Clem’s tying binder twine to an old iron bedhead and the fence of the chook yard when a thought crosses his mind: if Beth does come home for Christmas it’ll be like the prodigal daughter returning. He’s already been eyeing off an old ewe to slit the throat of—hardly a fattened lamb but she’ll do the job all right. And if Beth decides to go to Kokoda or Hagen or wherever it is, then that will have to be all right too. He still has Eva. Maybe they could go up the coast or stay in Busselton at the CWA flats, like old times.
He knows he’ll have to make room for a new daughter when she finally returns. He wonders about the shape of her, the space she’ll take up. And how he, too, might have to change.
For once the four houses are quiet by eight o’clock. You can’t even hear Grace. Beth’s sprawled on her bed in the stifling night air, light already off. Lena decided to shut the restaurant for the night. God knows they all need the break, especially Lena. Beth pulls the sheet up and rolls on her side. Thinks momentarily about Sam, glad he’ll soon be in Tasmania with his family, and truth be told, relieved she won’t be bumping into him whenever she does go home.
‘Go well,’ she whispers to the dark.
*
‘Beth! Beth!’ Val’s shouting and banging on the fly wire. Beth wakes with a start. It’s pitch black and she’s struggling to sit up. ‘Beth! Wake up! Fire!’
‘What?’
‘There’s a fire!’
Beth scrambles out of bed. ‘Fire? Where?’
‘The restaurant. Come on, we’re going down there.’
Beth’s grabbing clothes and rushing through the door, she’s through the gate, wrenching open the ute. She looks over at Lena and Ruth, Delilah and Grace sitting on the back, all of them in shock and silent. Beth has no words to give them.
‘The police phoned me,’ says Val. She’s hunched over the wheel, rocketing down the middle of the road, lights on full.
When they round the corner near the bank they see the smoke, plumes of grey billowing against the dark sky, and as Val pulls into the car park at Lim’s, they see the flames reaching up and up. Val kills the engine and they wrench open doors and the meris clamber off the back, Grace clinging to Lena. The five of them huddle near the gate watching timbers crack and fall, red blue yellow flames leaping everywhere. Men scurry about dousing the fire with buckets of water, shouting in island language, and Justice has the garden hose spraying at what’s left of the kitchen. Melted chairs and tables lie in twisted heaps. Beth listens to the pop and crackle of hungry fire, water splashing, men yelling, Grace whimpering, Delilah crying, everything too loud, too frantic, too close. Val’s nails dig into Beth’s arm and Lena, face swollen and bruised, looks shattered. Everything is lost. Beth can taste metal, coughs as the smoke catches in her throat. She can feel eyes on her, on them all, and turns around: hundreds of people shifting in the shadows behind them. A few dogs nip at each other, and run towards the road. And then a policeman shouts in Pidgin and the men with buckets stop and stand back, shielding their faces from the heat, and shrug their shoulders at the women. The fire’s burning in on itself and there’s nothing to do but wait. All these people, the whole town it seems, watching the last of Lena’s Place at two o’clock in the morning.
When Val leaves the group to talk to the policeman, Beth puts her arm around Lena, who collapses into her, shoulders heaving. They cover their noses; the stench of burning plastic, paper, metal filling the night air. They stand there swaying, looking at the charred embers, then Bill is suddenly behind them, slinging his arm round Beth’s shoulders.
‘Jeezus, would you look at it. I’m so sorry, love.’
Val, head down, walks slowly back towards them.
‘Electrical fault?’ Beth clutches Val’s arm. ‘Did we leave the oven on?’
‘No.’ Val inhales, looks at Lena, breathes out slowly. ‘They think it was deliberate.’
The women gasp, and Lena stands upright, nearly dropping Grace.
‘Holy shit!’ says Bill.
Grace burrows into Lena, who staggers back.
‘Who?’ Beth spits. ‘Who the hell would do something like this?’
She can’t grasp any of it, puts an arm around Lena and reels her in. But Lena is rigid, keeps looking ahead at the smouldering mess. Then it’s eerily quiet, everything and everyone stopped for this one moment.
‘Desmond.’ Lena stares at the smoking wreck in front of them. ‘Desmond do it.’
‘What?’ says Beth. ‘Why?’
‘Jealous,’ Lena says, then turns to look at Beth, her dark eyes swimming. ‘I never told him, susa. About this place.’
Val stiffens beside her, and Delilah and Ruth are snivelling.
‘They’re gonna take me outta this place in a box,’ Bill says gruffly, ‘and I won’t know anything. How this place works. What these people really think. I’ll know bugger all.’
‘Come on, everyone.’ Val shepherds them towards the ute. ‘Let’s get home, there’s nothing we can do now. Lena, the police’ll come and see you in the morning.’
Lena stands still. Her steely voice cuts the night. ‘I will open one again,’ she says.
*
Exhausted, shaking, Beth sits on the back of the ute, Lena’s hand in hers, Delilah’s head resting on her shoulder as Val swings them south along the beachfront home. The water is still and the air presses around them. In the dark of night, the cowardly bastard, Beth thinks. She wants to hunt down Desmond and scream till her lungs hurt. How can she leave these people now? Lena sniffles beside her and Beth squeezes her hand. She can smell the smoke on their clothes, their hair. She remembers that smell, when she was little and raking the stubble of the paddock in the stink of summer heat with Clem, lighting and containing small fires, working away at them till sunset. Still stinking of smoke after her bath, and long into the next day. And then she’s thinking how hard she’s tried for him: when the girls at school were talking about razors for their legs, about Prince and new watches, she was talking cricket with England, standing on a chair to tap the barometer, chopping wood till her blisters burst, loading black trousers smeared with sheep shit and grease into the washing machine, bending low to pick up fleeces and sweep the boards, her little back pounding. She knew Clem was falling, sinking sometimes, and she’d wanted to talk and chop and wash and scrub to keep him there with her. To make up for all they had lost. It was the same with Sam, trying to make it work. Always trying.
Grace whimpers and Lena softly sings to her. These tender women. They have welcomed her, and loved her. And she knows there is hope with people like them, and Hosannah and Abraham, in this muddled, wonderful place. But she thinks of the night Desmond could have killed Lena, the fear of payback, the nightmare hours spent worrying that she might have malaria, the raskols who knife a twelve-year-old boy just for a pair of shoes. She thinks of a dead Roo who’s taken more from the country than he’s given, a cross that’s getting sued in a village court, a restaurant turned to rubble, the sim-sim-simmering of the whole damned lot.
She loves this place and she hates it. But she knows, as Val jolts through another pothole, that she doesn’t long for it. Not like she longs for her own country; not Australia, or Fremantle, or even Hope Valley, but for Clem and Eva and what she remembers of Rose. Beth knows she has to throw out so many things she thought about herself and others, and start all over again. She knows she’ll hurt people and that people will hurt her but she’ll be all right, maybe even better for it, and she’s ready, ready to face what lies waiting at home, prepared for the looks, comments, questions.
Her feet feel warm and tingly now, and she’d swear she’s smelling lavender as they drive under the great reaching arms of raintrees and how Rose might be here with her. And she can feel Clem’s calloused hand in hers, not Lena’s velvety one, and it’s Eva, not Delilah, resting against her and she knows more than anything, it’s time.
Glossary of Pidgin Words
ai wara save pundaun
tears are falling, crying
aibika
a plant with edible leaves
aiglas
eyeglasses, spectacles
ailan
island
ai
eye
apinun
afternoon, good afternoon
bai
will, shall
baim
to buy, purchase
bek
back
bikpela
big, great, well-known, famous
bilas
finery, flash
bilong
belong, belonging
bilum
woven net or string bag used as a carry-all
bipo
before, formerly
bisi
busy
bruk
broken
buai
betelnut
cargo
cargo, luggage
this fellow, this, these
drai
to be dry, dried up
dring
to drink, sip
em
him, he, she, this, that, it
en
the same as em, but used only when em falls at the end of a sentence
go
to go
gut, gutpela
good, well, fine
gut moning
good morning
gut nait
goodnight
hamamas
happy
hamas
how much, how many
hariap
hurry, hurry up
haus
house, home
haus pispis, haus pekpek
toilet
haus sik
hospital
haus win
the summer house, garden house
helpim
help
hia
here
i
predicate marker between subject and verb that improves the rhythm of spoken language
insait
inside, the interior
isi
easily, softly
kai bar
tuckshop
kaikai
food, meal; eat, chew
kakaruk
fowl, chicken, rooster (kakaruk man), hen (kakaruk meri)
kam
come
kari
curry
kaukau
sweet potato
kina
PNG currency
klinik
clinic
kukim
to cook
laikim
to like something, to love, to desire, to want
laki
lucky
laplap
a loincloth, a sarong, fabric
lapun
old, elderly, aged
lewa
heart, liver, innards, desire (seat of affections)
liklik
little, small
long
to, on, for etc.
longlong
foolish, ignorant, stupid
lotu
worship, religious service
lukim
to see something
lukim yu
see you
maket
market
malolo
to rest
masta
masta, white person, European
meri
Mary, woman
meri blouse
long, wide dress worn by PNG women
mi
me
Misis
Mrs
mipela
we, us (not including the other/third party)
moni
money
moning
morning
mumu
to be cooked by steaming with heated stones in an earth pit
na
and
nait
night
nambawan
the very best, excellent
nambis
beach, shore, coastline
nau
now, the present time
nek
neck, throat
nem
name
nogat
no, nothing
nogut
no good, bad, evil
no ken
cannot be done, absolutely not
ol
all
olgeta
altogether, everyone
orait
all right, to be well
papa
father, uncle
pas
letter, note, permit
pekpek
excrement, manure
pikinini
baby, child
pinga, bikpela pinga
finger, thumb
pis
fish
pispis
urine, urinate
planti
ples
place, village, region
plis
please
pundaun
to fall down
pusi
cat
rais
rice
rait
right, write
raskol
rascal, criminal, gang member
sampela
some fellow, some
samting
something
santuim
to make holy, to sanctify
save
know, understand
sekuriti
security
sik
sick
skul
school
sori
sorry
stap
is, exist, be in a place, stop
susa
sister
taim
time
tenkyu
thank you
tok
talk, word
tok pisin
one of the three national languages of PNG (to talk Pidgin)
trabel
trouble, difficulty
tru
true, really, very
tupela
two fellows, two;
wanem
what, which
wanpela
one fellow, one, each
wantok
one who speaks the same language, from the same village or province
wara
water
we
where
wok
work
yet
yet, still
yu
you
yumi
we, us, including the other or third person
Acknowledgements
Excerpts from earlier versions of Bloodlines appeared in the Review of Australian Fiction (15.1) and indigo (3, 4, 6).
The published version of Bloodlines began its life as a submission to the TAG Hungerford Award in 2014, for which it was shortlisted. It was written as part of a PhD in Writing at Edith Cowan University, South West, and I have had the invaluable support of both an Australian Postgraduate Award and ECU Research Excellence Award. I thank my supervisor, Dr Donna Mazza, for her belief in my project from the outset, and her shared understanding that a writing life with (very) small children is possible. I am especially indebted to mentor and friend Dr Richard Rossiter. This novel would not exist without him and I feel privileged that he has championed my work. A heartfelt thanks to Dr Robyn Mundy for the wise, thoughtful feedback on earlier drafts, and fellow ECU writers Dr Gus Henderson, Ali Jarvey and Narrelle de Boer.