Page 70 of The Pearl Sister
Naively, Kitty had presumed that every shell would contain one, but she had been wrong. The industry mainly survived on the mother-of-pearl linings. Hidden inside the ugly mottled brown shells that blended into the seabed was a lustrous material that sold by the ton around the world, to be used as decoration for combs, boxes and buttons.
Only rarely would a triumphant captain present the pearl box to the pearling master with a rattle. And inside the box – which could not be opened once the pearl had been dropped inside it, as only the pearling master himself held the key – there would be a treasure of possibly huge value. Kitty knew that Andrew dreamt every night of finding the most magnificent pearl which would make him not only rich, but famous too. A pearl that would establishhim– rather than his father – as the chief pearling master of Broome. And, therefore, the world.
There had been a number of occasions when he had arrived home with a pearl the size of a large marble, his eyes shining with excitement as he had shown her the often oddly shaped jewel. Then it had been off to T. B. Ellies’ shop on Carnarvon Street to see if Andrew’s find was good. T. B. was renowned as the most skilled pearl skinner in the world.
Like diamonds, pearls had to be crafted and polished to reveal their true beauty. Kitty had been intrigued when she’d learnt that pearls were made up of thin layers, like those of an onion. T. B.’s skill lay in his ability to file away each imperfect layer without damaging the sheen on the one below it. She had watched T. B. hold a pearl to the light, as if his keen brown eyes could look through to its very core. His sensitive fingers then felt for minuscule ridges as he used his files and knives to erase them, squinting through his jeweller’s eyeglass.
‘It is merely oyster spit,’ he had said matter-of-factly as Kitty had watched him work. ‘The animal feels an irritation – a grain of sand perhaps – and builds up layers of spit around it to cushion itself. And behold, the most beautiful mineral is created. But sometimes . . .’ Here he had frowned before shaving away another sliver. ‘Sometimes the layers protect nothing but a pocket of mud.’ He’d held up the pearl for Kitty and Andrew to see, and indeed, a small spot of brown was seeping out of a hole. Andrew had barely withheld a groan as T. B. continued working. ‘A blister pearl. Shame. Will make a nice hatpin, perhaps.’ The corner of his mouth lifted into a wry smile under his moustache as he resumed his work.
Kitty privately wondered if the quiet Singalese man knew that he wielded more power than anyone in Broome. He was the dream-maker – in his unassuming wood-fronted shop, he could carefully skin fine layers of pearl to reveal a majestic life-changing jewel, or turn hope to a pile of pearl dust on his workbench.
Broome was a unique and intense micro-universe all of its own, one that encompassed every soul that lived there. And Kitty herself was now another cog in the machine, playing the role of a dutiful pearling master’s wife.
‘One day, my dear,’ Andrew had said as he held her in his arms after another disappointment in T. B.’s shop, ‘I will bring you the most magnificent pearl. And you will wear it for all to see.’
* * *
Kitty fingered the rope of small delicate pearls Andrew had chosen and had strung together for her. Apart from his obsession with finding such a special treasure, nothing was too much trouble to please her; Kitty had learnt not to voice her dreams, otherwise Andrew would go to the greatest lengths to fulfil them. He had filled the house with beautiful antique furniture bought from the boats that docked in Broome from all over Asia. She had once expressed a love of roses, and a week later, he had taken her hand and led her to the veranda to show her the rose bushes that had been planted around it before she woke.
On their wedding night, he had been gentle and courteous with her. While the act itself was something that Kitty subjugated herself to rather than actively enjoyed, it had certainly not been unbearable. Andrew had perhaps been more thrilled than she the moment she’d announced her pregnancy to him five months ago, when the child had been little more than the size of a pearl inside her. Andrew had already told her how his ‘son’ would follow in his father’s footsteps to Immanuel College in Adelaide, and then on to the university there. A week later, Kitty had taken delivery of a beautifully carved mahogany bassinet and countless toys.
‘What a dichotomy Broome is,’ she sighed as she heaved herself from the bed and reached for her silk robe. Ninety-nine per cent of the town lived in appalling conditions, yet anything the richer residents wished for could be delivered to this tiny isolated outpost in the space of a few weeks.
Kitty picked up and shook out her house slippers thoroughly, having learnt that spiders and cockroaches liked to hide in their cosy interiors. She threw them down on the floor and squeezed her swollen feet inside them. Used to being active, as her belly grew she’d refused to confine herself to the house, knowing she would go mad with boredom if she did so.
Over breakfast, she made a list of all the things she needed to buy in town. Before her pregnancy, she would always walk the ten minutes to Dampier Terrace and its array of stores, which sold everything from caviar brought in from Russia to succulent beef freshly slaughtered at the Hylands Star butchery. They ate well and plentifully, with a choice and quality far superior to what was available in Leith. Tarik, their Malay cook, had introduced her to curries, which, to her surprise, Kitty had found wonderfully tasty.
After pinning on her sun bonnet, she picked up her basket and parasol, then walked round the side of the house to the stables, where Fred lay sleeping on the straw. She clapped her hands and he was alert and upright within seconds. He smiled at her, one of his front teeth missing, which Kitty had learnt was common in Aboriginal males and had something to do with a ritual.
‘Town?’ She pointed towards it, as Fred’s grasp of English was basic at best. He spoke the language of the Yawuru tribe that was indigenous to Broome.
‘Go alonga town,’ he agreed as Kitty watched him hitch the pony to the cart, relieved that he was actually here. Fred was apt to disappear to, as he put it, ‘go walkabout, Missus Boss’. Like the missing tooth, Kitty had learnt that most Aboriginals did this, disappearing for weeks into the untamed and dangerous hinterland beyond the town. Initially she had been horrified when she had realised that Fred slept on a pallet of straw in the stables.
‘Darling, the blacks don’t want to live inside. Even if we built him a shelter, he’d sleep outside it. The moon and the stars are the roof over the Aboriginal’s head.’
Nevertheless, Kitty had felt uncomfortable about the arrangement and while their own house was being renovated, she had insisted Andrew build some basic accommodation with washing facilities, a bed and a small kitchen area which Fred could use as he chose. So far, Fred had not chosen to avail himself of the facilities. Even though she made sure his uniform was freshly laundered, she could still smell him at a few paces.
Kitty accepted Fred’s help to climb up onto the cart and sat next to him, enjoying the slight breeze on her face as the pony clopped along into town. She only wished she could speak with Fred,understandhim and the ways of his people, but even though she had tried to help him improve his English, Fred remained distinctly uninterested.
Once they had reached Dampier Terrace, Kitty raised her hand and said, ‘Stop!’ Fred helped her climb down.
‘I stayum here?’
‘Yes.’ Kitty gave him a smile and walked off in the direction of the butcher’s.
Having completed her shopping for supper that night, then stopping to chat with Mrs Norman, the wife of another pearling master, she emerged into the bright sunlight. Feeling rather faint in the cloying heat, she turned up a narrow alley that offered comparative shade as she fanned herself. She was just about to walk back to the pony and cart when she heard a low keening coming from the opposite side of the alley.
Walking towards the pile of discarded rubbish, thinking that perhaps it was shrouding an injured animal, she removed a stinking crate and saw a human curled up into a ball behind it. The skin colour told her it was an Aboriginal, and the outline of the figure said it was female.
‘Hello?’
There was no response, so Kitty bent down and reached out a hand to touch the ebony skin. The human ball flinched and unravelled itself to reveal a young woman staring at her with terror in her eyes.
‘I do-a nothing wrong, missus . . .’
The girl shrank further back into the pile of stinking rubbish. As she did so, Kitty noticed the large bulge of her stomach.
‘I know. I’m not here to hurt you. Do you speak English?’
