Part 34 (1/2)

When Carrie comes in, I ask her if she remembers them, or was she too young?

'I remember.' Without being asked she ties the spare ap.r.o.n around her waist, fetches the bucket and the potatoes and brings them over to the table. She sits on the stool and starts peeling with the knife. 'We used to eat them under the monkey-puzzle tree,' she says. 'I'd lie on my back looking up at the bits of sky. It was like lying at the bottom of a wolf trap, with all the crossed branches above.'

'Funny, I always pretended the branches were the thatched roof of my own secret house, where only the people I invited could stay,' I tell her.

'Except you never invited anyone. You preferred to be alone.'

Today's bread dough is s.h.i.+ny and smooth now. I set it aside in its dish, drape a cloth over it. Then fetch the beans Ah Leung dumped at the door this morning, and begin topping-and-tailing them.

'Do you remember the fig tree in St Newlyn's churchyard? The one with a curse on it?' Carrie asks, looking up.

The corners of my mouth feel heavy, nevertheless I can't stop a smile when I think of the old schoolyard chant. 'Who plucks a leaf will need a hea.r.s.e,' I recall.

'It's not a laughing matter,' she says, with a seriousness that doesn't suit her face. 'Didn't you hear the story of the church warden who took his shears to it when the branches blocked the gutters? He fell off his horse shortly afterwards and died.'

'Lots of men in the country have falls from their horses, Carrie.'

The ocean's particularly calm today. We hear a swis.h.i.+ng sound, accompanied by low, anti-tonal singing. Ah Leung with his scythe is clearing the long gra.s.s around the clothesline.

'Well, then,' she continues, 'remember the Archdeacon of Cornwall? He made a visit to the church in sixty-four. He tore off a few leaves to prove that the power of Christ was stronger than the power of the Devil. And guess what?'

'He had a heart attack and went to his maker. I know the stories, Carrie. He was ten years older than G.o.d himself. It was about time he kicked off from something.'

'Well,' she's digging around in the salt pig with the wooden spoon, mounting her arguments, 'what about the blacks?'

'I didn't know they'd been to Cornwall.'

She gives me a flat look. 'That bone that they point at their enemies. It's a human bone. And it doesn't matter if you know you've had it pointed at you or not. It doesn't matter if you believe it's nonsense. You waste away and die. Just like that.'

'We all waste away and die,' I say, 'eventually. Who's to say it wouldn't have happened anyway?'

She shakes her head. 'You're so stubborn! Even to the point of being wrong.'

I feel a small s.h.i.+ver in my chest. 'That's possibly the most accurate thing you've ever said about me.'

I take Porter's nautilus sh.e.l.l over to the sill by the shutters so that when the light s.h.i.+nes through, it will fall on its smooth surface.

'Mary, you didn't ever ... you know ... the fig tree?'

'Pick a leaf? Of course I did. Who could resist a challenge like that?'

'How could you be so reckless!'

'I'm not dead, am I?'

Ah Leung's still carving up the gra.s.sy air outside. The evening birds chatter at the feeder.

'Do you remember much about Grandfather, Carrie? Apart from the sweets?'

I'm thinking of Porter. Somehow I've conjoined the two men in my head. It seems somehow right, even perceptive of me, this balmy afternoon.

'He had neckerchiefs in different colours. And a walking stick with an eagle's head.'

'Clever girl. That's right.'

She's encouraged by my praise. 'He used to write letters with special paper. I remember the box. It had solid triangle shapes on it and palm trees. I asked Mama what the triangles were and she said they were pyramids.'

I nod. 'Charta Egypta. From the land of the Pharaohs. I memorised all of the writing on the box before I knew what the words meant.'

'Why?'

'Well, you know how, before you learn to read, when it's the shapes of words and letters you fall in love with?'

'Not really.'

I've lost her. But, we continue our work in a companionable silence.

Later, after the vegetables are done and the light has turned bruised-orange, she says, 'I was jealous of you and Grandfather. You always went on walks with him. You used to come back knowing all the names of the trees and plants. He never took me. You were his favourite.'

I don't deny it. 'I wish he'd been my father.'

I look down to the backs of my hands. They're blotchy with work. I've lost so much weight lately, the veins look like purple worms under a thin, writing-paper surface.

'I've asked Porter to get you pa.s.sage on a steamer out of Cooktown,' I say.

She pales a little. 'I thought you didn't want me to go back to Papa.'

'I don't. By the time you go, I'll have some money you can take.'

Percy hasn't yet been to Cooktown, but there are at least three dozen bags of slugs ready for transportation to the mainland. He will come back with the money that's owed me.

'But where will I go?' she asks.

'If Mama hasn't managed to save enough for the boarding school, there's a landlady I know, Mrs Menzies, who runs a house in Brisbane. She's an old harridan, but, if you pay your board, she can help you to find a job. You might have to lie about your age. Promise me you'll do it. You're not too young for domestic or governessing work. And you'll get all meals free, a bed and a small allowance.' Mr Wilson's fleshy face swims into my vision for a few seconds. 'Just stay away from drunks and lechers, no matter how attractive their propositions sound.'

I steel myself for her defence of Papa. Her accusations of paranoia. But they don't come. 'But what about Mama?'

I look across to the nautilus sh.e.l.l. It glows faintly in the last light. 'What about her? She's like me. She's made her bed, and now must lie in it.'

Her eyes are full of a new idea. 'But why must you lie in it? Come with me! We can have a place together. We can change our names so that Bob can't find you.'

'I can't leave the island just now, Carrie. Not yet. But when I can, I'll come for you. I swear it.'