My Place (52 page)

‘I agree, Sally, I really do, but I'm thinking of Helen. She was
very upset when she brought Nan home. It's her place to complain, not yours!'

I groaned out loud. When it came to issues like this, I was a person of action. Doing nothing was like Mum asking me to cut off my right arm. I glanced down at Nan, she was looking a little better. ‘Nan,' I sighed, ‘you decide, what do you think I should do?'

She thought seriously for a while and then she said slowly, ‘They was wrong in treatin' me like an animal. They was brutes. I feel rotten inside about this, Sal, real rotten, but I think Glad is right. It's not Helen's fault, you shouldn't make it hard for her. She's the one workin' there, let her complain.'

‘You sure that's what you want?'

‘Yes. I'm not goin' back there, Sal. I'm not havin' that treatment. You don't know what they might do to me.'

‘Well praise the Lord for that!' I said. ‘You're better off without them, Nan.'

‘Too right!'

‘Doctors give you the shits, don't they?'

Nan chuckled. ‘Ooh, don't make me laugh, Sally, it hurts my chest.'

The following Monday, Mum arrived early with Nan. We had decided that it was best if Nan stayed with us each day during the week while Mum was at work.

Nan brought her black bag laden with biscuits and lollies for the kids.

‘I've got a surprise for you, Nan,' I said. ‘Paul and I cleaned out the sleep-out.'

‘What have you done with all that rubbish?'

‘It wasn't rubbish! It's down in the shed. We've put a bed in there for you and a table, that way, you can have an afternoon sleep without the kids disturbing you.'

‘Can I see it?'

‘Yeah, come and look.'

‘Ooh, doesn't it look nice?' she smile as she peered through the bedroom doorway. ‘Who'd have thought all that rubbish was covering up a nice room like this?'

‘You've got the louvres, so you'll get plenty of fresh air if you want.'

‘Yes, louvres are good. That's why I like the sleep-out at Glad's place.'

When Mum came to pick Nan up that afternoon, she said, ‘Well, had a good day?'

‘A lovely quiet day, Gladdie.'

‘You ready to go home, then.'

Nan looked from me to Mum. ‘I think I'll stay a few more days.

Mum was aghast, ‘You can't be here all the time, Sally's got a baby to look after. She can't have you as well.'

‘I don't mind, Mum. She can stay.'

‘It's settled, then,' said Nan.

I took Mum out to show her the sleep-out. Nan had already put her black bag in there.

‘Are you sure this isn't going to be too much for you?'

‘Naah, she's okay. And even if it is, won't be for long.'

‘The doctors couldn't say exactly how long, could be six months, nine months.'

‘No, Mum. I think she'll go well before Christmas.'

‘I don't like it when you talk like that. It's like you want her to die.'

‘I suppose I do, in a way, but only because I think it's what she wants.'

‘No one wants to die.'

‘Maybe you get to the stage where you're happy to go.'

‘You haven't talked like this to Nan, have you?'

‘No.'

We walked back into the lounge room.

‘What do you think?' asked Nan.

‘Very nice,' replied Mum. ‘When do you want me to pick you up?'

‘Oh, make it Wednesday, that all right, Sally?'

‘Yep. Whenever you like.'

When Mum came back on Wednesday, Nan told her she wasn't going home.

‘This isn't your home,' Mum argued, ‘this is Sally's house. The dogs are missing you, and the cats.'

‘Oh, they'll be all right.'

‘Sally, tell her she has to come.'

‘She can stay here if she wants to.'

‘Now Nan …' Mum began.

‘Look, Gladdie,' Nan interrupted. ‘I wheel the baby when he's crying and I've done a bit of raking in the garden. Sally can't do it all. I'll stay here till the end of the week and then I'll come home for the weekend.'

I walked Mum to her car. ‘Don't worry about her, Mum,' I said, ‘she's having a good time.'

‘I can see that. What does she do all day?'

‘Oh, nothing much. Just potters around the house. Eats like a horse. Has snacks during the night. I have to make her up a bowl of Weetbix and leave it out for her. In the morning, it's always gone.'

‘She's always been a big eater.'

‘She told me to tell you to bring her cane chair over.'

‘She'll be moving in permanently if you're not careful.'

Nan kept her word and went home for the weekend. On Sunday, Mum rang.

‘Hi, Mum, what's up? Nan's not worse, is she?'

‘No, she's as bright as a button. Look, I feel silly about this, but she's been on at me all weekend. I told her she could have a couple of days at your place and a couple at Jilly's, but she says she can't have her own room at Jill's. And she won't go to Ruth and David's for the same reason.'

‘What does she want to do?' I laughed.

‘She wants to know if she can live with you during the week and come home to me on weekends.'

‘Yeah, that's fine,' I replied. ‘I bet she's been giving you a hell of a time.'

‘Well, you know what she's like.'

I heard a voice in the background and then Mum saying, ‘Yes, it's all right, you can live with Sally.'

‘You know, Mum,' I said, ‘I think she likes being here so she can complain about you.'

Over the next few weeks, our lives fell into a pattern that tended to revolve around Nan and the baby. Amber and Blaze loved having Nan live with us. Not only did they have an unlimited
supply of goodies which were doled out generously, but they also had a captive audience before which they could perform all the television advertisements they had learnt by heart.

Every night Amber read Nan a bedtime story. The stories were about Aboriginal children in the Western Desert. Nan loved to listen to them, and when Amber was finished reading, she'd tell about some of the things she'd done as a child.

Blaze was particularly horrified one night when she told him how tasty witchetty grubs were. ‘Hmmn,' she said, ‘you gobble them up. They good tucker, real good tucker.' Blaze returned to me in the kitchen with a rather green look on his face.

‘Did ya hear what she said?' he asked.

‘I heard.'

‘Have you ever eaten them, Mum?'

‘No. But when you were a baby, you used to eat snails.'

‘Aw yuk! Don't tell me any more!'

‘All right,' I laughed. A few minutes later, Blaze returned to the kitchen and whispered, ‘Don't tell Nan about the snails. She might give me them instead of lollies.'

Nan and the children became very close. The three of them spent hours closeted away in her room. Even though Blaze was only five, he treated Nan like a real lady, worrying over where she was going to sit and whether she was warm enough. Whenever I wanted Blaze, I knew where to look, on the end of Nan's bed.

‘Blazey,' I said to him one day, ‘Nan's tired. She's supposed to be having her afternoon sleep and you're in here talking.'

‘She's all right, Mum,' he answered confidently, ‘aren't you, Nan? I'm telling her stories.'

‘Do you want me to take him out?'

‘Naah, he's good. 'Minds me of Bill when he was little. Leave him here.'

One afternoon, after his usual session with Nan, he strolled into the kitchen and garbled out a set of instructions in what, to me, sounded like a foreign language.

‘What was that?'

‘That's what Nan taught me,' he said, smiling. He was obviously very proud of himself. ‘You know how we speak English, well she doesn't. That's what she speaks.'

‘I see. And what does it mean?'

‘It means get me a drink! I'm still waiting, you know.'

I laughed and poured him a drink of cordial. He gulped it down so quickly half of it went over his jumper. ‘Gotta go now, Mum. That was just a practice. She's gunna teach me more.'

Then, one afternoon, just after we'd finished lunch, Nan said, ‘You still doin' that book?'

‘Yep.'

‘I dunno if it will do any good.'

‘Maybe it won't,' I sighed, ‘but it's better than nothing.'

‘Arthur's story was real good.'

‘Yours could be like that.'

‘Oooh, no, I got secrets, Sally, I don't want anyone to know.'

‘Everything can't be a secret.'

‘You dunno what a secret is.'

‘I don't like secrets. Not when they're the sort of secrets you could use to help your own people.'

‘It wouldn't make a difference.'

‘That's what everyone says. No one will talk. Don't you see, Nan, someone's got to tell. Otherwise, things will stay the same, they won't get any better.'

‘Course they won't talk, Sally. They frightened. You don't know what it was like. You're too young.'

‘I'm not too young to understand. If you'd just tell me a little.'

‘That's just it, you dunno what you're doin' writin' this book. Bad things might happen to you. If I tell you some things, next thing, you'll be tellin' everyone, I know what you're like.'

‘You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.'

Nan paused and looked at me shrewdly. She was quiet for a minute or so, then she added, ‘Maybe I will tell you some things.'

‘Really?' I couldn't believe it.

‘I don't want to tell you everything.'

‘You don't have to. I'll settle for anything, Nan, anything.' I was desperate.

‘I can keep my secrets?'

‘Yeah.'

‘All right. I tell you some things, but that's all.'

‘You want to start now?'

‘Aah,' she sighed, ‘I'm tired now. Tomorrow.'

‘Okay.'

When Blaze came home from preschool that afternoon, the first thing he said to Nan was, ‘C'mon Nan, let's go to your room.'

Nan laughed. ‘You just after more lollies,' she said.

‘No, I'm not, Nan, honest. I want to tell you what I said for news.'

‘Well, can't I hear your news, too?' I asked.

‘Okay. I stood out the front, you know, Mum? I said, “I've got some good news this morning, I'd like you all to know I got a bit of blackfella in me.”'

Nan burst out laughing and so did I.

‘Why are you laughing?'

‘We're not, darling, we're not,' I smiled. ‘That was good news. What did the kids say.'

‘Ah, nothing, but later on, Stewart wanted to know which bit, and I didn't know what to say.'

That night, Mum made her usual phone call to check on how Nan was going.

‘She's fine,' I said. ‘And I've got good news.'

‘What?'

‘She's agreed to talk.'

‘You're joking.'

‘Nope. She's going to start tomorrow. Mind you, she says she's still going to keep her secrets, but anything's better than nothing.'

‘You know, I think it was because we had an argument over the weekend.'

‘What did you argue about?'

‘Oh, the same old thing, the past. I told her she never realised
what a lonely little girl I was. I asked her to tell me about my grandmother and she said, “You don't want to know about her, she was black!”'

‘What did you say?'

‘I said I didn't care what colour she was. I never knew anything about her till Arthur started talking. I've always wanted a family and she deprived me of even knowing I had a grandmother.'

‘You reckon she's been thinking about that, eh?'

‘I dunno if she's been thinking about that or not. I started to cry, you see, couldn't stop. That upset her. Maybe she's been thinking about that.'

‘Could be. Did you ask about your sister again?'

‘Yes, of course I did, but she always gets so upset when I ask about that.'

‘She didn't tell you anything, then?'

‘Not a damn thing. You will tell me what she says, won't you?'

‘Of course.'

The following morning, I set up my recorder and, after a cup of tea, we sat down to talk.

‘What do you want me to say?' Nan asked.

‘Anything. Just tell me what you want to. Maybe you could start with Corunna Downs.'

‘Righto.' I waited patiently as Nan sat staring at the recorder. ‘You sure that thing's on, I can't hear it.'

‘You only hear it when I play something back.'

‘Oh. You sure you'll get my voice on it?' I burst out laughing. ‘What you laughin' at?'

‘You! A few weeks ago, you were threatening to hide this recorder and now you're worried you won't get on it.'

Nan looked a little sheepish. ‘Ah, well, that's the way of it!' she chuckled.

My name is Daisy Corunna, I'm Arthur's sister. My Aboriginal name is Talahue. I can't tell you when I was born, but I feel old. My mother had me on Corunna Downs Station, just out of Marble Bar. She said I was born under a big, old gum tree and the midwife was called Diana. Course, that must have been her whitefella name. All the natives had whitefella and tribal names. I don't know what her tribal name was. When I was comin' into the world, a big mob of kids stood round waitin' for to get a look at me. I bet they got a fright.

I was happy up North. I had my mother and there was Old Fanny, my grandmother. Gladdie 'minds me of Old Fanny, she's got the same crooked smile. They both got round faces like the moon, too. I 'member Old Fanny always wore a handkerchief on her head with little knots tied all the way around. Sometimes, my grand daughter Helen 'minds me of her, too. They both short and giggly with skinny legs. Aah, she was good for a laugh, Old Fanny.