Tears Of The Moon Part 1

Tears of the Moon.

by Di Morrissey.

PROLOGUE.

Broome 1905.

The deep-sea diver moved in slow motion, a heavy weighted boot kicking up small clouds of grey sand. All he could hear was the hiss of air down the hose and his own rhythmic breathing as he was towed above the sea bed by the lugger. He exhaled, a cl.u.s.ter of bubbles pus.h.i.+ng upwards towards the surface, thirty fathoms above. The clear capsules of trapped hot breath smelling faintly of chilli and black sauce, eventually burst on the surface of the Indian Ocean close to the drifting lugger.

To the sleepy-eyed tender, vigilant despite his slumped and somnolent pose, the steady cl.u.s.ter of bubbles indicated all was normal. Through his fingers ran the coir signal rope and life line which acted as umbilical cord between the two men of two worlds. Ignoring the clatter of the hand pumps, the noise and chatter of the sh.e.l.l opener, the tender followed the footsteps of the diver, guiding the drift and direction of the lugger as the diver explored below.

The j.a.panese diver worked alone, secure in his ability to stay deep, keep steady and 'see' sh.e.l.l. He trudged across the sea bed, his rope basket almost filled with the broad, flat grey sh.e.l.ls that were for some so difficult to spot. For nearly an hour he stayed in a world of intense strangeness and beauty, unaffected by the secrets and magic that unfolded about him. The novelty of the underwater world had waned early in his career. Inattention could result in missed opportunities or an accident.

The hiss of air was a constant noise in his head. Like a creature from some other planet, the bulbous form with the gla.s.s-windowed copper helmet made his way through water s.p.a.ce, a stranger in an alien world.

He had been indentured for five years on Thursday Island, contracted for a further three here in Broome. He was a number one diver, one of the kings of Sheba Lane. The men who walked in the sea. The men who could stay deeper, work longer, find more sh.e.l.l than white, Malay or Aborigine. He had sold his share of snide pearls, done deals and profited from pearl finds and the sh.e.l.l take. But this was his last season. At lay up he would return to Wakayama Prefecture and Akiko san.

Was it the thought of the woman that distracted him? Was his ever-alert peripheral vision clouded for an instant with the rush of memory of the warm body, soft hair and sweet voice? Or had the G.o.ds decided this day, this moment, was his time? The small whale-bone charm nestling beneath the layers of flannel, rubber and canvas could not protect against the events that swiftly followed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sensed a sudden movement, a glimpse of something large gliding close to him. Inadvertently, he expelled a rush of air, the burst of bubbles startling the silver shape. The huge swordfish angled away, its lethal broad sword slas.h.i.+ng ahead of it. In its path were the dangling air hose and safety rope looping above the diver, but the monstrous fish barrelled on regardless.

The red rubber artery snaking above the diver was partially severed, the escaping air churning the water to a boiling cloud around him. He was dragged off balance by the force of the encounter, fumbling frantically to close his air escape valve and trap the remaining air in his suit, long enough to see him to the surface.

The tender was aware of some disaster, having felt the sudden drag and slackening of the air hose before the frantic signal from the diver to bring him up.

Normally the diver would be staged, resting at intervals to allow his body to adjust and prevent the build up of nitrogen in the blood. But the tender could tell from the wild signals of the desperate diver that he was losing air. Although the risk of paralysis would be high, he decided to bring him straight up.

Shouts aboard the lugger alerted the crew, and the men on the hand pump worked feverishly trying to force air down the hose and past the gaping leak so some breath of life reached the diver's helmet.

The diver felt the pressure mount. Burning pain seared through his joints as he swung like a puppet upwards through the water, his body compressed and squeezed as he was dragged too quickly towards life-giving air.

In his last moments of consciousness he hoped they could swiftly patch the air leak and drop him back to a depth where he could be suspended for several hours while his body readjusted.

There are some miraculous stories of survival and just as many of the horrific fates met by divers of the deep. It was either death in the sea, by currents, whirlpools or hidden craters that simply sucked a diver into oblivion, or by unfortunate encounters with devil rays, swordfish, sharks or whales. Above the water, beri beri, cyclones, s.h.i.+pwrecks and mutinous crews could kill just as quickly. A diver might survive, only to be sentenced to a life ash.o.r.e as a blinded, twisted cripple. The streets of Broome were haunted by the relics of men who'd wished they'd died a diver instead of living as one of the 'bad luck ones'.

They knew the dangers, but they took the risks.

The lugger lurched as all hands leaned over the side. The dripping diver was heaved on to the deck, his metal boots and helmet cras.h.i.+ng on the planks.

The men shook their heads at the glimpse of the black skin through the gla.s.s. The helmet was unscrewed and the awful face greeted them ... eyes bulging, one eyeball popped on to a cheek, blood pouring from ears, nose and mouth. Where some bodies have been squeezed up into the corselet and helmet and have to be cut free, this diver could have some life left yet. They reattached the helmet, bound the air hose and slid him back into the sea while there was still a chance of saving him.

The number two diver went with him and waited, floating in the eerie silence of the tomb-like sea. He adjusted the air pressure in the suit and helmet in the hope the blackness would fade to pink skin, that the damaged head might lift within its metal casing.

The two divers hovered, side by side, as an hour pa.s.sed. Finally the number two diver signalled to ascend. He hoped should his time come beneath the sea, that his own death would be swift.

The body was hauled from the suit, and as the lugger left the fleet to return to Broome, the sh.e.l.l openers returned to their work on the deck.

The first sh.e.l.l opened from the dead diver's basket showed a perfect roseate round. Its beauty would grace some privileged woman in a distant city, but it had come at a high price.

CHAPTER ONE.

Sydney 1995.

Lily sat on the floor of her mother's bedroom, feeling like an invader. Drawers of underwear, personal papers, jewellery, and two hatboxes filled with travel souvenirs and memorabilia were scattered around her. Piles of clothes and shoes buried the bed. Her mother's perfume, 'Blue Gra.s.s', hung in the air and Lily wished she could cry.

She had put off the sorting of her mother's belongings for as long as possible. But now the apartment was on the market and several weeks had pa.s.sed since the funeral, so she could delay no longer.

Lily noticed that dusk was settling in so she got up, switched on the light and went to pour herself a gla.s.s of wine.

How had it happened that she'd never been really close to her own mother and never noticed she had no family? She'd loved her mother, she was different to other mothers it seemed, and now Lily wished with all her heart she'd known her better. Truly known her-what important things had happened in her life that had hurt her, thrilled her. What dreams had never been fulfilled. How she'd felt when Lily was born. They'd never talked of such things. She'd never asked her mother and her mother had never asked her. And now it was too late. The hollow despair of this knowledge caused Lily feelings of guilt, failure and disappointment. Grief Was a catalyst for many things and now Lily found the ground beneath her feet distinctly wobbly. Georgiana, her madcap, restless mother, had filled their life with travel and drama and told her how lucky they were to not be tied down by family strings. Just the two of them against the world. And Lily had believed her-until she had wanted a family of her own and the certainty of being in one place for the years ahead.

Lily wished she had known her mother's family and also her father, or his family. Georgiana had discarded several husbands, including Lily's father. They had met during the war. He was a charming American serviceman and she was young and ready for adventure. There was a swift courts.h.i.+p and what her mother dismissed as a 'low-key wedding' before boarding one of the war-bride s.h.i.+ps.

Lily had been born in 1947 but apparently life in Torrance, California, was not the life Georgiana had been led to expect after a diet of American movies. Georgiana divorced when Lily was a toddler and saw no reason to maintain any contact with her ex-husband. She gave Lily the impression that he'd never shown any interest in a child he had barely known. And as for in-laws, Georgiana had shuddered and stressed again how they were the lucky ones, to be as free as birds and able to choose their friends instead of being burdened with unpleasant relatives.

Lily's memories of her youth were of boarding schools and holidays in exotic places with her mother. These were treasured times with just the two of them. Georgiana never inflicted ex-stepfathers on Lily and Lily was always broken-hearted at leaving her fun-loving mother at the end of the holidays to return to school.

Georgiana made no secret of the fact she had been a difficult and rebellious child and had given her mother h.e.l.l.

'I was happier in boarding school than stuck over in the west. You'll thank me one day for sending you to good boarding schools,' she told Lily.

Georgiana refused to discuss 'family', except for flippant remarks and anecdotes that were generally unflattering. She did once say she'd had to keep her family background 'a bit quiet' when she went to America as a war bride. 'Not that it mattered as it turned out. His lot were Orange County hicks.'

So Lily's childhood had been spent in the care of other people, punctuated by periods of travel, with pauses in pensions and tropical Somerset Maugham hotels. Within minutes of arrival anywhere Georgiana had admirers, help from all quarters and entertaining company.

The only reference Georgiana made about her own parents was that her father had died in France during the First World War before she was born and that her mother had lived in the west, a place Georgiana hated. Georgiana caused everyone such trouble that she forced them to put her in boarding school, in Perth, which she far preferred. As soon as she could she moved to Sydney, worked as a secretary and met her American husband-to-be.

That was the sole extent of Lily's knowledge of her family. She had only vague memories of one occasion when they visited an old lady, her great-grandmother in Perth. She recalled being in a beautiful garden with a sweet and loving lady. She had always wanted to go back there but it never seemed to fit in with Georgiana's plans and then Lily had been sent to an expensive private girls' school in Sydney and had never seen her relative again, Georgiana declaring the west to be even more behind the world than the rest of Australia.

With the self-centredness of children, Lily had never questioned her mother about their family. When pregnant with her own daughter, Samantha, Lily wrote to Georgiana asking if she knew of any possibly inherited medical problems. Georgiana dismissed Lily's fears by pointing out she knew next to nothing about Lily's father's medical history and was not about to try and make contact with his family even if she knew where they were. In her letter Georgiana had written: Life starts at birth. Forget all the baggage because there isn't a d.a.m.n thing you can do about it anyway. I tried to let you be free. You find out what you need to know, when you need to know. Sometimes knowing too much can be painful. be free. You find out what you need to know, when you need to know. Sometimes knowing too much can be painful.

Lily wasn't sure what to make of this remark but realised she wasn't going to get anything further from her mother. Her then-husband Stephen told her not to worry about it. He was relieved that his erratic and volatile mother-in-law kept to her own path in life. He regarded her with long-suffering patience that didn't endear him to Georgiana. When Stephen and Lily divorced, Georgiana was delighted. When she visited she could now have the attention of Lily and Sami without the 'interruptions and interference of that of that man'. man'.

Lily was adamant that Stephen continue to be involved with Sami's life. 'I didn't have a male role model and a girl needs a dad.'

Her academic ex-husband, vague about the nitty-gritty of life, nonetheless was a devoted if distant father-distant due to them being in different cities.

Lily sighed. How she wished she had sat down with Georgiana and insisted she tell her all she knew about her family. She had a thirst to know about her mother's background and now it was too late. Too late to understand her rebellious, flighty, independent mother who had lived life at full speed. She'd never even called her 'Mother', Georgiana had said it made her feel 'old'. Even in her later years, Georgiana continued to flirt, to look years younger than she was. When she visited Lily she told her granddaughter Sami to call her Georgie, not Granny.

Lily and Sami had thought it amusing at the time, but now Lily found her mother's dedicated zest a pathetic attention-grabbing tactic.

When Lily was growing up, her friends had envied her such a glamorous, funny and slightly eccentric mother. In reality, Georgiana had been selfish and self-centred, and now Lily resented the loss of family this had caused.

While wallowing in her personal loss it suddenly occurred to Lily that she was doing what Georgiana always did-excluding everyone else. She had gently broken the news to Sami of her grandmother's death. Her daughter had then flown from Melbourne for the simple funeral, but with impending university exams Lily had encouraged her to go straight back to Melbourne.

Now she wondered how her daughter was dealing with this first, unexpected, death in their small family unit. They should be sharing this. It didn't seem sensible that in this society mourning was a private affair. Where was the ritual, the wailing, the sharing, the support and continuum of death shown by other cultures? Was this why she was finding it so hard to let go of her mother?

A twinge of bitterness. .h.i.t Lily as she stretched and went to the wardrobe. Apart from the satin-covered hangers it was empty except for an old leather suitcase that Lily knew held the core of Georgiana's life. She had once pointed it out to Lily and told her, 'When I die you'll find my life in there.'

Lily had never looked in the suitcase but had persuaded her mother to take out her will, share certificates and deed to the unit and put them in the bank.

Lily dragged the suitcase out to the middle of the floor, took a sip of wine and unbuckled the old-fas.h.i.+oned catches. It smelled faintly of mothb.a.l.l.s and she lifted the tissue paper off the top to reveal a disorderly stack of photographs and letters. She randomly leafed through several letters from one pile. There were love letters between Georgiana and the numerous men in her life. Others were from people she'd met in her travels whom she'd written to for some time until lack of contact and interest had seen the correspondence fizzle out.

Familiar, though childish, writing in another pile caught her eye. Lily was touched to find all the letters she had written to her mother while at school were carefully bundled together. Georgiana hadn't been such a diligent correspondent, preferring to telephone. Lily always had a sneaking suspicion the letters her mother did write to her were written for public approval, to be read to others and admired. Dramatic and detailed descriptions of exotic places interspersed with funny anecdotes, outrageously exaggerated, written on thick hotel stationery in a large, free-flowing hand.

The suitcase also contained dozens of photographs of Georgiana with friends and on her travels. She noticed one photograph was wrapped in tissue paper. Curious, she folded back the yellowed paper to reveal a sepia-tinted photo set in a small silver frame. Staring out at her was a handsome man in a white uniform, wearing a nautical hat set at a jaunty angle. Despite the formal pose there was a hint of a suppressed smile about the mouth and merry eyes. She'd never seen this man before and wondered for a moment if it was her father, then remembered that he'd been in the army. She opened the back of the frame and read in spidery writing on the back of the photo, 'Broome, 1910' 'Broome, 1910'. He was too old to be an amour of her mother and, knowing Georgiana's family had come from the west, there must obviously be a connection.

There were other photos taken at b.a.l.l.s and dinners, and in gardens of unknown houses. There was one of a man in uniform who appeared in several photos which, judging by the car, she took to be in America. There were photos taken around the world, which featured Georgiana centre stage with elephants and castles, alongside laughing companions. There were photos of Lily taken on their holiday trips and some of her as a small child playing with a sailboat, on a merry-go-round or dressed to kill in bonnet, bows and Mary Janes-what Georgie called her 's.h.i.+rley Temple shoes'.

But it was a record of Georgiana's life only after she had left Australia. There was nothing that connected her to her own family, her childhood or her country. Nothing, except for this mysterious framed photograph of the man in Broome.

Lily had reached the bottom of the suitcase now and found a parcel. Inside was a letter and a cloth-wrapped package. She opened the letter, addressed to her in her mother's writing, with trembling hands.

Lily dear, I always intended to give you these but could never find the right time. I held back as I knew you would ask questions and I don't have all the answers.

I had such an unsettled youth, I felt no interest in my past. And I preferred to stick to the old adage that what you don't know won't hurt you. Ever since the war, I suppose my philosophy has been to live for today.

Now these are yours, for they have been pa.s.sed on to the women in our family for so very long. When my grandmother gave them to me she said, 'Keep them close to your heart as I have done. If they are not cherished and cared for, like love they will turn to dust.'

Just know you have been my life and in my way I did my best for you. I didn't need any family but you.

My love, Mother

Lily wept as she read her mother's words. It was the first time she could remember Georgie calling herself 'Mother'.

'Why didn't you tell me this before! You were all I had, Georgie. My mother, yes, but I needed more.'

Lily sobbed with the pain of loss, for her mother and for the family she never knew, and for the woman she was and didn't understand and for her own daughter to whom she could pa.s.s on so little of her past.

When she eventually stopped crying, but still shaking with emotion, she unwrapped the lumpy, cylindrical parcel.

In it was a blue velvet bag. She undid the drawstring and tipped out a strand of magnificent fat, glowing pearls. Lily gasped as she fingered them, but what caught her attention was the strangely carved mother-of-pearl pendant that hung from the centre of the pearl necklace. On it were carved parallel lines, a circle with smaller circles in it, and an X.

Impulsively she draped the rope of pearls around her neck and pressed her hands over the pendant. It felt smooth and cool and Lily shut her eyes as a wonderful feeling swept over her.

And then, faintly, like looking through a misty screen, she remembered. She had seen this wonderful necklace before. It had shone against the navy silk of a dress worn by-the lady in the flower garden. Other small details came back to her. They had been walking among the flowers, holding hands. Her great-grandmother had been telling her the names of the flowers. Once when she turned to smile down at Lily, the little girl had reached out and touched the swinging pendant. Great-grandmother let her wear it saying, 'One day this will come to you, Lily.' Then Georgie had come along and said the necklace looked silly swinging down near her knees and had taken it off and handed it back saying, 'She might break it.'

Lily had forgotten the incident but now it was vividly recalled. It was on that one trip they'd made to see her great-grandmother in Perth. She wondered why she had never seen her mother wear this family necklace. It was obviously old and valuable. But what made it most precious was the knowledge it was a family heirloom. She felt it was the only link she had with her past and her unknown family.

Uncurling her cramped legs, she swallowed the last of her wine and began to pace about her mother's flat wearing the magnificent pearl necklace and pendant.

Lily wanted to lift the phone and call her daughter but she held back, not wanting to dump her confusion and misery on a young woman busy with university finals. Her thoughts then moved to the man in her life. She knew Tony would be sweet to her if she called, but it was the sort of conversation where they needed to be physically close, where she could have his full attention, cry and be held. Distance and private lives separated them.

Suddenly, Lily felt incredibly lonely.

For the next few weeks she went through the motions of settling her mother's affairs; selling possessions, giving things away, putting the flat up for sale. But she couldn't shake her feelings of dislocation, of loss and a gnawing sense of wanting to resolve the gaps in her past. So much emotion had been triggered by the discovery of the pearl necklace. She found herself staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, studying her features, searching for clues from the unknown ranks of ghostly relatives who swam through her past-who had formed this person called Lily. Where had she come from ... what genes had she pa.s.sed on to her own daughter?

As if hearing her silent call, Samantha rang her. 'I've been thinking about you, Mum. It must be hard, sorting out Georgie's stuff and everything. I wish I'd come and helped. I think it would have been easier-to know she's really gone-if I had been there with you.'

'Yes, I wish you had, too. But you had exams, Sami ... It's certainly been ... strange.'

Sami heard the vulnerable tremor in her mother's voice. 'Dad asked how you were getting on. Said he didn't want to intrude but hoped you were coping all right.'

'I am am coping all right. You know me. It's just ... ' and her voice trailed off. coping all right. You know me. It's just ... ' and her voice trailed off.

'What, Mum? You don't miss her do you? I mean, it's not as if she was around a lot.'

'But she was my mother, Sami ... and I can't help wondering. About her and her life.'

'We don't know much do we?' Sami's voice was hard. 'I think it was so unfair of her, to keep everything to herself. She never told us anything. Whenever I asked about her side of the family, she said I didn't need to know that stuff. But I do, Mum!' Now Sami's voice was trembling. 'It's all part of us. It's like she took away our family, wiped them all out. And now there's only you and me and a bunch of letters and photographs of people we know nothing about. What am I supposed to tell my my daughter when I have one?' daughter when I have one?'

'Calm down, Sami. Don't be melodramatic. But you're right, darling. That's why I'm feeling so sad, for just those reasons. I feel I've let you down, too ... '

'Oh no, Mum. You haven't. Maybe we can piece it all together and trace our family tree when we have time. Please don't feel badly. Do you want me to fly up?'

'No, sweetheart. It's only a few months till the holidays. You keep your head down and study hard. Maybe we'll do something special, go somewhere nice-if you don't have plans that is.'

'I'd love that. Let's make it a date. I love you, Mum.'

'Love you too. Take care, Sami.'

Lily hung up, grateful to her daughter for her thoughtfulness, but feeling worse than before. She felt history was repeating itself. Deep in thought, Lily packed the photos and letters back in the leather suitcase but kept out the silver-framed photo of the man from Broome. She kept the necklace on and that night slept naked, wearing just the pearls. They felt alive and warm against her skin and once, waking in the moonlight, she looked at them and thought it was like they'd come to life, for their l.u.s.tre had an almost luminous glow.

By morning, she'd made up her mind. She'd take three months' leave from the medical clinic where she worked as a research technician, for she was owed long service leave. She would go to Broome and start the search for her mother's family there. She owed it to herself and to her daughter.