The Winds of Heaven by Judith Clarke

mother’s eyebrows pleat up in a frown. ‘We’ll see,’ she murmured. It was the answer she’d given in the train when Clementine had asked if she’d be able to swim in Lake Conapaira. ‘We’ll see,’ Mrs Southey had said, when all along she’d known the lake was too deep and there were big leeches that fastened to your legs and grew fat and brown with sucking on your blood. ‘We’ll see,’ was what her mother answered when she wanted to say ‘no’ but didn’t want to say it yet; when she was hoping you’d forget all about the awkward thing you wanted. Clementine stumped off to bed.
    It was hours later when Aunty Rene returned, and the bang of the door as she came in was so loud that the whole house shook and rattled and Clementine woke with a fright in her bed.
    ‘It’s all over town and of course I’m the last one to know!’ Aunty Rene was shouting from the lounge room.
    ‘Calm down, Rene,’ she heard her mother say in a frightened voice. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s all over town?’
    Aunty Rene didn’t answer her sister’s question; she went on yelling as if she hadn’t heard. ‘I hate this bloody place! I hate it, hate it!’
    ‘Rene, what’s the matter? What’s happened?’
    ‘Happened! As if we hadn’t sunk low enough! His Lordship off to Gunnesweare and that little madam in trouble up the school more than she’s out of it. And now she’s hangin’ round with boongs!’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You heard me! Hangin’ round with boongs!’
    ‘Are you talking about
Fan
?’
    ‘Who else?’
    ‘But – but I thought the Aboriginal people lived out of town, at the camp.’
    ‘Not him! Not that old bugger got a humpy the other side of the lake!’
    ‘The old black man? Rene, what on earth do you mean? What’s the harm there? Mrs Ryland at the baker’s was telling me about him only yesterday when I went down to get the bread. She said he’s some kind of storyteller…’
    ‘Storyteller!’
    ‘That’s what Mrs Ryland said. Her brother’s staying with her at the moment. He’s a historian from the university and he goes to talk to that old man.’
    ‘The university! Don’t talk to me about bloody universities!’
    ‘If people saw Fan out there, that’s what she’d have been doing: getting the old man to tell her stories. You know how she loves that sort of thing. What harm can it do?’
    ‘What harm?’ Aunty Rene’s voice was incredulous. ‘You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Cissie! I’ll tell you what bloody harm! He might be old, and he might be some kind of storyteller, like you say – but he’s a boong, isn’t he? He’s got mates, young mates, take my word for it.’
    ‘
What?
’ Clementine felt the ring of shock in her mother’s voice.
    ‘You
heard
!’ There was a small sharp bang! followed by a broken tinkling, as if Aunty Rene had thrown a cup or plate against the wall and it had fallen in a shatter on the floor. ‘She’ll be out the bloody river camp, next! She’ll be hangin’round there! And you know what they say about girls who hang round the river camp!’
    ‘Rene, you’ve got it all wrong, I’m sure you have.’
    ‘Got it wrong, have I?’
    ‘This is your own child you’re talking about, and Fan
is
a child, she’s hardly ten.’
    ‘Hardly ten, eh? Well, ten’s near enough to twelve, isn’t it? And twelve to fourteen? They start early up here, Cissie.’
    ‘Start
early
? Rene, I can’t believe you’re saying all this. How can you? Fan’s a good girl.’
    ‘A good girl? You tried talkin’ to her teachers?’
    ‘That’s only because she doesn’t do well at school. It’s got nothing to do with – with the sort of thing you – you mean.’
    ‘You sayin’ if she’s bad it’s my fault?’
    ‘No! Of course not! And she’s
not
bad. Listen, what I’m saying is that Fan – ’ Mrs Southey’s next words were drowned out because Aunty Rene had started screaming.
    ‘lt’s gunna happen!’ she