Capricornia

“Blast you!” cried Oscar. “Shut up!”

Steady moan.

“Shut up!” roared Oscar, and moved. Nawnim moved. Oscar snatched up a stick and rushed. Nawnim fled howling, to fall shrieking when Oscar caught him a sound whack on the seat of the spotted blue pants. Oscar pounced on him shouting, “Shut up—shut up—shut up!”

Gritting his teeth with rage, Oscar picked him up and carried him down to the camp, prepared to ease his feelings on those he considered he could flog without stooping to cowardice, the delinquent natives. But they were not there. Nawnim had worn their patience to rags. They had taken their belongings and gone bush. He had been driven to the homestead by hunger and loneliness.

As Oscar’s precepts would not allow him to copy the wisdom of the natives, he had to carry Nawnim back to the house. He dumped him under the scarlet tree where he had found him, and left him bawling, to go find Constance. Constance was away on the run with her father.

Oscar came back fuming, to find to his surprise that Nawnim was as quiet as a mouse, standing in his usual attitude, staring at Marigold. When he saw Oscar he prepared for flight. Oscar was too wise to go near him. He crept back to his chair.

“Can I play with the lil boy Daddy?” asked Marigold.

“No—stay where you are.”

“But I wanna play.”

“Stay where you are.”

“But Daddy—” she said, coming towards him.

The instant she passed out of Nawnim’s sight was announced by a long-drawn moan. Realising at once what was the cause of the good behaviour, Oscar said quickly, “Go back to the edge and stay there.”

“But can’t I play?”

“No—go back—for heaven’s sake go back!”

The moaning stopped. But Marigold did not stop entreating. “Why can’t I play wid him Daddy?” she begged. “He’s not a lil niggah.”

“He is. Now be quiet. Throw him that doll—anything—everything if you like—but stay where he can see you. Let me have a moment’s peace for heaven’s sake. There’s been no peace in the place since that brat came near it.”

There was peace that night and thenceforth. Nawnim went to sleep on a lounge on the back veranda within sound of the last sleepy words of Marigold. Next day he spent under the poinciana tree, playing with a doll and watching Marigold, seeing her not merely as a desirable playmate as she saw him, but, since she was so different from any creature he had seen and clad in garments that amazed him, rather as a human monstrosity like Anna’s Japs an’ Chows.

After a while he lost his distrust of Constance and could be placed in Differ’s house. He slept there in the cot that had been bought for his cousin Roger. Constance taught him to use a knife and fork and spoon, discouraged him from the practice of voiding urine indiscriminately, and made him a laughable suit of clothes.

But Oscar’s troubles were far from done. The child was still his nephew. He believed that in his heart though he would not admit it. The sight of him was a constant reminder of terrible disgrace. And Marigold made matters worse by pestering him for permission to play with the child, taking advantage of a situation he had created by frequent sentimental talks about Dear Mumma and the loneliness to which that faithless one had left them both, backing up her petitions with such heartrending statements as, “Oh dear I am such a lonely lil girl Daddy—no mumma an’ no nobody even to play wiv—Oh Oh, I am so lonely lonely!”

When Oscar and Marigold next went to meet the mail-train, Nawnim went with them, not for a treat as he and she supposed, but for the purpose of being disposed of should a chance occur. Oscar had lately learnt that Jock had left Copper Creek for home, not by the usual route that would take him past the Melisande telegraph-station, but by one that lay far to westward, being forced to go out of his way because the Melisande River was in flood. And according to the report the fellow had gone on his way blind drunk. Oscar’s hope was that there might be someone on the train going out Jock’s way to whom he could give Nawnim. It turned out to be a vain one.

At the Siding he left Nawnim in the buckboard with a black boy and well out of sight of the house, and studiously avoided any form of conversation with the people there that might lead to questions concerning him. He felt sure that they were laughing at him. When Mrs McLash told him that some unknown person had sent her a box of unwanted kittens up from town last train he frowned and left her.

It happened that the people at the Siding had no need to ask questions about Nawnim. Differ had been in a couple of times for grog since the child’s arrival at Red Ochre and had talked; and Frank McLash had been out there for beef when the rioting was at its height. As a matter of fact the story of Nawnim’s doings since his coming into the district was known to nearly everyone on the one hundred and fifty-seven miles of railway. Mrs McLash had gossiped about it over the telephone to Mrs Blaize of Soda Springs; and since all the railway telephones were connected to the same line and all the bells rang together and all the operators made a practice of listening to every conversation whether the signal-rings told them it was intended for their ears or not and then passed on what they heard, such gossip, in that country where all news was good because it was scarce, could travel quick and far.

Oscar learnt from passengers that Mark was still in town and staying at the Princess Alice. It did not strike him as strange that he should be staying there, not knowing that he had been avoiding Heather previously. As a matter of fact Mark and Heather had lately come together again. Mark had got bold through having got rid of his shame. Heather was going to help him with his pearling.

Oscar did not think of Heather at all. He was thinking of how annoying it was that he could not telephone Mark and ask if there were truth in Jock’s assertions without telling his business to the world. Before he left he wrote Mark a letter.

Thus Nawnim’s ride to the Siding turned out to be a treat after all. He went back to Red Ochre sitting high on the stores in the carrier of the buckboard, listening to Marigold’s and Oscar’s singing, and loving them with all his little heart.

That night Differ came to Oscar to see the papers that had come by the monthly mail from South. Oscar was glad to see that he was sober, even if reeking with drink. Differ was a drunkard; train-days were his weak-days; but lately he had been drinking less through having been threatened with dismissal if he continued in the old sottish way.

“Well,” said Differ, after learning of the failure to dispose of Nawnim, “and what’re you going to do with him now?”

“Think I’ll send him up to the Compound on Friday’s train,” said Oscar.

“Eh?—Oh that’s a hell of a place. He’d be better with the black Binghis.”

“What else can I do with him? I won’t be able to get in touch with Driver for months.”

“Why not keep him yourself?”

“He’s no good to me. Binghis are as good as half-castes any day, and give less trouble.”

“Other men find good use for ’em,” said Differ dryly.

Oscar looked him in the eye and said “Yes?” It was meant as a thrust. Differ used Constance as a drudge.

It seemed lost on Differ, who went on, “You can do as much good with a half-caste as a white. There’s my little Connie to prove it.” Differ, who was an educated man, had schooled his daughter well.

“She’s young yet,” said Oscar. “Wait’ll she gets out on her own away from your influence.”

“She won’t do that if I can help it. I want to take her South out of this colour-mad hole.”

“No matter where she is, the stigma of the Binghi blood’ll always be on her.”

Differ smiled as he answered, “Ah no—I’ll pretend she’s a half-caste of another race—Javanese or some such race that the mob doesn’t know much about and therefore’ll respect. She could pass for a half-caste Javanese. She could pass for a Javanese princess, in fact. Then she could marry well and mix with the best society.”

Oscar wondered whether Differ were not drunk after all. He asked after a pause, “You mean that?”

“Yes—to an extent. I mean I’m going to do all I can to make up for the crime of begetting her. Certainly I can’t let her stay here and live for ever regarded as an Aboriginal. And she’d be regarded the same down South if I didn’t say she was a half-caste of another breed.”

“But that’s cruel—making her live a lie.”

“How’s she going to live otherwise and be happy as she ought to be? You’ve got to lie to fools—or they’ll crush you for not being to their liking.”

“Half-castes should be left in their place—with the Binghis. That’s the kindest way to treat ’em. If they don’t know they’ve got rights they won’t want ’em. What the eye doesn’t see, you know.”

Differ smiled and stroked his chin, then said, “But why left with the Binghis?”

“Because they’re half that.”

“What about the other half—the white?”

“That’s submerged.”

Differ smiled again, and after a while said smoothly, “You look on Binghis as animals. They’re not really. They’ve got a different code to ours, that’s all—but one no more different in its way than a Chinaman’s. As a matter of fact their code of simple brotherhood is the true Christian one. Retarding sort of thing, of course, when considered in the light of our own barbarous ways, still, the recognised ethical one of civilisation, whether practised or no. Civilised people are still too raw and greedy to be true Christians. The Binghis are a very ancient race who’ve had the advantage of living in small numbers in a land that supplied their every need. Of course they had to limit their population and guard their game to make the advantage a permanent one. At any rate, they were able to overcome the sheer animal greed that is the chief character of the average creature of the races of the Northern Hemisphere. The Binghis are really highly intelligent. Apart from their own very wise practices, which naturally look ridiculous when judged beside our entirely different ones, see how eager they are to learn anything a whiteman’ll teach ’em. Trouble is whitemen won’t teach ’em anything that might raise ’em a bit—”

“Go on! You can’t teach ’em. I’ve tried.”