‘Thank you.’
Lewis restored his hat to his head and we moved off. ‘Get some of those smokes you’ve got in your vehicle,’ he said. ‘Couple of packets. Tommy loves a smoke.’
I got the cigarettes and we began to walk towards the creek. We were still almost a hundred metres away when a figure seemed to rise out of the ground and move towards us. It moved slowly, bent over to one side.
Lewis chuckled. ‘One of the kids must’ve spotted us. Tommy’d try to tell you that he saw our faces in the water or in the clouds, but that’s all bullshit.’
‘What’s the matter with him?’
‘He’s old. Christ knows how old. He was a stockman for donkey’s years. Needs a hip replacement.’
I wondered whether he’d get it. ‘This looks like a well-run place.’
‘It is. They run it themselves. Never any trouble here. Two rules-no whitefeller religion and no grog. They’re very strong on the old ways. The boys get initiated and all that. Fucking cruel if you ask me, but that’s the way they want it. Seems to work. No petrol sniffers here, mate.’
The old man limping towards us stopped and we had to go the extra yards to reach him. I thought that was a pretty good strategy for getting the upper hand. Tommy was very, very old. What little hair he had was white and his thick beard was the same except where it had been stained by nicotine. He had been tall but age and injuries had shrunken him. One eye was milky with cataract, the other looked all right. He was rail thin in his clean denim shorts and army shirt.
‘Gidday, Tommy,’ Lewis said. He didn’t take off his hat or offer to shake hands.
‘Mr Lewis. Who’s that with you?’
‘Names’s Hardy,’ Lewis said. ‘City bloke.’
In my shorts, sweat-stained work shirt, three-day stubble and boots, topped off by my Akubra, I thought this description a bit unkind but Tommy nodded as if he could see beneath the surface of things to the essential man within. Still, he was guarded.
‘Gidday.’
I felt that old uncertainty. He had a lot of poise and there was wisdom in the ancient, lined face. I didn’t feel entitled to address him as Tommy so I just nodded and gave him a wary smile.
‘Quiet bloke,’ Tommy said. ‘He all right, Mr Lewis?’
‘Dunno,’ Lewis said. ‘You judge.’
None of my contact with city blacks was going to do me any good here. I felt uncomfortable, ambivalent. The ban on booze and Christianity seemed sensible but I wasn’t so sure about the ritual cutting and slicing. The old Aborigine read me right.
‘I’d say he was a thoughtful bloke, Mr Lewis,’ Tommy said, sticking out a gnarled hand. ‘Call me. Tommy.’
I shook a hand as hard and strong as mulga wood.
Lewis cleared his throat. ‘Like to have a bit of talk, Tommy, about that feller your blokes pulled out of the burning Land Rover a while back. Hardy here’s looking for him.’
‘George,’ Tommy said. ‘He in trouble?’
I shook my head. ‘Not from me. His family’s worried about him. His father hired me to look for him.’
The old man moved forward a few steps to get himself into the shade. ‘Sons,’ he said. ‘I had six of ‘em. Grog killed three, one hung himself in gaol, one’s here an’ he’s all right. Dunno about the other. They’re a handful, sons. George’s father’s right to be worried.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
‘Payback,’ Tommy said.
14
That knocked for six the comfortable theory I’d been forming-that Clinton’s obsession with Aborigines had taken over from his thirst for revenge. We went into one of the houses and a woman made us tea. The house was sparsely furnished but neat and clean and the teapot and mugs had seen a lot of service. We sat at an old pine table and I shared around the cigarettes, managing to leave the packets on the table. What relation the woman, whose name was Beth, was to Tommy I never discovered, but she was obviously a person of influence in the community and had had a fair bit to do with ‘George’. First, they wanted to know everything I knew before Tommy would expand on his statement and their questions were canny and to the point. I told them almost everything, leaving out Nickless’ suspicions about the kidnapping conspiracy.
‘He was a good boy, that George,’ Beth said.
I didn’t want a hymn of praise, I wanted observations and pointers to behaviour. ‘I’m told he was a bit of a drinker,’ I said.
‘No drink here,’ Beth said. ‘Not allowed. George didn’t seem to miss it and he was here a couple of weeks.’
I thought about the rum and wine in my Pajero and hoped none of the kids went poking about. ‘Was he badly burned in the fire?’
‘Pretty bad,’ Tommy said. ‘Body burns mostly but Beth here was a nurse and we’ve got a pretty good supply of medicine and that.’
‘Our people always got burned a lot,’ Beth said. ‘The way we lived it couldn’t be helped. And the boozers were always setting themselves on fire. I know a few bush treatments for burns. George come up all right with a bit of blackfeller as well as whitefeller medicine.’
‘So he didn’t have to stay as long as he did?’
Tommy and Beth looked at each other. My question had pushed us past the formalities into the territory of real information.
‘Not a lot I can tell you… ‘ Tommy began, stubbing out a cigarette.
I pushed a packet towards him. ‘I know he was very interested in traditional Aboriginal life and the languages and so on. I’ve talked to a Koori bloke down south who said George grilled him about that. And a young fellow at the camping goods store in Port Douglas told me the same.’
‘That’s right,’ Tommy said. ‘He asked a lot of questions and I gave him a few answers. Only a few, mind.’
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘A man with a West Indian father and white mother’s practically a white man.’
Tommy smiled and opened his hands, the cigarette held between his twisted fingers. ‘Sort of. But I told him a few things and Beth did the same.’
She nodded. ‘He talked to me about the black girl who died. Wanted to know if we believed that the dead live on, that stuff, you know.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
Lewis had been quiet, smoking his share of the cigarettes with the other two. Now I could sense his impatience and knew I had to hurry things along.
‘Tell me about the payback, Tommy. I know something of what he had in mind, but… ‘
Tommy sucked smoke deep into his lungs and let it out through his nose as he spoke. ‘Tried to talk him out of it. Told him he was headed for trouble but he wouldn’t listen. He reckoned he was going to find the people who’d killed his woman and kill them.’
‘How?’
I meant how was he going to find them, but Tommy took it a different way. ‘With a spear or an axe,’ he said.
‘Did he say where he’d find them?’
‘Sydney.’
‘Any names?’
Tommy looked at Beth who shook her head. He put out his cigarette and moved the stubs round in the saucer that served as an ashtray. ‘No names. But I reckon he knew who he was after or had a good idea. I’d say he held
