Tears Of The Moon Part 9

'Not the done thing,' she echoed. 'My goodness, you sound like Conrad in one of his conservative moods. But I have heard of pearling masters' wives going to sea at times and in any case I don't think it would be boring and I can quite easily cope with discomfort ... as you well know, Captain Tyndall.'

Tyndall changed tack to what he confidently believed was a safe course. 'All right, if Conrad agrees, then you can come. Now, let's get ash.o.r.e and let the crew get on with the unloading. I want to get back to sea in a few days.'

Conrad was bemused at Olivia's suggestion that she sail on the next trip of the Bulan Bulan and was taken aback when he realised she was serious. 'Out of the question. Dangerous, uncomfortable and not the done thing. Not the done thing at all.' and was taken aback when he realised she was serious. 'Out of the question. Dangerous, uncomfortable and not the done thing. Not the done thing at all.'

Olivia had to fight to suppress a smile. She quietly reminded him that it was not that uncommon for wives to take the occasional trip with their pearling husbands. Some had even lived on board for the entire season.

'Ah, but you won't be going with your husband,' he observed with a note of triumph.

'Does it matter?' she asked.

'Does it matter? Does it matter?' exclaimed Conrad in a rising voice. 'Have you taken leave of your senses, Olivia? People will think you have a touch of the sun.'

'Don't be insulting, Conrad,' said Olivia angrily.

'I'm sorry. But what will people think?'

'I am sure Captain Tyndall can be trusted, Conrad. And since everyone knows that I'm an active partner in this enterprise I believe it a perfectly reasonable request. It will be a great adventure for me. I'm going, and that's it.'

'You get seasick.'

'I got sick on the trip from Fremantle because I was pregnant and it was a long trip in rough conditions,' Olivia countered, then hesitated before going on with a look of sadness and a voice trembling with emotion. 'There's another reason I need to go, Conrad.' She collapsed into a cane chair and rested her forehead in the palm of her hand. 'We can call into Cossack on the way down. No matter how hard I try to get on with life here in Broome, part of me is buried in Cossack. I really need to go back. I need to visit his grave. Can you understand that, Conrad? He's our son.'

Conrad went to her and knelt down, taking her other hand in his. 'I understand now, but this is not a decision to be taken lightly.' Then he suddenly smiled, confident he had found the solution to the dilemma. 'Well, if you feel that strongly, then go. But only if John agrees. After all, he's the captain and what the captain says goes.'

'Of course it does,' smiled Olivia and she warmly embraced her husband.

Tyndall was sitting on the port gunwale engrossed in splicing a rope when the carpet bag thudded to the deck beside his feet. He looked at it intently for a moment and thought, 'My G.o.d, she's done it,' then slowly turned to look up at a grinning Ahmed standing on the wharf with Olivia a little behind him.

'Well, I'm here,' she announced with a note of challenge in her voice.

Tyndall smiled. 'Indeed you are. Welcome aboard.' He extended a hand and with Ahmed taking her other arm she was lowered onto the deck.

'I really didn't think this madcap scheme was going to come to anything,' confessed Tyndall. 'But I'm pleased it has,' he added warmly.

'I suppose it is madcap, but somehow it doesn't bother me, even if it raises eyebrows in town. Practically everything that has happened to me since I arrived in this country seems slightly unreal to be quite honest.'

Her countenance changed slightly and Tyndall saw signs of sadness in her eyes and the firmer set of her mouth. He quickly changed the subject as he took her bag and turned to the cabin hatch. 'Well, the weather is looking good. With luck we'll have a smooth pa.s.sage. Come and I'll help organise the state room for you.' He was pleased that the exaggerated description of the cabin made her smile, albeit fleetingly.

At his office window Conrad watched the Bulan Bulan sail down the mangrovelined channel into the bay and out to sea. The image of Olivia standing in the stern, looking back, her skirt billowing in the breeze, one hand holding her straw hat, the other giving a brief wave in his direction, burned into his mind. He had a swift, guttearing feeling that his wife was sailing out of his life, but dismissed the thought at once. No, he reasoned, Olivia was simply growing ... changing ... that was to be expected. But, good Lord, she was becoming unpredictable, and yes, unconventional. But the grief they had suffered, the pain, that must be the explanation. A little madness, perhaps. Quite understandable. But it will pa.s.s. Conrad sighed and turned to his desk, much comforted by his rationalisation. sail down the mangrovelined channel into the bay and out to sea. The image of Olivia standing in the stern, looking back, her skirt billowing in the breeze, one hand holding her straw hat, the other giving a brief wave in his direction, burned into his mind. He had a swift, guttearing feeling that his wife was sailing out of his life, but dismissed the thought at once. No, he reasoned, Olivia was simply growing ... changing ... that was to be expected. But, good Lord, she was becoming unpredictable, and yes, unconventional. But the grief they had suffered, the pain, that must be the explanation. A little madness, perhaps. Quite understandable. But it will pa.s.s. Conrad sighed and turned to his desk, much comforted by his rationalisation.The sails filled with a steady breeze, a whitecapped foamy wake on either side of the bow as the Bulan cut through the aqua water. Olivia stood by the main mast holding on to a halyard and taking deep breaths of the salty air. Once they had cleared the creek and were in the bay, she had slipped below and emerged in her 'sailing gear'. Dispensing with the impractical long skirt and restricting blouse, she had made herself an outfit of loose black pyjama pants teamed with a long white top that hung over the pants. She had copied the outfit from that of her Chinese cook. It was cool, comfortable and practical. On her feet she wore canvas plimsolls.

Tyndall disguised his initial shock. 'Very sensible outfit,' he commented with raised eyebrows.

Ahmed said nothing and displayed no obvious reaction, but Olivia thought she detected a faint glint of amus.e.m.e.nt in his dark eyes.

The lugger rode smoothly over the slight swell and heeled to port as the sails were set for the run southwest with the wind almost on the beam. Olivia closed her eyes to focus more keenly on the feel of the wind, the rolling, surging movement of the boat, the soft vibrations of the hull that came from the deck, the quivering of the rigging and the sound of singing in the stays. There was an occasional flap of sail, a slap and splash of water as the bow dipped and cut through the sea. There was a fresh smell to the air and she licked a faint saltiness from her lips.

She found the whole experience exhilarating. A sense of elation, freedom and contentment took hold of her. For the first time since the death of James she felt really relaxed, almost peaceful. She stayed there undisturbed for almost an hour, the crew sensing her need to be alone.

When she finally broke her reverie Olivia looked astern. Ahmed was at the helm, alternatively eyeing sails and compa.s.s. Tyndall was splicing rope again and the Koepangers were repairing holes in hessian bags. It all looked so ordered and rea.s.suring, and she smiled warmly when Tyndall lifted his cap in salute. She moved down the deck, carefully reaching for rigging for stability, then without a word sat on the deck beside him, back against the gunwale and, with arms wrapped around her knees, concentrated on the eye splice he was making in the thick rope.

They anch.o.r.ed for the night and, by the light of a lantern and the clear moonlight, Ahmed cooked their meal of rice, fish and vegetables with a spicy sauce over a small portable fuel fire. Sitting on the deck, eating off tin plates, the water lapping against the hull and the stars bright above, Olivia thought it one of the most enjoyable meals she could remember. The sea air had made her drowsy so she retired to the main cabin, opened the portholes and fell instantly into a sound sleep. On deck Ahmed and Tyndall, in swaying hammocks slung under the booms, talked softly in Malay and English.

They had been at sea for two days before Olivia raised the matter of a stopover in Cossack so that she could visit her baby's grave. Tyndall agreed without hesitation.

Olivia walked slowly to the small, lonely cemetery where her son had been formally buried what now seemed an age ago. Their brief stay in Cossack held only sad memories for her and she gave thanks again for the entry of John Tyndall in her life. Broome and pearling had helped her cope with the loss of James. But she needed to say goodbye, to make some gesture to show she hadn't abandoned him.

At the cemetery Tyndall stood back a little as Olivia went to the grave, knelt on the barren sandy soil and laid a small bunch of wildflowers at the foot of the tiny tombstone. She thought of all the things she would never do or share with him. Never to see him grow and discover the world, never be able to show him the love that ached in her. Her arms and heart felt empty and she cried softly. Then she prayed silently, and absently stroked the mound slowly for some time before kissing her fingertips and lightly touching the headstone. As she rose Tyndall took her arm and their eyes met briefly, then she turned and together they walked silently to the road and the hired sulky.

For the rest of the journey Olivia spent a lot of time sitting alone in the shade of the sails looking out to sea or at the pa.s.sing coastline, but not really seeing. Ahmed took her food and drink from time to time, saying little, and getting no more than a nod and a fleeting expression of grat.i.tude. Tyndall kept his distance, occupying himself with the wheel, and tried to understand the emotional turmoil she must be experiencing.

One morning, after hot black tea and toast with treacle, they got under way and by lunchtime were nosing into the strip of coast where they had established a rough camp. They moored and as Ahmed rowed them ash.o.r.e welcome calls rang out from the bushland and soon the Aborigines were milling about exchanging greetings and news.

To Olivia's delight, among another group making their way to them, she recognised the women and the men from the people who had helped her when she first came ash.o.r.e. Tyndall glanced at her, then swiftly and gently explained in their language the fate of Olivia's baby. The women made a clicking sound with their tongues and spoke quickly.

While Ahmed spoke to the men in pidgin, Tyndall said softly to Olivia, 'The women say your baby has returned to his Dreaming place and is well.'

Olivia crumbled and Tyndall reached to take her arm and felt her choke on a sob, then stiffen and pull herself erect. 'Please tell them I am very grateful for their message.' She hesitated, then went on, 'Tell them that I'm glad they gave James a Dreaming.'

Tyndall struggled with the message but the rea.s.suring nods from the women did much to hearten Olivia. They took her by both hands and led her off to a huge spreading raintree and in its shade formed a circle and began a ceremony of wailing, weeping and chanting. Almost in a trance Olivia sat through the ceremony, quietly sobbing, her mind a blank. When they had stopped Olivia felt a strength that came from the companions.h.i.+p of sharing grief. She was more grateful than ever to these strange people.

Back on the beach Olivia found the first of the supplies coming ash.o.r.e with the help of several of the Aborigines. Tyndall made no reference to the ceremony that had taken place, recognising that it was 'women's sorry business' and that it was better to talk of other things. He informed her that the negotiations for dry sh.e.l.ling were completed and that the men would begin work in two days. The delay was for some ceremony they were organising.

'Can't put off a ceremony, not for anything,' explained Tyndall. 'We either do things to their time, or not at all.'

'Time seems irrelevant out here, don't you think?' mused Olivia.

'A lot of our world is irrelevant out here,' he replied and went back to helping unload the dinghy.

Olivia sat on the beach and took some deep breaths, quietly watching the activity. She reflected on Tyndall's parting remark, at the same time acknowledging the ease with which she had accepted the Aboriginal expressions of grief, and how incredibly moving the experience had been for her. She realised she had been through a cathartic experience in the ceremony and now felt a remarkable sense of relief and freedom. James was safe. It was no longer so painful to think about him.

When the Aborigines were ready to work they waited till the tide ebbed, then fanned out along the exposed coral and mud seabed, filling small woven baskets with sh.e.l.l during the few hours that the mudflats were exposed. Some of them waded out further, bobbing beneath the sea as their feet or keen eyes found sh.e.l.ls. Several men and two young women set out in the dinghy, diving over the side feet first with knees drawn up under the chin, then once in the water, angling their body to swim downwards. Some dived off the lugger into a depth of three or four fathoms, resurfacing with several sh.e.l.ls.

Tyndall watched the work with satisfaction. 'They're natural divers but they were terribly abused in the old days,' he told Olivia. 'Twenty, thirty years ago the early pearlers, well, the more unscrupulous ones, used to virtually kidnap the natives and make them work their guts out diving for sh.e.l.l. Women, too. In fact the women were said to be better than the men at underwater work.' He paused, then added with a raised eyebrow. 'Not that they did all the work underwater.'

Olivia was shocked. 'How terrible it must have been. Why didn't the authorities stop it?'

'Well, they did. At least they pa.s.sed a law in the Parliament, but while the arm of the law is long, it has trouble reaching some of these parts. They at least stopped the auctions of Aborigines and islanders. The barrac.o.o.ns were slave sales.'

'Do the natives use the modern diving suits on luggers?'

'A few do, but other races are better at it, especially the j.a.ps and Malays. This mob are too inclined to go walkabout at the drop of a hat. Money isn't too meaningful to them. Like time,' he smiled.

'And the Malays?' asked Olivia, 'Like all the East India men, not too bad, but a bit easy going. Can run amok at times with their b.l.o.o.d.y ugly knives. Have cut up a few captains over the years. And hung for it.'

'Ahmed seems very attached to his knife ... kris,' she said, correcting herself.

'Ah, don't you worry about him,' said Tyndall rea.s.suringly, 'Ahmed is different.'

A breeze blew up from a new direction and Olivia recoiled as a vile odour washed over her with a near physical blow. Seeing her grimace, Ahmed and Tyndall laughed.

'Poogie tub,' explained Tyndall. 'Come on, you have to experience it all.'

He handed her a clean white handkerchief and she followed them along the sh.o.r.e holding the hanky to her nose.

Two wooden casks sat in the hot sun, and one of the men gave a cask a stir with a stick, raising putrid fumes. Each tub was filled with small sh.e.l.ls and sea water, which fermented and decayed in the heat, and as the sh.e.l.lfish rotted away the pearls dropped to the bottom to be retrieved later.

'Smelly but effective,' said Tyndall. 'The big sh.e.l.ls are opened on the lugger and ash.o.r.e.'

Late in the day Olivia, barefoot and grateful she'd made her pants 'half mast' below her knees, helped drag the sh.e.l.lfilled baskets to the dinghy which the Koepangers then rowed to the lugger. She enjoyed the physical labour and despite the straw bonnet tied on her head, her cheeks glowed from sun and wind.

Later as they sat around the campfire the Aborigines sang traditional songs, chanting and swaying, clicking and tapping the rhythm on carved music sticks and boomerangs. It was hypnotic and Olivia felt her head drooping with drowsiness. Tyndall leaned over and whispered to Ahmed, who quietly rose and led Olivia down to the dinghy. As they rowed out to the lugger, Olivia sleepily listened to the rhythmic splish-splash of the oars. The faint moonlight outlined the fat shape of the Bulan Bulan and it crossed her mind it looked like a ghostly moon s.h.i.+p. Behind, on the sh.o.r.e, the bright blaze of the campfire flickered over the dark shapes of the figures huddled around it. The haunting music drifted across the water. 'What are they singing about, Ahmed?' 'Their people song. They always sing about their people and this place. They bin here long time, mem.' and it crossed her mind it looked like a ghostly moon s.h.i.+p. Behind, on the sh.o.r.e, the bright blaze of the campfire flickered over the dark shapes of the figures huddled around it. The haunting music drifted across the water. 'What are they singing about, Ahmed?' 'Their people song. They always sing about their people and this place. They bin here long time, mem.'

Olivia slipped into her bunk and fell asleep, feeling very at home in the strange cramped womb of the lugger.

In the morning there was much activity as the Bulan Bulan prepared to get under way. Olivia realised they were not going ash.o.r.e again and was disappointed she was not able to farewell her Aboriginal friends. Standing at the rail as they were about to raise the anchor, she saw two dugout canoes paddle towards them. Ahmed and Tyndall went to the starboard side and hailed the approaching canoes. prepared to get under way. Olivia realised they were not going ash.o.r.e again and was disappointed she was not able to farewell her Aboriginal friends. Standing at the rail as they were about to raise the anchor, she saw two dugout canoes paddle towards them. Ahmed and Tyndall went to the starboard side and hailed the approaching canoes.

Joining them, Olivia asked, 'What do they want?'

'Just saying goodbye, we won't see them for who knows how long,' replied Tyndall, lifting his cap to salute them.

The men in the first canoe called and waved. The other craft held an elder and the two women Olivia regarded as her friends and benefactors. They signalled that they wished to come in close and, b.u.mping gently against the Bulan's Bulan's beam, threw a small package onto the deck and shouted a message. beam, threw a small package onto the deck and shouted a message.

Tyndall picked up the parcel wrapped in woven gra.s.s cloth. 'They say it's a gift for you. For good luck.'

'Oh my, I wish I could give them something in return. Tell them that, and thank you,' she said in a rush, overcome by the gesture.

Tyndall called down to them and they shouted back in return. He turned to Olivia. 'The women would like your hat. Are you willing to part with it?'

'Of course,' laughed Olivia.

Tyndall tilted her chin and swiftly undid the ribbon. Lifting the straw bonnet from her hair he threw it down to them. Both women reached for it, but the one who grabbed it promptly tied it over her unruly bush of hair.

Olivia was delighted at the sight of the near-naked woman in a straw hat.

Well pleased with themselves they turned and paddled back towards the sh.o.r.e. As the small dugout faded in the distance, the anchor of the Bulan Bulan rattled over the bow and the mainsail slid up the mast. Olivia stood gazing in the direction of the sh.o.r.e until it became a thin black line on the horizon. rattled over the bow and the mainsail slid up the mast. Olivia stood gazing in the direction of the sh.o.r.e until it became a thin black line on the horizon.

When they were safely at sea Olivia unrolled the parcel. Inside was a bangle with a dark brown and green pattern woven into pale plaited gra.s.s. She slipped it on her wrist but it was too large.

'It's an amulet, a symbol of their family line,' explained Tyndall. 'It's supposed to bring good luck.'

'How lovely.' Olivia slipped it over her muslin sleeve. 'I'll keep it close to me.'

The affinity she felt for these women was strengthened. She knew they wished her well and in their own way were helping her, and the knowledge gave her a sense of wellbeing and security. Their friends.h.i.+p was very special to her and she resolved to see them again.

A stiff breeze sent the heavily loaded lugger barrelling along, but a rising swell made the deck sloppy with wash so Olivia went below. Soon a bank of clouds appeared on the northern horizon and Tyndall tapped the barometer. 'It's dropping,' he said in Malay, then added quietly, 'I don't like the look of this, friend. If it gets lower we'll have to make a run for shelter.'

'A long way till a break in the coast, tuan.'

'Get me the chart.'

The Malay opened the hatch and dropped down the steps beside the bunk on which Olivia was resting. He smiled, found the map and bounced back on deck.

Shortly afterwards she felt the boat change course and begin to roll dramatically. She stumbled up the steps. 'Whatever is happening?'

'We're heading out to sea.' Tyndall gestured to the fast-moving clouds to the north. 'There's a bit of a blow coming up. I'm running for shelter at an island I know. Just a precaution,' he said calmly, but at that moment a wave of green water came over the port gunwale, swirled deeply across the deck and caused the boat to roll violently.

Olivia screamed.

'Now, don't panic, woman. We're not sinking, but we'll have to ditch some of the deck cargo.' He shouted to the crew and they leapt at the las.h.i.+ngs, slashed them with their knives and quickly dumped the bags over the side. 'Right men, the sails,' he shouted as soon as they were finished. 'Olivia, on deck,' he commanded. 'I'm going to put her nose into the wind. Take the helm and hold her there while we take in the sheets.'

She clambered out of the hatch, lurched to the stern and stood by Tyndall as he swung the Bulan into the wind and the waves until the sails were flapping wildly. She took the wheel, panic rising, but remembered how Tyndall had shown her how to point into the wind when they had dropped anchor at the beach. She held the boat steady for the few minutes the crew needed to expertly reef in the main and mizzen.

Tyndall then dashed back to her, swung the wheel and instantly the smaller sails filled and the lugger surged west, handling noticeably better.

He turned and smiled at her. 'Thanks. You look lovely when you're wet.'

She was suddenly aware that she was drenched with spray, her hair plastered, clothes clinging to her body. Then, choosing to ignore her appearance and his remark, she asked, 'How serious is it?'

'A w.i.l.l.y w.i.l.l.y on the way, I'd say. We're coming into the monsoon season so it's not that much of a surprise. It could peter out or blow like the devil. I'm not taking any chances. There's an island a couple of hours away where we can shelter safely. You'd better get below.'

He spoke lightly and calmly but Olivia could sense a tenseness. However, his air of being in control of any situation rea.s.sured her and she stumbled back across the heaving deck to the cabin.

For several hours she sat on the bunk listening to the crash of the water and the howling wind, and became worried when the night began to set in and they were still at sea. It was a huge relief when Tyndall shouted triumphantly, 'Land ho'.

The island was not much more than a dark smudge rising and falling behind the waves but the entrance to the sheltering lagoon was clearly marked by the white wash of the pounding surf on the rocks. They went in at speed with the wind astern and immediately found themselves among a fleet of luggers at anchor.

They anch.o.r.ed well clear of the other boats and paid out a lot of line for a secure hold on the bottom. The Koepangers and Ahmed scurried to the fo'c'sle for shelter and Tyndall climbed into the cabin and secured the hatch.

It was stuffy and muggy and Olivia felt uncomfortable patches of perspiration well from her body. 'It sounds like it should be cold, not hot,' she said, as the wind howled around them.

'It's going to get worse. We'll be down here for some time I'm afraid,' said Tyndall. 'Have some water. When the eye comes, it'll be calm for a bit, then comes the other side of the storm and we have to sit that out. But at least you know it's almost over,' he added with a grin.

During their seemingly endless wait, Olivia asked Tyndall about his early years in Ireland, but he brushed that aside and regaled her instead with outrageous tales of adventure from his sailing days on whalers.

Olivia sat and listened, her eyes wide, her laugh often disbelieving. 'It all sounds like something out of an adventure book. What wild places you've been to, Captain Tyndall. Are you ever going to settle down to a normal life?'

'What's normal?' he asked, but before she could compose a reply Olivia became aware of a lull in the storm.

The silence and stillness of the eye of the storm was eerie, and they sat in silence. Then as if someone had opened a door, the wind returned.

The stuffiness and pitching of the boat made Olivia feel queasy and she began to doubt the wisdom of going on this trip. She lay back and closed her eyes, trying to think of anything but where she was.

Just as she thought she could bear it no longer, it was over. They went on deck for fresh air and to see if there was any damage. All was intact. Ahmed and Tyndall exchanged a satisfied look, both pleased the Bulan Bulan had come through this test. had come through this test.

They all spent a restless night as insects and mosquitoes swarmed over the lugger from the nearby mangroves and thick cover of trees.In the morning Ahmed made a breakfast of sweet rice and dried fruit which they ate on the deck.

'All seems quiet on the other boats. They must have stayed ash.o.r.e,' commented Olivia.