Skins by Sarah Hay Page B

Heat from the fire and damp unwashed bodies mingled with the stench of seal and cooked muttonbirds spread out on the table. They reached for bits of flesh-covered bone, their hands and faces shiny with grease. Dorothea’s eyes watered and she almost choked on the rich odours but she ate like everyone else.
    The door of the hut was pushed open and cool air freshened her face like a wet cloth. The black women, wearing skin cloaks over their shoulders, entered and placed seal flippers between sticks then held them over the flames, squatting at the feet of the men.
    She caught words and snatches of sentences occasionally but most of the time the voices rumbled over and around her. Matthew held Mary close to him, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She couldn’t see her sister’s face for it was obscured by the hair that escaped from her comb.
    â€˜Bring in the Big Pup.’
    The door to the storeroom opened and a keg of blackstrap rum was rolled in and hacked open at the top. Mugs were dipped into the dark oily liquid. Everyone drank, even the black women and the boy. Someone sang a song. And someone fell over a chair at the back of the room. There was a scuffle. Voices got louder and the air more dense.
    She was standing at the fire with Jem, swallowing the rich rum, her cheeks flushed and her eyes heavy.
    â€˜Did you get any seals, then?’
    â€˜What?’ He couldn’t hear her over the din.
    â€˜Seals!’ she shouted. ‘Did you get any?’
    He nodded towards Manning.
    â€˜He did. Just about lost our whaleboat when we was trying to get off the island. Got pushed sideways and she almost went over. And there was this shark. It was longer than this room.’
    She raised her eyebrows.
    â€˜It’s the truth.’
    He was almost daring her to contradict him. She recognised the defensive tone in his voice for she had heard it often enough after he had come home for good. In England he had lived with a wheelwright’s family instead of his own. She knew he resented the fact that she and Mary had been able to stay home while he was sent away to work for someone else in another town. She wanted to say that she didn’t disbelieve him, she was just surprised, but he had already turned away.
    She stretched her hands towards the fire. Someone grabbed her arse. She swung around and looked down into Jansen’s flushed face.
    â€˜Get off,’ she said.
    â€˜I hope you haven’t forgotten, my lovely.’
    The men with Jansen watched with lascivious grins.
    â€˜Go on, if you ain’t going to have her, I will.’
    Words fell over other words and she could make no sense of them. Their faces came through the haze. There were many eyes, red-rimmed and glittering. She glanced over at Jem. He had his back to her and was speaking to Manning against the wall. Anderson and Isaac looked up from their cards. Another man, closer, reached for her skirts. It was one of Jansen’s crew but she couldn’t remember his name. She smoothed her gown and backed away towards the black women who watched curiously from the fire. Dulled by drink, she couldn’t think. Where was Mary? With Matthew but now men stood between her and her sister. Her bodice felt tight across her chest and she found it difficult to breathe. She moved to the fireplace and shivered despite the heat. She could feel their eyes on her; it was like being poked in the back with a fire stick. Then something happened. She didn’t know whether it was looking into the faces of the women by the fire or just being full of grog that did it. But she was angry. Seething, boiling, spewing with rage. She grabbed the poker that hung by the fireplace and faced them.
    â€˜Get away from me you dirty sons of bitches!’ she screeched. She realised then it was easier to be angry than frightened. She shook her head as she waved the poker. Her hair loosened and fell in strands around her face. She was red and ugly. She