Red Dusty Pearling Town ...

by Keith Hansen 2015

I gazed across the water of the shallow bay, a good view was in hand from the corroded brass
porthole, as I lay in my bunk below the main deck of hoop pine.
Half dressed, and yet so awake with a near liquid full moon beaming, only the hoot of a tawny
owl interrupted my train of thought.
Remembering the evening Cassandra had returned, on the old tin steamer to Maryborough,
dressed in the white shimmy dress, and peacock feathers protruding from a flapper girl hat, she
reminded everyone of Bessie Smith, the golden jazz singer.
The silk shawl, woven so fine, a material that only the clever silkworms provide, as they munch
into the juice of the mulberry leaves.
Not yet thirty, Cassi for short, remained as slender as her mother, who also, worked as a
pearl diver out of the port of Cairns, when the season was on or the weather permitted the
pearling lugers to leave the port.
Cassi stood erect and tall, rigid, even though a tad stubby, a family trait. Her shoulder length
hair fell down in black ringlets, past her shoulders, much as shavings from the ebony tree, when
wet, curl as a wood plane passes over them.
She, with her a locket and a small bag of pearls, small black pearls, which she wore around
her neck. Often they were spilled into her palm as she opened it to surprise strangers, tourists,
though never to the crew of the boats as they were never to be trusted.
Cairns, as the whole north Coral Sea region, reached a low ebb around mid-summer, as the
Cyclone season was on the run and the weather unpredictable. Many boats were run up into the
reaches of the mangrove swamps where the creeks, where a safe shelter could be found from
the ferocious lashings of the cyclonic storms, that wracked the Coral Seas at this time of the
year.
In the twilight, the breeze became a passive mistress, to the evening sea change, a soft
tropical lilting breeze, pouring in over the lush rainforest, from the cooling of the land, as the
sun subsided below the horizon, castings a spell of the tropical night.
Vermillion streaks lashed the cobalt blue sky, a bank of rolling black clouds clashing, igniting
thunder storms that drenched the land in a cooling deluge of rain, a respite from the prickly
cadmium heat that drew life from the soil in the intense summer heat.
We sat in the parlor, with the gramophone spinning, resonating as the steel pin needle,
oscillated in the groove of the shellac record. Cassi danced in melodic time to the dulcet strains
of a crooner, who had embraced the jazz age with a vengeance. From the brass speaker the
voice it cooed;
'Emptiness may fill the hours - when your true love - so divine - may shine, to bring you
happiness as your heart desires - come come rainy days - they do roll along.'
I filled two crystal glasses with an inch of green chartreuse, a French liquor, and handed one
to Cassi who tapped her feet on the marquetry hardwood floor.
'Oh Henry who could believe so much wealth could come from the sea, in the shape of a
pearl, I'm so fortunate to have learnt to dive at an early age!'
'Yes Cassi, you've done very well, the Bungalow and soon your family shall own the store,
when you obtain the trade license from the German company.'
'The pearl. To think that is is formed from a grain of sand, an irritation to the creature that
compels it to form a calcium shell around the grain.' Cassi said
'Nature has rewards that you must venture to find, dare to seek out.' I said

'Now the time has come for replenishing the ships stores, as the harvesting season is to
begin.' she said
'We must also make room in the stowage for Holger to come along, as he is sponsoring the
pearling trip.' I added
'Do you think that is wise, as we shall be showing him our fishing grounds?' she questioned.
'How on earth could he find them again,' I asked
'Well, I have heard that he is a German spy, sent by their embassy in Brisbane,' she started to
explain as I put my finger to her lips.
'Just because of the unrest up in New Guinea, that does not mean all of Germany is our
enemy. It's really to do with the Kaisers advisors and the Crown in England.' I explained.
'So, I shall have to go along with that explanation for Holger Schumans eccentric behavior,
shant I?' Cassi said as she walked to the window, and gazed out to the raging sea. 'A tranquil
sea that is what I pray for.'
The outward voyage went well, as the boat skirted the small islands covered in the hoop
pines that had overgrown the native shrubs. The other small islands that were barren, they had
been stocked with goats for sailors to replenish the ships stocks, on a voyage down the
coastline. The wild goats had eaten themselves out of existence, as their hunger had reduced
the lush islands to barren rocks.
Coral Sea creatures appeared, riding the crest of waves, Dugong and Dolphin. Stingrays
flapped their giant wings, and flying fish leaping high, landed on the deck of the boat. Now land
came in sight, as we neared the outer edges of the reef. Cassi walked across the main deck,
wearing jodhpurs and a woolen pea jacket, the ringlets of her jet black hair, flowing in the
prevailing breeze. Her first husband had died, while pearl diving, while still a comparatively
younger woman. Now she drank too much scotch and soda, as if to fill in the idle hours between
voyages and diving for the sacred shell. It was well known in Cairns that Cassi had many lovers
over the years, now with the responsibility of running the business, she had settled down, to a
quieter life. Although she claimed the drink helped to put her to sleep, alongside the rocking of
the boat which never ceased. Somehow I had the idea, that she had traded away the remains of
her old life, for a new progression, an optimistic stake in the future.
I turned my head to her as she approached on the deck, 'Hello, is the evening treating you
well, I said, 'Not to unsettling on the body after dinner.'
'Johnny the galley man made a good fish stew, bouillabaisse as the French nanny called it, 'I
remember she would make a fish stock, and keep it in the ice chest for many days.' she said.
'The saffron, I'm sure that is the color in the stew.'
'That's right, and the smoked paprika, a pinch is more than enough.'
Below in the map room, the wind up gramophone played again, through the brass cone speaker,
the vocals of the jazz singer resounding on the wooden hull, lapped by waves.
Her accompaniment of piano and stringed instruments, rippled the tropical air as the steel
needle oscillated in the groove.
'Emptiness and memories, how you danced upon the stage, that night in Paris,
September rains they fell upon the Moulin Rouge......'