The girls wandered away. Mandy suggested they search for lizards in a paddock at the edge of the oval.
‘You’re Aboriginal, aren’t you?’ Louise asked suddenly. She had little idea about Aboriginal Australians, except that they were black and mostly lived in the desert. Meeting Mandy was exciting.
Mandy smiled. ‘Yep, and proud of it.’
‘Have you always lived here?’
‘Not always. Mum and Grandma come from up north at Oodnadatta.’
‘Did you live there?’
‘To begin with, and then mostly with Grandma.’
‘When did you come here?’
‘Last year, when Grandma got sick.’
Louise wanted to ask where her mother and father were and who she lived with in Crystal Brook, but didn’t. She was dazed.
‘Go on,’ Mandy said warmly, ‘ask me all you like and then I’ll ask you where you really come from.’
‘Okay, what does your grandma do?’
Mandy looked puzzled. ‘Grandma paints about the Dreaming. It’s a while since I’ve talked about Grandma’s painting. None of the other kids at the school are interested. I can show you some if you like.’
‘I’d like that.’ Louise was intrigued. She wasn’t sure how you could paint dreams.
‘See that pond over there, that’s where we’ll find frogs. Sometimes I wade out and then my boots get sucked down in the mud and I put my head under the water to see what’s there. But I don’t stay under long.’
‘That’s amazing.’
At four-thirty, when the siren went for the end of the match, the girls were half a mile away, searching for frogs at the edge of the small pond. Louise didn’t hear or didn’t want to hear the siren. As she trailed her hand through the water her fingers snagged on slimy knots of weed. In the depths light shimmered and the scent of eucalyptus and wild honeysuckle hung over the water. Feeling a feathery breeze on her cheek and seeing clouds scudding across the sky, she was captivated. She would have ignored even a trumpet call.
‘There’s one,’ said Mandy, expertly catching a small frog and nestling it in the palm of her hand. ‘Here, want to hold it?’
Louise held out an open hand and Mandy gently transferred the minute frog.
‘Grandma paints frog Dreaming; how they find and go to waterholes. I’m learning how to paint frogs and lizards so catching them I know what they look and feel like.’
Louise wasn’t at all sure what catching frogs and lizards had to do with painting, let alone Dreaming, but Mandy was persuasive.
‘Don’t squeeze the frog – you need to hold it properly. You’ll soon learn.’
At this point, with the cold and sticky frog in her hand, Louise was aware that the football siren had gone long ago, and it was a good fifteen minutes’ run back to the oval. ‘I have to go,’ she said handing the frog back to Mandy.
‘Okay, I’ll come with you; we’ll put froggy back in the pond.’
Light rain began to fall, dimpling the water’s surface. The girls ran back across the field, dodging low-hanging boughs. When they reached the pavilion they climbed quickly up its wide timber steps.
Louise thought her grandparents might be worried. It was out of character for her to be late. ‘This is my friend Mandy.’
Louise’s grandmother held out a hand and Mandy grasped it, but did not look her in the eye.
‘Don’t be shy,’ Margaret said.
After an awkward silence Louise noticed a transformation in Mandy, from the confident effervescent girl searching for frogs to the hesitant girl in the pavilion.
‘When will I see you again?’
‘I don’t mind, whenever,’ replied the subdued Mandy.
‘What about next Monday? Will you be around then?’
‘Yeah. I’ll be around.’
‘How about two – two o’clock. I’ll get a lift here.’
Louise did not want to lose contact with her, especially as she was someone very different from her schoolfriends, someone who found delight in ponds and frogs and weeds. And she was someone who didn’t live with her parents.
‘I’ll be here,’ Mandy said as Louise climbed into the back seat of the station wagon.
When they reached the farm, Margaret asked, ‘What did you think of Mandy?’
‘I liked her. I’d like to meet her again. Could we go on Monday?’
‘Alright. I’ll drive you into town. I’ll drop you off at the oval. If you have a good time with her, you can invite her back to the farm.’ Margaret Davitt was urbane and considered by her friends to be a most lovable person who, though tough, was always welcoming, irrespective of whether a person was a white Anglo-Saxon or Aboriginal. In her community she was deemed to be radical in the way she respected Aboriginal culture.
Louise was overjoyed. ‘I love you.’
Margaret’s tanned face creased in delight. ‘And I love you, Louise. Now, tell me about Mandy and why you like her.’
‘She’s different. She’s daring and knows all about frogs and lizards and she cares about them.’
Dot Painting – ‘You’ll soon learn’
ON THE MONDAY, after an early lunch, Margaret Davitt drove Louise to the town oval. Mandy was already standing there, holding a canvas satchel. Louise and Margaret got out of the car. ‘Hi Mandy, this is my grandmother.’
‘Yes, I remember. I’ve brought something to show you.’
‘That’s great.’ Louise moved close to Mandy.
‘You girls enjoy youselves. I’ll be back here at four o’clock.’ Margaret climbed into her car, waved and drove away.
‘She’s nice,’ said Mandy.
‘Yes, she’s special.’ Louise watched her grandmother’s car disappear in a cloud of dust between waving roadside gum trees.
‘My grandma in Oodnadatta is special too.’ Mandy rummaged in her satchel. ‘I’ve brought you a couple of her paintings and some of mine.’ She looked proud. The girls walked over to a barbecue table and Mandy took out the paintings.
‘Grandma started to teach me and I always watched her when she sat with her brush and paints.’ Mandy unfurled two of her grandmother’s paintings. ‘My grandma gave me these. This one’s called Frog Dreaming and this orange one is Witchetty Grub Land.’
Louise studied the bright colours. Hesitatingly she said, ‘It’s all dots.’
‘That’s right, it’s called dot painting. That’s what I’m learning.’
‘Show me your paintings. I want to see your paintings too.’
‘Sure.’ Mandy placed two paintings side-by-side on the table. She appeared embarrassed. Perhaps Louise was just being kind.
Louise gazed at Mandy’s dot paintings of desert tracks and totem symbols of a mob of kangaroos.
‘They’re beautiful. I love the bright colours. Have you shown them to other kids, or teachers at school?’
‘Nah,