The Thousand Smiles of Nicholas Goring (8 page)

"Well, yes," Dave agreed, his gut sinking. It was a fair point. "But I'm concerned that – that we make sure the Dreaming site isn't disturbed. And that the butterflies are safe."

"Yes," said one of the Elders, the one who'd nodded a welcome to Dave when he and Charlie first arrived. Dave didn't know his Indigenous name, but he went by the nickname ‘Thursday'.

"Thank you, Thursday," Dave said. "I guess I just need to know that – if we have to make this official somehow – you'll support Charlie about him knowing the songs."

"No, mate," Charlie protested. "It's you that belongs there."

Dave turned to stare at him.
Are you kidding … ?
"Mate, no one's gonna take that seriously!"

Charlie put on his most mulish expression, and insisted as he'd insisted before, "Old man grunter chose you." Then he kind of hunkered down inside himself as if withdrawing from all further discussion.

"I'll back you up, mate," Dave said, "but you've got to be the front man, if push comes to shove."

Silence.

Dave sighed, and fell into a ponder of his own. It wasn't that he had any firm plans yet, because he hardly knew what they'd be facing, but his initial sketches were already falling apart.

After a while, though, Thursday said, "You can speak for us, David. You can figure out what has to be done, and you can speak for us."

"I can?" he asked, somewhat flabbergasted.

"When it's time for us to speak, we will."

"Good. That's good. Wow." Dave hunkered down into himself, too, suddenly having a whole lot of rethinking to do. But he didn't neglect to say, "Thank you."

When he and Charlie finally got up to go, it wasn't only Thursday who nodded a farewell.

In town the next day, Dave ran into Ted Walinski as he, Nicholas and Robin were walking back from the shops. Part of Dave wondered if he should just push past the man on the grounds that sometimes discretion really is the better part of valour. Within the moment it took to reach him, though, Dave had decided that it was time to start taking a stand. "Morning," he said, pausing on the pavement in the shade of an awning.

"Morning, Mr Taylor," Walinski replied, stopping likewise, and nodding a genial greeting to them all.

"It's Goring Taylor now," Dave said.

"Right you are."

"Look," said Dave. "What are you up to?"

Walinski took a long cool look at him, and then glanced down at the pavement – almost as if miming a spit – before meeting his gaze again. "I'm doing some surveying for Mrs Wilson. Trying to establish her easterly boundaries."

"Henrietta Wilson?" She owned the larger of the two ranches on the far side of the waterhole.

"Yes. It's been dry, as you know. She wants to use more of her land to run her cattle, but it'll need fencing."

Dave considered the man. That was all fine, as far as it went, though the further east Henri Wilson pushed, the closer she'd get to the waterhole. Dave had to wonder if that was coincidence or not. He let that be, however, and tried another tack. "What about this rock you've been showing around? Getting everyone excited about mining rights."

Walinski started digging in his jeans pocket as soon as Dave said ‘rock', and held it out to him. "Here, then."

Dave didn't take the thing, but peered at it, as did Nicholas and Robin. It did look very much like the rock in the cliffs that surrounded the waterhole. In fact, Dave had to suppress an instinctive
zing
running through him – though whether that was recognition or simple anxiety, he had no idea.

"Does it look familiar?" Walinski asked.

"Mate, it looks like a rock." Dave stood tall again, though he couldn't help crossing his arms. "Lot o' years gone by since my high school geology class."

Robin pitched in, perhaps hoping to confuse the issue. "It's not one of those Yowah nuts you were telling me about, Uncle David? You said they were a kind of reddish colour."

"No, mate, definitely not one of those." He asked Walinski, "So, what's your interest? You working for one of the mining companies now, or you gonna be selling to the highest bidder?"

Walinski shrugged, and quipped, "That's ‘commercial in confidence', Mr Goring Taylor."

Dave let out a sigh. "So, this is really happening, isn't it?" He glanced at Nicholas, who nodded, with a tense expression on his face that Dave found nigh on unbearable. "Look, Mr Walinski," Dave said, turning to face the man square on. "There's a Dreamtime site out there, and there's a unique species of butterfly that Nicholas has written up in his … you know, academic journals and such. So, there's going to be some land that's off-limits."

A slow nod met this assertion, and after a long moment, Walinski said, "Thank you for telling me." He let a beat go by, and then lifted the rock between them again. "So, do you know where this is from?"

Dave took another breath, but then said, "I'll have to think about that."

"Fair enough."

"If I can help, I'll get back to you."

Walinski nodded, and held out his hand to shake. "Thank you, Mr Goring Taylor."

Dave shook the man's hand, more from a sense of fairness than an overwhelming sense of fellow feeling. And then they parted.

Dave, Nicholas and Robin continued back to the hotel in silence, though Dave sensed that Nicholas was barely restraining himself from speaking.

Finally, once they were in the privacy of the Land Cruiser heading back to Brisbane, Nicholas said, "The butterflies –"

"I know. I promise: we'll do whatever we have to, right?"

"Yes."

Dave glanced at his husband, really not liking to see anxiety so dark on Nicholas's brow. "You've done everything you can to document them, right? I mean, you've written articles, had them listed or – um, registered or whatever it is you do, yeah?"

"Yes." Nicholas returned his glance, a little rueful. "The only thing I couldn't do was really pinpoint the location. Though I described it as well as I was able."

"Of course, yeah."

A moment dragged by. Until finally Nicholas said, "Maybe we're the ones who need a surveyor."

Dave frowned over that, but he had to acknowledge, "Maybe you're right."

They arrived home late that night. Robin was hungry, so Dave began gathering the makings for an omelette, while Robin sat and shared his attention between watching Dave and checking his phone.

When Nicholas appeared, however, Robin put the phone down. Nicholas was looking a bit tired and careworn, but not unhappy. He diverted to press a grateful kiss to Dave's temple before going to sit opposite Robin – and then they were all quiet for a long moment.

Finally Robin said, "Uncle Nicholas –"

"Yes?" Nicholas prompted with the slightest of smiles, which seemed to be all he could muster.

"You know what we talked about … about me, I mean."

"Yes." Nicholas sat up, and leaned forward. Dropped his face into his hands and rubbed hard, as if trying to wake himself up. When he looked at Robin again, he said, "I'm sorry. Events kind of overtook us, didn't they?"

Robin took a breath. "I just want to know that we're … all right."

Nicholas put a bit more effort into his smile. "Of course we're all right, Robin. I love you no matter what. We both do. Always will."

"You don't understand, though, do you?"

"Does that matter?" Nicholas sat back again, turning a tad disgruntled despite himself. "Isn't unconditional love good enough any more?"

Robin's cheeks coloured in chagrin, and he picked up his phone again though he didn't look at it.

Dave had finished chopping the shallots and bacon, so he put them on to sauté – at a low heat, just in case the meal needed to be delayed.

Eventually Nicholas burst out, "I just think you're missing out on something – something marvellous. Maybe even –" He glanced at Dave, and seemed to grow in conviction. "Yes. One of the best bits of life."

"I'm perfectly happy being a virgin," Robin steadily replied, "and I probably always will be. It's not going to be, like … something I regret."

"But how do you
know
if you haven't tried?"

"How do you know you don't want to go to bed with a girl?"

"That's really
not
the same thing. I wish you'd stop trying to compare my situation to yours."

When Robin didn't reply, Dave put down the cheese he was grating, and tried, "Nicholas, perhaps you can just be happy that Robin is happy."

"How can he be happy at the
lack
of something?" Nicholas demanded.

"Well, I don't know. But it seems like he is. Doesn't it?"

Nicholas considered Dave. Considered Robin. Finally sighed, and gave in with a nod. "All right, yes. Fine. Robin, I'm happy if you're happy."

"I'm happy," Robin said, though in a very small voice.

"That's good, then," Nicholas concluded. "That's great." He got up and went to lean over Robin to give him a hug.

"Thank you, Uncle Nicholas."

"No worries," said Nicholas – which made Dave smile, as it was such an Aussie expression. But then Nicholas stood, and headed towards the hallway. "I'm going to bed," he announced, with an apologetic smile for Dave. "I'm sorry, that smells delicious, but I'm really not hungry."

"No worries," Dave said in turn, smiling fondly at his husband as he and Robin wished each other goodnight. "See you in a bit." Then Nicholas was gone, and Dave turned to Robin. "You're still hungry, I hope?"

"Too right, I am!"

"That's grand." And Dave poured the beaten eggs into the pan, where they sizzled in a most satisfying manner.

"I have an idea," Nicholas announced the next morning over breakfast.

Dave and Robin looked at him expectantly.

"It might not only be the butterflies that are unique. When I took a sample of the wattle to one of my colleagues in Flora, she couldn't identify it for certain. She said it was very close to two different species, but couldn't decide between them. So that's how I wrote it up, and I never really pursued it further. But maybe it's time."

Dave nodded, but asked, "Time for what?"

"Well … maybe to bring back some proper samples for Lisa to analyse – if she has the resources. Though I'm sure she'd find a way to make it happen, wouldn't she? If it might be a new species of
Acacia
, I mean."

"She didn't pursue it before, though?"

Nicholas tilted his head in a quibble. "I may have over-emphasised the secret side of it being a sacred site. But it's been isolated for so long – the wattle, I mean – and in a symbiotic relationship of sorts with the butterflies. Whatever it used to be may well have evolved into something else by now."

"Symbiotic?" Dave said. "That makes it sound a bit – weird."

"Well, I just mean, given there don't seem to be any other insects around, and it's so sheltered there, it must be the butterflies that pollinate it. In return, it provides them with shelter and sustenance – and so on, and so on. It's this whole …"

"Great Circle of Life," Robin chipped in.

Nicholas laughed. "Yes, I was going to try for something more original, but that's it exactly."

Dave smiled at them both, and once the laughter had quietened, he said, "Would she come out on a trip, do you think, to see the wattle at the waterhole?"

"Oh," said Nicholas.

"Be better to see it in place, wouldn't it? In its natural habitat? And you don't want to take too much away as a sample. It's not like there's a lot of it, as it is."

"Oh, well. That would be great, and I'm sure she'd love to. But what about keeping the waterhole secret?"

"I've just been thinking, old man grunter won't mind me sharing it a bit wider. In fact, I'm thinking maybe it's time. And anyway, the place keeps its own secrets. We're still the only ones who've actually managed to find it, since Charlie's friend died."

"
You're
the one who finds it," Nicholas corrected him, "each and every time. All right, I'll talk to her today, and see what she thinks. Robin," he added, turning towards the young man. "Do you want to come to the university with me for the day? Shall we give David a break from all the Goring dramatics?"

"He's probably earned it," Robin agreed.

Dave just laughed.

Dave had business to pursue, in any case. He'd made an appointment for an initial interview with a lawyer at the Native Title Services organisation that covered the Cunnamulla region, and what with the fossicking trip coming up, he'd pushed to make it sooner rather than later.

So that afternoon Dave headed into the city, dressed in a proper shirt and trousers, and ended up sitting across a desk from a man of about Dave's own age or a bit younger, named Martin Bandjara. The place was obviously busy, with the phones in the main office ringing amidst ongoing chatter, and Martin's desk piled high with paperwork. He seemed genuinely interested in taking the time to engage with Dave, though, and when he asked, "How can I help you?" he seemed to really want to know.

"I'm interested," said Dave – "well, it's early days yet, but I'm interested in making a claim for Native Title."

"And you're acting on behalf of … ?"

"Myself, really. Or the Dreaming site, I guess. Basically, I'm looking to protect a Dreaming site."

Martin let a beat go by, and then he said, "Forgive me. But you look to be – white."

Dave huffed a breath that might almost have been a laugh. "I'm a white fella, yes. I realise this is probably a bit … unusual."

"You have an Indigenous predecessor, perhaps? A grandparent or great-grandparent?"

"Not that I know of. My dad's family were English; he emigrated, and I was born here. My mum's family were Irish and English originally, but they've been out here for generations."

"Ah, so there's a possibility one of them might have married an Indigenous person, or had a child with one, at least?"

Dave shook his head, beginning to realise that Martin's persistence didn't bode well for his case. "No, I really don't think so."

"The family might have … hidden the fact."