Calypso Summer by Jared Thomas Page A

magpies flew past. The crows wouldn’t stop their squawking.
    At the front of the property I could see an old tattered mattress near the fence. I wondered if it was a bed for the dogs barkingaround the back of the house. Although the plants out the front of the house were set out neatly, Aunty Janet’s house was just a fibro transportable, nothing too flash about it. There were kids’ handprints smeared on the lemon paint.
    After about ten minutes of waiting, I started to wonder why no one had come out to meet me. I repositioned myself so that I could look at the old men again. They kind of reminded me of pictures of King Haile Selassie I that I’d seen in books and and uniform and that. The old men looked royal like Selassie, even in old slippers, simple slacks and shirts. With their white documentaries about Bob Marley, with Selassie wearing his crown beards and walking sticks, they looked like they’d seen everything.
    At last, someone stepped out of Aunty Janet’s front door. It was a woman, maybe about Evelyn’s age, she looked a bit like Evelyn too. She was thin with long black hair and dark skin. She was real stressed and hurriedly lit a cigarette. I waited for the woman to take a few drags and then I said, ‘Howdy, I’m Calypso.’
    â€˜Calypso!’ she shrieked, coming over to kiss me on the cheek. ‘I thought your name was Kyle, that’s what Mum said it was!’
    â€˜Yeah, that’s my real name but everyone calls me Calypso.’
    â€˜True? You don’t look like a Kyle, you look like a Calypso.’
    â€˜You’re Aunty Janet’s daughter then?’
    â€˜Mel,’ she said, giving me a hug. ‘Long time no see little cuz,’ she said.
    â€˜So what’s going on in there?’ I asked.
    â€˜Big meeting,’ Mel replied, ‘The Aboriginal Lands Trust want us to do some bloody thing.’
    â€˜Lands Trust?’
    â€˜Yeah, all about Baroota, over there,’ Mel indicated with her chin, pointing toward the hills in the east.
    â€˜What’s Baroota?’ I asked.
    â€˜You don’t know Baroota,’ she said, raising an eyebrow.
    â€˜It’s where lots of the old people were born and lived, your Grandfather too I reckon. Baroota means place of good tucker you know?’
    â€˜Oh yeah, Mum told me about it.’
    â€˜Where you been anyways cuz?’
    â€˜City,’ I replied.
    â€˜Yeah, you look like you come from the city too,’ said Mel, reaching out to touch one of my dreads. I thought I heard the old men chuckling but when I turned to look at them they were only sipping tea.
    â€˜When you reckon I can see Aunty Janet?’
    â€˜When the meeting’s over, shouldn’t be long now,’ she said and then walked back into the house.
    I just stayed there sitting on the porch feeling like a dickhead. I was getting paranoid about the old men, thinking they could read my thoughts or something. I kept looking to the horizon, across the gulf and then back to the plants and trees on Aunty Janet’s property. I wondered how far I’d have to search for the plants I was after. Then I heard chairs scraping across the floor and some people arguing, their voices getting rowdy. Talk about making me feel uncomfortable but I couldn’t just get up and walk off.
    After an hour or so of sitting there in the heat with the old men, the barking dogs, the squawking crows, Mel and two men stepped out onto the veranda.
    â€˜This is Calypso,’ Mel told them.
    I got up from the edge of the veranda to shake both of their hands.
    â€˜We know who he is,’ said the older and fatter fella who introduced himself as Bruce. ‘G’day, I’m Vic,’ said the other fella, shaking my hand.
    â€˜They’re nearly finished up in there, you’ll meet all the mob in a minute,’ Bruce said.
    I figured that Bruce and Vic must be at least twenty years older than me. Bruce was a