That Deadman Dance by Kim Scott Read Free Book Online Page B

they light that can race across country like charging cavalry.
    True, his pilot duties did not keep him overly busy; he’d been able to take several days off just now, hadn’t he? On average, only about one ship a week came into the inner harbour, although others anchored in the sound and still more at other sheltered bays along the coast. That was the key. Already he had smuggled rum ashore, and sold or exchanged fresh vegetables for things he knew would be valuable.
    There were plenty of whaling ships. Perhaps Mr Chaine should put his mind to that enterprise? Alexander Killam had the Sailor’s Rest. Not that there was much rest to be had, unless you counted being dead drunk and laid out in the gutter to one side of the steps. But the whalers who came into the harbour found it amenable enough. The crew of a whaling ship pretty well doubled the population of the community and although they reckoned they found the settlement quiet, it nevertheless provided them with a diversion after their long days at sea. They’d delight in occupying one of the drinking houses, looking for excitement, a fight, women.
    The Sailor’s Rest was the sort of place you had to stoop to enter, and even having done so many would be obliged to remain stooped, so low was its ceiling. Its walls often failed to prevent a drunken body crashing through in a cloud of old clay and twigs. The air was usually a fug of grog and tobacco fumes, and thin shafts of sunlight striking across the room showed smoke coiling and collecting, unable to escape. Of an evening a couple of oil lamps and the open fire were the only illumination.
    Its customers—rough men, soldiers and sailors mostly—were inclined to fight among themselves. For anything else, say for singing, and certainly for women, they’d go to one of the native campfires beyond the edge of town.
    It was often hard to remember how you got there, as both Skelly and Killam knew.
    *
    Cross sent Bobby for Wooral and Menak, but only Wooral came. Bobby didn’t know what was wrong with Menak, or if he was grumpy with Cross and all his people, these new ones who had arrived with the latest ship. Cross said, No matter, but we need a dance performed, a corroboree. These visitors are our friends and we want to welcome them properly, make them feel at home. But only you, our Noongar friends, can truly do that.
    Chaine laughed.
    A lot of Noongars were in the settlement. Well, at the edge of the huts, really—Cross’s bed was closest—where the old people and women and children camped when Wooral and the other young men stayed with Cross. There was space there for the fires and the dancing. People readied themselves with ochre and oil and stories, and waited.
    Chaine and Cross and their friends from Cygnet River arrived just after sunset. The fires were alight, the men painted-up, and people sat in groups, apart. But Menak and old Manit were still not there. Dr Cross and Chaine—those good friends of Wooral and Bobby—brought tubs of sweet rice. Wooral explained that this was for after the dance, and they waited and waited still for Menak and old Manit to arrive. That old woman, Manit, was their best singer. And Menak knew the best dances, the best songs. They knew how things were done properly.
    Bobby and Wooral built the fires higher and higher, but still Menak and Manit never came. Cross and his friend sat down, and the Noongar were happy to have them there, but Chaine was rising up and down on his toes, looking around. He beat two of the boomerangs together, laughing loudly, and tried to get everyone to start.
    The dancers were nowhere to be seen. And then people began moving, arranging themselves. Voices fell away as Menak and Manit walked across one edge of the circle of firelight and went to Cross and Chaine. Dr Cross was seated on the ground, and Manit held out her hand to help him up. She waited for Menak to shepherd Chaine, whose voice was loud in the relative quiet. The two old ones led the men to