Is your history my history? - Page 3
From Griffith REVIEW Edition 13: The Next Big Thing
© Copyright Griffith University & the author.
Written by Cameron Muir
ALMOST SIX MONTHS PASS AND I GET AN EMAIL from Kerry Birch. I didn't expect to hear from her again after the way our meeting went. She has information about the skull. I'm going back to Dubbo for two days, so I suggest we meet at my grandmother's house, and Kerry can see the shed and the surrounding land. She agrees.
My grandmother comes outside to meet Kerry. She strains to look up, but she seems genuine – if bemused – when she smiles hello. Apparently the house is in too much of a mess to let a stranger inside. I believe her – not even her doctor is allowed in the house when it's a mess.
"I'll see if there's any mention of Birch in Ian's old papers," she offers, but I know that even if she found something she wouldn't share it.
Around here people are paranoid about any records suggesting indigenous presence or contact. I lead Kerry to the backyard and we start walking towards the shed. Kerry tells me about the skull. It came from the University of Sydney.
"They don't know if he had it as part of dentistry or if it came into his hands through another department," says Kerry.
At least it came from the university, and my grandfather hadn't murdered anyone. I'm sure it was obtained for New World exoticism, not scientific or medical reasons. It'll be a long time – if ever – before it might be returned to the appropriate community.
"This is where your grandfather and uncles were supposed to have stolen tools from," I say with a laugh, pointing at the shed.
"This is where they worked before there were houses here," she says. "They owned all this land."
Kerry touches the grey wooden frame of the shed.
"I've driven all around here, but it's different knowing this is exactly where he was. That other people know it too."
She crouches and lays her hand flat on the ground. As I'm standing there I start thinking about how a simple quest – to return an object that didn't belong to me – has led me through so many sites of black/white experience. I think about the countless small stories like this, stories that exist in fragments of paper, memories and the land.
I look away and catch movement in the corner of my eye. My grandmother is peering from behind a curtain at the kitchen window. For all her good intentions, she is probably watching to make sure nothing is stolen. I wonder if Kerry saw her, and how she regards my grandmother, as she imagines her grandfather on this land. ♦