yes it was, and I haven’t always been this happy and carefree. Until recently I was a very serious person.’

‘I can see now why you seem so mature, that experience must have given you that.’

I had only recently come to this conclusion myself but had not put it into words. I was amazed that this man, who I had only recently met, could put my experience into a positive light.

‘These things happen. I’m sure you’re not the first girl to have had a baby at a young age. Surely that’s all in the past now,’ he continued. ‘You seem like a girl who, despite a difficult start, enjoys life. The future is ahead of you, isn’t it?’

He wasn’t judgemental. Not only was he wise and rational, he had a good understanding of people. I liked that in him. It had been a huge relief to confide in him the story that I usually kept to myself. Because of our age difference and his married state our friendship was odd but I was comfortable with that.

‘Maybe I’m getting to that, in my own time,’ I said.

Shortly after that, when the AIDS epidemic hit the news, my work moved into prevention mode. Many of the miners were going to Thailand and Indonesia for holidays and coming back with sexually transmitted diseases. AIDS was a whole new ball game. I started giving sexual health information sessions at GEMCO. One day after one of these sessions I bumped into Trevor.