{"id":1473,"date":"2016-08-05T18:03:24","date_gmt":"2016-08-05T07:33:24","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/?p=1473"},"modified":"2016-08-08T12:38:52","modified_gmt":"2016-08-08T02:08:52","slug":"extract-live-cassie-flanagan-willanski","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/2016\/08\/extract-live-cassie-flanagan-willanski\/","title":{"rendered":"An extract from ‘Here Where We Live’ by Cassie Flanagan Willanski"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Here<\/a>Cassie Flanagan Willanski’s debut collection Here Where We Live<\/em><\/a>\u00a0is one of our must-reads for the year.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Winner of the Unpublished Manuscript Award back in 2014, it received high praise from the judges for its ‘subtle, assured writing that deftly weaves dialogue and description and expertly uses imagery to plumb the depths of its protagonists\u2019 emotions’. Brian Castro said ‘I was moved and I was haunted’, and we agree.<\/p>\n

We’d like to share one of our favourite extracts from the book with you today. It’s a short story called ‘Karko’. We hope you enjoy it!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n


\nKarko<\/span><\/h1>\n

Oliver\u2019s mum had a stupid boss. The night before the class excursion to the Tjilbruke Trail, the boss mixed up the rosters and called Oliver\u2019s mum back in for the night shift. She\u2019d been working all day and was watching telly to relax. Oliver had to get out of bed and go and stay over at Aunty Peta\u2019s house again.<\/p>\n

Aunty Peta was pretty good if you needed to stay somewhere else away from home all the time. She was probably Oliver\u2019s favourite aunt. She tucked him into bed, even though he was eight years old. Aunty Peta straightened back up with an effort, because she was about to have a baby, and it was hard for her to bend. She set her alarm so Oliver wouldn\u2019t miss the bus.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u2018Have you thought of any good names yet?\u2019 Oliver asked her on her way out.<\/p>\n

Aunty Peta paused with her hand on the light switch and pulled a face. \u2018Not even one. Face it, Ollie, your mum snapped up the last good boy\u2019s name on the planet.\u2019<\/p>\n

After she\u2019d gone, Oliver lay in bed in the room that Aunty Peta had made all ready for the baby, with animal curtains and a change table and plastic toys that looked like they\u2019d be fun to play with even if you were older. His room at home had way less things in it than the baby\u2019s, and his bed was smaller than Aunty Peta\u2019s spare mattress, but it was still a pain to have been asleep with his bag all packed for the excursion, and then woken up and shifted here in
\nhis dressing gown.<\/p>\n

Oliver turned around in bed a few times to get comfortable and then started to think about the Tjilbruke Trail. Last week, two Aboriginal guys called Dion and Chris had visited the school and told the grade four class the story of Tjilbruke, the Ibis Man. Tjilbruke was cool. Oliver had liked him straight away and made him into a sort of personal hero, like a guardian angel, but not daggy.<\/p>\n

Tjilbruke, the Ibis man, lived in the Dreamtime. Dion explained that the Dreamtime was the past, but was also the future and the here and now at the same time. Oliver sort of got that. It was the way you could be thinking of three things at once, like how long it was until the holidays, what you had for breakfast and what Mr Barber, the teacher, was talking about.<\/p>\n

Mr Barber told everyone that Oliver lived permanently in the Dreamtime, because he couldn\u2019t see how Oliver could look out the window and draw on his pencil case and listen to the story of Tjilbruke all at the same time. Oliver\u2019s Dreamtime was why he usually gave the answer after Mr Barber had already gone on to the next question, and why he couldn\u2019t sit still at his desk all day. Oliver couldn\u2019t explain it, especially when he was in trouble. Mr Barber got the kids to laugh, but Dion hadn\u2019t seemed to like the Dreamtime joke.<\/p>\n

\u2018The Ancestors walk beside us,\u2019 Dion had continued, frowning, and it had stuck in Oliver\u2019s head. He liked the idea of Tjilbruke walking along beside him on the way to school, maybe riding a bike sometimes if he was running late. Tjilbruke probably had trouble sitting still in class when he was a kid as well.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Tjilbruke had a favourite nephew who was killed for spearing an emu when it was against the law. When he found his nephew, Kulultuwi, was dead, Tjilbruke freaked right out. He carried Kulultuwi\u2019s body down the coast of South Australia, resting and crying all along the way. Every time he stopped to cry, Tjilbruke\u2019s tears made fresh water springs in the sand that were still there today. At the end of his journey, Tjilbruke buried his nephew in a cave and then disappeared back into the Dreamtime. Tomorrow, Dion and Chris were taking Oliver\u2019s class on a bus to follow the Tjilbruke Trail.<\/p>\n

Oliver lay in the dark and imagined the room filled with giants from the Dreamtime \u2013 Tjilbruke must have been gigantic if his tears could make a whole spring! Oliver imagined him humansized at the same time, able to be and do more than just one thing at once, like Oliver could. Tjilbruke probably had wings and a beak like an ibis, he thought, or maybe just a cloak of ibis feathers. He thought about how Kulultuwi was Tjilbruke\u2019s favourite nephew. Aunty Peta\u2019s husband, Uncle Graham, didn\u2019t seem much like he had any favourite nephews. Oliver\u2019s mum said it was because he was an uncle by marriage, but Aunty Peta was her own sister. Uncle Graham wasn\u2019t mean or anything. He was just mostly at work and sort of didn\u2019t talk. Tjilbruke would be a much better uncle to have, Oliver thought. He was pretty excited about the excursion. The best bit was that they were going to be away from school all day. They were leaving early and wouldn\u2019t be back until after dark. For lunch there was going to be a barbecue on the beach. Oliver turned over a few more times. He was thinking about the excursion so much he couldn\u2019t get to sleep.<\/p>\n

After a while he heard Aunty Peta get up to go to the toilet. He heard Uncle Graham come in from work. He heard Aunty Peta get up and go to the toilet again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When he woke up, he felt grainy and tired, as if he was the one who\u2019d been on the night shift, but he jumped out of bed and got dressed in less than twenty seconds. \u2018What happened to your jumper, Ollie?\u2019 said Aunty Peta at the breakfast table. Oliver looked down and realised he\u2019d forgotten his school jumper when he\u2019d grabbed his clothes in a rush last night. \u2018I left it at home,\u2019 he said with his mouth full of Weetbix. \u2018I don\u2019t need it,\u2019 he added hastily, before Aunty Peta could offer him one of hers.<\/p>\n

Despite the alarm clock, they were late getting out the door. Aunty Peta raced them to school in her station wagon. Oliver saw the bus waiting, already full of kids, and jumped out of the car almost before it had stopped. The other kids were grinning and waving out the window, tapping imaginary watches. Aunty Peta patted him on the arm. \u2018You\u2019re my favourite nephew,\u2019 she said, which is what she always said when they said good bye.<\/p>\n

\u2018I\u2019m your only<\/em> nephew,\u2019 Oliver said, which is what he always said back.<\/p>\n

\u2018Even if you did take the only good boy\u2019s name in the world,\u2019 Aunty Peta added.<\/p>\n

\u2018You\u2019ll think of something,\u2019 Oliver said encouragingly, halfway up the bus steps and already greeted by a rousing cheer and a shake of Mr Barber\u2019s head.<\/p>\n

\u2018No, not up the back today, Mr Bentley,\u2019 he said to Oliver. \u2018I want to keep my eye on you after yesterday\u2019s performance.\u2019 Oliver waved to the kids at the back of the bus and fell into the seat up the front that the teacher was pointing to. \u2018Throwing Dion\u2019s spear before we got outside,\u2019 Mr Barber elaborated. The class laughed. Oliver\u2019s ears turned red. He was happy when Mr Barber stood up in the aisle and led the class in the song they had been practicing all last week. The bus took off as the kids sang:<\/p>\n

Tjilbruke, the Ibis man.
\nHe carried Kulultuwi along the beach sand,
\nAnd when he cried, his tears flowed down,
\nAnd it turned into fresh water.<\/p>\n

Mr Barber conducted, standing up in the aisle. He held on with one hand during the swervy bits but kept conducting with the other.<\/p>\n

Dion and Chris were sitting together in front of the seat Oliver was sitting in by himself. \u2018That Buck Whats-his-name wrote that song,\u2019 Oliver heard Chris say to Dion.<\/p>\n

\u2018Buck McKenzie,\u2019 said Dion.<\/p>\n

\u2018Yeah,\u2019 said Chris.<\/p>\n

Oliver wondered who Buck McKenzie was and considered leaning over the seat to ask, but before he could he realised that Mr Barber was saying something about two dollars fifty for the barbecue lunch. Oliver had forgotten to ask his mum about it last night. He thought maybe one of the kids might lend him some money, but it was going to be hard to ask.<\/p>\n

He sat back and watched the city from up on high in the bus, and after a minute the excitement of the day seeped back in like a colourful wash, turning everything red and orange and yellow and bright. Oliver forgot he was tired. They drove south down the coast, heading further away from the city than he had ever been without his mum. Oliver\u2019s mind raced off the way it sometimes did. Out of the window, a billboard that said \u2018come fly with me’ made him think of Tjilbruke\u2019s giant ibis wings, but also of the fly that had got on the bus and was buzzing around Mr Barber\u2019s head. He was the head of the class, but not the headmaster of the school; school rhymed with fool, which Oliver knew he was, because he was never sure. Shore was by the sea where Tjilbruke would land and fold away his ibis wings. He wished he had remembered the money for lunch.<\/p>\n

Every now and then the bus would stop and the kids would jump down to listen to Dion tell them that this was the very spot where Tjilbruke had avenged his nephew\u2019s death, and this next place was where he had smoked Kulultuwi\u2019s body to preserve him, crying the whole time. These places were sacred, Dion said. One of them was near a caravan park, with a stone sculpture of Tjilbruke to mark the place, but most were at the beach. The bus parked at the top of the esplanade and the kids ran down onto the sand and waited for the next instalment.<\/p>\n

Dion did all the talking. Chris stood quietly and nodded agreement with the stories, occasionally reminding Dion of things he\u2019d forgotten in a soft voice, but never speaking directly to the children. Oliver looked at the Aboriginal men. Dion was so tall you had to look up to see his face. Chris was shorter and skinnier. He couldn\u2019t work out which one he liked best, but you could tell they both were cool. They probably both had favourite nephews, and lent them two dollars fifty when they forgot their lunch money all the time. Maybe he could ask Dion if he had any cash. Or imagine if Tjilbruke was around here somewhere. He\u2019d definitely be the sort of guy you could ask, although he might not carry change.<\/p>\n

At lunchtime Mr Barber and the bus driver made a barbecue on the beach and everyone had to queue up and drop their money in an ice-cream container on the table next to the food. Somehow Oliver was first in line. He thought about saying he wasn\u2019t hungry but his stomach was grumbling and the food smelled so good that he just had to come out and say he didn\u2019t have any money. The class groaned at the usual joke, and Mr Barber shook his head again and said Oliver could bring it tomorrow.<\/p>\n

Then Chris, still hardly talking, showed the class how to dig in the wet sand for fresh water. Oliver sat balancing his paper plate of sausage and onion on his knees, watching for the evidence that Tjilbruke was close by. Where Chris was digging in the sand, a shallow hole was filling up with cloudy water. Dion passed a plastic cup around and everyone had a drink. The water was sandy but it didn\u2019t taste salty. It was fresh water by the sea. \u2018Those are Tjilbruke\u2019s tears,\u2019 said Dion.<\/p>\n

Oliver looked along the beach and imagined Tjilbruke striding down from the north, carrying his nephew, stopping to rest \u2013 it was such a long way! \u2013 and crying the whole time. There was no way Uncle Graham would be able to make the same journey. Maybe Aunty Peta, at a pinch; she was kind of like a giant in Oliver\u2019s mind.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

After lunch they all had another turn at throwing Dion\u2019s spear. Mr Barber made Oliver go last to show some control. When it was Mr Barber\u2019s go, he stood around holding the spear and talking to Chris and Dion for ages before he threw it. Oliver couldn\u2019t work out why you wouldn\u2019t want to throw it as soon as you got the chance. He had to jump up and down on the spot to wait for his turn, and when it finally came, he launched it straight away, running on the sand. Mr Barber told him to stop showing off, but Dion laughed and called him a good hunter.<\/p>\n

When it was time to get on the bus again Oliver didn\u2019t mind sitting down the front so much because he was behind Dion and Chris. He sat and listened to what they were talking about; something about a workshop on the twenty-fifth. When they fell into silence Oliver felt himself fall into silence as well. He felt cosy and wrapped up in the men and the journey. He sat in his seat and waited for the next place. The whole Tjilbruke Trail made him feel good.<\/p>\n

At the end of the day, they came to an ochre cove where Tjilbruke had cried again. Oliver thought this would be a good place for Tjilbruke to have buried Kulultuwi; it was wild and wavy and lonely, and beautiful too \u2013 but they were still only halfway to the cave where the burial had finally taken place. They were a really long way from Adelaide. Tjilbruke must have been exhausted by the time he walked all that way. The bus parked a short distance from the cove and the class climbed down, more slowly this time. Mr Barber was looking at his watch. The evening breeze came in from the water and made the hairs stand up on Oliver\u2019s arms. Everyone else put on their jumpers. The low sun shone in Oliver\u2019s eyes and when he looked back at them, his classmates\u2019 faces were pink and orange. Mr Barber\u2019s hair was purple. The ochre cove was in shadow. \u2018This is another place where Tjilbruke stopped to cry,\u2019 said Dion. His face was gold.<\/p>\n

The kids listened, fidgeting, as he told them that the cave was made of ochre, a special coloured rock like clay that was very valuable to the Kaurna people, who would sometimes mine it from the site and use it to trade with people from other regions. Oliver felt restless all of a sudden. He tried to look like he was listening hard.<\/p>\n

\u2018They say the Kaurna word for ochre is karko<\/em>,\u2019 said Dion.<\/p>\n

\u2018It\u2019s getting a bit boring,\u2019 thought Oliver. The kids next to him sniggered and Oliver realised he had accidentally said it out loud. He kept getting into trouble for things he\u2019d thought out loud by accident, especially when he was tired, like today. His mum had said that he might be hyperactive, but Mr Barber said he was just acting up. Luckily Mr Barber was standing on the other side of the group this time. \u2018Why did they want it?\u2019 Oliver said quickly, much louder, to show he hadn\u2019t been trying to be rude.<\/p>\n

Dion explained that ochre was used for painting and ceremonies, body and face paint. It was easy to scoop out of the rock because it was so soft and crumbly.<\/p>\n

As Dion finished talking and gave the signal for the class to move over to the cove, the sun changed position so it struck the ochre rocks and turned the cove bright red.<\/p>\n

Oliver started running. He raced across the rocky beach to the luminous cove with all the other kids, and it was like running towards a lantern, or right into the sun itself. He got there first and slapped his hand against the damp wall, surrounded by the whooping of the other children and the crashing of the waves.<\/p>\n

\u2018Hey!\u2019 he said, \u2018You can scoop it out!\u2019 Oliver grabbed a small flat stone from the beach and prized off a clod of ochre. The rest of the class followed his lead. Enchanted, Oliver held the ochre up to the sunset. It was soft and plasticky, and left red stains on his hands. He laughed out loud.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Oliver was strong and fast. He felt like he had been cooped up in a cage all day and had now been set free. He sprinted back to the bus to show the treasure to Dion.<\/p>\n

The bus was dark inside. Dion was standing at the open door as Oliver panted up the stairs. It was very quiet in the bus. Dion was looking out the doorway at the view of the ocean and the swarm of children ransacking the ochre cove.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t say anything to Oliver, who stood beside him in the doorway. The sun was almost down. Oliver opened his hand. The lump of ochre felt cool and sticky. Out of the sun its brilliance had faded to a purplish brown. \u2018Dion,\u2019 said Oliver, but Dion didn\u2019t seem to hear. Mr Barber called the rest of the class and the mass of bodies raced back to the bus, excited like Oliver had been, their cold breath showing in the dusk. Eyes alight, they surged up the metal bus steps and around the boy and the man, as Oliver said, \u2018Hey, Dion,\u2019 again, and tried to give him back the ochre.<\/p>\n

For a second Dion just stood there, jostled by the returning kids. Then he looked down at Oliver and said, \u2018You\u2019d better keep it.\u2019 Oliver thought Dion hadn\u2019t understood that he was sorry he\u2019d taken it. He tried to give the ochre back again, but Dion looked down finally and said again, \u2018You\u2019d better keep it. It\u2019s too late now.\u2019<\/p>\n

The class waited, chatter subsiding, while the bus driver and Chris came back from having a smoke down at the beach. Oliver sat back in the front seat with the lump of ochre in his pocket. His eyes were tired and his arms were cold.<\/p>\n

Mr Barber and Dion had a quick chat and decided to call it a day. On the way home, Mr Barber stood up in the aisle again and led the kids in a final chorus of the Tjilbruke song. It was late by the time they got back to school. As the bus pulled into the playground, lit by the lights of the parents\u2019 cars, Oliver asked if they would finish the Tjilbruke Trail on another excursion. Everyone laughed, although it wasn\u2019t supposed to be funny. Mr Barber said Dion and Chris had to go back to their other jobs now, so probably not.<\/p>\n

Uncle Graham picked up Oliver in the station wagon. Oliver\u2019s mum had another night at work and Aunty Peta was having a rest before the baby came. When they got back she was in the living room lying on the sofa. Oliver sat down on the floor to have his tea. He was really cold now. He sat on a cushion in front of Aunty Peta, as if she was a campfire. She was wearing a giant orange dress, which reminded Oliver of the cove at sunset, all beautiful and strong and fragile.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t know what to do so he decided to give her the ochre. It had smeared a bit in his pocket. He held it out to her, squashed and insignificant. It was dull again in the light from the TV.<\/p>\n

\u2018What is it?\u2019 said Aunty Peta curiously.<\/p>\n

\u2018Ochre,\u2019 Oliver said. \u2018In Kaurna they call it karko<\/em>.\u2019 He started to tell her the story of the ochre cove, about Mr Barber making him sit up the front of the bus and that he needed two dollars fifty for tomorrow.<\/p>\n

He wanted to tell her about the look on Dion\u2019s face watching the kids out the door of the bus, how they hadn\u2019t finished the Tjilbruke Trail before it was time to go back home, and how it felt as if they had left Tjilbruke to cry forever alone by the sea, but something had happened to Aunty Peta and she wasn\u2019t listening.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

She jumped to her feet in a move that should have been impossible for a woman of her size, and grabbed him by the hands, pulling him up as well.<\/p>\n

\u2018Oliver, you\u2019re a genius!\u2019 she exclaimed. Her eyes were bright; she was beaming with excitement and triumph.<\/p>\n

Oliver stared. \u2018Karko!\u2019 cried Aunty Peta. \u2018It\u2019s perfect! Now I can go ahead and have this baby!\u2019<\/p>\n

She raced out of the room to find Uncle Graham and tell him that Oliver had thought of the perfect name for his cousin, just in time.<\/p>\n

Oliver\u2019s eyes hurt. He looked at the lump of ochre again and decided to throw it away outside.<\/p>\n

It was freezing in Aunty Peta\u2019s garden as he chucked the ochre down past the clothesline. Through the lit up kitchen window he could see Aunty Peta sitting on Uncle Graham\u2019s knee. They were smiling. Oliver was shivering, and then he was so tired he started to cry. He turned his head to try to get the tears to drop onto the ground, but they dried before they reached the edge of his cheeks. Tjilbruke must have been crying much more than Oliver to make fresh water springs. Maybe one tear of Oliver\u2019s fell on the ground and was instantly absorbed by the grass. He guessed he wasn\u2019t as sad as Tjilbruke had been when Kulultuwi died, but it felt like he was.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

If you’d like to read more of Cassie’s beautiful and brave stories, grab a copy of Here Where We Live<\/em><\/a> today.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Cassie Flanagan Willanski’s debut collection Here Where We Live\u00a0is one of our must-reads for the year. Winner of the Unpublished Manuscript Award back in 2014, it received high praise from the judges for its ‘subtle, assured writing that deftly weaves … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":9,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"advanced_seo_description":"","jetpack_seo_html_title":"","jetpack_seo_noindex":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[107,398],"tags":[401,402,108,400,399],"class_list":["post-1473","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-extract","category-short-story","tag-cassie-flanagan-willanski","tag-dreamtime","tag-extract-2","tag-indigenous","tag-short-story"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4v1Of-nL","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1473","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/9"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1473"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1473\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1481,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1473\/revisions\/1481"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1473"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1473"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.wakefieldpress.com.au\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1473"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}