Tears Of The Moon Part 3

'Nah, accident, lookit the car,' declared the other before Lily could answer.

They dismounted and inspected the car.

'How long ya bin 'ere?'

'Since this morning. Do you think you could help get me out?'

'Ya by yourself?'

Lily nodded. The men looked at each other without expression. They dropped the reins of their horses and walked around the car again.

'Where ya going?'

'I was heading for Cape Leveque.'

'Road no good for this sorta car.'

'I can see that. It was all I could rent. If you can get me out I'll head back to Broome.'

The two men pushed and bounced the car and finally got her back to the middle of the road. 'Oh, thanks so much. I'm so glad you came along. What are you doing way out here?' she asked.

'We're ringers. Run cattle on the mission here.'

'Where's the mission?'

'Beagle Bay. Not far back. You pa.s.sed a turnoff to the right. Ya'd be better off staying there till tomorrow. Dark soon.'

'Yes, I don't fancy trying to drive back in the dark.' Lily looked at the last streaks of the sun heralding the night.

The men returned to their horses.

'Where are you going now?' she asked.

'Campin' a little bit on. Got stock at a waterhole,' explained one of the ringers.

'Well, thanks again for your help,' said Lily as she put out her hand. The two shook hands with her and Lily was surprised at the lightness of their grip.

'No worries,' grinned the younger and they both swung into their saddles with a fluidity of movement mat struck Lily with its almost gymnastic grace.

She drove cautiously and eventually the headlights showed a break in the edge of the road marked by a leaning post. She got out and found a faded sign lying on the ground. In the beam of the headlights she read-BEAGLE BAY 8 KMS.

The road was appalling, corrugated and narrow, so she drove with even more care, much of the time in second gear. It was very dark by the time she reached the settlement, which seemed to be deserted. She glimpsed a few shadowy figures beside box-like houses, the occasional lamp or campfire in a yard. Continuing along the sandy track she pa.s.sed a small fenced-off graveyard and stopped suddenly, spellbound by the luminous vision in front of her.

The moon was high and full and a whitewashed church glowed in its light like the Taj Mahal. She switched off the motor and stepped out to fully appreciate the scene. Noticing that the old arched wooden door was ajar she walked over and stepped gingerly inside.

For a moment she blinked, wondering what strange and wonderful world she'd walked into. The whole interior s.h.i.+mmered and gleamed in the milky light that shone through the stained gla.s.s windows. Seeing a small table with candles and a box of matches she lit a candle and moved it in an arc.

The glittery silver light came from pearl sh.e.l.ls. Thousands of them lined the walls and ceiling, cut into geometric patterns around windows and every available surface. Paintings and murals were framed in the painstaking mosaic of pearl sh.e.l.l. Lily smiled with delight. 'How beautiful!' she exclaimed to herself.

The church felt safe, comforting and peaceful. She blew out the candle and returned to the car, drove it close to the side of the little church. Curling up on the back seat she promptly fell asleep.

CHAPTER THREE.

The sun began to warm the interior of the car and Lily stirred uncomfortably. At a tap on the window her eyes snapped open and she sat upright.

A man's head and shoulders were outlined against the early bright light. He rapped insistently again. Lily unrolled the window a Utile way.

'Guten Morgen,' he said cheerfully. He was an older man, with badly cropped grey hair sticking up in tufts.

'Er, good morning,' said Lily hesitantly.

'You were sleeping.'

'Yes, I was.'

He prodded a spotty banana through the window. 'Would you like to share my breakfast?'

Lily gratefully took the banana, unlocked and opened the car door. 'I had a bit of an accident and got stuck. This was as far as I got. My name is Lily.'

'I am Brother William. So you have come to visit us?'

'I was trying to get further north but figured it was safer to spend the night here than drive back to Broome.'

'I always took the boat to Broome. I don't drive no more. My eyes. No good.' He tapped his face.

'You went by boat to Broome from here?'

'Ya, and from Lombadina-'bout 150 kilometres.'

Lily sat beside him on the stone step outside the church and ate the banana while he talked.

'One time I come back from Broome. So rough, sea like mountains, up and down, took almost one week in the gale. We get to Beagle Bay, but the seas so bad we can't come in. I get in the lifeboat with three men to row over the surf, almost two kilometres to the sh.o.r.e. But we capsize, go upside down and so we have to swim. The tide comes in at eight nautical miles an hour, it makes the water rise twelve metres or more along this coast. I pray and swim, pray and swim and we make it.'

He grinned at Lily who had been thinking a boat trip to Broome might be easier than the drive. She changed her mind-the sea was undoubtedly just as treacherous. She shook her head in admiration as he finished telling the story.

Looking at the deepness of the wrinkles in his face, Lily realised Brother William was older than she'd first thought. He wore a blue, short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt and loose grey pants held up by a well-worn belt. He looked fit and his eyes, though watery with age, were a vivid blue. His German accent was unmistakable. 'Do you live here at the mission?'

'Yah, yah. I live here long time now. This is my church.' He waved proudly at the little building. 'You like it?'

Lily beamed. 'Oh yes. It's wonderful. Tell me about the pearl sh.e.l.ls. They looked so lovely in the moonlight: The Brother nodded happily. 'Ya. And in the suns.h.i.+ne. See up there.' He pointed to the steeple.

Lily gazed up at the tower to where the steeple was fitted with a copper ball on which a cross was mounted. The mother-of-pearl inlay sparkled in the sun.

'Now, you come inside and see.'

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimness. The mother-of-pearl glowed softly, seeming to have its own inner light. The pearl stars set in the blue ceiling of the sanctuary glittered in shafts of light that angled through the thick stained-gla.s.s windows.

'Bishop Gibney and the Trappist Brothers started here in the early 1890s, in a primitive bush dwelling. This church was built during the First World War. The mud bricks were made here but there was no mortar so the missionaries and the blacks brought sh.e.l.ls from the beach in billy carts and burned them with layers of wood to make a white lime. Brother Droste did the decoration with mother-of-pearl and sea sh.e.l.ls. See, there at the top of the main altar is the big mother-of-pearl star. Fit for any cathedral,' said Brother William proudly. He'd told the story to visitors so many times before that the telling now sounded almost like a recording.

'What are the blue stones in the pattern?' asked Lily.

'That's operculum, a little lid or cover which comes from sh.e.l.lfish. And here, set into the pillars are broken sh.e.l.ls. They look like opal s.h.i.+ning with all the colours of the rainbow, eh?'

'This must have seemed a long way from the war,' said Lily. 'It's still a remote area.'

'It was more active in the old days. We sold timber to build the luggers. And it took a lot of effort to persuade the Aborigines to come in from the wilderness and to get their children to attend the school. Soon enough there was a good cattle farm. Now they run it all themselves.' Brother William looked nostalgic. 'The first Pallottine priests and brothers had much to do. I have little to do now. I am seeing out my days, observing Sunday services, talking to the visitors who sometimes come.'

'Where is your home, don't you want to go home?'

'I have no family left in Munich. I will be buried here. Some brothers returned but some are buried here also. They didn't all die of old age-there were some accidents,' he said wryly. He gave Lily a look, then asked, 'You are interested?'

'Yes. I am.'

'I have a book. It is a journal that one of the Brothers wrote about the early days of the mission. It was added to over the years and printed by some later Brothers. Perhaps you will find it of interest.'

Lily waited outside in the morning sun while Brother William rummaged in a suitcase under his bed in the simple room he called home that was attached to the community kitchen and social room. She could hear a woman cooking and admonis.h.i.+ng two small children. One of the children came outside letting the screen door bang behind him, but stopped shyly when he saw Lily.

'h.e.l.lo. How are you, young man?'

'Orright,' he said with a flash of white teeth against dark skin, then fled inside, giggling. His mother appeared at the screen door and smiled at the strange woman.

'You need something?' she asked. 'There's a store over the way, they should be open by now.'

'No, it's all right thanks, I'm waiting for Brother William. He's getting something for me.'

'I'm making his breakfast, tell him it's nearly ready. Would you like some? You must've started out early.'

'I'd love some.' Lily said and followed her inside.

Over their toast smothered in mashed tinned herrings, Brother William told Lily how life at the mission had changed. In the early days it had been like a small European village with over forty buildings including a convent for the sisters, separate schools, dormitories and dining rooms for boys and girls, a bakehouse and slaughterhouse, laundry, sheds, a stable for the goats, storehouse, a tannery, and dwellings for the missionaries, stockmen, servants and the Aboriginal families who all worked about the mission. On the outskirts was a camp of 'bush blacks' near to where the road to Broome was hacked out of the scrub and sandy soil by Brother Droste in 1921.

Across the table he showed her faded photographs of barefoot children dressed in simple smocks, pants and s.h.i.+rts. Soft but wary eyes stared from scrubbed faces as they stood obediently by the formally attired Pallottine priests.

'They were good children. Did lovely needle-work, worked in the gardens, did their lessons, sang to G.o.d with all their hearts. For a long time it was as the Bishop dreamed, but ...' he shrugged. 'Eventually they went back to their old ways.'

'And now?'

'It's different. A little of both worlds,' he said diplomatically. He then handed Lily a mould-spotted book. 'I am afraid it is not healthy. The pages are sticking. But the writing is still clear.'

Carefully Lily turned the amateurishly printed pages, pausing to read short extracts. 'Brother William, this is fascinating, I'd love to read it all, but this should be kept under better conditions. And available for research.'

'Oh, there is a copy or two back in Europe. I was drinking this copy should be in Broome.'

'Like in the Historical Society perhaps. I'm about to go there.'

'You take it. You give to them. I have another copy. Maybe the air-con will keep it safe.'

'Are you sure? It does seem a sensible idea.' Lily separated two pages seamed by humidity. 'I'd love to read all of this. I'll do it at the Historical Society.'

'Ya. Is a good story. Like a book,' grinned Brother William. 'It tells many things of this place.'

'I'm glad your fellow brothers were diligent and wrote down their observations. Times change so quickly'

'Not in the Kimberley. But ya, it is good our work is not forgotten.' He looked momentarily wistful and Lily wondered if the work of Brother William would be commemorated in some way other than in the affection of the small flock in his care. While the intentions of missionaries like Brother William had been to better the lives of the Aborigines, Lily knew that, in the light of modern knowledge, it had not been in their best interests. But Lily wasn't going to raise such issues with the old Brother.

After a few more pleasantries Lily said she should be on her way. 'Thank you again, Brother William, it's been fascinating to talk to you. I promise to deliver this safely to the Historical Society and good luck to you ... ' She shook the Brother's hand.

'Bless you, young lady. Look around before you go.' He grinned. 'The ghosts are benevolent.'

She took his advice and drove around the sprawling mission, looking at the scattered remnants of its distant better days-deserted buildings, the sh.e.l.l of a well, broken drays and farm equipment, though the stockyards were repaired and a shed held gear and feed. But then she walked into the community store and time leapt forward to a world of frozen food, magazines, junk food, a video game machine and city-style homewares. Lily restocked with bottled water and a couple of chocolate bars for the drive back.

As she pa.s.sed by the white church again she noticed a small graveyard a little distance away. She stopped to look through it. Once it must have been hidden by bush, a remote repose for a French Trappist brother, several Pallottine priests, two sisters, some infants and many adult Aborigines. The blacks rested under Christian headstones and Lily wondered if the converts would have preferred to have been put to rest in a traditional tree grave. She was about to leave when an unusual headstone caught her eye. It was a simple bush rock with an inset of mother-of-pearl sh.e.l.l glinting in the sun. What made Lily catch her breath as she studied the sh.e.l.ls was the delicate pattern carved into the biggest sh.e.l.l.

Trembling, she crouched down and traced over the design with her fingertips. The lines and small circles within a large circle were entwined just as they were on the circular pendant that hung from her mother's pearl necklace. Lily went back to the car, got her camera and took a photo of the headstone and a close-up of the sh.e.l.l. It was some kind of tribal marking she decided.

Who was buried there?

She walked back over to the church looking for Brother William to ask what he knew of the strange old grave that she felt might be linked to her own family's past. But the Brother had retreated to his room and the lady who had cooked them breakfast and was now sweeping around the church steps said he was praying and didn't like to be disturbed for at least an hour.

Lily was disappointed for a moment, then remembered the book in which the Brothers had told the story of the mission. She felt sure she'd find some answers in it. A twinge of excitement and antic.i.p.ation gnawed in the pit of her stomach as she drove away.

It was afternoon when Lily, dusty, tired, hot and thirty-six hours late, strode up to the reception desk and announced brightly, 'I'm back!'

A strange girl stared at her blankly. 'You been somewhere?'

'Where's the girl who's normally here, with the short dark curls?'

'Oh, Bridget. She took a couple of flexi days. Can I help you?'

'Never mind, thanks anyway,' muttered Lily, heading for her room.

Lily showered and lay on her bed to siesta and think about the old mission. While she admired the early missionaries' fort.i.tude and dedication, she found their original aims misguided. What had they achieved? A handful of converts, an education for a few who managed some modest success in the world of the whites. At the most, a sanctuary from the onslaught of white settlement that probably would have totally exterminated them in time. But, Lily suspected, the price had been high. So much culture had been lost, for most of the Christian sanctuaries had not been tolerant of native language and customs, which, in ignorance, were deemed primitive and heathen.

She opened her eyes and felt herself become half-hypnotised by the slowly turning ceiling fan and began reflecting on her own att.i.tudes to the Aborigines. Over many a candlelit dinner with friends in Sydney she had argued intensely in support of government-sponsored moves towards reconciliation with the Aborigines, supported the general concept of land rights, and was quite pa.s.sionate about the need to lift their health and housing standards. But until she had come to Broome she had never met an Aborigine, let alone discovered or experienced firsthand something even remotely related to their ancient culture.

A politically correct urban trendy, that's what I am, she thought. Biddy-the old black woman fis.h.i.+ng on the sand spit-was the first Aborigine she'd met. Funny, it hadn't struck Lily at the time that she was the first. It seemed no big deal, they'd simply accepted each other. But in retrospect it had been a significant event. She'd had a yarn with someone with links to probably forty thousand years of culture. G.o.d, forty thousand years of fis.h.i.+ng. And those stockmen ... they came out of the land as if they were organic to it, and disappeared back into it just as naturally. And she realised she'd felt so comfortable with them ... and the old woman. Yet they had nothing in common.

Her eyes fluttered shut and the imagined melodic throbbing hum of a distant didgeridoo began to impose itself on her consciousness. She felt herself drifting into another world ... the world of the mind ... then the phone rang.

It was Deidre reminding her about the art exhibition at the Cable Beach Club and offering her a lift if she needed one. Lily accepted with grat.i.tude and they arranged to meet at the Mangrove Hotel.

Perched on the cliff top, the renovated Mangrove Hotel had a choice view over mangroves, the sweeping rush of tide across Roebuck Bay and the annual staircase to the moon. Cable Beach held the novelty -for an easterner-of watching the sun set into the sea.