Page 97 of The Pearl Sister
‘Missus Kitty, come outside an’ walk wid me.’
Her vision was full of purple and red lights and she was dizzy but she felt an arm go around her shoulder and guide her to the front door. And then across the garden, the fresh red soil that Fred had spread feeling damp like drying blood beneath her feet.
‘I’m going to scream, Imustscream!’
‘Missus Kitty, we will walk, wid the earth beneath us, an’ we will lookum up an’ we will see dem fellas lookin’ down.’
‘I killed both of them, in different ways. I lay with a man who was not my husband, but his twin brother. I loved him! God help me, I loved him so much. I love himnow. . .’ Kitty sank to her knees in the earth.
Camira gently tugged her chin upwards. ‘Understand not for you to makem destiny. Dem makem it up there.’ Camira pointed. ‘I know you love dat fella. Me, I lovem him too. But we not kill him, Missus Kitty. Bad things, they happen. I see-a lotta bad things. Dem fellas, they have good life. Life, it begin an’ end. No one change dat.’
‘No one can change that.’ Kitty put her head on her knees and wept. ‘No one can change that . . .’
Eventually, when it felt as if every single drop of fluid in her body had drained out of her eyes, Camira helped her to standing.
‘I take you sleepa now, Missus Kitty. The young fella needum you tomorrow. An’ next day after dat.’
‘Yes, you’re right, Camira, forgive me for my behaviour. I just . . .’ Kitty shook her head. There were no more words.
‘In big desert, we go an’ howl loud as you like at moon an’ stars. Good for you, gettum bad things out. Then feel better.’
Camira helped Kitty into bed, then sat next to her holding her hand. ‘Dunna you worry. I singa dem fellas home.’
As Kitty closed her exhausted eyes, she heard Camira’s high sweet voice humming a soft monotonous tune.
‘God forgive me for what I have done,’ she murmured, before sleep finally overtook her.
CeCe
Broome, Western Australia
January 2008
Aboriginal symbol
for a meeting place
19
I wiped the tears from my eyes and sat up, trying to still my heartbeat.
I thought about the grief I had felt for Pa when he had died and tried to multiply that by all the people that Kitty had lost on theKoombana.All the people that this town had lost . . .
I took off the headphones and rubbed my sore ears, then went to open the window for some fresh air. I tried to imagine everyone in this town assembled up on the hill at the end of Dampier Terrace, a street I had walked down, all waiting to hear the worst news of their lives.
I shut the window to block out the night-time wildlife choir. Despite the air conditioning being on full blast, I still felt hot and sweaty. I couldn’t even begin to think how Kitty had coped here in Broome a century ago, especially in a corset, bloomers and Christ knew how many petticoats. Never mind having to give birth in the heat – which was surely just about the sweatiest process anyone could go through.
Even if I hadn’t really thought through what Kitty was to me before I arrived, there was now a bit of me that would love to be related to her. Not just because of her bravery in going to Australia in the first place, but also because of how she’d handled what she’d faced when she got there. Her experiences made my own problems feel like diddly-squat. To do what she’d done by living in Broome a hundred years ago took real balls.Andshe’d followed her heart, wherever it might have led her.
Glancing at her picture on the front of the CD cover, I couldn’t imagine Iwasrelated to her, even though the solicitor had indicated my legacy had come from her originally. It was much more likely that I was related to the maid, Camira. Especially as her daughter, Alkina, apparently had the eyes of her father, who was Japanese. They sounded similar to mine.
Camira and her daughter had come from here – their footsteps had once passed along the streets I’d been walking. Tomorrow I’d try to find out more. As I lay down, I thought how this quiet little town on the edge of the earth had been brought to life for me by listening to Kitty’s story. Once upon a time, when she’d been here, it had teemed with people. I wanted to see the things she’d seen, though how much was actually left of them, I didn’t know.
* * *
I was woken by the phone ringing early the next morning. It was the hotel receptionist.
‘Miss D’Aplièse? There’s a man waiting for you in the residents’ lounge. He says he’s fromThe Australian.’
