The Girl with No Name Read online

  ‘So you took them home?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, keep them for you. Can’t leave them in the bush. Someone might steal them.’

  ‘The police thought you did.’

  ‘I know. I was home by myself. The police come to my granny’s house. They ask me for your bag, and I show them. Then they take me to police station.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell them it wasn’t you that took them?’

  ‘I was feeling frighten. Might be they blame my brother for stealing. They might lock ’im up. I never say anything.’

  ‘You don’t know where I live, do you?’ asked Matthew.

  ‘Yeah, I know. But can’t go your house.’ No-name laughed.

  ‘Why not?’

  She shrugged. ‘Your father might get wild with us.’

  Matthew said nothing. He couldn’t picture his father getting wild exactly, just stern and gruff, but he suddenly saw him from the girl’s point of view. How intimidating a prison officer must seem to her. He remembered how fearful he had been about going inside the community where No-name lived. A simple thing like knocking on his front door would be just as terrifying for No-name. Probably worse. And then having to explain how she happened to have Matthew’s missing things. No, he could see she couldn’t have done that.

  Just then the recess siren rang out, and No-name ran off towards the classrooms. Her loose dress flew out behind her, and Matthew recognised it as the same one she had worn the day he’d first met her.

  seven

  Jampijin

  Matthew’s father reacted badly when Matthew told him what had really happened to his belongings.

  ‘She was keeping my things for me.’

  ‘I suppose you believe that story,’ his father snorted.

  ‘Of course I do,’ said Matthew hotly. ‘I know it’s true.’

  ‘And I suppose you believe you’d have got everything back if the police hadn’t found it for you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Matthew staunchly. ‘She was waiting till she saw me.’

  ‘It would have been a long wait, I can tell you.’ Matthew’s father went back to reading his paper.

  ‘She’d have seen me at school.’

  ‘Two weeks later?’

  His father would not accept that No-name and her relations were too shy or too frightened to come to the house. ‘Why should they be shy?’ he asked. ‘They know you. They know where you live. They had to drive right past this house on their way back to Two-mile. Of course they weren’t going to give anything back. You’re too trusting, my boy. You’ll learn the hard way.’

  Matthew held his tongue with difficulty. There was no arguing with his father. If he did he’d end up losing his temper, and then there’d be trouble. He went to his room blazing with indignation.

  After that meeting in the schoolyard, Matthew often saw No-name. She didn’t seem to go to school every day, and even when he saw her there she didn’t always come and speak to him, and never when he was with any of his friends. When she did come up she usually spoke fleetingly and soon ran off to disappear amongst other black girls in her age-group. She seemed shyer and less sure of herself than she had been in the bush.

  The memory of the day they had met was never far from Matthew’s thoughts. It was as if a process had been started in him, and he was waiting for it to continue. He wanted to go into the bush again. He knew too that he only wanted to go with No-name.

  One day after school he ran into No-name on his way out of the yard with Nick. He stopped to talk to her. Nick winked broadly, then hurried off to catch up with another boy. Matthew was grateful. He walked with No-name, pushing his bike, as far as the reserve. He hesitated at the entrance, but No-name seemed to expect him to go in with her, so he wheeled his bike beside her up to the blue house. A few people acknowledged him with a friendly wave or a nod of the head. He felt pleased to be recognised.

  ‘Ah, Jampijin!’ came the voice of No-name’s grandmother as they approached the house. The old woman was sitting on the ground in the front yard. She had a naked little boy of about two at her side. Matthew greeted her and she took his hand in her claw. This time, he didn’t wince. No-name went behind the house and came back holding a puppy, which she showed to Matthew, who took it and held it carefully in his hands. It was tiny, its eyes still closed. Behind No-name came the puppy’s mother, teats heavy with milk, looking a little anxious about her offspring.

  ‘What’s that your granny calls me?’ asked Matthew, when he had given back the puppy. ‘It sounds like Jamby something.’ No-name laughed as she had done that first time.

  ‘Jampijin,’ she said. ‘That’s a skin name.’

  ‘A skin name?’ said Matthew, puzzled. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Everybody got a skin name,’ said No-name.

  ‘Yes? What’s yours?’

  ‘Me, I’m Napangarti.’ No-name laughed again. Matthew remembered her grandmother had used a term like that when he had visited the reserve before. He tried to say it: ‘Nabanahty.’ No-name corrected him until he got it right.

  ‘What does it mean, to be Jampijin?’ he asked her. She hesitated.

  ‘Jampijin, ’im right way for Napangarti!’ put in her grandmother, who had been following the conversation while seeming not to. No-name laughed again while Matthew looked nonplussed.

  ‘Right way? Right way for what?’

  ‘Jampijin and Napangarti, they husband and wife,’ explained the old woman. ‘Napangarti get marry to Jampijin!’ She chuckled happily, while Matthew and No-name tried to hide their embarrassment by playing with the puppy.

  Next day, during library period, Matthew browsed amongst the books on Australian Aboriginal culture. He wasn’t sure where to start looking, so when the library teacher came past he asked her where he could find out something about ‘skin’ names. She seemed to know what he was talking about, and soon pulled down a book on Kimberley history.

  ‘I think this one has a good chapter on the Aboriginal people before white people came here,’ she said. Together they skimmed over the first pages until they found a section called Kinship Systems.

  ‘This must be it,’ said Matthew. ‘Thanks.’ He settled down at a library desk, where the girl who usually came top of his class was already deeply absorbed in a serious-looking work, and started to read.

  The book described the different categories of relationship recognised in Aboriginal societies, and it was here that Matthew understood what No-name had meant when she’d said her brother was ‘not her really brother’ but her ‘cousin-brother’. It turned out that one’s father’s brother was also called ‘father’, and one’s mother’s sister was called ‘mother’. It followed that one called the children of these ‘fathers’ or ‘mothers’ brother and sister instead of cousin. There were other differences Matthew had not known about. He read of classificatory kin – how everyone in the whole society was classified in relationship to everyone else. These relationships were determined by the ‘skin’ or section/subsection system. The chapter went on to explain about the variety of skin groups … still in use amongst people, mainly in the north of the country, where traditions are more intact than in places where European settlement has been going on for much longer:

  There are other forms of social division known as moieties, having only two divisions,’ he read, ‘sections having four, and subsections, of which there are eight. There are different systems in different regions, but the main characteristic of all of them is that they determine relationships, and especially eligibility for marriage. A person belonging to one section should only marry a person from the opposite one. The eight subsection system restricts the choice of marriage partners even further.

  It seemed that one’s subsection was determined before birth, and depended on the subsection of one’s mother, but was not the same as hers. A number of systems from different regions were shown in chart form, with each skin name written opposite that of its eligible marriage group. He searched till he found Jampijin. Opposite Jampijin w
as the name Napangarti – No-name’s skin. Matthew learnt that being Jampijin made him a possible husband not only to No-name but to most other Napangartis, and at the same time put him in corresponding relationships with everyone else in the society. He learnt that strictly he should not talk to No-name’s mother, as his potential mother-in-law, nor indeed to the mother of any other Napangarti who was eligible to be his wife. There was no explanation for this – it just seemed to be one of the rules. But he had heard of other societies in which sons-in-law and mothers-in-law were supposed to avoid one another.

  ‘Jampijin,’ he said to himself proudly. ‘Jampijin.’ He liked the sound of it. He had a skin name that related him to everyone in No-name’s community. That was something he wasn’t going to tell his father.

  One morning when he spotted No-name with a couple of other girls outside the school yard, Matthew stopped to speak with her. The other girls melted away.

  ‘When are you going out bush again?’ he asked.

  ‘We go every weekend time, nearly,’ she told him.

  ‘Every weekend?’ Matthew hesitated. ‘I might ride down to Goanna Gorge again on Saturday,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll find you there?’

  ‘Might be you get lost,’ said No-name, matter-of-factly. ‘What about you come with us for weekend?’

  Matthew’s heart jumped. To go camping out with No-name and her family was something he had not dared think of. ‘You reckon I can? What about your parents?’

  ‘ ’Course you can come. I’ll tell Mummy.’ Matthew noticed how unselfconsciously she used the childish term. He thought then of his own parents. He could never have assumed the right to invite No-name on a family outing with them. Not that he would want to. His father would be sure to embarrass him by behaving gruff and unwelcoming, while his mother would try too hard to be nice and make everyone feel awkward. They were like that even with his white school friends; the thought of how they would behave with No-name was excruciating.

  When Matthew asked his parents if he could spend a weekend with No-name’s family, they were astounded.

  ‘But they stole your things!’ said his mother.

  ‘They didn’t steal them,’ said Matthew, patiently. ‘One of her relations picked them up. That wasn’t her fault. I’ve explained all that to you before.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Nick and your other friends?’ asked his father. ‘Why can’t you go camping with them?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with Nick. But he hasn’t asked me to go camping, Frances has. What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘We haven’t met her, or her family.’

  Matthew hesitated. He didn’t really want his parents to meet No-name’s family. He felt sure they wouldn’t know what to say to them, and would be patronising. But if that was the only way they’d let him go …

  ‘You could meet them on Friday,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I know them. They helped me when I was lost, don’t forget.’

  ‘Hm,’ said his father by way of acknowledgement. ‘That’s true enough. You’re probably safer with them than wandering around in the bush on your own.’

  ‘Of course I am!’ Matthew could see his father was relenting.

  ‘What will you get to eat?’ his mother asked. ‘Snakes and lizards?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Matthew, who was keen to learn about living in the bush. ‘But I’ll take some other food as well. To contribute.’

  His father was scornful. ‘Don’t expect to have anything left,’ he said.

  Matthew couldn’t see any point in taking food away for the weekend and then bringing some of it back again, but neither of his parents had said he couldn’t go, so he let the comment pass.

  After school on Friday, Matthew hurried home and was all ready waiting with his pack and sleeping-bag when four o’clock came. No-name had told him that was about the time they’d drive past, and he had promised to wait outside so that she wouldn’t have to knock at the door. His father would still be at work till six, and Matthew, in a state of anxiety, asked his mother not to make a fuss when the car came. ‘Just say hello or something,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask them a whole lot of questions. They might think you don’t trust them.’

  ‘Matthew, I do have some sensitivity,’ said his mother, offended.

  But four o’clock, then five o’clock came and went, and there was no sign of the old ute. Matthew walked restlessly to the end of the road and back. He hardly dared go into the house for fear the ute would come when he was not there and drive off without him. But at last darkness fell and he gave up and went inside. He was too dispirited to speak.

  ‘I told you you can’t rely on them,’ said his father when he came home, having told Matthew no such thing.

  ‘Something must have happened,’ said Matthew with an effort. He was standing by the window still watching the road, in case they came late.

  ‘Never mind,’ said his mother, switching on the electric kettle to make tea. She seemed relieved he wasn’t going after all. ‘You can go for a ride somewhere tomorrow on your own, or with one of your real friends.’

  ‘Frances is my real friend,’ said Matthew. He didn’t call her No-name to his parents. That was something special he kept to himself.

  eight

  Back to the Bush

  Next morning, just as Matthew was wheeling his bicycle onto the road, a car pulled up in front of the house and a horn blared. It was the old ute laden with people, jerry cans of fuel, drums of flour, and a heap of swags. No-name was seated on top of the swags on the back. She waved, grinning. Matthew leaned his bike against the fence and went up to her. Everyone was smiling at him.

  ‘You coming?’ asked the girl, as if this was the arrangement they had made.

  ‘You bet!’ Matthew didn’t hesitate. While the car waited outside, engine idling, he ran indoors to grab his things.

  ‘They’re here!’ he told his mother. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Before she could utter the protest that was forming on her lips, Matthew raced into the kitchen for the food he had put back into the fridge the night before, and stuffed it in his bag. He ran outside, glancing back to see the worried face of his mother who was standing at the door. He gave her a quick wave and ran to the car.

  No-name took his pack and sleeping-bag and stowed them in the back of the ute. Her grandmother smiled and nodded at him. There were two other women in the back, and several children of different ages.

  ‘This my mother,’ Matthew shook hands with the woman in whose face he could see a likeness to No-name. ‘And this my aunty. And this my ’nother aunty.’ When he had shaken hands with all the women Matthew was about to climb up beside them, but they waved him to the front, where space had been made for him in the passenger seat. He looked up at No-name, but she smiled encouragement, so he got in next to a young man, tall and lean in narrow jeans. Matthew recognised the boots at once. No-name’s cousin-brother Alfie! He glanced up at his face, and was surprised to see the young man grinning at him broadly, with no trace of embarrassment. After a moment of paralysis, Matthew felt his own face breaking into a smile. The young man held out his hand, and Matthew took it. Not a word had been exchanged, but he knew they understood one another, and were now friends.

  Squeezed in between the young man and the driver was a boy a year or two younger than Matthew. He looked at Matthew curiously and smiled, but said nothing.

  The driver, a big man wearing a dark brown cowboy hat with a high crown, leaned across and shook hands with Matthew.

  ‘G’day, young feller,’ he said, giving him a warm smile. Matthew supposed he must be No-name’s father.

  They drove at a leisurely pace, windows open, and Matthew looked out at the hilly countryside around him. He watched the hawks circling slowly against the endless blue. He felt utterly happy.

  Just after crossing the dry creek north of Goanna Gorge, the car slowed down and turned off along a bush track Matthew had never noticed before. They went slowly, but the springs of the old car were well worn, and the track was bumpy. N
ow and again, when they hit a particularly big bump, the people on the back shrieked. By adjusting the wing mirror slightly, Matthew could see No-name with her head thrown back, laughing uproariously. It was the first time he had seen her so relaxed.

  The track wound on through the dry elephant grass. Matthew wondered how the first people who drove through there could possibly have known where they were going. Then he remembered No-name’s familiarity with the bush the day she had found him. Anyone who knew the country that well on foot would have known where to drive a car.

  Some way along the track, the car pulled up. No-name’s two aunties got out, with Alfie, some of the children and a pile of swags and bags and billies. They seemed to be camping independently. After helping with the unloading, the older man got back into the driver’s seat and they went on.

  At length they came out in a clearing, and at once Matthew recognised the camp No-name had brought him to the day she had found him. The sheet of canvas was still there, and the driver parked the ute in the place where Matthew had first seen it. Everyone got out of the car and unloaded the swags, drums and bags of food.

  Matthew stood beside No-name, his pack at his feet, suddenly feeling shy. ‘Where shall I put this?’ he asked, more for the sake of saying something than because it mattered. No-name picked up his pack and dumped it on the old bed frame, and Matthew put his sleeping-bag beside it. Everyone else’s swags lay in a big heap on the ground. Matthew hoped they didn’t think he was being fussy.

  Instructions flew from adult to adult, from adult to child, in a language Matthew did not understand, and necessary articles were found and fetched. No-name’s mother was soon sitting on the ground in front of a big enamel basin, kneading flour and water into a great wad of dough. The man, meanwhile, had the bonnet of the car up, and was tinkering with the engine.

  ‘That your father?’ Matthew asked No-name, as he was helping her to pour water from a heavy plastic container into a billy.